Sweet Bravado

by Alicia Meadowes

  “You must be crazy,” she stormed rising to her feet, “to think I would help you! I will see that you are arrested for the spy that you are.”

  “Au contraire. This packet of notes is all the assurance I need that you will do no such thing.” He slapped the packet between his hands. “It was so good of Joseph to entrust them to me, n’est-ce pas?”

  Nicole felt herself sinking into an abyss, but she tried to hold it off. “Packet?” She swallowed convulsively.

  “Oui, it contains many interesting items. Here is one requesting a closed carriage and a large sum of money.”

  “Geneviève,” she whispered. “You cannot mean this.”

  “Ah, but ma petite, I do. What do you think your husband would do if he received a billet mentioning the Ardsmore earrings?”

  “You despicable…”

  “Now, now, ma chère.”

  “I always knew there was something particularly vile about you!”

  The leering smile was wiped from his face. “How would you like your initialed handkerchief to be found at a suspicious meeting broken up by British agents? It could be easily arranged.”

  Nicole felt her legs trembling and sat down quickly. In a weak, strained voice she asked, “What is it you want of me? Money?”

  “My, my we are direct. I hate to disillusion you, but money is not what I want.” Beauchamp stepped closer to her, and she recoiled as he hissed, “I want information.”

  “Information?” she questioned in wide-eyed disbelief.

  “Naturellement. Your husband is a Colonel on the staff of Wellington. Valuable information passes through his hands. I want it!”

  A cold fear crept up her spine even as she answered defiantly, “Never!”

  “No? Are you so sure of that? What do you think your chances would be of explaining these billets to an already Wary husband? Or better still, a few words to the Duke suggesting Colonel Harcourt’s wife is a spy?”

  “They would not believe it,” Nicole wailed, terrorized by the thought of Valentin’s reaction.

  “Would they not?” he asked cynically. “With your French ancestry, this packet of notes, your friendship with Crawley, not to mention your floundering marriage to an Englishmen? Shall I go on?”

  “No, no, you cannot be so cruel.”

  “I have no intention of being cruel, little one, if you are reasonable and follow my instructions.”

  “The Viscount tells me nothing.”

  “But he will. Have you not learned to use those so charming feminine wiles on him yet? Plenty of opportunities must present themselves to go through his desk.”

  “No, no! I cannot!” She was becoming desperate.

  “Eh bien, you leave me no choice.” He turned as if to go.

  “No, wait!”

  He turned and smiled. “I thought you would come to your senses.”

  “I… I need time to think.”

  “It will change nothing.”

  “Please,” she pleaded, hating herself.

  He contemplated her distress. Sure of his victory, he decided to be lenient.

  “Very well, you will have twenty-four hours. If you think to betray me, remember I am not alone in this. And I will deal more generously with you than the others. Tomorrow I ride in the park between two and three. If you are there, I will know you have agreed to help us.”

  Numbed, she stared at him until the door was opened abruptly.

  “Oh, excuse me. I did not realize you were having a private tête-à-tête, Nicole,” Cecily said slyly.

  Still too stunned to react, Nicole quietly introduced her two least favorite relatives to one another.

  “Why, of course, the charming gentleman I saw beckoning to you in the park yesterday. You never told us about your French cousin, Nicole,” Cecily smirked.

  “My charming cousine has had much more important things on my mind, have you not, ma chère?”

  Nicole murmured something noncommittal. Phillippe decided it would be wise to distract Cecily’s attention from Nicole and led her across the room chatting in an intimate fashion, his head bent close to Cecily’s.

  Nicole watched them nervously but was allowed no further action as the Wexfords were announced, shortly followed by Lady Barclay and Maria Bellington. The morning passed quickly in a steady stream of arriving and departing callers. Phillippe Beauchamp had taken his leave, but his absence did nothing to lessen the agitation within Nicole’s bosom. She found Cecily watching her speculatively and was determined that the girl should not be allowed the pleasure of tormenting her further.

  Somehow Nicole managed to get through the day, but the evening still lay ahead. Since Perry and Telly were both on duty and Madame Lafitte had retired with a migraine, only Cecily and Valentin would join her for dinner.

  Not wishing to face her husband alone, Nicole was the last to come downstairs. As she was about to enter the drawing room, she heard the Viscount laugh.

  “Come on, Peaches,” he chided. “You are up to your old tricks again.”

  “Laugh if you will, but I tell you they were very confidential.”

  “And so might we be, cousin, but it does not necessarily mean anything.”

  Cecily frowned and seeing the Viscount’s wife she became silent.

  “There you are, my love. Cecily was just telling me you had a visit from a cousin of yours.” He crossed to her.

  “Y… yes, quite unexpected. I had no idea he was here in Brussels.”

  “Didn’t you?” he questioned, and Nicole wondered if there was a note of suspicion in his voice. No, of course not, she chided herself.

  Changing the subject, Nicole asked, “Did you happen to see Gordon today?”

  “No, he is being run ragged between Brussels and Ghent.”

  “Poor man. I do hope he has time to join us tomorrow evening.”

  “I think so. By the way, your mentioning Ghent puts me in mind of something I have been meaning to tell you. I might have to accompany the Duke to the Court for a few days this week myself.”

  “Why?… Oh, no, I do not wish to know!”

  “What?” He eyed her in puzzlement.

  “I mean I do not want to pry into things which do not concern me.”

  “Well, I would like to know,” Cecily intervened. “Why are you going to Ghent?”

  “Because the Duke wants me to accompany him,” he mocked, and Nicole relaxed. “Come ladies, I see the butler is about to beckon us to dinner.”

  To Nicole’s relief, the conversation remained light and frivolous during the course of dinner, and it was not until they rose from the table that Valentin had a moment alone with her.

  “Come into the library, will you Nicole?”

  “Is… is anything the matter?” she asked tremulously as she accompanied him to the library.

  “I do not know. That is what I was about to ask you.”. “Me? Why no. What could be wrong?”

  He shrugged. “I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Everything is fine.” Nicole assured him eagerly. Then, “What made you ask?”

  “You are not acting like yourself.”

  “How am I acting?” Nicole asked warily.

  “I am not sure… jumpy.”

  “You are imagining it.” She laughed.

  Ignoring her comment, he added, “And you are pale.” Valentin took hold of her chin. “Are you ill?”

  “Oh no,” she protested. “A trifle fagged perhaps. All I need is a good night’s rest.”

  “We have been going pell-mell,” he agreed. “I hope you feel more yourself in the morning.” Lightly brushing his lips against hers and then studying her upturned face, he said, “Sleep well, my love.” As he was about to leave, he paused. “By the way, Nicole, I would not become too friendly right now with your cousin. His being French and turning up here at this time does not make him exactly persona grata.”

  Nicole bristled and without thinking asked, “Does the same then not apply to me?”

  “You? Why should
it? You are my wife!”

  “I happen to be French too!” she said defensively.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know what it means.” Miserable, Nicole sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.

  “Nicole?” Gently he removed her hands from her face, but she kept her eyes closed. “Look at me,” he commanded.

  Half afraid Nicole did, noting the concern in his face.

  “What is troubling you?”

  For an instant she almost blurted out her calamity. Then the fear of losing him rose up. Their relationship was too fragile yet to withstand the resurrection of Crawley and what had happened, so she lied. “I told you I am tired, and tomorrow I will be fine.”

  He was not convinced. “Can I not help you?”

  “Really, Val, it is nothing.”

  “Very well, my dear, if you insist. I shall not trouble you further.”

  “Enjoy yourself tonight.” She touched his cheek lightly with her fingers.

  “I shall return early.”

  “Then I will wait up for you.”

  “No, I want to see the color back in your cheeks tomorrow. So get to bed early and sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Valentin continued to be perplexed by his wife’s behavior. She was still pale and agitated the next day when he casually asked what her plans were, and he was struck by the look, of panic in her eyes. She insisted everything was all right, and he sensed her desire to resist his scrutiny. Frustrated by his inability to communicate with her, he stormed out of the house without a goodbye.

  Nicole was all but oblivious to her husband’s irritation and concern, so involved was she with her private fears. The hour had come for her to meet Beauchamp in the park and no plan to thwart his designs had presented itself to her. Somehow she had to find a way to get her letters returned to her before Valentin discovered the truth. Would it be possible to search his rooms for the incriminating articles? It was extremely dangerous, but so far it was the only idea that had occurred to her.

  “You have not heard a word I have been saying,” Cecily protested as they rode their mounts through the park that morning.

  “What… uh… I am sorry, Cecily, I was lost in my own thoughts.”

  “So I noticed. I was trying to tell you about my gown. The one I ordered for the Richmonds’ ball. Have you decided what you will wear?”

  “No, I have not given it much thought. Balls, regattas, picnics, soirées… to tell the truth, they interest me less all the time.”

  “Well, there is something that seems to interest you more!” Cecily pointed her riding crop toward Phillippe Beauchamp who immediately came to them.

  “Ladies, it is pleasing to see you. May I accompany you on your ride?”

  “By all means,” Cecily demurred. “I know you and Nicole must have much to discuss. Please do not let me stop you. I see my friends, the Wexfords, just ahead and I shall ride with them.”

  “That is not necessary, Cecily!” Nicole retorted.

  “Is it not? If you had not said so, I should say Monsieur Beauchamp would like nothing better. Besides, I really must speak to Karen Wexford.” Before Nicole could protest further, Cecily had spurred her horse ahead.

  “That deceitful shrew! She would do anything to create trouble!”

  “Let her go. She thinks to promote a love affair, eh? Perhaps it could be arranged?”

  Nicole stared at him with open contempt. “You? I loathe you!”

  “Why you little…” Phillippe caught himself. “Never mind that now. Have you brought information for me?”

  “What? Of course not!”

  “Then we shall meet again tomorrow.”

  “That is impossible! If I ride out every day to meet you, Cecily is sure to inform my husband. And if he were to grow suspicious…” She looked at him meaningfully.

  “Oui, we do not wish to jeopardize the situation. I ride here each morning. When information comes your way, meet me. Do not let too many days pass before I hear from you, ma petite, or I might grow impatient and have to come to your home, eh?”

  “Don’t do that! I will come to you!”

  He nodded his agreement.

  “How shall I get in touch with you if something urgent comes up?” She swallowed convulsively, afraid she sounded too eager. He must not suspect her true motive for asking.

  “You grow impatient to help?” His eyes narrowed, doubt registering in their depths.

  “I… I just wish to be prepared… in case… just in case something unexpected should happen.”

  “Send a message to the Hare and Hound, room eight. I usually can be found there in the early hours of the morning. It would be best to get a message to me then.”

  “I will remember.”

  “Bien, I shall see you soon, n’est-ce pas?” He doffed his hat and left her to catch up to Cecily.

  Chapter XVI

  By dinner time Nicole had decided that she must carry through her dangerous idea. Tomorrow she would not go to the theater with her husband and the Tilfords but would beg off by claiming a headache. Once they were gone and Madame Lafitte was in bed, she would go to the Hare and Hound and search Beauchamp’s room for the notes, handkerchief and earrings. With luck she would discover them and be home before anyone suspected anything.

  At first Nicole was anxious for the next twenty-four hours to pass, but when the time came, fears shook her resolve, and when Valentin rejected the idea of going to the theater without her, she almost gave up her plan. But then the dread of his discovering the truth reasserted itself, and Nicole pleaded with him to attend. He finally capitulated to her entreaty and left for the theater with the Tilfords.

  After Madame Lafitte and the household had settled down for the night, Nicole donned a black velvet cape and hood, placed a small mask over her face, and stealthily crept out of the house. She made it to the street without mishap. Before finding a hack, however, she had to walk the entire block. Several people stared, and one man even attempted to talk to her, but she kept her head down and resolutely walked on until he gave up and went away. She gave the driver directions to stop a short distance from the inn. Then Nicole settled back for what seemed like an interminable ride to the Hare and Hound.

  By promising the driver a handsome sum of money for the return trip, he agreed to wait for her. If he thought her behavior peculiar, he gave no sign of it and slouched down in his seat to wait. Nicole scurried away toward the shabby inn.

  Her heart pounding violently, Nicole peered through a dirty window into a small waiting room which seemed deserted. As her eyes scanned the dimly lighted lodging for any occupants, she noticed a closed door behind a reception desk, and to the right an archway leading to a parlor. At the far left was the staircase. The unoccupied room presented the perfect opportunity for her to enter unseen and get up those stairs, yet her legs would not move: Reminding herself of the consequences of failing to obtain the correspondence, Nicole forced her shaking limbs to respond. The inn door was ajar and she slipped through undetected. Proceeding cautiously toward the stairs and gaining the first step, Nicole almost cried out as they creaked beneath her feet. Alarmed at possible discovery, she dashed madly up the winding stairs and reached the first landing. Catching her breath, she started down the ill-lighted passage scanning the numbers until she reached number eight, Beauchamp’s room. Earlier she had taken the precaution of sending a message to Phillippe at the Hare and Hound to make certain he was out for the evening. Unfortunately, Cecily had caught sight of the unopened missive on its return, but Nicole could not worry about that now. She put her ear to the door and listened for any sounds from within. Hearing nothing, she placed a trembling hand on the knob and turned it, but the door did not budge. She groaned, realizing it was locked, but she was prepared for this, and yanking a large hairpin from her head, she applied it to the flimsy lock. Silently thanking a former school mate for such knowledge, she opened the door and stole inside.


  After growing accustomed to the dark, Nicole lighted a candle and stepped to the center of the chamber. Glancing about the room which contained only a chair, a bed, and a bureau, she decided to investigate the contents of the bureau first. Casting her muff up on the bed and crossing to the chest, she managed to open the top drawer after a brief struggle with a loosened handle. Neckcloths and handkerchiefs were all that it contained. Nicole was careful not to disturb the contents. Then she opened the next drawer. Again nothing. Franctically she pulled at another… then another. Still nothing. Whirling about she cast an anxious eye toward the bed. Kneeling beside it, she searched underneath the mattress and then below. Here she discovered a trunk. Dragging it out and flinging it open, Nicole found a compartment crammed with papers.

  At that moment her attention was drawn to a sound at the door. With trembling hands she reached for her muff and secured the small silver-handled pistol inside. Then she rose to face the intruder as the door flew open.

  “Val!” she screamed and collapsed on the edge of the bed. “Oh no, no,” she moaned pounding her hand against the bedpost.

  Holding his gun poised, Valentin strode into the room and demanded savagely, “Where is your lover?”

  “You have it all wrong—all wrong!”

  Coming to her and lifting the pistol from her numbed fingers, he eyed the small weapon and then her. “Have I indeed, madame?” His voice was a cold whiplash. “Apparently a clandestine meeting in the middle of the night should not be construed as anything out of the ordinary.”

  “But… how did you know that I was here?”

  He stared at her. It would not be wise to tell her Cecily had come to him that evening bearing her tale of malice…

  “So, cousin, you go to the theater. after all, leaving your wife alone.”

  “Nicole insisted. She is fatigued…”

  “Oh, Valentin!” she spat at him cutting him off. “She deceives you!”

  “You better explain that remark!” he warned her hotly.

  “Val, are you so blind that you don’t see what is going on between Nicole and Phillippe Beauchamp?”