The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After

by Alexander, Victoria

  “I do trust you, Marcus,” James said at last. “If you think telling me is a mistake, then don’t tell me.”

  “Wise decision.” Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. “You still want to stay in her good graces. You do need her, you know.”

  “I am doing my best.” His gaze returned to the streets of Paris. “And not merely for the inheritance.”

  “So it is love, then?”

  “You asked me once before and I wasn’t sure of the answer.” He met his friend’s gaze. “Now I am.”

  “Yes, I noticed how affectionate the two of you were yesterday.”

  “A momentary aberration.” James waved off the comment.

  “You do realize fighting with her is not the same thing as fighting for her?”

  “Oh, I fully intend to fight for her regardless of whether that fight is with a former lover or Violet herself. Once I prove to her whatever it is she wants me to prove we can move on.” His resolve hardened. “She wanted me to follow her and I have, which does seem a point in my favor. With any luck, we can now return home.”

  “One can only hope.” Marcus paused. “So, your reluctance to travel, I assume that’s due to the little problem you had on the channel crossing.”

  “Figured that out did you?”

  “And if she decides to travel on to Italy and Greece?”

  “Then we shall all go to Italy and Greece.” Determination rang in his voice, but his stomach lurched.

  “I can hardly wait.” Marcus braced his hands on the railing and gazed out at the city. “Do you intend to call on her now or wait until tonight?”

  Marcus had spoken to Mrs. Ryland before she and Violet left yesterday. It had been obvious for some time that Marcus liked the woman—why, he had managed to find her a flat in the same building he resided in—but James was confident whatever was brewing between them was not significant. A minor flirtation perhaps, nothing more than that. Marcus would confide in him if it was anything serious. If Marcus were truly interested in Mrs. Ryland, James would have to talk some sense into him, save him from himself. How could his closest friend possibly be involved with a woman who detested him? Although she was quite attractive and remarkably efficient. She had given Marcus hotel recommendations, had urged him to telegraph ahead for reservations and provided the name of the hotel manager, although she and Violet were apparently staying at the comte’s grand Paris house. And wasn’t that convenient? Mrs. Ryland had also told Marcus about a ball for the comte’s birthday tonight. There were invitations waiting for them when they arrived at the hotel, for which James was reluctantly grateful. The woman did not like him, but she had been extraordinarily helpful, although James was certain it was more for Marcus’s benefit than his own.

  “Tonight will do. It’s my turn to surprise her. What better place than at a ball.”

  “Because you and she have such fond memories of the balls you’ve attended?”

  “Because dancing with her is one of the great pleasures of life.”

  “Tell her, not me.” Marcus considered him wryly. “You could have saved us all a great deal of trouble if you had declared yourself to Violet yesterday, unless you have any doubts.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what I want and how I feel.” The blasted woman already had his heart—now he just had to win hers.

  Marcus’s brow furrowed in confusion. “And?”

  “I simply don’t see why I can’t have it all.” He shrugged. “The lady and the legacy.”

  Marcus snorted back a laugh. “You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend.”

  “A game that requires strategy, outwitting one’s opponent and never revealing what you’re thinking. Yet another challenge.”

  “I believe they call that love.” Genuine sympathy shone in Marcus’s eyes. “You do realize you might lose everything.”

  “I’ve always been good with the turn of a card or the roll of the dice, especially when the stakes are high. The stakes have never been higher.” Determination edged his words. “And I intend to win it all.”

  IT DID SEEM to James if one was going to volunteer to accompany someone on a trip to Paris, one might have made clear one’s knowledge of the language was minimal.

  Marcus’s schoolboy French was no better than James’s and James was well aware his was practically nonexistent. Thanks to their lack of prowess with the language, an incomprehensible map and carriage drivers with a dislike of anyone English, by the time they reached the comte’s grand mansion in a fashionable area of equally grand houses just off the Champs-Élysées the comte’s birthday ball was well underway. They were announced at the entrance to the ballroom, but the crowd was such that James was certain no one heard their names. Or cared.

  “Now what?” Marcus surveyed the gathering.

  “Now, I’m going to find my wife.” James adjusted his cuffs. “I would like to meet the comte, as well.”

  “You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

  “You mean like demand she return home at once?” James shook his head. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “Good. You do need to watch your step.”

  “I am well aware of that.” If they were at home, James could simply ask someone if they’d seen Violet. This would take a bit more effort. Still, a charming manner and equally charming smile knew no language barriers.

  “As I have no desire to witness your happy reunion, I believe I shall leave you to it.” Marcus nodded and wandered deeper into the throng, no doubt to find Mrs. Ryland.

  James scanned the milling multitude. It wasn’t easy, the room was packed with celebrants. It was apparent from the distinguished appearance of the gentlemen present, the elegant clothes and the sparkling jewels adorning every lady in the room that this was the very cream of Paris society. He adopted his most engaging smile and made his way through the crowd, keeping to the perimeter of the overflowing dance floor, murmuring a polite bon soir and nodding in feigned greeting as he went. He finally spotted Violet moving from one small cluster of guests to another. His heart sped up. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. If he missed her this much after a single day, how would he feel if he lost her forever? His stomach twisted at the thought.

  She moved with grace and elegance, completely at ease. As if she belonged here. It did appear she was more at home in a ballroom in Paris than she had been in London. Without warning, the thought struck him—could she possibly be happy with him? And worse—was he worthy of her? He pushed aside the disquieting notion.

  Violet greeted an elderly gentleman on the far side of the ballroom and began what appeared to be a serious discussion, judging by the stiff lines of her posture. This was the Comte de Viviers, no doubt. He was definitely a contemporary in age of Richard’s, even if he did strike James as being a bit more lively than his uncle had been. But then he was French and the French were well-known for their carefree ways, which probably did indeed make a difference in a man’s waning years.

  “Pardonnez moi.” An elegant older woman stepped to his side. “Êtes-vous Lord Ellsworth? J’ai voulu vous rencontrer depuis longtemps, mais je ne savais pas que vous étiez à Paris.”

  At once he regretted the lack of attention he’d paid in his youth when earnest instructors had tried and failed to teach him French. Or any other language, for that matter. Aside from his name, he had no idea what she said. He shook his head in apology. “I am sorry, but I’m afraid my French is limited to la plume de ma tante est bleue.”

  The lady’s brows drew together. “Why would the pen of your aunt be blue?” she said in accented English.

  “I have no idea.” He grinned. “But that’s the only phrase I can remember from my attempt to learn French as a boy.”

  “A rather worthless phrase though, is it not?” Amusement gleamed in her eyes. She was a handsome woman, obviously quite striking in her younger days, now somewhere i
n her sixties or seventies, he thought. It was really impossible to tell.

  “It is indeed.” He chuckled. “Unless of course I was attempting to find my aunt’s pen, in which case knowing the color would be of benefit.”

  “You are amusing.” She laughed. “And your apology is accepted. You are the Earl of Ellsworth, no?”

  “I am,” he said cautiously.

  “There is no need to be suspicious. I heard your name announced.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t—”

  Her brow rose.

  He smiled wryly. “Again, my apologies.”

  “It is difficult when one doesn’t understand anything everyone around you is saying. When you are a—what is the term?” She thought for a minute. “Ah, yes, a fish out of the water.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Do not be a goose, certainement I do.” She smiled. “We have all, on occasion, felt like fish out of the water, flopping around in desperation. It is only natural.”

  “I suppose it is.” He studied her. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who would ever feel out of place.”

  “What a charming thing to say. But I am French. French women never allow our moments of uncertainty to show.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer in a confidential manner. “We cover them with loud voices and the occasional flinging of pottery.”

  He chuckled. “Even so, I suspect those moments are few and far between.”

  “You are a charming devil, but then I expected nothing less.”

  Expected? He drew his brows together. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “How delightful of me.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.”

  “Mystery is part of the fun of a chance encounter, is it not? Ah, but you have nothing to drink. That will not do.” She peered around him, nodded to someone and a moment later a waiter in a powdered wig and ornate livery appeared with a tray of champagne. James took a glass and handed one to her.

  “Merci.” She took a sip. “There is nothing better than excellent champagne on a fine spring evening.”

  “In any language.” He grinned and took a sip. It was indeed excellent. His gaze strayed to Violet still talking to the comte.

  “I see you found your wife.”

  He frowned. “How did you know I was looking for my wife?”

  “A man has a certain look upon his face when he is looking for something.” She smiled in a knowing manner. “And another when he has found it.”

  “Yes, well—”

  “I heard your name announced, remember? And you did not arrive with her.” She shrugged. “It was a simple observation. Nothing more than that.”

  “Of course.” He did need to be less suspicious. It probably had something to do with that fish out of water feeling. “So, do you know the comte well?”

  She sipped her wine. “I was once his mistress.”

  “Were you?”

  “A very long time ago. We were quite young then.” Her gaze settled on the comte. “He was one of those men who feared the confines of marriage but could not resist the lure of love.” A serene smile curved her lips. “Love, my lord, is usually irresistible.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” He blew a long breath. “My wife and I are, well, we have been, oh, estranged is the right way to put it.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You do?”

  “I have known her since her first trip to Paris. She is a lovely woman. Very kind and very smart. She never speaks of you.” She slanted him a shrewd smile. “But she never said you were dead, either.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.” James braced himself. “So she and the comte are close?”

  “Very.”

  His stomach twisted. “I see.”

  “He thinks of her as one would a daughter.”

  “A daughter?” He brightened.

  “Or perhaps a niece.” She nodded in the direction of Violet and the comte. “Gerard was an old friend of your uncle’s. When she first came to France, she arrived with a letter of introduction from him. She stayed, oh, six months or so if I recall. Gerard has welcomed her as family ever since.”

  He sipped his wine and tried not to grin. He’d never been so pleased to be wrong before.

  She glanced at him. “You thought it was something else, did you not? Something of an affaire d’amour, perhaps?”

  “No, of course not.” He scoffed.

  She cast him a skeptical look.

  “Well, there have been rumors,” he said weakly.

  “And you did not know her well enough to know whether they were true or not?”

  “I thought I did once but...” Who was this woman anyway? He frowned. “I say, you seem to know a great deal about Violet and me. I thought she never spoke of me.”

  “She did not, until her arrival yesterday. But Gerard and your uncle corresponded regularly. You would be surprised at how much I know.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t even know your name and yet I daresay at this point, that would not surprise me.”

  “Julienne.”

  “What?”

  “My name. I am Julienne.”

  “James.” He raised his glass to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Julienne.”

  She regarded him with interest. “She does not know you are here, does she?”

  “I intended to surprise her.”

  “And catch her unawares if indeed she was engaged in pursuits of an intimate nature?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” he said indignantly. He could honestly say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “I had intended it as a surprise. A good surprise. Proof, I suppose, of my intentions.”

  “And your intentions are to win her heart?”

  He stared. “Why would you say that?”

  That knowing smile again creased her lips. “I am French.”

  “And you know when a man is looking for something?”

  “Exactement.” She considered him thoughtfully. “And are you up to the task of winning her heart?”

  “I don’t know.” His tone hardened. “But I don’t intend to fail.”

  “There is something about determination in a man that can be most appealing. That will serve you well.” She nodded in Violet’s direction. “Come, I will introduce you to the comte.”

  He hesitated. “You and the comte are still friends, then?”

  “But of course.” She took his arm and they started toward Violet and the comte. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he must make choices. Decide what is more important to him. What he cannot live without. Do you understand?”

  James nodded.

  “In Gerard’s case, it was his freedom or me.”

  “I can’t imagine any man choosing anything over you,” he said staunchly.

  “My dear Lord Ellsworth, you are so very gallant.” She chuckled. “But you misunderstand. He did choose me.”

  “You said you used to be his mistress.”

  “And indeed I was. Now, however—” a satisfied note sounded in her voice “—I am his wife.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I HAVE BEEN trying ever since my arrival for a private word with you.” In spite of her best efforts, frustration rang in Violet’s voice. Frustration that went far beyond concern about her finances. She refused to dwell on James’s decision not to accompany her, or his six-year lie or his kiss. At least not right now, although none of it was ever far from her mind. Or her heart. Best to deal with one problem at a time. There was, however, something rather gratifying about being frustrated while speaking French. As if the language itself was conducive to expressing frustration. “I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding speaking with me.”

  “On the contrary, my dear Viol
et.” The comte smiled. “You told us all about the circumstances you find yourself in upon your arrival yesterday. And we had a lively discussion at dinner last night.”

  “It was late and there were twenty other people there.”

  “It is my birthday.” He shook his head in a chastising manner. “Surely you do not begrudge me the company of my friends on my birthday.”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “It is not every day a man reaches the grand age of eighty-one.” He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I should be allowed to enjoy myself without having to talk of serious matters.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you’ve thrown a grand birthday ball every year since you turned sixty.”

  “Fifty.” He grinned in an unrepentant manner. “One never knows which birthday will be one’s last.”

  “You are entirely too stubborn to let this birthday be your last,” she teased. “We marked your birthday last night and again today—when exactly is your birthday?”

  He chuckled. “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not.” She smiled reluctantly. The man really was a dear, in many ways the French version of Uncle Richard. Still, there were things she needed to know. “But we do need to talk about my trust.”

  “I wrote to you, did I not?”

  “Well, yes, but it made no sense.”

  “It is most confusing.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Even at his advanced age, the Comte de Viviers was the least helpless man she had ever met. “Government regulations. Laws regarding finance.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “What can you do?”

  “You wrote that my money is gone. All of it.”

  “Today, yes.” His eyes twinkled. “But tomorrow, we shall see.”

  “So there’s hope?” she said slowly.

  “There is always hope, my delightful flower. Finances are like love.” He raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “They ebb and flow.”