“Not then, but she did support her mother and her brothers and sisters. A few years later, she met the comte and eventually they married.”
“And then she started this place?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t until Marceline’s husband died—”
“Leaving her penniless?”
“Would you let me tell the story?” She huffed.
“You could tell it a little faster.”
“I shall do my best.” She thought for a moment. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Marceline was left enough to live quite well on. As I understand it, it was a chance conversation between the two women, reflecting upon their respective circumstances and how but for the grace of God it all could have been so much worse for both of them. And how truly dreadful life was for some women who, through no fault of their own, were in the position of not knowing how to feed themselves, or worse, their children.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And they decided someone should do something. But the government didn’t care and the church was entirely too restrictive, so they started Maison d’Espoir.”
“Maison is house, I think. House of?”
“Hope.” Violet shook her head. “Hope is in short supply for women who find themselves penniless, without family to fall back on. You’ve seen women in London, in places like Whitechapel. Do you think they do what they do because they want to? Because they have other choices? They have no hope, James. No possibility of a better life.
“This place gives women a place to stay, to learn some sort of skill that will lead to a respectable job. For most of them that begins with learning to read and write. Frequently, they come with children and their children are taught, as well.”
“I can see why you support it.”
“Actually, you support it.”
“You spend your allowance on this,” he said slowly, although he had already surmised as much.
“Not all of it. I do like fashionable clothes and nice places to stay.” She shrugged. “But I do what I can. You’ve been quite generous. It’s not a dreadful sacrifice to cut corners where possible. Besides, it’s rather fun to travel without accoutrements all the time. There’s far more freedom and independence when one isn’t dragging around an entourage and a mountain of luggage. It makes everything so much more of an adventure.”
“I see.” At once her comments about expenses made sense. “So was this yet another test? Bringing me here?”
She looked at him in surprise then smiled. “I suppose it depends.”
“On?”
“How well you do.” She turned to watch the streets passing by the carriage, apparently lost in her own thoughts.
As was James. He’d never paid attention to what Violet did with her allowance. It was hers to do with as she pleased. That it pleased her to help others should have come as no surprise and yet it did. A reflection no doubt of his own lack of awareness about the needs of those less fortunate. He would have to do something about that when he returned home, hopefully with Violet’s help.
There was a note from Mrs. Ryland at the front desk when they arrived at the hotel.
“Cleo has booked us on the night train to Milan.” Violet scanned the note. “Excellent, as we’ll then cross the Alps during daylight.”
“We will?” His stomach lurched at the thought.
“Oh, you always want to travel through the Alps by daylight. The scenery is breathtaking. Besides, it’s much safer.”
“Is it?”
“Without question. I can’t tell you the stories I’ve heard from passengers who have been forced to disembark in the middle of nowhere because of avalanches or heavy snowfall. We really should have no problems at this time of year, but one never knows,” Violet said absently, her gaze still on Mrs. Ryland’s note. “From Milan, we’ll take trains to Bologna and on to Florence. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, we should be there in two days.” She refolded the note and glanced at him. “Did you still wish to see something of Paris?”
“Absolutely.” He had no particular desire to see Paris, but anything that kept Violet by his side was worthwhile.
“I can’t think of anything I can show you in the time we have. We could go to the Louvre, of course, but we probably couldn’t see more than one gallery if that.”
Good. He wasn’t overly fond of old art. “Then show me just one sight. Your favorite, perhaps.”
“A favorite? In Paris? Impossible.” She thought for a moment then smiled. “But I do know just the thing.” She took his arm and led him back through the doors to the street. “And I shall show you a bit of Paris on the way.”
“Where are we going?” He nodded to the doorman who hailed an open-air carriage. Apparently there were some things that needed no translation.
Violet gave the driver directions and James helped her into the vehicle. “We’re going to the most popular spot in Paris.”
He’d seen any number of places on his only visit to Paris that were extremely popular but he couldn’t imagine Violet taking him to one of those. Still... “Scandalous, is it?”
“I’d never take you anywhere scandalous, James. You would enjoy it entirely too much.” A prim note sounded in her voice.
“Not scandalous then?” He adopted a forlorn expression.
“Not really, although it has been the center of controversy.”
“That will have to do, I suppose.” He sighed. “But I am disappointed.”
“I daresay the last thing you need is a visit to anything remotely scandalous.”
“I don’t know.” He grinned. “A little scandal on occasion is probably good for the soul.”
“I doubt your soul could handle any more scandal.”
“Bloody hell, Violet.” He drew his brows together. “I haven’t done anything the least bit untoward for the last two or three years.”
“I know.” She waved at the building next to the hotel when they pulled away from the curb. “That’s the Palais Garnier, the Paris Opera House. The inside is even grander than the outside. The marble staircase is quite extraordinary.”
He ignored her. “What do you mean—you know?”
“Aside from the fact that Uncle Richard made it a point to continually mention your reformation, the gossip about you has been considerably less in recent years. Practically nonexistent. Why, your name hasn’t been linked with another woman’s in quite some time.” She nodded toward a building resembling a Greek temple. “That is La Madeleine, a Roman Catholic church. Construction on it began under Louis XV, I believe, but the design changed and building was stopped by the revolution. It wasn’t completed until oh, some fifty years ago.”
“Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“Well, yes.” She shrugged. “I suppose it tells me revolutions are not conducive to building projects.”
“No.” He huffed. “About me.”
“Probably.” She glanced around. “This is the Place de la Concorde.”
“I’ve become almost dull, you know.”
“I doubt that.” She frowned. “Now, do you want to hear about the sights of Paris or not?”
Not! “Do go on.”
“As I was saying, this is the Place de la Concorde.”
On their left was a large rectangular square with fountains and statues and everything one expected to see in a large square. Not especially interesting.
“The obelisk was a gift from Egypt—”
“As was the one in London,” he said pointedly. “It’s been my experience that if you’ve seen one obelisk, there’s no need to see any more.”
She ignored him. “The fountains are two of the loveliest in Paris, the allegorical figures—gods, goddesses and nymphs—on one denoting rivers, the other the seas.” She waved to one side. “From here you can see the Tuileries Gardens and the Louvre in that di
rection—” she gestured in the opposite direction “—and to the west, you can see the Arc de Triomphe de l’étoile.”
The massive structure loomed against the afternoon sun. “It’s rather hard to miss.”
“It’s said to be the largest such arch in the world. Napoléon’s work, of course.”
“Well, you know what they say about men who erect enormous monuments to their triumphs.”
“No.” The corners of her lips twitched and a distinct challenge shone in her eyes. “What do they say?”
“They say such men are trying to make up for a physical lack of some sort.”
“Yes, well, he was short, wasn’t he?”
“Apparently.” He choked back a laugh. “I’m certain that’s what it was.”
“Keep in mind, James.” She met his gaze directly. “Just as you are not the same man you were, I am not the same woman I was.”
“I am well aware of that.”
She turned her attention back to the square. “It is lovely but even the fountains and the statues and the charming views cannot negate the history of the place.”
Oh, good, history. He winced. “History is yet another area where I am deficient.”
“During the revolution, this is where the guillotine was,” she said in a manner entirely too casual for the topic. “This particular obelisk marks the spot where it stood. More than a thousand people lost their lives here. Most of them for little more than the misfortune to be born of noble families.”
“Scarcely a hundred years ago,” he murmured. Entirely too close in time for comfort. It was no doubt only in his mind but it did seem the sky darkened for a moment. A chill crawled up his back.
They turned onto an avenue bordering the Seine. Violet nodded toward the river. “A fair number of unidentified bodies are found in the Seine every year. They end up at the Paris morgue. The morgue has long been one of the most popular sights in Paris.”
“Is that where we’re going?” He really had no desire to see the dead of Paris.
“No.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you want to?”
“Not especially.” He paused. “Do you?”
“No.” She shivered. “I went once and it was quite enough, thank you. There’s something terribly sad about seeing a body no one cares enough about to claim.” She grimaced. “And even sadder to see how many people delight in viewing those poor souls.” The carriage slowed to a stop. “Oh, good, we’re here.”
“Are we?” He helped her out of the carriage. They were standing in front of a grand drive leading to a large curved front building with towers and wings on either side. The architectural style was not apparent—it struck him as a mix of far east and perhaps Moorish elements. “This is the most popular spot in Paris?”
“No.” She adjusted her parasol. “This is Le Trocadero, a concert hall. It was built for an exposition. Parisians are quite fond of expositions and world fairs. There’s another planned for next year.” She turned toward the river. “That’s what I wanted to show you.”
On the other side of the Seine, a massive iron structure was under construction. It looked like a giant, unfinished skeleton of some prehistoric beast supported by wooden scaffolding.
“Do you know what that is?” An innocent note sounded in her voice. Another test, no doubt.
“Of course, I know what it is.” He scoffed. “That’s Monsieur Eiffel’s tower. Or the base of it anyway.”
“Very good, James.”
“I’m not completely uninformed, you know. Even at home I’ve seen pictures recounting the structure’s progress.” He nodded toward the construction. Above the four-legged square base of the tower, arms of lattice-like iron reached toward the sky. “They completed the first level two months ago, if I recall correctly. Now they’re on the second stage and it appears already halfway finished.”
She stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“A man less sure of himself than I would take offense at the doubt in your voice,” he said mildly.
Her eyes shone with amusement. “Fortunately, you have no lack of confidence.”
“Indeed.” He studied the structure for several minutes. What had been built so far was remarkable. The finished tower truly would be a modern marvel. “I’ve always been fond of architecture and engineering. I find it fascinating. I would have pursued the study of architecture in school but that would have required, oh, what’s the word?”
“Effort?” she suggested.
“Exactly.” He smiled. “Besides, my future was laid out for me when I became Uncle Richard’s heir. I didn’t see the point of studying anything that I would never use.”
“Do you regret that?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.” He considered the idea for a moment. “I rather like the management of property and business interests. I never expected to, but I seem to have some sort of knack for it.” He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the tower. “I have a fair number of regrets, but no, that is not one of them.”
“I see.”
“Are you now going to ask me about my regrets?”
“I can well imagine with all those terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes you’ve made.”
“Admitting them doesn’t mean I regret them all.” He chuckled and changed the subject, nodding at the tower. “From what I’ve read, there was considerable debate over the design.”
She nodded. “Some people absolutely hate it. But I think it’s going to be grand. Higher than the pyramids and they’re magnificent.”
He raised his brow. “You’ve been to the pyramids?”
“I have.” She nodded. “I’ve even climbed to the top of the Great Pyramid.” Her chin lifted and she gazed at the metal structure. “You miss a great deal when you don’t climb to the top.”
“I shall remember that. Perhaps we can come back when it’s finished,” he added in an offhand manner.
“I would like to see the view from the top.” She cast the structure a wistful look then turned to him. “We should return to the hotel. We leave in a few hours.”
He signaled for a cab and a few minutes later they were on their way. Violet gazed at the passing scenery, unexpectedly quiet.
“Aren’t you going to point out the sights on our way back?” he teased.
“They’re the same ones we saw on the way here.” She sighed. “Sometimes I find myself forgetting how angry I am at you.”
He grinned. “Then my plan is working.”
“And what plan would that be?”
“My plan to work my way into your affections so you will then forgive me for everything. And you must admit, we have had a nice day together.”
“I shall have to correct that tomorrow,” she said in a lofty manner, but the corners of her mouth quirked, as if she were holding back a smile.
It wasn’t much, but it did seem a solid step forward. And for today, it was enough.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
OF ALL THE places in the world she’d been fortunate enough to visit, Florence had laid claim to her heart. While some ancient buildings in the heart of the city had been razed in recent years to provide new squares and wider boulevards in the manner of Paris or Vienna, most of Florence was like a step back in time. Narrow, winding streets promised ancient mysteries and lingering magic. Certainly in London there were narrow passageways every bit as old, but there was something different here. Here, it seemed the veil between the past and the present dimmed, fading to nothing more than a state of mind. Walking the same streets once trod by Da Vinci and Michelangelo, by Dante and Botticelli, Violet could feel the vitality of life in the Renaissance when Florence was a city-state at the height of its glory. Here, it was hard to remember the twentieth century was fast approaching.
History and art and music pulsed in the very air around her in Florence. A silly, fanciful notion of cour
se, but one that had claimed her on her first visit and never left. There were those in the world who believed one’s soul continued after death to be reborn over and over through the ages. If she believed in such things, Violet would have said Florence was the home of her soul.
James had insisted he and Marcus would collect their luggage and meet them at the pensione that was their favorite place to stay in Florence. Violet preferred to keep their group together as neither James nor Marcus had mentioned knowing the languag, but James was not at all his usual self. Indeed, he hadn’t been his usual self for much of the journey from Paris. Violet gave them the address, then she and Cleo hailed a cab and went on ahead to the Palazzo Enpoli, near the cathedral.
“I did send a telegram, but there’s no guarantee Lady Fenton will have rooms available,” Cleo said.
“We shall have to take our chances.” Violet surveyed the passing scenery, the red-tile-roofed buildings, natives going about their daily business, carts filled with produce and goods for the markets, tourists strolling with guidebooks in hand. “It simply makes it that much more of an adventure.”
“You do realize there are times when your definition of adventure and mine are completely at odds,” Cleo said wryly.
Violet laughed.
“At this time of year, I’d be shocked if she had more than one vacant room. So I also sent a telegram to the Hotel dei Pucci requesting a room.” Cleo paused. “Marcus and I will stay there.”
Violet raised a brow. “You requested just one room?”
Cleo nodded.
“I see.” Violet shouldn’t have been the least bit shocked and yet she was. But Cleo was a widow, after all, nearing thirty and certainly smart enough to know what she was doing. It had been clear from the moment they met that she and Marcus were attracted to one another. Even so... “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“Dear Lord, yes.”
“I really don’t think that kind of enthusiasm is, well, seemly, is it?” Violet knew how prudish she sounded but she couldn’t help herself. This was not at all like Cleo, who was usually far more concerned with propriety than Violet. Which did seem to indicate Cleo’s feelings for Marcus were more serious than Violet had suspected.
The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 22
