Miss Fortescue's Protector in Paris

by Amanda McCabe

  He scowled as he remembered Emily’s expression as she told him about being grabbed in the street. Emily never showed fear; she always tried to treat such things as jokes. But he had seen that look in her eyes, the slight tremble of her hand. He worried she was involved in something she couldn’t understand, that her intelligence and idealism would lead her into more trouble. She had even seemed grateful when he took her away from James Hertford at the party, though she was very quiet as they danced afterwards.

  He pushed himself up from his chair and crossed the sparsely furnished sitting room to his small bookshelf. One of the volumes was a hollowed-out copy of Aristotle, tucked amongst the other dusty volumes. Inside were hidden a few papers, a diary—and a fading pink-silk ribbon.

  He took it out and turned it over in his fingers. It still smelled faintly of Emily’s spring jasmine perfume and he remembered the day she gave it to him. The Parisian sunlight, the green, heated smell of the hedge maze, the laughter of the party. The way her lips tasted under his, making him hungry for more.

  He wasn’t really sure why he kept the ribbon. It should remind him of feelings he couldn’t have, dreams he had to let go. But now he saw it as a sort of pledge. The chivalrous knight protecting the lady whose favour he bore—even if she never knew he did. Even if she would turn him away.

  He closed his hand over the scrap of silk. He would go to Paris—and he would accept Mr Fortescue’s task. He had to make sure Emily was safe.

  There was a quick knock at the door and then a note slid underneath. He crept over to pick it up, listening as Mrs Hodges’s heavy footsteps retreated. At least she was just delivering his mail at the moment, not being nosy. He slit the letter open and saw it was a note from Albert Fortescue.

  The man wanted him to come to the Fortescue house and talk more about protecting Emily in Paris. The timing could not have been more perfect.

  * * *

  Emily saw the glow of firelight from beneath her father’s library door when she returned home from an appointment with the silk importers’ warehouses. She unpinned her hat, and called, ‘Father, I’m just going to change for dinner now. Sorry I’m late!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that now, Emily,’ he called back. ‘Could you just come in for a moment?’

  Puzzled by his quiet, thoughtful tone, she hurried into the library. Her father sat next to the fire, wrapped in a loose, burgundy-velvet jacket rather than his dinner suit. There were no other lights in the room except the crackling fire, and a bottle of brandy sat on the table next to him. It was not his usual evening routine at all.

  ‘Are you quite well?’ she cried, rushing over to kneel beside him. She took his hands in hers and they were alarmingly cold. His face looked rather pale, too.

  ‘The doctor did come to see me this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Just a touch of dropsy again. I just need a few quiet evenings and all will be well again.’

  Emily felt terribly frightened. ‘Father! I knew you were looking tired of late. Why didn’t you tell me? We should go to Switzerland...’

  ‘Emily, my dearest.’ He gave her a gentle smile and laid his hand against her cheek. ‘There is no time to talk about such things now. A caller is arriving soon.’

  She was baffled, confused, alarmed. What was her father doing? ‘A caller? At this hour, and in your condition? Surely they can be put off.’

  Albert firmly shook his head. ‘It is too important. We both have to see him. I have something to ask you both.’

  ‘Ask us? I’m afraid I don’t understand. Who is this caller? And no matter what, you should be in bed, getting some rest.’

  ‘Soon, my dear, very soon. Just have some patience. I know that is not the easiest thing for you!’ A knock sounded at the front door and she could hear the butler hurrying to answer it. ‘Ah, there he is now. Most prompt. Always a good sign.’

  Emily sat back on the chair beside her father, wondering if this illness was more serious than he claimed, if in fact it was making him lose his mind. Whoever this caller was, she would make sure he left quickly and her father rested.

  To her shock, it was Chris who appeared in the library, his golden hair damp from the evening fog gathering outside. He looked almost as confused as she felt and Emily shivered with a cold sense of foreboding. What on earth was her father about?

  ‘Mr Fortescue,’ he said. ‘Emily. I received your note. Is anything amiss? How can I help?’

  ‘This is the first I have heard of you being expected here at all,’ she answered.

  Albert chuckled and poured out three snifters of the brandy. ‘Not at all, Mr Blakely. I simply have a great favour to ask of you, of both of you. An indulgence to an old man, if you will. Please, do sit down. Have a brandy, it’s becoming a wretched night out there.’

  Chris sat down in the armchair across from them, backlit with the firelight, but Emily could see the lines of wariness around his eyes. ‘I am happy to help friends, if I can.’

  ‘Of course you are. You are a very good sort of chap, even if my daughter might not always agree,’ Albert said with a laugh.

  ‘Father!’ Emily protested, mortified. ‘Christopher is perfectly—entertaining.’

  ‘Entertaining?’ Chris snorted. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ she said, feeling her cheeks turn too warm. She gulped down her brandy, wishing this strange evening was over. Or maybe she was dreaming it all?

  ‘Which is just one of the reasons you are the only one I could call on for help,’ said Albert. ‘As you know, Emily is going to Paris soon to see to some of our business concerns. My doctor has told me I should not travel right now, but I can’t see her alone so far away.’

  Chris watched Albert very carefully, his eyes narrowed, his glass turning slowly in his hand. Emily wondered what that look could mean. He did not seem very surprised. ‘I can understand that. And I am happy to look in on Miss Fortescue whenever possible, since I will be in France myself.’

  ‘Chris!’ Emily cried. ‘You are not my nanny. I don’t need looking in on.’

  Albert waved his hand. ‘Absolutely right, my dear. You need no nanny. But though I understand that you, Mr Blakely, are a good friend to my daughter, as well as brother-in-law to her best friend, I also understand that there is the danger of gossip when a man and woman are seen to be—friendly. What I would ask now, and this may seem rather outlandish, but do hear me out, is that you pretend to be my daughter’s suitor. A serious contender for her hand. Maybe even her new fiancé.’

  Emily was beyond appalled. She slammed her glass down on the table and glanced between the two men as if she could almost see the madness in the air. ‘Father, what do you mean by this? I told you, I do not want a suitor right now. And Chris would be...’ Chris would be—what? Too much fun? Too dangerous? Too painful once the charade ended?

  ‘You needn’t actually marry him, my dear. Merely give the impression that you are considering it. Then you can go about your business with everyone knowing you have a protector and I will know you aren’t alone in a different city.’

  Emily scowled. She looked at Chris, but somehow he did not seem nearly as surprised and appalled as she was by the suggestion. ‘How exactly is he supposed to court me, then?’

  Albert laughed. ‘Oh, it’s been too many years since I’ve had to do such a thing, but I’m sure it hasn’t changed that much. Dancing, walking in the park, going for drives? The theatre, maybe. The Louvre. I used to hide letters in gifts of sheet music to your mother. That sort of thing.’

  ‘It would not be so difficult,’ Chris said carefully, shocking Emily deeply. Surely courting one lady would be injurious to his reputation?

  ‘Chris, surely you can’t be considering this?’ she said.

  He gave her a crooked little smile, the one that always seemed to make all her practicality melt away. ‘It’s never a hardship to spend time with yo
u, Em. And we’ll be in Paris. It might be fun. If we could spare ourselves a little unwanted attention from others...’

  ‘Unwanted attention?’ she said, puzzled. She imagined Chris might be something of a deterrent if someone wanted to keep sending her letters and following her home from League meetings, but how could she help him? ‘What about Will and Di? Our other friends?’

  ‘They know we’re friends. I’m sure there wouldn’t be a fuss later when they see you’ve thrown me over.’

  Emily closed her eyes against the headache forming there as she tried to decide what was happening.

  ‘It would be the only way I would feel right about letting you go to Paris, Emily,’ her father said gently. ‘Knowing that you have a friend to make sure no one bothers you again. And no one at all would think it strange you have a suitor.’

  Emily glanced at her father in the firelight. He did look rather tired and worried. Suddenly she felt terribly guilty, worrying him in any way at all. And if men like James Hertford could be persuaded to leave her alone, would that be a terrible thing? She was so worried about her father, about their business, how she would carry it all forward, worried about the League and its important missions. It might be nice indeed to have a friend, to not be all alone in Paris. She knew all too well how it felt to be alone.

  She looked back at Chris, who smiled at her. ‘Then what would be in it for you, Chris?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it could be fun. We could discover Paris together, Emily! Art, restaurants, music. Also, I admit I have had a, shall we say, misunderstanding lately with a lady. She’s become rather too serious, so a little distance wouldn’t come amiss. If she heard I was being seen with you...’ His cheeks turned red and he shrugged again.

  Emily slumped back in her seat. Of course it would be about some unfortunate romantic entanglement with Chris. She had heard the gossip; she knew what his life was like, very well. She would never be so foolish to think that a couple of kisses, no matter how sweet and life-changing they had been for her, would mean the same to a man like him. She wondered if it was with Lady Smythe-Tomas. They had been seen together in a few places, though she didn’t seem like the clinging type. It could be any one of a number of ladies.

  And yet, she still felt a secret, painful little pang deep inside to think of him and his—entanglements.

  She crossed her arms and looked away to the darkened windows. Spending more time with Chris was probably the very last thing a sensible lady would do. Every time she was with him, trouble seemed to come in his wake. But she did want to help her father. She wanted to see to their business in Paris and she did not want him to worry.

  And Chris was right. It might even be a little bit fun.

  She turned back to them and nodded. ‘Fine.’ She sighed. ‘But only a few walks and a dinner or two! I have work to do while I am there.’

  Chris smiled, a brilliant grin that lit up his face and made him too handsome to be real. Emily almost took back her words, realising the danger she could be in.

  ‘I will not disappoint you, Emily,’ he declared.

  Her father clapped his hands, like he was at the satisfactory ending of a romantic comedy at the Savoy. ‘Excellent! Then I won’t worry about you at all while you are gone, my dear.’

  ‘But you must promise to rest while I am gone, Father,’ Emily demanded. ‘And not do any work. You must leave it all to me.’

  Albert gave her a satisfied little smile. ‘Certainly I will. I’ll be completely well by the time you get home. Now, Mr Blakely, will you stay for dinner? It is only a small meal tonight, very informal, but you’re most welcome.’

  ‘The doctor told you to rest...’ Emily began.

  ‘That is most kind of you, Mr Fortescue, but I have another engagement. I will call again before we leave for Paris, though,’ Chris said.

  Emily wondered if it was an engagement with the clinging lady. ‘I’ll show you out,’ she said, abruptly standing up.

  Once they were alone in the hall, hopefully out of earshot of her father, she leaned close to Chris and whispered, ‘You don’t really have to do this, Chris.’

  He squeezed her hand and smiled, taking his hat from the butler. ‘Of course I do, Em. I want to help if I can. And really, you would be helping me out of the most alarming pickle. See you at the Eiffel Tower!’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured as she watched him stroll out into the night. She wondered just what she had let herself in for now. ‘See you there.’

  Chapter Eight

  Paris was overwhelmingly beautiful. Every time she was there, Emily realised, she was bowled over by that realisation, by the awe over the elegance people could create when they were so inclined. The loveliness that could be in the world—and she got to be a part of it.

  She tipped her head back to peer up at Monsieur Eiffel’s tower from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. The first day of her Paris adventure. She had seen it before, of course, had even ascended to the very tippy-top during the Exposition, to see the city spread out far below. But she always fell in love with it anew. It seemed like the city itself, in its new Haussmann-designed guise of pale stone, grey-slate roofs, lacings of iron balconies and streets reaching out towards the silver ribbon of the river. It was modern, sleek, spare but luxurious, every detail perfect. Against the pale blue sky of early summer, it was intoxicating.

  Emily wished she had paid more attention in art class, so she could sketch the scene before her and freeze it for ever. But all she could do was study it carefully, memorise it, lock it away to bring out on some faraway grey day. That was what she did with all her best memories. The smell of her mother’s perfume, a game of tennis at Miss Grantley’s, Alexandra’s and Diana’s weddings. Kissing Chris Blakely, here in this very city.

  She suddenly longed for Chris to be there beside her, to share the beauty with her, to laugh with her at the people walking past. But she pushed that longing away. She had to concentrate only on the scene before her. The work she had to do. The promises she had made to her father.

  The Champs de Mars was busy on such a lovely day, the gravel pathways lined with strollers against the shimmering dome of the École Militaire. She studied the ladies’ gowns, the width of their hats, the trim on their sleeves.

  She glanced behind her as a group of gentlemen approached, dark as crows in their suits and bowler hats, their footsteps heavy. They passed by with only polite nods, but she realised she had grown tense. It had been that way ever since she was followed in London; the dream of being chased along alleyways plagued her nearly every night. She had hoped in Paris she could forget about it, leave it behind, but she was still nervous.

  She made her way to one of the green wrought-iron benches to sit down out of the way for a moment. She opened her parasol and tilted it against the sun to watch the city swirl around her. Two children dashed by with a hoop, followed by their watchful nanny; a tour group hurried past, noses in their Baedekers.

  A young couple drifted by, their arms entwined, smiling up at each other as if they were oblivious to the rest of the world. Their happiness made Emily feel terribly wistful. Terribly alone. Paris wasn’t a city for melancholy.

  ‘Imagine running into you here in Paris, Miss Fortescue,’ a voice suddenly said, shattering her dreamy thoughts. Startled, she peeked around the lacy edge of her parasol and saw it was Chris.

  For an instant, she was sure she imagined him, that he was only another daydream. But then he smiled at her, that wide, white, flashing smile, and she knew it was truly him. He swept off his hat and the sun sparkled on his golden hair.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she blurted. Then she remembered. Their ‘courtship’. It was beginning. She wished he wouldn’t startle her so. Maybe they should have made a more formal agreement as to when and where they would meet?

  ‘Oh, much the same as you are doing, I suppose. Enjoying the joie de vivre of it all.’
He sat down next to her on the bench and carelessly crossed his legs.

  Emily felt much too pleased to see him. She had to resist the urge to lean on his arm, to breathe him in. ‘So I suspect we are not in Paris for the same things, as I am here to work.’

  ‘You do wound me,’ he said, his smile widening. ‘I do know how to be serious when I need to be.’

  Emily gave a rather unladylike snort. ‘Such as when?’

  ‘Such as right now? What could be more serious in life than being with a beautiful woman in Paris? It requires a great deal of careful thought.’

  ‘Thought about what?’

  ‘About the perfect thing to do, of course. Shall we have a picnic, ride a bateau mouche, go shopping? Maybe stroll through the Tuileries? There are so very many choices, it’s important to choose the correct one. We are meant to be courting, remember?’

  She remembered her promise to her father all too well. But here, on this beautiful day, it didn’t seem like such a terrible thing at all. ‘Hmm,’ Emily said, tapping her chin in pretended deep thought. ‘It is true. So many choices, so little time.’

  ‘I know what I would choose to do.’

  Maybe kiss her again? Emily wondered whimsically. She studied his handsome face, glowing in the Parisian light, and thought that might be rather nice. No matter what happened afterwards. ‘What is that?’

  ‘I would sit here with you all day.’

  She laughed, delighted by his silly words. ‘You would be bored of it in an hour.’

  ‘Not at all. From a park bench in Paris, a person could watch the whole world go by. And with you to talk about it all with—surely this is all I need.’ He gestured at the crowds swirling past, the glittering life all around them, and for an instant he looked serious, solemn even.

  Emily curled her fingers tighter around her parasol to keep from reaching out to him. ‘Well, I can think of something I would like to do.’