At Her Service

by Susan Johnson

  “I’m not privy to Pelissier’s plans, but I’m pleased to hear it. I might very well be home by fall then.”

  “It’s very likely.”

  He told her what he knew of the assault plans as they rode to the outskirts of the city. She asked definitive questions and he answered as well as he could. While Pelissier had not taken her into his confidence, she had an excellent grasp of battle strategy.

  As they approached the Bois de Bologne, Aurore said, “Now that we’re almost there, what would you like for dinner?”

  “You decide. I eat anything.” He was pleased to see that her appetite had definitely returned, although his cholera fears would not be completely quelled until several more hours had passed. But for now, he was mildly optimistic. Her vomiting had been likely due to some other cause.

  The moment the carriage swept through the gates and moved up the drive, Aurore opened the window and hung out her head like an impatient child. “The lights are all on! Etienne must be home already!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful!”

  “It is indeed.” Darley found that he actually meant it, when in the past, he would have preferred not having company for the evening. But Aurore was so obviously excited and happy, he took pleasure in her delight.

  Even as he rejoiced with her, a small niggling unease raced through his senses. He hadn’t felt this way since—No! Don’t go there!—he silently admonished.

  He abruptly dismissed the unwelcome thought.

  Chapter 25

  Darley had thought he’d seen guards in the trees bordering the drive, and as they alighted from the carriage, he was pleased to see that he had been right. Two armed men immediately approached them. Etienne must be here, he decided. And the boy was sensible about the danger.

  “Good evening,” Aurore said, nodding at the guards. “I am Miss Clement. I assume my brother hired you.”

  “Yes, miss. Just being careful.” The men stepped away.

  “I was right,” she said, turning to Darley as they walked toward the entrance. “Etienne is home.”

  “And the premises are secure. Good boy.” He was saved the trouble of finding credible men in an unfamiliar locale.

  Her brows lifted slightly as she ascended the low bank of stairs. “Is this still really necessary?”

  “It never hurts to be cautious,” he said, choosing an innocuous reply. He didn’t want to unnecessarily alarm her. Regardless, the men on the train had been disposed of, unless the Third Section had altered their methodology, it was inevitable that there would be more.

  The door opened on their approach, as though they had been observed by unseen eyes.

  “Welcome home, Miss Aurore.”

  Old Bizot, who had served the family since her father’s youth, was frailer than last she’d seen him, but his smile was as warm as ever. “Thank you. It’s good to be home.”

  “The young master thought you must have been delayed somewhere.”

  “We took the train. There are always delays. Has Etienne been here long?”

  “Three days, miss. I sent a footman to tell him of your arrival. He is about to go out for the evening. Will you be wanting dinner?”

  He spoke as if she’d never been gone. As if she’d come in from a day of shopping or visiting. “Yes, perhaps in an hour or so. The marquis will be staying with us.”

  Bizot finally deigned to look at Darley, surveying him with the presumption of an elderly retainer who had served and supported two generations of Clements in all their endeavors. “Very good, miss,” he said at last, offering Darley a faint nod of acknowledgment—a probationary acceptance. “Would the gentleman prefer the Richelieu room or the India room?”

  “The India room, thank you, Bizot. And some brandy in the drawing room.”

  “Champagne as well?”

  Aurore smiled. “Yes, to celebrate our homecoming.”

  “Indeed, miss.” A smile creased his ancient face. “And may I say how gratified we are to have you and the young master with us again.”

  As the major domo bowed and walked away, Aurore took Darley by the hand and said under her breath, “Ignore Bizot’s scrutiny. He’s protective.”

  Darley smiled. “I thought I might be called out.”

  “He’ll warm up to you. He always does.”

  “What does always mean?” He understood the French were more blasé than most about love affaires. Had Aurore often brought lovers home?

  “Really, you’re being ridiculous.” She knew what he meant. She was not so sure she liked what he meant.

  “About what?”

  “About what you’re thinking.”

  “So do you?” He was pressing her. He didn’t know why.

  “Why should I answer?”

  “Peace of mind for me.”

  Her brows rose. “Really. My love life is a concern for a man like you who considers sex a casual amusement. Like say, with Zania.”

  Once she brought up Zania, he understood he wasn’t going to win this argument. “Forgive my boorishness,” he said, his smile full of grace.

  “Gladly.” She too was thin-skinned when it came to sharing. It made no sense, of course. Gazi was not hers to share. “Come now. I’ll show you our cherry blossoms. Their fragrance was in the air as we came up the drive. This turned out to be a perfect time of year to arrive.”

  Either that or be hung from the nearest gallows. “I agree,” he said. “It couldn’t be better.”

  They left the flamboyant baroque entrance hall with its elaborate vaulting and colorful marble pillars and moved down a corridor lined with portrait busts displayed in shell-shaped wall niches.

  “Relatives?” Darley queried, the variety of headdresses, hairstyles, collars and ruffs covering several centuries of fashion.

  “My father’s family,” Aurore replied. “My favorite is the woman over there.” She gestured toward a bust of a ravishingly beautiful woman, the execution so realistic her eyelashes were visible. “My grandfather brought home an Italian wife after Napoleon’s Italian campaign. Canova did that.”

  “She looks like you.”

  “Do you think so? I don’t see the resemblance. She died before I was born so I never met her. Here we are.” She stood before double doors bordered in a broad frame of carved, green jade. “Prepare to be dazzled. The cherry blossoms are quite spectacular.”

  They entered a room decorated in chinoiserie style from a century ago.

  Not just the cherry blossoms were dazzling. “You have a very beautiful house—this room included,” Darley remarked, surveying the colorful hand-painted wallpaper, the delicate faux bamboo furniture, a silk carpet of vast dimensions.

  “My father’s family served in some diplomatic capacity or another since the reign of Louis Quartorze—my grandfather’s brief flight prior to the revolution notwithstanding. Every ancestor brought back beautiful things from their travels. Including the cherry trees,” she added, pulling him to the bank of French doors overlooking a formal garden.

  “Impressive,” he murmured a moment later as he stood beside her and gazed out on a vista of magnificent flowering trees. The ancient trees formed the boundaries of the garden, long straight rows framing the parterres, each tree heavily ladened with pink blossoms.

  “I’m grateful one of my forebears traveled to the Orient and brought these home. It wouldn’t be spring without the cherry trees scenting the air.”

  “And yet your family decided to stay in the Crimea.”

  “My grandfather and father both served the French foreign service there as well.”

  “Ah—so your involvement with the French army was not out of the ordinary.”

  “I suppose not. Although I did not commit myself prior to Etienne’s enlistment, as you know.”

  “Did I hear my name?”

  At the familiar voice, Aurore spun around to find her brother standing in the doorway, looking handsome and fit. He was dressed in full evening rig, ready for his night on the town. “I was telling Darley abou
t our family’s diplomatic service.”

  “Which service will end with me,” her brother said with a grin as he strode toward them, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. “That kind of life is too boring by half,” he added, reaching out to hug his sister. Stepping back, he put his hand out to Darley. “Always a contentious issue between Rory and me.”

  “Etienne is too busy amusing himself,” Aurore noted with a smile as the men shook hands. After almost losing her brother, however, she had no quarrel with anything he did so long as he was happy.

  “And why shouldn’t I. Plenty of time to do stodgy diplomatic work when I’m old and gray. Speaking of which, I’m about to go out. Drinks at the club, then a quick look in at Countess Esterhazy’s ball.” He winked at Darley. “The Hungarian women are the most beautiful in Europe—no offense, Rory. After that there’s a gypsy club with more beautiful women. If anyone would care to join me…”

  Darley dipped his head. “Thank you, no.”

  Etienne glanced at his sister. “I know you’re not interested. Rory dislikes society functions as a rule.”

  “As a rule—they are extremely boring,” she sardonically noted.

  “Except for the beautiful Hungarian women.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, darling,” she replied, indulgent in all things to her brother.

  Bizot entered the room, followed by two footmen carrying trays.

  Aurore glanced at Etienne. “Do you have time for a drink before you leave?”

  “Certainly. A whisky for me, Bizot.”

  “Right here, sir.” A good servant anticipates.

  A few moments later the three were seated in chartreuse-painted armchairs cushioned in scarlet, embroidered silk. Their drinks had been served, the servants had departed and they were snugly in Paris well beyond the war’s reach.

  “It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” Smiling, Etienne raised his glass. “To successful escapes and the very best of sanctuaries.”

  “Amen,” Aurore murmured, grateful to be sitting in the comfort of her home instead of a prison somewhere—or worse. Lifting her glass to her mouth, she took a sip of champagne.

  “Agreed.” Darley drained his glass of brandy before turning to Etienne. “Although I see you have taken precautions and hired some guards.”

  Etienne smiled. “I assumed you and my sister would have the hounds on your trail. The Russian secret police has a certain reputation,” he added with a flicker of a grin. “This place is an armed camp.”

  “Very thoughtful of you. And much appreciated,” Darley said in the way of understatement. “Your journey to Eupatoria went smoothly, I gather?” Lifting the decanter from the tray on the table before him, he uncorked it and poured himself another drink.

  “Absolutely. My black racer was in the mood to run. We made record time.”

  “When we reached Sevastopol, we heard that you had already set sail,” Aurore noted. “We assumed things went well.”

  “The point was to stay ahead of our pursuit. Which we easily did. My stallion is a sweet goer and your men, Darley, ride like the wind.” Etienne refilled his glass. “How was your journey? Uneventful, I hope.”

  “Yes,” Darley replied, careful not to look at Aurore. “Uneventful.” Nonstop fucking and assassins aside. “Did you bring your racehorse home with you?”

  “I wouldn’t think of leaving him behind.”

  “Etienne raised him from a foal.” Aurore smiled at her brother. “He won a tidy sum racing him.”

  “I’m thinking of running him at Longchamps. He’s better than most of the bloodstock in the field.”

  Etienne spoke of his hopes for his stallion as well as the events of the following day that revolved around the races at Longchamps. He also shared gossip about their friends with Aurore, explaining that everyone had insisted she call on them the moment she reached the city. “Not that you’re likely to do so,” he added with a grin. “But I didn’t tell them that. And don’t you dare wait up for me tonight.” He gave his sister a warning glance. “She does, you know,” he noted, turning to Darley. “I’m too old to be monitored.”

  “I shall see that she doesn’t,” Darley pleasantly replied.

  “Excellent!” Pouring his second whisky down his throat, Etienne came to his feet. “I will see you two tomorrow,” he said with a bow. “Briefly at least—I leave for the races at noon. Are you staying long, Darley? If you are, I’ll take you shooting. I just bought the most splendid shotgun.”

  Darley shrugged faintly. “I’m not sure. I’ll see.”

  “Well, if you do, you’ll have to try my Holland and Holland 8-bore double barrel.” He was already moving toward the door. “It’s superb.”

  “He misses me terribly as you can see,” Aurore mockingly noted.

  “He’s young.”

  “And self-centered.”

  Darley smiled. “That’s part of being young.” He nodded toward her glass on the table beside her. “You’re not drinking.”

  “I thought I’d wait to eat something first. Just in case,” she said.

  “Probably wise. Do you mind?” He picked up the brandy decanter.

  “Not at all.”

  “I don’t get drunk.”

  “I don’t care if you do.”

  He smiled. “Such unfettered license.”

  Her brows rose slightly. “Why would I want to govern your drinking?”

  “Some women do.”

  “Don’t tell me what some women do with you.”

  “Jealous?” Perhaps he knew of what he spoke.

  Less reticent, more outspoken, or perhaps touched by fatigue, Aurore said, “Yes. Don’t ask me why. I have no idea when you’re sure to leave before long.” She smiled. “Don’t be alarmed. I have no intention of being difficult about your departure.” She might even have meant it. She wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t know when I’m going.”

  “I understand.”

  “I didn’t want to leave tonight and it had nothing to do with you feeling unwell. But I tend not to stay anywhere too long.” He didn’t want her to think otherwise.

  “Really, there’s no need to explain.”

  They were both exceedingly civil. The end of a love affaire was a subject that required civility. There was no point in making things uncomfortable.

  “I’m going to wash up before dinner. Would you like to see your room?”

  “Certainly.”

  He took his glass with him as they left, finding himself in a mood to drink. They spoke of general things as they moved down the corridor and ascended the broad marble staircase; they were both well bred enough to speak of trifling subjects with aplomb.

  But Aurore found herself wondering how long he’d stay. When she shouldn’t.

  Darley was thinking he should leave. But not tonight.

  She showed him to the India room, an apt designation for the flamboyant display of hot colors, sumptuous fabrics and furniture clearly made for a palace somewhere in the Punjab.

  “I like the decor—somewhat familiar,” he said, standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly to survey the riot of pattern and dazzling color accosting his eyes. “Nice size bed too,” he added with a nod toward a monstrous canopied bed. Made to accommodate a dozen harem ladies and their master he knew.

  “My great-grandfather had it sent back.”

  “And where are you sleeping?”

  It was softly put, but even then she felt a small pleasurable ripple slide up her vagina. “Down the hall,” she said, trying to suppress the tremor in her voice. She wanted him too much; it would never do. He was too assured, too familiar with obliging women, certain to leave soon. “I have to consider the servants,” she lied, needing time to sort out her tumultuous feelings.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t. “Surely you needn’t stay in your room all night?” A velvet soft invitation to pleasure.

  “I’m not sure,” sh
e coolly said. Unfortunately, a shiver of longing raced up her spine, proving her duplicity.

  “What if I am?”

  “You could be wrong.” Oh dear—she should have been more firm.

  “No, I’m not.” His voice in contrast was assured. Three days on the train from Varna gave him a fairly good idea of what the lady wanted. “And consider, darling, how you like to come all night long. I could help you with that.”

  Abruptly turning away, Aurore bolted for the door before it was too late. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour,” she said, flustered and rattled, careful not to look back.

  His words, I could help you with that, were ringing in her ears.

  Chapter 26

  Dinner was subdued.

  Even the servants were soft footed and quiet.

  Darley drank most of his meal, although he ate when the roasts and game were served. Still chafing at Aurore’s feeble excuse about the servants, vexed at her senseless equivocation, he’d already drunk a half bottle before dinner. He was perhaps slightly less reasonable than he might otherwise have been. But it didn’t show.

  Aurore had spent the interval before dinner in her bedroom trying to come to terms with her feelings for Darley. Her much too enamored feelings. Not that she’d come to any meaningful resolution. But then matters of the heart did not easily yield to reason.

  In terms of more mundane matters, she was pleased to find that she could eat again without feeling ill. So aside from the mild tension in the air, Aurore enjoyed her cook’s festive menu. Every dish was a special favorite of hers: tomato and shrimp bisque; a delicious pot-au-feu that had been cooking since morning—the only way it comes of age; woodcocks flamed in rum; a roast beef for her gentleman guest, she suspected; macaroni a la menagere—a dish from her childhood, as was the violet ice cream and almond cake for dessert.

  Conversation was desultory. She would bring up some topic of discussion or ask a question of Darley and he would answer with courtesy—and brevity.