“I doubt he considers my purchasing all of his vowels, and giving him a loan, a reward. Good night.”
Amelia could not prevent a smile as he walked out of the room. Her sister had married a good man. “And a knowing one at that,” she murmured as she took herself to bed for the night. Exhaustion should have caused her to sleep, but there was too much on her mind when she climbed into bed. It hurt deeply that Wadsworth would stoop to such measures. She had thought them friends, but she had not encouraged him, either. Had she known his desperation, she would have been more careful.
Through the hurt, she could not help but feel a little anticipation and excitement at going to France. She would finally meet her elusive aunt and perhaps try her hand at spying. She had always longed for more activity than was allowed to gently bred females, and the excitement that gentlemen were able to experience. Captain Elliot has had an adventurous life in the army, she thought, “and, indeed, it might have got him killed,” she reminded herself aloud. Was he dead or alive? Would being in France allow her to search for him?
She did not know why she thought she could find him when especially trained investigators had not been able to do so, but her heart longed to find him. Would he even remember her? He could have been injured, or could be imprisoned. She turned over and beat her pillow with her fist in frustration.
“Why can I not be content with one of my suitors?” she demanded of its linen-covered softness. Nevertheless, she was glad to have discovered Wadsworth’s true colours before they had married. She was fortunate to have a duke to protect her, otherwise she would have been forced to accept the marriage to save her reputation.
Grateful for a reprieve from the Season, Amelia allowed herself to dream of Paris. Never having been fortunate enough to leave England, she had heard stories of Paris’s beauty and fashion. Now that Bonaparte was in exile, and under the support of Wellington, they could have a taste of such pleasures. Frenchmen had never been to her taste, but to be fair, she had not met very many. Perhaps they would be surrounded by Wellington’s finest and someone could help her forget Captain Elliot. Truly, she needed—no, wanted—to forget him. Meg was right, she was hanging on to a girlhood infatuation and measuring everyone else against him. He had given no indication that he harboured any thought of thinking of her again. London was full of young bucks just like him: a handsome face coupled with outrageous flirtations. Why was he different to her? She could not answer that with any satisfaction, but she did finally fall asleep with a smile on her face, to dream of him.
Chapter 3
What are ye doing, ye ejeet?” Tobin asked with such seriousness that Philip had to laugh.
“Since when do you call a superior officer an idiot?” Philip asked sternly.
“Give me thirty lashes, sir. I have not learned to control my tongue. Likely, I never will.”
“Remember who rescued you, Tobin. We will say no more about it. Save your ‘idiots’ for the Duke if he tolerates such insolence,” Philip quipped. “I am staying in my peasants’ garb until we reach Paris. It will make travelling easier.”
“Will it? Ye do not think people will question why ye are dressed like that on one of Wellington’s fine horses?”
“I am not riding his horse,” Philip answered, unperturbed. “Let us not delay. The meeting is in a few days, and there is much to do.”
“Gombeen.” However, Tobin took one of Philip’s small satchels of belongings and followed his superior to the stables. “Ye are taking the old cart?” Tobin asked once he saw Philip’s intentions as he had the old nags hooked to the aged conveyance.
“Yes. I will explain once we are out of the village. Go on ahead and wait for me at the stream where the road forks.”
Philip kept Tobin waiting two hours. He knew the Irishman would be fuming, and pacing the leather from his boots with impatience, but the time lost selling the cart and horses to a farmer outside the village would gain them in the long run.
Having arrived at the meeting point and been treated to a surly reception, he changed his clothing in the bushes and mounted one of the horses, a big grin spreading over Philip’s face.
“Once I shave, hopefully no one will recognize me, but since we are returning here later, I wanted to make certain people would not be suspicious. Now, let us move on; we have no time to lose if we are to make it in time for the meeting,” Philip directed, receiving, in response, some murderous Irish curse laced heavily with sarcasm.
The pair arrived in Paris after two days of hard riding, in which they carefully avoided the main roads where they might be recognized. Philip could not but feel relieved once they arrived at Wellington’s headquarters in Paris. It would be nice to be himself again, he thought—if only briefly.
“Captain Elliot!” Wellington boomed from the balcony above their heads before Tobin and Philip had even handed their hats to the butler. “I saw you ride in. It is about time.”
Phillip glared at Tobin, daring him to speak on why they had been delayed.
“Come on up,” the Duke called.
Philip and Tobin made their way to the Duke’s office, a high-ceilinged white room with tall double doors on three sides, and windows looking out over the gardens on the other. A large table filled the centre of the room, covered with papers and maps, and officers pouring over them.
Wellington, dressed trimly in his customary plain monochrome suit and shortly cropped hair, greeted Philip formally. “It will be nice to have you in the land of the living again, Captain Elliot, even if you do look like a hermit who has never seen a razor. It is not pleasant to look your sister in the eye and lie to her, but duty comes first.”
“I did not imagine it was easy to conceal the truth from her.”
“Fortunately, you can do the explaining to her later. First, allow me to acquaint you with the situation with La Glacier nee Madame Lisette.”
“First, sir, are you aware she is planning to visit Elba? I was at the fortress a few days ago, and they were preparing for a voyage,” Philip explained.
“No, I was not aware, but it does not surprise me.” Finger and thumb to his mouth, Wellington started thinking, as he tended to do. Both soldiers knew better than to speak.
“I should send word to Elba. My sources tell me he is comfortable there, ruling the place. It would not surprise me if he quit the island from under their very noses. Is there anyone you can trust at the fortress to inform you when they set sail?”
“Unfortunately, I have but lately become well enough acquainted with some of the servants. It was very difficult, at first, to even enter the fortress.”
“The servants do right to be suspicious. Most urgent is the meeting that is to take place on the morrow. It is being held at her house on the Rue Cambon. I have placed people in the vicinity, at the taverns and brothels, but I was only able to get one person inside the kitchens.”
“I could make the attempt as Monsieur Lefebre,” Philip offered.
Wellington shook his head. “It is too dangerous, given your previous associations. She is no fool and it will do no good to arouse her suspicions from the start. If she did not, one of her men would be bound to recognize you. Besides, I need you to be a part of Waverley’s party.”
“I do not understand, sir. I do not think La Glacier is likely to let down her guard if I am around.”
“She might if you are wooing her niece.”
“So that is what this is about... the incomparable Lady Amelia.” Philip stood up and began to pace restlessly about the room. “How was that arranged? I cannot imagine her willingly leaving London Society.”
“Things have been arranged. I expect them any day now.”
Philip stopped and turned towards the Duke. “Sir, I think my talents would be better spent trying to discover from the meeting what her plans are.”
“You underestimate your appeal, Elliot. You may have two days to discover what you can about the meeting, but after that your attention goes to Lady Amelia…or La Glacier, if the wind
is blowing in that direction.” He winked at Philip.
“Is Waverley amenable to this plan? Because I could see myself married or dead if he is not.... and more likely the latter, now I come to think on it. I am not certain he would consider me acceptable for his sister.”
“He has some idea. I will speak with him, though. Worry not.”
“Lady Amelia is the one you should be worried about.” Tobin spoke for the first time.
“Is the threat so great that we must bring Lady Amelia in? Is she acting in an official capacity, as a spy?”
“The Duchess and Lady Amelia are to be just what they are—Madame Lisette’s nieces. She will be rightly suspicious of you and Waverley.”
“Ah, so I am a decoy?”
“We are hoping to force her into making a mistake. An element of surprise, if you will.”
Philip doubted the lady did anything by mistake, but he did not say so.
“When do we leave Paris?”
“I have no control with regards to the lady. She may choose to welcome her family here instead of returning to her fortress.”
“There is good and bad to either choice.”
“True enough, but I know you two and Waverley are up to the task.”
“Two?” Tobin and Philip asked simultaneously.
“It makes perfect sense to have you there as well, Tobin, being formerly the Duke’s man. The more eyes and ears, the better. You are welcome to stay here. I have been invited to a party at her hôtel tomorrow evening and you will attend with me. Otherwise, I want a report every morning you are in Paris,” Wellington remarked, dismissing them with a gesture of his hand.
“Yes, sir.” Philip and Tobin stood and saluted their Commander. Turning away, they left in silence.
They were shown to their rooms, in a different wing of the residence, by a smartly liveried servant. Then they began to plan how they would try to gain information about the meeting.
“She would recognize both of us in a heartbeat,” Tobin said as they sat down in the comfortable blue arm chairs flanking the marble fireplace in Philip’s rooms.
On a piece of paper he found in a drawer, Philip began to sketch out the area surrounding La Glacier’s house and the alleyways surrounding it.
“Fortunately, the meeting takes place before her party. I think her suspicions would be bristling if she knew we were in the city.”
“She thinks yer dead,” Tobin pointed out.
“True. Perhaps I will not shave until after the party.” He sat back and thought for a moment. “I can use that to my advantage. I can sneak in, and if caught, I have plenty of excuses. I have been playing the peddling delivery boy for some time now, and some of her servants will recognize me.”
Tobin shook his head. “I think it is too dangerous. Wellington will not like it.”
“He trusts me,” Philip retorted.
“To not be an ejeet.” Tobin held up his hands. “But you are my superior. What do ye want me to do?”
“Play a vagrant in the alleyway. Watch who is coming and going.”
“Easy enough,” Tobin agreed. “I should probably start now. Where do I find disguises around here?”
“I happen to know a place and a seamstress,” Philip said with a grin.
“Are we arriving unannounced?” Meg asked the Duke once they were on their way to Dover.
“I debated whether it might be advisable to arrive in Paris and hope we would cross paths, but I believe it would be more advantageous to make it appear it is a friendly, family visit. I sent a note, announcing our sojourn in Paris and making it known that her nieces desire to become acquainted.”
“That is clever and true, for Amelia at least,” Meg replied.
“You do not desire to know her better?” Amelia asked.
“Perhaps, one day I may do, but my feelings are still very bruised from our previous encounter. She did release Tobin, and for that I am grateful, but the life she chose to live I cannot approve of.”
“I think we should give her a chance. You yourself did things you would not have imagined, in order to protect me.”
“I admit I would never have thought to be a kitchen maid, but it hardly compares to being the most famous courtesan in France, nor to using people to spy on their governments.”
“She did not murder our parents, however; our uncle did,” Amelia retorted.
“That is true. What she did was patriotic. It is no different from our soldiers trying to ascertain Napoleon’s intentions,” the Duke added.
“In the same way you and Captain Elliot did, during the war?” Amelia asked.
Waverley inclined his head. “Along with many others.”
“Are you trying to dismiss my aunt’s behaviour?” Meg asked, taken aback. “All I have heard is how dangerous she is, and now you want me to act as though nothing has happened?”
“Not at all, my love. I think you should be yourself. However, I understand Amelia’s fascination, and I want you to keep an open mind—listen to her side of the tale if she tries to explain more. You never know when she might divulge something useful to England.”
Meg looked out of the window and crossed her arms. “I suppose she did what she thought she had to do. Our mother was more fortunate in her choice of brothers, so I will try to be conciliating.”
The carriage pulled to a stop. They had reached Dover, where a hired yacht was waiting to take them to France. Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. She knew Meg was reluctant to go, but she could not be more excited. This was even better than going to London had been.
Three days later, they reached Paris, and not a moment too soon. The Duke had insisted on travelling slowly due to Meg’s condition, and they had had to wait until she felt better each morning in order to travel. If that was what being with child entailed, Amelia was happy to wait!
As they entered through the Porte d’Auteuil, the anticipation grew. It was not unlike London at first—open countryside with farms, becoming more crowded, with houses close together, as they drew near to the city. The beauty of the architecture stole the breath, and a river flowed through the centre, much like London. Yet the Seine seemed cleaner and more romantic, with bright flower boxes of yellow and purple pansies hanging from window-sills. They travelled alongside the water and over stone bridges before they reached the streets with the famous shops. Amelia simply stared out of the window in fascination. “Look at the milliners! And the modistes!”
Waverley groaned.
“Did you think you could bring us to Paris and expect us not to go shopping?”
He did not bother to comment. “That is Le Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile,” he pointed out instead.
“It is beautiful!” Meg said, appearing to be equally entranced.
“We are close, now. Your aunt’s house is not far from the palace and Wellington’s residence.”
“How very convenient,” Meg murmured.
“But of course.”
“May we drive by the palace?” Amelia asked.
“We will do so in a few moments. There it is, on your right.” It was hard to take in all of the palace when driving by in a carriage.
“And your aunt’s house is over there,” he pointed to a modern hôtel on the Rue Cambon, which was a white stone, Palladian building and looked similar to many in London.
“Why do they allow vagrants here?” Amelia asked, frowning at a dirty beggar loitering outside her aunt’s home.
“They are everywhere,” he answered, gazing at the object of her consternation. “He is more likely to receive a few coins from a rich man passing then a poor man in the slums.”
“I expect so, but it ruins my perfect view,” she retorted with impudence.
“They all do, my dear, but I imagine they would trade places with you,” he said, a large smile on his face.
“Very droll,” she replied, not thinking it humorous at all.
“And here we are,” he said a few moments later as they slowed before a house that looked worthy to
be a ducal palace.
Within minutes, there was a flurry of footmen, postilions and servants, rushing to take the horses and carry the luggage into the house.
Amelia stopped and looked upward, turning in a circle to admire the beauty and absorb every detail.
“It smells different here,” she said to no one in particular, and yet unable to describe the difference. As she stood, lost in her surroundings, someone ran into her and she almost lost her balance. “Another vagrant!” she exclaimed. “Watch where you are going, sirrah!”
The person had the audacity to turn and tip his hat to her. She even thought she detected white teeth smiling at her from the beneath the bushy beard he wore. He certainly left a stench behind.
She gasped at his audacity before a notion struck her. There was something familiar about him. Staring after him well past the time she could no longer see him, she had to wonder...
“No. It could not be.” She shook her head.
“What could not be, my dear?” Amelia turned to see the Duke of Wellington himself standing in front of her, looking vastly amused.
“I thought I saw… oh, never mind. I must be fatigued from the journey, sir. My mind is playing tricks on me.”
“You never know,” he said, his eyes twinkling, as he held out his arm to her and began to walk in towards the steps leading up to the front entrance. “Forgive me the impertinence of introducing myself. Waverley has already taken your sister inside and given me the honour of escorting you.”
She looked up at him and gave him her most brilliant smile. “Everyone knows who you are, your Grace.” And it was true. He was the most famous person in England, probably liked even more than the king.
“You have made quite a name for yourself, as well,” he chuckled. “I can see I will need to keep you away from my soldiers or they will never listen to me.”
“Oh, please do not do that, sir! I was so looking forward to your famous balls!”
“Well, in that case, maybe I will allow you to meet a few of them. We are not facing any great battles at the moment, so some distraction might be good for them. You must promise to save the first dance tonight for me.”
Not Forgotten Page 3
