His Parisian Mistress (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 1)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  He glanced at her, his brows held tightly together.

  “You are among friends, here. People who understand, who know you and know the truth.”

  His shoulders lifted and fell.

  Ève took him inside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Richard felt the tension in his shoulders as he moved into the white stone house. The interior was simple and elegant, with a minimum of fussy details. There was no sign of extravagance here, but neither was there any sign of penny-pinching. Richard had grown accustomed to threadbare rugs, faded curtains and dusty surfaces when there were no staff to remove the dust. This house, though, was clean and tidy. Odd objects—a globe of the world, a pack of cards—were agreeably out of place because they were being used.

  The front room was a drawing room or sitting room, with dark, well-waxed floors and simple carpets covering them. At the back of the big room was a large dining table, where the family were preparing to sit and eat.

  A staircase with an iron railing ran up to the next floor along one wall.

  Everyone stood up once more when they saw that Ève had brought a stranger into the house.

  Uncle Iefan tilted his head. “Good God!” he uttered. “Richard!” He strode across the drawing room area to where Richard stood, then shocked him by embracing him and squeezing hard.

  Iefan stood back, his hands on Richard’s arms. Iefan’s curly hair was shot with silver streaks. Otherwise, the man never seemed to change. “You look worn, Richard,” he said.

  “It has been a tiring few days.”

  Iefan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure,” he said, his tone just as neutral. He stepped back. “You must join us for lunch, of course. Ève, wherever did you find him?” Iefan moved over to the table, his hand on Richard’s shoulder shepherding him.

  Ève said, with a perfectly natural voice, “Oh, I saw him walking along Rue de École, Papa. I didn’t believe it was him, at first. When I stopped and spoke to him and saw it was he, I knew I must bring him home to see everyone.”

  “Mairin, my love, another place, if you please,” Iefan added.

  “Hello, Richard,” Aunt Mairin said, with a warm smile. She moved over to a sideboard and pulled out a drawer. Silverware clashed together as she selected a knife and fork, then lifted a napkin from a snowy stack on top of the sideboard. She brought them over to the table and placed them in front of the chair which Iefan pulled out for Richard.

  Iefan pressed him into the chair.

  “I’m hardly dressed for this…” Richard said, his throat tight.

  “For a family dinner?” Aunt Mairin said, sounding amused. “I remember lunches at Innesford when men sat in their bathing costumes while they ate. You wear a jacket. We will call that sufficient.”

  Iefan patted Richard’s shoulder one last time and sat at the end of the table. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “The roast is far too large for all of us.”

  Richard’s belly rumbled loudly.

  Iefan’s smile was small. “Good,” he said shortly, and took the lid off the carving tray and picked up the carving knife.

  It was the best meal Richard had eaten in a very long time. The food was simple, but well cooked and tasty. There was plenty of it, as Uncle Iefan had warned. The vegetables glistened with a flavorful gravy, and there was a steamed pudding for dessert. Coffee finished the meal.

  Ève sat at the other end of the table, beside her mother. She chatted between bites with her brothers and sister. Adam and Daniel were both grown men, although they remained at the house, still, for they helped run the family businesses.

  Alicia, the youngest daughter, had recently turned twenty and was studying history at the newly rebuilt Sorbonne. She wore a far-away look in her eyes and spoke little.

  All four siblings had blue eyes.

  The conversation during the meal flowed easily around the table. To Richard, the natural banter between everyone, including Aunt Mairin and Uncle Iefan, was a reminder of better times, when his mother had been alive. He could recall family dinners with the same relaxed air and interesting conversation.

  Abruptly, he missed them—everyone who had regularly sat around the big dining table at Marblethorpe. He had grown up with not just Vaughn, but a dozen other cousins, uncles and aunts, all with the same casual approach to life. In particular, he missed his mother and father. And Vaughn, too.

  Those big, cheerful meals would never come again, Richard realized with a pang. Papa Raymond had torn Marblethorpe down after Natasha died. He could not bear to live there himself anymore and he would allow no one else to live in the rooms where she had lived.

  Papa Raymond had been one of the worst affected by the collapse of the bank. Most of his family fortune had evaporated between one day and the next. He might have sold Marblethorpe and recovered a portion of it. Instead, he had used the last of his liquid cash to reduce the graceful home to rubble. Only then had he sold the land for a considerably reduced value.

  Cian, Richard’s much older half-brother, had insisted Raymond come to live with him and Eleanore at Innesford.

  Everyone else who had once lived at Mablethorpe had scattered across England and even farther…

  Richard jumped when Iefan’s hand squeezed his forearm.

  “Are you a brandy man?” Iefan asked.

  Richard nodded. Brandy, scotch, wine…it made no difference, so long as there was plenty of it.

  “I have some excellent cognac you must try,” Iefan said. “My study is upstairs.” He got to his feet.

  Aunt Mairin stood quickly. “Richard, if I may…give me your jacket. I will mend that rent in the sleeve.”

  Ève pursed her lips, clearly recalling how the sleeve had been torn in the first place. She kept her gaze on her coffee cup.

  Richard wanted to protest that there was no need for Mairin to fuss. Only, he suspected they would insist upon fussing, whether he wanted it or not. Silently, he removed his jacket. His shirt was rumpled, for this was the second day he had been wearing it. No one made any comment, and a trickle of relief touched him.

  He murmured his thanks as he put the jacket on the table and followed Iefan up the stairs. His uncle showed a trace of a limp as he climbed, favoring his right leg. It was only now, on the stairs, when the limp showed. He had walked with a perfectly normal gait, earlier.

  His right leg had been shattered in Oran, Richard remembered. Papa Raymond had spoken about the frantic journey to North Africa to rescue Iefan and Mairin more than once. He had made a story out of the venture and told it to Vaughn and Richard while they sat before the fire and listened, fascinated.

  Uncle Iefan’s study was a small room, with bookshelves on three of the walls, and a small bow window in the fourth. A pair of wing chairs pulled up to a cast iron fireplace and a round table with a gas lantern upon it said that this study was a place for relaxation, rather than serious work.

  Iefan waved to one of the chairs, moved over to the bookshelf and lifted a bottle from a tray sitting there. He brought the bottle over to the table, then two glasses. They were not brandy balloons but heavy-based whiskey glasses. He poured a half-glass of cognac into each, stoppered the bottle and returned it to the shelf.

  “Go ahead,” he told Richard, as he settled himself in the wing chair.

  Richard sniffed the cognac. It was an excellent quality. “Where is it from?” he asked. “There is no label on the bottle.”

  “From Cognac, of course.” Iefan smiled.

  Richard rolled his eyes and sipped. It was very good indeed.

  “Yes, it is rather good, isn’t it?” Iefan said, even though Richard was still rolling the drop over his tongue. His surprise had shown on his face, then. “My old business manager, who was a wily man, invested in a vineyard shortly after the Siege of Paris. His son now owns the place. Every year, Charles sends me a crate of the cognac most recently decanted from the vats.”

  “I shudder to think what the price of such an excellent cognac might be, if one was to pay for it.�
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  “Well beyond my means, I’m sure,” Iefan replied. He picked up the other glass. “How long have you been in Paris, Richard? You did not arrive here in just the last day or so, did you?”

  Richard stared at the golden liquid in his glass. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and temple.

  “Much longer than that, then,” Iefan said.

  Richard said quickly, “I did not say that.”

  “You did not need to. Your face says everything for you. I hope you never acquire a taste for card games. You would not fare well.” Iefan sipped.

  Richard pushed his hand through his hair and felt again the sensitive patch at the back of his head. He would explore it properly, later, when he had a moment alone. “You must not be insulted by my failure to call upon you,” he told Iefan.

  “I am not. In fact, I think I understand why.” His uncle studied him. “London grew too small and constrictive, I imagine.”

  Richard let out a breath. “I know too many people there…and they know me, of course.”

  “Of course,” Iefan echoed. “They did not welcome you into the folds of society with open arms, either.”

  “Last summer, Vaughn…” Richard swallowed. “The Parole Board set a date to decide if he should be given an early release. When the papers reported upon the upcoming date of the decision, there was such a hue and cry…” He drew in a breath. “A brick was thrown through my window—my landlady’s window, I should say. It was only then she learned who I really was. She instantly demanded I vacate the premises, of course.”

  “And how many premises have you been forced to vacate over the years?” Iefan asked softly.

  “Too many,” Richard admitted. He squeezed the glass. “I thought Paris would be far enough removed from the fuss.” He shrugged.

  “Would that be the reason why you have blood on your shirt collar?” Iefan asked.

  Surprised, Richard tried to turn his chin to inspect the collar. “I suppose, indirectly, yes, that is why I have blood on my shirt.”

  Iefan took a slow, deep sip of the cognac, rolled it over his tongue and swallowed, his gaze in mid-distance. “You’ve had a hard time of it lately. The fall of Darnell & Sattler destroyed so many families, most of them upper class, peers and members of the ton. I suspect Society would sooner forgive Vaughn and anyone associated with him for raping a woman in the High Street, than for the loss of their money.”

  “Vaughn is innocent of the charges,” Richard said tiredly. It was not the first time he had said so. He knew it would not be the last.

  “He was a director of the bank and guilty by responsibility,” Iefan said. “His sentence will end…when?”

  “On the tenth of July next year,” Richard said. The date was engraved upon his mind, never to be forgotten.

  “Will you return to England, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Richard said truthfully and blew out a heavy breath. The excellent meal and now an even better quality drink, were doing what a cold night in the French prison cell had failed to do. Richard could feel his body growing heavy and relaxed. The tiredness washed over him.

  Iefan sipped, contemplating the unlit stove once more. “One cannot run forever without pause. I think you’ve been running quite long enough, Richard. Trust me on this—I ran away from everything for a very long time and I paid for it, many times over.” He dug his fingers into the flesh of his right knee. “I think you should stay with us for a while.”

  Richard jerked into a state of alert, alarm crashing through him. “No, I cannot, Uncle Iefan. I would bring…I would embarrass you and offend your friends and business associates. I know how it goes.”

  Iefan nodded. “So do I, my boy. So do I. You must rest and here in this house, you will not need to worry about anyone learning who you are and judging you for it. Tell me, have you yet resorted to using false names?”

  Richard could feel his cheeks heating. “I…ah…Seth. Seth Harrow. Sometimes.”

  “Your middle name, yes?”

  Richard nodded.

  “You should continue using it for now,” Iefan said. “You cannot pass for French, not with that accent.”

  Richard let out a soft, helpless laugh, his throat straining.

  “We will introduce you, when we must, as the son of a friend of mine, visiting Paris on vacation.” Iefan paused. “Where are your possessions right now? At the pension you have abandoned?”

  “I’m not sure I would say I have abandoned it, entirely.”

  Uncle Iefan’s gaze was direct. “You do not have the money to pay your rent, correct?”

  Richard wanted to argue that point too, Only he could not. His gut tightening, he nodded.

  “How long is it since you received any money from home?”

  Richard’s laugh this time was bitter, with no humor in it. It shook him and made his head hurt. “What home? Allowances are for the sons of landed gentry.”

  “Then you have been getting by with…?”

  “What else? I have worked.” At Iefan’s raised brow, Richard added, “Picking grapes in the south at the end of summer, hay making, tending cows. Harvesting. Plowing.”

  “Anything which did not require identification papers or skills…” Iefan murmured. “Well, you have learned the first great lesson.”

  Richard just looked at him.

  “You have learned how to survive.” Iefan thrust out his right leg and dug his fingers into the flesh above the knee. “Everything after that is just a matter of degree. I will provide you with some funds to get you through the next few weeks and also to pay your landlady so you may retrieve your possessions once more. After that, we will devise a means for you to earn an income which does not expose you too badly to the judgment of others.”

  Richard wanted to protest yet again. He ground his jaw tightly. He did need the money. While he was passing as himself, it would be impossible to find employment. As soon as any potential employer learned his true identity, the offer of employment was withdrawn.

  His eyes ached and Richard realized he was pathetically close to crying. His throat strained as he fought against them.

  Iefan’s hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, then was removed. “It has been too long since you encountered kindness, I suspect. Accept my help and my money, Richard. One day, you will be in the position where you can help someone else in the same way. When you reach that moment, remember me and know that I am proud to have helped you reach the position where you can help others.”

  Richard did not have the courage to raise his head and look at his uncle. Hot emotions swelled in his chest. Shame, embarrassment, despair.

  How had he reached this point? Was there no way out of it?

  Iefan got to his feet and drained his glass in one enormous swallow. “Come with me.”

  Defeated, Richard got to his feet and followed his uncle out into the corridor and up the next flight of stairs, then two more. They emerged at the attic level. The floorboards squeaked for no carpets covered them. Even so, the walls had been recently painted white and late afternoon sun showed through the small dormer window at the end.

  There were four doors leading off the corridor. His uncle moved to the last door and thrust it open.

  Richard looked in.

  An old iron bed frame sat in the corner of the attic room. An equally old mattress was spread upon the bed, but no sheets or blankets. The slope of the roof came down almost to the top of the bed frame. The floor was bare. Under the high window was a small cupboard with a wash basin and pitcher sitting on top.

  “As you can see, the bed has not been made. You can rest upon it and not stir your conscience about dirtying sheets. Right now, I think you must sleep more than you must bathe. Go ahead.”

  Richard still hesitated, even though his entire body ached, including his face. The idea of lying down even for a moment felt like a luxury.

  “If you are still asleep come suppertime, I will have you woken, so you do not miss the meal. It is quiet
up here and warm. No one will disturb you. No one else uses this attic level.”

  Richard wasn’t sure why it made a difference. Knowing he was alone up here, and seeing a cramped, unused and quite likely dusty room, made it seem appropriate for him. He was not stealing a bed from someone else.

  He cleared his throat twice before he could say clearly, “Thank you.”

  His uncle shut the bedroom door upon him. Richard listened to his footsteps as he moved back down the stairs.

  Richard lowered himself onto the mattress and wondered what he might use for a pillow. He stretched out and rested his head on his elbow. He would relax here for just a moment before searching for something he could use as a pillow.

  Telling himself so, he slept.

  When Papa Iefan returned from upstairs, Ève was still at the dining table. Her mother was the only person still there with her. Alicia had returned to her studies. Ève’s two brothers had gone about their business.

  Papa Iefan settled back upon his chair at the end of the table.

  Mama Mairin looked up from her stitch work upon the sleeves of Richard’s jacket. “There was blood on his collar!” Mama Mairin said, sounding horrified.

  Papa nodded. “He has seen hard times recently. I have told him he must stay here for a while. Time to rest and recover, then we can send him on his way again with renewed energy.” Papa looked at Ève. “You were right to bring him here.”

  Ève stirred her second cup of coffee. “After all, he is family.”

  Papa nodded. “A fact which most of the family seems to have forgotten.”

  Mama looked up, with a small frown. “These are most extraordinary times, though. What happened to Vaughn, the collapse of the bank…I think it was simply too much for the family to weather. We can stand together through most scandals, only that one…” She shook her head.

  “The family rallied around us, when our troubles were far more than a simple scandal,” Iefan said. “Helping each other does not depend upon the degree of the difficulties one finds themselves in. Trouble is trouble. If we can help someone in the family, we should expend all our energy doing so.”