Richard pushed his hands into his pockets, the thoughtful expression back on his face. They passed a couple with their arms entwined, sitting on one of the many benches one found along the Seine.
“I suspect you have underestimated their capacity for risk,” Richard said.
“Oh, I am aware of their own history,” Ève assured him. “Only, when it comes to me—all of us, actually—they are far less able to tolerate danger.”
“I suppose…yes, that does make sense,” Richard said slowly. “My parents were also adventurers, of a different sort. They risked outrage and scandal, but were terrified about either of their sons taking the same chance.” He frowned. “I think that is why the shock killed Mama,” he added softly. “Vaughn was about to be engaged and I was the most respectable second son a mother could ask for. Perhaps she believed we were safely beyond disasters of that type.”
They walked until they approached another bench—this one empty. Ève angled toward it. “Let’s sit for a moment,” she said, pulling the stole in around her more firmly, for the pre-dawn chill was settling around them.
Richard sat beside her, relaxed and comfortable. They watched the water flow past them for a while, and the sliver of new moon shining on the rippling surface.
Across the river, in the Latin Quarter, music played, still. There were more lights and a sense of movement—the clop of horses and hiss of carriage wheels, people talking and calling to each other.
The Left Bank was the section of the city Ève knew best. She had grown up among the university buildings, the old palace and the long, tree-lined boulevards. She knew the cafes well after two years of singing in them and reporting back to Bertrand. The cafes never seemed to shut down. The avant-garde liked to drink the night away.
Ève turned on the bench so she was looking directly at Richard. “Help me.”
“Help…how?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“With my work. I mean, not just tonight but for however long it takes. Help me finish it.”
Richard’s relaxed posture didn’t move. He didn’t uncross his ankles. Yet she sensed his sudden alertness. “How would I do that? And why?”
“You wouldn’t have to do much at all,” Ève said. “Your reputation will do most of the work for you. You are known as a man of ill-repute—oh, you and I both know how unfounded that is and how unfair, too. Only, can you see how it would work for us, now? Hook Nose knows who you are. He lacked the courage to speak your name aloud, yet he knew. He’d made enquiries after you were both arrested and he believes you are a likely recruit to join their ranks.”
“Bertrand said something much like that,” Richard murmured.
She could see he was thinking deeply. Encouraged, she continued. “Only, Bertrand would not have considered actually using that fact. He does not know you as I now do. That is the why of it, Richard; you want your life to have meaning, now. If you did not, you would go back to England and live the boring life which awaits you—dying of monotony upon your family’s estate, unable to venture into society, because everyone thinks you are a blackguard.”
Richard grimaced.
“I am sorry to speak so bluntly,” Ève said quickly.
“You make the point well,” he said, his tone dry. “You are suggesting that if I help you, I will feel as though I have…what? Carved meaning out of disaster?”
“Why not?” Ève said, making her tone calm, even though her heart was screaming and she trembled. “I mean, why not put your past to some use?”
Richard was silent once more.
Ève had said everything she might about the matter and did not repeat herself. She watched the water flow past. In the east, the sky was showing the first hints of dawn to come.
After long minutes, Richard stirred. “You paint an attractive picture, mademoiselle,” he said. “I cannot dispute anything you say. Only, you have overlooked one critical aspect.”
“I have?” Ève was mildly annoyed with herself. She had been planning this most of the night. What had she missed?
Richard uncrossed his ankles and straightened from his slouch. “You are proposing that I accompany you most evenings when you attend cafes at Bertrand’s request, yes?”
“Yes, that was my thought.”
“Then, how do you propose to circumvent the fact that you are a single woman, with a father who knows how to shoot? Uncle Iefan will not allow me to accompany you forever without questions. He will demand an explanation. As you insist upon withholding the truth from him, how will you explain yourself?” He leaned forward. “Actually, it would be me who must do the explaining and with all due respect, Ève, I would sooner go back to London and face every member of society and have them spit upon me, than cross your father.”
Ève sighed, disappointment touching her. “Yes, I had forgotten about Papa,” she admitted. “I would not want to cross him, either. That is why I have maintained this lie for two years. He would be afraid and he would be angry if he knew I was working for Bertrand. The truth will not serve him.”
Richard shook his head. “I believe you are underestimating your father’s capacity for the truth.”
“Oh, I have no doubt he has faced and dealt with far worse in his own time, only it is me who is mixed up in Bertrand’s affairs.”
“I appreciate your offer, Ève. It is intriguing, I admit, but…” He gave a shrug of his shoulders which was worthy of a Frenchman.
The idea struck her and Ève spoke quickly, without considering it. “You could marry me.”
Richard froze. He did not even slide his gaze toward her to see if she jested. He held still, as if he had a gun pointing at him.
Ève felt a trickle of consternation. She leapt to explain herself. “I mean, to satisfy my father and allow us to do this work for Bertrand.”
Richard gripped his hands together and drew in a deep breath. “Ève, you do not bander about the idea of marriage, not unless you mean it and even then—”
“No, no, I meant…” She paused, her heart hurrying far too fast. “Perhaps I was wrong to mention it,” she said softly. “I was thinking of marriage in name only, yet it would be unfair to you, wouldn’t it? A faux marriage would remove for you any chance of a marriage in truth and the happiness it provides. That is what you mean—that I shouldn’t toy with the institution, not even to do important work.”
His gaze met hers. “Yes, exactly,” he said quietly.
Only, the idea would not fade in her mind. “Then perhaps we should marry in truth,” she said slowly, considering it from all angles.
Richard did not freeze this time. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, clearly startled.
Ève turned to him. “It would work, I know it would. You are a good man, beneath your bitterness and your anger. I know that because you made sure I was safely out of the café when the police raided, at great personal cost to yourself. I think…I know Papa feels the same about you, for he gave you his jacket and just about hobbled you to the bed to make you stay with us. If we were married, it would remove all Papa’s objections. It would allow us to visit cafes and learn about the anarchists and their organization, especially as you are of interest to them already.”
She halted the words which tumbled from her, for the next thought was not one which would win Richard over to the idea. She suspected he would not appreciate her belief that marriage would help him in ways he did not believe he required. Companionship, even a partnership of sorts, to help him get through the brutality of his days. Marriage would give him purpose, something to work for.
She said none of it, for he would be mortified. Instead, she brought her teeth together and waited for Richard to consider the idea based upon the few positives she had already spoken of.
“You would bind yourself to a marriage for the sake of your work?” Richard asked, his tone remote and his gaze upon the river.
“I have no prospects, Richard. I am the daughter of a merchant businessman, and after…after Vaughn’s misfortunes, there is little
money to spare for weddings and trousseaus.”
“Still, a man who loved you…”
Ève shook her head. “I am not the marrying kind. I have too much of my father’s adventurer’s blood in me. Papa’s influence is the coup de grâce—I could no more settle to a normal marriage than I could to…to…well, I cannot think of anything less attractive than being bound to the home and hearth, cleaning and cooking and waiting for him to come home.”
“Yet you feel that marriage to me would let you avoid that fate?” His voice was still remote. She could not tell if he was intrigued or repulsed by the idea.
“I suspect it will,” she admitted candidly. “Because of…because of what the world thinks you are, and because of the work we could do for Bertrand, there is little chance of us falling into those expected roles.” She realized she was smiling. “Even picking grapes and haying and building barns sounds like an adventure to me.”
Richard ruffled his hair. “I had not considered my summer in those terms,” he admitted. “Only, there is yet another thing you have failed to take into account, Ève. Marriage would satisfy your father—that is, if he allowed a man like me to marry you in the first place—but that is a different matter and we will deal with that when we come to it.” He paused. “You say you would marry only to complete your work. Now, I do not understand the anarchists as you do, yet I have learned enough in the last few days to know they are ruthless when threatened. You want me to mingle with them and learn about them that way, by pretending I am one of them, yes?”
Ève gripped her hands together. “That is what I had in mind.”
Richard nodded. “And if they were to learn I was not one of them, what do you think they would do to me?”
“We shall have to ensure they do not learn that.”
“No, you do not understand,” Richard said, his tone even. “These people are not reasonable. They do not think as you do, about fault and blame and responsibility. If they were to learn who I really was, they would kill me.”
Ève swallowed. “I know they are ruthless in that way…” Her voice was faint. Weak. “Oh, this is such a bad idea…” she whispered. “Can you pretend I never made the suggestion?”
“No, I cannot,” Richard said, his tone heavy. “Listen to me, Ève.” He brought his fingertips beneath her chin and lifted it, forcing her to meet his gaze. His expression was grave, yet his eyes were warm, which startled her. “Let us deal with this now, for you must understand. If I were to do this which you propose and the anarchists were to learn who I really was, they would not settle for simply killing me. They would also kill anyone important to me, including my wife.”
She flinched. “You have made your point.”
Richard dropped his hand. “Therefore, we should turn your grand lie on its head, Ève. We marry in truth, so your father is satisfied, while we let the world believe that Miss Evelyn the singer is merely my mistress.”
It was her turn to freeze. Despite not being able to move, her heart slammed against the inside of her chest, hurting. “Wh-what…?” she managed, her lips numb.
Richard seemed to be pleased by her shock. “You have no objection to the world thinking less of you than it should, or you would not be passing yourself off as a café singer called Evelyn. Pretending to be a man’s mistress should not bother you in the slightest. If you are reduced to the status of a mistress, the anarchists will be even less interested in you. Then, if anything should happen to me, you would be safe—and understand me, Ève—I will not go into this under any circumstances which might put you at greater risk than you already have chosen for yourself. This way will minimize the risk and this is the only way I will consider going forward with this insane idea.”
“You are…you really are considering it?” Ève whispered.
“I really am considering it. It must be the lack of sleep which brings me to believe it is a sensible idea.” He actually smiled.
She liked his smile, she realized. He didn’t smile nearly often enough.
Ève managed to draw a full breath. It helped restore a little calmness to her thoughts. “You would marry for such a reason, Richard? My reasons are…are very prosaic and practical, I admit. I have not spoken of love at all. If you were to marry me, you would be giving up the chance to marry for love and the happiness which might come from it.”
Richard’s gaze shifted to far away for a moment. “What woman could possibly consider marrying me, even for love? For you are right, Ève—I am not in a position to give a wife anything close to a normal home and marriage. Any self-respecting debutante would be horrified at the idea of a summer of picking grapes and barn-building.” He picked up her hand. “You are right on so many counts, Ève. This is a good reason to marry. It is even a little noble. Yet that is not the major reason I am considering this.”
His fingers were warm against hers, for she had failed to wear gloves again tonight. Ève looked down at their twined fingers. “What is the major reason?” Her voice was a little weak. Were they really about to do this? It was madness!
Richard lifted her chin once more. “You are the primary reason, Ève. You are the only woman who has ever called me a good man, which you did only a while ago. When you saw me at the café the other night, when you were singing, you knew who I was and you could tell I had not recognized you. You could have left me ignorant and avoided the complications of being seen in my company, but you did not. You came and spoke to me. I will never forget that.”
As he spoke, the sky in the east blazed with the first touch of the sun.
Richard’s gaze was steady. Ève’s was not. She didn’t know where to look. She was suddenly terrified of what she had put into motion.
“Ève.”
She made herself look at him.
“Would you do me the honor of marrying me and being my wife?”
Ève tried to speak. Then she tried again. “Yes, Richard, I will.”
He leaned toward her and touched his lips to hers, making her jump.
Then his hand tightened about hers. “And now, I must take you home and put this plan into place,” he murmured.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Great Aunt Annalies’ Boarding House for Ladies, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London.
Anne hurried into the morning room, where Elise sat with that morning’s newspaper, even though it was close to suppertime. Elise had been chagrined to learn there was no time in the morning to linger over newspapers. There was little time for anything, really, except to rise, dress, bolt down a cup of tea and a bite of toast, then hurry to her employment for the day.
Anne walked right up to where Elise sat and put her hand on her hip in a very unladylike manner. “This simply cannot go on, Elise!”
Elise sighed and lowered the newspaper. There was a reason she was sitting here in the cramped morning room, rather than the main drawing room where all the other boarders were gossiping, which Anne had failed to notice. Sometimes, Elise wondered why they were twins. They only appeared to be the same. In far too many respects, Anne and she were completely different.
“There are a great many things I wish would discontinue,” Elise told her. “Could you be more specific, please?”
Anne raised her hand toward the roof, indicating, Elise guessed, the bedrooms above. “There is no hot water! How can I bathe if there is no hot water?”
“There is a kettle on the stove in the kitchen,” Elise pointed out, for in the last few days she had become familiar with the kitchen and the service wing.
“And the stove has been taken up by Mrs. Brown’s cooking pots,” Anne pointed out. “She says there is no time to boil water.”
“For Mrs. Brown, I am sure there is not,” Elise said. “At this time of the evening, I prefer to eat rather than bathe, so I would encourage her priorities. Why on earth are you bathing now?”
“Because I feel grubby and soiled after a day working in that airless, cramped office. There is not even a window! They do everything by lamp light and ther
e is dust everywhere.”
Elise reflected that there was no dust in the haberdashery where she worked, for it was her responsibility to ensure not a speck of it alighted upon the bolts of cloth, spools of lace and thread and trays of buttons. It was nearly her only responsibility, for every customer tramped in dirt and dust and the shop was full of goods which must be presented at their best in order to make a sale. Three days of dusting had given Elise a new appreciation for these quiet moments of stillness, with a simple newspaper to read.
Anne flung herself onto the sofa beside Elise and gave a great sigh. “I am not sure I can go on with this plan of ours, Elise. I’m not entirely sure I can adjust to having work to do every day.”
Elise lowered her voice. “I don’t believe either of us is adjusting well because of the disorganization here at home. When I think of how smoothly everything is run at Northallerton…well, I am beginning to understand that Warrick must be a genius.”
“Something as simple as hot water, whenever we needed it,” Anne added. “No wonder good butlers are so fought over by families who want to employ them.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I always thought it was the status of venerable butlers which made men offer them outrageous sums to come and work for their families. Perhaps we should hire ourselves out as butlers as Papa did, when he retired from the army.” She got to her feet. “I will see what I can do about sliding a kettle over a spare corner of the stove. I simply cannot eat until I have washed a little of this dust away.”
Elise watched her sister leave, her mind whirling.
“Butlers…” she breathed.
When Richard spoke of putting plans into place, Ève had naturally assumed he meant speaking to her father, which was the necessary next step to getting married.
His Parisian Mistress (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 1) Page 8
