“Exactly.” He grinned as if she were a prize student.
Her voice sharp she said, “I am not stupid, Sir Frederick.”
“No. Most certainly,” he said softly, “you are not stupid.”
For a moment tension seemed to grow between them. With great effort Harriet pulled her gaze from his and turned back up the path. She must not allow her feelings to soften. She must not forget the sort of man he was.
Harriet picked up the gun and turned toward the targets. Again she raised her arm. Carefully she sighted toward the left. She shot—and nothing happened. She pulled the trigger again. She sighed. With a faintly rueful look at Sir Frederick, she muttered, “And I just said I am not stupid!”
He chuckled. Soon Harriet laughed as well. He took the gun from her. Harriet watched his hands as he deftly loaded it. Such long-fingered, strong-looking hands. He’d make a pianist, she thought. She glanced at her own long fingered hands and suddenly yearned for a piano on which to play out the emotions she could seem to control no other way. The piano had been her salvation when her parents died. Now she needed it again, but for very different emotions.
Too bad, she thought, that the Vaudrays did not own one!
Two
The few days at the chateau extended to very nearly two weeks. The men had a day’s excellent if careful climbing—spring not the season for such activity—and rode along trails to hidden mountain lakes and falls made incredibly beautiful by the spring thaws. They spent lazy evenings listening to the family’s string trio or to Françoise play on the harpsichord. The music was surprisingly good.
Frani told Frederick that Miss Cole was her music teacher and that Harri was truly excellent, but no amount of coaxing would make her teacher play before company. It was, asserted the child, frowning prettily, most vexing of her. A quick smile had taken the sting from the words, and Harri’s indulgent grin met by Frani’s wry smile implied it was an old argument between the two.
Even as they played and rested and enjoyed their stay, the men were consulting with Gerard Vaudray concerning the ladies’ journey.
“I’d have thought they’d have had armed guards if that devil has harassed them half so much as the little mademoiselle says,” complained Yves.
“The ladies thought to disappear from Italy with no one the wiser—especially not the unwanted suitor, of course,” answered Gerard. “If they’d gone off with a large entourage, it would have been a proclamation of their intentions. They put it about that they were visiting friends in Varese for a few days.”
“The ploy didn’t work. One assumes there is a reason it didn’t work,” suggested Frederick, his brows arced questioningly.
“My thought, as well,” said Gerard, nodding slowly in a manner which, on an older man, Frederick might have stigmatized as pompous. “We’ve questioned Madame la Comtesse’s servants. A young maid will travel no farther. She is infatuated with the comte’s valet, you see,” he finished dryly and proceeded to the complicated project of lighting his long-stemmed clay pipe.
“One does see, of course,” said Sir Frederick. “Have you been very careful about the guards you’ve hired for when they continue on? One would not wish to find some among them subverted by love of another sort.”
Gerard frowned and tipped his head. “Love? For the valet?”
Frederick chuckled. “I referred to love for money. Greed.”
“Ah. It is an English jest. You mean bribes.” Gerard drew in a deep breath, his smile fading. “One is as careful as one may be.” The Swiss looked Frederick in the eye. “I wish I were free to go with them. They need a man in authority, someone to show the world they are not alone and unprotected.” He continued to hold Frederick’s gaze.
Frederick didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You wish Yves and myself to travel with them.”
“I do. Madame has asked that I request that you escort them. She understands that you, too, go now to England? It would not be taking you from your own plans to help them carry out theirs?” he asked with more diffidence than he’d shown in the original request.
Frederick turned away, walked to the window, and stared out at the Aletschhorn, barely visible within a cloud. “I would be happy to oblige Madame, but there is something of which she should be aware. My reputation in England is not good. On this side of the Channel that will be no problem, but once across the water—” He turned back. “No. It would not do.”
“Miss Cole has said something...” Again a touch of the man’s diffidence could be heard.
“I doubt very much if she could say anything worse than the truth,” said Frederick with a certain dryness.
Gerard looked him straight in the eye. “Miss Cole does not trust you.”
“Ah. That is a different kettle of fish entirely. I may certainly be trusted with the protection of Madame la Comtesse and the young women. I have no desire to seduce young Françoise,” he finished bluntly, “which is, I believe, Miss Cole’s primary concern?”
Gerard chuckled. “Madame said there was nothing in it. She is a very wise old woman and rarely does anyone put wool in her ears.” He frowned. “Is that correct?”
“Pull the wool over her eyes,” said Frederick carefully. Gerard had evinced a strong interest in English sayings and English cant, but he often got them wrong. Frederick had learned not to laugh, correcting him gently.
Gerard nodded, repeating the phrase under his breath. “May I tell Madame you’ve agreed to escort them?” he asked.
Frederick paused. “Tell Madame I will be pleased to escort them as far as Calais. There we must discuss the situation further. I would not wish to besmirch innocent reputations by my mere presence; and traveling in England with me would, at the very least, do them no good.”
“Madame will be pleased even though you add the caveat.” Gerard nodded in the formal way he had and left the room.
“We go on to England, then, with Madame’s party?” asked Yves.
“I think we must. The man we saw on the mountain will not stop with one attempt.”
“Ah. We must be ever alert to protect the little one, then,” said the young man fervently. “She is so beautiful, Frederick. So intelligent and talented. She is perfection itself. Can it really be true you have no designs on her virtue?”
Frederick raised his eyes heavenward. “Believe me, I’ve no interest in that child. I think, Yves, I must be getting old. I freely admit that at one time I would likely have pursued her to the ends of our mutual pleasure. Now?” He shrugged, thinking of grey eyes and how amazingly expressive they could be. “Now I’ve no interest in Mademoiselle Françoise.” If there was a very faint emphasis on the name, Yves did not notice. Frederick added, “No. None whatsoever.”
“That is good, I think,” said Yves very seriously. “You see, Frederick, I would have disliked it very much if I’d been forced to ... to reprimand you for too warm attentions to Mademoiselle.”
Frederick grinned. “Puppy! Do you think you could, er, reprimand me?”
“I would try.”
They looked at each other, Yves solemn and Frederick bemused. “Ah,” said the latter. “I see.” He grinned at the revelation. “You have become intrigued by our young miss, is that not so?”
“And if I have? I know I am not enough eleve—elevated do you say?—to wipe her feet. I know I have no chance of ever achieving bliss with her. I also know I will give my life to protect her.”
Frederick groaned. “Lord protect me from the idealistic passions of the young! Give over, Yves. I’ve no interest in your Françoise and I, too, wish to protect the women.” This time it was Frederick’s turn to catch and hold Yves’ gaze. “All the women, Yves, not the youngest and prettiest only.”
Yves had the grace to blush.
In another part of the chateau Frani flounced from Harriet’s room and slammed the door. Harriet winced and turned to stare out the window at the soothing view of mountains ranged one behind the other. I did that all wrong, she thought, rue filling her
. How could I have been so stupid? Madame will certainly have words to say to me if little Frani takes it into her head to challenge the rake for no other reason than that I warned her she mustn’t! Oh dear...
Others had done so, she recalled, challenged him, and they had found themselves humbled, their pride if not their reputations in shreds. Why, she wondered, did the young find a man of Sir Frederick’s stamp a gauntlet to be picked up? Why must they risk all just to teach him a lesson? How could any woman think she would be the exception to a long established rule! Not that Frani had suggested an interest in teaching him anything.
Harriet frowned. Frani insisted Frederick had never put a foot wrong, that he had never once done more than lightly tease her as a man might his younger sister. And Frani was not unused to flirtation—the minx. She would know. In fact she had giggled and admitted that if anyone were flirting with her it was de Bartigues. Which meant what? That Frederick knew the chit was carefully guarded and bided his time? Harriet would not believe he had no interest in Frani. How could he not have an interest?
Harriet looked down her length and lamented that she, too, was not petite perfection. Would Sir Frederick look at her as she’d seen him do to others, if she were tiny and pert and not a great lummox of a woman with hair so pale it faded to non-existence next to Frani’s black locks?
Realizing where her thoughts tended, Harriet bit her lip. She must not allow herself to think of drawing Sir Frederick’s attention—not even in her dreams. She must never forget that the only possession of value she still retained was her good name. She must do nothing which would lose her that as well as all else—as had happened at her parent’s death.
She drew in a deep breath. Tomorrow they would leave the chateau. For many long miles they would travel across France. They would cross the Channel to England. Days and days of association with the one man in the world who had ever tempted her. A man who still tempted her. A man dangerous to her peace of mind at every level. ... A man who must not be trusted to stay away from Frani. Well, she would be strong and she would not, not for a moment, forget her duty to Madame: She would protect Françoise from Sir Frederick however much her own heart might ache, however hurt she felt.
Harriet, thinking of Frederick’s wicked brown eyes, feared she might be very badly hurt.
Travel was difficult at any time. Traveling with three carriages and grooms and postillions and the teams to pull them, with riding horses for eight, with luggage and four personal servants, and with six hired guards was, sometimes, very nearly impossible. Madame had planned her journey with easy stages from one friend or relative to the next—but it was not always possible to visit in a private home.
Sometimes the stages—as between Lausanne and Champagnole, where Madame had a friend—were too long, and a break had to be made at an hostelry. That particular stop had been peaceful and without incident. Tonight was another such a night, and Frederick hoped it too would prove quiet—but had his doubts.
It was too bad they had to stop at all. Tomorrow would see them in Paris and at the home of Madame’s goddaughter. The woman, long married, had returned with her family to her hotel on place des Vosges soon after Waterloo. Visiting there would make a pleasant break for Madame. But tonight they could go no further.
Madame la Comtesse never complained, but Frederick could see how tired and worn she’d become. Long hours over jolting roads, new faces every few days, the worry about her granddaughter, and the ever present tension, wondering when the comte would strike again ... it was no wonder Madame felt her age! Assuming accommodations were as good in Paris at the goddaughter’s hotel as he expected, Frederick thought perhaps the women should remain there a few extra days. Madame needed time to recover before they made the last effort to reach England and the child’s English grandfather.
Frederick turned from where the grooms saw to the comfort of the horses in the rather poor quarters available. He watched Yves pick a dainty way through the mud—and worse—making the inn’s yard nearly impassable for a man on foot. “Have the women retired?” asked Frederick.
“They will rest while dinner is prepared. I cannot like this place, Frederick. I don’t understand why you insisted we stop.”
“I didn’t insist. In fact, I’d have preferred to go on, but Madame could go no further today. Have you taken a good look at Hortense de St. Onge, Yves?”
Spots of red appeared on Yves’ cheeks. “She is tired, but will she rest well here?”
Frederick shrugged. “She refuses to go farther tonight, so we’ve no choice but to chance it.” He turned back to have a word with his coachman before joining Yves for the return to the inn. He too had had second thoughts about the wisdom of stopping here, but the relief Madame hadn’t tried to conceal as she’d been helped from her coach had decided him. He sighed. Perhaps it would be best if he and Yves were to take turns standing guard tonight along with their valets and the hired guards. It would take at least three of them to cover the different approaches to the bedroom floor in the rambling old structure. Perhaps they should reconnoiter...
An hour later Yves escorted the women to the private parlor, where their evening meal would be served. The landlord arrived soon after, a bottle of fine brandy in his hand. Yves inspected it with interest. Frederick, however, knew better than to drink when expecting a long night of duty. Alcohol and responsibility did not mix. He wanted nothing to cloud his mind. So, although he accepted a glass from the inn keeper, when the man left he set his aside and, after Yves had a few sips suggested, quietly, that perhaps it would be best to stay completely sober. Yves agreed.
A few minutes later the younger man yawned, a huge gaping yawn which surprised him as much as it did the company. Frederick was immediately alert—especially when a second yawn followed on the first. When the landlord again entered the parlor—this time followed by several maids with trays, Frederick pretended to yawn. He noted the expression of satisfaction on the landlord’s face. The meal was laid out, and they took their seats, Yves again yawning widely.
“I don’t know what is wrong with me,” he said a bit petulantly. “Only minutes ago I felt fine. Now I can barely keep my eyes open.”
Frederick didn’t respond. He was watching the service of the meal, especially that given Françoise and Harriet who would sleep in the same room. As soon as the food had been passed once, he relaxed slightly and told the landlord and his maids to go. They would help themselves to anything else they required.
The landlord casually picked up a tureen of steaming soup and walked out the door, followed by the maids. Immediately Sir Frederick scanned the table to see who had accepted a serving from that dish. Only Madame. Even as he watched, she lifted another spoonful to her lips. Standing, Sir Frederick reached across the table and knocked the spoon away, the broth flying out to spatter over Franchise.
“Sir Frederick!” wailed the girl. “My gown!”
“Why did you do that?” asked Harriet, standing. “What is it? What has happened?”
Frederick ignored both young women. “Madame, I fear an opiate. Perhaps worse. Will you please empty your stomach of what you have eaten? I think Yves has been drugged by the brandy which I was also expected to drink and now you are the only one to eat of that soup, which I recall the landlord saying had been especially prepared for your delectation. Please, will you do as I ask and empty your stomach?”
Madame stood up. “Come Harriet. You must help me.” She crossed the room. Suddenly she doubled over, clutching her middle. She groaned. The spasm passed and she looked fiercely at Frederick. “Not an opiate, Sir Frederick. If I die, promise me you’ll see my granddaughter to safety.”
“I promise,” said Sir Frederick already at her side. “But do not concern yourself with such morbid thoughts. You ate very little. However little it was, you’ll now have to accept some embarrassment,” he added grimly when she again bent with the pain. He helped her to lean down and put his finger into her mouth, forcing it back until he achieved a gag refl
ex. The next few minutes were not pleasant, but were, he believed, necessary. Harriet worked in concert with him. Madame did not object, already suffering pain more intense than any she’d ever endured.
When they had cleared her stomach twice more, making her drink from the common coffeepot in between induced vomiting, Sir Frederick picked the weak and very sick old woman up in his arms. He carried her from the room and looked sardonically around at the wide-eyed servants clustered in the hall. “You may tell your master,” said Sir Frederick, “that he requires a new cook. The food has not agreed with our lady’s system—as you will see.” He forced a path through the crowd, found the landlord hovering near the stairs and stared at him for a long moment before carrying Madame on up to her room. Behind came Harriet and Françoise.
Monsieur de Bartigues brought up the rear carrying the basket of rolls. He had a notion they might all require something to eat before the night was ended, and the bread seemed to him the safest item on the table!
Madame’s maids and Harriet settled Madame into her bed. Once leaning back on her pillows, the old woman insisted she must see Sir Frederick. To quiet her, Harriet reluctantly called him in. “You have saved me, I think,” said Madame in a whispery voice.
“I certainly hope we have. But it was Miss Cole who knew what should be done. I merely helped her.”
“It was you who guessed there was something wrong. I cannot remember if you promised me you’d see my granddaughter safely on to England...”
“I did.”
“Good. We will see how I do in the morning. But for this night? She will be safe?”
“Monsieur de Bartigues and I had already laid plans for your protection, Madame. We have set up a rota of guards and have found the positions where they will stand. They will be armed and alert. You may be calm, Madame. Although we rid you of much of the poison, some will have gotten into your system. You must rest now.”
“Yes. Now I will rest.” She closed her eyes.
Harriet accompanied Sir Frederick to the door. “Is there no more we may do for her?”
A Reformed Rake Page 3
