Le Chevalier

by Mary Jean Adams

  “Not to worry,” the colonel told her. “Howe may continue to land as many troops in Maryland as he pleases. Washington’s men will whittle them down to size before they reach Philadelphia. Even if a few do manage to slip through, my men will make quick work of them.

  “What’s wrong, my dear? You don’t look happy,” the colonel observed. “Is there anything I can do to cheer you up? Perhaps we should visit the jewelers tomorrow and select a new ornament for your hair.” Crooked teeth stuck out below his brush of a moustache as he smiled as her. “Something that sparkles, perhaps, although nothing could ever outshine your beauty.”

  “It’s just that…was English rule so bad?” she asked, fanning herself with renewed vigor. “I mean we had plenty to eat and plenty of fine English goods in the shops. Perhaps it would be better if England did win this war.”

  His smiled dissolved. “Hush, my dear. You do not really mean that.”

  “It’s just—”

  “No, we will speak no more about it,” the colonel said, rising and drawing Angelina to her feet.

  Arm in arm they strolled back toward the mansion, passing within a hair’s breadth of the old oak shielding Alex and Mont Trignon from view. From the way his jowls sagged around his frown, Alex surmised his amorous mood had been broken.

  “I knew we were right,” Alex said, as soon as they were gone.

  She twisted away from Mont Trignon, releasing herself from his arm. She shivered at the loss of his warmth.

  “No, I believe we may be wrong.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the rough tree trunk as he mulled it over.

  “Wrong? How so?” she asked, studying him in disbelief. “You heard her as well as I. She wants the English to invade Philadelphia and put an end to the war.”

  He turned his gaze to her. “Alexandra, put your personal feelings for Angelina aside for a moment and look into your heart. Remember your first instinct was to defend Angelina when we suspected her.”

  “But that was before I thought more about it.” She waved her hands in a wide arch. “It all makes sense now.”

  “First instincts should be listened to,” he cautioned her. “Has she ever seemed like the type of woman who would care more for luxuries than her country?”

  “She does love pretty things,” Alex said, trying to hang onto the picture of Angelina she had painted in her mind over the years. She frowned as she admitted to something that had plagued her for the last several years. “But, no. There is a wit and intelligence about her that always made me wonder if her frivolity wasn’t an act.”

  “I saw that too.” His expression turned thoughtful as he cocked his head to the side. “Do you remember when you first introduced me to Angelina?”

  Alex leveled her gaze at him, her smile crooked. “Do you mean when I first introduced Marie to her?”

  “Oui,” Mont Trignon nodded, ignoring her barb. “I believe she knew I, I mean Marie, was a man.”

  Alex’s eyes flew open in disbelief. “Yet, she never said anything?”

  “No, and I have wondered why. The more I consider it, the more I think she saw me for what I really was and decided she and I were on the same side.” He shrugged. “I am not certain, but it is the best explanation I have so far.”

  Alex set her hands on her hips and made an effort to set aside her personal feelings for her childhood nemesis.

  “When we were children, I resented her because she could verbally spar with my brother better than any of us. I was surprised when she chose a half-wit like the colonel over someone like Reid.”

  “Exactly,” the chevalier said. “A woman with her intelligence does not choose a man who is not her equal, despite her love for costly trinkets.”

  Alex studied the planes of his face and the enigmatic hazel eyes regarding her. Did intelligent men prefer intelligent women as well, even if the woman lacked wealth and breeding? As far as she knew, it didn’t work both ways.

  “I also did a little digging on Angelina,” he continued. “Her parents left her a sizeable fortune. She does not need the colonel’s money to lead a comfortable life.”

  They started back toward the mansion. This time Mont Trignon walked slower and pointed toward various landmarks around the grounds, speaking loudly in French and creating a plausible cover story, should anyone happen to notice them.

  Between his explanations of their surroundings, they continued to chat in lower tones about what they had observed.

  “But why would she say all of those things to the colonel?” Alex asked. “If our instincts are correct and your information true, why would Angelina play this game?”

  “I confess I do not know,” he replied, a pensive furrow between his brows. “But if I were to guess, I might suppose she is spying on the colonel.”

  She stumbled as her heel skidded on a chunk of rock. Righting herself, she looked up at him. “Spying? On the colonel?”

  He hooked his hands behind his back and stared at the limestone path as he walked. “Yes, remember, he was the one I suspected when I first arrived in Philadelphia. Angelina might have been recruited to keep an eye on him.”

  Alex nodded to a group of young ladies headed toward the gazebo, their satin skirts swishing in unison as they passed, then she lowered her voice. “By whom? Wouldn’t Lafayette have let you know of this if Angelina were already watching the colonel?”

  “That is the thing about spies.” He dropped his voice to an almost inaudible whisper, and Alex had to take a step closer despite appearances. “Ours can be such a dangerous business that we guard our involvement well. There is no roster of informants. Not even General Washington knows who everyone is. Even when orders come from him, they are passed through many handlers so only a handful of people know who actually is working on a particular angle.”

  “Seems inefficient,” Alex observed.

  But also fascinating, she admitted, excitement pulsing through her.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. But secrecy is necessary if one wants to stay alive.”

  Alex looked up as they approached the granite steps leading to the balcony at the rear of the Thornton’s home. “But a female spy? Is that possible?”

  The chevalier laughed, his heated gaze perusing her from head to toe. “They make the best kind, ma bichette. When they dress the part, they can get closer to those they observe than another man can.”

  Alex glanced over her shoulder toward the dark paths. How close was Angelina to the colonel? Clearly, Montgomery thought they were on intimate terms, but Alex saw how Angelina artfully kept her distance. It was like watching a dangerous little dance, and Alex marveled that a woman could learn to perform with such skill.

  They mounted the granite stairs and were amidst the other guests lining the balcony when Alex remembered she had her own mysteries to solve. She must be resolute in her efforts to uncover Mont Trignon’s secrets, starting with his marriage. The time had come for a little surveillance of her own.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thornton greeted them at the door. “Chevalier, Monsieur Lourdaud, I see you are as uninterested in the dancing as I. Come, let us retire to the card room and see if we can’t relieve you of some of the coin that I have no doubt weighs heavily in your purse.”

  “By all means, Monsieur, lead the way,” Mont Trignon said, with a wave of his hand before he and Alex followed the man into a side room.

  Alex looked about her in awe as she entered the exotic domain she had never thought to see in her entire life. Card playing was common, even among the women of her acquaintance, but her sort never played for money. To do so could easily ruin a man, and it was assumed those who desired higher stakes were desperate and to be avoided. She allowed cards in her tavern but never allowed bets higher than the next round of ale.

  This smoke-filled room, packed with men in powdered white wigs and silk cravats, was a different world. Stacks of hard coin, more than she had ever seen in her life, lay before these men. They played with currencies from several countries, suc
h as France and England, and a few gold pieces she didn’t recognize. However, she could not discern a Continental dollar among them. The stakes were apparently too high to make the deflated currency of the newly formed states worth playing with.

  “Won’t you and your cousin join our game, Chevalier?” a man asked as he shuffled a deck of French playing cards.

  The man’s predatory eyes bore a hole through her. She knew she must look like an easy mark, and she arranged her expression to look less awed and more amused.

  “I am afraid my cousin is unfamiliar with your game. Perhaps it would be best if we observe while I explain the rules before he joins,” he smiled and cocked an eyebrow at her, “lest he squander his family fortune.”

  The men around the room laughed, but relief washed through Alex. She knew how to play most card games well enough but only carried sufficient coin to hire a carriage should the need arise.

  “Then at least let us offer you a glass of cognac to enjoy as you observe,” Thornton said, handing them two snifters filled about a third full with a golden liquid. “One of your countrymen was good enough to procure a few bottles when last he visited France.”

  Alex nodded her gratitude as she accepted one of the glasses. Her nerves could use a drink, and she wasn’t often treated to something better than the ale she served in her tavern or a glass of sherry in her home. At least this drink didn’t bubble the way the champagne they served in the ballroom did.

  She imitated the way the chevalier held the snifter in the palm of his hand without drinking. He studied the liquid in the glass as he leisurely swirled it about, first looking down at it and then holding it up to the light. Alex did the same, adopting a thoughtful expression but wondering what she was supposed to be looking for.

  It was pretty, however, and she enjoyed the way it shimmered in the candlelight. It looked like liquid gold as it coated the sides and then ran in slow rivulets to pool back in the center of her glass.

  Mont Trignon held his glass to his nose, and Alex followed his lead. As she inhaled, she had an impression of apricots. And maybe a touch of vanilla, she amended.

  At last, the chevalier took a sip, and Alex raised her glass as well. The golden liquid made her lips tingle then bathed her tongue and warmed her throat as she swallowed.

  “Do you like it?” Mont Trignon whispered in her ear.

  “It’s wonderful,” Alex replied, before taking another sip. After savoring it on her tongue for a moment, she swallowed and then added, “It’s hard to believe this could come from the same country as that vile bubbly stuff.”

  The chevalier chuckled. “Just go easy on it, chérie. It is a bit more powerful than the sherry you serve.”

  Alex watched in fascination as the men bet, won, and lost large sums of money. The piles on some of the tables held more than her tavern took in during a single night. Yet, win or lose, the outrageous sums didn’t affect the disposition of the men. Every now and then, one would make an excuse to rejoin the dancing, but none seemed put out when his luck ran dry. What must it be like to have those kinds of funds at one’s disposal?

  Watching Mont Trignon from beneath veiled lids, she took another sip of her cognac and reveled in the warmth spreading all the way to her toes. Even her shoes no longer pinched.

  Did he have the kind of wealth on display here tonight? Nothing in his countenance showed any hint of amazement at the size of the bets. And Thornton had greeted him as though they had played together before. Perhaps he spent many a night in the company of these men, at least when he didn’t haunt her tavern with Reid and the Bandys.

  The chevalier smiled and raised his glass in congratulations when Thornton and his partner won a particularly well-played hand.

  Heavens, his beauty surpassed Adonis, she decided. Could a man be described as beautiful? She grinned. Probably not to his face, but she could not think of a more apt description.

  His beauty went deeper than the warm glow of his skin in the candlelight, the silver and gold threads in his wavy hair, or the way the lines formed around his mouth when he smiled as though he smiled often. He radiated an inner glow as well. One that made him beautiful inside and out and would endure long after his youthful vitality had faded.

  He leaned down, whispered something to her in his native language, and then chuckled. Alex had no idea what he said, but the heat rose in her cheeks all the same as she realized she had been staring at him.

  Even though they were in a room full of men, no one paid much attention to them, and they occupied a secluded bubble set apart from the rest of the world.

  “You said we could talk about you later, if I wished,” Alex reminded him, in a voice that only he could hear.

  His smile faded even though his lips still curved at the corners. “What is it you wish to know?” He asked, keeping his gaze on the nearest table.

  She maneuvered closer so her question would not be overheard but also to give herself time to think. How did one ask such a personal question?

  “I do not mean to pry, but I would like to know more about you if I am to help you.”

  “That only stands to reason,” he said, still avoiding her gaze.

  Only one question occupied her thoughts, but she didn’t want to sound as though his marital status were of paramount importance. Perhaps there were other things she should ask first.

  “I mean I do trust you, but if I knew you better, perhaps it would be easier for us to help each other,” she said, trying to buy enough time to think of a reasonable first question.

  He looked her in the eye. “Alexandra, ask your question.”

  “Are you married?” She cringed as she asked, but heaven help her, it was the only question on her mind.

  “Not anymore,” he said, as Thornton strode toward them, cigars in hand.

  Alex’s head swam with unanswered questions as their host smiled at them. Not anymore. Had his wife died? Is that why he surrounded himself with women like the beautiful Christiana? She could almost forgive his self-indulgent lifestyle if he had been overcome with grief.

  “Chevalier?” Thornton held out a cigar.

  After Mont Trignon accepted his, Thornton handed one to Alex.

  “I do not think my cousin—” Mont Trignon started to say, but stopped when Alex accepted hers with a nod.

  She had never smoked a cigar before, but tonight was a night of firsts. She had never tasted champagne or cognac, worn breeches, or worked as a spy. So far, the night had been intriguing, and she found herself eager to try other “firsts” before it ended.

  A thrill ran through her as Thornton clipped off the end of her cigar. Mont Trignon’s gaze lingered on her face, like a warm hand caressing her cheek. Something deep in the recesses of her mind and the tingling in her belly told her the night held other possibilities as well. She needed to be careful.

  As Thornton rejoined his game, Mont Trignon lit his cigar in a candle from the side table, and Alex followed his actions.

  She inhaled the heady aroma as she took a puff, and then thought she might die.

  She struggled to hold back the cough welling in her chest, tears filling her eyes and threatening to expose her as an imposter.

  “Not quite as smooth as the cognac, eh, chérie?” Mont Trignon whispered, causing Alex to release the sputtering breath she held.

  Her head swam, and she grasped his forearm to steady herself. The smoke still rose from the vile brown thing she held in her hands, and she looked around for a place to stash it so she could get it as far away from her as possible. She leaned forward to toss it into the unlit fireplace, but Mont Trignon stayed her hand. He stamped out the lit end on the grate and stuck the rest of the cigar into the breast pocket inside his coat.

  “It is an acquired taste,” he explained.

  Alex’s knees buckled, and she took a sip of the cognac to steady herself. The golden liquid, once so pleasant to her senses, now burned in her belly. Smoke swirled about her head, and the room filled with the vile smell, robbing h
er of breath.

  “You will excuse me?” She didn’t wait for his acknowledgement before dashing out the door to the clear air of the open foyer.

  ****

  When Alexandra failed to return to the card room, Mont Trignon decided he had better search her out and make certain she had not gotten herself cornered by a suspicious French-speaking Philadelphian.

  He scanned the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with the many ladies who regarded him with polite smiles of anticipation. He knew they hoped he would ask them to dance, and on any other night, he would, but tonight, Alexandra consumed his thoughts.

  He stepped through the double doors into the cool night air. Candlelight streamed through the tall ballroom windows, illuminating the balcony in a muted, yellow glow. Guests lined the railing, enjoying the evening air and the beautiful starlit sky. He searched among them for a pair of satin chartreuse breeches and a mustard-colored coat.

  Mont Trignon quelled a growing tension. She could not have gone far, and if she were in trouble, he would know. He could feel her presence nearby, even though he could not see her.

  He walked the length of the balcony, placing himself in the mind of the woman he loved. Her delicate face had been an alarming shade of green. If she were feeling ill, where would she go?

  He descended the steps from the balcony and strode down the dark path leading past the gazebo and into the wooded grove. He had not gone far when the sound of retching came from behind a thicket.

  “Alexandra?” he called.

  He headed toward the dreadful sound and parting a few branches in a low hedge, found her on her hands and knees, her stomach emptying itself of everything she had eaten that day, which evidently had not been much.

  He could do nothing for her other than wait for the nausea to pass, so he sat cross-legged on the ground next to her.