by Diane Gaston
Marc sliced the air with his hand. ‘We were never in flagrante, Papa, so say no more. I told you what happened.’
His father stopped and looked straight in Marc’s eye. ‘Why the devil did you leave her, then? To travel to Switzerland? God knows you’ve run off willy-nilly plenty of other times, but this was not the thing to do.’
‘I could not refuse,’ Marc said truthfully.
‘Could not refuse. Of course you could refuse,’ his father muttered. ‘Well, you’ve done a lot of harm by leaving. A lot of harm. To her and the family. What are you going to do about it now?’
‘Whatever I can,’ he answered honestly.
They continued to stroll down one of the walkways, passing a copy of the statue Apollino.
‘You have to tend to a marriage.’ His father’s voice took on a philosophical tone. ‘A wife needs your consideration.’
This was his father talking?
‘You need to consider her desires, if you are married to her. And if you must do something that she cannot like, you must tell her in the gentlest way possible—’
Marc would hear no more of this. ‘Papa! Are you speaking from experience? Because I have seen little of what you describe in your marriage.’
His father stiffened. ‘I am not talking of my marriage.’
‘Obviously not.’ Marc continued walking. ‘When have you considered Maman’s wishes above your own? When have you been gentle with her?’
‘Your mother and I should not have married!’ Marc had heard his father say this many times. ‘We were carried away by—by—well—those visceral feelings that lead to—to—carnal desire. She has been unhappy with me ever since coming to England where she can never belong. She blames me for it.’
‘Is that so?’ Marc continued. ‘I dare say Tess’s and my marriage began even more problematically. Before you tell me what I must do, you ought to try it yourself.’
‘Your mother would not accept it.’
‘Do you think so?’ Marc was not letting this go. ‘You and she were on excellent terms last night. Both of you refrained from picking at each other. It was quite pleasant.’
His father waved a hand. ‘That was nothing. We are eager that Captain Fowler think us a good family and we are always civil in front of the Caldwells. We are anxious to see your sister well settled. Amelie seems to like this fellow very well and Fowler would make an excellent husband for her.’
Like Fowler? Amelie seemed to think Captain Fowler hung the moon and stars. And his parents had travelled to Brussels because of it.
‘Did you find the evening pleasant when you and Maman were acting civil to each other?’ Marc asked instead.
His father did not answer right away. He pretended to examine the busts of Roman emperors on the terrace surrounding the basin.
Finally he said, ‘It was pleasant enough.’
‘Then heed your own advice before you pass it on to me. Show me you can make my mother happy and I’ll attempt the same with my wife.’
His father averted his gaze. ‘I cannot make your mother happy.’
And Marc probably could never make Tess happy. But he could try.
He changed the subject. ‘Father, I wanted to warn you about being in Brussels. It is not safe if there is to be fighting soon.’
‘Ridiculous!’ his father snapped. ‘Brussels is as safe as London. Look at everyone who is here.’
‘You should return to England as soon as possible.’
‘After just arriving here?’ his father scoffed. ‘I have it on good authority that the march on France is a couple of weeks away at least.’ He swept his arm across the park. ‘Look at those men in uniform. They do not look as if this is the eve of battle. They look as if they are on holiday. Besides, your mother likes it here. We will stay as long as it suits her and your sister.’
‘I realise that.’ Marc felt none of the leisure of the soldiers in the park. ‘But when the soldiers march, you must return to England.’
‘Bah. What do you know about it?’
Marc would know more very soon, he hoped. Something was afoot and the Bonapartists he’d met in those public rooms were his best bet on learning what it was.
His father went on. ‘You probably want to get rid of us so you can continue your affair with Doria Caldwell.’
He turned on his father. ‘I am not having an affair with Doria Caldwell!’ He tried hard to contain his anger. ‘You do us all a disservice by saying so, and if you’ve implied anything of the sort to Tess, you are cruel indeed.’
‘I have said nothing,’ his father snapped, but his expression turned to concern. ‘Then, why, my son? Why did you leave? Where did you go and why?’
‘I went to the Alps.’
‘I do not believe you,’ his father said. ‘You are hiding something.’
Marc looked him directly in the eye. ‘Do not believe me, then. But when next I tell you to leave Brussels, take me seriously.’
His father looked back at him, his eyes widening. He slowly nodded.
* * *
Tess’s sleep had been fitful, filled with dreams, not only of Marc and Edmund, but also of her mother. She dreamed of being suddenly alone in Brussels, finding her mother’s house an empty ruin, but hearing her mother’s laughter, watching Marc come towards her in the rain, but disappearing. She dreamed of cannon fire and soldiers on horseback galloping through the town, no one noticing she was alone.
When she’d finally fallen into a deep sleep, Nancy came in the room to wake her.
Tess sat up in the bed. ‘What time is it?’
‘It is eight o’clock, the time I was supposed to wake you,’ Nancy said cheerfully.
Tess fought the urge to send Nancy away and burrow under the covers again. Instead she swung her feet over the edge and searched for her slippers. ‘I hope you slept well.’
Nancy shared a room with Lady Northdon’s and Amelie’s maids. ‘Lady Northdon’s maid snores, but otherwise it was very comfortable.’ She opened the curtains and sunlight poured into the room, such a contrast to the gloom of Tess’s dreams. ‘What would you like to wear?’ she asked, walking over to the clothes press.
‘The blue, I think.’ Her blue gown always reminded her of Marc’s eyes and she wore it often in the hopes that she could attach the colour to something else. The sky. The sea. Something.
Tess walked over to the washstand and poured some water into the basin. She washed herself and brushed her teeth before donning a fresh shift. Nancy brought her a corset and laced her into it, then they moved to the dressing table so Nancy could brush out her hair and pin it up. It was a familiar routine for them, even in this unfamiliar place.
‘Will you see Mr Glenville today?’ Nancy brushed through a difficult tangle. ‘Or your brother?’ Tess had confided only the bare facts of the previous day to Nancy.
‘I do not know,’ she answered. How could she know if she would see Marc? She did not even know the name of his hotel. If he wished, he could easily disappear again. ‘I do hope to see my brother.’
In the mirror Tess saw Nancy’s usual cheerful expression change to a frown. ‘I know it is not my place to say, but it wasn’t right for Mr Glenville to leave you the way he did and then not to let you know he was here in Brussels. He should not have surprised you so.’
‘I fear it was we who surprised him.’ If he’d known they were coming to Brussels, would he have left?
Nancy pinned Tess’s hair into a simple knot and helped her into her dress. ‘Do you remember that Lord Northdon wanted you to breakfast with them in their sitting room?’
Tess nodded.
‘When will you be needing me today?’ Nancy asked.
‘Goodness,’ Tess exclaimed. ‘I have not thought that far ahead.’
‘The thing is, I would like to visit the shops, if I may. The maids who work here in the hotel said that Brussels is known for its lace and I should want to look at lace.’
Tess reached for her reticule and took out several coins.
‘If you see something worthwhile, purchase it, for yourself or for me. No matter what, buy yourself something.’
Nancy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, thank you, ma’am!’
‘And take one of the other maids with you. Or Staines, if you can. Do not go out alone. There are soldiers everywhere.’ Nancy’s sheer good spirits would attract the men to her.
‘Oh, do not worry over me, ma’am. I have brothers. I know how to handle myself.’ She made a fierce face. ‘But Miss Glenville’s maid wants to see the shops, too.’
There was a knock on the door, but it opened before Tess could speak.
Amelie stuck her head in. ‘Tess! May I come in?’
She was halfway in already. ‘Of course, Amelie.’
The girl practically danced into the room. ‘It is such a lovely morning, is it not?’
Nancy grinned. ‘Only one thing makes a girl that happy!’
Amelie gave Nancy a quick embrace. ‘A man, you mean. A special man! The most handsome man you have ever seen and the most gentlemanly, too.’
‘It is lovely to see you so happy, Amelie.’ A man, a special, handsome man, a gentleman, was on Tess’s mind, too, but to think of him made Tess feel wretched.
Amelie floated over to where Tess sat and hugged her, as well. ‘I am so very happy! Captain Fowler is calling upon Papa this morning. He will ask if he can marry me!’
‘Oh, miss!’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘That is so exciting! We must see if we can find some beautiful lace here for your wedding dress.’
Amelie plopped herself down in a chair. ‘A wedding dress made of Belgian lace. Does that not sound beautiful?’
Tess could feel happy for Amelie. ‘It sounds very beautiful.’ But was it wise, she wondered, to become betrothed to a soldier when war was expected?
Amelie smiled beatifically. ‘And now you might be happy, too. Marc is back with us.’
Tess tensed. ‘Marc is in the hotel?’
‘Oh, I do not know if he is in the hotel, but he is to have breakfast with us. Do you not remember?’ Amelie sighed. ‘I wonder what time Captain Fowler will arrive?’
Tess wondered when Marc would arrive. If he would arrive. She could plead a sick headache and remain in her room all day, but what good would that do? She must face him inevitably.
‘I am certain Captain Fowler will arrive at the perfect time,’ Tess said. Any time he arrived would be perfect in Amelie’s eyes. She rose. ‘Shall we go to breakfast?’
She and Amelie walked down the hall to Lord and Lady Northdon’s set of rooms, which consisted of two bedchambers and a sitting room where breakfast would be served to them. When they walked into the sitting room, three gentlemen rose.
Marc, his father and Edmund.
‘Edmund!’ Tess hurried over to him, clasping his hand.
It was the vision that was Amelie who caught Edmund’s eye, though. Tess noticed he forced himself to look at her.
When he did, he smiled. ‘Your husband and Lord Northdon found me in the park and invited me to breakfast. I would never have called so early otherwise.’
‘Your brother is très charmant,’ Lady Northdon remarked. ‘We were just becoming acquainted.’
‘It was kind of you to include him.’ Tess’s gaze fixed on Marc, but she looked away quickly.
He looked fatigued, as if he’d not slept. Had his other entertainment kept him up late?
‘Good morning, Tess,’ he spoke in a low, smooth voice.
Amelie stepped towards Edmund. ‘I have not been introduced.’
Marc spoke. ‘Amelie, may I present Tess’s brother, Lieutenant Summerfield.’ He turned to Edmund. ‘My sister, Miss Glenville.’
Edmund’s face seemed full of colour. He bowed. ‘My pleasure, Miss Glenville.’
‘Shall we all sit and eat?’ Lady Northdon said.
The breakfast was pleasant because Edmund was there and, because he was there, Tess did not have to talk to Marc or the others, even though Tess noticed Edmund’s attention often strayed to Amelie. Captain Fowler joined them when the meal was almost finished and, while Amelie’s and Lord and Lady Northdon’s spirits rose, Edmund became more withdrawn.
Poor Edmund. What chance would he ever have with Amelie, even if it weren’t for Captain Fowler? He was the illegitimate son of a disgraced baronet and Amelie was a viscount’s daughter.
‘Do you have time to spend with me today, Edmund?’ Tess asked him.
‘Later in the afternoon, perhaps.’ His gaze moved to where Amelie and Captain Fowler sat with their heads together.
‘I want you to come with me this morning, Tess,’ Marc said.
Tess could barely look at him. ‘I have something else to do.’
Marc spoke firmly. ‘No, you do not. Come with me.’
Her brother and Lord and Lady Northdon were all staring at her, waiting for her to respond.
‘If I must change my plans for you, I will.’ Not that she had any plans.
Chapter Fifteen
Breakfast ended. Tess, her brother and Marc quit the rooms, leaving Amelie and her captain with Lord and Lady Northdon. Undoubtedly, the betrothal was imminent.
Tess said goodbye to Edmund and she was left alone with Marc.
‘Come with me, Tess,’ he said. ‘I want to call upon someone.’
‘Who?’ Tess was not willing to endure more surprises. ‘I will not go unless you tell me.’
‘Do you recall the gentlemen I was with yesterday in the park?’
Do you mean the gentlemen who stood with Miss Caldwell and you? she wanted to say. ‘Not their names,’ she admitted instead.
‘One was Captain Upton, the man who knew your brother. The other was Mr Scott, who is secretary to the Duke of Richmond. We are calling upon him.’
‘The Duke of Richmond?’ Whatever for?
‘Not the duke. Mr Scott.’
‘Was he one of the fine fellows traipsing through the Alps with you?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘No,’ he answered quietly.
Tess did not wish to call upon anyone, especially if he was a friend of Marc’s, even if he had not been a part of the fictitious trip to the Alps.
‘Marc, would you please call upon this gentleman without me?’ she asked. ‘I am certain your mother would like for me to visit the shops with her.’
‘My mother is wrapped up in Amelie and Fowler at the moment,’ he said. ‘Come. How many opportunities do you receive to see a duke’s house?’
‘How far is it?’ she asked.
‘About a mile,’ he responded.
She acquiesced in the end.
As they set out, she had to admit that it felt good to be outside in the brisk air and to stretch her legs and walk. There was so much activity. So much to look at. All the street signs were in French and they heard more French spoken on the street than Dutch. Everywhere they walked, there were soldiers, some dressed in red coats, some in dark blue. Marc pointed out buildings of importance on the way and talked about the history of the city. It almost felt normal, like the few walks they’d taken together in London, if those could be considered normal.
They reached a very grand house on Rue de la Blanchisserie. Marc sounded the knocker and they were soon admitted to the hall. A footman explained that Mr Scott was to be found in another building. He led them to it through an anteroom and announced them to Mr Scott.
Scott strode over. ‘Glenville! Ma’am.’ He bowed to Tess. ‘How good to see you. He gestured into the large room, its walls papered with roses and festooned with draperies in the royal colours of red, gold and black. ‘This is where the grand event is to take place. The duchess has given me the task of seeing to some of the arrangements.’
Workmen were putting the finishing touches on some sort of platform. Others were carrying in sofas and chairs. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and huge candelabras, taller than a man, were arranged against the walls.
Mr Scott laughed. ‘Can you believe this used to be where a coach builder displayed his wares? The c
hildren were using it as a schoolroom—or, more likely, as a place to play shuttlecocks—until the duchess took it over for the ball.’
The ball? Surely this was not the ball Marc had spoken of the day before. Why would a duchess condescend to invite Lord and Lady Northdon, or the equally scandalous Tess Glenville?
‘That is why we have come,’ Marc said. ‘Were you able to do what I asked?’
‘I was.’ He leaned forward with a conspiratorial look. ‘With a little assistance from our friend.’
What friend? Of course, Tess would know nothing about Marc’s friends.
Mr Scott reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out white cards. ‘Invitations for all of you. Your parents. Your sister. Captain Fowler.’ He winked at Tess. ‘And you and your husband, ma’am.’ His smile grew wider. ‘His Grace the Duke of Wellington promises to attend, as well.’
‘We are invited to this ball?’ Tess could not believe it. ‘The duchess’s ball?’ A ball Wellington would attend? ‘Does the duchess know of our invitations?’
Mr Scott handed the invitations to Marc. ‘She does, indeed.’ He turned suddenly and shouted to some workmen, ‘No, not there! On the other side.’
Marc put the invitations in his pocket. ‘We should take our leave. You are busy.’
Mr Scott made a wry smile. ‘A tad busy at the moment. I, for one, shall be glad when this ball is over.’ He gave Marc a significant look. ‘I will hear from you later?’
‘Later,’ Marc agreed.
They bid Scott farewell and walked back out to the street.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Marc asked.
Tess whirled on him. ‘You did not tell me the ball I must attend would be a duchess’s ball.’
Marc lifted a shoulder. ‘It was an invitation I had at my disposal to arrange.’
‘How could you have it at your disposal? A friendship with a duke’s secretary is hardly a reason to be invited.’
‘There was more to it.’ He blew out a breath. ‘What difference does it make, Tess? It is a very much sought-after invitation and I was able to arrange it.’
‘Did you think arranging an invitation to a ball would make any difference to me?’ Telling her the truth would be vastly better.
