by French Leave
“And now,” she pronounced, turning back to Étienne, “you will take me to this hovel in Great Dover Street where is milord.”
Étienne, recognizing his cue, took Lisette’s arm and ushered her back outside to the hackney carriage, whose driver waited impatiently for his fare.
“That’ll be a shilling and sixpence, that will,” he informed Étienne in a manner calculated to inform him that he did not intend to be taken advantage of by a foreigner.
“But we have not yet done with your services,” Étienne protested. “Take us at once to the Pig and Whistle, in Great Dover Street.”
“I’ll not be taking you nowhere until I get my shilling and six,” reiterated the driver, thrusting his cupped hand belligerently at the Frenchman.
“Oh, very well,” muttered Étienne, shoving his hand into the pocket of his breeches. Having paid the driver, he climbed into the carriage and seated himself beside Lisette. As the vehicle lurched forward, he patted her hand consolingly. “There, now! You’ll be with your husband again very soon.”
Lisette, however, had by this time recalled her grudge against him, and removed herself to the rear-facing seat. “I will accept your escort to Great Dover Street because I must, but until we arrive there, you will please be so good as not to touch me again.”
“Lisette—Madame Waverly—you have every reason to be angry with me,” Étienne said coaxingly. “You see, I thought your husband could have no objections to your entertaining another gentleman’s attentions. I supposed your marriage to Lord Waverly must be a mariage de covenance, a—how shall I say it? A purely financial arrangement.”
“A financial arrangement?” echoed Lisette, her brow wrinkling in a puzzled frown. “In what way?”
“Milord Waverly left England under a cloud of scandal and bankruptcy, and has lived in Paris for the last several years with gaming as his only source of income. When I learned that he had wed you and taken you back to England, I imagined—pardon my bluntness!—that he must have married you for your money.”
“What money, s’il vous plaît?”
“Why, your inheritance from your English grand-père,” explained Étienne. “But when milord Waverly was so very angry at our, er, indiscretion, I saw at once that I was mistaken.”
“But I have no inheritance!” Bright spots of color burned in Lisette’s cheeks. “It is too absurd!”
“Of course you do not,” Étienne assured her. “I merely supposed that you, being his only grandchild, must have inherited his considerable fortune.”
Had she the leisure to examine this statement, Lisette might have wondered at the source of Etienne’s considerable information. But having undergone a series of revelations in less than half an hour, from the news that her husband might be on his deathbed, to the possibility that she might be the possessor of a considerable fortune, and the subsequent suggestion that her injured husband might have married her for the sake of said fortune, Lisette was in no fit state to consider Étienne’s argument rationally.
“It does not matter whether I have the inheritance or not!” she declared passionately, as much to herself as to her traveling companion. “Milord married me because he is good, and honorable, and would not abandon me in a foreign land!”
“I am sure you are right,” said Étienne reassuringly. “After all, who would know Milord Waverly better than his own wife? I am certain it is just as you say, and anything between him and the Lady Hélène Brundy is all in the past.”
Lisette drew breath to hotly deny any connection, past or present, between her husband and Lady Helen, but the words stuck in her throat, refusing to be uttered. She no longer trusted Étienne, for anyone who would lure her to such indiscretion as he had at the Dorrington ball was assuredly no true friend. She could not believe a word he said. And yet, there were things, small things, to be sure, but things which, when taken together, made her fear that in this instance, at least, Étienne might be telling her the truth.
“Ah, here it is, the Pig and Whistle!” declared Étienne cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Lisette’s inner struggle. “We have arrived!”
Surely when she saw him again, all these terrible doubts would be put to rest. He would laugh at her and call her a foolish child, and they would be happy again. Unless, the dreadful thought occurred to her, he was so badly injured that he could not speak. Perhaps he might even die, and she would never know the truth. Without waiting for Étienne, she wrenched open the door and leaped from the carriage before the wheels had stopped rolling, and ran into the hostel where her husband waited.
“Welcome to the Pig and Whistle, miss,” said the proprietor of this establishment, bowing to his elegantly clad visitor. “How can I helps you this evenin’?”
“A man was brought here earlier, a gentleman who was injured,” Lisette explained hurriedly. “Where is he now?”
“There’s a gentleman in the private parlor to your right, miss, but he’s not—”
“Merci,” said Lisette, not lingering to hear more. Turning to the closed door on her right, she tried the knob and, finding it unlocked, hurried inside.
She froze on the threshold. She had expected to find her husband lying on a makeshift bed, or perhaps the sofa, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages and groaning in pain. Instead, a fire burned merrily in the grate, and a wing chair had been drawn up before the blaze to take advantage of its warmth. The chair’s high back blocked Lisette’s view of the man seated there, but that there was a man she had no doubt: his booted foot stretched out toward the hearth, the flames casting dancing reflections off the glossy black leather.
“Milord?” Lisette asked, advancing tentatively into the room.
“Non, je regrette,” The gentleman rose to meet her, revealing a pair of close-set black eyes over a long nose and pointy chin. “But perhaps you will have a word of welcome for your Cousin Raoul?”
“Raoul!” Lisette fairly spat the word. “What have you done with milord Waverly?”
Raoul spread his hands in a gesture indicative of innocence. “Why, nothing, ma cousine! I have seen him only once, and that was many weeks ago in Amiens.”
“But he was here! Étienne said—” Lisette’s eyes grew round as, too late, she realized the full extent of her countryman’s perfidy. She spun toward the door, and found Étienne leaning negligently against the doorframe. “I will have the truth now, s’il vous plaît. Milord was not here, was he? In fact, he was never injured at all.”
Étienne bowed. “You will be pleased to know milord Waverly enjoys his customary good health,”
“Then why—?”
“I have come to take you home,” said Raoul. “I am to be married, and your presence is required.”
“Married? To whom?”
“Why, to you, cherie.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Raoul, but I am already wed.”
“Faugh!” scoffed Raoul. “Do you truly think that such a marriage—contracted by a minor to an Englishman in a Protestant ceremony—would be recognized by the Church, let alone the courts?”
In truth, Lisette did not know what to think or whom to believe. She had no doubt that her cousin would not hesitate to further his cause with lies; indeed, had she entertained any doubts on this head, Étienne’s betrayal would have by this time put them to rest. And one of his claims, at least, she now knew to be true. She was now quite certain that she must be a great heiress, as Étienne had claimed, for she could think of no other reason why Raoul would scheme to marry a cousin for whom he had never felt any emotion more tender than mild annoyance. And if this claim were true, then perhaps his other arguments were equally true. If his insinuations regarding her marriage to Lord Waverly were correct, it would explain why the earl was in no hurry to consummate the union. There was even the possibility that Waverly had not insisted upon a second, Catholic, ceremony in order to give himself an escape route, should Lady Helen suddenly become free. The greater the number of possibilities which presented themselves to her, the more
confused she became. She wanted nothing more than to clap her hands over her ears, blotting out the whispered innuendoes that overwhelmed her, but she knew this would accomplish nothing: the voices that now mocked her were inside her own head.
As if aware of Lisette’s inner turmoil (and his own imminent victory), Raoul regarded her with a smug smile. “Admit it, ma cousine, what choice do you have? You have run away from your convent and cohabited with a man to whom you may or may not be legally wed. You are a disgrace to your vocation, Lisette, as well as to your family. Fortunately, for the sake of our family’s honor—”
“Much you know about honor!” retorted Lisette,
Raoul’s face darkened. “For the sake of our family’s honor,” he repeated slowly, “I am willing to give you the protection of my name.”
“If that is protection, I think I would do better to manage on my own,” said Lisette, adding in a voice of exaggerated politeness, “Thank you, cousin, but I must decline your generous offer.”
Raoul bared his teeth in a feral smile. “I wonder, ma cousine, what makes you think you have any choice in the matter?”
He took a step forward, and Lisette, seeing him advancing upon her, whirled around and made for the door. But Étienne was there, flinging out his arm to block the way. She grabbed at his arm, clawing at him, but to no avail. Raoul seized her from behind, and though she fought and scratched at him, the end was never in doubt. Finally, seizing her by the hair, he pinned her against his chest while Étienne covered her nose and mouth with a noxious-smelling handkerchief. Lisette’s body went limp, all her questions temporarily silenced.
Chapter 12
It is the wished, the trysted hour.
ROBERT BURNS, Mary Morison
While Lisette confronted her cousin, Lady Helen, seated beside Lord Waverly in his carriage, moved inexorably toward a confrontation of quite another kind. They had departed the Warburton ball promptly at eleven, as planned. Now every revolution of the carriage’s wheels brought them closer to Park Lane and, ultimately, her revenge upon a faithless spouse. No, she told herself resolutely, she would not think of Ethan now. She would concentrate on the task at hand. She was, after all, the daughter of a duke; she had been taught all her life that one of the obligations of high position was the necessity of performing certain duties, no matter how unpleasant—nay, even repellent!— one might find them. Being female, she had been given to understand that foremost among these necessary evils was the conjugal bed; how ironic that in her case, the dreaded task was not the consummation of a legal union, but the formation of an illicit one!
All too soon, the carriage slowed and rolled to a stop before Lord Waverly’s town house. The earl (who, like his inamorata, had been unusually silent throughout the drive) stepped down and offered his arm. Lady Helen placed her gloved hand upon it, and allowed him to escort her up the shallow steps to the front door now looming before her. By the time she passed through it again, she would have betrayed the husband she loved more than life, in the most elemental way a woman could betray a man. As Lord Waverly reached for the knob, something inside her snapped.
“No, I cannot!” she cried, pulling her hand away. “I am sorry, Waverly—I thought I could—but I cannot!”
What Lord Waverly might have said to this outburst would never be known, for at that moment the door was flung open, revealing a host of worried-looking servants in a hall ablaze with light.
“Your lordship!” exclaimed Reynolds, his usually impassive demeanor slipping. “Thank God!”
“If I may say so, it is a relief to know that her ladyship’s fears were exaggerated,” observed Waverly’s valet, mincing forward to relieve the earl of his cloak, gloves, and chapeau bras. “Still, should you not feel up to climbing the stairs, you will find a makeshift bed prepared for you in the drawing room.”
“Indeed, my lord, you won’t wish to overtax your strength,” blustered a stout stranger bearing a bulging leather bag. “If your lordship will repair to the drawing room, I will examine the wound.”
Lord Waverly, who had listened with some bewilderment to the chorus which greeted his arrival, now spoke. “Who the devil are you?"
“Sir Robert Franklin, physician,” replied this worthy, offering his card. “I was given to understand that your lordship’s case was urgent. Permit me to say that I am relieved to discover this is apparently not the case.”
“I will permit you,” said Lord Waverly with great deliberation, “to tell me what in God’s name you’re doing in my house!”
“It was Lady Waverly, my lord,” offered Reynolds. “She returned early from the theater, convinced that your lordship had met with an accident. She was most distraught, if I may say so.”
“Was she?” asked Waverly, a bemused smile playing about his mouth. “I wonder what can have given her such an idea?”
“I do not know, sir. I was under the impression that the gentleman who accompanied my lady must have brought her the erroneous report.”
The smile was wiped from Waverly’s lips. “Gentleman? What gentleman?”
“Why, the Frenchman who called upon my lady only last week. I know your instructions were to deny him the house, my lord, but under the circumstances—”
“Yes, yes, never mind that! Where are they now?”
“They departed almost at once, my lord, her ladyship having formed the intention of, er, flying to your lordship’s side to offer succor.”
“Damn! They must have arrived at the Warburtons’ house by now!”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but they were not bound for the Warburton ball. The gentleman informed my lady that you were in Southwark.”
“Southwark? What the deuce would I be doing in Southwark?”
“I do not know, sir. I only heard him tell my lady that you might be found at a hostel in Great Dover Street.”
“Great Dover—Good God!” Grabbing Lady Helen by the arm, he propelled her toward the door, lingering only long enough to toss over his shoulder to Reynolds, “I am going after Lady Waverly. With any luck, I shall return shortly; otherwise, I shall send word as soon as I am able.”
Back in the street, Waverly bundled Lady Helen into the carriage, barked a curt order to the driver, and ducked inside, closing the door behind him as the vehicle surged forward.
“What is the matter?” asked Lady Helen as they turned into Piccadilly, her interrupted rendezvous all but forgotten. “Why do you suppose they have gone to Southwark?”
He blinked at her, as if surprised to find her still there. “I do not think they have gone to Southwark at all.”
“Then where are we going?”
“My dear Helen, if one takes Great Dover Street and drives straight on, without stopping, where will one eventually find oneself?”
“In Dover, I suppose,” she said with a shrug.
He nodded. “Then that is where we are going.”
“To Dover?” she gasped. “I cannot possibly accompany you all the way to Dover!”
“On the contrary. If we reach Dover and find they have already sailed for France, you will accompany me a great deal farther than that.”
“You cannot be serious!” But one look at Waverly’s resolute profile was enough to convince her that he was in deadly earnest. “No! I will not go with you! Take me home at once!”
“I am sorry. That is quite impossible.”
“But—but I have a husband and children who will be expecting me! What will Ethan think?”
“He will no doubt think exactly what you have wanted him to think for the past fortnight,” replied the earl with brutal candor.
“But I don’t want him to!” Lady Helen insisted. “I still love him, and I could never betray him, no matter what he has done!”
“Your sentiments are vastly touching, my dear, but to be perfectly honest, I find your marital difficulties are rapidly becoming a bit of a bore.”
Lady Helen opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind. “I—see,” she said at last, re
garding Lord Waverly as if seeing him with new eyes. “Tell me, Waverly—how long have you been in love with Lisette?”
“In love?” Waverly bristled, but the wildly swaying carriage lamp revealed his suddenly heightened color. “Balderdash!”
“No, I do not think so—in fact, I am certain of it,” declared Lady Helen, warming to this theme. “Since the day of my marriage—even before, one might argue—you have expressed your desire for, er, an intimate connection with me. And yet, when such a connection was at last within your reach, you delayed in seizing your opportunity, choosing again and again to go to Lisette instead. Indeed, I am amazed I did not see it before.”
“If I neglected you for Lisette, it was because I trusted you to behave with discretion. I could place no such dependence upon Lisette; in fact, I have had to guard her like a duenna to keep her from ruining my good name!”
Far from being persuaded by this argument, Lady Helen choked back a peal of laughter. “No, Waverly, how can you say so? When your good name has been in ruins any time these four years!”
“Touché,” he acknowledged with a wry twist of his mouth. “Now tell me, does it seem likely to you that such a ramshackle fellow as I should succumb to the charms of a seventeen-year-old?”
“No,” Lady Helen confessed. “In fact, I should think she would be the last sort of girl to appeal to you. Still, it seems to me that if you did not love her, you would be very grateful to have her taken off your hands, rather than practically kidnapping me and haring across the countryside in pursuit.”
“Kidnapping you, Helen? Nonsense! You came with me quite willingly; in fact, as I recall, the whole thing was done at your instigation.”
“Oh, do let us argue semantics, Waverly!” Lady Helen applauded. “They serve so well to distract one’s attention from the subject at hand!”
Lord Waverly muttered something to the effect that Lady Helen’s weaver might have her with his blessing, and turned to stare moodily out the window.
* * * *
