by Candace Camp
“Thorpe, dear chap,” he said in a cheerful tone, reaching out to shake Sebastian’s hand. “It’s been an age since I saw you last. That curricle race of Crimshaw’s, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. I am not a fan of curricle races.”
“Indeed?” Chesterfield looked faintly surprised that such a man could exist. “You always were an odd sort. All those years in the Caribbean, I suppose.”
“India.”
“Was it? Are you sure? Well, now, isn’t that amazing? I would have sworn it was one of those islands. Ah, well. Delighted to see you anyway.” He glanced toward Alexandra, frowning.
Thorpe politely introduced her as a friend of the Countess of Exmoor. Chesterfield spent several minutes extolling the virtues of the Countess before he pressed them to sit down.
“We have come to ask you about those days in Paris during the revolution.”
Chesterfield looked surprised. “I say. That was an eon ago.” He chuckled. “Can’t think what you young people would want to know about such an old event. World’s completely changed since then. Yes, passing of an era.” He nodded as if in agreement with his statement.
“It is really for the Countess that we are asking. You see, some question has arisen about her grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren! What—you mean the ones who were killed then?”
“Exactly,” Alexandra said. “There may be some question, you see, as to whether all of them actually died.”
“Died! Well, of course they did,” he responded bluffly. “Saw it with my own eyes.”
“Could you tell us exactly what you saw happen to Chilton and his family that day—moment by moment?” Sebastian asked. “It’s rather important.”
Though he feigned reluctance, Bertie Chesterfield launched into his story easily enough. “It was evening, you see, just turning dark. The mob came pouring down the street. I was across the way, staying with Lord and Lady Brookstone. They’d rented a house there, you see—didn’t know something like this would happen, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Nice neighborhood, but mostly rented houses. That’s why Chilton was there. They’d taken the house so she could be near her mother—Lady Chilton, I mean, the French gal—” He paused, suddenly struck by something, and peered at Alexandra. “I say, you look a rather lot like Lady Chilton. I thought you seemed familiar.”
“I may be related to her,” Alexandra told him. “That is why it’s so important that we find out exactly what happened that day.”
“By Jove.” He gazed at her for a moment in wonderment.
“You were saying that Lord Chilton had leased the house.”
“Yes. Well, the mob came pouring down the street, carrying torches and shouting. They were after blood. They tried to beat down our door, but we had good English servants, and we barricaded ourselves in. Across the street it was a different story. Poor Chilton came out and tried to tell them that he was English, but then his in-laws said something in French, and they knew they were Frogs. They went wild, shouting about the aristocrats and how they must die. Pulled Chilton and his lady right out amongst them and killed them. Parents, too. Then they stormed into the house, and when they were done, they set it afire.”
“So you actually saw Lord and Lady Chilton killed?”
“My, yes—gruesome sight, I must say. Although I never held with his marrying a Frenchwoman.”
“What about the children, though?” Alexandra asked. “Did you see them killed?”
“No. Only Chilton and his wife, but the crowd went inside. Bound to have murdered the children, too. Burned the house to the ground, anyway. No way they could have survived that.”
“Did you see their bodies, perhaps? After the fire?”
“Good God, no!” Chesterfield looked shocked. “Not a ghoul, you know. Besides, we didn’t dare venture out of the house. No telling what might happen—they could have come back.”
“Then you cannot be absolutely sure that the children died, too,” Thorpe persisted.
“What else could have happened to them?” Chesterfield asked reasonably. “Poor little devils. They didn’t escape that house. It was surrounded. If they had by some chance done so, we’d have heard about it, wouldn’t we? No, I’m afraid they all died.” He looked at Alexandra, understanding beginning to dawn on his face. “Are you saying that you’re one of the children?”
“No,” Alexandra answered quickly. “It is just that we wondered what the possibilities were that one or more of them might have survived.”
“Not good,” he said, shaking his head. “Not good.”
“Well, thank you, Chesterfield,” Thorpe said, rising and shaking his hand again. Bidding him goodbye, they began to make their way to the door, even though Bertie continued to talk happily about his other memories of Paris.
As they reached the doorway, Alexandra turned, struck by a sudden thought. “Mr. Chesterfield, I wondered—did you know other people in Paris at the time?”
He looked at her oddly. “Yes. Knew lots of people there. Friendly sort, you know.”
“Did you by any chance know Hiram and Rhea Ward?”
He frowned, pondering the question. “Do you mean the Americans?”
“Yes.” Hope rose in Alexandra’s chest, and she prodded eagerly, “You knew them?”
“Acquaintances, really. Didn’t know many of the Americans. Not long after their war, you know. But, I say, now that I think of it, I believe Lady Chilton was quite chummy with Mrs. Ward. She used to complain of feeling like an outsider, you see, with all us Englishmen—silly, really. I mean, after all, she was married to an Englishman, now, wasn’t she? But I suppose that’s why she used to gad about with Mrs. Ward.”
Alexandra cast an excited look toward Sebastian, but spoke with admirable calm. “Thank you, Mr. Chesterfield. You have been most helpful.”
“Have I?” Chesterfield sounded surprised. “Glad to be of service, of course.”
Alexandra managed to hold in her excitement until she and Sebastian had taken their leave of Chesterfield and walked out the front door of his town house. Then she whirled to face Sebastian.
“Did you hear that? Simone knew my mother!”
Thorpe looked a trifle pale. “I heard. I—it certainly throws a different light upon things.”
“It could explain everything! It could—it could mean that I really am the Countess’s grandchild.”
“It would make the story much less coincidental,” Sebastian agreed. “It is possible that perhaps Alexandra was with your—Mrs. Ward for some reason when the mob came, and so she was spared.”
“Or that Mother went over there looking for her friend after the mob had been there and found the baby wandering around.”
They looked at each other in silence for a moment. It was difficult for either of them to speak of Alexandra as the lost baby. It seemed removed from Alexandra, as if they must be talking about a third person.
“I—I don’t know what to think,” Sebastian said slowly.
Deep down, he knew that he did not want to face the possibility looming before him. For the past few days, ever since Alexandra’s mother had been attacked, he had been struggling against the evidence that was piling up—the fact that his men had been unable to dig up any adverse information on Alexandra; the coincidence of the attacks on Mrs. Ward at the time she might reveal what had happened in Paris; Alexandra’s explanation about following her mother to Exmoor house, which rang with the authority of truth. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hang on to the idea that Alexandra was an adventuress out to cheat the Countess.
But if he changed his mind, if he accepted the idea that Alexandra really was the Countess’s granddaughter, then he had made a ruinous error. He had accused her of being a criminal and a liar. She must hate him, despise him for his lack of faith. He had said and done things that were unforgivable. Nor was Alexandra the sort of woman who would readily forgive. In short, he had ruined everything with the only w
oman he had loved since Barbara.
That thought brought Sebastian up short. Did he love Alexandra? It seemed absurd. She was willful, blunt and argumentative, not at all the way a woman was supposed to be. She was accustomed to doing exactly what she wanted and saying precisely what she thought. Most of the time he had known her, he had spent arguing with her or distrusting her. How could he possibly love her? Yet he knew that he did—now, at this moment, when he had completely wrecked any possibility of her returning his feelings, he knew that he was hopelessly in love with her.
“Dear God,” he breathed, stunned.
Alexandra glanced at him oddly. Sebastian looked as if he had been knocked in the head. The realization that they had some proof she might be the Countess’s granddaughter was surprising, but it seemed odd that Sebastian should be in such a state of shock. Perhaps he had realized that he might have to put up with Alexandra for a long time if she was the granddaughter of one of his dearest friends.
“You needn’t worry,” she told him crisply. “Even if I am the Countess’s granddaughter, I don’t plan to take up residence with her. I shall return to the United States. The family I know is there.”
She walked down the steps and climbed into the carriage without waiting for Sebastian’s help. Sebastian hurried after her.
“Then you plan still to return?” he asked as he sat in the seat across from her and the carriage moved away.
“As soon as my mother is able to. There is nothing for me here.”
“I am sure that the Countess will want you to remain,” Sebastian began carefully, wondering how he could persuade her to stay longer. He had to have time to figure out his emotions, to straighten out the mess he had made of his relationship with her. “Surely you cannot mean to break her heart by leaving her. She has lost so much already.”
Alexandra cast him a wary look. “Now you want me to be with the Countess? I thought you couldn’t wait for me to leave.”
“I didn’t know—” Sebastian began stiffly. “Dammit, woman, I do not want the Countess to be hurt. If you are her granddaughter, it will crush her if you leave.”
“I would visit her, of course, if she wanted me to.”
“I am sure she would want more than that.”
And you? Alexandra thought. What would you want from me? All he could seem to talk about were the Countess’s feelings, when all she wanted to know was how Sebastian would feel if she left. But that was too bold a question, she realized, even for a blunt American.
So she said nothing, and they continued their journey in silence, each of them occupied with their own gloomy thoughts.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALEXANDRA TILTED HER PARASOL TO BLOCK the sun and looked around at the rows of vehicles that lined the open field where the balloons lay. There were open curricles, landaus, barouches, heavy old-fashioned carriages, all full of ladies and gentlemen. Obviously the balloon ascension was quite a social event. There was as much visiting back and forth between the vehicles as there was interest in the balloons.
Alexandra looked at the field, littered by large baskets, or gondolas, each of them attached by ropes to huge, colorful balloons spread out limply on the grass. People scurried, performing various tasks around the inert balloons, ignoring those who had gathered to watch. Alexandra had not wished to come today, and she would have cried off if she had not thought it would be too rude at such late notice. She had spent the day before in a gloomy state, a condition not helped by the fact that she had heard nothing from Sebastian all day. She had told herself that it was absurd to expect to see or hear from him every day, as if there were some sort of agreement between them. But she could not keep from hoping that he might come to call this afternoon. It had been difficult to force herself to smile and go with Nicola and Penelope when they came. But now, she could not help but feel a stirring of interest as she watched the proceedings.
“Look!” Nicola’s voice was low but charged with emotion.
“What?” Alexandra glanced around the field, expecting to see something happening among the balloons. She turned to her companion in the open landau and saw that Nicola was looking not at the field, but down the line of vehicles to an elegant, high-sprung curricle that had just arrived.
A well-built man was maneuvering the vehicle, not very expertly, into place. Beside him sat a woman in a rose-pink dress, a dashing straw hat, upturned on one side, on her head. In her dainty gloved hand she held a parasol, which she tilted to keep the sun from her face. She smiled languidly at her companion and leaned over, her hand on his arm, to murmur something to him.
“Lady Pencross!” Alexandra exclaimed softly.
“Mother says that she is a disgrace to her sex and her station.” Penelope, on the other side of Alexandra, spoke. “Of course, Mother is apt to say that about a lot of people.”
“She’s right about Lady Pencross. One would never guess to look at her that her husband is dying in Yorkshire.”
“Look!” Penelope gripped Alexandra’s arm, her fingers digging in in her excitement. “There is Bucky.” Alexandra turned to look at the girl. Her face was glowing. “Lord Buckminster, I mean. I knew he would come today. And Sebastian is with him. Oh, dear, I hope he does not see Lady Pencross.”
Alexandra followed Penelope’s gaze, her pulse quickening. Lord Buckminster had just arrived in his curricle, and he and Sebastian were climbing from the high seat. Sebastian took off his hat as he turned to say something to Buckminster, and the sun glinted off his dark brown hair, warming it with reddish highlights. He was dressed simply, as always, but the elegant cut of his fawn trousers and dark coat emphasized the muscular lines of his legs and the breadth of his shoulders. He was, Alexandra thought, with a little catch in her breath, a man to whom few could compare. How had that Pencross woman been able to give him up for the sake of her husband’s wealth?
He turned and spotted Alexandra and her companions in their landau, the flexible top pushed back, accordianlike, to allow them to see and be seen. A smile spread across his face, lighting his features, and Alexandra felt a corresponding lightening in her chest. He said something to his companion, and the two men started through the rows of vehicles toward them.
“Nicola. Penelope.” Sebastian bowed toward the women, his eyes going past the others to Alexandra. “Alexandra.” His eyes searched her face, and Alexandra felt herself warming under his gaze. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”
Alexandra blushed. His words were commonplace enough, and she wondered if she was foolish to feel that they had special meaning.
The five of them chatted for a few moments, talking of commonplaces such as the weather and the balloons and a party that lay a few days ahead. After a time, Sebastian, who had worked his way around to stand beside Alexandra, inclined his head toward her and murmured, “Perhaps you’d care to stroll along the balloons and watch them being filled?”
He gestured toward the behemoth creatures, beginning to swell as the fires were lit and hot air directed into them. Alexandra smiled and nodded. “That sounds very nice.”
He offered her his arm, and they walked away from the others, moving down the line in front of the carriages where they could see better. Workers scurried around the balloons, busily filling them with air and getting them prepared. It was interesting enough, but Alexandra’s attention was scarcely on the activity. She was too aware of Sebastian close beside her, of his arm beneath her hand. She glanced at him, looking at his smooth cheek and the fall of his hair against his temple, the firm line of his jaw and chin. Why did he have to be so damned appealing? She thought about returning to America, and her heart was heavy in her chest. All the things she enjoyed there seemed suddenly bland and unappealing—work, her hobbies, the much quieter social round of parties.
“Alexandra…” Sebastian’s voice jerked her from her reverie.
“Yes?” She shifted her parasol to the other shoulder so that she could see his face better. He was frowning, looking in front of him rather than at he
r, and she realized, with a sinking sensation, that he had maneuvered her away from the others in order to talk to her, not because he had wanted to be alone with her. She braced herself for another argument.
“I must apologize to you.”
“What?” Alexandra gaped at him. That was the last thing she had expected him to say.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A rare event, I grant you, but you needn’t look quite so astonished. I admit when I am wrong.”
“Rare as that is?” Alexandra said lightly, and Sebastian’s smile grew larger.
“Yes. Rare as that is. I would like to say that it was only out of my concern for the Countess, but, to be truthful, I allowed certain mistakes in my past to color my thinking. I too easily believed Lady Ursula when she questioned your motives in being friendly to me. When I saw you meeting someone outside Exmoor’s house, it fanned the flames of my suspicion. I did not give you the benefit of the doubt, and when you would not explain why you were there, I believed the worst. I can see now that I have wronged you. I cannot expect you to forgive me, for I have said some unforgivable things, but—”
Alexandra was not sure how she would have answered him, for her heart seemed suddenly to be in her throat and her thoughts were a scattered mess, but she was not to find out, for at that moment, a low, melodious woman’s voice interrupted them.
“Hallo, Thorpe. Such a surprise to see you here.”
Sebastian stiffened and slowly turned. Alexandra, with some irritation, turned, too. Lady Pencross stood a few feet from them. Alexandra cast a sideways glance at Sebastian to see how he was taking this meeting with his former love.
