‘I promised to take her out to see the sights of the city today. She will be so disappointed.’
‘No, she won’t, for I shall take her myself. You look as though you need to go back to sleep. Don’t even think about stirring from this room until after you have had your luncheon, either. Which I shall order the staff to have brought to your room.’
Fenella caught her hand and kissed it. ‘You are too good to me. Too kind. I don’t deserve your understanding...’
‘Fustian! It is about time you stopped being so perfect. I like you the better for it. Makes me feel less of a failure, if you must know.’ Usually, she felt like a hardheaded, prickly, confrontational excuse for a woman in comparison to the perfect manners of her elegant and utterly feminine companion.
Amethyst was wealthy, courtesy of her aunt, and she had a good head for business, but she didn’t make friends easily and simply could not imagine ever getting married. If a man made up to her, it was because of her wealth, not anything intrinsically attractive about her. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she’d been too young and vulnerable to withstand the experience. It had scarred her. Wounded her. She’d felt a staggering amount of empathy for those beggars they’d seen so many of, lying by the roadsides of every French town they’d travelled through, for a vital part of her had been ruthlessly amputated in battle and she would never be quite whole again.
Not that it mattered, according to Aunt Georgie. Lots of people led perfectly good lives in spite of what other people thought of as handicaps. So what if she could never trust a man again? Neither did her aunt.
‘Useless pack of self-serving, scrounging scum, if you ask me,’ she’d sniffed disparagingly, when she whisked Amethyst from the village on what was supposed to have been a therapeutic trip round the Lakes. ‘Don’t understand why any sensible woman would wish to shackle herself to one. And I’m beginning to think you are capable of being sensible, if only you will get over this habit of thinking you need a man in your life. All any of them do is interfere and ruin everything.’
After what she’d been through, she’d been inclined to agree.
Fenella moaned again, drawing her attention back to the present, and then she flung the back of one hand over her eyes.
Amethyst pursed her lips. She sympathised with Fenella for having a sore head. She sympathised with her feeling embarrassed at having to be helped home. But...
‘Good heavens, Fenella, anyone who is not used to drinking might have made the same error. It is not the end of the world.’ And there was absolutely no need for all these theatrics.
‘I know what you’re doing. You are worrying about what people will say. But nothing is ever solved by worrying about what other people think of you. Especially not the sort of people who would love nothing better than to condemn you. They’re mostly cowards, you know. Too scared to take life by the scruff of the neck and live it. Instead, they prefer to sit about gossiping in a vain attempt to liven up the boredom of their useless, unprofitable lives. You should never modify your behaviour in an attempt to win the regard of their sort.’
Good heavens. Had she really just repeated one of Aunt Georgie’s favourite homilies? In the very tone of voice her aunt would have employed whenever Amethyst had been a bit blue-devilled?
She had.
She wrapped her arms round her waist and walked rather jerkily over to the window. For years, people had been warning her that if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up just like her aunt. But she’d told them she didn’t care. She’d been so grateful to her for the way she’d stood up to Amethyst’s father. From the moment Aunt Georgie had gone toe to toe with him in his library, telling him he’d been a pompous little boy who’d grown into a pompous prig of a man without a shred of compassion in him, her life had begun to take an upward turn. Well, she could hardly have sunk any lower. So she hadn’t listened to a word of criticism levelled at her aunt, not from anyone.
But sometimes...
She thought of the single tear she’d seen tricking down Fenella’s face, a tear she’d provoked with that heartless little homily, and wanted to kick herself. She’d sounded as callous and unfeeling as Aunt Georgie at her very worst.
‘It’s different for you,’ said Fenella woefully. ‘I am a mother. I have to think of Sophie. Whatever I do has an impact on her. And there are certain things a lady should never do.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Amethyst, going back to her bedside and perching on the nearest chair.
‘I’m sorry I spoke harshly. It’s just—’
‘You are so strong that it is hard for you to sympathise, sometimes, with weakness in others.’
‘I wasn’t always strong,’ she said. ‘You know I would have gone under if Aunt Georgie hadn’t stepped in to rescue me when she did. It was her example that gave me the determination to do something for you. I knew what it was like to be alone, unjustly accused of something I hadn’t done, with nobody to defend me.’ It had been hellish. Her whole family had turned their backs on her just when she’d needed them the most. ‘You needed a friend, to stand with you against all those wagging tongues. Just as I needed Aunt Georgie to believe in me. Just as you need me to be a friend now, not...not tell you to pull yourself together. Forgive me?’
‘Yes, of course, but—’
‘No. Please don’t say another word about it. I know it must have been distressing to have been helped home, slightly foxed, last night, but I’ve already told you I do not think the worse of you for it. And who else knows about it? Only Monsieur Le Brun, and if he dares to make you feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable, he will have me to deal with,’ she finished militantly.
Fenella pressed her hands to her eyes and whimpered.
‘I will leave you now,’ she said, far more quietly. It had occurred to her that a loud voice might bring more distress than comfort, no matter what words she actually said, and that Fenella just needed to sleep it off.
‘I will look after Sophie today,’ she said, tiptoeing towards the door. ‘And make sure no word of what you got up to last night ever reaches her ears.’
She shut the door on yet another moan of anguish, only to jump in shock at the sight of Monsieur Le Brun standing in the corridor, not three feet away.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to startle you. I only meant...that is...Madame Montsorrel. How is she?’
‘She is feeling very sorry for herself. And very guilty.’
Monsieur Le Brun lowered his head. ‘I hope you have not been too harsh with her. Indeed, the fault was not hers. It was mine. I should not have—’
‘Oh, don’t you start,’ she said. ‘She made a mistake. That was yesterday. And anyone can see how sorry she is for it. But if you think it was at all your fault, then all you need do in future is to make sure the wine we order is not so strong. And that none of us has more than a couple of glasses. We lived very simply in Stanton Basset and never partook of more than one glass of wine or Madeira, and that only on special occasions.’
‘The wine,’ he gulped. ‘Yes, yes, but—’
‘No, I don’t wish to discuss this any more.’ She was getting a most uncomfortable feeling, seeing him look so concerned about Fenella’s health. She’d have assumed he would have been irritated, not remorseful. If she wasn’t careful, she might stop disliking him. And then where would she be? Vulnerable!
‘We have a busy day ahead of us. Have you dealt with Monsieur Harcourt yet?’
He already had on his coat and was turning his hat round and round as she spoke, as though he had just snatched it off. Or was he just about to put it on?
‘Yes, madame, I went first thing. I could not sleep, you see. I—’
She held up her hand to silence him. If he wasn’t going to volunteer any information about his encounter with Nathan she didn’t want to know. ‘If your acco
mmodation is unsatisfactory for some reason,’ she therefore said tersely, ‘you must change it. You can spare me the details.’ Only yesterday he’d claimed it was his duty to deal with the matters domestic. What was wrong with him today? ‘What I do want to hear about is any progress you have made with our contacts. Have you managed to reschedule any of the appointments we missed because of our late arrival?’
He straightened up and gave her a brief, if slightly disappointing, account of his efforts on behalf of George Holdings.
‘So the rest of our day is effectively free, then?’
‘I regret, madame, that yes.’ He spread his hands wide in a totally Gallic gesture of apology.
‘Well, in that case we can devote it to Sophie. The poor little girl has been through torment to get here. The least we can do is make it up to her by giving her a perfectly splendid day. I want to take her out somewhere today that she will enjoy so much it will prevent her from worrying about her poor mama. Any ideas?’
‘Yes, madame. Of course madame. But—’
‘We will be ready to go out in half an hour,’ she said, turning on her heel. ‘And it’s mademoiselle,’ she threw over her shoulder as she stalked along the corridor to the nursery.
‘How are you, my little sweet pea?’ she said as she strode into Sophie’s room. All her irritation vanished the moment Sophie leapt to her feet, ran across the room and flung her arms round Amethyst’s waist.
‘Feel better this morning, do you?’
‘Yes, Aunt Amy! I have such a lovely view out of my window,’ she said, tugging her across the room to show her. ‘I have seen so many people walking by. The ladies wear the most enormous bonnets so you can’t see their faces and their skirts look like great big bells swinging along the street. And the buildings are all so tall, and grand, but the people who go into them are all muddled up.’
‘Muddled up?’
‘Yes. You can’t tell who the house belongs to by watching who goes in. Not at all. I thought that one over there...’ she pointed to the hôtel immediately across the street ‘...must belong to someone very important, because a great big coach drew up last night and people dressed up in fabulous clothes got in, but then this morning, some people came out looking as though they were going to work. A man with a leather satchel and a quite poor-looking woman carrying a bundle...’
‘I expect it is the same as this house, then,’ she explained. ‘Each floor is rented out to someone different. The grand people with the coach would have the ground floor and the woman with the bundle probably lives up in the attics somewhere.’
Sophie’s brow wrinkled. ‘Are we very grand, then?’
‘Because we have rented the ground floor of this house?’ Amethyst smiled. ‘No. We are not grand at all. Only...quite well off.’ Fabulously well off, thanks to her aunt’s shrewd business brain. And, lately, to hers. People who knew she’d been her aunt’s sole beneficiary expected her fortune to dwindle, now that she was at the helm. Only a trusted few knew that her aunt had trained her in every aspect of managing her vast portfolio, after discovering she, too, had a knack with numbers. An ability to spot an opportunity for investment that others overlooked, which stemmed, in part, from a refusal to accept the general consensus of opinion in the masculine-dominated world of finance.
‘I just wanted,’ she explained to the inquisitive child, ‘you and your mother to have the best that money could buy for our little adventure.’
‘Where is Mama?’
‘She is not feeling well this morning. I have told her to stay in bed.’
Sophie’s face fell.
‘She will not be coming out with us today, but Monsieur Le Brun has promised that he will show you a lot of very interesting things.’
‘But Mama won’t see them. I would rather she was with us...’
‘Yes, so would I,’ Amethyst replied with feeling. A whole day sightseeing with Monsieur Le Prune, without Fenella’s soothing presence to act as a buffer between them, was bound to end in them having words. ‘But you can tell her all about them when we come home. And perhaps buy her a little present to cheer her up.’
Sophie’s face lit up. ‘A monkey. I saw a man with a monkey go past just now, wearing a red jacket and cap.’
‘No, sweet pea. I do not think your mama would enjoy having a monkey for a pet.’
Sophie looked thoughtful. ‘No, I suppose not. She...likes quiet things, does she not?’
‘Yes.’ That was very true. Sophie had much more of an adventurous spirit than her mother. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she didn’t take after her rather reckless father in temperament, though she was a miniature image of her mother, with her light-brown hair and soft, smoky blue eyes.
‘We could buy her a picture. She would like that, wouldn’t she? Are there shops that sell pictures?’
‘I am sure there must be.’ For there were certainly plenty of artists about. Infiltrating restaurants and invading people’s dreams...
She shook herself. He had not invaded her dreams on purpose. It was her own stupid fault for spending the last few moments before she fell asleep savouring the way it had felt to have him come to her and beg for custom. And then imagining all sorts of other ways she could make him rue the day he’d spurned her for that horsey-faced female, simply because her father had a seat in Parliament in his pocket, rather than just a modest parish to govern. In her dreams, he’d gone from crouching on that canvas stool, to kneeling at her feet, begging forgiveness and swearing that he’d made a terrible mistake. That he’d been punished, for years, for the callous way he’d broken her heart. And only a kiss from her lips could assuage his torment...
She’d felt most uncomfortable when she awoke. Gracious heavens, she didn’t want him to beg her for kisses, or anything else. She was well rid of him. She’d told herself so every time she’d seen his name in print in conjunction with tales of his ineffectiveness, or lack of loyalty to his party and the men who’d sponsored his career. And eventually, when his penchant for sordid sexual scandals got so out of hand that no amount of pressure from his influential family could undo the damage, she had incontrovertible proof.
He was no good.
And she’d had a lucky escape.
‘I’m ready!’
She blinked to see Sophie hopping from one foot to the other, her coat buttoned up, her bonnet tied neatly under her chin.
Time to go out.
And push the feckless, faithless Nathan Harcourt from her mind. She had better things to do with her day than think about him. About how much more handsome he was than she had remembered. How much more vital and alive as he crouched with his pencil in his hand in that restaurant than he’d seemed as a young man. He’d strolled through the ballrooms of polite society, in those days, with a jaded air, as though nothing and nobody could possibly interest him. That had been the cynical ploy of a rake, of course. When he’d deigned to pay her a little attention, it had made her feel there must be something special about her to have dissipated the pall of boredom hanging over him. And when he’d smiled at her that first time, in response to some silly quip she’d made, as though it had been something brilliantly witty, she’d felt as though she’d met the one person in the world who completely understood her.
A little grunt of vexation escaped her mouth, which made Monsieur Le Brun, who was waiting for them in the hall, start guiltily.
She didn’t correct his assumption that she might be cross with him. It would keep him on his toes.
Besides, before the end of the day, she was bound to be.
Sophie skipped up to him and smiled. ‘Aunt Amy says you are going to show us lots of interesting things. Do you know where the man with the monkey lives?’
His face softened. It was amazing the effect Sophie was beginning to have on him. Even though she’d suspected him of lying about his willingn
ess to take charge of a party that included a child, he had never exhibited the slightest sign of impatience with her. He might have fretted about the delay to his schedule, but he’d never taken out his frustration on her.
‘I know Paris well, but alas,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘I do not know everyone who lives in every house. Especially not now, when my city is so full of visitors. But I can show you the best of it. We shall commence,’ he said, gesturing with his hand to the hall door, ‘with a stroll along the Boulevard.’
Amethyst grimaced. ‘Should I have worn pattens?’
Monsieur Le Brun drew himself up to his full height.
‘The Boulevard has gravelled walkways along both sides, shaded by trees. You will not need to worry about soiling your gowns when walking there, I promise you.’
‘Hmm,’ she said, pursing her lips. Well, she would soon see.
* * *
But as it turned out, the Boulevard was an utter delight. Not only was it flanked by the most impressive buildings she’d ever seen, beyond the trees which provided welcome shade, but also there were stalls selling everything from lemonade to toys. There were street entertainers every few yards, as well: jugglers and acrobats and even a one-man band. Sophie was particularly taken with the man who professed to be a scientist, demonstrating the amazing hydraulic capabilities of water. What he actually did was squirt it at unsuspecting passers-by through a variety of ingenious contraptions, to the delight of his audience.
Eventually, just as her feet were beginning to feel rather too tight for her walking boots, and Sophie’s energy was visibly waning, Monsieur Le Brun indicated a café.
‘Tortoni’s,’ he said. ‘It is, at night, the most fashionable place to be seen after a trip to the opera. But it also sells the best ice cream in the world. Mademoiselle Sophie will love it.’
Amethyst bit back the urge to enquire how he knew the ice cream was the best in the world, since she was perfectly sure he’d never travelled that far, for Sophie’s tired little face had lit up at the mention of ice cream.
Portrait of a Scandal Page 4
