To Sketch a Sphinx

by Rebecca Connolly

  The home of Monsieur Savatier was an immaculate one and held none of the excesses that Jean and Victoire’s house did. Clean, elegant, simple, and, in a way, celebrating the natural features of the house rather than using them as avenues for decor.

  Hal liked him already, or perhaps it was his wife that held such taste. Either way, she approved of their taste and style and felt far more comfortable here than she had at any point in her cousin’s grander residence. There would not be much pretending at all in her compliments for their host and hostess, and something about that, considering what they were about here, made her smile in complete irony.

  “What’s the smile for?” Pratt asked softly as they made their way up the stairs to the entertaining rooms.

  “I like this house,” she whispered back. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  Pratt seemed to exhale a laugh. “My thoughts, as well. It will be interesting to discover what Savatier’s fortune is, considering he doesn’t seem to live as though he has one.”

  “Is it wrong to approve of someone we may be investigating?” Hal asked in an even softer voice, the words barely audible even to her own ears.

  “We have no idea if he is involved yet,” her husband replied, his lips just above her ear. “Approve of whom and what you will, we only need information.”

  “Ah, sweet nothings between hearts bound together,” Jean said from the top of the stairs, looking back at them with a warm smile. “Early days of marriage are très sucré, are they not?”

  Hal glanced up at John, biting back a laugh, only to find him doing the same. She looked back at her cousin with a smile. “Indeed, cousin.”

  Jean chuckled and gestured for them to enter the room ahead of him and Victoire.

  The drawing room was expansive, simply adorned as the rest of the house, and full of people without being a crush. The fashions Hal observed in the ladies were middling in their finery, placing Hal’s ensemble in line with them, though the additional adornments in her hair, placed at the insistence of her maid, were more excessive than the rest. One could not have everything, she supposed.

  “Baron de Rouvroy,” an elegant woman in palest blue greeted with a warm smile, a hint of rouge on her cheeks.

  Jean stepped forward and took her hand, kissing the glove quickly. “Madame Savatier. Thank you for the kind invitation. I pray you will excuse my using English, ma cousine and her husband, Monsieur Pratt, are English.” He gestured to them.

  Madam Savatier offered them both a bright smile, though she raised a brow. “And you have no confidence in your French?” she asked with only a hint of her natural accent.

  Hal curtseyed in greeting. “J’ai confiance en mon français, madame, mais pas assez de compétence.”

  “And I have no confidence at all, I’m afraid,” Pratt sighed, putting even more of an emphasis on his English accent than usual. “All the more reason to let my wife speak for us both.”

  Madam Savatier giggled and shook her head. “Non, it is no trouble to speak in your native tongue, Monsieur Pratt. Welcome to our home. It is a pleasure to have you.”

  “And a pleasure to be here,” Hal replied, finding Madame Savatier relatively without airs and instantly liking her. “We were surprised and delighted to have the invitation.”

  “I would expect so,” Madame Savatier laughed. “My husband will insist upon inviting any new acquaintances to our home for further engagement. Sometimes it leads to nothing, but other times we gain marvelous new friends!” She laughed, then looked among the group and returned her attention to Jean. “Your son is not with you?”

  “Alas, madame,” Jean replied sadly, “he has a prior engagement this evening. He sends his regards and his regrets.”

  Madame Savatier dipped her chin in a nod. “All is forgiven, of course.” She gestured to the room in invitation. “Please enjoy yourselves. I shall come along bientôt to introduce you to some new friends, Madame Pratt.”

  Hal managed a smile, though she hoped that it would not be too soon. Unless Madam Savatier was going to introduce her to Leclerc, she had other things to see to.

  “Merci,” she replied all the same.

  Pratt led her away and they shared a look with Jean and Victoire.

  “Go on, mes enfants,” he insisted in a teasing, fatherly tone. “Do not wait for me to take you about. I intend to spend this evening with my wife.” He kissed her hand as though to prove it.

  “Better and better,” Pratt muttered as they walked away. He exhaled and gave Hal a look. “Ready?”

  She nodded at him, her heart skipping with anticipation. “Ready.”

  “If we need the other,” he suddenly said, his eyes growing dark, “what shall we do?”

  Hal thought quickly. “I’ll fiddle with my necklace, you your cravat. As you hate it anyway, it will not be at all surprising.”

  Pratt glowered at the offending linen darkly. “It’s more voluminous than your skirts.”

  “Very pretty, though.” She winked and tugged him in the direction of some other guests.

  The very first question after introductions were made was all too perfect, in Hal’s estimation. “And what brings you to Paris, Madame Pratt? The fashions?”

  Hal smiled at the tall man who had asked. “My family, monsieur. I had never met my cousin, Baron de Rouvroy, and I wished to rekindle the connection my mother abandoned.”

  “Abandoned?” one of the ladies repeated, struggling to say the word in English. “How?”

  “She chose to follow her heart and married my father,” Hal continued, “for which I am obviously grateful, but she severed anything French from her life and devoted herself to England. Not that her devotion was rewarded.” She let herself frown, then brightened. “But with my recent marriage to Mr. Pratt here, who shares my desire to embrace France, I was able to come and restore the connection.”

  Some in the group shared confused looks and Hal wondered if she had gone too far. She hadn’t said much beyond the truth, even if her emphasis was enhanced for effect.

  “You do not love England, then?” one of the men asked.

  Hal pretended to consider that. “I suppose I do, as it is the land of my birth, but I fear that love has become tinged with bitterness. My brother has been made an outcast for his views in life, my parents were never mourned in their deaths, and I have no tolerance for the airs Society seems to have taken upon themselves.” She smiled for the effect of the group. “England is not as perfect as they like to pretend, I fear.”

  “Neither is France,” another man assured her, bringing laughter from the group.

  “The King has done nobody good,” the tall man from before insisted. “He rules as though it is the year 800 rather than 1825. Returning to excesses is all he has done, and the country does not need such things.”

  “No indeed,” Pratt agreed, entering the conversation for the first time. “He is quite unlike his brother, the late king, is he not?”

  A general discussion of the monarchy and differences between them ensued, and it was made perfectly clear that Charles, the present French monarch, was wildly unpopular. His predecessor received a fair enough opinion, all things considered, but nothing particularly glowing.

  There was no mention of the emperor or anything surrounding him.

  That wasn’t surprising, but there wasn’t anything anyone had said that would leave Hal suspicious of Faction patronage.

  Still, word would spread that the Pratts weren’t satisfied with England, and that could be enough.

  She hoped.

  “Monsieur Pratt, are you a man of cards?” the tall man asked.

  “I can be persuaded,” Pratt replied, smiling beyond mere politeness. “Lead on.”

  He nodded at Hal as he left, and the gentlemen of their little gathering all seemed to follow, leaving her alone with the ladies.

  “You have a remarkably handsome husband, Madame Pratt,” one of the ladies confessed, fanning herself with a little more intensity. “Très charmant.” />
  Hal felt her cheeks coloring in an instant, which made the others laugh.

  “Merci,” she replied softly. “I do believe I have chosen well.”

  “C’est vrai!” another insisted.

  “Madame Pratt, come,” Madame Savatier suddenly said, coming to her side and taking an arm. “I must show you off.” She nodded to the others and steered Hal away expertly. “They will contrive to take your husband away from your bed,” she told Hal softly. “They always do. Dissatisfaction with their own husbands and general boredom leads to unfortunate behavior. This group will suit much better for you.”

  “Thank you,” Hal told her with utter sincerity, fighting the urge to look back at the ladies and glare with the power of a thousand daggers.

  Madam Savatier patted her hand. “Pas du tout, ma chère.” She quickly introduced Hal to the new group and indicated the man to her right. “I will leave you in the care of Monsieur Leclerc, madame. He is very respectable and will ensure that Monsieur Pratt will return to find his wife safe and among friends.”

  “Such responsibility,” Leclerc joked from beside her, shaking his head. “Madame Savatier, you put so much trust in me.”

  She gave him a severe look. “Do not prove me false, Leclerc. Mademoiselle Favreau would not appreciate the discovery that her intended is not respectable.”

  Leclerc bowed in acknowledgement. “Au revoir, madame.”

  Hal watched their hostess leave and smiled at the gathering she had joined. “I hope you do not mind an Englishwoman joining you.”

  “Of course not,” the woman beside her exclaimed in perfect English, a hand going to Hal’s arm. “You dress like a French woman, which is more than I can say for other ladies of your country I have met. This is simply charmante.”

  “Thank you,” Hal told her with a smile. “I had Madame Moreau prepare my wedding trousseau.”

  That earned her a round of approving nods, and a discussion of recent fashion began, the gentlemen engaging just as much as the ladies, to her surprise.

  “You do not think a gentleman has as much interest in his apparel as a woman?” Leclerc asked her in a low voice.

  Hal blushed at being caught in her thoughts. “Am I so obvious?”

  Leclerc chuckled and shook his head. “I know something of the English, madame, and it is no surprise to find your thoughts so.”

  “Have you been to England?”

  “Several times. I find London fascinating, though lacking in the beauty Paris possesses.” He looked down at her with a smile. “I hope this does not offend.”

  Hal smiled back easily. “Not at all. London has its charms, but I prefer the country.”

  “Ah.” Leclerc turned towards her a little. “Which in particular? Do you have a country house, as so many do?”

  “I am not so fortunate,” Hal laughed, “nor so wealthy. No, my husband and I are in London for the present, though we will leave it as soon as we find something to our tastes. I adore the Lake District perhaps most of all. Have you seen it?”

  “Sadly, no.” Leclerc’s eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed fixed on her with interest, though not the sort that would be considered flirtatious. It was rather the way Hal found herself looking at a drawing in progress, or how Pratt looked at the letter before the cipher was evident.

  What did Leclerc think of Hal, and was she already suspected of something?

  “You should see it,” Hal told him when he did not say more. “It reminds me of the tales my mother told me of the south of France, though perhaps without the same pleasant weather.”

  Leclerc smiled at that and returned his attention to the group. “The south of France is quite picturesque to those who fail to see Paris for its beauty and its influence. I trust you will discover such while you are here.”

  “I do hope so.” Hal felt her smile hardening. The change in Leclerc’s tone and manner was fascinating considering their topic of discussion. “I find it rather diverting so far.”

  “I am glad of it.” Leclerc sipped his wine slowly, laughing in response to something a member of their group had said.

  Hal felt him losing interest, and she couldn’t have that. She needed more opportunity, more conversation…

  “Do you go to the opera, Monsieur Leclerc?” she tried with almost desperation.

  He nodded, his eyes sliding to her again. “I do, in fact. A recent appreciation. Have you attended since your arrival in Paris?”

  “We have. Just the other night, we saw Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra.” She held her breath, praying he would take advantage of the topic she had intentionally chosen.

  “And what did you think of it?”

  Exhaling, Hal let herself purse her lips in apparent thought. “I am English, monsieur. I have learned much about Queen Elizabeth in my life, and I grow weary of the topic. She did much good, I will allow, but she is revered almost as a saint, which history shows she was not. No monarch is. The opera itself was middling, and I found the whole affair rather tedious.” Her eyes widened and she looked up at him in horror. “Please, monsieur, do not tell my cousin I said such things. He meant the experience to be a welcoming one for my husband and me, and I could not have him think…”

  “Madame,” Leclerc interrupted with some gentleness, his expression kind, “your secret will remain so, I promise.”

  “Thank you, monsieur.” Hal shook her head, placing a hand on her cheek. “I am so ashamed. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I will compose myself.”

  Leclerc nodded rather like a bow. “Of course, madame. I shall reserve your place beside me for when you return.”

  Hal smiled indulgently and moved away from him towards the window behind the group. Snapping open her fan, she began to move it steadily to bring cooler air to her complexion, though she doubted there was any color there to reduce.

  Waiting a moment, she stared as though out of the window, though her attention was truly on the faint reflection in the glass rather than what lay beyond it.

  Leclerc seemed to be watching her still, and she would not move until he was settled. His name was called by someone in the group, and he turned to address them, allowing Hal to move just slightly towards the corner, preventing her reflection from being clearly observed.

  She slipped her hand into the hidden pocket in the folds of her skirts and quickly unfolded the paper she had deposited there only moments ago. She scanned every word on the page three times, committing each to memory, then refolded the note and returned it to her pocket, the fan still continuously moving in her free hand.

  Tossing her head, she closed her eyes and exhaled to herself, and only for herself.

  Then she turned with a smile and returned to the side of Leclerc as if nothing had occurred. “Thank you for indulging me.”

  He smiled as if her words amused him. “Nonsense, madame. Every lady is entitled to privacy to compose herself.” He sipped his wine again before looking at her once more. “We were speaking of opera, yes?”

  Hal nodded eagerly. “Yes. My cousin wishes to take us to more. Which would you recommend? My cousin is so easy, he loves so many of them.”

  Leclerc paused to think, though Hal suspected he did not need to. “There are several excellent operas in Paris at present. La donna del lago, if you wish to continue with Rossini, but you may enjoy Cherubini’s Les Abencérages as well. It is not so popular as others, but sometimes those hidden treasures are les meiux, non?”

  “Oui,” Hal agreed, immediately adding the opera to her list. “And what of other events, Monsieur Leclerc? I am anxious to have friends in Paris.”

  “I don’t think you will need to worry there, madame,” he told her with a laugh. “I think friends will come to you.” He gestured towards the door to the card room.

  Pratt stood there, his eyes on Hal, interest evident, and there was no tugging at his cravat to call her to him.

  She felt the pull all the same.

  “That is my husband,” Hal admitted, smiling without having to pret
end anything at all.

  “I see. Yes, the pair of you will do very well in Paris, I think.” Leclerc chuckled again. “I should like to meet your husband, madame. Perhaps you can persuade him to come away from there?”

  Hal hummed to herself, loving the connection she felt to the man smiling at her in a way that made her toes curl. “Perhaps I can, monsieur. Excusez-moi.” Without waiting for his response, Hal moved away, heading directly for Pratt where he stood.

  “I didn’t summon you,” he murmured when she reached him, still smiling.

  “I didn’t need you to,” she replied. “Were the cards not to your liking?”

  Pratt shrugged. “Fair enough. The others are fetching stronger drinks, so I thought I’d see how you were.”

  Hal quirked her brows. “Well, if you can spare a moment, I have an introduction that is requested of you.” She held out her hand to him, her heart leaping when he took it without hesitation.

  “Indeed?” he asked as she squeezed his hand. “To whom am I being introduced?”

  “Monsieur Leclerc.”

  His eyes widened, his smile spreading. “What luck. And did he meet your expectations?”

  The unspoken message was clear, and Hal grinned. “Indeed, he did. Exceeded them, in fact. We’ll discuss the details of it later.”

  Pratt nodded and surprised her by bringing the hand he held to his lips, kissing the back of it. “My brilliant Ange,” he murmured. “Well done.”

  There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He was not pretending this; she was not pretending the feelings she had.

  They weren’t pretending with each other. They couldn’t be.

  Which meant this was real.

  “Merci, John,” Hal whispered, her heart too full for further words.

  His gentle smile would have made her sigh had they not been in public with work to continue.

  “Come,” she murmured, tugging on his hand. “You need to meet him.”

  “Yes, I suspect I do.”

  Chapter Nine

  If only all things were as simple as one imagined they would be at the start, but then where would heaven and fate find their humor? Because it was clear that only heaven or fate could find humor in any of this. No one else would.