Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  "Why can't you trust me to manage my own life?"

  "Perhaps because you have gotten into one scrape after another ever since you were old enough to walk!"

  "If you are referring again to that silly adventure I had when I ran away from Miss Harrington's school, please do not." Adrienne's cheeks were pink as the past returned, unbidden. It was embarrassing to think that she and her friend Venetia Hedgecoe could have foolishly fallen in with a woman like Mrs. Sykes, who took them in and promised to introduce them to London society. However, the lavish parties she'd taken them to had been filled with conniving, debauched men who had plotted to steal the girls' innocence. Mrs. Sykes had been searching for "suitors" for Adrienne who would pay for her lascivious brand of matchmaking.

  "By the look on your face, my dear, I surmise that I still do not know the true extent of your imbroglio." Even four years later, Nicholai's torment was fresh.

  "I escaped unscathed and I've grown up tremendously since then, Papa. I would never do anything so foolish now, but I did learn some important lessons, especially about men. They can be charming, attentive, and cultured, but in the end they try to use their male dominance to achieve their selfish ends. I would rather take care of myself than trust a man."

  Frustrated, Nicholai nearly poured himself a whiskey. "I would not judge all men against the standard of Frakes-Hogg or those you met through Mrs. Sykes! When I hear you talk this way, I only worry more."

  "I am nearly twenty-one, Papa: a grown woman." Stubbornly Adrienne continued, "I have supported myself since school as a governess, and although that situation ended badly I do not intend to surrender and retreat from a life of self-sufficiency. You insisted that I receive a proper education, and I am grateful. I can make my own way in the world."

  Nicholai's face grew stormy as he thought of the villainous Walter Frakes-Hogg. Adrienne's letter had only hinted that he had made unwanted advances toward her and that she had made him angry when she fled, taking his daughters to the home of his sister-in-law. What hadn't she told him?

  "But what of Frakes-Hogg?" Nicholai said in low tones. "Has he not threatened you?"

  She shrugged, eyes flashing. "I was a little afraid when I wrote to you, but I have since realized that Walter is a coward. I am not afraid of him, but he is afraid of me—and the damage I could do his reputation!"

  "For God's sake, Adrienne!"

  "Never mind." Her pretty chin set in a hard line. "I have decided to accept another post. I will be able to leave London and Walter will have no idea where I've gone. There's no need to worry from this moment forward."

  "What's this all about?"

  "I have been offered a wonderful position as a companion to Lady Thomasina Harms, the ancient widowed mother of that exceedingly handsome dandy, Huntsford Harms." She gave Nicholai a grin. "Perhaps he will fall madly in love with me at first sight, propose, and take me off your hands, Papa!" Noting that he was not amused by this sally, Adrienne hastened to add, "I'm only teasing. Lady Harms has informed me that, should I accept her offer of employment, we will depart immediately for her grand estate in Hampshire, where we shall languish for weeks—"

  "I thought you'd be dead bored by such a routine," he put in.

  "This is different. I will be paid for my boredom, thus maintaining my independence. And Harms Castle has one of the most extensive libraries in all of England! I shall immerse myself in the role of scholar."

  It all sounded utterly mad to Nicholai. "What about this fellow Huntsford Harms? If he is there, and his mother is a decrepit widow, you'll find yourself in a compromising position again, my dear."

  "I was only teasing, Papa. Huntsford Harms will doubtless be ensconced for the entire Season in her ladyship's house in Cavendish Square, thrilled to death to have his mother out of the way so that he can indulge himself in peace. You know how self-absorbed the nobility are." Adrienne waved a hand airily.

  He blinked, waiting.

  "In any event, I can take care of myself. Haven't I proven that yet?" She jumped up and stood before the pier glass, smoothing her blue spencer and white muslin skirts. "Now I must go, Papa. I have an appointment with Lady Harms to deliver my decision to become her companion after all. She'll be delighted!"

  He put a large sum of money into her reticule. "Indulge me, won't you? Buy yourself some new gowns."

  "If it will make you feel better, Papa. Thank you!"

  Adrienne was tying the ribbons of her chipstraw bonnet when a knock sounded at the door. In the hallway, a footman delivered an envelope with her name on it, and Nicholai watched as his daughter broke the seal.

  "Rather odd, isn't it?" he said. "Who would know that you are here?"

  Her eyes moved rapidly over the paper, then she laughed with false gaiety and tore it into pieces. "Oh, Papa, it's nothing. People in London are very odd. They love to send mysterious messages to amuse themselves, but it's just a game." With that, Adrienne tossed the bits of paper into the bottom of her father's fireplace, then sought to distract him with an embrace. "Do stop worrying about me and begin packing for your journey home to Mother. She needs you far more than I do!"

  Nicholai stood at the window, watching until she had emerged from the hotel onto St. James and climbed gracefully into a hack. When it started off into the crush of vehicles, Nicholai crouched in front of the sitting room fireplace and picked up the pieces of his daughter's note. Several minutes later he had fit the tiny squares together and read:

  Lock your doors, strumpet!

  I mean to make you pay, and you know how!

  * * *

  Oxford Street was jammed with the vehicles of well-to-do patrons who, attended by servants, were fluttering among the shops.

  From her open hack, Adrienne found herself staring at window displays of linen-drapers, haberdashers, silversmiths, and silk mercers. She cared little about fashion but adored objects of real beauty, and at that moment, she was desperate for a distraction. Adrienne felt as if her problems—the vengeful Walter Frakes-Hogg, her father's displeasure, and the impending interview with Lady Thomasina Harms—were coiling about her like a python.

  She shivered at the thought, "A python!" she murmured. "How hideous!"

  Deliverance intervened. Her eye was drawn to a tasteful display in the window of E. Ralna, Fanmaker, where Adrienne beheld a true work of art. The fan was an exquisite concoction of ivory, embroidered silk, and lace. One glimpse in passing was not enough.

  "Coachman!" she called, leaning out the window in a most indelicate fashion. "I must go into the fanmaker's—there!—this instant!"

  The fellow assumed that a crisis was in the offing and yelled to the phaeton that was approaching on the left, between his hack and the raised flagstone walkway. When Adrienne's coachman attempted to cut off the phaeton, its raven-haired driver would not give way, and the confused horses reared back, whinnying in confusion.

  "Are you trying to cause an accident?" the dark-haired man shouted angrily. "Get out of my way!"

  "My mistress desires to reach that shop!"

  "And why should that piece of news interest me?"

  Adrienne, perceiving the problem, interceded. "You there, coachman!" she addressed the phaeton driver. For emphasis, she leaned farther out, so he would be sure to see her, and pointed her delicate parasol at him. "Do be a good fellow and let us over, won't you?"

  One of his eyebrows flew up, then he gave a harsh laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, miss, which I do not happen to share. This road is not your possession!"

  Outraged by his rudeness, Adrienne shocked her own driver by jumping out of the hack and pushing her way through the crush to reach the side of the phaeton. Still pointing the parasol, she stared up at the scoundrel, her cheeks hot with color.

  "You, sir, are horrid! Has no one ever taught you to show respect for ladies?" She didn't like the sound of her own voice, or the things she was saying, but he'd pushed her past reason.

  "Is there a lady present?" He caught her parasol a
nd pulled it from her hand. "Stop aiming that weapon at me."

  In spite of her mounting temper, Adrienne noticed the driver's compelling sea-blue eyes and the crisp, expertly tied cravat that set off a deeply tanned visage. It was even more maddening to perceive the laughter that lurked just behind his reprimand. Was he really a common coachman?

  "I do not wish to waste another moment of my time with the likes of you, sir." Adrienne tried to salvage the scraps of her dignity. Head high, she turned and walked coolly to the fanmaker's window.

  Eugene Ralna himself came scurrying out to greet her. Spectacles bobbed on his long, thin nose. "Ah, it's young Lady Adrienne, is it not? I still remember the day last autumn when you accompanied your mother to my humble establishment. How may I serve you? Have you come to choose a fan on her behalf?"

  Hoping that the odious man in the phaeton was watching, Adrienne let the fanmaker fawn over her. "I have business of my own, Mr. Ralna. In passing, I could not help admiring this exquisite creation in your window."

  "Ah! You have flawless taste, just like your mother!" He smiled broadly. "That fan is made with the rarest ivory, fifteenth-century embroidered silk, and priceless Arles lace. Rumor has it that Marie Antoinette herself commissioned it after receiving the silk as a gift." Ralna paused, allowing his words to sink in, then murmured, "Shall we step inside for a closer look?"

  "Why, the fan is part of history!" Wide-eyed, Adrienne had turned to follow the elderly man, when she was distracted by a tap on her shoulder. A backward glance revealed the phaeton driver's face, and she found that the sight of him made her furious. "Leave me alone," she hissed.

  "Don't tell me that you made all that fuss, disrupted traffic, and endangered my horses over a bloody fan?" came his acid reply.

  Adrienne refused to look back. "A brute like you would not understand. Do not speak to me again."

  She had progressed several steps and was about to precede Eugene Ralna into the shop when the voice she despised called out, "Did you intend to make a gift to me of your parasol?"

  Whirling, Adrienne met his mocking eyes and watched as he held out her parasol. The frilly thing looked ridiculous in his male hand. Did he mean for her to walk over and retrieve it? An instant later the parasol came sailing through the air toward her, and somehow she reached out and caught it. Her tormentor laughed, then bowed low.

  "Don't let me keep you from your urgently important fan inspection," he taunted, and returned to his high-perch phaeton.

  Adrienne hurried past Eugene Ralna, into the safety of his shop. Meanwhile, outside on sunlit Oxford Street, two young women were tittering as they stood, with a lady's maid, in front of the haberdasher's shop and discussed the impertinent rake who had caused Adrienne Beauvisage to blush to the roots of her chestnut hair.

  "Isn't that Nathan Raveneau?" the first girl whispered.

  "Definitely," her friend agreed. "I have heard the most outrageous stories about him from my sister and her friends. Since he returned from the West Indies, he's been setting London society on its ear!"

  Not to be outdone, the first girl pronounced, "My cousin told me that everyone has taken to calling him the 'Scapegrace'!" Just then Nathan Raveneau seemed to sense their scrutiny and turned his head to stare at the two gossiping girls. They went pale, then pink, and scampered away like frightened bunnies.

  ***~~~***

  Excerpt from

  Spring Fires

  Special Author's Cut Edition

  Beauvisage Novel #2

  (A Beauvisage/Hampshire/Raveneau Novel)

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  ***~~~***

  Excerpt

  Spring Fires brings back beloved couples from CAROLINE, TOUCH THE SUN, and SILVER STORM! The story centers around the indepedent beauty, Lisette Hahn, who owns a CoffeeHouse in 1793 Philadelphia with her ailing father, and dashing Nicholai Beauvisage, who has lived in France for a decade and lately has been embroiled in the bloody revolution in Paris. This excerpt opens with a party being given by Alec and Caro Beauvisage in honor of the newly-elected Senator Lion Hampshire. Lisette has agreed to provide desserts for the party and has come to Belle Maison's kitchen in spite of her father's worsening health.

  ***~~~***

  March 25, 1793

  It was a beautiful, clear starlit evening at Belle Maison. Caro and Meagan dressed for the party upstairs before joining their husbands in the library. The strains of music drifted up to greet them as the two couples descended the wide staircase together.

  Caro, lovely in cream satin embroidered with seed pearls, was relieved to see Pierre DuBois hurrying toward them from the dining room.

  "Madame, I have delivered Lisette Hahn to the kitchen building," he informed her, "And–"

  "Oh, thank goodness! I'd begun to fear that you'd had a carriage accident."

  "There is a reason we were late. Her father has taken a turn for the worse and she was reluctant to leave him. But, because she had given you her word, she did come, and she is making the tortes. I promised to bring them over to the main house when they are done."

  "I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Hahn! Lisette really didn't need to come; we certainly would have understood. Pierre, you'll tell her, won't you? I was going to invite her to join us, but I can't imagine that she would care to do so..."

  Alec wandered closer to capture his wife. "Caro, are you ready?"

  Servants were posted in Belle Maison's entryway to greet the guests and take their wraps before they proceeded into the stairhall to greet the host, hostess, and the guests of honor.

  Among the first to arrive were Alec's parents. The dashing Frenchman's Russian bride had come to him as pirate's plunder over forty years ago. Although their love remained deep, their life was quieter now. With the latest dark developments in France, both Jean-Philippe and Antonia seemed to move under a cloud of worry.

  Caro kissed them and asked, "Is there news?"

  "We have no word of Nicky," her mother-in-law replied. "I can think of little else."

  They went on into the brightly lit parlor just as William Bingham entered with his beautiful wife Anne, who was known as "Queen of the Republican Court" now that Philadelphia was America's capital.

  "I hope you do not mind that I brought a guest?" Anne inquired a trifle haughtily, pulling forward a pale, birdlike girl. "This is my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall, who is visiting us from England. Ophelia, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Beauvisage and Senator and Mrs. Hampshire."

  The girl tittered nervously before offering her hand. She stared, first at the dark, rakish Alec and then at the dazzling new senator.

  "Ah, here is Samuel Powel," murmured Alec with relief, turning to greet Philadelphia's mayor and his wife. The Powels were followed by President and Mrs. Washington, a fact duly noted by Meagan and Caro. Gossip was thick concerning the close friendship between the coquettish Eliza Powel and the aging president. No one cared to suggest they were lovers, but they enjoyed each other's company to an unseemly degree.

  Musicians were tuning up and people milled about, spilling into the south parlor and the huge dining room where food was already being arranged. As the late arrivals tapered off, Alec and Caro took the Hampshires to join the party. When they appeared in the parlor, the musicians began to play and the harmonious mixture of harpsichord, violins, flute, and harp set the tone for the lighthearted evening ahead.

  * * *

  Belle Maison's kitchen was large, occupying its own building behind the main house. All evening, the wooden floor had been tapped like a drum by the feet of dozens of servants who carried the meticulously prepared dishes over to the house. A mammoth fieldstone hearth spanned one wall and Lisette sat at a nearby table to do her work.

  Surveying the seemingly endless cake layers and filling bowls, she sighed heavily and pushed back her unbound golden hair. Mixing and baking the tortes had taken hours and now she struggled to assemble them into beautiful desserts. She was exhausted and sick with worry for her father. What a terribl
e night it was!

  The last of the servants had disappeared into the house. Lisette sat alone in the kitchen, suffused with a melancholy that stole through her body in uneasy waves.

  Music and laughter drifted back from the house and each window was ablaze with candlelight. Looking down at her simple sky-blue frock and the full-length white apron that covered it, Lisette wondered what the elegant women guests were wearing tonight. Were their upswept curls studded with jewels? Did they smell of jasmine or gardenias?

  Wearily, Lisette pushed loose tendrils from her brow, set down the wooden frosting spoon, and closed her eyes. Images flickered through her mind of the richly garbed people dancing, laughing, and chatting with witty sophistication.

  I don't envy them, she reminded herself, but tonight... it would be nice to feel beautiful, to be free of worry and responsibility, to feel alive... even to be in love.

  The last thought was so out of character that Lisette smiled at herself and what she decided must be utter fatigue. She opened her eyes, blinked in disbelief, then took a second look.

  A strange man stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned indolently against the frame, regarding her with emerald eyes that sparkled like real jewels.

  Lisette's heart quickened. The man could not be a guest, for he wore a soft leather coat over a casual dirt-streaked shirt, fawn breeches, and riding boots that were mud-spattered. His face and hands were deeply tanned, dark hair curled where his shirt was open at the neck, and his flashing smile was as rakish as a pirate's.

  "Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he said in a husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her back.

  "Are you employed here, sir?"

  He seemed to find this question highly amusing. "No, I am not."

  Lisette wondered with a start if he was a highwayman or a criminal of some sort. Perhaps he meant to rob the guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her physical harm.