Thankful for this reticence on Philippe’s part, Gloriana admitted, “We treated each other unkindly in the past. I should not be surprised at whatever ill-mannered action he chooses to take now.”
“He is a gentleman and should know better.” Madame Brun broke off as the maid came in with the coffee pot and cups on a silver tray and then left, closing the door.
“I am a lady and should know better, too,” Gloriana said ruefully. “I thought . . .”
Madame Brun passed her a cup of steaming coffee. Gloriana closed her eyes and inhaled the delightful fragrance. “Ah, how lovely. Your coffee is always perfect.” Perhaps this embarrassing conversation could end now.
“The English do not understand coffee.” The Frenchwoman poured for herself and passed the sugar. “You thought . . .?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Gloriana nipped a lump off the loaf of sugar and dropped it into her cup.
“But no, it matters very much! Why did you pretend to disagree with his views? He was astonished when I told him about the school.”
“Yes, he would be. I have kept the school a secret from society until now.” Gloriana wished he hadn’t told his sister about her stupid behavior. Wished he hadn’t found out about the school. But perhaps it was all for the best, as she needed funds to expand it, so soon everyone would know—but not about her foolish tendre for Philippe. She shook her head. “I can’t explain.”
“You mean you will not,” Madame Brun said, “just like Philippe.”
“You’re right, I won’t. It is all ancient history.”
“You are not ninety years old, to speak as if your life is past. He is thirty and you are . . . twenty-five or so?”
Gloriana scowled. “My decision to conceal my philanthropy has nothing to do with Philippe.”
Madame Brun wasn’t deceived. “You loved him once,” she said softly, “and he loved you.”
“We thought we loved one another,” Gloriana said. “And then we found that we did not.”
Madame pouted. “Perhaps if you came to know one another again . . .” She spread her hands suggestively.
“He gave me the cut direct, Madame Brun, and also forbade you to apologize! That indicates very clearly that he does not wish to know me.”
“Tsk,” Madame said. “He is a prideful fool. I don’t know what happened between you, but surely . . .”
“No,” Gloriana said. “What is done cannot be undone.”
Madame tutted. “Love is not so easy to find, that you and he should dismiss it so lightly.” She sighed. “But if we cannot become sisters, at least we shall continue to be friends.”
~ ~ ~
Time passed, and Gloriana held her breath, anticipating droll looks and frank laughter amongst her acquaintances as Philippe spread the news about her school. And as he crowed in triumph that she had given in to his eloquence and adopted his revolutionary views.
But no such thing happened. Seemingly, he had told no one. Why not? He should be gloating about it. He probably thought she’d opened the school all those years ago in the hope of regaining his approval.
How mortifying, since something of the sort had indeed gone on in the privacy of her mind—so private that she hadn’t even realized it—while she snubbed him consistently in public.
She wrote to her sister-in-law, Melinda Garrison, in Lancashire, and to her newly-wedded cousin Daisy in Somerset, asking them to serve as patrons of her school. As expected, both contributed with exclamations—written, but no less loud for being so—of surprise and approval.
This eased the immediate financial problems, resulting in the addition of two more orphans and weekly classes in marquetry and inlay. But sooner or later, she would have to make the school’s existence public and, for the sake of the boys, bear the humiliation of agreeing with some of Philippe’s views.
From time to time Philippe visited his sister, but it was easy to avoid him. Twice he deigned to give Gloriana a curt nod whilst riding in Hyde Park. She and her friend Alice Stowe met him while shopping for Christmas on Old Bond Street, where he behaved with ordinary civility. This display of hypocrisy on his part made it easier to shut off any and every reaction to him: no anger, no pain, and not even much interest.
“He’s so gloriously handsome,” Alice gushed as they walked on.
Gloriana cast her eyes heavenward. “You too?” She hadn’t noticed until lately how many silly women swooned over the Marquis de Bellechasse.
Alice laughed. “If I were not married, I would long to compromise him. Last week, Arabella Stansom tried to trap him in an alcove at Corington House.” Alice, an unrepentant gossip, always knew the latest on dits.
“Surely she needs to marry money,” Gloriana said. “Her family are poor as church mice, and although the marquis is not precisely impoverished, he is not a wealthy man.” She had followed his progress over the years, fool that she was, and knew he had purchased a small Buckinghamshire estate.
“Lust, my dear Gloriana. Fortunately, the marquis is adept at avoiding foolish females, whether virgins, married ladies, or widows. He confines his amours to the demimonde, which is eminently practical but disappointing to many passionate ladies.” At Gloriana’s grimace, she asked, “Don’t you find him devastatingly attractive?”
“Not because of his looks,” Gloriana said and wished she’d phrased her answer otherwise. “Yes, he is handsome, but—”
“His delicious Frenchness is so romantic,” Alice said.
“And entirely superficial.” Gloriana certainly wouldn’t admit that at twenty, she had found these same features fascinating. “Surely his views are far more . . . worthwhile.” There, a first step toward seeking out more patrons for the school.
Alice stared. “I thought you disagreed completely with his views!”
“Mostly, yes, but he does have some valid notions, and a rational woman should prefer a man who at least thinks about important matters.”
“Tsk,” Alice said. “Lust trumps all.”
As a first step, it wasn’t much. At least Alice hadn’t laughed in her face. Perhaps she would pave the way with a little gossip, and Melinda and Daisy had agreed to help find more patrons during the upcoming season. Maybe publicly agreeing with Philippe wouldn’t be quite so humiliating after all.
December came. Gloriana left gifts for the children at the school and at Sophie Brun’s, and returned to Lancashire for the Christmas season.
She no longer berated herself for her own unkind, foolish behavior. Nor did she dwell on the cruelty on Philippe’s part which had sparked it, for what was the point? She reveled in the freedom and usefulness of her life in London. In Lancashire, she savored the company of her family, particularly her dear cousin Daisy, who had come to Garrison House with her husband, Sir Julian Kerr. Christmas came and went, and Gloriana participated happily in visiting tenants, distributing gifts, and serving lamb’s wool to a large party of guests on Christmas Eve. She played a role in a Christmas play, and even joined a group of rowdy neighbors in saluting the apple orchard on Twelfth Night.
“I am reborn,” she told herself as she returned to the Dower House well after midnight. She was a new, contented Gloriana, filled with goodwill and ready to seek out more patrons for the school. Surely now, after so many months, she could seek the comfort and solace of the Book of Hours once again.
She thanked the footman who’d escorted her home and went slowly up the stairs to her bedchamber. Impatiently, she let Elspeth undress her and prepare her for bed. “Thank you, but I’m not ready to sleep just yet,” she said when the maid tried to hustle her under the covers. “And I’m sure you’re dying to go to bed and read.” For Gloriana had given her two of the latest romantic novels as a Christmas gift.
Elspeth grinned. “Aye, Miss Glow, that I am.”
Pleased with herself
, at peace with the world, and alone at last, Gloriana set her candle near the shelf and reached behind the books to her hiding place.
The Book of Hours wasn’t there.
Chapter 5
“It’s gone, I tell you. Gone!” Gloriana paced up and down in the drawing room at Garrison House. “Miles, are you sure you didn’t take it for safekeeping?”
“Completely sure.” Lord Garrison was seated at one end of the sofa, arms crossed in annoyance. “If I had thought about it, which I did not, I would have assumed you had taken it with you to London as usual.”
Oh, how she wished she had. She’d deprived herself of it out of a feeling of deep unworthiness, and now she’d lost it entirely. Did this mean she would never again deserve its consolations?
That was probably a flawed, and far too irrational, conclusion. Nevertheless, the conviction that its loss was her fault had gnawed at her all night.
“How can it be gone?” Melinda asked. “Perhaps you simply forgot where you last put it.”
“I know perfectly well where I put it,” Gloriana retorted. “I remember precisely because it was not long after Lord Hythwick tried to violate me.”
“Maybe you weren’t yourself at the time,” her cousin Daisy suggested from across the room. “Being assaulted is enough to overset anyone, even you.”
“I wasn’t overset. I was merely furious. Philippe de Bellechasse had a look at it, and when he handed it back, I put it where I always do—behind some books on one of my shelves.”
“Philippe asked to see it?” Daisy sent a startled glance at her husband, Sir Julian, who was prodding a log in the fireplace.
“It does seem rather a strange moment to do so,” Melinda said. “Hadn’t he just finished knocking Hythwick to the floor?”
Gloriana flapped a hand. “What does that have to do with it? He has no sensibility, and nor do I. We were quarreling, as we always do, and he spied it on the table and picked it up. I put it away and haven’t taken it out since.”
“You have quite a few books,” Melinda suggested. “Perhaps you put it on a different shelf.”
“I searched my entire bedchamber last night. I took every single book off the shelves. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I ransacked the whole room again this morning. I questioned all the servants at the Dower House. They say they haven’t seen it. I trust them all—they’ve been with us for years. They swore there have been no break-ins.”
“No, none at all. They would have informed me immediately,” Miles said.
“And yet,” Gloriana said, “I couldn’t help remembering that there were quite a few thefts here in the North last year.”
“That’s true,” Daisy agreed, shooting another glance at Julian, who frowned in response.
Gloriana wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I suppose I shall have to question my servants too,” Miles said.
“You can be quite intimidating if you choose,” Melinda said, looking uneasy.
“I prefer not to bully my people,” Miles said, “particularly when it serves little purpose. Even if one of the servants stole it, they must have sold it by now.”
“If they could,” Melinda said. “Any servant trying to sell such a valuable item would be suspected of theft.”
“That might not be a concern, if he or she stole it at the behest of a collector,” Miles said.
“Or of someone who habitually sells such goods to collectors,” Daisy said. “Oh, dear.”
They chattered on, but meanwhile, the precious book was gone and might have been gone for months. She should have given it to Miles for safekeeping, but she’d been too upset to think of anything but getting away from everyone and starting over.
Daisy stood, and she and Julian passed an unspoken message between them, the way couples often do. Usually when Gloriana witnessed such intimate communication, she suffered a pang of envy, but today, misery trumped all.
“Please excuse us,” Daisy said, and they left the room.
Glumly, Gloriana returned to the Dower House, passing Julian and Daisy as they walked on the wintry lawn, talking and gesticulating.
“Impossible,” Julian was saying. “You’re mad to suggest it.”
“It’s not impossible, and you know it.” Daisy caught sight of Gloriana and lowered her voice. Whatever their dispute, it was none of Gloriana’s business.
She couldn’t think what to do. She tried to make herself sit still. She took up her tambour frame and set a few stitches. She opened a book but couldn’t get past the first page. Elspeth kindly offered tea and cakes, but Gloriana refused, for her appetite had vanished. She had to do something, but what?
She put on her cloak and went for a walk, hoping for some solace from the wintry outdoors. Bare trees and a cloudy sky weren’t much help. Even the ducks in the reeds looked gloomy.
“Glow!”
It was Daisy. With her was Sir Julian, stern and more disapproving than usual. He was a civil sort of man, but he didn’t pretend to like Gloriana. This was her fault—they had started off on the wrong foot—but as long as Daisy remained her friend, she didn’t care a button about Sir Julian.
They met and turned in a group to stroll along the lake.
“You must promise not to tell anyone what I am about to reveal,” Daisy said. “Julian and I cannot agree about this.”
“Definitely not,” Julian said.
“But my conscience obliges me to confide in you. I am most probably wrong, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I have an idea who may have stolen your Book of Hours.”
“Who?” Gloriana cried. “For God’s sake, tell me!”
“It’s just that . . . Philippe de Bellechasse used to be a thief.”
“Philippe?” Her mind whirled. “A thief? No, surely not.” She turned to Sir Julian, who nodded stiffy.
“Kindly keep this information confidential,” he said. “Whatever he may have done in the past, I am certain Philippe is no longer engaged in theft.”
“How can you be?” Daisy asked. “He didn’t promise not to steal anymore. In fact, he was purposely evasive. I don’t trust him.”
But I do, Gloriana thought suddenly and astonishingly. Was she a fool in this way as well?
“He stole antiquities that had been plundered in France during the Revolution and bought by collectors here in England, and then he sold them back to their previous owners.”
“Good Lord,” Gloriana whispered. “It’s hard to believe.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true. He confessed as much to Julian and me.”
“He felt he was restoring the antiquities to their rightful owners,” Julian said. “Those who buy stolen goods risk losing their investment.”
“He was doing it to make a profit.” Daisy flapped a hand at her husband. “I understand that he needed money. I’m only saying that he has stolen before and may steal again.”
“He never stole from his friends,” Julian said.
“He’s not my friend.” Gloriana twisted her hands together, trying to take it in.
“Lord and Lady Garrison are his friends,” Julian said. “The book, if I understand correctly, belongs to the Garrison estate. I am one hundred percent certain that he did not steal it.”
“And I am not,” Daisy said. “He saw where you put the book, did he not? Did you remain in your bedchamber after he saved you from Lord Hythwick?”
“No,” Gloriana said, more appalled by the second. “I tried to make him leave, but he insisted I needed protection, so I left in a huff.”
“I thought as much.” Daisy nodded her conviction.
Julian’s glower didn’t change. “I admit, it’s incomprehensible that Philippe would feel the need to remain with Gloriana after beating Hythwic
k into insensibility, but he seems to have cared for her at some time in the past and perhaps still does to some small degree.”
“He doesn’t. He loathes me, and the feeling is mutual. Since I couldn’t physically remove him, I locked myself in the privy.” She glared at Sir Julian. “You needn’t tell me that was childish. I already know.”
“You were overwrought and rightly so,” Daisy said kindly. “Unfortunately, you gave him ample opportunity to steal the book.”
Fury washed over Gloriana. “He watched me and plotted, the hypocritical dastard. He treats me abominably, do you know? Once he even gave me the cut direct, and now he scarcely acknowledges me unless I’m with someone to whom he must be civil.” She gnashed her teeth. “I thought perhaps I deserved it, but he’s actually a thousand times worse than I ever was.”
“We don’t know for sure,” Daisy said.
“I know enough,” Gloriana said.
She would have left for London immediately if Daisy had not physically restrained her. “It will soon be dark. Besides, what are you going to do once you get there?”
“Confront him, of course.” Gloriana clenched her fists. “I’ll make him sorry he was ever born.”
“No, you’ll just offend him,” Julian said. “He’ll deny it, and then where will you be?”
She didn’t care how much sense this made. “What do you suggest?”
“Daisy and I can go to London on the way to Somerset,” Julian said. “I shall visit him and explain the problem.”
“At which point he’ll be offended at you,” Daisy said. “I’m sorry, Julian. I know he’s your good friend. I’ll talk to him. It’s much better if I take the blame.”
“No, I agreed to this discussion,” Julian growled. “Philippe has enough problems of his own at the moment without being inconvenienced by this nonsense.”
The Redemption of the Shrew Page 6
