Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I stared at my blue eyes in the mirror. “Being vindictive is not becoming, Cora Diehl Kensington,” I whispered. “Not becoming at all.”

  The youngest girls were saying good-bye to our hosts as I entered the hall, and most of the others were already outside in the touring cars, their trunks loaded and engines rumbling.

  “Ahh, Mademoiselle Kensington, enchanté. We shall miss your fine company,” Adrien said, bowing over my gloved hand and kissing it. “I heard you made the leap this morning. I only regret that I languished in bed and missed it.”

  “Forgive me, my friend, for rising so early,” I said with a smile. “I shall remember that leap forever.” In more ways than one. I pushed away the memory of Will’s wet hair and dripping face, his warm breath on my lips.…

  I moved to kiss Celine on both cheeks. “Your hospitality, too, will always be a sweet memory for me.”

  “Come again, mademoiselle,” she said, “and next time in the company of my brother. I know he longed to be here with you.”

  I smiled and looked to the floor, then back to her kind eyes. “He sent me word that he hopes to yet rendezvous with us in Provence. I do hope our paths cross again.”

  “I would like that very much,” she said, smiling, and I knew that she was sincere, in the cautious way of a sister guarding their brother’s heart.

  “Au revoir,” they called. I exited, past a line of servants, who nodded and smiled, and noticed Arthur getting into the motorcar ahead of us. Had he officially joined our traveling party?

  Will stood beside the small back door of the last vehicle. I immediately regretted my dawdling and my fanciful decision to wear the new clothes…. Now I’d have to sit with him.

  I barely took his hand as I picked up my skirts and entered the car, facing Andrew and Vivian. “Good morning,” I said to my half sister and her intended, and they greeted me in kind.

  “My goodness, Cora, when did you get that new suit and hat?” Vivian said. “It’s lovely.” She leaned forward to touch my skirt, admiring the silk.

  Will entered and shut the door, and our motorcade drove off.

  “It was a gift,” I said, hoping to leave it at that.

  “From Father?”

  “From…another.” Who was I fooling? There was only one man, other than Wallace Kensington, who would send me such finery. I tried not to enjoy the realization that Will’s shoulder stiffened when I said it. And I berated myself for my lack of charity and grace. Regardless of his reasons for turning away from me, it was his right, yes? And who was I to demand his attentions when I had already caught the eye of Pierre de Richelieu? Who was I to mess with any man’s affections at all?

  All I wanted was to return to Montana after this adventure, to resume my simple life, my simple aspirations to teach, unencumbered by a relationship with any man—my father, Will, or Pierre. They would only seek to pull me into their world, not enter mine. Honestly, get ahold of yourself, Cora. Remember who you are. Or you’ll turn into someone you’d never choose to befriend.

  We drove down the long lane of the chateau and onto a larger road. Viv’s keen eyes went from me to Will to me again, clearly picking up on the tension between us, while Andrew asked Will some question I didn’t bother to listen to. Mercifully, over the next hour, Vivian didn’t force me to an idle conversation of our own. I continued to look out the window, pretending to be absorbed by the landscape, which was growing more green and lush as we approached the sea, where the soil wasn’t claimed by wheat and sunflowers rather than olive trees and vineyards.

  Will entertained Vivian and Andrew with tales of the Provençal artists, past and present, who had favored this part of the country—Matisse and van Gogh, Cézanne and Renoir. But all I could think about was him gathering me in his arms so tenderly last night, that moment inside the gate this morning, and the other times we’d shared…on the boat crossing the Channel, on the Olympic, and before that, in Montana.

  And although I kept my eyes scrupulously on the passing landscape, my heart kept whispering, It’s not just your imagination.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cora

  After a train ride along the rocky beaches and blue-green waters of the Golfe du Lion, past sleepy, sun-drenched beachside towns filled with fishermen just arriving from their morning toil, we finally reached the canal. I’d managed to appear as if I were napping for most of the two-hour train ride, and the others had left me alone. Such an escape would be far more difficult on the river barge. Still, I moved to the end of the long, flat boat, hoping to find some private alcove in which I could settle.

  But there was no escape. There was but one seating area, and clearly, we were all expected to gather together for the bear’s lecture on history, canal construction, and the area’s architecture. We left the canal landing and set off at a leisurely pace, drifting past quiet villages and under the sweeping branches of huge trees planted decades before. It was idyllic, really. Something I’d normally enjoy. So I tried to settle in and pay attention to the old bear—and only to him—for a while.

  “The canal was a wonder of its time,” said the old man, waving his cane toward the water. “Indeed, it inspired many other similar constructs, including the shorter Suez Canal in Egypt and the soon-to-be-completed Panama Canal in the Americas. This canal took far less expense and political maneuvering, even though it was completed a century or more before those two.”

  It was most intriguing, this idea of cutting a waterway through the land in order to avoid circumventing hostile Spain—as well as Barbary pirates, back in the day. But I was continually distracted, sensing Will’s gaze. And was it my imagination, or did Arthur point his camera toward me more than he did the others? “When did Art become a part of our tour?” I whispered to Lil.

  “When he said he’d arrange lodging for us in Carcassonne,” she whispered back.

  Ahh, I thought. So that was it. The bear would tolerate his company as long as he was useful, introducing us to society as we traveled. How long could that hold out for an American? Hopefully not long, I thought, recognizing my own surly demeanor, but I was confused, overwhelmed, and I couldn’t seem to dispatch my terrible headache.…

  I imagined that Will wondered what had come over me, that my forward nature allowed me to flirt with him while Pierre yet pursued courtship. You are awful, Cora Diehl Kensington. Not behaving at all as your mama and papa raised you.

  Wanton, wily, wicked…

  I abruptly rose, and the bear paused in his lecture, looking at me with consternation.

  “Forgive me, but I am not feeling at all well. I think I might go to the bow for a bit more fresh air.” I was moving away before I thought how foolish that statement was. We moved at a slow pace, and the entire deck was awash with a cooling breeze.

  The bear nodded as I passed him, and he continued his monotonous lecture. Will was a far livelier teacher, but I would not have been able to tolerate a single minute of listening to him. I prayed that he would not follow me now.

  The old captain of the barge watched me as I squeezed past, along the narrow walkway and out onto a tiny deck at the bow. I gestured to a metal crate—presumably filled with life vests or equipment for the river boat—and he gave me a pert nod, as if to say, Sit anywhere, you fool. Just get out of my line of vision. And that includes that enormous hat.

  I sat down, feeling the heat of the metal seep through my skirts as well as the heat beating down on me from the sun. I was glad for the shelter of my wide hat. If I were to put a parasol above me, the captain would surely toss me overboard. I had just settled in to the sound of the water, the rhythmic chug of the steam engine, the feel of the breeze on my face, when a girl’s voice interrupted me.

  “Cora?”

  I opened my eyes and looked over to find my younger sister beside me.

  “Are you quite all right?”

  “A bit of a nagging headache, but I’ll be fine.” I scooted over, making room for her. “Sit down, quickly, or the captain will have a fit.�
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  Lillian glanced over her shoulder at him and then, safely shielded by her own hat, widened her eyes at me. “I don’t know what it is about the French, but they intimidate me.”

  “You? I thought you adored this country.”

  “I do, but I’m far less brave than I appear,” she said.

  I smiled. “I understand.”

  “Your new traveling suit is so lovely,” Lillian said, running her hand down my sleeve. “That silk is completely scrumptious. And that hat…it’s simply perfect on you.”

  “Thank you, Lil.”

  “Where did it come from? I thought I’d seen all you’d purchased in Paris.”

  What was the use? The truth would come out, sooner or later, and I was enjoying this brief moment with my sister. “From Pierre,” I said in a whisper, leaning closer to her.

  “Oh!” she said. Her green eyes rounded in excitement. “That is so romantic. How did he know your size?” Her eyes moved over me from head to toe.

  “I suppose from the tailor who created all our ball costumes.”

  “Of course,” she said, clapping her gloved hands. She folded them and tucked them under her chin. “I do so hope that one day I have such a grand romance as you.”

  “I hope you do too,” I said, but my mind was slipping toward Will, rather than Pierre again.

  “Perhaps Mr. Stapleton will consider courting me,” she said in a whisper.

  “Arthur?” I said, carefully forming my response in my head. “Oh, Lil, even if he was, he’d be the start of many. Don’t be in too much of a rush to find a husband.”

  “Do you think you will marry Lord de Richelieu?”

  It was my turn to look upon her with wide eyes. “Marry? I think not.”

  She frowned. “Why not? He is like…” She paused, looking forward, her entire face becoming wistful. “Like a fairy-tale prince. How can you resist?”

  I laughed under my breath. “Perhaps that is exactly it. As much as I am enjoying our tour, this is but a chapter in my life. And the rest of my book is not a fairy tale. It’s full of very realistic, challenging tasks and people. Children, eager to learn. When I get back home, I’ll resume my education at the Normal School in Montana.”

  “You…” She blinked slowly, frowning. “You’re…you intend to go back? But why? You are a Kensington now.”

  I gave her a gentle smile. “I’m also a Diehl. And my parents worked very hard and sacrificed much to get me to Normal School. Your father only promised me this tour and to finance the rest of my education. I was never to assume life among you.”

  “Well that…that’s ridiculous!” she said. “Of course you should assume life with us.”

  “Thank you for that,” I said. “I will look forward to our relationship in the years to come, Lil, but we mustn’t push into such tender territory.”

  “You mean, push Vivian.”

  “No, no. I mean push everyone. Vivian as well as all the rest of your friends. Don’t give me that look. Vivian and I are finding our way. But truthfully, this all feels rather like make-believe. Like I’m acting, rather than being who I truly am.”

  She frowned at me. “You’ll become accustomed to it in time.”

  “I already am, Lil,” I said softly. “Far more than I ever imagined I could be. But I have to keep one foot back in territory I’ve known my whole life.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wish to be a content country schoolteacher. I’ll look back fondly on this adventure as just that—a grand adventure, with its lovely clothes and fascinating excursions and scrumptious food and lodging.” I shook my head, trying to come out of my reveries. “No. This is my present; it isn’t my future.”

  She clamped her lips shut and stared at me, obviously reluctant to continue our disagreement. But her eyes said, We’ll see.

  The engine of the canal boat reversed, and we looked up to find that we were approaching our first lock. “The bear will want to enlighten us as we go through that,” I said, gesturing forward. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

  Lil nodded, and we rose together, making our way around the captain’s bridge and back to the others. It was Felix who approached me with a solicitous, warm question after my well-being, and once again, I fought the desire to look at Will.

  To see if he was looking at me.

  Wondering after me.

  William

  Try as he might, he could not keep his eyes from moving to her, again and again, as Uncle Stuart lectured on what was about to transpire. She was a vision in her classic, camel-colored silk, the hue making her skin a healthy peach, her hair peeking out from under the matching hat all the more golden. But there was pain behind her eyes—from her professed headache? Or from their blunder of an encounter that morning?

  The barge settled into the lock and was tied up to enormous cleats at the edge. The captain yelled to the lockmaster above, “Commençons!” and the old man nodded. Great metallic clicks echoed around them as a solid gate sealed the canal shut behind the boat, and another gate opened to allow a flood of water inward. The younger girls clapped as the barge began to rise. Cora edged around them in order to better see. Such an inquisitive mind…

  Hugh and Arthur had retreated to the back of the boat for a cigarette, while Felix, Vivian, and Andrew chatted with Uncle Stuart. The private detectives split up, one going to the bow, the other remaining at the stern.

  Will leaned over the rail and stared at the water steadily rising on the far wall with them atop it. Fifteen minutes later, the lockmaster gave them a salute, lowered the next wall, and the captain moved the barge forward. It truly was a remarkable feat of engineering, built in the seventeenth century. If they could do that then, what could I do now? He considered the geology, hydrology, and engineering marvel each canal was and grew almost as excited about it as he did about architecture.

  Who was he fooling? He’d be fortunate to complete his bachelor’s, let alone seek the additional schooling he’d need to become an architect. But everywhere he went, the bones of buildings or canals called to him. What am I to do with this, Lord? This call? Simply utilize it as part of being a bear? Show me, Father. Lead me to a place of peace and out of this constant…agitation.

  The maids brought out enormous picnic baskets and proceeded to put out bread, fresh butter, salami, cheese, grapes, pears, and chocolate. They pulled out champagne and poured crystal flutes full of bubbling liquid. As one maid passed a flute to him, he took a sip and chastised himself for his foul mood. What a sniveling child he was. How many would wish to trade places with him? Enjoying the life of the rich, even if he wasn’t rich himself?

  And yet…what good did it do him—his eyes shifted to Cora—when he wasn’t free to choose his own steps?

  Cora

  The medieval city of Carcassonne seemed to be the apex of my fairy-tale vision. We were to spend the night in the chateau, a castle within the city’s double walls. The chateau had its own protective walls and what was once a moat, now dry. After our arrival, when we were given a scant hour to rest and change into fresh clothes, we went to the grand old Basilica of St. Nazaire and St. Celse and saw the famed “siege stone,” a portion of a frieze containing dense images from one of Carcassonne’s battles. The bear gave us permission to walk through some of the city, enjoying the market and shopping for trinkets, before returning to the chateau.

  Two hours later we were in fine gowns and gloves with our hair dressed, the men in their finest jackets, sitting around a long, elegant table set for thirty-two. Multiple candelabra served as our only light, lending a moody, secretive feel to the room that was lined with oil paintings of nobles long dead. Cut crystal and ornate silver, including more spoons and forks than were remotely necessary, graced settings of Limoges china. By now I was well versed in when to use what cutlery with which course—thanks to Anna—but I still thought it ridiculous.

  I forced myself to make small talk with the viscount to my left and the handsome but deadly boring nobleman to my
right, while I appreciated the delicate dishes from a famous chef in the chateau’s kitchens, coming to us via multiple courses. But as I forced another bite to my mouth and smiled and nodded at whatever the viscount had said—his meaning made vague by a thick French accent and a limited knowledge of English—I longed for my mother’s plain meatloaf and roasted potatoes. Carrots gone mushy after too long atop the stove. A simple apple cobbler for dessert. Laughter and comfortable conversation. And no corset beneath my gown. Freedom to breathe. To breathe.

  The thought of it made me fight for composure. To not rise and run from this room, ripping out my fancy feathered hair dressing and the hundreds of pins in the coils of hair, unbuttoning my gorgeous, horribly constricting claret gown and ripping it off as I tore down the hall. The mad vision made me want to laugh aloud, and I narrowly kept from doing so.

  “Did I say something amusing, mademoiselle?” said the handsome nobleman.

  “Oh, no,” I said, taking a quick swallow of water. “Forgive me. I was just reminiscing over something. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Quite,” he said, and then in a droning tone abruptly resumed his long, boring story about a trip to New York. I took a sip of wine. And then another.

  Somehow, I made it to the end of that dinner. Afterward, we were led to the city walls, climbing stairs to the tops of the towers, then down the other side, tracing footsteps of knights in armor. We walked for fifteen minutes until we looked out over the gently winding Canal du Midi glistening in the moonlight, and an utterly still valley below. Crystal flutes filled with sliced strawberries and champagne were poured and passed along to us.

  Over the horizon, the round top of the moon rose, and we cheered, finished our champagne, and allowed the steward to pour more. It was idyllic. It was magical. And I was feeling lighter by the moment. When the steward came around again, I lifted my flute in my right hand, and he filled it.

  From my left shoulder came a deep whisper. “Do you think that perhaps you’ve had enough?”