Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge

by Jennifer Joy

  Mary exclaimed in awe, “It looks like the dress of a garden fairy.”

  Adélaïde tried to conceal her pleasure at the girl’s reaction, but it was exactly the reception she sought. This dress and pelisse would be her best work, and the sooner she began, the better.

  “When do we start, miss?” asked Yvette.

  “I will start this evening after we close the shop. I wanted to share it with you and get your opinions, but I have become so attached to this design, I feel that it is something I must finish on my own.”

  Adélaïde saw the disappointment in Yvette’s face, but it did not last long amongst the cheerful comments of her peers.

  As the excitement over the design wore off, the air grew tense with worry.

  Yvette stepped forward, speaking for the group of girls standing behind her. “Miss, we cannot ignore what happened last night. We discussed it amongst ourselves, and we all feel that you would be safer if you left this residence.” The girls nodded unanimously in agreement.

  “But what about you? I cannot leave you knowing that whoever broke in last night might attempt it again.”

  Mary spoke up. “In all sincerity, miss, who would want us? We are only a sad group of females fortunate enough to be here. We can take care of ourselves, but if anything were to happen to you—” Mary bunched her fists and pinched her lips together. Adélaïde had no doubt but that Mary would triumph in a fight against a grown man to defend those closest to her, but Adélaïde would never put the girl in the position to have to do so.

  “I am no different from you. I am not considered to be of noble birth; I am not worth a fortune; and while my fame as a designer of dresses has grown, I hardly think that makes me a target. Your life is every bit as valuable to me as my own is.” Adélaïde’s voice rose in her passion.

  “Without you, where would we be?” implored Mary.

  Yvette spoke in her calm, clipped manner. “We would take extra precautions. Perhaps the footmen could alternate a watch downstairs until we relocate. But, I know I am not the only one here who would sleep much sounder if I knew you were in a safer place. Please, miss. We worry about you. Mr. Mauvier is not here to protect us.”

  Adélaïde’s determination waned. She did not want to cause her girls any more worry than they already had. Folding her arms in front of her, not yet ready to give up her argument, she asked half-heartedly, “Where would you suggest I stay? I have no family here.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew they were not exactly true. She had Maman.

  Incredible looks stared back at her.

  Throwing her arms up in the air, she said, “All right, all right. I will tell Maman what has happened. Once she knows, she will insist that I stay with her until we move or until Luc returns with Anne.”

  Yvette said, “That is the most sensible thing to do under these circumstances, we think.”

  Several of the girls had their hands clasped together, big smiles of relief on their faces. Adélaïde hated to ask for help from anybody, but she could see how much better the girls felt. She would talk to the butler and the footmen to see what could be arranged for their safety and to have them see to the replacement of the glass in the door. It was an eyesore and would deter customers from entering.

  Adélaïde practiced in her mind how best to tell Maman about what had happened. She had kept busy most of the morning, but she could no longer put off her visit. The girls would have no more delay. They had practically pushed her out of her own shop, insisting that they could take care of business while she called on Maman. Of course, they were right. They would manage well without her. She had trained them to be self-sufficient.

  Maman sat in her chair, a picture of domesticity, with her embroidery in hand, and her spectacles balanced on the tip of her nose.

  “Good morning Adélaïde. How good of you to call. It is rather quiet here without Anne.” A sadness emitted from Maman’s eyes when she spoke of her absent niece. Adélaïde felt guilty for not visiting before. She had been so occupied with her plans to move to Bond Street and the dress she was making for Mrs. Bartlow, she had not paid a call since returning from Anne’s wedding two days before.

  Had it only been two days since she had arrived home? So much had happened, it felt as if weeks had gone by.

  “I have found that my house does not feel like the home it was without my brother, too. I am sorry I have not called more often the past two days.”

  “You are a busy young woman. A tradeswoman.” Tying off her pink wool thread, she put her embroidery aside. “So tell me, what have you been up to of late? Do you have any news?”

  By the time Adélaïde told Maman about Bond Street and the dress, Maman requested a tea tray brought in. When she told her about the break in, Maman requested her bottle of nerve-soothing tonic as well.

  Pouring a healthy amount of the restorative into her steaming saucer, she took a scrutinizing look at Adélaïde. Shaking her head firmly in decision, she added an equally large dose to Adélaïde’s cup before handing it to her.

  Adélaïde sipped, coughing as the liquid burned down her throat. Casting an accusatory glance at Maman, she fanned her face to calm the fire consuming it and running down her throat.

  “The next sip will be more pleasant, dear. Drink up,” was all Maman said, herself delicately sipping away at her tea and tonic.

  Adélaïde hesitated to drink more, but after imbibing a few nips, she had to admit that her nerves felt so relaxed, she was uncertain whether she would be able to stand up from her chair.

  They drank their tea and ate their cake in silence, Maman’s eyes on Adélaïde the whole time.

  Exhaustion hit Adélaïde— a combination of the tonic and the stress of the day— and she feared she might nod off in Maman’s sitting room. Her eyelids already felt so heavy, it proved difficult to lift them up.

  When Maman swallowed her last bite of cake, she said, “You will, of course, stay with me until the criminal is caught or Luc comes home with Anne. I do not like your staying in that house alone.”

  “I am not alone—”

  “If it is your girls that you are thinking about, they can take care of themselves— most likely much better than you can. I have no doubt that they want nothing more than for their benefactress to remain unharmed. I will send a man over to have your maid pack your things to be brought here. You can stay in Anne’s old room and rest. You look tired.”

  Adélaïde was tired— too tired to argue. What was in that tonic?

  She managed a nod, and the last things she remembered were Maman’s voice giving orders and the maid helping her take off her shoes before she crawled, clothes and all, into bed.

  Chapter 14

  Sleep escaped Richard. Someone had seen him. Whether they could make out the features of his face or not in the darkness was doubtful, but forgetting his boots was unacceptably sloppy. Some spy he made!

  Then, there was the crashing noise at the front of the shop. Someone had made that noise. Richard did not believe in coincidences. Someone had followed him.

  Worst of all was the combination of guilt and suspicion he felt toward Miss Mauvier. The way she managed her business earned his respect, but that suspicious entry in her ledger was enough to convict her as a spy. Others had hung on less evidence, yet he could not bring himself to believe her guilty. In his note to Dovedale, Richard told him that he had been followed and that he suspected there might be something worth seeing inside the shop. Left out of the note was the ledger entry. He needed to make certain it meant something before reporting it, but years of following orders to the letter plagued his sentiments at withholding what could be significant information.

  He had hoped that after a good night’s sleep, the muddled mess in his brain would clear and he would know how to proceed. It had not worked.

  Dressing and going outside, Richard walked along the interior of a portion of brick wall separating the garden of Matlock House from that of their neighbors. He did not need to count, but he did
out of habit. Seven bricks up, and seven bricks from the corner. Pulling a blade out of his pocket, he wiggled it into the gap in the mortar and moved the brick little by little out of its place. He and Darcy, when they were fanciful boys, had hollowed out the inside so that they might exchange their secret messages. Darcy House had a similar hiding place in a corner of its garden wall. The boy in Richard thought it exciting to pass real, secret messages. The man in him was over the novelty and had to remind himself of the stakes constantly. Still, it gave him one more way to communicate with Dovedale— who had all but rolled his eyes when Richard told him of its existence and suggested that it be used.

  Richard looked behind him to ensure that nobody watched. The wall concealed his presence well, and it was too early for any passersby to notice a missing brick from the opposite side of the wall. Reaching his fingers inside, he pinched the message hidden in the hole inside the brick, and pulled it out. It was only one line, but the message was clear.

  Let none of her actions escape your notice.

  Balling the note up, he dropped it into his pocket, so he could replace the brick. Smoothing the surface with his hand, knowing it looked no different now from before moving it, he went back into the house to formulate a plan. He needed to think of opportunities where he could be in Miss Mauvier’s company without raising suspicion or finding himself attached,… not that such an attachment would be disagreeable. The more Richard learned about Miss Mauvier, the more interesting he found her. Unlike the overly-polite society he was accustomed to, she had opinions, and she expressed them passionately. He respected her role as a tradeswoman. She treated her help well, giving them dignity, where circumstances had robbed them of it.

  But… it could all be an act. Years of association with the theater world could have transformed her into a first rate actress, and he must not allow his admiration to spread carelessly.

  He could suggest that Mother have another dress made. Then, he could accompany her to the shop. But that was not enough. Besides, Mother would misinterpret his interest and assume he intended to court Miss Mauvier.

  Richard’s mind wandered at the idea of wooing Miss Mauvier. Just how would a gentleman attempt such a thing with a woman like her? What Richard lacked in appearance, he made up for in charm. He had no difficulty enchanting the young ladies at the balls and dinners he attended. Had his intentions or expectations been less honorable or less demanding, he would have married younger. However, Society’s elite had not exposed him to the type of woman he could imagine spending every day with: a lady with real accomplishments— and pride in those accomplishments. Building a business from scratch was certainly something to take pride in— much more so than embroidering a cushion, painting a table, or playing an instrument.

  His thoughts still romantically inclined when breakfast was served, Richard mindlessly stirred a small amount of sugar into his coffee. The color of the beverage resembled Miss Mauvier’s hair— dark and rich. He inhaled the strong smell rising from his cup and wondered if her hair would smell as pleasant as the rich beans, ground into the energizing elixir. He had not stood closely enough to her to know, but he thought she would smell exotic— no soft, relaxing lavender or sweet rose scents for her.

  Servants came and went, perfecting the place settings at the table and bringing in their usual morning dishes.

  The swish of silk broke Richard’s concentration, and he composed himself to greet Mother.

  “Good morning, Richard. You seem in good spirits this morning. You must have been out late. Did you rest well?” she asked, taking her seat.

  Richard was glad she had caught him in a good humor, though he would not admit to her what had caused it. She, on the other hand, seemed agitated. Her hand shook as she poured her tea.

  “Well enough, Mother, but what is this? I was out late, but I had thought that you would not worry over me. I hope you have not received bad news so early in the day,” he looked at her in concern.

  “You are a grown man, Richard, and I feel confident that you can take care of yourself. I heard the most disturbing thing that has set me on edge. My maid, Maude, heard some talk downstairs concerning Miss Mauvier’s dress shop. Evidently, it was broken into last night, and several items of value were taken from her home.”

  Richard bit his lips to keep himself from contradicting her. He had taken nothing. Of course, he could not speak for the individual who had followed him. “That is horrible. Nobody was harmed, I hope?” he asked.

  “So far as I know, nobody was assaulted, but it worries me that she lives alone in the apartment above the shop.”

  “She does have servants, as well as her seamstresses to keep her company.”

  “You are right, but I cannot help but feel that for Anne’s sake, we should do something to contribute to her new sister’s safety.” Mother looked hopefully at Richard.

  “What do you suppose we do?” he asked, sensing an opportunity to spend more time in Miss Mauvier’s company.

  “I think that if we were to interfere in any way directly, Miss Mauvier would resent the help offered. She is a capable young lady, who would put the interests of her career and her help before her own safety.”

  Richard nodded in agreement. Mother had summed up Miss Mauvier’s character perfectly.

  Tapping her fingernails against the polished mahogany table, she continued, “I have been thinking on this all morning, and am convinced that our best option lies with Miss Beatrice. I would like to pay her a call this afternoon, accompanied by you, of course, to express to her our concerns. With her as our ally, I am certain we can think of an agreeable solution.”

  Richard wanted so badly to tell Mother that there was no cause for concern— that the “criminal” held no ill will against Miss Mauvier— but he remained silent. It was not entirely true. Someone else had been at the scene; someone who may not have Miss Mauvier’s best interests at heart.

  Trying to think logically, what would he do if he found out that Miss Mauvier was indeed a spy for the French? His involvement in revealing such a scheme would divide his family. Determination to clear her name welled up inside his breast. She had to be innocent— he felt it deep in his bones. For his own sanity, he must prove it. Otherwise, the emotional pendulum he suffered from would drive him mad.

  “I will accompany you with pleasure. Aunt Beatrice is an interesting character.” Anyone who could hold her own against Aunt Catherine was worthy of respect, thought Richard.

  “She certainly is. I have never heard anybody else have the audacity to contradict Lady Catherine as she does or to express such a dislike for her as she does. Of course, at that age, one can do as one very well pleases. It is not as if she seeks the approval of Society.”

  Richard snorted. “Certainly not. Otherwise, we would have known of her years before.”

  “Let us attempt to make up for lost time, then.”

  Chapter 15

  The afternoon sun warmed the chill in the air. Autumn would push out summer, and Richard hoped that this new assignment would keep him in the country. He had no desire to step foot outside of Mother England ever again— at least not until there was peace. It was the reason he had joined the Household Regiment. Unfortunately, war created all kinds of exceptions to the rule, and he had been sent away his first year. He had been fortunate to return.

  Mother brought along a basket with sweet biscuits and apples. They knew very little about Aunt Beatrice aside from her hatred for Aunt Catherine and her love for baked sweets.

  They arrived at Aunt Beatrice’s address, but it appeared that nobody was home. In fact, the house looked to be as uninhabited as it had the first time Richard had seen it.

  “Are you certain this is her residence?” asked Mother.

  Mother looked just as confused as he had three days before, when he had safely deposited the ladies to the empty doorstep on returning from Rosings.

  Going up the front steps, Richard knocked on the door. He was about to turn around to leave when a butl
er, who was old enough to have witnessed Noah’s flood, answered the door. He led them into a room Richard supposed was used as the parlor. It faced the front of the house, and the only curtains adorning the windows were a sheer muslin, yellowed with age. The room smelled of lye soap. A settee and two chairs were arranged in a circle on top of a threadbare rug in the middle of the floor. The walls had no adornments.

  Richard looked questioningly at his mother.

  “She did say that she discouraged company,” Mother said, as she glanced about the nearly vacant space. “This makes my front parlor appear extravagant. I wonder if she would be offended if I offered her the rug I want to replace. It is in much better condition than this one. Look, I can see a floorboard through it here.” She pointed with her toe.

  The butler returned. “Miss Beatrice will see you in her sitting room.” He waited for them to stand, then directed them to a room closer to the kitchen, judging by the smell of things. They caught a whiff of cake just before turning into the doorway. Mother patted her basket and smiled at Richard.

  The difference in decor was staggering. Though the furniture was as old as the home’s inhabitants, the wood was polished to a shine, and the upholstery was clean and taut. A large, circular rug with a couch, a settee, and three chairs were arranged between a fireplace with a gold-framed mirror and several miniature paintings around it on one side. Matching windows surrounded the chimney with thick, yellow curtains the shade of butter. By far, the most striking adornment in the room was Miss Mauvier, who sat in a chair next to Aunt Beatrice. Her dress was the same turquoise blue of the Mediterranean Sea.

  “How lovely you came to call,” said the elderly spinster, as she extended her hand out toward the couch in front of her.