The Duke's Messenger

by Vanessa Gray

  She cut short his apologies about putting them to inconvenience by his accident. Hesitating, she told him about his replacement. “But he is only temporary, you know, until we get to Paris and can find another coachman.”

  The old man shot her a look of surprising sharpness. “It’s not for me to say, miss,” he began, going on after all to say, “but I’d rest easier in my bed if the man — Reeves, you call him? — kept on all the way. He’s not apt to want my job in the end, so I read him.”

  She considered his remark thoughtfully. “I’m not sure but what you have the right of it.” Suddenly she felt a deep need for reassurance. “Stuston, pray tell me the truth. Do you think we can get along? Can we succeed in getting all the way to Vienna?”

  She was hanging on his answer. The accident to the coachman had shaken her badly. Another accident might well reduce their numbers to a perilous few. And yet she was reluctant to ask her aunt to hire additional outriders, for one unknown servant at a time was quite sufficient.

  “Nay, miss, I don’t wonder you’re fair diddled. But best call to mind that Mr. Tom is coming along ahind us, and he’ll not be traveling alone, I’ll be bound. Now then, just you count on Mr. Tom. He’ll not let you down.”

  How misguided Stuston was! Tom was certainly far from the rock of reliability that the coachman thought him. She started to give him the benefit of her considered analysis of her wayward brother. “He —” She stopped short, realizing that the man’s pain had come back with vigor, and his every breath was troubled.

  “Didn’t the doctor leave you dosage?”

  “Aye, he left me summat,” he gasped, “but I thought not to take it for a bit.”

  “Nonsense,” said Nell stoutly. “Take the medicine at once. You’ll be better more swiftly if you can rest. I’ll send Potter to you. My aunt has it in mind to leave Samuel here to keep you company. And don’t worry about your job. My aunt cannot do without you.” She smiled sweetly at him, watched him take his dose, and left him.

  With Stuston provided for, the new coachman hired, and her aunt quite clearly looking forward to their arrival in Paris, there should have been nothing to keep Nell awake-that night. But unaccountably she could not sleep.

  Summoning up her recollection of Rowland Fiennes, she tried to concentrate on his admirable features. Guiltily, she realized that the entire day, to say nothing of the day before, she had not given him the slightest thought. Now she would make amends. It took an effort of will to put aside the clamant calls of the day’s business on her attention. The object of making the journey had vanished in the details of simply getting on.

  With determination she dwelt upon Rowland’s face — not weak, but more classical than even the angel Gabriel. Straight nose, not crooked — she itemized — piercing blue eyes, a firm, even stern expression that spoke of devotion to duty, and ambition.

  For some reason, a remark came to her which she had overheard several months before in the retiring rooms at Almack’s. She had been in London only a fortnight then, and while she was keenly aware of Lord Foxhall’s identity, she did not know then who spoke in such carping fashion. But the words came to her now. “Foxhall? You can’t warm that piece of granite!”

  Granite? Impossible to believe Foxhall was hard as stone when she remembered the glow of admiration in his eyes, the softening tenderness when he looked at her. Anxious to keep him blameless, she dismissed any lurking criticism of his adamant adherence to the letter of custom, delaying his offer until he had spoken to Tom.

  Even were he a cold man, she believed, like many another young woman, that she could change him from a man whose duty was his life to a person of more unbending charm. It was of course, her aunt would say, not the first time that a bride thought she could change her new husband. But then, Phrynie was notoriously cynical when it came to men.

  Firmly she fixed Rowland’s dear features in her mind, expecting to fall into dreams of delight. It was too bad, she thought in the morning, that the only dream she could recall was woven around the figure of the new coachman.

  Such a dream held no significance at all, she told herself. Not until later, much later, did she wonder whether that dream had in fact been a warning. Did it foretell, for example, that Reeves, of the crooked nose and the speaking hazel eyes, would turn out to be quite the worst choice for coachman that she could ever have made?

  Chapter Ten

  It was late afternoon of the second day when the heavy traveling chariot lumbered into the environs of the French capital. They moved less swiftly now, for the horses were weary, Reeves having put them to it as Lady Sanford wished.

  They passed along the forest roads of St. Cloud. Through the bare trees, Nell could catch a glimpse of the palace where Napoleon had been stunned to learn that his armies for the first time would not obey his commands.

  The allied armies had overrun France, she knew, under the leadership of Tsar Alexander and General Blücher, and joined forces with turncoat Talleyrand to depose Napoleon. Foxhall had explained the situation to her — at Richmond, wasn’t it? — and said, “We must do all we can to keep Talleyrand in check, for if he is disloyal to his Emperor, who gave him honors and wealth, then he may turn against his new masters.”

  Yes, Nell remembered, it had been Richmond, for that day was fine, warm with a gentle refreshing breeze, and she had worn her almond-green India muslin and a matching chip hat tied with ribbons under her chin.

  “My dear,” commented Lady Sanford, “I remember riding along this very road when the King was still alive. My grandmama had brought me to Paris when I was young, on a visit.” Lady Sanford paused, calculating whether the actual date of this episode conformed to her publicized age, and added, “Very young indeed.”

  “Did you see the Queen then?”

  “Oh yes. Such a foolish woman, the Austrian! I can still hear the cries in the street, although I did not know all the words they used. Quite vulgar, I am sure. But there was no mistaking L’ Autrichienne when one saw her! You know they brought all their trouble down on their own heads. Louis was so besotted that he could not hear a word against her.”

  “How nice” — Nell sighed, her thoughts on Rowland — “for a man to love his wife.”

  “Well, there were reasons, you know,” said Phrynie in a lowered voice. “He was not quite — he had a disability — dear Sanford could hardly speak of it even to me — but the Queen overcame his fear of the knife, and then it all went well.”

  “It? Aunt, what do you mean? Something terrible, I expect? And romantic?”

  “Well,” said Lady Sanford drily, “not romantic at all. Quite disgusting as a matter of fact. And I shall not say another word until after you are a married woman.” When, added Phrynie to herself, if Providence is gracious, you will not be curious about certain abnormal aspects of the connubial state. “I shall hope,” she continued, not entirely irrelevantly, “that our unheralded arrival in Vienna will not completely revolt Foxhall.”

  “Aunt, your doubts do me no credit,” said Nell. “I assure you again that he will not alter his mind. If I did not have such trust in his steadfastness, his integrity, I should not love him so much. Dear Aunt, we are bound fast to each other in affection.”

  “That is fine, my child,” said Phrynie, “and your devotion does you great credit. I wish I could be as certain as you are.”

  “If you truly fear the outcome of this — this journey, why did you consent to come?”

  “I had hoped the question would not occur to you. I shall only hope that Tom will be able to explain satisfactorily to Foxhall that he considered us necessary to the safe delivery of the mysterious parcel.”

  “Rowland will not need such detailed explanations, I warrant.”

  Secure in her perception of Rowland’s strong tendre for her, Nell smiled. Lady Sanford noted the smile and wondered without pleasure what it signified. How far had Foxhall gone with the child? He had offered, of course. But Nell was an impulsive child, and her devotion to Foxhall, pai
nful to see, might make her all too willing.

  Phrynie was conscious of strong doubts as to the suitability of Nell’s intended marriage.

  How would Rowland deal with his bride? Much as oil deals with water, she suspected. For Nell was gay, impulsive, bewitching, and too fond of her own way, having been coddled by her parents in a fashion that Lady Sanford, having no children of her own, considered outrageous. On the contrary, all the Fiennes family were noted for a cold sense of duty and strong ambition, coupled with a shocking sense of conservation that could be, and by their enemies was, termed close-fistedness.

  Nonetheless, the match was made, if not in heaven, then certainly among the upper echelons of London society. In a material way, Nell could do no better, so it seemed.

  And yet, Phrynie dreamed, if Nell could find the happiness that she herself had experienced — but regrettably not with Lord Sanford — then she would be content. Just now she could not recall which of her many suitors had provided that happiness. More than one of course — Lord Fenwick, for one, and dear Darnford…

  “Didn’t I hear,” she mused, not realizing at once that she spoke aloud, “that Charles Bolesley had come over in May, when the embassy reopened?”

  Nell did not know. “But we will shortly arrive at the embassy, dear Aunt, so you will soon be able to inquire.”

  The carriage moved across the bridge and into the city itself, toward the embassy. It did not occur to Nell to wonder that the new coachman moved with such certainty along the smaller streets and the broad avenues to their destination. If she had asked him how he had become familiar with the city, he would have told her that he had made Paris a stop on his return from the Peninsular Wars.

  Whatever Nell expected of Paris, the reality was far different. Peering from the windows of the coach, she learned that at least at first sight it was a city of contrasts. Some of the streets she glimpsed as they passed were squalid, dirty, altogether frightening.

  Clearly, there was reason, for although the mobs of the Revolution no longer roamed the streets regularly, there were signs that they had not been forgotten. Shops selling wine or bread, for example — marked by a garland of grape leaves or a loaf painted above the entrance — still had iron gratings ready to draw across the door, if such a measure became desirable.

  At the embassy, the welcome given Lady Sanford left nothing to be desired. Lord Westford himself came down the steps to envelop her in a warm embrace. The ambassador was a bluff, red-faced man with graying side whiskers, the clear embodiment of a country squire. It was difficult to imagine how he could represent England in this sophisticated capital until one saw the shrewdness in his eyes. There was much naive heartiness in his manner, but suddenly Nell was quite sure that very little escaped him. In a way, she wished he were not so acute of understanding. Her conscience was far from clear.

  Their host swept Phrynie up the steps and into the foyer without a glance at Nell. She looked ruefully after her aunt. How like Phrynie, she thought, surrounded once again with the adulation to which she was accustomed, to forget her niece completely.

  Once again Nell realized how much of her own life her aunt had sacrificed to see that she was well launched into society. It seemed even more desirable now to marry at once and release her aunt to her own concerns.

  Nell’s spirits sank a little lower. Already the excitement engendered by their arrival in the city of enchanting reputation was waning, leaving her lonely. If only Rowland were here to show her around the city, to explain and instruct her! But, with a feeling of disloyalty, she knew that she did not welcome instruction from him. A glimpse came to her of the long arch of the years ahead, including Rowland speaking often with a touch of condescension as he endeavored to educate his lady wife. The prosy prospect did not entirely please.

  She stood on the pavement, pondering. Reeves came to her. “Shall I send all the luggage within?’ Noticing her start, he added, “For a long stay, I mean, miss. All the luggage?”

  “Oh, yes, Reeves, thank you. You must think me moonstruck not to understand at once,” she continued, impelled to explain where no explanation was needed, or even desired. “We shall wait here for a day. I expect my brother to join us, you know. We are on our way to Vienna to join my fiancé, Lord Foxhall.”

  Reeves’s expression did not alter. “Yes, miss.”

  She blushed. One did not explain oneself to a mere coachman, especially one so newly employed. She lifted her chin. “Hand me my jewel case, Reeves, if you please. It is there on the seat, where Mullins left it. I shall carry it myself.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  His formerly rough speech, she noted, bad given way to the ways of an upper servant. Whitcomb himself could not do better. He handed her the jewel case, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. Quite by accident, she thought, and entered the building, leaving him staring after her with an odd thoughtfulness in his hazel eyes.

  Not until she was installed in the delightful guest room assigned to her, next to Lady Sanford’s, with a dressing room between that contained a tiny cot for Mullins, did she feel the flush receding from her cheeks. How stupid she was, to let a mere servant distress her in this manner! Reeves was only temporarily in her aunt’s service and was quite uncouth, to judge from his touching her. No more to be considered than a crossing sweep to whom one’s escort tossed a coin.

  However, the thought of traveling across half of Europe with such an unsettling man, who was eminently capable of dealing with cattle as well as dealing out silent rebuke, did not add to her comfort. She was not even sure now she could tell him to his face that his services were no longer required.

  Perhaps the ambassador could furnish them with one of his own coachmen and even dismiss Reeves himself on her aunt’s behalf. But, were she to ask Lord Westford for this favor, she might have to explain herself and her purposes more fully than she thought wise.

  She came face to face with the essential dilemma of the journey. Her own need to join Rowland could not be acknowledged without throwing her reputation to the winds. However, she could not explain their ostensible reason for traveling — the mysterious parcel — without revealing the secret that Mr. Haveney had entrusted to them.

  The only possible explanation that could be given to the ambassador, or to anyone inquiring closely, was that they were sent on ahead by her brother Tom, who was following directly on their heels.

  She hoped with all her heart that somehow this would become the truth before she fell into disaster.

  *

  Dinner was a welcome change from the dreary sustenance provided them in the inns they had recently patronized. Not every French cook, it developed, was a master of cuisine.

  Lady Sanford wore one of her newest gowns, a blue Italian silk that made her blue eyes as brilliant as the sapphires around her throat. The skirt was in the newer narrow style, with rows and rows of matching thread lace adorning the hem. She was in her element — a diplomat to charm, a diplomat’s wife to put in her place, and a foreign city to explore on the morrow.

  Since Lady Sanford was enjoying herself, Nell, not required to fill conversational lapses, could indulge in quiet meditation.

  Hardly noticing the sautéed fillets of fowl à la Lucullus set before her, and fricandeau de veau to follow, she fell prey to all the doubts she had brushed-aside. Now she could not re — turn to England, could not renounce the journey itself without confessing her machinations. Clearly Tom was not following them, as he had promised. They had been five days or more on the road from London. The chariot, even in Reeves’s hands, moved far more slowly than a solitary horseman. If Tom had started at all, he should have overtaken them by now.

  She longed to be with Rowland, to bask in his warm glances, to foil whatever schemes Miss Freeland concocted to ensnare the handsomest man in England. This impulse — nay, far more than impulse — Ns need to be with her dear Rowland had blinded her to all else. She noted without surprise that the removes had vanished, and before her sat a Savoy cake
and coffee creams in cups of almond paste. Mechanically she picked up her fork.

  She could not go back. Nor could they wait long for Tom to come. If he did not arrive in two days, she would decide what best to do. There was the overwhelming fact of the parcel just now reposing innocently in her bandbox. She felt tied to the parcel, yoked to its urgent secret requirements.

  Five days to Paris — it gave one pause to think. She knew little about the geography of Europe, but she had dark suspicions that the way ahead might be much longer and more wearisome than she had thought. Now, with no bridges behind her, she had no choice.

  They would have to travel to Vienna, no matter the consequences!

  At length the evening was over and she could follow Phrynie up to bed. She went on to her own room, but her aunt followed her almost at once.

  “What a perfectly delightful evening!” she cried. “I quite look forward to our stay in Paris. Even though His Excellency tells me that the court is beyond all things dull, I cannot quite credit him. How can a court be French, and Bourbon, and not be in the highest degree elegant?”

  “Will you be presented to the duchesse, the King’s niece, do you think?”

  “We shall both be presented. I shall insist upon it. Fancy coming to Paris and failing to pay our respects. After all, it was due to England that the King is again on his throne. It is only right that he should have the opportunity to return our years of hospitality to him, you know.”

  Nell sighed. She was suddenly overcome by the weariness of indecision. It had always been her way to make up her mind at once, whether on the question of one gown or another, or on the weightier problem of refusing Nigel Whitley’s offer or of accepting Rowland’s.

  It was tedious in the extreme to be so unsettled.

  “I shall be glad,” she said plaintively, “when we are on our way again.”

  Lady Sanford gave her a shrewd glance. “Never mind, Nell. If the Freeland woman is to subvert Foxhall, she will have done it by now. One more day or two will make no difference!”