Upon reaching the newly opened Hotel Meurice in rue Saint Honoré, they checked in. Lucy penned a quick note to William informing him of their arrival in Paris and left it with the concierge to deliver at the earliest opportunity. They then followed the porters up the long staircase to their well-appointed suite.
‘Very nice; I’ve never stayed in a proper hotel before. The inns along the Great North Road do not exactly rival this place,’ Lucy exclaimed as the hotel porter closed the door behind him.
‘That makes two of us. I was busy trying to work out the logistics of getting our luggage upstairs when those boys picked up our cases. It’s a nice touch that the staff can speak English,’ Avery replied.
‘Yes, Monsieur Meurice has seen the need for this sort of hotel with all the English tourists who are now flocking to Paris. He even owns the road coach in which we travelled over from Calais,’ Lucy said.
The 36-hour trip from Calais to Paris had been harder than the relatively calm sea crossing from England. The coach, though nicely built, left little room for comfortable sleep. A number of times during the long journey she had silently rued their decision to make the trip to Paris non-stop.
‘I’m looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed. I would love a bath, but I’m too tired to wait for water,’ Lucy said. She nodded her head in the direction of two large wash bowls set out on a washstand near the window. The pile of towels and washcloths did look particularly inviting.
She was halfway through a jaw-stretching yawn when something caught her eye. She immediately dropped her small travel bag onto the bed and raced to the balcony doors. She threw back the sheer lace curtains.
‘Look, it’s Notre Dame! I can’t believe we are so close!’ she exclaimed.
Avery ambled over to her side and gave the cathedral a cursory look.
‘It’s big, I will give them that. But I still think York Minster is a better-looking church,’ he said.
‘Oh!’ she huffed.
As he stepped closer, his cologne filled her senses. She felt strong hands on her shoulders and he leaned in.
‘It’s very old, isn’t it?’ he asked.
She nodded at what was a rather foolish question.
‘And it is likely to still be there in the morning?’
‘Yes.’
He began to undo the long row of buttons on the back of Lucy’s gown. With the inclement weather, and the hot kiss Avery placed on the back of her neck, she sensed she would not be visiting Notre Dame this day.
‘The manager said they will arrange to send you a lady’s maid in the morning, but for tonight let me be your personal maid,’ he murmured softly in her ear.
She groaned appreciatively. They’d been unable to share a bed for the past three days, so she was not surprised to find her appetite for his sexual attention suddenly flared hot. Unbridled lust begged to be slaked. How quickly she had developed the need for his strong, warm hands to roam over her body and bring her to fulfilment.
He stripped her naked and gently washed her body with warm water and rose-scented soap. Lucy tended to Avery’s body in the same way. Both slowly washing the dust and fatigue of their long journey from one another’s bodies.
When they were finished, Avery led Lucy to the big bed by the window. Under the cool, soft sheets they made love. A simple act of connection between them. A confirmation that they were united in their mission in France. Lucy reached her completion on a soft cry, which Avery drank up with his lips.
Gazing, mesmerised, into his eyes, Lucy watched as Avery reached his own fulfilment within her sated body. Every time he claimed her she felt renewed.
He eventually rolled off her and as they had become so accustomed to doing, Lucy lay with her back against Avery’s chest. Spooned together, he wrapped his arms around her and they soon fell fast asleep.
Somewhere in the watches of the night, they both stirred and made love once more. As Avery stilled over her, the look of rapture on his face revealed by the moonlight, Lucy heard him whisper.
‘Mine.’
Lying beside him later in the warmth of their bed, she stared out into the Paris night sky.
She pulled the blankets up around her neck, softly chiding herself for imagining that he could be feeling anything that approached love for her. Avery liked her, she was willing to concede that much. And he lusted after her body.
‘He is a man; sexual union with his wife is as natural to him as breathing. It means nothing more to him than that. Don’t go thinking that this marriage is anything but one of obligation for him,’ she muttered.
Avery had faced up to the inevitable fact that a divorce was a near-impossibility and in doing so had decided to make the best of things. Lucy closed her eyes and told herself she should count her blessings.
The long, tiring journey from Scotland caught up with them the following morning, and it was two more days before they finally ventured out into the streets of Paris. Their first stop the morning they finally left their hotel suite was to the offices of Rothschild’s bank. Avery handed over the letters of introduction and instructions from the Duke of Strathmore.
Little more than an hour later, they left the bank with money in their pockets and a line of credit established with the Hotel Meurice. Whatever future funds they required would be sent directly to their hotel.
‘I cannot believe that I can simply walk into a bank hundreds of miles from London with a mere letter from your father and they just hand over a small fortune in francs,’ he said.
He handed some coins to Lucy, who examined them closely.
‘Nice to see that Napoleon is no longer on the currency,’ she noted.
Avery smiled. Lucy always managed to find the right way to lighten the mood. Somehow she sensed his apprehension now that they were actually in Paris and going to try to find the family of Monsieur Rochet. The face which had haunted his dreams now at least had a surname. Soon they would know more.
‘So what’s next?’ Avery asked as they climbed back into the carriage the hotel had hired for them.
‘Vacheron, the watchmakers. You did bring the pocket watch with you?’ Lucy replied.
Avery patted the right side of his coat. Even as he sought to relinquish ownership, the watch was never far from his reach. It took all his self-control not to take it out and look at it yet again.
‘If we have good fortune with the watchmakers, then we shall put whatever resources we have at our disposal to find his family. That is, of course, if he has one,’ she added.
Avery nodded his agreement. Lucy, as ever, was a level-headed, practical girl when the moment required. He expected she had thought their plans through over and over as they made the long, tiring journey from England.
The prospect that there would not be anyone in France who would be able to claim Rochet’s watch had crossed his mind, but the need to assuage his guilt meant he would explore every possibility. Only after all avenues to locate the Rochet family had been exhausted would he consider returning to England with the pocket watch.
Lucy’s enthusiasm in working to find the Rochets was compelling and Avery found himself caught up in it. For the first time in a long time he felt he had purpose in his life. Whatever the outcome of their mission, he prayed a small amount of his self-respect might be restored. To ask for anything more would be vanity.
Vacheron’s Paris representative was located in a rather plain shop on Rue Saint Denis. As Lucy and Avery stepped inside the front door, they exchanged a look of surprise.
A small table surrounded by a handful of chairs sat in the middle of the small retail space. In the corner was a counter with a glass display case containing only two watches. The walls of the room were a dull brown oak, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be cheap panelling. The pale red carpet did little to lift the mood of the room. The room had a slightly damp smell about it, which Avery surmised to be a mixture of tobacco and a roof in need of repair.
‘Not exactly the place I had envisaged such a fine
piece of work originating from,’ Lucy said, echoing Avery’s own unspoken sentiments.
‘Let’s hope they put all their efforts into their watchmaking,’ he replied.
Inside the shop they were greeted by a small elderly man, who quickly realised he would have to speak to Lucy if they were going to make any progress. After taking a seat at the centre table, Avery handed over the watch. The Vacheron representative opened the back and read the name aloud.
Avery was able to make out a few odd words here and there as Lucy explained what they were attempting to do. He observed his wife with pride. Not only was her French perfect, but she spoke it like a true native.
The man nodded his head. He withdrew to a small room at the back of the store and quickly returned with a large brown book which he set down on the table.
‘He is going to see if he can locate the last known address of Monsieur Rochet,’ Lucy explained.
They watched as the man ran his finger down the list of previous clients.
‘Ah. Pascal Rochet,’ the man said as his finger reached the right name.
A wave of nausea washed over Avery. Finally, the man on the battlefield had a name. The man he had killed.
Pascal.
Lucy pulled out her notebook from the satchel she had brought with her from London and began to take notes. She asked the man several more questions, humming softly as she wrote. While Avery tried to calm his breathing, Lucy remained businesslike and unaffected.
‘Pascal Rochet was from Paris and now we have his last known address. The watch was purchased about six years ago, so we have to hope that his family has not moved in the interim,’ she said.
It had not occurred to Avery until that very moment that the previous owner of the watch could have come from anywhere else in France. To him Paris was France.
‘He wants to know if you want the watch repaired before you give it back to Pascal’s family.’
Avery stared at the watch. He doubted that the workings of it would matter to the family. Nausea began to turn into cold dread. What had been thoughts and mere concepts was now becoming all too real.
‘I don’t know. I am finding it rather difficult to think at the moment. The only thing I am certain of is that I would like very much to leave,’ he said.
He saw Lucy’s gaze fall on his tightly fisted hands. She thanked the shopkeeper and taking the watch, handed it back to Avery. He stuffed it quickly into his jacket pocket and rose from the table.
They left the shop and got back into their carriage. Avery sat on the leather bench and stared silently out of the window. Forcing himself to take in the scenery was the only way he could deal with the tightness in his chest and the heavy pounding of his heart. As they made their way through the crowded streets of Paris, he was surprised to see that in many aspects it looked little different to London.
There were the crowds of well-dressed citizens and ragged poor jostling against one another as they made their way to and from their destinations. In doorways, he spotted the all-too-familiar beggars.
More often than not the male beggars were still in the rags of what had once been proud uniforms. The missing limbs or bandaged eyes revealing that both England and France had little time or care for wounded former heroes.
‘It’s just like home, only less crowded,’ Lucy remarked.
He turned to see her staring out the same window at the passing parade. It was uncanny how at times she was so much in tune with his own thoughts. Almost as if she could read his mind.
He prayed she could not reach into his mind and see the depth of his cowardice. The hope he had felt before they left the hotel earlier that morning now lay consumed in the ashes of doubt. How on earth was he to face these people? And what of Lucy; would she still see him in the same favourable light if she knew the whole truth?
It had been a rash and foolish notion to decide to come to France. To seek out the family of the man he had killed at close quarters was madness. The sensible thing to do right this instant would be to call the whole thing off.
He would give Lucy a few pleasant days of sightseeing in Paris, call it a belated honeymoon and then go home. The pocket watch would be buried in the bottom of his kit bag somewhere out of sight and hopefully forgotten.
His mind began to race.
Perhaps if he threw himself into the business of learning to run his future estate, he could forever escape having to face the consequences of what he had done. A lifetime of thinking himself a coward was no more than he deserved. So long as no one else knew.
He had convinced himself of this course of action when Lucy finally spoke.
‘Have you thought what you might say to Pascal’s family if we manage to arrange an audience with them?’ she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. What do you say to someone whose son or brother died at your hand?
Time and time again he had replayed those few frantic minutes in his mind. It had been so very brief, so horrifyingly real.
Fifteen years of hard soldiering had culminated in a bloody fight to the death. If he had not been able to overcome the Frenchman’s desperate attempts, Avery knew he would have been the one lying dead on the battlefield in Belgium that fateful June day.
‘Considering how little French I speak, whatever I say, it will be brief,’ he replied.
Lucy frowned, disapproval evident on her face.
Avery sighed.
‘Truth be told, I’ve been having second thoughts about the whole thing since the moment we arrived. Apart from offering them my deepest regrets, I don’t have the foggiest idea what I could say.’
Lucy nodded.
‘If we do manage to locate the Rochet family, perhaps I can help. As you can see, I speak fluent French. You just have to decide what you want to say, and I can translate it for you.’
I really don’t deserve you. Lord knows you don’t deserve to be saddled with me for the rest of your days.
Not for the first time did Avery chastise himself for taking Lucy to his bed. He had been selfish in allowing his uncontrollable lust for her to dictate the situation at the Key.
He offered her an apologetic smile. Having shared a bed and the pleasure of her body for several weeks now, there was no going back. His babe might already be growing within her body.
She leaned over and placed a comforting hand on his knee.
‘I know this is difficult, but remember I am here with you. You won’t be going through this alone,’ she offered.
He bit his tongue, holding back the terse response that threatened. What the devil did Lucy know of such things? She had never stared a dead man in the face.
He pushed her hand away. Words of comfort and support were still so very alien to him, he honestly didn’t know how to deal with them.
‘Shall we ask the driver to take us to your cousin’s house rather than back to the hotel?’ he asked.
With any luck William Saunders would have a decent bottle or two of whisky at his disposal. For a man who prided himself on his restraint with alcohol, Avery desperately needed to take the edge off his mood.
Lucy reached inside her leather satchel and pulled out a slightly crumpled letter.
‘Will is going to call on us at the hotel just before supper. I received this note while you were in the barbershop having a shave this morning.’
She handed him the note.
It did little to lighten Avery’s dark humour. The first thing which struck him as being odd was the fact the letter was addressed only to Lucy. Not to the both of them and especially not him. He felt the sting of being reminded of his humble origins.
The perfunctory note stated that William Saunders would be in attendance at Le Meurice at six o’clock to discuss matters with Lady Lucy Radley and her husband. He folded the paper in half once more and stiffly shoved it back at Lucy.
‘Now what have I done wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just sometimes I forget that I am not of your cla
ss. That to some of your acquaintances I do not warrant even the mere mention of my name. Forgive me if I am being overly sensitive about such matters. I should learn not to take personal slights to heart.’
Lucy growled. Avery could understand her frustration with him. He was finding it difficult to bear his own company.
‘No.’
‘No what?’
‘No, I won’t forgive you. Don’t you dare ever take a step backwards if you think someone is being rude just because of your family background. You have served your country well and are now the future Earl Langham. No one has the right to treat you poorly. Though in this case, I doubt Will intended to cause you offence. He more than likely just forgot your name,’ Lucy replied.
‘Will, is it? I take it you and he are close?’ Avery snapped.
Lucy shot him a second disapproving look.
‘For pity’s sake, Avery, Will is family! You have nothing to get all riled up over. He is going out of his way to help you. A little gratitude might be in order when you meet him.’
Avery stared once more out of the window. He and Lucy sat in angry silence as the carriage continued on its way back to their hotel.
A tight constriction pinched his chest. He struggled to breathe.
‘Stop the carriage,’ he said and banged on the roof.
The carriage continued on. Avery rose up from his seat and began frantically banging on the carriage roof.
‘Stop this bloody thing!’ he bellowed.
Lucy reached up and flipped open the roof hatch. ‘Arrêtez s’il vous plaît,’ she called out to the driver. The horses immediately began to slow their pace. The carriage pulled over to one side of the street. Lucy and the driver exchanged a few more words, none of which Avery understood.
‘He says we are only a few hundred yards from the hotel. If we want to walk the rest of the way we only have to turn right at the next corner and we will be in rue Saint Honoré.’
‘Good,’ Avery replied.
He reached over and pushed the carriage door open. He stepped out onto the pavement, grateful as the fresh air filled his lungs. Lucy followed him to the door and offered Avery her hand.
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