For an instant he toyed with the notion of waving her away and sending her back to the hotel. He wanted to be alone. But when he saw the hurt etched on her face, he knew he had no choice. Only a selfish heel would refuse her.
‘Come on then,’ he said, helping her down.
They stood and watched as the carriage pulled back into the street. Avery sucked in another deep breath and puffed out his cheeks. Fearing a repeat of the panic attack he had suffered on Strathmore Mountain, he prayed his stomach would remain calm.
Lucy silently took his arm and they began the short walk back to the hotel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lucy avoided all but the barest of conversations with him for the rest of the morning. Avery continued to wrestle with his inner turmoil. Rather than try to explain the overwhelming sense of panic which had gripped him during the ride back to the hotel, he let Lucy continue to believe he was in a stinking foul mood.
At luncheon Lucy took a small platter filled with fresh fruit and cheese outside and ate alone on the balcony. As she left the room she closed the door behind her. The message was clear. Until Avery pulled himself from his dark mood, she was not interested in sharing his company. Another skill she had at her disposal, having grown up in a large family.
He partook of his meal at the small writing desk in their suite. It was only after he had pushed the piece of fish on his plate to the very edge that Avery realised he had been so preoccupied with his racing heart that he had not removed his gloves.
‘Yet another failure,’ he muttered.
He pulled his right hand from the fine leather glove, before gently releasing his wounded hand from the other. Looking down at the angry lines slashed across his skin, a rush of shame welled up inside of him.
‘Bloody hell,’ he cursed.
He had allowed the voice of self-doubt to speak loudly in his mind. To once more chip away at his self-belief and confidence in his endeavours. Poor Lucy, ever supportive of him, had borne the brunt.
She was sitting alone on the balcony of their suite, believing that he didn’t want her help. That he didn’t need her. Only he knew how far from the truth that was. There were times when he looked into her eyes and she made him feel he could conquer the world. But right now he had allowed himself to be brought low, to once more feel the bitter sting of humiliation.
‘Avery?’ Lucy said.
He looked up. She was standing in the doorway, with a book tucked under her arm. In either hand she held a glass of wine.
‘It’s warm outside, would you like to join me?’
It was so typical of Lucy. She wasn’t demanding a grand statement of apology for his earlier behaviour. She accepted him for his many shortcomings, and now she just wanted her husband to come and sit with her. To enjoy the Parisian sunshine.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, abandoning his meal.
Outside, he took a seat beside her, and they spent the next hour drinking wine and reading.
‘Tell me about William Saunders,’ Avery said.
The warm September afternoon had slipped away and their visitor was soon expected to arrive.
Lucy pursed her lips. She had seen Will for the first time in many years during his recent trip home to London.
‘His mother is my aunt Adelaide on my father’s side. Will has lived in France for many years. This year was the first time he has made the trip back to England since the end of the war. We are hoping that he might eventually move back to London. I know my aunt and uncle were disappointed when he didn’t remain in London at the end of the season,’ she replied.
She had known nothing of Will’s role during the hostilities with France, but the night before she and Avery left Strathmore Castle her father had pulled her aside for a private conversation.
‘I don’t want Avery asking too many questions of William. While I cannot tell you too much of what he did for England’s war effort, trust that there are still those in France who would seek to hurt him if they knew what he had done. And while I think Avery is a good man, we still don’t know enough about him. His brother Thaxter was a rogue, so you have to understand why I must be cautious in this matter.’
To hear her father speak of her husband in such a way hurt, but she did as he instructed. Even she had to admit that while matters had progressed significantly between them, Avery still kept much of himself hidden from her.
‘It just seems odd to me that an Englishman could live in Paris during the war and not be arrested,’ Avery said.
Lucy looked into his eyes.
‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh.
She relished the small victory.
‘Will served England in its darkest hour and that is all I can tell you. A lot of what he did was necessarily covert, and real dangers still exist for him even now. If you are not prepared to trust him, then say so. I shall tell Will not to bother offering his assistance and we will have to make do on our own.’
A knock at the door ended the discussion.
‘Just remember what I said,’ Lucy added as Avery opened the door.
‘Mr Saunders?’ he said.
William Saunders stepped inside the suite and immediately came to Lucy.
‘Lucy, my love!’ he cried.
She laughed, squealing with delight as William wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Cousin! So good to see you. I can’t believe you are the first of the family to make the trip across the Channel to see me. Eve threatened to come when I saw her in London, but Father obviously wouldn’t hear a word of it. He said she can come once she has found herself a husband.’
Will stepped back and offered his hand to Avery. An odd look crossed Will’s face, but no sooner had it appeared than it was gone. Lucy blinked. If she had been asked to describe the look, she would have said it was one of recognition. But how?
‘Welcome to the family, dear boy, you have certainly landed yourself the very best girl in London society. Have no doubt about that. Lucy truly is a treasure. Glad to see the two of you made it to Paris.’
A flood of relief washed over Lucy as Avery took hold of Will’s hand and gave it a generous shake.
‘I’m finding out every day that she has hidden talents,’ he replied.
A second knock on the door heralded the arrival of a waiter with champagne and glasses on a tray. William directed the man to place the tray on a nearby table.
‘Well, I did miss the wedding, so you’ll have to indulge me in celebrating your recent nuptials,’ he laughed.
Glasses were quickly handed around.
‘A toast to you both. May you have a long and happy marriage and be blessed with many children,’ William said, raising his glass.
Lucy shook her head. ‘You may wish us a few children, but if we have as many as the King and Queen, I shall personally hunt you down with a large stick.’
‘Any children we have will be a blessing, Mr Saunders; thank you,’ Avery added.
‘Will. Please call me Will, all my friends do. And any man clever enough to secure Lucy’s heart is my friend.’
Lucy turned her head away and forced a tight smile to her lips. When she looked back at Avery he was still calm.
Thank God.
Avery had at least determined to frame his mood better for William’s visit. Tolerating his temper was a constant struggle. There were times she was sorely tempted to give him a clip over the ear and tell him to stop behaving like a child. And yet, the turmoil she often saw written on his face told her that his demeanour was not simply the result of being in a bad mood.
‘So how are you finding Paris? Have you had a chance to see any of the city?’ Will asked.
A thin line of worry creased Avery’s brow.
‘We only arrived a day or two ago, and I think we lost the better part of several days recovering from the journey. This morning we ventured to the bank and Vacheron’s Paris representative,’ Avery replied.
His voic
e was flat, all its strength gone.
‘Did you have any success with the watchmaker? Lucy mentioned in her letter that you were seeking the owner of a pocket watch.’
‘Yes,’ Avery replied.
He reached into his pocket and took out the watch. Handing it to Will, he said, ‘I took this from a dead man on the battlefield at Waterloo. My purpose in visiting Paris is to return it to his family.’
Will turned the watch over in his hand.
‘It’s a beautiful piece. Did you know Napoleon had one?’ Will replied.
‘Really?’ Lucy exclaimed, finding her voice. It hurt that Avery had not mentioned the part she’d played in his mission.
‘Yes. I also had one. I gave it to my father before I returned to Paris. He was not at all happy with my leaving England again and I needed to give him something to placate his disappointment. This is a very expensive watch, Avery. Your dead Frenchman was a man of means.’
Avery shrugged his shoulders.
‘Yes, well, all the wealth in the world won’t do you any good if you are dead. I’m certain Pascal Rochet would swap it and all that he owned to have seen another dawn.’
He took the watch back and put it in his pocket.
‘I’m sorry for my poor humour. This day has been more difficult for me than I had expected it to be. There are times when I truly think I have lost my skills as a hardened soldier.’
Will put a friendly hand on Avery’s shoulder.
‘No need to apologise. The war took everything from many good men and gave nothing back. You served your country and now you seek to do a good deed.’
‘I wish it was through philanthropic desire, but I’m ashamed to say much of this is from purely selfish need. I have come to France to try and regain my honour. Well, that was my hope until we got here; now I am not so certain that is possible,’ Avery replied.
Will frowned at him. ‘Why do you think you have no honour? From what I understand, you are a man who knows right from wrong and have acted accordingly. What better definition of honour can there be?’
‘Are we going to dinner?’ Lucy said, changing the subject. The tension in the room was palpable. She could almost hear the sound of Avery grinding his teeth.
Avery nodded. ‘Yes, that would be good. Can you recommend somewhere close by for us to eat? A spot of Parisian night air would be most welcome.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I have dinner reservations at Café de Foy, which is one of the oldest restaurants in Paris. An absolute must on your list of things to do while here.’
When William gave Lucy a tender hug, Avery said nothing. His cold hard stare, however, spoke volumes.
‘Good. Then if you gentlemen don’t mind, I would like to prepare for dinner. Perhaps you could go and have a drink downstairs. I shall call for my maid and be with you shortly,’ Lucy said.
As soon as William and Avery had left the suite, she threw herself onto the bed.
‘Men! If it’s not their temper, it’s their need to save face,’ she addressed the ceiling.
All day she had tried to be calm and understanding of Avery and his moods, but her patience was beginning to wear thin. Lack of sleep contributed to her frayed nerves.
In the nights since they had arrived in Paris, she had been kept awake by Avery’s violent tossing and turning in bed. Broken words were torn from his lips as he wrestled some unknown devil in his dreams.
She had thought to ask him about his nightmares, but his increasingly foul moods had dissuaded her. She feared that the longer they stayed in Paris, the more withdrawn Avery would become. The sooner they were rid of the pocket watch the better. Only then could they return home to England and try to build a life together.
She looked at the gold wedding ring on her finger. Other recently married women within her social circle had large, ornate engagement rings which glistened on their fingers. At the moment all Lucy had was a thin gold band of hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Avery and William took a seat in a private corner of the hotel lobby, away from the other guests. A waiter brought them over a wine list and William quickly selected a bottle.
‘I hope you appreciate a good drop of Burgundy, Avery. We are in luck: the hotel has my father’s favourite year. He ships it to England by the case load, often via the Yorkshire coast. Lucy tells me your family hails from that region,’ William said.
Avery nodded, but gave nothing away. His family connection to the smuggling trade which operated out of Robin Hood’s Bay had ended with his father’s and brother’s deaths. Better that people thought his old home had been further up the coast at respectable Whitby. He intended to keep it that way.
When the bottle arrived, the waiter poured them each a sizable glass before taking his leave.
‘No point in leaving it in the bottle,’ Will remarked with a wry grin.
He sat back in the deep leather armchair opposite to Avery and took a long drink from his glass. Then, leaning forward, he put the glass down on a nearby table and looked at Avery.
He pointed at Avery’s damaged left hand. ‘I take it you wear the gloves to hide the scars. You were lucky to keep those fingers; from what I recall, they were a particularly bloody mess.’
A cold chill ran down Avery’s spine.
William chuckled. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘No.’
‘I was there the night they took you from the coast at Ostend. In fact, if I recall, you were not expected to make it back to England alive. That was a nasty stomach wound you had. I am certain it was only the insistence of Major Ian Barrett that saw you survive.’
Avery looked around the room, suddenly realising that Will had chosen a strategic place for them to sit. With his back to the wall, facing the doorway, Will had a perfect view of anyone who walked into the Hotel Meurice. In contrast, the large column to one side of the door hid him from view.
Everything about William Saunders was unremarkable. His brown hair was simply cut. His grey eyes revealed nothing of what was going on in his mind. Even his clothing was nondescript. It was as if his sole intention in life was to blend perfectly into the background.
‘Who are you?’ Avery replied.
Will examined his fingernails. ‘Just a family member. Eldest son of a daughter of the House of Strathmore. Nothing more.’
‘But how did you manage to spend the war living here in Paris? How were you not arrested by the French authorities as a spy?’
‘My father is French. Saunders is the Anglicised version of our family name, Alexandre. My parents met and married in France a few years before the Revolution. Fortunately they moved to England before the likes of Robespierre and his bloody thugs took power. That, of course, is not to say that my father’s side of the family did not suffer. Both my French grandparents met their deaths during the Terror, along with numerous other close relatives.
‘When my father saw how things were going under Napoleon, that France had exchanged one tyrant for another, I suggested I join the English army and fight. My father proposed another career. With my fluent grip of the language and a certain talent for getting out of sticky situations, he knew I was perfect for a particular kind of role.
‘I came here the year after I left university at Cambridge and have been here ever since. There were many others in France also desperate to see Bonny gone. I worked with an underground network of English and French agents to help bring about his downfall.’
Tales had often circulated around the army camp about the role informants and spies played in the lead-up to battle, but Avery had never thought to actually meet one in person. The notion that William knew Avery from the days after Waterloo unsettled him greatly.
He remembered little of the days following the battle. His only coherent memories were of searing pain burning deep in his side and left hand.
‘Sorry old man, it is wrong of me to play games with you. I was working for one of Wellington’s secret units at Ostend when you were brought on board
the royal yacht. In fact I was the one who commandeered it from the Prince of Wales’ household. They were going to send it back to England empty, but I saw a more pressing need to get some wounded officers out of Belgium.’
‘But I wasn’t an officer, only a lieutenant,’ Avery replied.
Will picked up his wine glass. ‘Well, you have Ian Barrett to thank for that. He insisted you be brought on board. He wasn’t leaving without you. We had an argument with the captain of the yacht about the fact that the other wounded men were all officers and gentlemen. He thought you should travel with the other soldiers and be taken to hospital in London. Of course, both the major and I knew you would never survive the journey and if you did, the butcher surgeons would finish you off. In the end we hung the major’s jacket over your shoulders, had his batman address you as my lord and carried you onto the boat.’
During the past few days Avery’s thoughts had been wholly occupied with a dead man. It took Will’s revelation to suddenly remind him how close he had come to joining Pascal in the list of the battle fallen. William had not lied when he said the decision to take Avery back to England on the royal yacht was one of life or death. It had taken the best surgeon the Earl of Rokewood could find to repair the knife wound which had twisted through Avery’s gut. Almost a year of long and painful recovery had followed.
‘I suppose I should say thank you; I clearly owe you my life,’ Avery said.
Will waved him away. ‘All in a day’s work. It was just good to see a vile dictator brought down and both countries once more at peace. I take it your military career is now at an end?’
Avery closed his eyes and nodded. ‘They didn’t want to know me after Waterloo. I was fortunate to be taken in by the Barrett family as I had nowhere else to go. The army discharged me and cast me adrift.’
Fifteen years of faithful service and all he had to show for it was a mangled hand and some medals. A small pension, but not the sort of money he could survive on without finding gainful employment.
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