“Probably.” He winced. “I do apologize. My last visit to Paris was more than a year ago and I have an awkward tendency to forget how...distressing crossing the channel can be. Sleep usually helps.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” She waved off his comment. “One can’t help being prone to mal de mer any more than one can help catching a cold in the winter or sneezing at the scent of spring flowers.”
“Spring flowers make you sneeze?”
“On occasion,” she said absently and glanced at the front desk. “Perhaps I should request a bellman be sent to their rooms to inquire after them. I really don’t understand why everyone isn’t here yet.”
“They aren’t here because they aren’t coming.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean? Why aren’t they coming? This was their idea.”
“If you will allow me to escort you to a cab—” again he offered his arm “—I will be happy to explain.”
“I’m still not sure we should go without them,” she said but took his arm nonetheless. “Are you certain they aren’t coming?”
“I am.” He steered her toward the door. “And they aren’t coming because apparently the original schedule was best.”
“Imagine my surprise,” she muttered. Very nearly every minute of their trip had been planned by Miss Granville who’d emphasized the importance of abiding by the schedule. She’d said a group of travelers cannot be allowed to wander freely without purpose. It was not the least bit efficient and certainly not the way to see everything said travelers wished to see. The end result of such a trip being dissatisfaction from all participants and the loss of future business. As well as anarchy and the possible end of the world, Willie had suggested. Miss Granville was not amused. “Miss Granville is excellent at schedules.”
A well-trained doorman stationed at the entry opened the doors a scant second before them and they stepped out onto the street, another doorman at once hailing a cab.
Willie paused in midstep. Since the earliest days of her childhood, she had considered twilight the most magical part of the day. The fleeting moments when glimpses of fairies could be caught flitting between flowers. It was silly really. She had grown far past such whimsy. Still, that brief interlude between the setting of the sun and the stars filling the sky had always felt special and filled with possibilities. Why, the very air itself was fraught with anticipation and magic.
And she was in Paris. She’d never imagined she would travel to Paris, at least not recently. When she was a girl, of course she had assumed she would someday visit places like Paris and Vienna and Rome. Certainly she’d had any number of friends who’d had grand tours of the capitals of Europe but then they hadn’t run off and married dashing handsome rogues at the beginning of their first season. Although one could say George was the very reason why she was here at all. Which was a point in favor of forgiving him but an extremely small point.
Regardless of the circumstances, she was at last in the celebrated capital of France. The center of art and fashion, of ancient edifices and bohemian adventure. The most extraordinary sense of anticipation swept through her and why not? There was much to look forward to. Streetlights were coming on. Carriages would soon be arriving at the Opera House adjoining the hotel. The evening was cool but not unpleasantly so. And there was a shockingly interesting man by her side. Magic was indeed in the air. While she would never have wished George dead, there might well be a great deal to be said in favor of widowhood.
If, of course, one had the finances to support widowhood in the manner to which one was accustomed, no matter how precariously funded that manner had been. She was not after all traveling on her own money at the moment. The Portinari was the means to change that. Or at least give her time to determine what her next step in life should be.
Dante helped her into the cab and gave the driver directions. The man was remarkably fluid in French and Willie caught little more than their destination—Champs de Mars, the promenade that stretched between the Tower and the main buildings of the exposition. The carriage started off.
“If we took another route we could see more of the city,” she said without thinking. She had indeed studied her maps.
“However, this is the most direct and most efficient way to the Champs de Mars. I assure you, Lady Bascombe, Paris has changed little since your last visit.” He paused. “When were you last here?”
It was a casual offhand question, idle chatter really. He couldn’t possibly know this was her first visit. “It always seems forever when one is away from Paris, Mr. Montague. And I disagree. Paris is constantly changing. Even sights that have been here always are new when one hasn’t seen them for a while. Why, that’s what makes Paris so exciting.”
He chuckled. “You have me there.”
“Yes, I know.” She couldn’t help the smug note in her voice, as if she had just made a hard-earned point in an evenly matched game.
Travel documents weren’t the only things Willie had studied in the last three weeks. Miss Granville had encouraged her to refresh her memory about the important landmarks of the places they would visit as it had probably been some time since Willie had been to Paris or Monte Carlo or Venice. The American was obviously much more perceptive than she let on. While Willie had assured her it was not necessary, she had nonetheless read and reread all her guidebooks as well as endless Lady Traveler Society pamphlets. After all, Willie was presumed to be a sophisticated, experienced traveler and should know what she was talking about. She had also perused a few articles about the Paris Exposition as they were scheduled to spend an entire day at the world’s fair, including an ascension to the top of the Eiffel Tower. It did seem there was a great deal to remember and Willie had never been good at that sort of thing. Studying was to be avoided in school. She was female after all and destined to marry well. Why on earth would she need to know silly facts about things she didn’t care about? It had made a great deal of sense at the time. Now, however, she could add it to a growing list of things she would have done differently in the first thirty years of her life.
“Now then, Mr. Montague, please explain,” Willie said when they were both settled in their respective seats in the open-top cab. “What did you mean by the original schedule was best?”
“It seems once my sister made herself comfortable in her room, she had no desire to leave. Apparently, Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Corby agreed. They decided it would be wise to have a quiet meal in their rooms and begin fresh tomorrow.”
“I can understand that but your niece as well as Geneva and the twins were quite eager to begin their conquest of Paris.” She addressed her words to Dante but couldn’t tear her gaze away from the city of Paris rolling by the carriage. It was exactly as she’d seen in pictures but no mere image could do justice to the broad boulevards and iron-accented, pale stone buildings.
“They listened to their mothers.” He grinned. “And there might have been bribery involved.”
“I see.” Relief and freedom washed over her as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Certainly they’d only been traveling for less than a day but it was surprisingly exhausting and she could see where it might possibly be, now and then, a little more difficult than expected. Although, aside from a few minutes when they were transferring from the boat to the train at Calais and Harriet had wandered off, all had gone remarkably well.
“I, however, did not wish to miss the illumination of the tallest structure man has ever built,” he said firmly. “We are living in a remarkable age, Lady Bascombe. There is much to be said for progress.”
“Indeed there is.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. It was all she could do to keep from bouncing in her seat. “I suspect it will be most impressive.” A fact from one of the articles she’d read conveniently presented itself. “But it’s not just lit by electricity, you know.”
“No?” His tone was serious but mild amusement shone in his eyes.
She ignored it. “It was entirely beyond the capabilities of, well, anyone to light it completely by means of electricity so most of the lighting is gas.” She tried not to smirk with triumph. It wasn’t easy.
“Except for the light projectors at the very top of the structure,” he said in an offhand manner. “The ones that are colored white, red and blue.”
What projectors? Willie couldn’t recall anything about colored electric lights. “Oh yes, I was about to mention that.”
“It should add an interesting touch to what is already a spectacular accomplishment.”
“The tower you mean?”
He nodded. “This year at least it might well be the most recognizable symbol of Paris. I am quite looking forward to seeing it.”
“Forgive me for pointing this out, but we’ve seen it ever since we stepped foot in Paris. One can’t help but see it. It looms over the entire city.”
“You’re right. I simply meant seeing it closer.”
“Yes, of course.” She summoned a bright smile. “I agree completely. And seeing it illuminated will be that much more impressive.”
“But then there are so many well-known sights in Paris.” He waved at the passing scenery. If Willie wasn’t mistaken, they were currently passing the Place de la Concorde, marked by an Egyptian obelisk in the center. Which meant the Tuileries Garden were on their left. “Which is your favorite, Lady Bascombe?”
“Notre Dame,” she said without hesitation. It was the first thing that popped into her head. In truth, she’d been so busy preparing to take on the role of experienced traveler, she’d paid no attention to those things she would like to see for herself. She couldn’t recall if the cathedral was on their schedule or not. Regardless, she would like to see it with her own eyes. And in spite of Miss Granville’s dire warnings, schedules could indeed change without mishap or calamity.
“Really?” He studied her curiously. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be an enthusiast of gothic architecture. Flying buttresses and gargoyles and the like.”
“Come now, Mr. Montague. Who can possibly resist the appeal of a well-executed flying buttress and a terrifying medieval gargoyle?”
“Who indeed?” He grinned. “Still, I assumed you were more progressive in nature. Looking toward the future, new inventions and—”
“It’s the story,” she blurted then sighed. “About the hunchback.”
“Monsieur Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre-Dame?”
She nodded. “I read it when I was a girl and to this day I cannot read it without weeping.” Even now the oddest lump formed in her throat. “It’s the saddest, most wonderful story I’ve ever read.”
“I understand why you think it sad,” he said slowly, “and I agree with you. And while it is certainly well written, why do you think it wonderful? There was torture, betrayal, wickedness, persecution of the innocent and evil. I’ve always thought it was dreadfully dire and gloomy.”
“It is that but ultimately it’s about love. Undying and endless and true. There is no better story than that.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You look surprised, Mr. Montague. Why?”
“I did not expect you to be quite such a—”
“Reader of classic literature?”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“Perhaps you thought I only read novels of adventure or romance?”
“That’s not—”
“Those offerings that are considered frivolous and not of serious literary merit?”
“Not at all. I simply meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant, Mr. Montague.” Willie wasn’t at all sure why she found this so annoying. In truth, she did indeed prefer more frivolous reading material. Novels and stories that were, well, fun and enjoyable rather than tedious as she considered so many classic works. “And perhaps we should add a discussion of The Hunchback—” which she should probably reread “—to our talk about the Divine Comedy—” which she should definitely read “—which I am most looking forward to.”
He stared.
“What is it now, Mr. Montague? Did you think a woman like myself, a woman you called legendary, based on nothing more than rumor and gossip, I might add, would not appreciate things like fine literature? That she wouldn’t have a brain in her head? Because I assure you I do.”
The cab drew to a halt at the Champs de Mars and he helped her out of the cab.
“Have I stunned you into silence, Mr. Montague?” A distinct touch of remorse stabbed her. Perhaps she was being just the tiniest bit too sensitive. But she’d had to use her mind since George’s death and, as she had no one to do it for her, she’d had to come up with a plan for her future survival. And she’d done a decent job of it. Admittedly, no one was more surprised than she to discover she was far more intelligent than anyone, including herself, had ever given her credit for. But then it had never been necessary before.
“My apologies, Lady Bascombe,” he said slowly, “if I implied in any way that I thought you were less than brilliant. I assure you, that is not the case. Indeed, the moment we met, I thought to myself, That is a woman who is as clever as she is lovely.”
“That’s absurd.” She scoffed. “I didn’t sound the least bit clever when we met.”
“And yet I thought you were.” He offered his arm. “And I am an excellent judge of character.”
She took his arm and sighed. “You’re being extraordinarily nice.”
“I am extraordinarily nice.” He steered her through the crowded plaza. “As you will soon discover.”
“Will I?”
He slanted her a distinctly wicked grin. “I intend to see that you do.”
“That’s sounds vaguely like a challenge. Or a threat.”
“It’s a promise, Lady Bascombe. I wish to be friends and I intend to do everything I can to make certain you see my finer points no later than Venice.”
“I would not be confident of that if I were you.”
“Oh, but I am. Confidence goes hand in hand with extraordinarily nice.”
“No doubt.” Willie glanced around. “I must say, I didn’t expect the crowd to be this large.” The plaza was packed with people milling and jostling about to get a better view. Although really, as Mr. Eiffel’s tower dominated the landscape, one would have to be blind to miss it. “I had thought, since the exposition has been open since spring, people would have had their fill of the illumination.”
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine anyone ever getting their fill of such a sight. Besides, the exposition isn’t scheduled to close until the end of the month.”
“But won’t they continue to light the tower even after the exposition? It seems to me, I am hearing as much French in the crowd as any other language.”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but I doubt it. The structures built for world’s fairs are never intended to be permanent,” he said, guiding her through the crowd. “While the French have been holding fairs like this one every dozen years or so, even here most of these buildings are not built to last. The tower is to be torn down in twenty years.” He found a spot where the crush was a bit less and they turned toward the tower.
“It seems like a great deal of effort for a temporary structure.”
“But well worth it, I think.”
“Perhaps.” Her gaze followed the graceful curve of the structure upward until the tower vanished into the deepening twilight. It really was an incredible achievement. It had looked large from a distance but one couldn’t get a true feel for its massive size until one was closer. Built of iron, it yet had the delicate look of lace against the setting sun. This triumph of modern engineering was really quite fanciful in its own way. “Rather a pity it can’t
last forever.”
“Few things do.” Dante contemplated the structure.
Without warning, the illumination began. Light swept from the four corners of the tower and raced upward, lighting arches and lattice work and climbing toward the heavens. The multiple fountains around the base of the tower erupted in light, as well. The crowd gave a gasp of amazement. Willie clasped her hands together and tried not let her mouth drop open. It was very nearly impossible. She’d never seen anything so spectacular and never imagined she would.
Beside her, Dante blew a long breath. “Well, that is indeed—”
“Magnificent.” Willie could barely sigh the word. “And magical. Why, it’s positively enchanting.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Something in Dante’s voice caught at her, something delightful and not entirely unexpected. “Are you still speaking of the tower?”
“No, Lady Bascombe, I’m not.”
She slanted him a quick glance. “You’re staring at me, Mr. Montague. Monsieur Eiffel would be most offended that you are not gazing with rapt interest at his tower.”
“Ah, but he hasn’t met you.” He shook his head. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
“Preconceived notions are often wrong.”
“Apparently.” He chuckled. “But I am looking forward to discovering exactly where I was wrong.”
“Good luck to you, Mr. Montague,” she said in an overly prim manner. Good Lord, the man was flirting with her and she was flirting right back. She hadn’t flirted since before George had died and even then flirtation with other men was of no consequence. She’d been married after all. Now...
Why shouldn’t she flirt with him if she wished? Why couldn’t she do whatever she wanted regarding Mr. Dante Montague? It wasn’t as if she had a spotless reputation to maintain, although she’d been exceptionally faithful when George was alive. Now that he was gone, why, widows were allowed a certain amount of discreet freedom. Dante Montague might well be the perfect man to begin her new life of independence with. Besides, she had always been fond of men with dimples.
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 8
