Dante frowned. “Rosalind—”
“I really should go.” Willie had no desire to be caught in the middle of a dispute between brother and sister. “Obviously you have something of importance to discuss.”
“No, no, stay. You might be of help.” Rosalind waved off Willie’s comment. “But do shut the door. I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear us.”
Willie glanced at Dante. He nodded and she closed the door.
“Please sit down, both of you.” Rosalind gestured at the available seating. Willie sat on the sofa, Dante took a nearby chair. “I am entirely too overwrought to sit.” She paced the room.
“Now then, Roz,” Dante began in a long-suffering tone. “Why on earth are you here?”
Rosalind swiveled toward her brother. “I saw him, Dante! He’s here!”
Willie looked at Dante who seemed every bit as confused as she. “Who is here?”
“That boy.” Rosalind fairly spit the words. “Or rather man. Young man really, I suppose.”
Dante stared. “What young man?”
“Do you ever listen to anything I say?” Rosalind glared at her brother.
“Frequently,” he snapped, “but I have no idea what you are ranting about now!”
“Come now, Dante.” Willie cast a sympathetic smile at Rosalind. “It’s apparent she’s upset. Give her a moment to explain.”
“Thank you, Willie. I knew you would understand.” Rosalind sank down on the sofa, folded her hands in her lap and drew a calming breath. “I saw him tonight—Bertram Goodwin. He has followed us.”
“Who is Bertram Goodwin?” Willie asked.
“A rather disreputable young man Harriet is quite taken with.” Dante’s brow furrowed. “Where did you see him?”
“At the American ambassador’s party. I daresay every American in Paris was there as well as anyone else here for the exposition. There was an enormous crush. I ran into several people I know from London.” She turned to Willie. “I have never been to a musical evening that was anywhere near as large. I heard Sarah Bernhardt and several of the performers from the Wild West show were there but I didn’t see them.”
“Is it possible you were mistaken?” Willie thought it might be best if this question came from her rather than Dante.
“No, I saw him, I tell you.” Rosalind pressed her lips together in a forbidding manner. “Tall, quite handsome and confident, dark hair. Looks exactly like his father, who was every bit as disreputable in his day.”
“Did you see him with Harriet?” her brother said thoughtfully.
“No, I did not but...” She shook her head. “In that crowd it was impossible to keep an eye on everyone at all times.”
“Think for a moment, Roz.” Caution edged Dante’s voice. “What would the youngest son of an earl be doing at a party given by the American ambassador in Paris?”
“The Americans are quite a gregarious lot. Apparently, they invite everyone.” She narrowed her eyes. “No doubt he snuck in, probably encouraged by my daughter.”
It was precisely the kind of thing Willie might have done at Harriet’s age. “Have you asked Harriet about this?”
“Yes, and she denied it, of course. She was quite convincing but then she’s had a great deal of practice in recent years spinning tales to persuade me of something. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she and Goodwin arranged this between the two of them before we left London. That might well be why she decided this trip was not objectionable after all.”
“But you’re absolutely positive it was Goodwin?” Dante asked. “You had a good look at him?”
“Of course I did,” Rosalind said staunchly then hesitated. “Not as good a look perhaps as I would have liked but... I’m certain... I was certain.” She thought for a moment then heaved a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. I suppose, it might be possible that I was mistaken.”
“Still, it would be wise to keep an eye out for the young man,” Dante said firmly. “If it was him, we should keep a close watch on Harriet, as well.”
Willie nodded.
“She won’t talk to me about him at all because she knows I disapprove.” Rosalind caught her breath and looked at Willie. “Perhaps you could talk to her? Find out if Goodwin really is here and convince her what a dreadful mistake he is?”
“Me?” Willie’s voice was barely more than a squeak. “Why on earth would she listen to me?”
“Because you were the same age she is now when you ran off and married a dashing scoundrel. And look at how your life has turned out. Why, you’re a lesson to be learned.” She ticked Willie’s failings off on her fingers. “You’re barely accepted in polite society. You have a reputation that is questionable at best. You have no family or friends to speak of. Your husband’s extramarital activities were well—”
“Roz,” Dante said sharply. “That’s enough!”
Willie’s stomach lurched as if she had just been kicked. Not that any of what Rosalind said wasn’t true. But she’d never heard it listed like that before. It was quite awful.
Rosalind’s face paled, she sucked in a hard breath and clapped her hand over her mouth. “My God, Willie, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to say any of that. I am just so concerned. Not that that is an excuse but—”
“No need to say more. Your apology is accepted.” Willie forced a shaky smile. “Besides, you said nothing that wasn’t true.”
“Even so—” Dante glared at his sister “—she shouldn’t have said it.”
A stricken look remained on Rosalind’s face. “Can you possibly ever forgive me?”
“Of course.” Willie drew a deep breath. “I would be more than happy to help but unfortunately I don’t think your daughter would listen to me. I am of an age now where she would consider me no more trustworthy than you or your brother. We are all part of that conspiracy of adults who know nothing about love and happiness and are determined to ruin their lives. At least that’s how I remember it.”
“You’re right.” Rosalind shook her head. “I don’t know what to do other than watch everything she does.”
“And while I don’t have a great many friends at the moment—”
Rosalind winced.
“—I did at her age. As I recall we did tend to tell each other everything,” Willie said thoughtfully. “Perhaps there is another way to find out if Mr. Goodwin is really in Paris and, if so, what plans Harriet might have.”
“Do you think so?” Rosalind’s worried gaze searched Willie’s.
Willie nodded. “I do.”
“It’s more than you deserve,” Dante said in a hard tone.
Rosalind blanched. “I know and once again I am sorry. I shall make it up to you, I promise.”
“I have already forgotten it.” Willie shrugged.
“I left Harriet in our rooms and should probably get back before she escapes.” Rosalind stood and headed for the door.
“Perhaps if you didn’t refer to it as escape,” Dante said under his breath.
Rosalind whirled about and glared at her brother. “Perhaps if you had children you would understand. I am only trying to protect her. To do what’s best for her and her future.”
“You can’t fault her for that,” Willie said quickly. “Nor should you.” Maybe if Willie had had a fierce mother determined to protect her and not a wonderful grandmother who barely knew where Willie was or what she was up to most of the time, or if she’d had a father who cared even a tiny bit, her life might be entirely different. No better or no worse, possibly, but certainly different.
“No, of course not,” he said with a tired sigh. “I do understand, Roz, I want to protect her, as well. And I shall do everything possible to help.”
“Thank you, Dante.” She summoned a weak smile. “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.” Rosalind bid the
m good-night and took her leave.
“I should go, as well.” Willie smiled and moved to the door.
“But we were in the middle of something. I had more I wished to say.”
“Regardless, you were right.”
“I was?”
“Without question. Seduction here, now...” She shook her head. “It would have been a dreadful mistake.”
“A dreadful mistake?” he said slowly.
“I am trying to forge a new life.” The words came without thought but she knew they were true. “I know myself and my own nature and I doubt that I will ever be perfect. Nor will I ever be held up as a model of propriety. But you heard your sister.”
“She shouldn’t—”
“But she did and what she said was no doubt what everyone else in the world says about me.” She paused to pull her thoughts together. “I have done a great deal of reflection since George’s death. About our life together and how I carry on from here. The past cannot be changed but the story of the future—my future—is yet to be written.”
“Willie, I—”
“And I don’t think the right way to start my future is by falling into the bed of the first man I find quite, quite wonderful.” She smiled, leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Good evening, Dante. I shall see myself to my room.”
She was out the door and closing it behind her before he could protest. She hurried down the corridor to the lift, not pausing for so much as a second until she was safely in her rooms.
Willie was not the same girl who had run off with George Bascombe at the age of eighteen. Nor was she the same woman who thought nothing of impulsive races through the streets. Or staying up past dawn to toast the sunrise. Or spending money and friendships as if tomorrow would never come.
Apparently, this was tomorrow. It was time to truly accept that her life would never be the same again. Her finances were dismal. Her reputation was questionable and her future was uncertain. Any kind of dalliance with Dante—be it for a night or forever—wasn’t fair to either of them. Not now anyway.
There was no question that he was the kind of man who would insist on marriage after a seduction. And no matter how very much the idea of joining him in his bed produced the loveliest fluttering feeling deep inside her, she did not wish to be his obligation. Even if, in many ways, he was exactly what she wanted.
Still, if she wanted a man like Dante Montague, a man who was indeed responsible and sensible and an adult, perhaps she truly needed to be an adult herself.
And wasn’t that a depressing thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Itinerary.
Paris.
Day 3. Spend the morning enjoying the delights to be found in some of the best shops of Paris. For a complete list of shops, see Lady Bascombe.
In the afternoon, the group will adjourn to the House of Worth where appointments have been arranged for all tour members as per the request made at the time of the original booking.
This evening will be spent at the Paris Opera, indulging in enjoyment of the current performance and the appreciation of one of Europe’s finest operatic venues.
WILLIE STUDIED THE MODELS gracefully circling the drawing room and tried to appreciate the fine fabrics, current colors and newest styles displayed by the lovely young women. It was surprisingly difficult. Willie had always adored being clad in the latest fashion and, as much as everything here was exquisite to look at, it wasn’t quite as much fun when one didn’t have the means to purchase anything. Besides, she couldn’t keep from dwelling on Rosalind’s all too candid comments last night. Silly really as a visit to the House of Worth was not something one did every day.
The Americans, Jane and Marian, were properly impressed as was Rosalind, but apparently if one was a young lady between seventeen and nineteen years of age, one was entirely too sophisticated to reveal one might possibly be awed by elegance and grandeur. Still, the eyes of even Geneva, Harriet and the twins did widen in appreciation when they were greeted at the door of the House of Worth by welcoming young men formally clad in frock coats and then escorted up a red-carpeted grand staircase. Ferns and palms and an assortment of striking and exotic flowers bordered the stairs and created the most interesting sensation that one was ascending into another world altogether. A world where with the right gown, and enough money, one could emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. Resplendent and ready to conquer whatever one wished.
Unfortunately, they were informed upon their arrival that the great designer himself would not be present for their appointments. However, they were assured Monsieur Worth would personally oversee the production of their orders. The clothing created here just for them would be waiting at their hotels—or house in the case of Rosalind and Harriet—upon their return to London. With more than a thousand seamstresses in the fashion house’s employ, it was not an idle promise.
The girls were in dressing rooms undergoing the necessity of endless measurements. Their mothers had already experienced the mild indignity of a stranger assessing one’s good points and bad. Worth’s patterns were reputed to be so exact, a final fitting was never necessary. Neither Jane nor Marian spoke more than a smattering of French but they knew enough to understand that the comments of the French fitters were not particularly flattering. Still, Marian declared it was worth it and Jane reluctantly agreed. She was not quite as eager to spend what would surely be a considerable amount, although Marian did point out ordering new Paris gowns from one of the most renowned designers in the world was not an opportunity either of them could afford to waste.
They’d been offered tea and biscuits in an airy, light-filled drawing room of impressive proportions while models dressed in Worth’s finest presented one gown after another. Jane had an excellent eye and Willie was hard-pressed to disagree with her opinions on any of the fashions displayed. Marian on the other hand, did tend to like shockingly vibrant colors and an excess of embellishment. Rosalind offered her opinion on occasion but, with Harriet safely ensconced in a dressing room, this was the first time all day she hadn’t looked at once cautious and determined. She sat beside Willie, dividing her attention between the models, sketches of a selection of Worth’s evening clothes and the door to Harriet’s dressing room. Jane and Marian discussed the respective merits of gloves and fans and other assorted items displayed in a glass case across the room.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t Rosalind’s assessment of Willie’s status in society or her reputation or even her acknowledgment of George’s infidelities—Willie had come to terms more or less with those years ago—but rather Rosalind’s all too accurate observation about Willie’s lack of friends that upset her. The fact that the friends she thought she had all vanished with George’s death still puzzled her. Nor was it at all fair. She hadn’t done anything to warrant their abandonment. She certainly would have stood by them.
“I really don’t understand why I don’t have any friends,” Willie said to herself.
“Goodness, my dear,” Rosalind said beside her. “I do.”
Willie’s started. “I beg your pardon?”
Rosalind cast her a sympathetic look. “You didn’t realize you said that aloud, did you?”
“No, I certainly did not.”
“When one’s mind is occupied elsewhere it’s not at all surprising when one’s mouth says things one did not expect.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Still, Willie would prefer not to discuss it.
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” Rosalind grimaced. “All those dreadful things I said last night. Again, you have my apologies.”
“You were overwrought.” Willie shrugged off the apology. “And unfortunately, I can’t deny any of them.”
The other woman studied her closely. “You are far nicer than I anticipated.”
“I am nice.” Willie huffed. “I have always been nice,
at least I have always tried to be quite cordial and pleasant. People have always liked me. I can understand men not wishing to be friends with an unencumbered widow but I did have a great number of female friends when I was in school. Admittedly, we all went our separate ways. But the women I’ve considered friends since my marriage—they should still be my friends.”
Rosalind stared at her as if she had suddenly grown another head. “You don’t understand the nature of women at all, do you?”
“Of course I do.” Willie scoffed. “I am certainly a woman.”
“A very naive one. I never would have guessed.” Rosalind shook her head.
“Can one have a questionable reputation and barely be accepted into polite society and yet be naive?”
“Apparently.” Rosalind’s brow furrowed. “Let me see if I can explain.” She thought for a moment. “You, Willie Bascombe, are quite lovely.”
“Thank you?”
“I do mean it as a compliment. However, it is, as well, a curse.” She thought for a moment. “The men in your circle of friends—”
“Former circle of friends.”
Rosalind nodded. “Those men are not well-known for their marital fidelity. While wives may pretend not to notice that sort of thing—”
Willie winced.
“—they are usually aware of it. No woman wants another woman around—particularly one who is unattached—who they may see as a rival. Or a threat.”
“Of course.” Willie blew a long breath. It was painfully obvious and she certainly should have realized it long before now. “I hadn’t considered that. I thought because we were friends—”
“They would trust you.”
“I would trust them if our positions were reversed.”
Rosalind raised a skeptical brow.
“I would.” Although given George’s inestimable charm and roaming eye... She sighed. “Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 12
