A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4)

by Jacki Delecki

  Fenton took a whiskey flask out of his pocket. “I thought Hopwood was going to have a heart seizure.”

  “If you two pop-in-jays don’t explain what you’re talking about, I swear I’ll…”

  “No need to name call.” Chalmers then took out his flask and guzzled whiskey. He handed the silver flask to Michael, who now was in need of strong alcohol. Chalmers took another swig after Michael. “You’ll what?”

  “Tell me who you are referring to now.” His face must be turning purple by now from the strain of “communicating” with his dense friends.

  Fenton slowly inspected Michael’s face. “You really don’t know?”

  “Would I be asking you if I knew?”

  “Mademoiselle Gigot, newly arrived from Paris.”

  Barbarity and violence conflagrated into a hot, fiery ball in Michael’s chest. He had never in all the years of friendship hated his friends as he did at this moment.

  Fenton pulled at his cravat. “Why aren’t you escorting mademoiselle for her first night in society? She lives with Rathbourne’s sister, and with your sister being married to Rathbourne you should have beat Weston out.”

  “He’s keeping his distance, obviously, since he’s worried he’ll get caught in the marriage trap,” Chalmers ventured.

  “Weston is looking for a wife?” Fenton untied his cravat. “But what about Weston’s affair with Lady Sauvage?”

  “I never believed it would last. Weston wasn’t the lady’s usual type. Rumor is that she has unique interests,” Chalmers added.

  “I bet I could get her to sing high C.” Fenton chuckled before he took another swig of whiskey.

  Michael didn’t need to say anything, which at this moment was a good thing. Fenton and Chalmers kept the conversation going without any response from him.

  “Confess, Kendal. Too close for comfort? Worried Rathbourne will force you to get leg shackled?” Fenton squinted, trying to get Michael’s face in focus and clearly not at all in tune to Michael’s foul mood.

  “Might not be a problem. I heard Ashworth is her protector,” Chalmers said.

  “Damn, Chalmers, you’re an idiot. Ashworth will kill you if you repeat that to anyone else,” Fenton said.

  Michael was going to kill Chalmers so it didn’t matter. Michael took a slow breath, trying to bring his out-of-control feelings back into control. He didn’t want to show any reaction and alert his friends to his interest in Gabby, since they would spread that gossip throughout London tomorrow. “How do you know so much about the lady?”

  “I told you he was a cagey one.” Chalmers beamed in pleasure as if he had translated a Greek cypher.

  Fenton ran his hand through his disheveled locks. “I can’t remember. Can you, Chalmers?”

  Chalmers shifted in the small chair that barely accommodated him. “Weston. He’s been going on about her beauty in the clubs. He met her at a dress shop while he was with Lady Sauvage. The mademoiselle was with Lady Gwyneth and Miss Amelia.”

  “You’re wrong, Chalmers. The first time we heard about her was at Mrs. Billingsworth’s home. Weston went on about how ravishing she was. I heard him say it was love at first sight,” Felton added.

  “And he didn’t care if Lady Sauvage heard him,” Chalmers added.

  “So you’ve met the chit at Rathbourne’s house? I was told her mother was friends with Rathbourne’s aunt,” Fenton said.

  “I’ve not met her.” Michael adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. “I’ve been very busy with my own estate, since I was gone for months.”

  “Then why are you here? And don’t try to hoodwink us that you like opera.”

  “To meet Madame Abney. I’ve been told she’s a very attractive and unique woman.” Michael waggled his eyebrows. The implication would never be lost on those two, not after all their shared adventures.

  Chalmers guffawed again. And Fenton said, “Now that sounds more like you, old man. For a while you had me worried.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Irritated by the interruption to the salacious details of Josephine de Beauharnais’s latest affair, Joseph Fouché, barked, “I’m going to run you through.”

  Lesser men, most men in fact, would have been screaming for their mothers in the line of fire of the Minister of Police’s ire. But not his assistant, who walked stiffly but quickly into the center of the spacious office.

  Fouché looked across his ornate Louis XIV desk. “I told you I was not to be disturbed unless it was Napoleon himself.”

  His efficient and ruthless assistant bowed. “Sir, I apologize…”

  And right on the heels of his assistant was his rival, Charles Talleyrand, the Foreign Minister, who was as adroit as Fouché in retaining power during the constantly changing politics in France.

  The look of shock on his assistant’s face at the Minister’s effrontery was worth the interruption. Anatole, a cold-blooded assassin, intimidated most of Paris, but obviously not Charles Talleyrand.

  Fouché nodded to Anatole, who promptly turned and closed the door.

  Confident that he was untouchable, even to Fouché, Talleyrand strode into the office. Fouché couldn’t chance disfavor with Napoleon by physically harming his top diplomat, but it didn’t stop Fouché from blatantly spying on Talleyrand’s activities and attempting at every opportunity to discredit the arrogant aristocrat.

  Fouché quickly closed the report on his desk and placed the document in the drawer and locked it. His rapid actions weren’t lost on the observant Talleyrand.

  “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the Foreign Minister? It must be of great import to have you scurry away from your peace negotiations.”

  His arch nemesis smiled. It never was fun to bait Talleyrand since he never responded, but it didn’t stop Fouché from trying to rattle the poised diplomat.

  “The First Consul has sent me to express his concern over a matter he considers to be of vital importance.”

  Fouché was always entertained by the diplomat’s indirect manner of speaking. In contrast, Fouché’s manner was direct—blackmail, assassins, torture.

  “Indeed, please be seated. A brandy?”

  Talleyrand inspected the Fragonard pastoral scene mounted behind Fouché’s desk. Fouché, adroit at reading people, saw the flicker of surprise in Talleyrand’s eyes. Talleyrand assumed that he was too uncouth to appreciate a masterpiece. The Foreign Minister most likely assumed that Fouché, with his violent nature, would have scenes from the Spanish inquisition. Fouché favored those graphic and gory depictions for his bedroom.

  “No brandy.” Talleyrand flicked his wrist. “I won’t be long.”

  Fouché sat behind his desk with his Baccarat glass filled with the heavy Armagnac. He leaned back against his chair with a practiced nonchalance despite his heart pounding, searching his mind for what would have precipitated the sudden appearance of the Foreign Minister.

  “Bonaparte wants information from your vast resources.”

  “Of course, I am at the First Consul’s service.”

  As Minister of Police, his network of spies kept him informed on everything that happened in France and throughout Europe. Napoleon might be the First Consul, but Fouché, with his humble beginnings, had amassed an empire of spies, thieves, criminals, and aristocrats, all of whom reported to him. Nothing of significance escaped his notice.

  “You have detained Mother Therese for questioning. Why?”

  His suddenly sweaty palms made him grip the glass tighter. “A nun? For questioning?”

  “Don’t act like a coy virgin with me.”

  Fouché took a slow sip, giving him time to consider the ramifications and possibilities of leverage with the information he possessed. “The First Consul is very interested in finding Mademoiselle de Valmont, isn’t that correct?”

  Talleyrand fingered the enormous gold bishop’s ring he continued to wear, despite the fact that he openly lived with a married woman. Oh, yes. Fouché knew all the details of his affair.

 
“Now I recall. I thought the nun might know the location of Mademoiselle de Valmont.”

  Here was the tricky part. Valmont had hidden his sister in the convent to protect her from Fouché. Did Talleyrand know that Fouché had tried to use the mademoiselle to blackmail Valmont to work against Talleyrand and his espionage plans in England? He used Valmont, Talleyrand’s agent, as part of a bigger scheme to discredit Talleyrand in Napoleon’s eyes. If the First Consul ever learned of Fouché’s treason…

  “Surely you know that Mademoiselle Gabrielle was placed in the convent for the last years by Valmont while he spied for you in England?” Fouché asked.

  “No, I was not aware. And the reason why her brother felt a need to hide her?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Fouché would never confess. This was the game of cat and mouse they played.

  Stroking his weak chin, the Foreign Minister scrutinized Fouché’s face. Talleyrand and his spies probably already knew the reason.

  “And has Mother Therese told you who Valmont was protecting his sister from?”

  “No, she won’t speak.”

  “You realize Mother Therese is from the Gascony family. Her brother is a high-ranking official. The First Consul is most displeased. You are to release her immediately.”

  Fouché shrugged. He was finished with her anyway since he hadn’t been able to extract any useful information from her. Not that he would ever admit defeat by a nun.

  “Did the sister give you leads on Mademoiselle de Valmont’s whereabouts?”

  This was the tricky part. If he admitted he didn’t have anything, Talleyrand would never believe the lie and, at the same time, he needed to redeem himself in Napoleon’s eyes and give all appearances as if he were sharing vital information.

  “The First Consul is still interested in marrying the girl to Jerome?”

  “Yes, her brother’s fortune was taken out of the country. Napoleon wants the money and the girl.”

  Fouché wanted to find the girl to prevent her from revealing that he had threatened to harm her if her brother didn’t do the dirty work in England. There was a small chance the girl didn’t know of his involvement.

  “My belief is that she escaped with the English spy, Lord Kendal. It is the connection that would tie the nun to Mademoiselle’s disappearance. I’ve had my men looking for her and Kendal since they both disappeared from Paris.”

  Talleyrand never wavered in his direct inspection of Fouché, watching for any indication of falsehood. “Yes, I believe that is the best avenue of inquiry.”

  Not surprising. Talleyrand’s league of spies was also following Kendal.

  “Anything else you’d like to share with the First Consul? He is most impatient to get this situation resolved.”

  Definitely not his plan of killing the girl after he had gained access to her fortune. Since there were no remaining family members, it would be easy to convince the young girl to sign over the funds.

  “Of course you will keep me informed of your activities and any information you’ve gleaned from your contacts.” Talleyrand stood, dismissing him.

  Over his dead body. “I will serve the First Consul in every task.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  With the end of the first act of La Merope, the ladies rose from the velvet-covered gilt chairs. Gwyneth linked her arm with Gabby’s. “Let’s see if my husband remembered to order the champagne.”

  “Ash wouldn’t forget.” Amelia exited the box right behind Gabby and Gwyneth.

  The gentlemen waited for them in the lavishly decorated hallway. The hallway matched the ornate fashion in the red velvet boxes, hung with heavy crimson drapes tied back with gold tassels.

  The men had escaped the opera fifteen minutes into the performance with the excuse that they didn’t want the ladies to be exposed to their cigar smoke.

  Lord Ashworth handed his wife a glass of champagne from a heavy silver tray held patiently by a waiter.

  “I thought you might be thirsty after all your serious attention to the music,” Lord Ashworth said.

  “Very humorous, husband of mine,” Gwyneth teased.

  Lord Ashworth handed flutes to both Gabby and Amelia. “Did my wife listen to any of the music?”

  Gwyneth poked her husband in the side with her elbow. “Not fair. Amelia and I had a lot to tell Gabby, since she is new to society.”

  “Are you enjoying the opera?” Lord Weston moved next to Gabby.

  What could Gabby say? She could barely listen to the music with Gwyneth and Amelia pointing out notables and gossiping. Amelia liked discussing everyone’s clothing choices, and Gwyneth knew how everyone was related and whether they had speaking relationships or were estranged.

  Neither woman was catty. Their only criticisms were reserved for the men who treated their wives harshly. And the ladies’ conversation had given her plenty of time to watch Michael. She snuck peeks at him and his friends, who seemed to be having a grand time. Michael never looked back at her once his friends joined him. She needed to become accustomed to seeing him out in society. Tonight was easy with Michael at a distance and only in the company of men. He was back to his old life, his old ways.

  “Yes, I’m finding Giacomelli’s La Merope very enjoyable. Do you enjoy opera?” Gabby asked.

  Since Lord Brinsley had pressured Lord Weston to join the men in the hallway, neither Gabby nor Lord Weston had heard very much of the music.

  “How often did you attend the opera in Paris?” Lord Weston examined Gabby’s face closely.

  Avoiding any personal disclosures, Gabby took her time answering, fluttering her fan in front of her face. Lord Weston had shared that his mother was French and he had spent a great deal of time in France as a child. He also persisted in asking questions about Gabby’s past.

  “I’m very fond of all music, and I especially enjoy the lush orchestration of French opera.”

  The noise in the hallway was getting louder as people gathered outside their boxes. Gwyneth and Lord Ashworth were surrounded by a large group of people, mainly gentlemen. Gabby heard her name mentioned several times. She hoped these weren’t the same gentlemen from the main floor who stared at her throughout the entire first act. It had been quite disconcerting to draw such attention when she was trying to avoid scrutiny. She hadn’t realized it, but the chatting with Gwyneth and Amelia had helped her relax and briefly forget that a kidnapper could be lurking among these men.

  She looked toward Lord Ashworth, who had been tasked with protecting her. Laughing with a gentleman, his posture was relaxed, but his eyes were vigilant, scanning the crowd.

  Lord Brinsley, with his massive shoulder propped against the wall in relaxed posture, looked down at his fiancée’s face, seemingly unaware of anyone but Amelia. The still manner with which he held himself didn’t fool Gabby. He was ready to react if needed.

  Lord Weston had slowly maneuvered their position, turning so that Gabby’s back was away from the crowd and she was separated from her friends.

  “I was too young when we used to visit our French relatives. I know very little of French opera,” Lord Weston said.

  Gwyneth came from behind and touched Gabby’s arm, causing her to startle. “Pardon me, but there are two gentlemen who wish to make your acquaintance.” Gwyneth whispered to Gabby so that Lord Weston wouldn’t overhear. “The entire male population of London wants to meet you, but these two are actually trustworthy.” She smiled and nodded to a gentleman who stood nearby.

  “Mademoiselle Gigot, may I present Lord Fenton.”

  A very handsome man with disheveled chestnut-brown hair, as if he had run his fingers through his thick locks, and a wrinkled and loosely tied cravat, took her hand and bowed. “A pleasure, my lady.” His devilish grin told her that he knew his ruffled appearance didn’t lessen his appeal with the ladies.

  “And Lord Chalmers,” Gwyneth said before turning back to her husband who had taken her arm.

  Lord Chalmers bowed only his head, since the crowd around t
hem had grown, preventing him bending his immense size. The massive gentleman had been in the box with Michael. These men were Michael’s friends.

  Lord Felton nodded. “Weston.”

  Lord Weston tilted his head. “Felton. Chalmers. Surprising to find you two at the opera. You came to hear Madame Abney?”

  By the strong smell of whiskey and their jovial manner during the performance, Gabby doubted either was interested in music. Most likely they shared Michael’s interest in Yvettes and Mimis, the usual reason men of their caliber came to the opera.

  Lord Felton leaned on his onyx-head cane. “We came to celebrate with our good friend Kendal, who has been out of the country.”

  “And he came to see Madame Abney.” Chalmers winked at Weston.

  Gabby fanned her face, hiding her jealousy at hearing about Michael’s interest in the very attractive and very dramatic diva.

  “That sounds more like Kendal.” Weston laughed, but neither man joined him. “Couldn’t imagine any of you attending the opera to enjoy the beauty of music.”

  Before Lord Weston’s patronizing conversation, Gabby had been enjoying his company.

  Felton gazed at Gabby. “Weston, you’re right. I hadn’t realized how much beauty could be found at the opera.”

  Lord Felton was a very attractive man, but his flatteries had no effect on her. She was partial to dimpled smiles.

  A gong sounded in the hallway.

  Lord Chalmers leaned down and directed his conversation to Gabby. “Will you be attending Lady Burney’s party after the opera?”

  “Not tonight. I’ll be retiring after the performance.”

  Lord Felton placed his hand over his heart. “I’m heartbroken. Until we meet again, fair lady.”

  Chalmers chuckled. “Fenton and I will look forward to our next meeting, my lady.”

  The gong sounded again, warning the patrons to promptly return to their seats.

  Lord Weston clasped her elbow. For a brief moment, Gabby was jostled closer to him when the throng of people surrounded her.