A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4)

by Jacki Delecki

  Madame handed the music to Gabby. “It is written to showcase the virtuosity of the soprano.”

  Gabby studied the notes written next to the music. Madame had made notations about the orchestration. The revisions were changing the duration of the notes.

  Gwyneth stood. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mademoiselle Gabby, we must leave for Lady Bostwick’s.”

  Gabby placed the music on the piano. “Of course, Lady Gwyneth.”

  Madame Abney took Gabby’s hands into her own and squeezed tightly. “I am so delighted to have made a new friend. You must come to my performance tomorrow night—backstage. And you must meet my brother. He is in the orchestra, a skilled musician and pianist. He also studied with Monsieur la Toure.”

  Surprised by the lady’s unrestrained demonstration, Gabby looked to Gwyneth, who now stood at the door. The lady shrugged her shoulders and then nodded.

  “It would be a pleasure,” Gabby said.

  The singer definitely was comfortable expressing her strong passion for her art. Gabby had been the same reveling in her passion for music until the Committee of Public Safety began their killing purge. She had learned to hide anything and everything about herself to survive when a mere association to music was enough to be sentenced to the guillotine.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gabby sat across from Gwyneth in the carriage on their way to Lady Bostwick’s garden party. The ladies of London were no different than those in Paris, filling their days with social visits and parties.

  Gwyneth crossed her leg over the other in the same manner as her Aunt Euphemia and reclined against the leather seat. “The season’s demands are usually tedious, but today…”

  Gabby and Amelia fanned themselves, attempting in vain to keep the overpowering odors away. The afternoon heat increased the pungent smells of garbage and horse manure from the street. Also similar to summer days in Paris.

  “Devil of an afternoon. I never enjoyed myself more. I hope Lady Bostwick’s party will be as intriguing.” Gwyneth looked between Gabby and Amelia. “Which topic should we start with? Kendal or Madame Abney’s association with Josephine de Beauharnais or Josephine Bonaparte, or whatever she is calling herself these days. But I think the way Amelia was about to go off like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes Day, I think it will have to be Kendal.”

  Amelia wheezed, “That…”

  Gabby did wonder if Amelia had curbed her tongue because of her presence. She would have liked to hear Amelia’s choice of blasphemy. After her years in the convent, she was getting an education she never acquired from the nuns. These unconventional women were nothing like the women she had known in France, although they did engage in silliness similar to French girls when the nuns weren’t about. But those were young girls, not esteemed women of the English peerage.

  Amelia shuddered visibly, her skin coloring to a bright pink that clashed terribly with her deep-purple dress. “That woman…I’d have liked to tell her.” Amelia’s voice shook in indignation. “What is there not to know? I have four older brothers. Their escapades with ladies and not-so-ladies would shock most women.”

  Gabby was grateful that she sat next to Amelia so the lady couldn’t detect her interest in the conversation. Gabby’s experience with men was very limited, her years in Paris ending abruptly. Her most recent encounter with a golden gentleman left her sleepless, reliving the moment when Michael had pulled her down on top of his hard body, her soft curves melting around him, cradling his obvious desire. She always became breathless, imagining what he would have done next to wring new and exhilarating sensations from her body.

  “I wanted to blacken that woman’s eye for implying Michael uses women, like some of the cads we know.”

  Gwyneth snorted. “Amelia, I was quite impressed with your restraint.”

  “Well, thank you for directing me to my drawings.”

  The friends laughed together. Like Michael, these women were too open and ingenuous for her to believe they were lying to her. What could they possibly be lying to her about?

  Gwyneth looked at Gabby. “Amelia is the only of my acquaintances able to blacken anyone’s eyes. She has an amazingly strong right arm.”

  “The benefits of learning to defend yourself against brothers who solve all their problems with punches.”

  “And I thought it came from your cricket playing.”

  Amelia twisted on the seat to look at Gabby. “Michael isn’t a rake, not in the way Madame Abney suggested. He spends most of his time in scholarly pursuits.”

  Gabby sat up straight. “Scholarly pursuits?”

  “Michael is a brilliant linguist. I do believe he would have been happy to spend his days at Oxford studying ancient languages.”

  Gwyneth shifted closer across the aisle. “I don’t know this about Kendal.”

  “When his father died, Michael was bereft. He was very close to his father, a jovial sort who doted on his wife and children. They were a very happy and loving family. With the death of his father, Michael became the new earl with all the associated responsibilities. He had to leave Oxford and his studies to come to London. Suddenly the sweet scholar was now an earl, garnering all the attention from the ladies.”

  “And what man could resist such temptation?” Gabby tried not to sound peevish, but the memory of “Yvette” and “Mimi” and how many more made her resentful and jealous.

  Gwyneth glanced at Amelia. “This is when Amelia believed she was in love with him.”

  “It was a young girl’s infatuation. But when I came to London for my debut, Michael had changed. A man-about-town, no longer the gentle boy with whom I had grown up and who loved to get into endless trouble with my brothers.”

  “It was the same for me with Ash.” Gwyneth uncrossed her leg. “The rogue always sported a different lady on his arm.”

  “Gabby doesn’t know about your past with Ash,” Amelia interjected.

  “Like Amelia, I’ve known Ash since I was a little girl. He and Cord are the best of friends. And of course, he never saw me as anything but Cord’s younger sister.”

  Gwyneth and Amelia were talking to her as friends, sharing their trials in their courtships. Their consideration of her tender and bewildered feelings made her weepy. She had to fight the tears gathering behind her eyes.

  “Like Ash and Derrick, Michael is experienced. Women love him; he is charming to the fairer sex because of his wit and boyish looks. And underneath his roguish manner, he is very sensitive. The reason I believed I was in love with him wasn’t because he’s handsome or charming. Although a young boy himself, he comforted me after the death of my mother.”

  Gabby recognized his sensitive nature, much like her own. And despite his newest escapade with Madame, she had witnessed his open love and care for his family. She had never seen a gentleman so willing to express his tender feelings.

  “He is loyal and caring toward everyone. Derrick told me that Michael was going to call out Cord because he thought Cord had taken advantage of his sister.”

  Gwyneth laughed, her mouth wide open, showing her sparkling teeth. “Take advantage of Henrietta? I still can’t believe the change in my brother since he married Henrietta. And talk about reputations; Cord had the worst, and well-earned if the rumors are true.”

  Amelia took Gabby’s hand. “Don’t give up on Michael. I’ve known him for a very long time and have never seen him look at a lady like he does you. In my silly childhood, I had hoped he would look at me in that desperate, hungry way.”

  Gabby’s stomach fluttered as if there were a horde of butterflies wildly flapping.

  “Instead you have a besotted Derrick.”

  Miss Amelia’s rosy lips curved into a knowing smile.

  “The point is, don’t be too hard on Kendal. I am sure there is more than meets the eye to today’s escapade,” Gwyneth added.

  Gabby’s face warmed with the conspiratorial look Gwyneth shot her. “But you must make him suffer a little for his newest outing with Madame Abney. It is
what I did to Ash when he was pursuing a certain lady. Men’s ardent way of apologizing is very rewarding.”

  Gwyneth watched out the window. “We’ve only got another ten minutes before arriving at the Bostwick’s estate. Let’s get to Madame Abney.”

  “Before we dissect if the opera singer knows who Gabby really is, we must discuss the secret you’ve been keeping from your friends. Confess, Gabby.” Amelia searched Gabby’s face.

  Gabby’s heart leapt into her throat. Could they know about the note?

  No, they couldn’t. These intrepid ladies would have confronted her immediately. Neither would have been able to contain their curiosity. She wanted to share the contents of the note, but the threat held her back.

  Gwyneth teased, “You have that many secrets? Amelia is referring to your musical genius.”

  “Of course! What else has you worried? You know Gwyneth and I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Shame burned and curled inside Gabby. How could she mistrust these woman, who both had only been supportive and protective of her?

  “I’m sorry. There is so much to take in. I made a mistake sharing my past with Madame Abney. But I was distracted.”

  “Of course you were. Finding Michael in a compromising situation was definitely distressing. And then it was obvious you were enthralled with her piano. I look at fabric the same way, wanting to touch it, explore all the possibilities of the material,” Amelia crooned.

  “I couldn’t hide my fascination with the piano. I tried not to tell her much about myself, but when she spoke of Monsieur la Toure…” Gabby felt the familiar burn behind her eyes and the sharp pain in her throat. She wasn’t the kind of woman who gave in to bouts of feeling maudlin. But recently she had succumbed to pleurer comme une madeleine. She couldn’t seem to stop crying.

  Gwyneth clicked her tongue. “You did well, keeping the information to a minimum and diverting her to discuss music. And no one can fault you for wanting to talk about home and your beloved teacher. No one in England is familiar to you and no one shares your past. It has to be lonely and disconcerting.”

  Gabby clenched her lips together, refusing to cry. She nodded.

  Her friends seemed to appreciate her distress. Amelia squeezed her hand but looked at Gwyneth, allowing Gabby a moment to compose herself.

  “Gwyneth, do you believe Madame’s mention of Josephine Bonaparte was an attempt to see how Gabby would react?”

  “I cannot know. But it is suspicious that the day after Gabby comes out in society, Madame requested to consult with you about new gowns. And then her mention of Josephine, and then the invitation for Gabby to be backstage.”

  “What a suspicious but methodical mind you have,” Amelia said appreciatively.

  “Well, thank you.” Gwyneth bobbed her head. “The highest of compliments in my family.”

  “But I do believe Madame was genuine about her devotion to Monsieur la Toure and finding an artist of Gabby’s caliber. She truly was moved.”

  Gwyneth shook her head again. “Do not forget, Madame Abney is a gifted actor. We saw last night her incredible dramatic skills. I also thought she was being honest, but we can’t trust anyone with Gabby’s safety in question.”

  “What do you think, Gabby? Do you think she was acting or sincere?” Amelia asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. It is all so confusing. But I need to go backstage to find out if the lady is a liar.”

  “It could be a trap and possibly dangerous.” Gwyneth raised both eyebrows.

  Gabby refused to be helpless, to allow her fearful circumstances to dictate her behavior, especially in front of these fearless ladies.

  “As your chaperone, I must accompany you. I will bring my pistol,” Gwyneth added gleefully.

  Amelia burst into laughter. “There is no way Ash is going to allow you and Gabby to go backstage unaccompanied. I must go with you.”

  Then the ladies all hooted. As if the danger to her was a hilarious joke.

  “Please excuse us, Gabby. We’re not making light of the threat. We are entertained by our husbands. It’s a game we play with them. Ash and Derrick have us guarded at all times. Neither will admit to it, but right now I’m sure Talley is following our carriage on horseback. You needn’t worry. There will be plenty of protection backstage.”

  Amelia straightened the small hat flirtatiously perched on the side of her head. “What an eventful afternoon. And, unlike Gwyneth, I hope this is the usual boring party that Lady Bostwick hosts.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  He watched from the garden hedgerow, hidden in the dense foliage, out of sight of all of London’s society. He had followed her from Madame Abney’s townhouse to the Bostwick estate. Now that he had found her, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.

  Ashworth stood to one side, away from the milling groups, his brow pinched together as a younger man spoke, most likely one of Rathbourne’s underlings reporting. Ashworth, like Rathbourne, had worked undercover for years in France. Were they as tired as he was of the layers of lies, assignations, and deceptions?

  He had one final mission, and then he was finished with the entire lunacy. He didn’t care if France and England continued fighting for the entire next century.

  There was a hush when she entered the garden, as if she were a member of the British royal family. Her French royal lineage had brought ample tragedy to her short and innocent life.

  Pompous dandies with their extravagant cravats, bright colored jackets, and tight lips crowded around her. She had grown into a beautiful woman and all the London coxcombs noticed.

  From the way she stiffened in response to the swarming men and their need to take her hand, she wasn’t impressed with the English any more than he was. He was glad she didn’t want the attention from all the men because his plans would put an end to this ridiculous farce.

  A stunning redhead wearing a very stylish gown that looked more French than the tasteless English style, swept in and took Gabrielle’s arm, extricating her from the hordes.

  The blue ribbon tied at the side of her bonnet framed the Valmont’s extraordinary eyes, white-blond curls, and her distinct Gallic chin, carved from centuries of superior breeding. Her graceful, confident manner was the epitome of French beauty and style.

  The redhead’s comment made Gabrielle smile. But as she moved closer to his position in the hedge, he noticed the forlorn slope of her small shoulders and air of dejection surrounding her. Was she aware of the treachery planned against her?

  A lissome man pressed his lips to her small, gloved hand in familiarity.

  The audacity of the Englishman touching her destroyed any of his newly acquired patience. He was going to run the English bastard through. He wasn’t sure if he could wait until he extricated Gabrielle from London before he killed the “gentleman.”

  The redheaded woman squeezed Gabrielle’s arm and then waved to a goliath with a harsh, square face. Another of Rathbourne’s henchmen by the forceful stare he leveled at the gentility crowded in the garden.

  All the party needed was Rathbourne to complete British intelligence.

  Gabrielle was in the midst of a trove of English spies. Were they protecting her or using her as a pawn in the game with Fouché and Napoleon? Most likely using her, as he would have done in the past.

  How her presence in the midst of the den of spies came about made no difference now. He didn’t care how many men surrounded her. He’d get his revenge. And once he had tasted the sweet reward, he’d be finished.

  Gabrielle kept her eyes downcast, listening intently to the animated English gentleman who spoke rapidly and expressively. By the way his eyes searched her face and the way he angled his body possessively toward her, he was pleading his cause as a jilted lover.

  Whatever the blond Adonis had pleaded, Gabrielle was moved. Her skin flushed and she chewed anxiously on her lower lip. She had feelings for the persuasive Englishman. It couldn’t be true. With her French lineage, how could she lower
herself?

  He’d tear the man apart. But only after he inflicted his retribution.

  He couldn’t risk anything today, with England’s elite spies all around. He now was a changed man—he had almost learned patience over the last year. The right time would come. And when it did…

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Fenton stepped closer and lowered his voice, showing some sense of propriety with two dowagers standing only a few feet from them. “Did you manage to get your diva singing last night?”

  Hell, Michael didn’t need a rehash of the absurd scene from just hours before with the demanding opera singer. He wished he had never heard of Madame Abney. Why couldn’t he go back to deciphering codes with Hen?

  But he had to maintain the appearance of pursuing Madame Abney, especially to bait his two blockhead friends who lived on the ton’s gossip.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve just come from her townhouse.”

  Chalmers inspected Michael’s impeccable blue coat and perfectly tied cravat, which he had worn to look upright and proper for Gabby. “You went home to change your clothes?”

  Avoiding looking at his friends, Michael examined the cuffs on his sleeve. “Of course, couldn’t come in the clothes from last night.” Not really a total lie since no one wore their clothes from the previous night.

  Fenton, more astute than Chalmers, kept his steely gaze on Michael. “Something’s not right about you.”

  Michael pulled at his cravat. Fenton and Chalmers had shared many an adventure and might see through his pretense. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Fenton?”

  “You’re not acting like your usual clever self. No witty rejoinders that fly right past Chalmers.”

  Chalmers elbowed Fenton. “Give the man a break. He’s tired after his night with Madame.”

  He wasn’t tired, but he was worried about Gabby’s reaction when she saw him at the garden party. He had reasoned it would be strange if he didn’t greet Amelia and Lady Gwyneth, hoping that would give him enough time for a moment with Gabby.