Moonlight Masquerade

by Ruth Axtell

  The next day, he arrived at the appointed hour and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her already there, beside the central basin in front of the palace. She walked toward him when she saw him. His heart lightened immediately, and he realized he had been afraid she wouldn’t show up today.

  “Would you care to take a stroll?” she asked after their greeting.

  “If it’s not too warm for you.”

  “Not at all. I have my parasol.”

  He offered her his arm, and the two walked over the wide path. “Paris is very beautiful. Much more so than I imagined.”

  “Despite what you English think of him, Napoleon did make some improvements to the city. Although it was Marie de’ Medici who had the palace built, it was Napoleon who improved and enlarged both the palace and park. This was his home for a few years before he declared himself emperor, you know.” They stood in front of the palace a few moments.

  “And now he is sitting on a small island, still calling himself emperor.”

  “Yes.”

  “‘Their inward thought is, that their houses shall continue forever, and their dwelling places to all generations,’” he quoted.

  “That sounds like Scripture.”

  “It is, a psalm of David.”

  “I’ve been reading the Bible.”

  He flashed her a look. “Have you indeed?”

  She looked away from him. “Since that day I prayed for you—” Her words came out softly, as if she were uncomfortable uttering them. “I have sought to know God . . . more deeply . . . to know the God that you held so dearly.”

  “And have you?”

  She nodded.

  Rees felt more moved than he could express in words. All he could do was press the hand resting in the crook of his arm.

  She tilted her head up to him. “Perhaps you are an answer to prayer now.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She turned away from him, making a vague gesture with her free hand. “The way you found me—” She laughed shortly. “Don’t pay me any mind. It’s foolish.”

  He scrambled around, seeking to prolong this line of conversation. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He swallowed. “Perhaps because I was praying to find you.”

  Her amber eyes looked searchingly into his. The tip of her tongue moistened her upper lip.

  Then she turned away from him again, saying in a brisk tone. “Come, let us walk down this alley here. I shall show you another of Marie de’ Medici’s lasting works.”

  His hopes plummeted. He was deluding himself that he could ever win her.

  He followed her lead, content for now to be in her company, vowing he would be patient and win her.

  Céline looked beautiful, and he felt proud to be seen with her. Today, she was dressed in a deep yellow gown that brought out the warm tone of her skin and the reddish tints in her dark hair. She looked more like the fashionable lady he had grown accustomed to in London. Had she dressed for him?

  He shook aside the vain thought.

  They walked under the shade of the elm trees planted along the avenue. The vast park was filled with couples and families strolling its many formal gardens and tree-lined alleys.

  They spoke some more of what had happened since she’d left England and finally turned to the topic of her present work in France.

  She waved an arm in outrage. “The British were determined to put Louis on the throne. Well, you have succeeded.”

  “I know he is not the perfect solution.”

  “Hah! Not even approaching perfect.”

  “There was no one else who could bring a modicum of stability to France at this time,” he began, knowing it was a weak argument.

  “He will do more than bring stability. Don’t you see what the royalists are doing? They will turn France back to its prerevolutionary state. Already, the press is having a hard time publishing anything that goes contrary to the royalists’ view. Anyone who served under Bonaparte is being punished.”

  Rees could only gaze in admiration at the passion she displayed in her tone, her eyes, her very gestures when speaking of the political situation in France. “Wellington won’t allow the far right to take away the freedoms of the people,” he countered.

  Her lips thinned. “You English can be so idealistic at times.” Instead of arguing further, she sighed. “I hope you are right, but I have seen so much corruption and desire for retribution since I’ve returned that I wonder what will become of France.”

  It was the first time he had detected any discouragement in her. “With people like you fighting for democracy, France has a chance.”

  She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, and it was all he could do not to lean toward her. “I feel like a very small drop in the desert.”

  They arrived at a grotto made of rustic stone at one end of the park. Two jets created a refreshing splash of water in its basin. A marble statue was tucked into the arch. “Very pretty.”

  “Yes, it is. It, too, has been refurbished by Napoleon’s architect.” Céline trailed her fingers in the pool. “Have you seen the Arc de Triomphe? It is Chalgrin’s work as well.”

  “Yes. I am lodging at the British embassy, not far from there. It is quite impressive, though not completed.”

  She gave a sardonic laugh. “Perhaps good King Louis will do so.”

  “I’m sorry the area is so overrun with British soldiers at the moment. Wellington will doubtless bring them to order.”

  She shuddered. “They are nothing compared with the Cossacks and Prussians. They are out for revenge for the French having destroyed their cities.”

  He frowned at her. “It’s not safe for a lady to go out alone. I hope you have someone to accompany you.”

  She dismissed his concerns with a toss of her head. “I have become accustomed to taking care of myself.”

  Her answer didn’t satisfy him, but there was little he could do at the moment. How he wished he could protect her.

  They continued to walk. The park was so vast he couldn’t see the city on the opposite end of it.

  She questioned him about his background. “I have not had the benefit of reading your file, you see.”

  He acknowledged her barb with a smile. Then his tone became serious. “My father was once a prosperous merchant, but the blockade ruined him, since the majority of his trade was with the Continent. As a staunch Christian, he did not believe in indulging in the smuggling trade.”

  “I see where you come by your principles then.”

  “He was a fine example as a father—and as a man.”

  The shouts of children came to them from afar.

  “I remember very little of my father.”

  “I am sure he was a man to be proud of as well.”

  “Thank you. My mother has always spoken highly of him. Perhaps that is why she needed so much to be wealthy again. She felt she must regain what was taken away from him during the Revolution.”

  He smiled, recollecting her mother’s gambling. “How is your mother?”

  “She is here in France at the moment. Perhaps you shall see her at the British embassy. She spends her days badgering any public official she can obtain an audience with. She is trying to regain her lands, you see.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she will succeed.”

  “Perhaps I can help in some way.”

  She tilted her head at him. “Why should you do that?”

  “Because she is your mother.” He smiled ruefully. “I haven’t much influence. I’ve only arrived here myself. But if I can mention something to the duke, perhaps he will look into her case.”

  “You are sweet.”

  Her tone was tender, but instead of encouraging him, it filled him with despair. Is that how she saw him? As a kindly man who meant well, but was, after all, still little more than a poor clerk with pretensions of a gentleman?

  To mask his thoughts, he asked, “Is your mother staying with you?”


  “Oh no. My house is not grand enough. She is staying with old friends in one of the imposing hôtels in the Place Vendôme. You are bound to run across her at one of the functions you will doubtless attend. Young British gentlemen are in high demand at all the balls and soirees at the moment.”

  He grimaced. “I’m hardly that.”

  “Of course you are.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean because you are a merchant’s son?” She laughed outright. “Goodness, you are worse than the ultra royalists. Didn’t you read any of those works I gave you?”

  His lips curved upward, unable to disguise the pleasure her words—her scold—gave him. “Yes, I did.”

  Before he could say anything more, she pressed his arm. “But please continue with your own story.”

  He skimmed over the details of his youth and return from a French prison. “My father had to sell his business. And then he fell ill. At the time, I was serving in the navy. I had been a restless youth, seeking adventure and longing to see the world. When war broke out, I ran away and signed on to the navy. I think it broke my father’s heart not to see me educated. But when I was promoted to midshipman, he boasted of me to all his friends and associates.”

  “I’m sure you were a brave sailor.”

  He fell silent at the unexpected praise, not sure how to receive it. “I returned to find my father gone. He had died while I was sitting across the Channel in prison. My mother and sister needed me then, so I returned home.

  “My mother had moved back to her native village on the southern coast in order to live more modestly. I was able to secure a position as a private secretary to a local landowner, on the recommendation of a naval officer I had served under. He and this baronet were good friends.

  “That position led finally to a post in the Foreign Office.” He shrugged again. “Until that day I was offered the job of spying on you. Since I had been toiling away for nigh on a decade with little advancement, I knew I must accept it. As I told you, I have supported my mother and sister for some years.”

  “You have sacrificed a great deal.”

  He shook his head, uncomfortable with the praise. “Not more than many.”

  They walked in the dappled shade of the trees until they arrived back at the palace. She paused at the vast basin of water where children were sailing boats. “Shall we walk to Gaspard’s restaurant?” she asked.

  “If you are not too tired?”

  “Oh no, I am used to walking.”

  He wondered if she no longer kept a carriage. “Very well.” Before they could move, they were interrupted by a soft masculine voice behind them. “Good afternoon, Mlle. de Beaumont.”

  She turned with no smile of welcome. Even though it had been more than a year since he’d heard the voice, Rees recognized it at once. Monsieur de la Roche approached them, his thin ebony cane tapping against the path. His gaze rested on Rees. “You look familiar, monsieur, though I cannot place you.” He spoke to him in English, which made Céline realize he had overheard them speaking.

  “I worked in Mlle. de Beaumont’s house last year when she stayed at Hartwell House. Doubtless you saw me there.”

  She admired his aplomb in admitting to his position on her staff.

  A tiny line formed between de la Roche’s gray eyebrows. “Ah, a private secretary, perhaps?” He turned to her for confirmation.

  Before Rees could admit to having been a butler, she replied, “He was sent by the Home Office to spy on me. He pretended to be a butler.”

  She wanted to laugh at his expression. It was not easy to throw de la Roche, and she had succeeded. Clearly, he hadn’t been privy to what the English were doing.

  De la Roche studied Rees as if for some clue to his former profession. Rees merely inclined his head. “I fear it is as Mlle. de Beaumont says. We were working for the same side, but not in tandem.”

  The older man’s thin lips pressed together until they almost disappeared. “Perhaps it would have helped all our efforts toward a speedier peace if your government had thought fit to inform me of your role.”

  “Perhaps.” When Rees volunteered no more, de la Roche addressed her. “You continue your activities?”

  She feigned nonchalance. “As a matter of fact, I just turned in my latest article yesterday.”

  He said nothing, merely regarded her in that expressionless way he had. Finally, he took a step back and bowed to them both. “Well, I see you are occupied. I shall not interrupt your tête-à-tête further.”

  When he left, she shuddered. “Insufferable man. He means to shut down the paper if he has his way.”

  Rees frowned. “The one you write for?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Thus far he hasn’t succeeded, but he works closely with the police commissioner. They are always coming up with ways to fine us. I won’t be surprised if the paper soon folds and we all end up in prison. In a few months, there will be no free press in France.”

  “Have a care.”

  She read true concern in his gray eyes, and she longed to—

  What? Accept the warmth and friendship she read in his eyes—and more?

  How easy it would be to follow her longing.

  But she could not do that to him. He had said it to her plainly. He wished for a wife and family.

  Only the first could she give him.

  25

  Rees insisted on dropping Céline off at her house. He was still puzzled about why she chose to dwell in a modest, almost shabby, building, when her mother was living in the highest circles. Had the British confiscated her wealth? He had not been privy to that information.

  No matter. He didn’t care if she hadn’t a sou to her name. In fact, he’d prefer it, if it would help his suit.

  For the first time since beginning this venture, he felt optimistic. The Lord had led him to Céline only days after his arrival. And now he faced at least a few months of living in Paris. He would court Céline as a proper suitor.

  He knit his brow, remembering their encounter with de la Roche. He didn’t like it. The man meant trouble, he was sure of it. He was probably still smarting over Céline’s escape to France.

  The sooner Rees married Céline, the sooner he’d be able to protect her properly.

  But first he must speak to the Duke of Wellington.

  It would be a tricky situation to ask to marry a Frenchwoman who had been suspected of espionage against the British just a year ago. Would he again risk his career, his reputation? Who would have thought a merchant’s son could aspire to a countess? The idea still left him shaking his head. It was only because of the upheaval war and the Revolution had brought about. Or was it true love?

  He smiled at the sentimental thought, then sobered. He could not offer Céline what the gentlemen of her station could, but his prospects now at least were hopeful. Being part of Wellington’s delegation at a critical time in France could mean the dream of a career in diplomacy becoming a reality. He knew his knowledge of French had been a primary reason he had been selected. He also knew from speaking with Wellington’s private secretary and observing how the duke dealt with those underneath him, that he was an exacting, demanding man, but that he rewarded those who were faithful in carrying out their duties.

  Rees felt he would get along well with him.

  After seeing Céline to her door and asking to call upon her on the morrow, Rees went back to the Right Bank to the temporary quarters of the new British embassy.

  They were lodged in a fine mansion not far from the Tuileries Palace, where the former Comte de Provence had taken up residence as King Louis XVIII.

  When he had the opportunity that afternoon, Rees consulted with Wellington’s secretary to secure a moment with the duke before the end of the day.

  When he stood before the famous commander, Rees began with, “Your grace, I am intending to propose to a lady here in Paris.”

  Wellington lifted a dark brow. “Indeed? And who is the lucky woman?”

  Rees swallowed. “
Céline de Beaumont. Lady Wexham.”

  He pondered the name a moment. “Ah, Lady Wexham. The lady you were sent to spy on last year in London.”

  Wellington had been well briefed. “That is correct, your grace.”

  Wellington listened to him as he explained how he had met her again since arriving in Paris. The duke asked a few questions about his time in her household when he was spying on her, but kept his thoughts to himself, so Rees had no idea if he approved or disapproved of Rees’s desire to marry her.

  “I may be presumptuous—or premature, since I don’t know if the lady will accept me. But I also feel a sense of urgency since seeing Monsieur de la Roche. It’s apparent to me that he means her ill.”

  Wellington mulled this over. “He’s an influential man in the new government.” He eyed Rees across his desk. “Why do you think Lady Wexham left England so precipitously?”

  Rees had anticipated the question. “I believe she knew France was losing and she wanted to be here to join the voice of opposition to the royalists.”

  “It’s not an enviable position to be in at present. Even if she becomes your wife, it will not be pleasant in Paris with the Ultras gaining more and more influence over the king.”

  “No, your grace.”

  The duke sat silent several minutes. He appeared to have forgotten Rees’s presence, since he sat looking down at the correspondence on his desk.

  Abruptly, he looked up and focused on Rees again. “You know Castlereagh is arriving Friday.”

  Rees shook his head. “No, I thought he was going directly from Belgium to Vienna.”

  “The Duc de Berry convinced him to stop in Paris en route. I advised him to accept. Not many know of his visit, and we’d prefer to keep it that way. With the Fête de St. Louis beginning Thursday, Paris will be thronged.” Wellington shuffled some papers and set them aside. “Lord Castlereagh expects to arrive the following day and then leave on Sunday.”

  Rees nodded, wondering what all this had to do with him.

  “I can assign you as an envoy to Castlereagh. He can use your linguistic skills. It will offer you multiple opportunities to advance.”