A Daughter's Destiny (26 page)

“Is that so?” He clenched his teeth to keep from spitting out the words he really wanted to say. Was Madame LeClerc out of her mind? Brienne should be avoiding any place where she would stand out as a target for Lagrille's men. Forcing his jaw to unclench, he smiled as he said, “I think we shall have a wondrous time.”

He noticed a tic over Porter's left brow as their host said, “I believe you are right, Somerset. Louisa has offered Brienne one of her gowns. As the two of them are of a size, it should fit with few alterations.” He lifted his hands and laughed. “That is something that concerns the ladies more than it does us. Madame LeClerc has offered to help with any work needed to have Brienne ready on Monday next.”

“It seems you have it all planned,” Evan replied, “so there is nothing for me to do but say thank you, Porter, for offering to act as a duenna for Brienne and me.”

His smile stiffened. “Madame LeClerc has offered to play that rôle.”

Evan laughed. “Then, I guess we shall all have an entertaining evening together.”

Porter continued to smile, but his eyes fired daggers at Evan. Resisting the urge to laugh again, Evan wondered if his friend had honestly thought Evan would step aside to allow Porter to escort Brienne to this assembly.

He glanced at Miss Woods, who was oddly silent. No one had mentioned her attending. Did the young woman suspect that Porter had set his cap on another woman? That would certainly explain her actions in the hall, although he wondered if she knew the state of his empty pockets. His fingers tightened on the china saucer. Miss Woods had prattled about Porter telling her all about Evan's past.

All?
He forced himself to relax. Porter did not know
all
about his past.

For as long as he was able, Evan endured the conversation about the soirée and who might be there. Then he set himself on his feet. Holding his hand out to Brienne, he asked, “Will you excuse us? I need to speak with Brienne alone.”

Madame LeClerc cleared her throat and said, “Brienne needs to select her gown for the assembly, so that I may begin any alterations that are necessary.”

“I shall have her back to you straightaway.” He struggled to keep his smile in place. Madame LeClerc's voice had been as cold as an executioner's, and he had not missed how Brienne had flinched at her grandmother's tone. “Brienne?”

For a long moment, she did not move. She stared straight ahead; then slowly her fingers rose to settle on his palm. He closed his over them before she could change her mind. Bringing her to her feet, he mumbled something he hoped the others would take as a polite good afternoon. He did not want to be delayed from finding out what was wrong by some insipid prattle.

Evan led Brienne into Porter's book-room, which was even darker as rain ran in streams along the windows, and closed the door. When he saw her walking beside the shelves, running her fingers along the books he wondered if Porter had ever read, he knew he had not been wrong about something being amiss. If it had not been, she would not be putting space between them. Rather, she would be in his arms.

“They are gone,” Evan said without preamble.

“They?” She faced him, but kept most of the length of the room between them. Even so, he could see how stiff her shoulders were. He wondered what burden had been placed on them now.

“The men who came to your salon to get that vase.” His jaw tightened. “The ones I suspect set fire to L'Enfant de la Patrie.”

“Oh.” She gave him a small smile. “I guess that should be a relief.”

“It might be a relief, if you were not acting as witless as a chucklehead.”

“I am as surprised as you that Grand-mère wishes for me to go to Lady Jacington's party.”

He was glad she had not dissembled. Crossing the room, he folded her hands in his before lifting them to his lips. The fire glowed within her eyes, sweeping away the dullness. They widened when he whispered, “So your grandmother is ready to fire you off into the
ton
and find you a proper husband for a
duchesse
.”

“She is adamant that I must think only of my obligations.” She drew her hands out of his. When he reached for them, she put her fingers up to his cheeks, startling him, for he had not expected her to gainsay her grandmother's wishes. He understood when she asked, “But how can I think only of my obligations when I wish only to think of you?”

With a moan, he pulled her into his arms. He tasted despair on her lips, a despair that had not been there even at the bleakest moments when they had escaped the fire or when they had fled from Marksen's smugglers. He did not want to believe that even more dismal times awaited them, but he knew she did. He should ask her if she would heed her grandmother's wishes to find a proper match, but he did not want to know the answer. He knew he would learn it all too soon.

Chapter Sixteen

Brienne was sure she had been swept into the tale of
The Golden Lion
. The painted backdrop on the Caparellis' stage was a poor imitation of the glorious gilt and paint decorating the ballroom. As she stood beneath the center arch of the trio opening onto the large room, she could not keep from staring at the crystal chandeliers.

“Can you imagine what the ballroom at Château Tonnere du Grêlon must be like?” Evan whispered as he lifted off her black silk cloak and handed it to a footman.

She straightened the ribbons on her sedate gown. It was a pearl gray, the most subdued frock among Louisa's vast wardrobe. She knew she appeared very somber compared to Evan's perfect evening wear with a black coat and white waistcoat over silver-colored breeches. “The château may have been abandoned for years. By now, it may be the home to nothing but birds and rodents.”

He laughed. “Mayhap, but I prefer to think of it as glorious as your sweetest fantasy, just waiting there for you whenever you want to claim it.”

Closing her eyes, she savored the gentle caress of his finger along her bared shoulder. “No wonder you enjoyed being on the stage. You live in a world where make-believe is real.”

“
Au contraire
.” He laughed when she regarded him with amazement. He continued in barely accented French, “You should know by now, Brienne, that a man who has made his living shifting artworks from France to England must be able to speak both languages with ease.”

“Your accent betrays you as an Englishman.”

“Ah, but when the situation required not making that fact known, I could depend on my partner to handle all the negotiations.”

“Your partner Dominic St. Clair?”

“One and the same.” He put his arm around her waist. “However, you should not speak his name too loudly here. Although many of these members of the Polite World have arranged for our services, they do not want to admit to that among their comrades.”

“How marvelous!” Grand-mère smiled as she came to stand beside them, her expression telling Brienne that Grand-mère was recalling similar gatherings at Château Tonnere du Grêlon. “I have so often imagined you at such an assembly, Brienne.” She adjusted the feather laced through Brienne's hair that had been curled to drop along her nape.

Evan laughed. “You are a doting watch-dog, Madame LeClerc.”

Grand-mère gave him the same tense smile she had offered Evan since their return to London. “It is my duty, which I take very seriously.”

“And she does it well.” Armistead joined them. He scanned the room in front of them. “May I?” He held out his arm to Grand-mère.

Brienne watched in silence as Armistead led Grand-mère into the ballroom. His kindness was a contrast to Grand-mère's growing coolness to Evan. Evan had not said anything more about it, although she guessed he must find it vexing. Not certain what to say to him, she smiled as a woman with hair as gray as Grand-mère's hurried over to them.

Jewels glittered on each of her fingers, around her neck, and at her ears. Her gown had as many flounces as a young miss's. Although she waved a fan that was twice as large as the one hooked to Brienne's wrist with lace, her round face glowed with perspiration.

“Good evening,” she said. “I am Lady Jacington, your hostess.”

Evan bowed and introduced himself and then Brienne before adding, “We were asked to join this assembly this evening by Armistead Porter, who is our host during our visit to London.”

“Oh, Mr. Porter! He is such a witty man!” She gushed like a girl. “Is he here?”

“He is with my grandmother,” Brienne said, glancing toward where Grand-mère was chattering with Armistead as steadily as Miss Woods had.

“I must go and greet them.” Lady Jacington scurried away, clearly reveling in her position as hostess this evening.

“Shall we jump into the jumble of guests and see how we can amuse ourselves?” Evan asked.

As she put her hand on his arm, she said, “Of course.”

“I thought you might rather find a corner where we can be alone and discover very special ways to amuse each other.”

She could not mistake his words' meaning when he smiled with the yearning that surged within her. Hoping her voice remained steady as she walked with him into the crowded ballroom, she said, “I doubt if Lady Jacington would appreciate us ignoring her efforts as a hostess.”

“A hostess's duty is to make sure each guest has what he or she wishes.” He whispered against her ear, “And you know well what I wish, honey.”

“By Jove, Somerset!” called a man before she could answer. “I did not expect to see you here.”

Brienne backed away as a man grasped Evan's hand and shook it with enthusiasm. The man's hair was as dark as hers, and she noted the undeniable hint of a French accent on his English. She had not guessed that another
émigré
had found a welcome among the English
élite
. His clothes were of the most elegant cut, and she saw a flash of gold on the hand that gripped Evan's. This man's experiences since he fled France had clearly been different from her own.

“Devereux, you old rooster!” Evan chuckled. “I thought you were in America.”

“Not a comfortable place to be when everyone is clamoring for war. I decided to hie it back to England where I, at least, know my enemies.”

Evan laughed again, then turned to Brienne. “Brienne, this is an old friend. Louis Devereux. Devereux, a new friend of mine, Brienne LeClerc.”

Mr. Devereux took her hand and bowed over it with a grace that suggested he had learned his courtly manners in the corridors of Versailles. “Somerset, I would be remiss not to note that your taste in friends has improved decidedly. Miss LeClerc, it is indeed a pleasure.” Without a pause, he added, “So what are you doing here, Somerset? I had heard from someone that you had accepted some commission that had taken you away from Town.”

“I chose instead to let Porter play host to me while I was here.” Evan's tone suggested that there had been no reason for his choice more important than which cravat he would wear tonight.

“Porter is here?” His nose wrinkled. “I have avoided him since he served as a second in that tragic duel between Lord—”

“I recall you telling me that you never wanted to talk about that.” Evan chuckled.

“You are quite right, for why would I speak of that when I could be eloquent in my admiration of Miss LeClerc?”

Brienne smiled and replied in French, “I suspect, Monsieur Devereux, that you would prove to be eloquent on almost any subject.”

“She has seen through your façade with ease,” Evan said in English as he took a glass of wine from a passing tray and handed it to Brienne. “I should have warned you. Brienne has no use for flummery.”

“Then, how can she tolerate you?” Mr. Devereux laughed. “Ah, even where the mind is serious, the heart can be won by frivolity.”

Evan grimaced. “You may be living here now, but you still have a Gallic delight in chivalry.”

“Miss LeClerc understands, don't you?”

“I am afraid I have become quite the prosaic Englishwoman,” Brienne replied with a smile. “My grandmother laments about that quite regularly.”

Mr. Devereux chuckled. “It is difficult not to assume the ways of our adopted homeland. I have come to appreciate the fine entertainments always awaiting one in London.” He bowed again toward Brienne. “I trust I will see you again before the evening is over. Somerset, you have done yourself proud this time.”

Evan grinned wryly as his friend vanished into the crowd. “So you have met another of my friends.”

“You seem to have all types.”

“I meet many different people in my work.” Around his finger, he looped one of the curls hanging along her neck. “Some of them are much more special than any of the others.”

“Some?” She gave him a sly smile. “I did hear Mr. Devereux say you have done yourself proud
this
time.”

“Egad, Brienne, are you going to demand that I humiliate myself among this gathering by wooing you with nothing-sayings?” He drew the curl toward him, and she leaned closer. “When you know so well that there has never been anyone quite like you in my life?”

“And no one like you in mine,” she whispered.

“I am glad.” He ran his finger along her lips. “I am quite sure that you have not stopped smiling since we arrived.”

“This is fun!”

“This?” He looked around the ballroom where more and more people were trying to squeeze into the room. Even a room as large as this one could not hold all the guests Lady Jacington had invited. “So you enjoy prattling about nothing?”

She slapped his arm lightly. “You shall not change my mind about this evening with your dreary attitude. I have long been curious about the lives of those who patronized L'Enfant de la Patrie.”

His hands framed her face. “And I have long been curious about the flavor of your lips.”

“Long curious?” Her laugh was soft. “I believe I recall a very delicious kiss before we left Grosvenor Square.”