Authors: Cynthia Wright
"My lord?" Charlotte Timkins inquired hopefully as the hired post chaise turned off Germantown Road.
Grey sat across from her and Speed, his gaze fixed on the verdant spring countryside. Now, his eyes flicked back to the young woman and he murmured, "I have asked you to call me Mr. St. James, Charlotte."
"I beg your pardon, sir." Recognizing that his attention was already wavering, she plunged onward. "Mr. St. James, what if my mistress no longer needs me when she gets to her parents' house? What if there is a family retainer she would prefer to have wait upon her? What if—"
"Enough, my dear Miss Timkins," Grey cut in, holding up a hand. "Let us wait and see rather than expect the worst. And then, if your fears should come to pass, you will simply remain in my employ... and eventually return to England with me, if you so choose."
"You aren't going back immediately?"
Grey shook his head, staring out at the chestnut trees that lined the drive leading to Belle Maison. Daffodils grew wild, like yellow stars sprinkled amid the lush green grass. "My plans are tentative at this time." He glanced back at Charlotte, aware of her curiosity. "And I must ask that you refrain from discussing my plans, or lack of same, with Miss Beauvisage. Do I make myself clear?"
Charlotte widened her blue eyes. "Aye, I suppose that you do, sir."
"Thank you."
"Mum's the word," Jasper Speed chimed in.
"Exactly."
The carriage ahead of them began to slow, and Grey caught his first glimpse of Belle Maison, Natalya's girlhood home. The large house was a beautiful example of Georgian architecture. Constructed of red brick, it was square and solid, shaded by huge elm trees and generously framed by sweeping lawns and exquisite beds of tulips. Fourteen perfect, many-paned windows, all with pure white casements, marched across the front of the house, surrounding a magnificent white front door with brass fittings. The Beauvisage carriage stopped right in front of the patterned brick walkway that led to the house's entrance. Grey watched, pensive for a moment, as Natalya stepped giddily onto the path and turned in slow circles, her fingers pressed to her lips in silent wonder. Alec stopped beside her, and she looked up at him, eyes bright with tears.
"Oh, Papa, it seems like a dream. I don't think I realized how desperately I've longed for home... until now."
Arm in arm they went into the house while Grey, Speed, and Charlotte disembarked from their post chaise. Caro was waiting for them while Kristin lingered nearby, staring at Grey.
"I can't tell you how pleased we are that you could join us," Caro said sincerely, taking Grey's arm. "I'm going to have Pierre, our butler, send someone to take these two lovely people out to our kitchen for a good, hot meal... and a nap if that would be desirable. Meanwhile, we'll sort out who is staying and who is going...." She continued to chatter on as they reached the front door, at which point a wizened little old man appeared. "Mr. St. James," she said, "I should like to present Pierre DuBois, who is our major domo and in charge of running our home."
"
Bonjour
, m'sieur!" Pierre greeted him, dark eyes twinkling with interest. "This is a happy day! Life has been a trifle dull here of late, I must confess—indeed, I had been deliberating on a way to enliven this household. But you, sir, have relieved me of that burden by returning Miss Natalya to the fold."
Grey was charmed to see that Pierre wore an old-fashioned suit, not unlike the one he himself had donned to elude Auteuil and Poujouly during his and Natalya's flight across France. Pierre's coat and breeches were mustard-yellow satin, his buckled shoes sported two-inch heels, and his powdered wig was set off by a long waistcoat of gold-and-red brocade. Never had Grey encountered a butler like this in England! Before he could reply to the old man's speech, Natalya had come between them to hug Pierre, who blushed with delight.
"Pierre, when did you come back to Belle Maison? Did Maman write to me and have I forgotten?" She half turned to explain to Grey, "Pierre was Papa's valet for years, and before that he sailed with my grandpapa on his pirate ship, didn't you, Pierre? Then, when he married Hyla Flowers, who helped Aunt Lisette run her coffeehouse, they took it over together when Lisette and Nicholai went to live in France. That was twenty years ago, when I was just a little girl, but I remember very well how sad we all were when you left Belle Maison, Pierre! You used to sneak me treats from the kitchen and let me choose flowers for my very own...."
"You were a dimpled little peach blossom as a child, mademoiselle, and remain so as a woman," Pierre said effusively. "It's a great pleasure to welcome you home. I have been back in your parents' employ nearly two years now, and Hyla is here, too, overseeing the kitchen. We're not as young as we used to be, you know, and the unceasing activity in the coffeehouse became tiring. Do you remember James Stringfellow, the barman?" When Natalya nodded, Pierre said, "Stringfellow and his wife, Nancy, purchased the coffeehouse from us. Their two sons are nearly grown, and I think they were ready for new challenges."
"How lovely that everything has worked out so neatly," she exclaimed, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Kristin had managed to place herself in front of Grey.
"Mr. St. James, all this family gossip must be fearfully dull to you," Natalya's sister said, brushing back a stray ebony curl from her cheek. "Would you like me to show you around?"
He smiled carefully. "I'm not bored in the least, but it's kind of you to offer, Miss Beauvisage, and I would very much like to see more of your home."
"That's an excellent idea, Krissie," Natalya approved, her voice sounding hollow. Obviously her sister was rapidly becoming starry-eyed over the handsome Englishman, and it bothered her to see Kristin trying to improve the acquaintance. But she reminded herself once again that Grey would soon be gone and that she ought to put him out of her mind and enjoy her homecoming.
For his part, Grey was fascinated by Natalya's family and their home. The style of Belle Maison was very different from that of grand homes in either England or France. It was much simpler, and yet the house possessed an appealing elegance and warmth that London mansions lacked.
The entry hall was laid with a diagonal pattern of bricks, and the paneled walls were lovely with their plain coat of ivory paint. There was no gilding or marble to be found in Belle Maison. Kristin led the way through a graceful arch with double doors that brought them into the stair hall. Two spacious, lovely parlors opened off of each side of the stair hall, and Grey wandered off into the north parlor.
"Is your mother responsible for the design of these rooms?" he asked. "Did she choose the furnishings?"
"For the most part, no, I think not," Kristin replied, walking over to stand beside him. She could scarcely believe that he was real, so potent was his attraction. Grey St. James looked much as she imagined her father must have thirty years ago. "Maman found Belle Maison so beautiful when she first came here that she has always striven to keep it much the same. This was Papa's house, you know. He told me when I was a little girl that our home had been orphaned during the Revolution. A battle was fought in the village of Germantown, and the owner of this house was killed accidentally. His family fled, leaving nearly all their possessions."
"An ideal situation for a single man," Grey remarked, "particularly if he approved of the previous owner's tastes!"
"Well, Maman has tried to make gradual changes, adding pieces and replacing worn items over the years. I'm sure it must be grander now than when Papa first acquired it." Kristin's long-lashed gaze touched upon paneled walls painted a soft, pale green, a graceful wing chair beautifully embroidered with crewelwork, a Chippendale settee upholstered in rose damask, and the stunningly patterned English rug that covered the wide boards of the floor. "Maman says that the style of our home is timeless, but to me it is... reassuring." She turned her head a fraction so that she was looking directly into Grey's eyes. "If you truly want to return to England, you shouldn't remain here long, Mr. St. James. I believe that my family and our home are under an enchanted spell, and no one who is here for any length of time ever wants to leave..."
Laughing, Grey walked away from her, over to the fifteen-paned glass doors that opened onto the lawns and gardens behind Belle Maison. "You are amusing yourself at my expense, aren't you, Miss Beauvisage? You know, I come from England, not Ireland. We don't put much stock in leprechauns and faeries back in London." His gaze swept appreciatively over the impeccable flowerbeds divided by mossy brick footpaths. "In any event, your theory doesn't quite fit Natalya, does it? She has thrived thousands of miles away from Belle Maison. Your brother's left, too, hasn't he?" He glanced back at her, gently arching a black brow. "Perhaps your belief in this house's golden aura is an excuse for
you
to linger here with Maman and Papa, long after most of your friends have married and established homes of their own."
Kristin swept past him, her back straight, leading the way into the back hallway. "I shan't dignify such outrageous effrontery with a response, except to say that I am unmarried by choice, Mr. St. James. I am unashamed of the happiness I own here, and until I meet the perfect man, I see no reason to leave."
Grey smiled to himself as he followed her past the winding back stairway that opened off the servants' entrance to the house. He reflected that there was nothing like a bit of badinage with a Beauvisage female to get one's blood flowing. "I must apologize. I was completely at fault and had no right to speak to you on such familiar terms. The only defense I can offer is that I have grown used to teasing your sister, though you mustn't tell her I've confessed to it."
Kristin whirled around in front of the entrance to a small plant-filled, glass conservatory. Struck by the unmistakably fond undercurrents in his voice when he spoke of Natalya, she said, "I was under the impression that the two of you didn't deal together very well?"
"That was true, some of the time." The silvery glint of a smile crept into Grey's eyes. "There were also... enjoyable moments."
"I can hardly wait to hear all the details of your travels," Kristin said, watching him.
"I doubt whether your sister will care to dwell on that subject." As they reached the dining room, Grey gestured toward the doorway. "After you."
Realizing that no more bits of gossip would be forthcoming, Kristin returned to her role as guide. Her tour of the dining room and south parlor were matter-of-fact. She pointed out a corner cabinet filled with pieces of china and keepsakes from Beauvisage voyages and the travels of her parents abroad. The rooms themselves were tasteful and charming, decorated with creamy walls, richly colored rugs, and more handsome pieces of furniture. Over the fireplace, faced with Delft tiles, hung a portrait of Alexandre and Caroline Beauvisage. Kristin paused with Grey to gaze up at the large painting, which was an excellent likeness of her parents.
"That was painted twenty years ago, not long after my birth," she said. "Charles Willson Peale was the artist. No doubt he is virtually unknown in Europe, but Philadelphia holds him in high esteem, and he has sired or taught a whole clan of other Peales. Also, he has a museum in the city filled with animals that have been stuffed and placed in re-creations of their natural habitats. There are tigers, exotic birds, snakes, a mongoose, and the skeletons of two prehistoric mastodons, which Mr. Peale excavated and assembled himself. He's seventy-three now and as active as ever."
"Indeed?" Grey tried to think of a suitable response. "You obviously must believe that we Britons are sadly lacking in education, but I can assure you that I am familiar with the paintings of Charles Willson Peale. However, I must confess that I was ignorant of the mongoose and the mastodons." He flashed a sudden smile. "I have always heard that America is quite unique. A friend told me that Americans have been able to invent themselves and their country, making up all sorts of new rules. So far, I am thoroughly charmed by all I have seen, from this wonderful house to your tale of Peale's distinctly original museum!"
Kristin began to feel a bit dizzy under his potent spell. "I have one more surprise for you in this parlor before we go upstairs," she said, walking over to open a door that was barely noticeable in the paneled wall. "This is our whispering closet, apparently built into the house during the Revolution."
Grey joined her, leaning into the empty closet to watch as she found the secret opening in the back wall. As the panel opened, he ducked his head under the low threshold and discovered three different passageways. One led farther along the parlor wall, over to the south side of the house, he guessed. "I gather that this was a hiding place for eavesdroppers," he remarked.
"It's been used as a refuge for those in danger as well," Kristin replied, nodding, and stepped past him into the closet. Lit only by the sunlight that spilled into the parlor, it appeared dim and dingy, and it smelled of damp earth and must. "You're probably wondering where the tunnel goes that leads underground."
"Rather," he agreed dryly.
"It passes under the gardens and then forks. One side leads to the kitchen building and the other connects with the little cottage where my great-grandmother once lived. And this"—Kristin took a few steps around a corner in the tunnel, gesturing toward a narrow, curving stone staircase that went upward—"goes upstairs. I find it all rather frightening, but when we were children, Etienne and Talya and our cousins played in these passageways a great deal. I was the baby, and always afraid that I would be left behind or a spider would touch me or something else equally horrific."
As they returned to the spacious parlor, Grey shook his head in wonderment. "I thought that only we British went in for hidden doors and secret passageways. During my boyhood, I felt cheated because none of our residences possessed one. This is indeed quite a home."
Moments later, as he followed Kristin up the sweeping curve of the staircase, Grey decided that Belle Maison was exactly the right size: large enough for dignity and space, small enough for comfort and modesty. It was the ideal home—impressive and elegant without the least affectation.