An Unlikely Alliance (14 page)

Luke bowed, his face solemn but his eyes twinkling as he replied, “At once, Mademoiselle.”

At least there was one familiar face in this household. Luke was just the most visible of the protections that Alexander had arranged for her. Magda shivered as she realized that they still had no clue to her enemy, and that the enemy could strike again at any time.

The past week had tried her patience sorely. How could she concentrate on dresses and etiquette, when she knew that someone out there wanted to kill her? All her instincts screamed at her to take action, yet Alexander had decreed otherwise. And so, reluctantly, she had gone along with his plan.

Finally he had decided that it was time to take the first step toward flushing the villain out. Tonight she would make her first appearance in society, under Alexander’s watchful eye.

Magda squared her shoulders and surveyed her appearance in the mirror for a final time. Then she made her way down the stairs to the ground floor and entered the parlor, where she discovered Alexander deep in conversation with Lady Stanthorpe.

He looked up when she entered the room, but his face gave no sign that he was pleased to see her. Nor did he offer her any compliments on her newfound elegance. Instead he merely asked, “Are you ready for this evening?”

“Yes,” Magda said. She was nervous, but it was a relief to finally be taking action rather than waiting passively.

“Remember, stick to the story we went over. Don’t try to elaborate or get clever,” he added, with a warning glance at Lady Stanthorpe. “All we want to do is make Magda’s presence known.”

“I know what to do,” Lady Stanthorpe replied. “But if you insist on calling her Magda then it will be over before it’s begun. Try to keep in mind that she’s Mademoiselle Beaumont, and you have only just been properly introduced.”

“Of course,” Alexander said. “Now we had best depart. We want to arrive just late enough to make a grand entrance.”

The drive to the opera house was a quiet affair. With Lady Stanthorpe as a witness, it was impossible for her to speak freely with Alexander. There were a thousand questions that she wanted to ask him, but there was no opportunity for private conversation. And she found it hard to speak of nothings when there was so much at stake.

Their entrance at the opera was everything that they had hoped for. Heads turned as Lady Stanthorpe entered her box, followed by Magda and Alexander. Magda stared straight at the stage, but from the corner of her eye she could see finely dressed ladies and gentlemen raising their quizzing glasses to get a better look at the newcomer in their midst.

She knew the attention wasn’t for her. It was for Alexander, previously a very reluctant participant in the social round. The curtain had barely rung down for the first interval when members of society began to call at their box. Lady Stanthorpe introduced her as Mademoiselle Beaumont, her
protégé
. The gentlemen seemed to take this at face value, but the ladies spent as much time looking at Alexander as they did Magda, clearly trying to figure out his role in all this. Was he merely escorting his longtime acquaintance, Lady Stanthorpe? Or had he taken an interest in this Mademoiselle?

Magda did her best to appear as if she had a right to be there, acknowledging each introduction with a reserved smile and professing herself charmed to meet each new acquaintance. Lady Stanthorpe’s acquaintances pronounced themselves equally charmed to meet her, although Magda knew such sentiments were false. She had met more than one of these ladies previously, when she was a mere seamstress attending to their fittings. And never once during her employment had any lady ever regarded her as more than an object which was capable of taking orders.

But while the ladies she met seemed insincere and the gentlemen either stared at her impertinently or ignored her entirely, she did not feel that any of them could be the person they were seeking. It was unlikely that he was here tonight anyway. Alexander had come along to supervise the outing, not because he really expected the villain to make an appearance. No, tonight was simply an opportunity for her to be seen, and to make sure her presence was reported as widely as possible.

It was hard not to let the strain she was feeling show, but she knew the role she played was just as important as the drama that was unfolding on the stage below. She tried to lose herself in the enjoyment of seeing her first opera as a patron. But her heart was not in it, and she was only too ready to agree when Alexander suggested departing before the final act.

It was raining outside. Alexander left her and Lady Stanthorpe in the lobby while he went to summon the carriage. The lobby was mostly empty, with a few opera house employees loitering and what appeared to be a family party standing near the doorway. The group was quarreling, although over what she could not hear. In a few moments a hack appeared, evidently summoned by another member of their party. The group dashed into the rain toward the waiting carriage.

The sound of footsteps clicking on marble broke the silence, and Magda turned to see who had appeared.

“I see I am not the only one who has found this performance wretched,” Le Duc d’Aiguillon said. He was easy to recognize, still affecting the powdered wig, silk knee breeches, and elaborately embroidered coat of the last century.

It was a shock to see him. In the excitement of the last weeks she had forgotten meeting this forbidding aristocrat, with his unnerving claim of having befriended her mother.

“Mademoiselle Beaumont,” he said, making it clear that he indeed recognized her. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

His manners were faultless, yet for some reason Magda felt repulsed by his presence. “Monsieur Le Duc,” Magda said, pasting on a false smile to hide her inexplicable dislike.

Lady Stanthorpe turned the survey the newcomer, and Magda had no choice but to brazen it out. “Lady Stanthorpe, may I present Le Duc d’Aiguillon.”

“I believe we have met before,” Lady Stanthorpe said coldly. “But I was not aware that you knew Mademoiselle Beaumont, my guest for the season.” Her voice held a frosty edge as she looked first at Magda and then at Le Duc, as if wondering what possible connection they could have.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Any friend of Mademoiselle Beaumont’s must also be counted a friend of mine.”

Magda held her breath, wondering what he would say next. Here was one person who could ruin their plans. If he had indeed known her mother, then surely he also knew that she had no English relations. A few words from Le Duc and her masquerade as a genteel lady would be over.

But Le Duc d’Aiguillon said nothing. Perhaps he had indeed been fond of her mother, unlikely as that seemed. In any event he did not comment on Magda’s sudden change in status from fortune teller to respectable young woman.

“I am pleased to see that you have such a patroness,” he said, addressing Magda. “But please remember that it is not only the English who have a care for you. As a longtime friend of your
chère maman’s
, I would be honored if you would come to me should you ever require assistance.”

Magda nodded, repressing the shiver that ran through her. She would sooner rot in the streets than trust herself to Le Duc’s care. There was something about him that she just did not trust, for all his seeming generosity and claims of past friendship. She wondered if her dislike sprang from the growing suspicion that his relationship with her mother had gone beyond simple acquaintance. A mere child in those years, Magda knew she had not been privy to all her mother’s secrets. It was an unsettling realization.

She longed to share her feelings with Alexander, but there was no opportunity during the carriage ride. And rather than coming in, he merely escorted them to the door, in the manner of a perfect gentleman.

Readying herself for bed, Magda confessed herself heartily sick of this plan. Here she had done everything that Alexander instructed, allowing Lady Stanthorpe to lecture her on manners and deportment, standing patiently for endless fittings while seamstresses fashioned a wardrobe to fit her new persona. She’d performed brilliantly tonight, yet Alexander had said not a single word of praise. Instead he’d seemed abstracted and distant, as if they were strangers.

It was a crushing reminder that she was only playing the role of a gentlewoman. She did not belong in his world, and even if he had regarded her as a friend, such friendship was unlikely to stand the pressures of society.

Magda finished brushing her hair. Was it her imagination or had it actually gotten longer? Peering into the glass, she was pleased to see that her hair had grown into a fashionable crop that was surprisingly becoming. At least she no longer looked like a fever victim.

She heard a faint click and saw the doorknob slowly begin to turn. Glancing frantically around, she could see no weapon except the silver-backed brush. Grabbing it in one hand, she stood up quietly, all her senses focused on the door, which began to swing open. She opened her mouth to scream.

A familiar face appeared around the frame of the door. “Shh,” Alexander said, entering the room and closing the door softly behind him.

Her knees felt weak with relief. “How did you get in? And what are you doing here?” she demanded, replacing the brush on the nightstand.

“Luke let me in,” Alexander said in low tones. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone to know I am here.”

It was ridiculous how glad she was to see him. He still wore the dark pantaloons he had earlier in the evening, but had taken off his fashionable coat and starched cravat, leaving his shirt open at the neck.

He gazed at her with an intensity that had been missing earlier in the evening, and Magda was suddenly aware of her own state of undress. Climbing back into bed and hiding under the coverlet seemed somehow too intimate, yet the wardrobe was on the other side of the room, and to get a shawl she would have to pass right by him.

Alexander smiled, a devilish look that made it clear he knew which direction her thoughts had taken. In two quick steps he crossed over to the wardrobe. He pulled out a robe and tossed it in her direction. “We need to talk,” he said.

She wrapped the robe around herself, tying the belt swiftly. “Yes,” she said. “I think I made a mistake in coming here.”

Alexander raised one eyebrow. “Indeed?” he said, brushing aside the pale green bed hangings and seating himself at the foot of the bed.

It was a big bed, and she had no wish to shout across the room. Magda perched gingerly at the top of the bed, aware that such intimacy was both improper and dangerous. It would take very little for Alexander to reach out and embrace her. She could not help wondering how it would feel if he did so, and whether she would have the strength of will to deny him.

“You said it was a mistake?” he prompted her.

“Er, yes,” Magda said, hoping the shadows hid her guilty blush. She firmly pushed her wayward thoughts aside and focused on the matter at hand. “What if the person we are looking for is not a member of society? None of the people I met tonight seems the criminal type.”

“You’d be surprised what some of those fine gentry have done or would do if the mood struck them. But I agree, the person we are seeking was in all likelihood too canny to make an appearance tonight.”

She hadn’t expected him to agree with her. “Then why are we doing this? Isn’t there an easier way? Something that doesn’t involve Lady Stanthorpe, or your spending a fortune on new clothing for me?” She had known her role would require a new wardrobe, but had assumed she would make the clothes herself.

“We’ve been over this. Your appearance tonight will be in all the society columns tomorrow, not to mention a topic of gossip among the
ton
. Our man is bound to hear of it. And there was no time to wait for you to make your own wardrobe. Madame Cecile is discreet, and she has enough workers to have everything ready quickly.”

“I do not like being so much in your debt,” Magda said. What was a trifle to him was a fortune to her that she could never repay. It was another layer of complication in a relationship that was already too complex.

“The clothes are of small matter,” Alexander said. “Besides, when all is said and done we may still be looking for someone who was involved in fixing the race. In which case I will be in your debt, for having helped me find the villain.”

He might have been trying to save her pride, but it felt like he was simply patronizing her. “You don’t really believe that,” she said, giving vent to her frustration. “You simply feel responsible for me. But there’s no need for you to take on my problems. I can take care of myself.”

Alexander sent her an exasperated glare. “Stop thinking of yourself for a moment. How do you think I would feel if I washed my hands of you, only to hear later that you had been killed? How do you think Luke, or Bob Parker, would feel, for that matter?”

“Would you be so concerned if I was just a poor girl, someone you hadn’t met?”

He looked away for a moment. “Probably not,” he said, his gaze returning to her face. “But it makes no difference. I do know you, and count you as a friend. Like it or not, you are stuck with me until this affair is over.”

He thought of her as a friend. Or worse yet, as someone who was incapable of taking care of herself. Her feelings toward him may have changed, but it seemed that Alexander still regarded her as a burden.

She was suddenly grateful that she had not mentioned how much she missed him. From his face it was clear that he would not have welcomed such a declaration. Instead she merely said, “Very well. I will continue this charade. For the while.”

Alexander nodded, as if her decision had been a foregone conclusion. He was so certain that he knew what was best for everyone, she realized.

“There may be a problem,” she said. “Le Duc d’Aiguillon was at the performance tonight. He had met me at Lady Burnett-Hodgkins’s and recognized me immediately.”

“We knew this would happen. I trust Lady Stanthorpe was able to provide a satisfactory explanation.”

He was right but she still couldn’t shake the sense of unease that the Frenchman had inspired. “D’Aiguillon knew my mother. How well I am not sure, but he made a point of offering his assistance should I ever be in need.”