Baroness (6 page)

“What?”

“I can't think of anyone who might be glad to be rid of you.”

His words made her throat fill, conjured up emotions too long bottled inside. “I'm trapped in this life and I don't know how to get away. Today is the first day since we've arrived in Paris I've felt like I can be myself. Or maybe the me I'd
like
to be. Someone who Rosie doesn't have to doll up to keep from embarrassing her.”

She ran her hand across her cheekbone, wiping away the wetness there. “I'm sorry. I'm just tired of feeling like I don't belong.”

Rennie stared at her a long time, until she finally looked away.

“C'mon. I want to show you something.”

He held out his hand and waved to a passing taxi. They climbed into the backseat.

“Aéroport de Paris—Le Bourget, s'il te plait,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“To show you where you do belong.”

They drove north out of Paris until the carbon lights of an airstrip dotted the horizon. The round lights bordered the roofs of two long buildings and fanned out across a grassy, flat field of amber grass.

The driver let them off and Rennie handed him a roll of francs.

Then he took her hand and walked her across the grassy field toward the hangar.

“Rennie—”

“Trust me.”

A row of planes sat parked outside the hangar, the moon shiny on their wings. He walked up to a biplane, ebony black, and ran his hand down her side. “This is Lola.”

“After your girlfriend?”

“My dog.” He grinned at her. “But don't tell anyone.”

The plane had two cockpits, and he reached into the front and pulled out a leather helmet and a pair of goggles. “Your eyes will go dry if you don't wear these.”

Her hands shook as she took them, but she tugged on the leather hat, the goggles, then took his hand to climb up onto the wing and into the front cockpit.

It sat her low, almost to her ears.

He climbed on the wing and leaned in over her, drawing a buckle across her lap.

As he leaned away, he again said, “Trust me.”

Oh, how had she gone from a flapper to a fool in just a day? But the peril stirred a dormant spirit inside her, and she nodded to him.

He donned his own goggles then headed to the front of the plane. Giving a jerk on the prop, he let it go, and it spluttered then roared to life. The power of it filled Lilly's ears, the wind blowing into her face.

The plane had begun to move without Rennie in it. “Rennie!”

He jogged around the wing, letting the plane catch up, then flung himself inside the second cockpit, settling down into the seat. “Going somewhere without me?”

She laughed, but it came out too high, too much fear in it. She hung onto the sides of the cockpit as he maneuvered the plane out from the hangar and toward the grassy runway.

Already, the exhilaration of sound and wind filled her belly. She gulped it all in, tasting something fresh and whole.

They gained speed and she held in a scream as they lifted off, leaving the ground for the heavens.

Her stomach stayed earthbound, however, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stave off her surprise.

The light fell away from them as they ascended into the darkness, toward the stars. The farmland below darkened, buildings flattening, roads bleeding into the vast plane of shadow. In the distance, she made out the twinkling lights of Paris.

She couldn't speak over the roar of the plane, so she simply took in the wash of starlight above and below. Rennie turned the plane, and she held on, fighting another scream—this one more from delight, as they headed toward Paris.

Now this was how a girl should see the Eiffel Tower. It lit up, a beacon all the way to the top, arching over the city, spilling light onto the river, blue-black under the glow of the big bridges.

Beyond that, the city fanned out in sprinklings of light, the boulevards like rivers of fire through the city.

She put out her thumb and blotted out the tip of Notre Dame, then the Eiffel Tower. With her hand, she laid waste to entire districts. The Latin Quarter, then the Champs-Élysées, the Hotel de Ville.

She heard him laughing behind her, and when she turned, her braids wrapped around her. For the first time, she pondered cutting them off.

Then her leather flying cap would fit better.

Rennie arched the plane around the Eiffel Tower and then back toward the airfield, but she turned in her seat. “Please! Let's go around again!”

He must have heard her, because he grinned and nodded.

She settled back for another turn.

I'll show you where you belong.
Rennie's voice hung in her ears, beyond the drone of the propeller, the sting of the breeze on her face.

Here she'd been thinking she belonged in Montana. Could it actually be in the heavens?

Chapter 3

He wore a black tux, a creamy white shirt, and a gray ascot at his neck, and seemed so real as he extended his hand for her, Rosie wasn't sure if she was dreaming or not. She wore gloves, and possibly an opera dress, for she heard the sounds of
Figaro
deep inside her mind.

Dash smiled at her, his eyes caressing her as he drew her up the stairs then lowered his mouth to ear. “A guy could fall in love with a girl like you if he only had some encouragement.”

She lifted her face to his and—

“Rosie!” A horn blared from the street outside, jerking her from the swaddle of slumber and into the misty gray dawn. She'd fallen asleep on Lilly's velvet chaise lounge. Someone had pulled a blanket over her.

She looked up, expecting Lilly's form in the bed, but it lay smooth and unrumpled.

“Red!”

The voice, deep and husky, drew her to the window. She threw open the sash, letting the cool, misty air of the morning leak in, and looked down. “Dash! Shh! You'll awaken all of Paris.”

“It's a grand day to be awakened,” he said, looking cheery in a derby hat, green cardigan, and tweed trousers.

She ran her fingers through her hair, thankful that she'd long ago cut it to a manageable length, then threw another glance at Lilly's empty bed.

For the first time, fear wound a hand around her throat and squeezed.

On the landing, she opened the door to Dash leaning with one arm against the frame, looking and smelling as if he'd had hours of unencumbered sleep. Where was his promise to lay awake all night thinking of her?

His expression fell when he saw her. “You're not ready? No matter, we'll wait.”

She looked past them to Blanche, riding in the front seat beside Pembrook, who had taken out his family's Citroën for the jaunt to the station. Blanche wore a low-brimmed silk hat—possibly yesterday's purchase, and a low V-necked blue dress. She leaned over Pembrook. “Rosie, why aren't you ready?”

“It's my cousin. She hasn't returned from yesterday.”

Blanche had the grace to look concerned. “She stayed out all night?”

“I don't know. I feel I must go out to look for her—”

“She probably met some nice chap and fell in love, is sailing away with him at this moment.” Dash winked at her.

“That's not funny, Dash. She could be hurt, or lost. Or…”

“Shh, pet. She's fine. C'mon, we have a train to catch.”

She stared up at him, nonplussed. “I can't go without her.”

“Why not, you spent all day without her yesterday—”

“And she failed to come home!”

Dash's eyes darkened, his voice lowered. “And how many times have you come sailing in nearly at dawn?”

Her jaw tightened. “But I was with you. And Lilly was there too.”

He sighed then turned to the car. “Pem, I think you'll have to go on without us. Don't lose too much of my money.”

He turned back to her, held out his hands. “I'm at your service. Let's find your cousin.”

Oh, Dash. The fact that he had suddenly sacrificed his day…that Lilly had ruined everything again. “Dash, you should go with them. Don't let my cousin wreck your day. I can manage. I'll send our houseboy out to look for her, and maybe I'll go back to the Café a la Paix.” She closed her eyes. “If she doesn't return soon, we'll alert the gendarmes.”

Dash's voice softened. “I'm sure she's fine. We'll find her.”

“Oh, even if she is, Mother will send us back to New York if she finds out about this.”

“I hope not.” He lifted her chin, and she opened her eyes to find his soft. “We were just starting to have fun.” He smiled down at her, and clearly she needed more sleep, because her legs turned soggy.

She had a good mind to go with him, to forget Lilly. But what if she was truly hurt, or worse? Reckless, selfish…She drew in a deep breath. “You should go with them,” she said again. “Don't let Lilly ruin your day.” She signaled to Pembrook, now arguing with Blanche, most likely about the outcome of the day's activities. “Take Dash with you!”

He stared down at her. “No, Red, I'll stay.”

She pressed her hands on his chest, pushed him back. “Go, Dash. Win me something.” Then she stepped up and pecked him on the cheek.

“Are you sure?”

No. But what choice did she have? She didn't want Dash to see her as a weight around his neck. “Pem, try and keep him out of trouble!” she said as Dash slipped into the back seat. He waved as they drove away.

She closed the door, ran her hand against the panel.

Lilly.

She wanted to be angry, but fear tempered her emotion into worry.

She found Amelia in the kitchen, meeting with the cook, a French woman named Annette, who had worked for Bennett for two decades. They looked at her with concern.

“Perhaps I need to alert the police that my cousin is missing.”

Amelia nodded. “I'll get Pierre and have him take care of it.”

“And then send Leo out to Luxembourg Gardens—she's always wanted to go there. It's possible she wandered across the river onto the Left Bank and then couldn't get home. I'll go to the café, in hopes that she found her way there.”

She turned to Annette. “Perhaps some coffee?
American
coffee.”

“Right away, ma'am,” Annette said in her accented English.

Rosie was on the second-floor landing, about to enter her room, when she heard the door open, the light footsteps up the stairs.

Lilly appeared, looking flushed and rumpled, wearing a smile.

It dimmed when she saw Rosie.

“I can explain,” she said without greeting.

Rosie bit back a sour word she'd heard Blanche use. Kept her voice steady. “Amelia! She's back!”

Lilly removed her hat, then her jacket. Her hair had unraveled from her braid as if someone had combed it backwards, and her cheeks appeared sunburned.

“Where have you been?”

“Rosie, listen. It's not what you think. I…met someone, and we toured Paris—”

“You toured Paris? All
night
?”

“He took me flying, and that took up the rest of the evening….”

“You went
flying
?” Fatigue, and not a little disbelief, had loosened all grip on her volume. “As in an
aeroplane
?”

“I really am quite exhausted, Rosie. I'll tell you everything when I get a few winks.”

“Are you kidding me? I've been worried sick about you, not to mention that I was supposed to go to Auteuil today with Dash and Pembrook.”

“Oh.” She at least had the decency to look sorry. “You can go. I'll stay here. Really. I am quite fatigued, and Reynaud said he couldn't pick me up until evening—he's teaching all day.”

“Reynaud?”

“He's a pilot. And, he was in the war…. Oh Rosie, I had such a delightful day!”

Rosie stared at her, at the way Lilly began to loosen her braids, working her fingers through them, at the windburn—she realized it now—on her cheeks, at the sparkle in her eyes—carefree and without a hint of trouble in her expression.

In that moment, with her cousin so bright, so without a care—Rosie couldn't stop herself. She slapped her.

Lilly jerked back, her hand to her cheek, her mouth open. “What—”

“You ruined my day, my entire trip to Paris! I can't believe your mother made us bring you, or that my mother insisted on me escorting you around town—I'm so sick of you tagging after us like some sorry, hungry mongrel. You don't belong in Paris.”

Lilly's eyes flared. “You're right. I hated it here—all your shopping and dancing and drinking Pernod and acting like some floozy charity girl and making me do the same. I'm not that girl.”

“Clearly!”

“I'm not about to pretend I'm something I'm not.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing—pretending?”

“I dearly hope so! Because I'm not sure I like the Rosie you're becoming. And I'm not sure you know her either.”

“Well, fear not, Lilly, because you haven't changed one morsel. I thought that Paris might turn you into someone charming and witty. You're simply…bohemian!”

“I'd rather be bohemian than a tramp.”

Rosie wanted to hit her again.

“And by the way, I was sent to Paris to escort
you
.”

Rosie had no words for that, or for the handprint exposed when Lilly removed her hand from her cheek.

The wound took a measure of steam from her. “Go to bed, Lilly. You're relieved of your duties.”

Rosie turned toward her room.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going to catch up with my friends.”

“Your mother said—”

Rosie slammed her door on Lilly's words.

She stood in front of the mirror and saw that tears had streaked her face. She scrubbed her skin with the water in the sink, but glanced at the clock and realized she hadn't time to bathe.

She would slap Lilly all over again.