Before the Storm (35 page)

‘I haven’t thought about what to do,’ Clementine lied. In fact she had thought about very little else. Naturally her first thought had been to return to England but then the old familiar longing to travel and see more of the world had swept over her and she had found herself poring over Lucien’s map books, tracing routes between Paris and Florence and Constantinople with her finger as she daydreamed about spice markets, beautiful palaces, sunshine and exotic flowers.

‘I suggest that you sit down and have a good long think about the few options that are open to you,’ Eliza recommended coldly. ‘Then perhaps you might come to your senses and stop being so childish. I only pray that you do so while he is still of a mind to take you back.’ She turned away. ‘I will leave you now, but if you ever require my services to speak to your husband on your behalf...’

‘I can assure you that I have no need for your assistance,’ Clementine replied quietly.
 

‘Has he written to you?’ Eliza asked.
 

‘Just once,’ Clementine replied. A brief note had arrived at Phoebe’s apartment the morning after her departure, accompanying three trunks full of her clothes, all of her jewels and a casket filled with several thousand pounds worth of English banknotes. ‘
Let me know when you require the rest of your things and I will have them sent on to you immediately. I will be making arrangements with your father to repay your dowry in full.
’ It was a sad end to her marriage but she knew that this was Charles’ way of apologising, of letting her go.

After Eliza had indignantly stomped away back down the path, Phoebe and Clementine sat down together on a marble bench and stared at each other in wide eyed horror before dissolving into relieved laughter. ‘You don’t agree with her, do you?’ Clementine asked eventually.

Phoebe vigorously shook her head. ‘I can promise you that I absolutely do not,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry, Clementine, but has Eliza always been so obsessed with rank and duty?’

‘You know that she has,’ the other girl replied with a shrug. ‘When we were small children, it was always Eliza who had to marry the prince in our games. I’m amazed that she settled for a mere Comte.’

‘He’ll be a Duc one day,’ Phoebe pointed out. ‘It must really annoy her that you got there first.’

Clementine considered this for a moment then nodded. ‘I think that it must do,’ she agreed. ‘The fact that I don’t properly appreciate what she sees as my extreme good fortune must just make her all the more furious.’

Phoebe grinned. ‘I half expected her to click her fingers to summon a gang of burly footmen to bundle you into a carriage and take you back to Charles.’

Clementine laughed. ‘So did I.’

They walked on through the palace’s lovely gardens, which as always were full of people all enjoying the sunshine, leafy promenades and beautifully arranged flower beds. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation and Clementine felt a pang of longing when they went past first a young girl in a pink and white flounced bonnet, deep in serious conversation with an older woman who, judging by her plain dress, was her governess and then a young courting couple, who had eyes only for each other.

‘Oh.’ Phoebe had come to a full stop in the middle of the path and then clumsily tried to turn around, pulling Clementine with her. ‘Perhaps we should go this way,’ she mumbled.

It was too late though as Clementine had already spotted the tall young man in a green coat who stood with his back turned towards them, appreciating a view down a long avenue towards the palace. She couldn’t see his face but would have recognised him anywhere. ‘Antoine?’

At the sound of her voice he turned and looked straight at her. ‘You.’ A few seconds later he was standing in front of her, taking her hand in his and looking down into her face as she blushed, unable to tear her eyes away from him. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said quickly, ‘but Mademoiselle Roche said that you didn’t want to see any one.’

Clementine nodded. ‘I was too ashamed,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t want anyone to see me.’ She closed her eyes as he tenderly stroked her curled hair away from her face and then leaned over to gently kiss the corner of her eye, which was still slightly bruised beneath her face powder.

‘I want to kill him,’ he whispered and she was startled to realise that there were tears in his eyes. ‘How could he do this to you? You aren’t going to go back to him are you? Promise me that you won’t.’

Clementine smiled. ‘I promise,’ she said.

‘I thought about you every single day while I was away,’ he said suddenly and almost despairingly. ‘I thought that I was going to take leave of my senses when my sister’s letter about your wedding arrived. I cursed myself for not having the courage to tell you how I felt before I left France.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I told myself that you were too young to be a wife.’

She shook her head. ‘I wish that you had said something,’ she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I have always loved you, Antoine and always will.’

‘Always.’ He took hold of her shoulders and stared almost hungrily down into her face, which she turned happily up towards him. ‘And to think that we have never so much as kissed,’ he wondered as his hands moved up to her face. He looked ruefully across at Phoebe, who was looking not a little embarrassed and doing her best to maintain a discreet distance. ‘If I kissed you now then I know that I would never be able to stop.’

‘Then don’t stop,’ Clementine whispered as his lips met hers.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

’I
t has come to the attention of your Devoted editor, that the Lovely Young Duchess of C--------, formerly Miss C--------- G------ of London, has left her Marital Home in Paris in some Haste. At the present time, your faithful correspondent was unable to find a cause of this Unusual flight from the Abode of Cupid but it is being whispered that the Duchess had formed An Attachment to a certain Viscount of E------- before her marriage, no doubt facilitated by her governess, Miss R----, who is said to have been a Go Between for her young Charges, the Misses G------ while they were resident in Bath.

The Lovely Duchess is believed to have taken Refuge in the home of her Friend, Madame D------, formerly Miss P----- K------ of Soho, who was a Favourite of the Duchess’ Father before her recent marriage to a ferocious Revolutionary Gentleman.’

Clementine felt sick as she read the scrap cut from a recent edition of
The Times
that had arrived that morning with no clue to the identity of its sender anywhere on the envelope. She remembered how proud and excited her mother had been when her wedding and that of Eliza had been reported in
The Times
along with several other events such as their first presentations at Versailles and the births of Eliza’s babies and wondered how she must feel now.

She turned her head as Phoebe quietly entered the room, her face pale and manner hesitant. ‘Did you get one as well?’ she asked in a low voice, hardly daring to meet the other girl’s eyes. ‘Do you think they sent it to Eliza as well?’

Clementine sighed and ran a nervous hand across her forehead. ‘I expect so.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Phoebe whispered, still not coming close to her friend. How many times had she wished that she could tell someone about what happened and now she longed more than anything that it was still a secret.

Clementine looked at her in confusion then nodded. She’d been so intent on the parts about herself and Antoine that she’d barely noticed the juicy little snippet at the end about Phoebe and her father. ‘Is it true?’ she asked now, to her surprise she found that she didn’t really care either way.

Phoebe hesitated, briefly tempted to pretend that it was all just a vicious lie put about by the royalist emigres in London, but then she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s all true.’

Clementine looked away. ‘Does Lucien know?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Phoebe replied, coming closer now. ‘He knows all about it. I told him before our wedding day and he doesn’t care.’ She gave a small smile. ‘He says that it’s none of his business.’

‘That’s good.’ Clementine stood up and went to her friend. ‘I expect that I should be furious or upset or something but I don’t really care either,’ she said, giving Phoebe a hug, which the other girl gratefully returned. ‘It’s strange, of course, to think of you and father but it doesn’t make me angry or anything.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t promise that Eliza will feel the same way though.’

‘What about you and Antoine?’ Phoebe asked. ‘Will this change anything?’

Clementine shook her head. ‘We don’t have any plans,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m still married after all.’

Phoebe nodded. ‘This will make life very awkward in London,’ she said. ‘You know how they can be once they sniff out a scandal.’

‘I know.’ Clementine turned away and went to the harpsichord, where she lightly played a tinkly little air by Herr Mozart. ‘I wonder if Mama knows yet.’

‘I expect that they all know by now.’ It was Phoebe’s turn to feel sick as she imagined the uproar that the news about herself and Mr Garland would occasion in London. She sat down heavily on a chair and put her hands to her face. ‘My mother is going to
kill
me,’ she moaned miserably.

There was a knock on the street door below and they looked at each other in horror, imagining Eliza or maybe Mrs Garland herself standing on the doorstep. ‘Who do you think it is?’ Phoebe said in a very small voice, mentally calculating how long it would take a furious betrayed wife to make the journey from London.

Thankfully they didn’t have too long to wait before Barbe opened the door with a letter in her hand. ‘The messenger was told not to bring back a reply,’ she said with a disapproving sniff as she handed it to Phoebe.

‘I wonder who..?’ she said playfully as she opened it, only for her voice to trail away as she quickly scanned the contents then handed it silently to Clementine who immediately recognised the handwriting as her sister’s.

‘
Never speak to me again,
’ Clementine read aloud. ‘Oh, Eliza.’

‘Well, that’s that then!’ Phoebe said with an attempt at bravado. ‘I don’t blame her really. What I did was terrible.’ She rubbed her fingers on her temples. ‘I deserve to be ostracised.’

Clementine took her hand. ‘It wasn’t terrible,’ she said. ‘You can’t help who you fall in love with. Eliza will come round.’

Phoebe shook her lovely head. ‘We both know that won’t happen.’ She looked up at Clementine. ‘I’m surprised that you are still talking to me,’ she said. ‘It was your father after all...’

Clementine considered this for a moment then shook her head. ‘I know that I ought to care,’ she said quietly, ‘and perhaps I would have done a few months ago but now...’ She shrugged and turned away. ‘Everything is different, isn’t it?’

Phoebe nodded and quickly wiped away a tear as she looked down at Eliza’s curt little note. ‘It certainly is,’ she said.

‘I wonder what Sidonie will make of it all,’ Clementine said. ‘This must be very embarrassing for her.’

Phoebe nodded and picked up a book, idly turning the pages but not really taking anything in. ‘It’s fortunate that she is protected by the Comte,’ she said. ‘It’s not likely that she’ll find another position after this.’

‘I wonder what they meant about her being a go between for her charges,’ Clementine said, going to the window and peering down at the bustling street below. ‘Do you know, Phoebe?’

Phoebe looked up and shook her head. ‘I was wondering about that. Do you think that Eliza has been keeping secrets and was meeting up with young men while we were in Bath?’ She gave a mischievous smile and tossed Eliza’s note into the fireplace. ‘I must confess that I would love it if that turned out to be the case.’

Clementine frowned. ‘I can’t imagine that,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I hope we see Sidonie soon so that we can ask her.’

They didn’t have long to wait before there was a briskly confident knock on the door downstairs, followed a few moments later by Miss Roche, somewhat pale cheeked but neat as a pin as always in a blue cotton gown with a fine white fichu arranged over her shoulders, stepping into the sitting room. ‘My dear,’ she said, immediately going over to Clementine to take her hands. ‘I take it that you have seen it as well?’

Clementine silently nodded and picked up the clipping that lay on the table beside her. ‘Phoebe and Eliza both received one as well,’ she said. ‘And if you have one..?’ Her voice trailed away and she blushed.

Sidonie nodded gravely. ‘Yes, both Antoine and his father were sent the same clipping.’ She gave an embarrassed little shrug. ‘I called there before coming here.’

‘Oh God.’ Feeling suddenly sick with dread, Clementine sat down beside Phoebe and took her hand. ‘What did they say?’ she asked so quietly that Sidonie had to lean forward to be able to hear her. ‘Is Antoine angry with me?’

Sidonie shook her head. ‘No, he isn’t angry,’ she said. ‘He wanted to come to you straight away but I advised him to wait until this has all blown over.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘He’s very hot headed, that young man. I had a great deal of trouble persuading him not to come here and make you run away with him.’

Clementine’s heart gave a painful leap and she found herself suddenly unable to breathe. ‘He really wanted to do that?’ she squeaked. ‘So he is still...’ She abruptly stopped and looked away.

Sidonie nodded. ‘Yes, he still loves you,’ she said. ‘His father is furious though.’