Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) (23 page)

The memory filled him with a painful sadness. “Yes, of course.”

“Did you mean it, or was it only wine-soaked, boastful folly?”

“Of course I meant it – but I fail to see how running around France as a spy will – ”

“The delivery of the messages is only a secondary piece of business,” Pemberly said calmly. “You will be going into Paris primarily to retrieve Marian and bring her back to England.”

Evan felt as though his stomach had dropped out of his body. “And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, she will die.”

Evan sat for a moment in silence. The shock of Pemberly’s words had momentarily paralyzed his tongue.

But when he finally regained his voice, he gave it full range.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘she will die’?!”

“You heard Mr. Burke. His sources believe that the new government will soon begin killing aristocrats.”

Evan snorted. “She may be
nouveau riche,
but Marian is no aristocrat!”

He thought about adding,
In fact, she was spurned by an aristocrat,
but the thought was too painful to say aloud.

“What Burke failed to mention is that his same spies believe there is a purge coming. Not only the aristocrats, but their relatives, their servants, even their friends… all will be targets. Robespierre and Danton are reportedly discussing in private the use of a ‘reign of terror’ to keep their new republic in line.”

“That’s madness!”

“Madness rules the streets of Paris now.”

“But she is the daughter of a
clerk,
for God’s sake – ”

“Who attends the most fashionable salons in Paris in the company of
ducs
and
comtes
and
vicomtes
, as well as writers and actors and philosophers. And let us not forget, she was the lover of an English aristocrat,” Pemberly finished neutrally.

Evan flinched, but immediately found a loophole in Pemberly’s logic. “There, you have said it yourself – she is English, not French!”

“Which will protect her even less when the executioners come. She is a foreigner colluding with the hated
aristos.
”

“If I know Marian, she is probably the Revolution’s most vocal supporter in France. Her beloved Thomas Jefferson certainly is, at least in America.”

“Ah, but that’s the point: he is in America. If she were as well, I would not be worried.”

“But the revolutionaries are not going to kill someone who supports the Revolution!”

“When the bloodlust comes, anyone who is not poor and downtrodden will look like an aristocrat. And even some of those who
are
poor and downtrodden will be swept to their deaths.”

“And what makes you so sure of all this?” Evan snapped. “It’s speculation, nothing more! None of it has come to pass, and none of it ever may!”

Pemberly settled back in his chair. “Do you know how my family gained their illustrious position? More importantly, do you know how we
kept
it? Let me give you a quick summary. When my great-whatever-father, a Catholic, first gained his title and lands, it was by switching his allegiance from Rome in order to back Henry VIII in his bid to head the Church of England, just so His Majesty could get rid of poor Catherine. The first Lord Pemberly had the foresight to embrace Protestantism very early on, so that his motives – mercenary though they were – would never be questioned.

“Years later, Lord Pemberly rediscovered his religion when Catholic-minded Mary claimed the throne, just in time to abjure his beliefs once again when Elizabeth forced through the Act of Supremacy and broke the rule of Rome once and for all.

“Lord Pemberly’s great-grandson was a staunch royalist – until it became more convenient not to be one under Cromwell. The great-grandson was, of course, able to persuade everyone that he had fully supported the monarchy when Charles II regained the throne.

“And so it went, from one turmoil and generation to the next, until we arrive at myself, who manages to have memberships at the clubs of the two most bitterly opposed political parties in all of England. The point being, my family has made a point of playing both sides of the fence throughout the ages, and we pride ourselves enormously on being farsighted enough to see storms on the horizon, storms that we inevitably weather while those around us perish. If I were a betting man – and you know that I am – I would predict that the Revolution’s current trajectory will see it grow from the tiny dragon that now menaces Louis and Marie Antoinette into a monstrous beast that will consume most of France, if not all of Europe. My father is betting on the same thing, and I can assure you, he is making plans accordingly.

“But in this particular instance, you and I are wagering on one thing, and one thing only: the life of Marian Willows. It is true, I may be wrong. The tempest may turn out to be a spring rain. Things might resolve themselves peacefully and become no worse than they already are. But to my eyes, it is a horrific storm I spy on the horizon, and I am not content to wait and see if it will destroy Marian. I will do everything in my power to make sure she is safe.”

“What, so you can continue to make a few hundred pounds off her?” Evan sneered.

“Damn you, Blake!” Pemberly shouted. “Do you think you are the only one who loves her? Do you think you are the only one who cares for her?”

His words gave way to stunned silence as Evan stared at him in shock.

“…you love her?”

“Yes! No…” Pemberly sighed, shut his eyes, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I came to love her from her writings and her letters. She was yours, her heart was always yours, that much was apparent. As is usually the case, I stood by the wayside, watching as you gained Aphrodite’s hand, and then casually threw it away. My heart ached for you, but for her, it broke in two. I could do nothing but try to keep her safe and offer my help where I could. That is all I have done throughout the last two years, it is all I have ever done, and it is what I am trying to do now.”

 “If you love her so much, then why don’t you persuade her to return?” Evan asked, jealousy seeping into his voice.

“Don’t you think I have tried?! I have written her a dozen letters over the last six months, begging her, cajoling her, bribing her, pleading with her to come back home to England. She refuses because she is headstrong, and because to her I am an amusing little gnome, an impertinent lush who spits in the face of hypocrisy and hidebound morality, much the way she does with her writings. She regards me as a friend and a publisher, nothing more. If there is one man on Earth who can persuade her to return home, it is you. Of that I am sure.”

“You have been trying to turn me away from her for months, and now – ”

“I have been trying to turn you away from your grief and your unhealthy obsession. Since you were never going to try to reclaim her as your love, I saw no reason why you should shut yourself up and pine away to an early death.”

“I see. You have been trying to turn me away from my grief, my ‘unhealthy obsession.’ But now you urge me to embrace that obsession once again!”

“No, I urge you to
save Marian.
And I never would have suggested it, had I not received Burke’s urgent message last night at the ball from those two ‘conspirators’ you saw. And even then, I would have tried to find another way, had it not been for the very words you spoke about making amends.”

Evan sat there, weighing everything Pemberly had said.

“And so now you offer me the chance to make amends.”

“Yes. And do not fool yourself into thinking it will be easy. Before, when her love was the prize, you only risked your inheritance. Now you will risk your life, most likely with nothing to gain but the knowledge that she is safe.”

“What makes you think she will come back with me?”

“She will fight you at first, there’s no doubt of that. But as I said, if there is one man alive who can convince her, it is you.”

“Why me? Perhaps of all the men alive, I am the worst for the job, have you thought of that? Perhaps she will loathe the very sight of me!”

“She may well loathe the sight of you at first… though I doubt it.”

“How do you know?”

“From her letters.”

“Oh – her letters, in which she rarely inquires about me?” Evan snarled.

“She refrains from asking because of the pain.”

“What pain? How do you know?”

“Good God, man, you obviously still suffer from loving her. Do you doubt she suffers any less than you, even now? Especially since she loved you far more than you ever loved her?”

Evan looked as though he had been slapped, or stabbed, or both. He stood up from his chair and looked at Pemberly with cold eyes. His face was white as a sheet.

“I’m leaving.”

“Blake – ”

But Evan was already gone, and the library door closed behind him.

Once again he found himself wandering the streets of London, lost in thought – though this time it was day, and the stakes were far greater.

There was no guarantee that anything Burke or Pemberly had said would come true. The Revolution was unthinkable for the average Englishman who loved God, King, and Country – but many elements of the Revolution in France were arguably justified.

Or at least Marian would say so,
he thought grimly.

And there was no concrete evidence that events would spiral out of control as Burke and Pemberly were predicting.

On the other hand, Burke was one of the most powerful men in all of England and Europe. He did not gain his position by being a fool, and the men who informed him did not traffic idly in baseless rumors.

As for Pemberly, Evan had never seen his friend so serious before. Never, not in fourteen years of knowing him.

Perhaps that is because Pemberly is in love with her.

Evan pushed that thought out of his head. He did not want jealousy to cloud his judgment. Especially jealousy for a woman over whom he had no claim, and who probably now despised him.

Pemberly believed that Marian was in danger.

If she was not, then there was no harm in Evan going to Paris.

As long as I’m not caught with his damned papers.

But if Marian
were
in danger…

Say that she is. Am I obligated to save her?

No, that was the wrong question.

Because he
wanted
to save her. Deep down in his core. It was a hunger, a thirst, a primal urge to protect her. Obligation had nothing to do with it.

However, he found himself fighting that urge.

He had let her slip through his fingers before, once upon a time when she loved him.

Now, she must surely hate him. Loathe him.

What did he expect? That if he played the hero, she would love him again?

Even if she did – what then?

Those questions were endless and useless, a dog chasing its own tail. He did not know what she felt, nor did he know how she would react when she saw him again. And there would be no way to know until he stood before her.

The most important question of all was, would he be able to live with himself if something happened to her?

That
question he knew the answer to.

He took a hackney back to Brooks, on the off-chance that Pemberly had not yet left the club.

He had not. Evan found him sitting in the library, staring at the empty fireplace.

Pemberly looked up in a daze as he entered. “Blake, I – ”

“I’ll go to Paris.”

Pemberly’s face slowly broke into a grin. “Excellent.
Excellent.
”

“But if we’re going to do this, let us do it quickly.”

Less than twenty-four hours later, they were in Dover.

The very first thing they did was to charter a quick schooner at the Admiralty Pier. The winds were unfavorable and the tide was out, but the skipper vowed he would set sail in the morning as soon as conditions allowed.

Evan and Pemberly spent the night at an inn near the docks.

“Beastly décor,” Pemberly muttered as he looked around Evan’s room, decorated with tacky wallpaper and ancient, scarred furniture.

They were inspecting the luggage and various articles Evan would take into France. The ‘papers’ were actually a simple code that was written into legitimate letters for Dardanelle the publisher. Pemberly did not tell him what they said, and Evan did not ask.

Burke’s men had supplied a valise with a false bottom, perfect for smuggling objects. It was into this secret compartment that Evan placed a pair of dueling pistols – not his own, but Pemberly’s.

“Take them.
I
shall never have any use for them,” Pemberly snorted.

The next morning, the winds were favorable and the tide was in. Pemberly escorted Evan down to the docks and shook his hand.

“Return her home safely, old boy,” Pemberly said somberly.

Evan nodded, and stepped aboard the ship.

“Yourself too, if you can manage it,” Pemberly added. “But keep in mind you’re of secondary importance.”

Evan smiled wryly, made a rude gesture, and walked across the decks towards his fate.

Evan stood at the rail of the ship and watched the white cliffs of Dover disappear in the distance. He breathed deeply of the salt air and felt it invigorate him.

Gradually the coast of France began to emerge on the horizon. He could see the spires of churches in the distance, followed by the buildings of Calais.

Within an hour he had landed on the French shore. He noted as he walked up from the docks that the men and women he saw seemed much changed from his trip abroad just eight years before. Then they had been generally cheerful and full of life; now it seemed that they were beaten down, that they watched everyone with an air of mistrust. Each other, yes, but strangers most of all – and as he was most definitely a stranger, their dark stares lingered the longest on him.

The men all wore red caps with the tri-color cockade pinned to the side. Blue, white, and red –
liberté, égalité, fraternité
.