Royal Regard (14 page)

Preoccupied by the weight of his own history,
he managed to sit comfortably in the
fauteuil
chair behind
the desk, one ankle crossed over his knee. His riding attire was
immaculate, not a stitch out of place, from the
Trone
d’Amour
knot in his black silk cravat to the shine on his Hoby
boots.

Were this unpleasant business complete, he
could take one of his two remaining riding horses to the hidden
cave in the cliffs at the back of his lifeless formal garden, the
spot with the best view of Calais. He had sat there so many times
that he could see and hear the docks in his mind, even if the city
were obscured by fog, as it would be today.

He tapped his riding crop on the heel of his
boot as he observed, “You look shabby, Michelle. Did you leave your
bourgeois
husband and the money he stole by guillotine?”

She flinched as if slapped. “Non,
Monseigneur
, he died many years ago and his money with him.
I am untidy because it has been a long journey, and I came directly
from the harbor.” She glanced at the bag just inside the door. “I
did not even stop to arrange lodging, for I knew you would want to
hear my news without delay.”

“You look like you serviced a boat filled
with sailors to pay for the crossing,” he sneered. “Did you plan to
service me to secure your bed for the night?” When her head ducked
away from his vicious tone, he added, “Perhaps if you go down on
your knees for my stableboy, he will share his haystack.”

Her face flushed, but she only said, “I have
important information,
Monseigneur
.”

“It must be vital,” he said with a mordant
jeer, “to bring you all the way from Épinal. What will your
information cost me this time? I have no more family for your
fiancé to ransom.”

“
Monseigneur
, as always, I wish only
to serve your interests.” She failed to keep the reproof from her
tone when she said, “You recall it was I who told you of the
duchess’s betrayal, and I who aided in your escape, at great danger
to myself. I have been loyal to you since we were children,
Monseigneur,
and always a friend to your sisters before
the—” Her voice broke. “I had hoped my long devotion to
la
famille Fouret
would serve to assure you of my intent.”

His face and voice remained cold, but he
asked, for the first time without derision, “What has brought you
so far from home?”

“It is about the
duchesse
,
Monseigneur.”

He sat up swiftly, his knuckles white on the
edge of his desk. “Amelia?” His lips were drawn in a thin line,
eyebrows a dark slash in a face suddenly drained of color. “What
information can there be about her?”

“There was a man asking questions, seeking
out servants from the
château
. Of course, very few remain in
Épinal, but he was quite determined to discover the circumstances
of her death.”

“
La maréchaussée
?”

“
Non, Monseigneur
, not the
constabulary, nor the king’s men.
Un Anglais
. He said he
knew her as a child.”

He sat back to consider what Englishman might
be asking questions after thirty years. Amelia’s family was long
dead, and once he had disposed of the peasant with whom, according
to Michelle, his wife had betrayed him, she’d had no friends to
make inquiries. He had never taken her to Court, nor made his
marriage known there, and she had never been allowed the freedom to
become known in Épinal. Aside from the few servants who had
attended her at the
château
, most also now dead, he couldn’t
think of one person in England or France who would even remember
his wife’s name.

“Who is he?”

“I do not know,
Monseigneur
,” she
winced, turning her face away as though expecting a blow. “He paid
well to ensure no one spoke his name, and did not find me before he
returned to Paris.” Implied in her tone: of all his servants, she
was the only one who had kept her silence about him, though he knew
that was probably why no one gave her the man’s name.

“From what I have been able to learn, he left
only with suspicions. You recall, I am sure, not so many of us know
the whole truth.”

His nostrils flared, “Do you mean to threaten
me, Michelle?”

“
Non,
Monseigneur, non
,” she pleaded.
“Of course not, my lord. Only to say I do not know what the man
might have heard elsewhere. No one knows Pierre Bouchard’s
direction, and he is the only other who—” His sharp look nearly
stopped her breath. “It is said he worked as a spy for the usurper,
but no one in the Vosges has seen him since the Revolution. He
might be anywhere; he was only ever a legionnaire.”

Malbourne slammed his fist down.
“
Merde!”
She jumped when his hand hit the desk. “After all
this time! That stupid, lying slut is still a stone under my heel
after all this time.”

As he yelled, her breathing quickened, and
she shuffled back and forth on the balls of her feet, stepping
closer as if drawn by a cord. He reined in his temper with the
discipline of a lifelong equestrian, although his breathing
remained fast and shallow. Standing, walking around the desk, he
placed himself directly in front of her, tipping her chin up with
his riding crop, turning her face right and left to take in the
ravages of time and circumstance, watching her eyes avoid him as he
slowed his pulse.

“It does not escape me you have come a very
long way to inform me of this, Michelle, when there are many other
ways you might have sent word. Perhaps you have another reason for
your voyage?” She swallowed hard, but didn’t answer.

His expression remained cold and inflexible
but he allowed the slightest bit of warmth to enter his voice as he
asked, “Have you troubles to flee in Épinal,
ma chère
? Do
you seek my protection from some danger?”

Her chin evaded him. She dropped her gaze to
his chest until he crossed his arms and sat back onto the surface
of the desk, deceptively calm. The hint of tenderness was lost as
he used his voice like a lash. “Answer me, girl!
Now.
Or get
out.” He ground his teeth waiting for her response.

Her fingertip touched a button on his
waistcoat before she pulled her hand away, as from a glowing ember.
Her voice lost forty years in the space of one breath, suddenly
reminding him of his first fumbling sexual encounters with her in
the servants’ hallways of the
château
.

“It has been a very long time, Dofi.” He
sucked in a breath at the diminutive he hadn’t heard in decades. “I
only thought we might… renew our friendship.”

He drew away sharply and slapped her face
with the back of his hand, using all of his considerable strength.
“
Putain!
You forget your place!” She was left reeling,
thrown to the floor.

The fear in her eyes turned to anticipation
as she regained her balance and touched the rising welt, finally
looking him directly in the eye. She crawled on her hands and knees
to his feet, still holding his gaze, hand moving with confidence to
the fall of his trousers as he reached to tangle his fingers in her
tousled red hair.

“
Non, Monseigneur
,” she said as she
opened his buttons, “I have not forgotten. You will find I remember
my place very well.”

“Your Ladyship, Mr. Watts says
there is a gentleman to see you.”

Bella turned from the desk where she was
adding up the household accounts, staring blankly at Peggy Wilson,
the nursery-maid-with-aspirations-to-lady’s-maid Charlotte had
loaned from her house against Bella’s objections. If Bella had ever
really learned how to manage British servants, instead of being
trained by her aunt to become one, she might have recourse, but to
her dismay, Charlotte was both helpful and unbearable about it.
Thankfully, Myron’s previous butler, Watts, had been located and
agreed to return as steward and valet, so there was finally a
sensible man running things who could be counted on to do Bella’s
bidding, unlike Mrs. Jemison, who now preferred to take orders from
Charlotte.

Nevertheless, her home life was smoothing
out: enough proper staff to manage the house and garden with
minimal input from her; an adventurous cook who agreed to use
Bella’s recipe box when designing Myron’s menus; workmen finishing
one room after another, with less commotion every day; a set
schedule for meals, paying and receiving occasional calls, and
attending functions to represent Seventh Sea Shipping. Outside her
compulsory engagements, though, Bella had seemingly endless free
time, most of which she spent with Charlotte and the Marloughe
children.

The only thing not falling easily into place
in this new life was her marriage.

During the earliest years of their union,
Bella had been tasked by her husband—and the king—to smooth the
rough edges of a perpetual sailor, giving him the polish of a
gentleman with ties to the nobility. The resultant shipboard
lessons in genteel manners and proper deportment, and his support
for her as she learned to speak up for herself and become more
daring, had created an uncommon closeness between them.

As well as acceptance of each other’s
strengths and weaknesses, close quarters on the frigate made for
self-imposed intimacy, strengthened by the emotion of an
oft-thwarted desire for an heir. They had never been in love, but
they had been true, equal partners in pursuit of their business and
diplomatic success, and had shared equally the pain of the loss of
many children.

“Shall I attend you during the gentleman’s
call, my lady?”

“Of course,” Bella agreed. There was no way
she would be caught alone with a man, even in her own home. It
would cause Myron such pain for anyone to suspect her of
wrongdoing. It might even contribute to the situation she found so
difficult to understand: after years of such caring friendship, why
her husband had drawn so far away.

More often than not, he sent her to parties
with Charlotte and Alexander, staying home in his study, doing
business he kept from her, so late into the night he often slept on
the
chaise longue
he had requested she install there. She
enticed him to the occasional evening playing backgammon, but he
didn’t speak overly much, rather spending the games cogitating,
thoughtlessly letting her win by both hairpins and tiles. She could
see the troubles on his face, but knew better than to try to pierce
his thoughts. When she tried to discuss her concerns, he waved them
off with, “Whatever you think best, my dear.”

Perhaps it was the fact of his work, so
different now—more political than mercantile. More people with whom
to speak, all of whom were more important, more meetings to be had,
and no shipboard proximity and restlessness between destinations.
Perhaps he was withdrawing so she might become accustomed to being
without him, but she wished he would draw her closer to be a
comfort, as they had been for each other so many times before.

This latest excuse to take him away from
home—at least a fortnight traveling among his shipyards along the
coast—had caused her to question everything about her marriage,
including whether she had somehow furthered his inattention. If,
perhaps, he had noticed the excessive regard of the Dukes of
Malbourne and Wellbridge, and thought she meant to encourage
them.

“What gentleman can possibly be here to see
me? It isn’t my at-home. Are you certain he isn’t here for Lord
Huntleigh?”

“Mr. Watts says the gentleman asked for you,
my lady. The Duke of Wellbridge.”

Bella could feel the color rising in her
face. The two men Myron had explicitly forbidden were the two who
would not stay away. Somehow, she doubted the coincidence. She
wasn’t sure what she could say to the duke to encourage him to go,
but she was sure she should say something.

“He says he has an appointment. Shall I say
you aren’t receiving?”

She lied outright. “No, Wilson. He is quite
correct. I must have forgotten. Please have Watts show him into
Lord Huntleigh’s study, and tell him I will be there in a
quarter-hour. Then come right back to help me change my gown. It is
nearly time for tea, and I am still in my morning dress.”

“The study, Your Ladyship? But he is already
in your drawing room.”

The fact he had been shown that far into the
house without her leave was a bother to be corrected as soon as he
left.

“Yes, Wilson, the study.” Thankfully, among
the rooms in which the decoration had been finished. With her
husband on board the frigate, Bella wanted as many reminders of him
in plain sight as she could manage. Especially while defying his
express instruction.

“I’m sure Watts can find a reason to move him
to another room.”