Sweet Bravado (12 page)

“I still think she should return to London with me.”

“Well, I won’t!”

“Then I am washing my hands of you, my girl. Your mother took the same defiant attitude. It is a nightmare repeating itself.”
She rose instantly. “Maurice, I pity you your burden.” She glared at Nicole. “But I accept your gallant offer to help the
Harcourts out of this… this disastrous situation. As for you, Nicole, I hope in time you come to your senses.”

Maurice kept Nicole from replying with a beseeching look. “I shall escort you to the door, Eleanore.” He took her by the elbow
and firmly closed the door behind them.

Eleanore stared up at him. “Did she tell you what went wrong?”

“No.”

“Oh, I could box both their ears.

“The damage is done. Now it must be repaired. I shall see to Nicole for the present.”

“I hope you… we do not regret this, Maurice,” Eleanore cried in an anguished whisper.

“Well, well… we must play for time, my dear. A reconciliation might be managed in the future. Let us take one day at a time.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I am most uneasy about the distance between them.”

“Think how lucky you are that it is happening on the Continent. When you are in London, it will be easier to pooh-pooh the
rumors,” he chuckled.

“If only you are right.”

“When do you return to London?”

“Very soon.”

“Bien,
I think it is best. If you are not here, there will be no need to explain why Nicole is not staying with you. She simply
decided to wait in Paris for Ardsmore to complete his work in Vienna, eh?”

“Yes, his commission is up in a few months.”

“By then we will hope for a change.”

They had reached the entrance.
“Au revoir,
Eleanore. God speed.”

“Good-bye, Maurice, and God bless.” Briefly she clung to him as he kissed her cheek.

Upon returning to the drawing room, Maurice encountered a stormy Nicole.

“Did you pacify her?”

“Now, now,
mon enfant.
Did I not try to comfort you? Could I do less for a woman I have known for thirty years?” he grumbled.

“I am sorry, Uncle Maurice. It is just that everything has become so confusing.”

He laughed. “To say the least, my child. To say the least.”

She smiled tentatively and relaxed.

Lord Ardsmore arrived at his headquarters in Vienna one bitter winter night during a heavy snowstorm. His rooms overlooking
the Danube were damp and sparsely furnished, doing little to relieve the gloomy thoughts filling his mind about life in general
and women in particular.

In the. days following his arrival he threw himself into his work preparing for the Duke of Wellington to replace Lord Castlereagh
at the Congress of Vienna. It was a difficult job requiring the arts of diplomacy as well as the social graces. The major
negotiations of the Congress were conducted at balls and receptions and in secret committees rather than in formal sessions.
The atmosphere of social gaiety masking the diplomatic intrigues in which the
fate of nations was decided by an uneasy alliance of the Great Powers demanded constant attention from the Viscount. It afforded
him little time for his own problems.

However, on returning to quarters one night he found a letter from Lady Eleanore that was all complaints about Nicole. The
thoughts about his marriage which he had pushed to a corner of his mind came forth to plague him. Why hadn’t Nicole gone to
London with his mother so he could have some peace of mind? The girl was being deliberately unpredictable and obstinate, making
the breach between them worse than it was. She was a fool!

But he had washed his hands of her, hadn’t he? She could go to blazes and he was well rid of her. Or was he? Could he really
push Nicole out of his life so easily? The memory of those violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears cut his heart to the core.
Damn it all, he was in lovewith Nicole and she hated him! Hell what was the use of torturing himself? Nicole was in Paris
and he was in Vienna. He would have to close the door on that problem for the time being.

Among those stationed with the Viscount in the Austrian capital were several of his comrades from his Peninsular campaigning.
It was a seasoned corps from the best families of the English aristocracy that the Duke of Wellington had gathered about himself.
They were a fine blend of hardy manhood and cultured breeding, and they addressed themselves to the duties of military diplomacy
with a charm and skill that made them the envy of less polished contingents from other countries.

The Viscount spent whatever free time he had in the rooms of one or another of these gentlemen playing card games and enjoying
the friendly raillery of his comrades. But cards no longer supplied the excitement they once did and now that money was not
an urgency for him, he
found the spice of gambling losing its savor. He was not sure this was an altogethef agreeable consequence of his sudden change
in fortune.

An even less desirable change he began to perceive in himself was in his regard for the ladies. Vienna was overflowing with
exotic lovelies from many nations, yet it was a rather detached view he took of the fairer sex lately, and many a fetching
smile was rewarded by a distant gaze from the Viscount.

It was thoughts about this very change in himself that interrupted his card game in Major Ainsley’s rooms one night. The Viscount
was losing steadily but could not rouse himself enough to really care, which made him wonder if the rewards of a beautiful
wife and a ready purse were indeed so rewarding after all. God keep him from turning into a sober figure of propriety! He
laughed aloud at the absurdity of such a thought.

“Well, Ardsmore, it’s a deuced queer sort who laughs when his blunt is spent on hands such as you have held this evening,”
Major Ainsley commented with a note of disapproval tinging his words.

“It’s a strange circumstance, I’ll agree, Ainsley. But it was not exactly the turn of the cards that stirred my humor,” the
Viscount replied lazily.

“And it was not the wine, I’ll wager. This Rhenish will do when there is nothing else, but it cannot compare with a hearty
claret or Burgundy if you ask me,” interjected Captain Wentworth.

“And who asked you?” Ainsley jeered good-naturedly. “What I want is the Viscount’s explanation for that cursed laugh that
rattled my play just moments ago. Come, now, Ardsmore, out with it. The Congress taking its toll of the old brain box, eh?”

“I must admit I would rather fight my wars on a battle
field than in the ballroom, but it’s not the Congress that piqued my fancy just now,” Valentin replied.

Andrew Van Stratton, a new member of the Duke’s staff, took up the discussion. “Well, if it’s not old Hookey and the Congress,
then it must be a female. Nothing like the fairer sex for cutting up a man’s peace. Who is it these days, old man?”

Ainsley, noting the sudden dark look on the Viscount’s face, sought to cover Van Stratton’s blunder. “Put a damper on it will
you, Andy. Don’t you know his lordship is a respectably married man these days? Hear that wife of yours is a real beauty,
Ardsmore.”

If anything, the Viscount’s face grew darker, and there was a sudden tension in the air. No one spoke, fearing to add to the
offense—whatever it was. Realizing his ill humor was spoiling the game, the Viscount relaxed and spoke jestingly. “Beauty
though my wife may be, she will’ never cast the cloak of respectability over these shoulders. God prevent it until I am dead
and buried.”

“Here, here!” shouted Wentworth.

The others quickly took up the cry and turned to their cards with a sigh of relief. Their good friend had been acting deuced
queer lately.

The time was passing with equal strain for the new Viscountess. As she sat alone before a dying fire one evening, Nicole was
suddenly startled by a tall blond figure standing in the doorway.

“Val!” she cried jumping to her feet only to realize her mistake.

“Sorry to have startled you like that, Nicole.” Perry hesitated, uncertain of his welcome.

“Just for a moment I thought… well never mind…” stammered. “Do come in. I am so glad to see you.”
Perry came forward and clasped her hand in his. “Come sit beside me and tell me what you have been doing osince the…wedding.”
Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze from his.

“Gee, Nicole,” he sympathized. “I don’t know what has got into that numbskull of a brother…”

“Perry, please,” she pleaded tightening her grasp on his fingers. “Let’s not talk about it. No serious discussions right now.”

“As you wish,” he smiled reassuringly. An awkward silence reigned briefly until Perry jumped to his feet and reached for the
bell cord announcing, “Let’s get one of those lazy servants to bring us a bottle of Burgundy. If you were a man, Nicole, I
would suggest our getting foxed together.”

“That’s all I would need to complete my ruination,” she frowned.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t tell,” he smiled mischievously and turned to the servant who was entering the room. “Ah, Jacques,
a bottle of the Marquis’s finest Burgandy, if you please.”

Within minutes Perry was pouring two glasses brimful of the sparkling liquid and, handing one glass to Nicole he said, “I
shall now propose a toast. To my freedom!”

“Your freedom?” Nicole questioned.

“Yes, Mother and Cecily are leaving in the morning and I shall be entirely on my own.”

“But are you not to accompany them?”

“Heaven forbid!”

“Perry, you are incorrigible!” she laughed.

“Quite! And shameless too. A true Harcourt. Live for today and forget about tomorrow!”

Sobering immediately Nicole asked, “Is that the trouble with the Harcourts?”

“Hey, no serious conversations. You so decreed upon my entry. Remember?”

“Yes, so I did.”

“Then no sullens. All right.”

“You’re right, Perry, no sullens. Let’s drink to this moment and our friendship.”

“I like that. To us!” He took a hardy gulp. “Since I am sticking around a while—at least until I return to school—will you
let me be your escort?”

“That is kind of you, Perry, but I am afraid I shall not be going anywhere.”

Perry nodded in agreement but asked anyway, “Have you done your Christmas shopping?”

“Why, no. I have not given it much thought.”

“You mean you haven’t considered what you’ll give your favorite brother-in-law for Christmas?” She laughed at his banter.
“Then tomorrow, my lady,” he bowed. “I shall escort you to the finest boutiques along the Rue de la Paix and Rue de Rivoli.
There you may shop until your heart is content. Will you come?”

“How could I refuse? Yes, I should love to come with you.”

“And where do you plan on taking her?” came an angry voice from the doorway.

“Oh, Uncle Maurice, I didn’t know you had returned.” Nicole hurried to his side and took his arm, leading him across the room.

“It is a good thing I came home early or this rascal would deplete my wine cellar.” The Marquis picked up the decanter and
studied its contents.

“Unfair, Uncle! I have ordered but one bottle,” cried Perry.

“Of my best, nephew.” The Marquis scowled as he scrutinized the label. “You chose well.”

“Won’t you join us?” Perry asked warily.

The Marquis snorted and accepted the glass Perry handed him, then seated himself beside Nicole. “And where do you propose
to go tomorrow?”

“Christmas shopping.”

“Ah, yes, the time grows near. One tends to forget at my age.” He nodded his head reflectively. “Very well, nephew, you may
escort her on the condition you behave like a gentleman.”

“Uncle,” Perry claimed in mock sadness, his hands over his heart. “You wound me.”

“Ha! That would be impossible, you young scapegrace.”

“Monsieur le Marquis,
again I protest. What kind of impression will you be giving my sister-in-law?” Perry was beginning to bristle at the insults.

Before the Marquis could reply, Nicole intervened, “Gentlemen! Not another word on the subject or I shall retire immediately.”

“You see, nephew, you have managed to upset the lady.”

“I? That’s not so…”

“Are you contradicting me?”

“Why you cantankerous…” Perry fumed.

Nicole jumped to her feet and, as she marched to the door the quarreling pair ceased their wrangling and apologized simultaneously.

“That’s better. Let us enjoy the remainder of the evening in peace.”

Reluctantly they seated themselves on either side of her and applied themselves to the remaining wine and to entertaining
Nicole.

“Hahg on!” Perry shouted to Nicole over the noise of the busy shoppers. They were maneuvering along the crowded boulevard
among the jostling throngs darting in
and out of the festively decorated shops. Perry and Nicole entered a couturier’s where Nicole searched for a suitable gift
for Madame Lafitte. She decided on a silk scarf in peacock blue and continued to the perfumers and jewelers under Perry’s
guidance.

“Isn’t it exciting? I just adore the Christmas bustle.”

“Exciting?” Perry stared at her in bewilderment.

“Everyone seems so happy today and just a few months ago the French people were so desperate. It’s like a miracle. There’s
a feeling of hope again, and Christmas is such a glorious holiday. We must celebrate it fully.” Nicole chatted happily. “Do
you think you might get us a Yule log?”

“The wassail punch is more my style.”

“That too. And I will decorate the mantle with ferns.”

“Sure seems like a lot of fuss,” Perry grumbled.

“Oh, Perry, where’s your Christmas spirit?” she asked but did not wait for a reply. A jeweler’s window display caught her
eye. “Over here, Perry. I think I have found just the gift for Uncle Maurice.”

“He pushed his way to her side and looked at the blue and gold cloisonné snuff box Nicole was pointing to. “What do you think?”

Perry shrugged, but Nicole was already entering the shop. In her haste she almost collided with a gentleman who was about
to leave.