Sweet Bravado (2 page)

“I feel better on my feet,” Nicole replied.

At that moment Lady Eleanore, the Viscountess Ards-more, swathed in sables and exuding self-importance, sailed grandly into
the library trailed by her niece and companion, Cecily Fairfax. Nicole, noticing their elegant toilettes, felt at a disadvantage
in her simple merino.

Lady Eleanore advanced toward Nicole, her thin lips pursed as she tilted her silvery head to one side and stared down her
aquiline nose at the girl.

“My
dear
Nicole,” Lady Eleanore finally broke through the frosty silence. “How happy I am to meet you again.” She made no apology
for her tardy arrival.

Nicole stood still allowing her cousin to brush her cheek with a cold kiss. “I too am happy to meet again after so many years,
Cousin Eleanore.” Nicole spoke through stiff lips.

“Cecily, dear, come meet Nicole Harcourt.” Lady Eleanore addressed the young girl behind her.

Cecily examined the rather breathtaking picture Nicole presented and murmured her greeting. She viewed the silky luster of
Nicole’s blue-black hair and the smooth ìvory of her complexion with a sudden flash of despair. This was an undeniable beauty.
One look at Nicole’s violet eyes and Valentin was surely lost to Cecily forever. Valentin was soon to take this gorgeous creature
to wife. There would be no room for Cecily in such a union. Her hatred of Nicole sprang forth on the moment.

The Viscountess, viewing Nicole’s beauty with the dispassionate
eyes of the future mdther-in-law, found her displeasure less in Nicole’s appearance than in her credentials. The daughter
of a dancer! Well, what cannot be changed must be endured. The girl certainly had a presence about her, and her exquisite
figure in the proper clothes would command admiration. Nicole and Valentin would make a striking couple, no doubt of it. The
Har-courts would carry off the affair with their usual
panache.

This wedding, forced on her by Sophie’s eccentricity, must be accomplished with all due haste. Valentin’s expectations had
held off creditors of every description far beyond their limits. The family coffers were bare and the situation was desperate,
but there was no need for Nicole to be apprised of this. Such knowledge was sure to strengthen the girl’s position. Only look
how bold she appeared, standing silently before them, waiting for her to carry on the business of this meeting.

“Well, shall we put aside further display of amenities and get on with the business at hand?’ Lady Eleanore suggested haughtily.

“As you wish, Lady Eleanore,” Nicole answered quietly.

“We have ourselves just arrived from London and taken residence here at the Hotel Belmontaine. This house should afford us
a suitable background for the wedding and all affairs attendant upon that event, don’t you think?” The Viscountess did not
wait for an answer. “I believe it will be to everyone’s advantage to accomplish this
wedding
as speedily as possible. As a matter of fact, arrangements for a civil ceremony at the British Embassy have been scheduled
for six weeks hence. That will give us enough time for fittings and completing your trousseau, as well as a few quiet introductions
into society.”

Nicole was surprised at the speed with which everything
was being arranged. “But my dear cousin,” Nicole interrupted her. “You go along too fast for me. I must inform you that I
have not entirely made up my mind to this marriage.”

The Viscountess stared unbelievingly. “What is that you say?
Not
made up your mind? Surely you are jesting,” she exclaimed sharply. “You are here. You know the conditions of the will. What
else is there?”

“There is another party necessary to fulfill the conditions of that will, I believe,” Nicole answered firmly.

“But the Viscount has consented. He is
perfectly
amenable to great-aunt Sophie’s… demands.”

“Perhaps I would like some evidence of a more tangible nature. I have yet to set eyes upon my prospective bridegroom in person.
Eleven years is a long time.”

“But my dear girl, this is a marriage of
convenience.
Surely you do not expect the Viscount to go through the hypocrisy of a courtship?”

Her words stung Nicole cruelly. “Perhaps not a courtship, but at least he could give some time to our becoming acquainted.”

Lady Eleanore turned her bewildered eyes to Cecily who shrugged her shoulders eloquently.

Nicole was enjoying her cousin’s discomfort and sudden loss of grand manner. It assuaged a little that cold arrival earlier.

During the lull that followed, Cecily Fairfax could hardly sit still. Could there be some hope for her after all? Would this
half-French nobody relinquish her claim to Valentin? She could barely breathe, so great was her agitation.

“My son is a member of the Duke of Wellington’s staff engaged in delicate matters of state for His Majesty in Vienna. As such
he is not at liberty to come and go to
satisfy the
whims
of a romantic girl.” The Viscountess picked up the attack again with alacrity

“There is nothing romantic about my desire to reacquaint myself with Viscount Ardsmore, I assure you,” Nicole lied nervously.
“There are matters he and I should settle between us before marriage plans proceed further.”

“What matters, may I ask?” Lady Eleanore demanded arrogantly.

Nicole faltered for a moment. What matters, indeed? She would die before admitting to her cousin the fears she felt about
Valentin. Her fear that the idol of her dreams would find her wanting. That he would not love her with the same desperate
devotion as hers—a devotion born of years of romantic fantasies in which Valentin pursued her, wooed her, rescued her, ravished
her, protected her and loved her again and again. It could not be just a marriage of convenience!

“I would prefer to see the Viscount before we proceed further,” Nicole replied with quiet determination.

Lady Eleanore recognized Nicole’s intransigence. “Very well. I will post a letter to my son in Vienna this very night. I had
hoped to spare him any unnecessary inconvenience, but I see you are
determined
to present obstacles. Nevertheless, I must insist that you remain with us at Belmontaine so that the preliminary fittings
can be made. Even you must realize that a trousseau is not assembled overnight.” Anger prodded the Viscountess to speak with
unconcealed disdain.

Nicole bit back an angry rejoinder as Madame Lafitte grasped her elbow. Now that the gauntlet was flung between them, Nicole,
repressed a tremor of fear. Perhaps she had gone too far. After all, her cousin was only engineering the accomplishment of
Nicole’s dearest, deepest desire. What was she doing to be throwing obstacles in the
way? She would marry Valentin tomorrow, were he to ask her. And even if he did not come to ask her, she would still marry
him.

Lady Eleanore rang for the housekeeper. “Madame Dupré, please show my, guests to their rooms.” She turned to Nicole. “If you
will follow Madame Dupré, she will see that your needs are cared for. You will find your boxes already unpacked. And now if
you will excuse me, I will go write that letter.” She swept from the room just as grandly as she had entered minutes ago with
Cecily trailing in her wake.

Once they reached Nicole’s bedroom, Madame Lafitte began to lecture her charge. Although the lady had voiced considerable
criticism of the marriage and the bridegroom, she never doubted for a moment that. Nicole would or should marry Viscount Ardsmore.
She had accepted it as a foregone conclusion. The marriage represented a heaven-sent opportunity for Nicole’s financial security.
Madame Lafitte was conscience-stricken, that she might have contributed through foolish babble to Nicole’s possible rejection
of this good fortune. But the girl proudly refused to listen to her.

A pale sunlight filtered into the breakfast room at the back of the house. There was a sideboard amply provided with eggs,
ham and kidneys, but Nicole preferred the French custom of coffee and croissants for breakfast. Were it not for the cold winter
light, the room surrounded by windows on three sides would be a cheerful retreat, providing, as it did, a charming view of
the terrace and gardens to the rear of the house.

The bed chamber in which Nicole had just spent the night was a far cry from the homely little room of her girlhood in Beauvais.
It was of immense proportions and luxurious appointments with blue satin paneling on the walls and matching velvet draperies
at the tall windows. She had just bathed in comfortable warmth before a substantial fireplace and yet her temper was not that
of one
well pleased with her changed circumstances. Yesterday’s interview with her cousin still rankled, and Nicole was not in a
mood for appreciating her sudden change in fortune.

As soon as Madame Lafitte entered the breakfast room, she resumed her attack on Nicole. She had to convince the girl to accommodate
the Harcourts.

“Ma chère
Nicole, let me speak to you as your own dear mama would…”

“That is hardly the right tactic to employ, madame, since it is my own dear mama who suffered most at the hands of the cruel
Harcourt family.”

C’est vrai,
but…”

“But nothing, Fifi. My father was forced to leave London because my mother was scorned for being a ballet dancer. Do you think
I can forget that? At last fate has dealt a few trump cards to this side of the family, and I shall play them well. Let them
squirm a little. Revenge can be sweet.”

“You sound bitter, Nicole.”

“Why shouldn’t I sound bitter?”

“You must forget the past, child, and think of the future. It could be rosy. Regard your changed circumstances, and furthermore,
the young man who came to your papa’s funeral was very handsome,
n’est-ce pas?”

“Valentin is another matter,” Nicole admitted. She could still see him standing tall and aloof at the graveside, a fugitive
ray of sunlight glinting against the burnished gold of his hair. He had seemed a vision materialized briefly from a girlhood
dream of the ideal knight, all strength and beauty and valor. Yet now he was to be hers for a mere nod of assent. It was Lady
Eleanore, his mother, who stood in the way. That woman roused all Nicole’s latent bitterness for those years when she and
her mother were outcast Harcourts, denied recognition be
cause they were beneath family consideration. That the Harcourts might have some justice on their side, considering her mother’s
low birth and questionable career, only lent fuel to the fire of Nicole’s wrath.

A young serving girl interrupted Nicole’s ruminations. “Excuse me,
mademoiselle,
but the Viscountess awaits you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Lily. Tell my cousin I shall be with her directly.” As the door closed behind the maid, Nicole turned to Madame.
Lafitte, a sly smile of satisfaction lifting the corners of her mouth. “Anxious, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nicole, take that smug expression off your face,” Madame Lafitte pleaded.

“Why should I?” she demanded tartly. The look grew more pronounced as she walked through the door, Madame Lafitte followed
her into the drawing room unable to still the disquiet agitating her bosom.

Lady Eleanore was seated on a divan before the, fireplace looking regal and composed in a morning dress of grey silk, her
only ornament a ruby brooch at her throat. She seemed all ice and steel to the girl coming to greet her.

“Cousin Eleanore,” Nicole kissed the proffered cheek and decided on direct attack. “Have you written to the Viscount concerning
my desire to see him before wedding plans go forth?”

“So you have not changed your mind?” Lady Eleanore questioned reprovingly.

“I regret that my wishes do not meet with your approval, Cousin, but I muât insist. It does not seem improper to me to want
to become acquainted with my prospective bridegroom.”

“I daresay it does not. I
suppose
one must make allowances considering your unfortunate upbringing.” The Viscountess was prepared to be equally direct.

Nicole’s quick temper flared, and this time she did not bite back her retort. The obvious slur on her background was too much
to bear. “My upbringing as a French girl of gentle birth was the equal of any, I dare say. As a matter of fact, there are
those who feel that true culture stops this side of the English Channel, dear Cousin. I believe England has been aptly described
as‘a nation of shopkeepers, has it not?”

Lady Eleanore’s prolonged gasp echoed ominously about the room. Cold with fury she drew herself up to the full limits of her
imposing height. “You
dare
to speak to me that way?”

Nicole merely stared in return.

“You may be sure Ardsmore shall receive a full accounting of the quality of person, or should I say
lack
of quality of the person with whom it is his misfortune to be forced to ally himself.”

“I am sure my quality or lack of it will be sufficiently compensated for by the price tag I bear.”

“I find your manner common and vulgar.”

“And do you find the subject of money also common and vulgar?”

“You are insulting as well.”

“The wedding can always be called off,” Nicole stated quietly.

“Do not try to threaten me, you wicked girl. How would you like to return to Beauvais and enjoy the luxuries of French culture
that you could afford should you reject the Viscount?”

“There are worse conditions than poverty.”

“Really? And what are they, pray tell?”

“I suggest you consider a loveless union with a fortune-hunting rake,” Nicole retorted heatedly.

“Nicole, Nicole,
taisez-vous.”
Madame Lafitte intervened,
no longer able to suppress her concern.
“Composez-vous.
This is not to be countenanced. Lady Eleanore is soon to be your mama-in-law. Only think what you are saying. You must apologize
and control your tongue.”

Madame Lafitte’s outburst provided the necessary break in hostilities. Nicole visibly wilted as waves of shame washed over
her. How could she have spoken with such disregard for the proprieties? What was wrong with her?