The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (27 page)

In his chambers, André accepted the valet’s help in removing his boots and jacket then sent him on his way. He had managed to get through the evening without allowing his feelings to get the better of him. But servants gossiped and he wanted to be rid of the man before the emotions churning beneath the surface spilled over and showed on his face. This was a damnable state of affairs. Every stitch on his back, the bed he slept in, the food he ate all came from Clarendon. He owed his very life to Clarendon. Only the presence of Lady Clarendon had made the evening bearable. There had been such surprise and pleasure when she rushed into the drawing room. Her cheeks were tinted pink with laughter, her copper curls tumbling about her face and shoulders. He had dreamed of her so often. But she wasn’t a dream. She was real.
    He was the one who wasn’t real. He needed to know
who he was!
Without that knowledge he was nothing more than an impoverished gentleman dependent on the marquis’s charity. Angrily, he stripped off his cravat and shirt feeling the slight burn as scar tissue pulled below his right shoulder. He tossed his clothing on the floor then touched the pink puckered scar. It had been caused by a bullet some years ago. He had a number of minor scars but such a major injury would be a memorable event in one’s life. He shut his eyes and tried to call up a memory. Any memory. A sister or brother, the home he had grown up in, an occupation or title. Even if he learned he was married, it would be better than no knowledge at all. A wife could be dealt with. This bleak emptiness could not. There was nothing but a blank canvas. He was a stranger to himself.
    Lightning flashed, filling the chamber with an explosion of blue-white light followed by an earsplitting crash of thunder. He started at the sound, breaking free of his thoughts. A window had been left open and the heavy drapes stirred with a sudden gust of wind. He could smell the approaching rain. He went to close the window and found himself staring into a hazy darkness. Cloud cover shrouded the sky and a low fog boiled beneath him. Another flash of lightning lit the sky and the air quivered. The paved terrace below was a three story drop. It would be so easy to step onto the ledge and fall to his death. The misery of not knowing would end.
    
Jesui!
He recoiled at the extent of his despair. What a coward he was! He quickly pulled the window shut and closed the latch. If for no other reason than to see the beautiful Lady Clarendon again, he would live.

H
umming, Cecelia entered the breakfast room. Her green and lavender sprigged muslin rustled as Ashley scampered about her ankles. “Off to the kitchen with you.” She scooped the kitten up and handed her over to the young footman who stood beside the sideboard then turned her smile on their guest. “Good morning, Monsieur André. I trust you slept well?”
    André sat at the table with an open copy of the London Times spread out before him and a steaming cup of coffee at its side. The corners of his mouth curved up as he rose from his chair and bowed. “Good morning, my lady. My accommodations are quite comfortable. Thank you.”
    Even with his soft camel jacket, cream waistcoat and a smile on his face, Cecelia thought he looked dark and mysterious. One could not fail to be intrigued by him and his circumstances only deepened the intrigue. He would not suffer a lack of female attention. Whether or not he would enjoy that attention, she decided would be another matter altogether.
    He quickly moved to the chair directly across from his and pulled it out. “May I serve you?”
    She allowed herself to be seated. “Thank you, sir.”
    He crossed to the marble topped sideboard then swept a debonair bow. “What is your pleasure? We have baked eggs, bacon, sausage, kidney pie, scones, berries with clotted cream, pastries.”
    “Oh, heavens,” she said. “Such a selection. It’s a quandary I’m faced with every morning. We’ve a marvelous cook and that makes it all the more difficult. I would be happy for your suggestion.”
    “Then I would suggest the baked eggs and sausage. I found them both excellent this morning. And the pastries are superb.”She motioned gracefully toward the groaning sideboard with her hand. “I shall trust your judgment completely, monsieur. With the exception of kidney pie, fill my plate as you see fit.”
    “I would be honored.”
    She watched as he took a plate from the sideboard and spooned baked eggs onto the
    gold patterned china, then added a sausage patty, a scone and several small pastries.
    He presented her with the filled plate and she graciously smiled her thanks. “It looks wonderful.”
    “Would you care for tea or coffee madam?”
    “Tea please. Cream with one sugar. Coffee always smells marvelous but I don’t care for the taste.”
    He poured tea into the fragile china cup to her right and with an exaggerated flourish followed with cream and sugar.
    “Thank you, kind sir.” Her eyes were luminous and her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “You are most gallant.”
    He swept her a bow so low she wondered how he kept from falling on his face. “I am your obedient servant, madam. I would spend the rest of my life at your bidding if you so wish.”
    A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “You have a keen sense of humor. And here I thought you to be quite serious and reserved. I’m glad to be wrong as serious and reserved is no fun at all. But please, sit and enjoy your coffee. I won’t eat a bite until you do.”
    He inclined his head. “As you wish.”
    “I wish.”
    As requested, he returned to his seat and drank his coffee. But once that was accomplished he turned his eyes on her and made no attempt to hide his gaze.
    Her face grew warm under his scrutiny. By the time she had finished her eggs she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is something amiss with my appearance, monsieur?”
    He lowered his eyes a moment. “Forgive my lack of manners, but I feel as if I have just awoken from a deep fog and I’m gazing on Botticelli’s
Venus.
I fear that no matter where I train my eyes they will return to you. You are too lovely to ignore.”
    She erupted into delighted laughter. “Sir, you’re shameless in your flattery.”
    “It was not meant insincerely,” he protested. “Truly.”
    Still laughing, she said, “Then I insist that we change our topic, else my head will swell and my bonnets will no longer fit.”
    “It would only make you twice as lovely.”
    She wiped a tear from her eye with the corner of her napkin. “I beg you to stop, sir before I lose all dignity.”
    He sighed audibly. “Very well. May I offer my complements on your home, then?”
    “You may.”
    “For days, I had little notion of what lay beyond the four walls of my room. Only this morning was I able to see how magnificent your home is.”
    “Thank you, though I claim no credit for its appearance. It was well cared for when we arrived. I’ll be making a few changes but nothing too extreme. I don’t know that I should do anything in here. I rather like it.” She glanced about their surroundings. The breakfast salon was little more than a circular nook off the corridor. It was papered in burgundy and cream toile. The round walnut table would seat eight at the most and the sideboard was barely large enough to contain the array of breakfast serving dishes. Gold silk valances topped the tall mullioned windows and the brilliance of a sun-washed morning flooded through the glass and bathed the room. It was, she considered, cozy rather than impressive. “It’s a bit small,” she continued, "but I believe that’s part of why I like it. What do you think, monsieur? Should I leave it as it is?”
    “I see nothing to change. It is most comfortable.”
    “I’m happy you’re of the same mind as it’s far less work for me. And I’m happy to have another opinion. Clarendon is so involved with the rest of the estate that he doesn’t have much time or interest in its décor.” A slight frown puckered her forehead as she stirred her tea. “It has only now occurred to me that this is very English breakfast fare. I’ve heard that the French prefer a lighter meal in the morning. If you would like, I could have cook prepare brioche or croissants tomorrow morning.”
    “Only if you would prefer them, yourself. I don’t seem to be able to determine my likes and dislikes until I am faced with them”
    “How very strange everything must be for you. I can’t even imagine.” She noted the date on the newspaper he had been reading and saw it was weeks old. “Heavens. You won’t find any current news in that. We have more current newspapers. Would you like me to have Winston bring them to you?”
    “Merci, but no. I asked for an older copy. I thought if I read of events that happened before my accident it might trigger a memory.” He smiled wistfully. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked.”
    She fixed her eyes firmly on his. “Don’t lose heart, monsieur. You will regain your memory.”
    “You seem so certain.”
    “I am.”
    “Why?”
    She smiled and shrugged slightly. “I really don’t know why. Call it intuition.”
    “I appreciate your optimism.” He folded the newspaper and set it to the side. “Has your husband taken his morning meal? I wondered if I would see him this morning.”
    “I’m afraid he has deserted us. He rode off with our overseer early this morning. As I mentioned, the estate takes a great deal of his time.”
    He sat quiet a moment before saying, “I would be more reluctant to leave such a beautiful bride.”
    Whether this was more flattery or a criticism of her husband she wasn’t certain, but she felt the need to speak in his defense. “We’ve been here but a short period of time and there are many things that need to be taken care of. My brother and father are much the same way and I understand his need to put things right.”
    He leaned toward her and murmured, “Then your husband is fortunate to have such an understanding wife. I envy him.”
    “Thank you, Monsieur. That was a lovely thing to say. Rand--Clarendon has never been one to be idle. He enjoys achievement. It’s his nature. It always has been.”
    His dark brow knitted over narrowed eyes. “You say always. You have known one another long?”
    “All my life. He was and still is, my brother’s best friend. His family has property that joins our estate in Surrey and he and Eugene went to school together. I used to follow them about when they had breaks from school. When I look back on it, I wonder why they put up with me." She cut into the sausage patty. "I insisted on doing everything they did which must have been a dreadful nuisance. By the time I reached eight or nine, my mother stepped in and I was forced to endure more feminine pursuits such as embroidery and water colors. I’m afraid I was an abysmal failure at both.” She stopped and frowned. “I must apologize. I’m babbling on about myself and likely boring you to death.”
    “I’m not at all bored and as I’m unable to speak of my own past I can add little to the conversation. Please continue. I would like to know more.”
    “What would you like to know?” She poked a bite of sausage into her mouth.
    He looked thoughtful. “Whatever you wish to tell me.”
    Cecelia thought as she chewed her food. Family seemed a safe enough topic of conversation. “I have an older sister, Arabella, who’s currently in France with her husband, Culpepper, and our parents. Culpepper’s mother was French and when she died a few years ago, he inherited a home in the Loire Valley. He and Arabella traveled to France once the peace talks began and when Arabella wrote that they were expecting their first child, Mama insisted that she and Papa go to France to be with her." She spread a small dab of butter on her scone.
    "Arabella tends to be histrionic and my brother-in-law needed another male about to keep him sane. Papa’s very good at ignoring Arabella’s weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth as well as Mama’s tendency toward drama. Culpepper needs to learn to do the same if he’s to survive a lifetime with my sister." She stopped long enough to roll her eyes. "I would imagine he and Papa spend a good deal of time in hiding either playing billiards or cards or riding the estate.
    “Mama wrote that the Loire Valley is beautiful. I’ve never been to France and now that we seem to have achieved some sort of peace I would like to go. Maybe once things are better settled around here.” She smiled wistfully then shrugged. “All in good time, I suppose."
    He rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he gazed at her. "Please continue, my lady. I would like to hear more."
    His expression was unnervingly intense and she took a sip of tea, trying to gather her thoughts.“I was acquainting you with my family, wasn’t I? I also have a sister-in-law named Priscilla, whom I love dearly. She married my brother, Eugene, a few months ago. They’re in Surrey, now. I suppose I miss her more than anyone. And there’s Aunt Mirabella who has her own home in Bath but she spends most of her time in Surrey or Mayfair with us. She has twelve terriers she’s named after Roman and Greek gods and they drive everyone batty. I love animals but in this case twelve terriers are eleven too many. They are completely out of control. Though if it hadn’t been for Ulysses escaping the garden, Priscilla and Eugene might have never married.” She paused. “I suppose that sounded rather odd. I really am babbling, now, aren’t I? Are you certain I’m not boring you?”
    His lips curved into a smile. “Not at all. In fact it grows more interesting by the moment. I wonder at the names. Arabella and Mirabella? Family names, perhaps?”
    She grinned and nodded. “And Mama’s name is Isabella. For some reason the addition of bella to one’s Christian name seems to bring on nervous tendencies. Thank goodness, Papa put his foot down when I was born. Even Papa couldn’t have borne four difficult females and he’s very mild mannered.” She finished the last of her tea. “Have you anything planned for the afternoon?”
    He held out his hands. “Surprisingly enough, it happens that my afternoon is open.”
    “If you’d like, I could take you on a tour of the house after lunch. You’ll need to learn your way around. I must admit that when we first arrived I considered leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me when I went exploring, but our housekeeper is very efficient and they would have been swept up before I could find my way back.”
    “It is not a modest building,” he agreed. “It would be easy to lose one’s way.”
    “Much of it has been closed off and I’m still puttering about trying to decide what chambers to open up as we will soon be having guests. And there are still areas I’ve yet to see so it should be interesting for both of us.”
    “I would very much enjoy a tour.”
    Her eyes brightened. “Oh brilliant, as I would enjoy the companionship. I made the mistake of taking Rosie and David exploring with me the second day we were here and I’ve decided to wait at least another ten years before I try that again.”
    “They are exuberant?”
    “Exceedingly.” She glanced at the gilded cartel clock on the wall. “I tutor them in the morning along with Billy, he’s quite a bit older, and I should leave soon if I’m not to set a bad example by arriving late.”
    His brows practically rose to his hairline. “You are their tutor?”
    She could not help but notice the astonished look on his face. It hadn’t been her intent to shock him but it seemed that she had. “I know it isn’t quite the thing for the Marchioness of Clarendon to act as tutor to three children.”
    “It is most unusual,” he agreed. His tone and expression were more guarded but she could still sense his dismay at the unconventional task she had taken on.
    “I take it you don’t approve.”
    “I did not mean to criticize. It is only that I am surprised.”
    “As absurd as this might seem to some, I feel as if I’m contributing something important to their lives and I like that feeling. And I do love the little imps. It took all of five seconds for them to find their way into my heart.” She smiled disarmingly. “I admit it took much longer than that to get my husband to agree to my idea of tutoring them but after a good bit of cajoling he relented.”
    She set her napkin aside and rose before he could assist her. “I must dash upstairs. Would you like Winston to show you to the library? There are a number of newspapers and periodicals there, though I’m afraid most of the books are quite ancient and, at least to my way of thinking, terribly dull. Have you read
Pride and Prejudice?
” She caught the blank expression on his face and flushed. “I beg your pardon. You wouldn’t know. It’s a very clever book. I’ve ordered several copies along with crates and crates of additional books, but they’ve not yet arrived.” She stopped at the threshold and dipped a curtsy. “Enjoy the rest of your morning, monsieur. I will see you later today.”