The Valentine's Day Ball (26 page)

“Look at the red silk, Tucker. Can you imagine that at our next Valentine Ball?”

“Oh, miss, you’d be ever so beautiful in it with your colouring. And your green eyes would shine like emeralds.”

“I must have it.”

Jane was treated like royalty. Clearly, Madame Arnot had no difficulty dealing with France’s former enemies. Jane’s senses were assaulted with a dizzying array of fabrics and fashion plates. She finally settled on two morning gowns—one in blue cambric and the other in a peach wool crepe—a carriage dress of royal blue serge, and the ruby-red silk for a daringly cut evening gown.

Madame Arnot’s shop was unique; she stocked an entire range of hats and headdresses to compliment her creations. Her shop was also connected with a shoemaker, so her customers could complete their ensembles without leaving the premises. While Madam and her senior seamstress removed to one side to confer, a young shop girl served Jane tea.

Jane smiled at the timid girl. “What is your name, child?”

“I am Marie,
madame
.”

“Do you enjoy working here?”

“Oh yes,
madame
. Someday I hope to be allowed to sew dresses for the beautiful ladies.” The girl blushed at her own enthusiasm.

“Did you make your own gown?”

“Yes,
madame
.”

“Then I’m sure you will be able to sew for Madame Arnot one day. Your gown is very well made.”

Thank you, madam.”

Madame Arnot turned, and the servant curtsied hastily and scurried away.

As Jane watched her go, an idea began to form in her mind. She wouldn’t dare ask Madame Arnot for information about Cherry. Madame held the ear of too many influential ladies. But a shopgirl? No one spoke to or listened to a lowly shopgirl. Jane could question her with impunity.

“Madame Davies,” began Madame Arnot, “We can promise to have the dresses for you in four days, three perhaps. If it will be convenient, I will send Madam Lefevre to you tomorrow for a final fitting on the evening gown.”

“That will be fine. Shall we say eleven o’clock?”

“Very good,
madame
.”

“Oh, and send the girl Marie along. I have a fondness for young people.”

Madame Arnot masked her surprise admirably. “
Bien
,
madame
. I will see to it.”

Jane smiled as she and Tucker left Madam Arnot’s. She couldn’t wait to tell Drew that she had discovered a way to locate Cherry. She knew her cousin—If everyone said Madame Arnot’s gowns were the best in Paris, then that was where Cherry would go.

b

“Well, well,” muttered the dapper gentleman watching their departure with great interest. “It seems Paris has been blessed with yet another English heiress. There’s a mystery here.”

A huge wagon rattled through the narrow street.
Mr. Tuttle dusted off his brocade coat and settled his wig more firmly on his head. Resolutely, he set off down the street, following the shapely figure dressed in black and her sturdy maid.

Once he had verified the identity of his quarry by peering through the salon’s window, Mr. Tuttle retired to the nearest café. Resting his chin on the knob of his cane, he took an occasional sip of wine and waited for a suitable recipient of his latest
on-dit
to appear.

He had not long to wait.

“Mr. Havelock! You are well met.”

b

Roland paused and looked down cautiously. While a conversation with Mr. Tuttle would be amusing and would not harm his consequence, he had no desire to unwittingly become the man’s next
on-dit
. He would need to exercise extreme caution.

“Tuttle. Didn’t know you were in Paris.”

“Yes, yes. You may always find me where the
ton
is most plentiful. Have a seat, my good fellow. Garcon, another glass for my friend.”

Roland lowered his bulk onto the wrought-iron chair. Mr. Tuttle smiled, his crumbling teeth rendering such an action repulsive.

“I had no idea you and your family were in Paris either.”

Roland looked around, expecting to see his mother. She was the only one in the world he truly considered
family
.

“You must be mistaken. M’mother’s an invalid. She’d never come to Paris.”

“No, no, not your mother, old chap. Your cousins, the beautiful Misses Lindsay and Pettigrew. I suppose they came to Paris together?”

Roland, who had spied Cherry strolling in the park, wasn’t surprised by this news. But Jane was another matter. Jane—in Paris?

Mr. Tuttle’s eyes shone with excitement. “You are surprised! You didn’t know they were here?” He ran his tongue across his lip in anticipation.

“Cherry, yes,” said Roland, dropping his guard. “But Jane? I’d no idea.”

“Yes, it is true. I, too, must admit to being surprised. Miss Lindsay is reputed to be a bit of a homebody.”

“Perhaps, but she’s hardly a recluse. Must have decided to come over with friends now that the Continent has opened up again. I’d like to call on her. I don’t suppose you know where she’s staying?” Roland tried to hide his burning curiosity about Jane’s whereabouts from Tuttle’s inquisitive scrutiny.

“Of course, I do. Perhaps we could pay her a call together right now.”

“Can’t right now,” said Roland nervously. The last thing he wanted at this point was to alert Jane to his presence. First, he needed to decide on a course of action. Getting to his feet, he added, “Pressing appointment. I’ll call later.”

“Ah, very well, if you must go. Miss Lindsay is staying at number eight,
Rue Voltaire
.”

“Thank you, Tuttle. Must dash.”

b

Roland Havelock was not a patient man, but when it came to making an easy profit, he could be very patient, indeed. And profit he would. He waited outside the DuClaire home for someone, preferably a servant, to leave. It was dusk before his patience was rewarded by the appearance of Jean-Francois’s son, Jean-Luc.

Havelock was not a man of great ambition, but he was intelligent. He could speak four languages fluently, and French was one of them. Silently, he followed the youth to a nearby café. As if by random, Havelock chose the table beside the lad and struck up a conversation. Jean-Luc seemed intrigued to find an Englishman so capable of speaking his own tongue, especially one who was so interested in what he had to say. Soon the youth was telling his life history in answer to Havelock’s gentle probing.

Finally, Havelock asked, “Then this is your first visit to Paris?”

“Yes,
monsieur
.”

“And you are staying here—alone?”

“Ah no,
monsieur
. I am staying with my aunt, Madame DuClaire.”

“How did you travel? On horseback?”

The young man puffed out his thin chest. “No, I drove a fine carriage for three of your countrymen. At least, two were women and one a man. A lord, I heard the maid call him.”

“So you drove for a lord and his wife?”

“No, she was not his wife, though they pretended to be when they stayed at our inn in Dieppe.” Jean-Luc winked, attempting to sound worldly. Kissing his fingertips, he said, “The lady had a figure to tempt any man. She is also very nice, but the lord wouldn’t stay with her. He had me drive him to the Hotel St. Jacques. It was very strange. Me, I would not have left such a one as
Mademoiselle
.”

“Nor would I, my young friend. Nor would I.” Havelock’s mind already schemed on the best way to turn this bit of knowledge to his advantage.

b

Drew stared at the huge pavilion erected on the smooth lawn.
Tent
was perhaps the more accurate word for the gaudy red and white monstrosity. A wooden floor upon which the gaily-dressed visitors stood covered the green grass, and an orchestra began to tune up in preparation for the dancing.

What a crashing bore this breakfast is, Drew thought for the hundredth time. He should have spent the day and evening at Madame DuClaire’s with Jane. No, he reminded himself, also for the hundredth time, he and Jane were not on the best of terms at the moment. He wasn’t even certain she was speaking to him. And no matter that he had vowed to wipe her vagaries from his mind, she had a peculiar habit of invading his every thought.

That girl over by the rose bush, for instance—she was wearing that pale shade of yellow that looked so bewitching on Jane. Even the females who did not put him in mind of Jane by their mannerisms or appearances managed to inspire thoughts of Jane as he contrasted how she would have responded to his conversation.

If it were not for his promise to find Cherry, Drew would have left before dark. As it was, in his taciturn mood, he avoided contact with as many acquaintances as possible. Really, almost all of England’s
beau monde
was in Paris. Who was left at home?

“Lord Devlin! I had no notion you were coming to Paris. How delightful to see you!” Drew whirled around and stared at Cherry who was busy searching the crowd on the makeshift dance floor. She looked up at him once more, her china blue eyes wide and inquiring.

“What are you doing here, Cherry?” What a little jade she was, ruining her reputation by appearing in public with her lover. He looked behind her for Lord Pierce.

“I was invited,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, I suppose you mean in Paris?”

“Yes, in Paris,” he answered, holding his temper in check.

“It was a last minute decision, really. When Peter told me—”

“Ah yes, Peter. Where is the lucky man?”

Cherry now frowned, as if perplexed by his sarcastic tones.

“Why, he’s not here tonight. He was invited to a cockfight or some such thing. But, of course, his mother and sisters are here, except Mary, who returned to Bath several weeks ago.”

“Wait! You mean to tell me you’re here with Peter and his family—his entire family?”

“Well, of course! Are you feeling quite the thing, Lord Devlin?”

He grinned. “I am fine, Miss Pettigrew. I am better than fine. Would you care to dance?”

“Yes, thank you, Lord Devlin.”

When the music ended, Drew returned her to Lady Pierce and proceeded to entertain the dowager with his pithy remarks on the passing crowd.

Drew began to enjoy himself. The irony of Jane’s rescue mission to France struck him as laughable. He wanted to hug Cherry, to thank her for creating this unique opportunity to be alone with Jane.

At midnight, a sumptuous buffet was served. Champagne flowed freely and Drew was in his cups. He had planned to leave directly after supper, but Lady Pierce’s youngest daughter, Margery, scandalized her mother by asking him to dance, and Drew laughingly led her onto the floor. After dealing with this silly young damsel, Drew led a giggling and delighted Lady Pierce into the next waltz.

Finally, he led Cherry into the Boulanger.

“Miss Pettigrew, how is it you’ve come to Paris without your mother?”

“She wished to return to the country.”

“Then she gave her blessings for you to travel with Lady Pierce?” continued Drew when the dance brought them together again.

Cherry nibbled at her lip, reminding Drew of her kinship with Jane. “Not precisely, but I knew she wouldn’t mind once she realized.”

“So you have, in essence, run away.”

“No!” exclaimed Cherry before they were separated once again. A moment later, she explained, “That is, I left her a note explaining all. We’re only staying a month. When we go home to Heartland, I’ll make it up to her.”

“Your mother is not at Heartland.”

“Then London.”

“Nor is she in London.”

“Where is she?”

“I believe she has gone to visit her sister. She was quite agitated, I understand.”

The steps of the complicated dance sent them apart more.

“But why?” asked Cherry when she took Drew’s hand again. “Surely she understood!”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say. Perhaps you would be wise to send her a note again, explaining the situation.”

“Yes, I shall. And Jane, too! If Mama is upset, she will have dragged Jane into it as well!”

“Good.”

The music ended, and Drew had the satisfaction of seeing Lady Pierce and her charges leave shortly afterwards. Cherry was hurrying them along. Quite satisfactory. He would have good news for Jane on the morrow.

Driving back to town in the rented gig, Drew had trouble keeping his eyes open. He began to talk aloud in order to stay awake.

“Well, my dear fellow, you’ve done it. You’ve taken care of all of Jane’s worries and fears. Now she can go home.”

He pulled back on the reins sharply, and the rented horse came to a jarring halt.

“Damn fool!” he muttered. “Now Jane will go back to Heartland and things will be just as before. She’ll shut herself up in that house with Pipkin guarding the door, and she won’t even speak to you. Yes, you’ve done a proper job of it!”

He lifted the reins and urged the horse forward again.

“We’ll just see about that. First, I’ll get things settled between us. Then I’ll tell her I’ve found Cherry and that there can be no scandal attached to Cherry’s name since she is in Paris under Lady Pierce’s protection. After that, Jane can go home, but I’ll be with her!”

b

Jane rose early, anticipating a busy day. She took special care with her dress, selecting a simple morning gown in powder blue since she had no plans to go out. She wore her hair down, straight and shining, held off her face by a white grosgrain ribbon. She studied her finished appearance. She looked positively demure. And dressing in such a fashion would help her keep her temper with Drew when he called.

As Jane descended the front staircase to the breakfast room, the knocker sounded. Jane opened it, a tentative smile on her lips.

“Cousin! How fortuitous to find you in!”

Jane frowned at her Cousin Roland. He was the last person she expected to see. “How did you know I was here?”

“Please, Cousin, won’t you allow me inside? No need to tell the world our business,” he simpered.

Jane grimaced but stood aside. Havelock entered the foyer with a jaunty stride.

“Have I disturbed your breakfast?” he asked, sniffing the air.

“No, I hadn’t reached the dining room yet. Why are you here, Roland?”

“Tsk, tsk, my dear.” He looked at a servant who was dusting the banister.

“Oh, very well. Won’t you join me for breakfast?”

Jane made sure she was ahead of her cousin as they filled their plates from the sideboard. She was thankful Madame DuClaire prepared too much food at every meal. As plentiful as it was, Roland emptied every bowl and platter, piling the food onto his plate until it resembled a feed trough in the stables. Once they were seated, a servant poured out two cups of Madame DuClaire’s strong, black coffee and then left them alone.

“Now, Roland, how did you know I was here, and what do you want?”