A Daughter's Destiny (25 page)

“Grand-mère—”

“I will accept no arguments about this, child. When you were given into our care, I vowed that I would see you regain what was rightfully yours and make your father proud.” Her gaze grew distant. “Lucile readily agreed, for, witless fool that she was, she was madly in love with your father.”

“He and she were lovers?”

“Of course not!” Grand-mère scowled. “She was my daughter, but I knew for many years that she was weak-minded and lost in her own fantasies. When your father spoke a kind greeting to her, as he did to all the servants, she mistook that for a flirtation. She believed until her final breath that he loved her.”

“She told me that often.”

“'Twas her love for him that enabled her to love you, even though you were the
duchesse's
child.” She straightened her shoulders. “Now you can understand why you must put an end to this
affaire de coeur
between you and Evan. When we can return to France to claim Château Tonnere du Grêlon, you must be prepared to marry a man who will be the proper father of your father's heir, for now, in the wake of the guillotine's vengeance, there is no one left alive to claim it.”

“But I believe I love Evan.”

“I know, child, but that is the tragedy of your birth. To those who are given so much, so many sacrifices must be asked for in return.” She patted Brienne's cheek. “Child, think well about this, for you cannot deny what you are much longer. Soon you shall be telling everyone that you are, in truth, Brienne Levesque, daughter of the
Duc
of the Château Tonnere du Grêlon. So long I have waited for the day. I hope it is everything I have prayed it will be.”

“I hope so, too,” Brienne said, because she did not want to distress her grandmother. She had not considered that making her grandmother's dreams come true might put an end to hers.

In the rain, a lone person hurried across the grass in the middle of the square to run inside a house on its south side. Even when the door had closed behind the man, Brienne did not turn from the window. She was not accustomed to having her hands idle. At L'Enfant de la Patrie, she always was busy preparing the evening's meal and cleaning and chatting with Grand-mère and Maman. She had shopped and cooked while with the Teatro Caparelli as well as helping with the performance twice a day.

Now she had nothing to do.

This was the life Grand-mère wished for her. A life where servants waited upon her every wish, and she had to do no more than give them orders and entertain her callers.

“I shall go crazy,” she muttered as she watched a raindrop slip along the window before vanishing amid dozens more as the wind struck the glass.

“Is something amiss?”

Whirling, Brienne saw Mr. Porter in the doorway. She gave a strained laugh as he entered the dusky room. “I did not realize anyone was nearby.”

“Talking to one's self is not a crime.” He lit several more lamps and gave her a sympathetic smile. “That you are alone when you are so obviously distressed is a crime, however.”

“I did not realize it was that obvious.” She stepped away from the window when he motioned for her to sit on one of the chairs nearer the hearth. His manners suggested she was, without question, the fine lady that Grand-mère claimed her to be.

Sitting, she folded her hands in her lap. He took a chair facing her, his dark coat falling back to reveal the merry color of his red-striped vest.

“Mayhap I spoke out of hand,” he said, “but I believed I heard a large sigh from you as I passed the door.”

“To admit the truth, I find it odd to have so much time and so little to do, Mr. Porter.”

“Please call me Armistead, Miss LeClerc.”

“If you will address me as Brienne.”

He dipped his head toward her. “I would be honored to do so.” His brows lowered as he pyramided his fingers before him. “I do not like to have my guests suffering from ennui. How may I relieve this for you?”

“I am afraid short of allowing me to take over your kitchen, which I can assure you that your cook would not welcome, I fear there is nothing.”

“You cook, Brienne?”

“I prepared all the meals at L'Enfant de la Patrie.”

He leaned forward and smiled. “You are
that
Miss LeClerc? I have heard wondrous things about the fare available at your salon.”

“It is available no longer, I am afraid.” Brienne quickly explained how the building had burned, but took care to give no hint that the fire had been set. “If it had not been for Evan, I am afraid we might not have escaped as we did.”

“Such a tragedy that you lost everything.”

“I have my grandmother with me still.”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “I would be lamenting very hard if such a thing had happened to me. I enjoy my house and all it contains.”

“Our house did not contain treasures as this one does.” She rose and went to look at one of the paintings on the wall. “I know very little about art, but this is a lovely picture. It looks as if the river could flow right past the frame and into my hands. The flowers are so realistic that I believe if I tried hard enough, I could smell their fragrance.”

“That is one of my favorites, too. It is of the Loire region of France.”

“The Loire?” Her voice squeaked on the two words.

“Does that disturb you, Brienne?”

Turning, she forced a smile. Grand-mère had impressed on her that the secret of Brienne's past must be guarded with as much care now as it had been since they had come to London. Now, barely an hour later, Brienne risked revealing the truth by a silly reaction to nothing.

“Just surprised that you would have a picture of something French in your parlor.”

Armistead chuckled. “I do not tell everyone who admires the painting the truth, because I know that the hatred for Napoleon runs deeply here in London. However, as you are an
émigré
—”

“Did my grandmother tell you that?”

“You usually call her Grand-mère, which is what made me assume you were born in France. Certainly you speak English without a hint of an accent, so have I made an error in my assumption?”

“No.” She was being foolish to jump on every word he spoke. How had Grand-mère and Maman succeeded in keeping even Brienne from suspecting the truth all these years? “I was simply curious.”

“As you are about why the painting is here. It is here because I think it well done. Do you recognize the spot where it was painted?”

“I recall nothing of France. I was not much more than a baby when I came to London.” Brienne knew she had to change the subject which was veering too close to the secret of her past.

She was saved from making some inane comment when Miss Woods rushed into the room. The young woman's smile broadened when she glanced at Brienne, but she hurried to Armistead's side.

“Look what was just delivered for you,” she said, excitement in every word. “An invitation to Lady Jacington's assembly.” Looking at Brienne, she added, “Lady Jacington is one of the premier hostesses of the London Season. An invitation to her soirée is as hoped for as one to Almack's.” She gripped Armistead's arm. “And you have been invited.”

He unfolded the paper and smiled. “It appears you are quite correct, Louisa.”

“Shall we go?”

“It is the same evening that you promised to join Mrs. Townsend for cards and conversation. You know how excited she is to have you join her. She has been so pleased with your progress with your English lessons.” He looked past Miss Woods to Brienne. “Do you have plans for Monday next, Brienne?”

“No, but I cannot go to such an assembly.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“I have nothing to wear, and I am in mourning for my mother.”

Miss Woods grasped Brienne's hands. “I am sure I can find you something to wear that will be in keeping with your mourning, but will allow you to attend.”

“Otherwise I must send our regrets to Lady Jacington,” Armistead added.

“Our regrets?” Brienne asked.

“I would be a most unworthy host to leave my guests to attend an assembly without them.”

“Oh,” moaned Miss Woods, “that would be unspeakable. You have waited for this invitation for more than two years, Armistead.”

Brienne sighed. “Let me discuss this with my grandmother. If she is willing to let me set aside my mourning for that one night, I shall join you, Armistead.” She smiled weakly. “I want you to know I appreciate you asking me to go to this assembly.”

“I hope you will be able to attend.” He gave her an answering smile. “I can assure you that it will be a night unlike any other you have ever experienced.”

As Miss Woods began to prattle about all the guests and who would be there and who would be snubbed by not being invited, Brienne could not ignore the pulse of excitement racing through her at the idea of attending one of the soirées she had heard discussed at L'Enfant de la Patrie. She hoped Grand-mère would agree for her to go.

Evan shook water out of his hair as he entered the house. In spite of the rain, today had been a good one. He had woken at dawn to savor Brienne's beguiling kisses before he had left the house on errands that had already been postponed for too long.

His pocket was now lighter a few guineas, but he had the information he needed. The men who had attacked Brienne at L'Enfant de la Patrie were no longer in London. Whether they had sailed or simply left London for another part of England or had been murdered down by the docks did not matter to him. They were not here to cause more trouble for her.

Finding out about Lagrille and his men had been less productive. Several men in the taverns where he had bought enough ale to loosen everyone's tongues had been approached as Evan had to do some work for this Frenchman, but no one knew who he was.

Evan handed Hitchcock his drenched overcoat and hat, ignoring the butler's disgusted frown. It was the same whether Evan arrived at the door in sunshine or amidst a storm. The butler was not as annoyed at the wet clothes as he was by the fact that Evan was still welcomed here.

“Where is Miss LeClerc?” Evan asked as he glanced toward the stairs.

“She is with Mr. Porter and her grandmother in the small parlor, sir.” The first and last words were spoken reluctantly.

Chuckling to himself as he went up the stairs, he wondered how Hitchcock would change his ways if he knew that Brienne could claim the title of
duchesse
. The butler would endeavor to endear himself to her by groveling to make up for this cool arrogance.

A slender form burst out of a doorway, bumping into him. For a moment, a pulse of anticipation rushed through him, but then he realized he was steadying Miss Woods, not Brienne.

“Pardon me,” he said as he drew his hands back. “I was lost in my thoughts, and I did not watch where I was going.”

Patting her brown curls back into place, she smiled. “I must plead guilty to the same, Mr. Somerset. Pardon me.” She looked down with dismay at the wet spots on her gown. “Oh, dear.”

“I fear I brought some of the day's dampness into the house with me. I regret ruining your dress.”

“'Tis not ruined.” She laughed again. “Water will quickly dry.” She brushed at the spots, her fingers lingering along her bodice. Slowly she looked up at him with a seductive tilt to her lips.

Evan told himself he must be mistaken. Miss Woods was Porter's mistress. She would be a fool to entice another man while Porter was keeping her so well. Or did she know of her lover's plans to garner the favor of another lady? If that were so, then she might be looking for another man to become her protector.

“I am glad,” he said. “If you will excuse me …”

“Must you go?” She edged closer to him, her hand sliding along the banister as her lips parted in an invitation to taste them. “Porter has told me so much about you, but I would like to get to know you better myself.”

She was not subtle, that was for certain. Resisting the urge to laugh at her overt offer, he folded his arms in front of him and smiled. “I am afraid, Miss Woods, that you would find the telling of my life story boring.”

“Not from what Armistead tells me.” She slipped her hand onto his sleeve and stepped closer. Regarding him with wide, brown eyes, she whispered, “Did you really smuggle art right beneath the noses of the French and British officials?”

“That is all in the past.”

“And what is in your future?” She glided her fingers along his arm toward his shoulder. “Do you intend to enjoy the prizes from your hard-won labors?”

Laughter came from the parlor. He stepped away from Miss Woods as the lilt of Brienne's laugh caressed his ears. Except when she was in his arms, he had heard that laugh too seldom. He wanted to hear it more, and he wanted her in his arms again so he could delight in her sweet touch.

Evan strode into the parlor with a cheery, “Good afternoon.”

As Porter urged Miss Woods, who had followed Evan into the parlor, to pour their guest a cup of tea, Evan looked at Brienne with a smile. She lowered her eyes, not meeting his. Every instinct shouted that something was amiss with her, but why had she been laughing just moments ago?

The answer was simple. Whatever was amiss had to do with him. Something had happened since he had left her this morning. He could not ask what it was when Porter and his mistress as well as her grandmother would be privy to the conversation.

“Good afternoon, Madame LeClerc,” he said as he accepted the cup of steaming tea from Miss Woods.

“You arrived just in time,” Madame LeClerc said, delicately balancing her own tea. “Armistead was telling Brienne about all the people she would have a chance to meet at Lady Jacington's party.”

“Party?” he asked, glancing at Brienne.

This time, she did not lower her eyes. “Armistead has been invited to this assembly, and he did not want to attend alone. Grand-mère thought it might be a good idea for me to accept his offer to go with him.”