Elizabeth Boyle (65 page)

“Your brother is here.”

“I don’t have a brother,” Lily told her. “I’m an only child.”

“Then your friend Lily’s brother is here, and he is demanding to see you.”

Lily pulled the pillow over her head and groaned. Damn Lucien’s hide.

“Mister Webb is with him,” Celeste said, her singsong voice holding a hint of laughter.

“Webb?” Lily shot up. “Oh, no.” Lucien’s stern face when he’d seen her traveling companion hadn’t gone unnoticed. Lucien had never approved of their sister’s association with the British Foreign Office, and he certainly wouldn’t approve of Lily’s newfound profession either.

Lucien remained in his heart, despite all the troubles, a loyal Frenchman.

Lily shrugged on the gown Celeste held and tied up her hair as best she could. For a moment she paused and looked at herself in the mirror.

Did she look different? She seemed different.

Webb.
She sighed, feeling both the overwhelming love she’d worn on her sleeve as a fifteen-year-old and the content knowledge of a grown woman having found her true heart.

They would find the journals, and then they would … they would what?

The realization hit her hard. What future did they really have? She’d thought about it in passing, but had never considered the bond she would forge with this man.

“What is it?” Celeste asked, leaning over her shoulder and staring at their reflection in the mirror.

“I love him, Celeste.”

“Well, of course you do. And that is how it is meant to be.”

She shook her head. “No, it is wrong. What will I do? How will I tell him about … well, you know?”

“When the time comes, he will understand. Of all the men in the world, I think Mister Webb would understand.”

It seemed logical that a man of Webb’s experience would understand her choice to help her adopted country. Wouldn’t he?

She went down to the small dining room expecting to find fireworks, but discovered Lucien and Webb sharing a companionable breakfast. “This is a pleasant surprise,” she commented, taking her place at the head of the table. She glanced furtively at Webb, but he was busy chatting with her brother, and when he did look in her direction, his features gave no evidence as to what had transpired between them just hours before.

“Lucien and I met on the front steps some time ago,” Webb told her. “We decided a ride this morning would give you some time to catch up on your sleep.”

Costard entered the room, bearing a plate of food for Lily.

“I’m sorry for the added company,” she told the man. “Is Madame rather vexed with me?”

“She is thrilled to have so many people here to wait on,” Costard told her. The man turned to Lucien. “Our former mistress, the comtesse, always spoke kindly of your dear mother. I hope, monsieur, she is still well?”

“Yes, Costard,” Lucien told him. “My mother and father are very well indeed.”

“And how do you find our girl?” Costard said, beaming with pride at Lily.

“I find her an exception to every rule,” her brother said. “Did you know that my youngest sister Lily and Adelaide went to school together at the convent. It is on Lily’s behalf that I am here.”

“How kind of you,” Costard said before he left.

After the door closed, Lucien leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Listen well, Lily. I have Webb’s promise that no harm will come to you. I understand why you’ve chosen to do this, if only to repair the damage our sister has caused in her poor choice of allying herself with the English.” He paused for a moment and turned to Webb. “No offense, sir.”

“None taken,” Webb said.

“He has sworn, as a gentleman, that he will see you back to London by the end of the week. No matter the mission, no matter the price to our family, I will not have you in Paris one day longer. Do I make myself clear?”

Lily dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Perfectly. But I have no intention of following anything you order. You listen to me, Lucien.
I
made my own decision to come here. And
I
will make the decision when
I
leave. If you don’t like that, then I suggest
you
leave.”

Lucien’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “You stubborn little fool. I could … I could …”

“You could what? Turn me in? Watch me go to the guillotine? Don’t you see that I am doing this for our family, for you and your wife and your sons? For Mama and Papa, so they can return and live out their lives in the country of their birth. So you can reclaim what you want.” She leaned across the table and took his hand. “Your life is here, Lucien. Mine is not. My home is elsewhere and it always will be. I’ve never belonged to any of this, and I never will. I’m like Sophia in that way. We never belonged here, and we know it. So please, can’t you fight for the life I want to live, as much as I am willing to fight for the one you want?”

Lucien squeezed her fingers. She knew he’d never say the words, but his meaning was clear.

“I think it is time I bid you both adieu,” he said.

They all rose, and after Lucien shook Webb’s hand, he turned to Lily.

She didn’t know what he was going to do, but all of a sudden, he folded her in his arms and held her tight. “When did you become so wise?”

“When you started listening to me,” she told him, looking up at her brother through a sheen of tears.

Lily walked with Lucien to the front door. Suddenly she wasn’t so anxious for him to leave, rather, an uneasiness claimed her heart at the idea of being alone with Webb. She was almost relieved to find Troussebois coming up the front steps.

Lily could tell from the worried frown on the solicitor’s face his news was not good.

“
Uh, hum
,” he began, “I am glad you are up so early. We have much to discuss.”

Lily inwardly groaned, but smiled and invited the man in. She asked Costard to bring a breakfast plate in for M. Troussebois and guided the solicitor into the dining room. Webb nodded at the man, with nary a glance in her direction.

She was starting to believe their late night tryst had been nothing more than a dream.

Troussebois, having finished the coffee and buttery rolls Costard had set out, cleared his throat with an authoritative cough and began. “I have been visited this morning by a secretary from the Minister of Justice’s office. The First Consul wants to see your inheritance settled as soon as possible, so he’s ordered a citizenship hearing for tomorrow.”

“A citizenship hearing? Whatever for?” she asked, feeling Bonaparte’s swift hand clamping down on them.

“It is nothing to worry about, just a mere formality. What with all the
émigré
s returning to Paris and making claims for lost properties and incomes, these hearings are a necessity to ensure that only the
true
sons and daughters of France are returned their due.”

Lily didn’t like the sound of that. “But tomorrow?” she asked. “So soon?”

“Yes, it is rather unusual,” he admitted. “Consider yourself lucky that the First Consul has taken such an interest in your case. Otherwise, your estate could have languished for months, and you would have had little resources with which to live, relegated to only this house, while the country house remained under strict seal.”

“The country house is under seal?” she asked, trying to sound confused as well as innocent. “Whatever for?”

Troussebois shifted in his chair. “It was thought best to leave it undisturbed, since that is where …”

“Where what?” she persisted. If the journals weren’t here in Paris, they would have to search the country house.

“Where your father died.”

She shook her head. “No, monsieur, you must be mistaken. For I distinctly remember in your letter to the Mother Superior you stated that my father died here, in Paris.”

Troussebois shook his head. “No, your father died in his country house. And there is talk of taxes and such, which is usual, from what I gather, in large inheritances. In the end you may well have to forfeit that house in order to keep the bulk of your father’s estate.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “I will do my best, but it is the way of things.”

The salon door swung open and Roselie Paville came sailing in.

“Oh,
chérie
, you are up and about. How wonderful. Your mother was always an early riser, so I just knew you would be as well.” Roselie frowned at Webb and flicked her glance over Troussebois only momentarily. “I met your maid in the hall. She is a find, a rare find. I would caution you to hide her from Josephine, for she has a fondness for slaves from the West Indies, and she will steal her away. In the meantime, you must have her teach me how to tie one of those wonderful kerchiefs. I’ve seen Josephine wear them, and I want to as well. It is quite the style, but there is such a knack to getting them just right.”

While Roselie continued her nonsensical tidings, Lily glanced over at Webb to see if Troussebois’s revelation told him what she had quickly concluded.

If Henri had died in the country, the journals must be there.

They had to get into that house.

“
Tante
Roselie,” she said, interrupting the lady’s chatter. “Monsieur Troussebois is my solicitor and we are conducting business right now.”

“Oh, I can wait,” the lady announced, reaching over to the tray and selecting a roll.

Realizing the lady meant to stay, Lily couldn’t afford to let their conversation with Troussebois go off course, so she changed her tack. “Perhaps Celeste could show you how to tie her kerchiefs while we conclude our business. It will be so dull for you otherwise.”

“Oh, how kind you are, my dear girl. Just like your mother. So thoughtful.”

Lily rang for Costard and asked him to find Celeste. Roselie remained seated while they waited for the maid, and Lily realized the woman may be of some use.

“Monsieur,” she said to Troussebois, “my father didn’t die of some contagion. He died of a heart ailment. Why ever is his house under seal, and why as his daughter, am I forbidden to visit the house where my dear father spent his last hours?” She ended this speech by choking out a few sobs and dabbing at her eyes. She only hoped she could squeeze out a few tears for the effect.

Webb rushed to her side and handed her his handkerchief. “Careful,” he whispered in her ear.

Lily responded by choking out a deafening sob. “I just want to be near my dear papa.” She turned to Roselie, who was now also dabbing her eyes with a lacy bit of cloth.

“Oh, and you shall, Adelaide,” she said, coming to Lily’s aid, just as she suspected the lady would. “Monsieur Troussebois, tell this distraught child she will have her country house.”

“As her solicitor I will do no such thing,” he said. “The house is under seal by order of the First Consul. He wants no one to disturb it until the estate is settled.”

That seemed to be enough to quiet Roselie. Luckily for Lily, Celeste arrived and took the meddling woman off for a lesson in West Indies fashions.

Lily continued her sniffling, though in a more controlled manner. “It is kind of the First Consul to go to such measures to protect my interests. But why would he care so much about the country house and not this one?”

Troussebois made a great show of shuffling through his papers and ignored her question.

“Monsieur,” she persisted, “why would the First Consul be so concerned about my father or take such extraordinary steps to see my hearing held so quickly?”

“I have no idea,” the little man said. For a moment all his blinking and nervous movements stilled. He looked her directly in the eyes. “Do you?”

Lily felt her gambling blood rise. She ignored Webb’s fingers as they tightened around her hand. “Perhaps it is because of my father’s work.”

Troussebois didn’t bat an eye. “And what work would that be?”

“You don’t know about my father’s work? Why I thought you were his solicitor, surely you know about his work?”

Webb’s grip started to verge on painful.

The little man shook his head. “With my wealth of clients, it is often difficult to remember so many occupations. Your father was a man of many talents. Which one do you speak of?”

Lily heard the lie and had her answer. Wealth of clients, hah! Gauging from the cheap and out of fashion cut of his jacket, his shabby little carriage, and the way he all but wolfed down every bit of food Costard placed in front of him, Troussebois had perhaps a handful of paying clients, if that. The little man probably knew each one’s secrets better than they did.

So if Troussebois felt compelled to play this game of cat and mouse, he must know the truth about Henri de Chevenoy.

But to which side was the solicitor loyal? His client or his country? And did he truly know the Adelaide de Chevenoy before him was an imposter?

Lily had no intention of staying in Paris long enough to find out.

“Why his scientific studies, of course,” she said. “What else could it be?”

Troussebois nodded and smiled, looking more than relieved.

Webb let go of her aching hand and spoke. “I have heard that the First Consul is considered a man of letters and a serious student of the arts. Perhaps he wants to protect your father’s work from those who might take advantage of your grief.”

“Yes, I am sure that is it,” the man agreed. “Now let me go over the finer points of your hearing so you can be prepared.”

Lily wasn’t about to let Troussebois off the hook. Not yet. “Yes, I want to get this out of the way so I can start my life’s work.”

The solicitor smiled indulgently. “And what is that?”

“Publishing my father’s journals.”

Webb choked on his coffee.

“Oh dear, this is a surprise to my fiancé,” she told Troussebois, as she pounded Webb on the back and then handed him a napkin from the serving tray. “I want to see my father’s work given the full credit it deserves and the only way to do that is to see that his journals are published. Do you know where he kept them, Monsieur Troussebois?”

The man turned a deep shade of red. “Well, there is plenty of time for those matters, but first we must discuss the hearing.”

“Oh, bother the hearing,” Roselie said, as she reentered the room, her head now gaily decorated with one of Celeste’s more colorful kerchiefs. She stood beaming from ear to ear and fidgeting with excitement, her hands flitting from patting the cloth tied around her hair, to smoothing her skirts. “Monsieur Troussebois, I doubt this hearing is as important as seeing my dear Adelaide take her rightful place in society.” Now that the woman’s ecstatic chatter started, Lily doubted if even the First Consul could stop it by formal edict.