Glamorous Illusions (29 page)

And now they were both separated from their clients. Will raced toward Antonio, and, belatedly recognizing what Will feared, Antonio turned and charged ahead of him. They hurried over to their clients. Uncle Stuart met them first, ten feet in front. “Will?” he said in a hushed tone.

Will's eyes scanned the row of hedges on either side, the people inside the park. Nowhere did he see the first man or his companion. Panting, he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “It's all right. There were simply a couple of men—”

He abruptly stopped speaking as Richelieu approached. “What is it?” the man asked lowly, waiting for Will's answer. His eyes told him he'd not accept anything but the truth.

“Two men. Nicely dressed. On either side of the park's hedgerows. Watching us. Our party, passing. If it had been one, I might've let it pass. But two?” He shook his head. “They were waiting for us. I'm certain.”

Richelieu frowned and peered down the bushes again, squinting into the sun. “Perhaps it is not your clients they are watching, but me. If that is the case, I can handle them,” he said, opening his jacket and showing Will a small gun, carefully hidden in his vest. “I never leave without it.” He gave Will a sly smile.

The man had fearsome enough enemies to prompt him to carry a weapon? Richelieu turned to walk away, confident that all was now in order. Will swore under his breath and met his uncle's eyes, as well as Antonio's.

“Of course the man has enemies,” Uncle Stuart said soothingly, trying to dismiss the sense of danger that had fallen upon them. “Men do not reach his stature, his sort of power, and keep it without making others angry en route. He is no different from countless others we've met over the years.”

“Except he's set his sights on one of our clients,” Will bit back, under his breath.
Cora
. He, his uncle, and Antonio were moving, catching up with the rest, who were now resuming their stroll toward the Tower. Richelieu was regaling them with a story, obviously trying to assuage their concern over Will's actions. “That courtship is already under way,” Antonio said with a nod. They all looked forward and saw Richelieu place a hand at the small of Cora's back, pointing something out to her in a nearby tree. A bird?

“It will be over as soon as we depart,” Uncle Stuart said.

“Are you sure about that? Is he not friends with those who will house us in Provence?” Will said, keeping his tone low. He still owed Richelieu for not making a big deal out of his attack. He wasn't eager to raise his ire again now. But what if Richelieu had to use that gun under his vest? Would their clients be in the middle of some terrible shoot-out? His hand clenched around his walking stick at the thought of it. There was a reason Uncle Stuart never allowed them to carry weapons. Too many things could go wrong.

“He is a busy man. Deep into his business,” Uncle Stuart grunted, clearly not liking the challenge in Will's voice. “He'll forget about Cora after a couple of days. She's a passing interest.”

Will shared a look with Antonio behind his uncle's back. A man merely distracted would not go to the same lengths that he'd seen this man go to—the housing, the costumes, the dancing, the boating. Even his willingness to put aside the affront of Will's attack was evidence of the man's infatuation. No, it was by no means trivial, his attention. Will clenched his teeth. If Uncle Stuart insisted on seeing it as such, he was a fool.

Not that he could say anything about it.

Staring upward as a group, they reached the massive feet of the Eiffel Tower. Will thought it might be his favorite aspect of Paris—to stand beneath the elegant structure, each curve and angle as beautiful as it was strong. Uncle Stuart began his lecture. “Built for the World's Fair of 1889, the tower was to be torn down within twenty years. But Parisians adopted it as their own.”

As his uncle went on, Will glanced around, studying each person about—other tour groups, begging Gypsies, a couple of businessmen out for an afternoon stroll. Neither of the men he spotted earlier was in sight, which both relieved him and made him anxious. Were they merely waiting for a better opportunity to—to do what? Try to capture or hurt Richelieu? Or one of the Kensington or Morgan heirs? All of them?

He sighed and counted heads, glad they were all in one small, tight group for once. Hugh and Felix were shaking hands and grinning, as if agreeing upon a bet, and glancing up to the top. Then he looked for Richelieu and found him to one side of a small newspaper stand, slipping his wallet out and handing the guard some bills.
So that's how he gains entrance.

Richelieu approached the old bear and bent to say something in his ear. Looking pleased, Uncle Stuart nodded and gestured for the group to follow their host to the stairwell. “The lifts are still closed, but we've gained access to the stairs,” he said with delight. Reluctantly, Will turned to follow. He was the last one in, and with a grunt, the guard closed the iron gate, locking it behind them.

They began the climb, the women exclaiming about the numerous flights of stairs, the men jostling to get ahead—Felix at the front, of course, Hugh right behind him. Andrew stayed with Vivian. It only took a few turns before Lil, red-faced, paused to catch her breath beside Uncle Stuart, who appeared similarly flushed.

“You go ahead, my boy,” Stuart panted. “I'll stay and keep watch with Miss Lillian here.”

Will passed them, sure they'd never make it to the top. Climbing wasn't the best idea for Uncle Stuart anyway. His heart wasn't what it used to be. Nell paused next, and her brother Andrew and Vivian waited with her. Will glanced downward, now a couple hundred feet up from the bottom. With the gate locked behind them, he was reasonably sure all would be safe below. He was more concerned with what might transpire up top. His eyes narrowed as he spied Cora and Richelieu two flights above him, on the opposite side. Even from this distance, he could see Cora's color was high and she was flashing Richelieu a shy smile.
Passing interest, my foot
,
he thought grimly.

Felix and Hugh were being idiotic, jostling each other, now two turns ahead of Richelieu and Cora. Will doubled his pace, intent on catching up to the young men. If they wrestled at just the wrong juncture, if there was a handrail rivet not quite strong enough—he glanced down to the ground and shuddered at the thought of them going over.

He passed Antonio, who was leaning forward, hands on his knees, panting for breath. The middle-aged man was in good shape, but this was a taxing venture for them all. “Keep an eye on Richelieu and Cora, will you?” Will said. Antonio gave him a red-faced nod before Will added, “I'm going after the boys.”

He resisted the urge to call after them, scold them like children. Clients never reacted well to that. But he'd do it if he had to.

In their race, they'd lost all sense of decorum, laughing and practically wrestling right there on the stairs. They'd finally caught the attention of Andrew and Vivian, who yelled up at them. But their cries went unnoticed. Hugh grabbed Felix by the back of the collar, and when he lost his balance and stumbled to the left rail, Hugh hooted and ran past him on the right, taking the steps two at a time. Felix ripped off his jacket and left it on the rail, tearing after Hugh.

Will raced on, seething that they would take such foolish risks, as well as leave behind such an expensive coat. “Felix!” he shouted, hoping his friend would pause, but Felix remained steadfast in his goal of catching up to Hugh. Will's breath was coming in ragged heaves now, his heart thundering in his chest. How could they keep up such a pace? He kept his head down, watching every stair that passed, knowing he couldn't afford a fall himself. Finally, he was gaining on them. Up ahead, Felix had caught Hugh on a small landing where the stairs turned, and they shifted from side to side on the small platform. Far below, Will heard one of the younger girls scream when the men leaned far over one rail, but Hugh and Felix could neither see nor hear anyone but each other, it seemed.

Hugh frowned as Felix grabbed hold of his jacket as he attempted to resume his climb, and roughly yanked him backward onto the landing. But when Felix tried to move ahead, Hugh did the same thing to him. Felix crashed into a beam on the far side of the landing and then dived for Hugh, bringing the man down on the stairs.

“Stop it!” Will cried. “Stop it, now!” He was but twenty feet away.

Both men looked over at him in surprise, then, with a grin at each other, resumed their wrestling match to get ahead.

Will swore under his breath and ran after them. Hugh was again ahead, but Felix grabbed one of his elbows and yanked him backward, sending him to one side of the stairwell rail and running past him, oblivious to what he'd just done. Hugh teetered on the edge, his legs lifting. For a second, Will hoped he'd regain his balance. But then he clearly was not. Will heard the women screaming below as Hugh twisted and narrowly caught the rail with one hand as he went over.

Will was still five feet away.

Hugh swung, grimacing as he fought for a grip. Felix reached him a second before Will. “Hugh!” he cried, grabbing hold of his friend's wrist.

Will leaned over the rail and assessed the situation. “Hugh, give me your other hand!”

“I'm losing it,” Hugh cried in desperation. “I can't hold on!”

“Felix has you!” Will said.

Hugh groaned and paused, as if summoning the strength. Will took two steps downward. “Here, I'm right here,” Will said, reaching out to the man from a different angle.

Hugh didn't pause another second. Sucking in his breath, he swung toward Will, reaching out. They clasped wrists. Will repositioned himself for better leverage, then nodded at Felix. “Get a better grip on his wrist.”

Felix paused, his dark brows gathering over his bright blue eyes, sweat beading on his brow. “It's okay,” Will said. “I've got him.”

Both Felix and Will grunted with the strain of holding Hugh aloft, now fully dead weight. “Move fast,” he grunted at Felix, his breath coming in pants. They wouldn't be able to hold on to Hugh for long. “On three, we're going to yank him up and grab him by the waist. Got it?”

Felix, red-faced, the sweat now running down his forehead, nodded.

“One, two, three,” Will said, and with that, both men gave it all they had, yanking Hugh upward with force. Before gravity could reclaim him, they reached out and caught him underneath each armpit.

Quickly, they pulled him backward, collapsing in a heap on the stairwell, Hugh partially atop them. They gasped for breath and held on to Hugh, as if he still might slip from safety.

Cora and Richelieu reached them, panting, faces awash in concern. “Are you all right, monsieur?” Richelieu asked, reaching out to touch Hugh's shoulder.

“Fine, fine,” Hugh said.

Felix began laughing first. Then Hugh. But Will seethed with fury. He pushed Hugh off of him and clambered to his feet. “You think it's funny?” he cried. He wanted to kick them. “You almost
died
.”

Hugh rose, and his smile partially faded. “Sorry I gave you a fright there, Will,” he said, reaching out his hand.

Will stared at it, still too angry to take it.

“Will,” Hugh said, now fully sober, “I'm indebted to you. You saved my life.”

“Yes, I did,” Will said, finally taking his hand. “But if you ever do anything as idiotic as that again”—he looked from Hugh to Felix—“I'll toss you over the rail myself.”

CHAPTER 33

~Cora~

I'd never seen him so furious. He'd left us behind at the Eiffel Tower, walking past Antonio's outstretched hand of congratulations, ignoring his sputtering uncle, and rattling the gate at the bottom until the guard came and unlocked it. He strode out and, according to Anna, didn't appear all that evening, apparently electing to take his supper in his room rather than dine with the rest of the group.

We'd moved ahead, making it as far as the first observation deck, a small number of us going all the way to the top. But a cloud had descended since the incident with Hugh, muting conversation. Such was the effect of death—or near-death, I supposed. This seemed to bring the Morgans and Kensingtons to an abrupt halt, but for me, it was a familiar feeling. It was as if the shine had come off of the silver, and all that remained was the basic, utilitarian utensil. I knew how to deal with such surprises; the others did not.

Pierre and I ate our supper at a restaurant, as we had planned, but it was early, and only a few of the tables in the restaurant were occupied, so there was none of the gaiety and subdued chatter I'd become accustomed to in the city. Through the large glass window, I could see Antonio alternately pacing outside the restaurant—keeping a chaperone's eye on me—and then sitting in the Richelieu carriage, waiting to escort me back to the chateau. But my mind was back at the Eiffel Tower…

“What is it,
ma perle
?” Pierre asked, jerking my attention back to him. He looked at me with a tender gaze that felt like a caress.

“It is the boys,” I confessed, setting down my fork. I wasn't eating my
coq au vin
anyway. “Hugh and Felix.” I shook my head in agitation. “They don't know what they've been given. What they so nearly threw away today.”

He studied me with his steady green eyes. “But you do,” he said quietly. “Who did you leave to take this tour, Cora?”

My eyes shifted to the front window of the restaurant, watching as people walked by. I imagined them there, my parents. Staring in, their hands on the glass. “My papa,” I said, tearing my eyes away. Then I met Pierre's gaze. “The father who raised me, Alan Diehl. Up until last month, I did not even know Wallace Kensington. And Papa, he suffered a stroke… He was terribly weak when I left him.”

“And now? You've received word from him?”

I nodded a little. “Before we left the States. He was receiving good medical care, but still I fret over him.”

He nodded soberly, unblinking. “Who else?” he asked. This time he reached out and covered my cold hand with his warm one. “Who else are you feeling far from,
ma chérie
?”

I dared to look at him again. Was it that obvious? Did I wear my longing like a mask across my face?

“My mother. She accompanied Papa to Minnesota, where he might enter a proper hospital.”

Again, no surprise filled his eyes. Only compassion. “Who else?”

I studied him, confused, and gave a little shake of my head. “No one else.”

“Come now,” he said, taking a sip of his wine and leaning back. “Tell me. Your father, your mother, it is normal to miss them. But the weight you carry in those beautiful blue eyes…” He shook his head as if he could feel my pain. “Cora, is there not yet more you are mourning?”

I considered his words and glanced back to the front window. I imagined others there, joining Papa and Mama, staring in at me like a window to my soul. “I left more than my parents. When Mr. Kensington…when he came to collect me, we were on the verge of losing our farm…”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassment flood my face. What would Pierre care of such mundane matters? How could he even begin to understand? His world was so different. But his eyes were warm, compassionate. As if he understood me already. As if he wanted to know me better. “It may sound silly to you, Pierre. But I am missing a bit of myself…” I searched his face, wondering if I'd completely lost him in those last statements. “The girl who wore far simpler dresses, who enjoyed a certain comfort in her naïveté…” I paused and studied him, trying again. “Wallace Kensington made a way for me to come here.” I waved about the fancy restaurant. “On this tour. But he also made it impossible for me and my folks to ever return home,” I said bitterly, “to ever resume our former life.”

“And why did he do that?”

Why did he do that?
I thought. He could've paid the debt and allowed us to maintain ownership so we'd have a place to come back to once Papa was well again. But he hadn't. The thought niggled at me.

I shrugged a little and wound my cloth napkin into a knot beneath the table. “The farm was failing. My father was ailing. Perhaps he just wanted to force us all
forward
.”

Pierre played with the stem of his crystal glass and eyed me carefully. “It sounds as if he was doing you a favor, no?”

“Yes. No!” I shook my head. “I don't know.”

“Oh,
mon amie,
I think you do. He was pushing you out of a nest,” he said.

“A nest in a dying tree,” I muttered, looking to the window again. “But it was all so sudden…and it left me feeling torn between grief and anger…and relief, really.”

“Ahh,” he said, leaning forward on the table as the waiter took away his empty plate. “And there it is. So your Monsieur Kensington was the storm that forced you to a new nest. And you are not entirely sure it is a nest you want. This is what divides us, yes? I am but a symbol of more—more of what you're not sure you want.” He tucked his chin, staring at me, waiting, as if for me to strike him.

“In part,” I said with a slight nod. “But, Pierre, Mr. Kensington has promised me only this summer of the tour, and after it, the completion of my education, so that I might teach. I have no inheritance, no funds of my own to speak of. Does that not make me the most pathetic sort of woman you might ever pursue?” I smiled at him. “I attended your ball. That hall was filled with women of refinement, women far beyond my station. Women born to hold your attention.”

He shrugged and leaned back in that languid, suave manner of the French, smiling. “Cora, perhaps it is because you are so utterly different from any woman I've ever known—or will likely come to know—that I find you so compelling.”

I gave him a little laugh. “I'm a novelty to you, then. Not more. Let's not get confused.”

“
Non
,” he said, frowning and stretching his hand out, just barely touching mine with the tips of his long, elegant fingers. His eyes were deadly still. “You're far more than mere novelty.”

His words left me breathless. Frightened me by their intensity. And quietly, I pulled my fingers from his.

He smiled, compassion in his eyes. “It is all right,
ma chérie
. There is time. Ample time for us to let whatever this is,” he said, waving back and forth between us, “unfold.”

Pierre put me in a horse-drawn Richelieu carriage beside Antonio and, with a kiss to my knuckles, bid me
adieu
. He was reluctantly off to a political function for the evening. With a quick word from him, the driver pulled away into the swell of Parisian traffic.

“You enjoyed a fine meal, Cora?” Antonio asked.

“I did,” I agreed simply. I did not feel like talking, and he seemed to sense my mood and left me to my silence, him looking out one side of the carriage, me the other. The genteel evening crowd was just now emerging, glancing my way, nodding at us as if we were one with them. In my finery, and in Pierre's carriage, I felt like an actress on a perfectly set stage. Pierre's words echoed through my mind. Could I ever truly be at ease in society? Or would I forever feel like a fraud, a girl playing dress-up?

And what did I care? I was me.

It was Pierre who made me care. My mind went over our conversation, and it warmed me to think that he had so clearly seen the sorrow in my eyes, that he cared enough to draw it out of me.

The driver took the road that followed the Seine, and I stared at the water glimmering with the reflections of streetlamps and buildings. I tried to think through all that had transpired through the afternoon and eve. From those last moments with Pierre back to the near accident at the Eiffel Tower.

My mind was swirling, and I needed some time to let the events settle in my heart. No matter what kind of cad Hugh was, he was a part of us, our group. And none of us wanted to see him dead. But today, we'd come perilously close to watching him fall to his death.

I shivered, thinking of seeing him go over the rail.

“Avez-vous froid, mademoiselle?”
The driver held up a wool lap blanket, his eyebrows lifted.

“He wonders if you are cold,” Antonio translated.

But I wasn't. It was a beautiful evening, the heat of the afternoon still lingering, radiating up from the cobblestones and bricks as darkness set in. “Non, merci,” I said with a grateful smile and a shake of my head. Pierre's servants were terribly attentive. If I stayed much longer, I'd become nothing but a spoiled, fat brat of a girl, I was sure of it. No better than my sisters. But I couldn't deny the flicker of desire it lit within me—the thought of nevermore having to strive for anything. That it all might be simply provided…

And yet that didn't set well either.
You can take the Montana farm girl off the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the girl
, I thought. I considered my long years of chores from sunup to sundown. And then I considered Mr. Kensington and what he did to reach his goals. No, the life of luxury was in neither my blood nor my upbringing. I let a small smile curl the corners of my lips. This was an adventure, a
grand
adventure, to be sure. I was eager to see the coming days and weeks unfold.

But it clearly felt as but a chapter in my life story. Not the entire book.

What might occupy the evening for me? Perhaps a turn around Pierre's beautiful gardens and fountains. I bade Antonio good evening but then vacillated at the front foyer for a good while. The butler frowned at me in confusion before I finally settled on the idea of donning a comfortable, threadbare nightgown stashed at the bottom of my trunk and curling up with a book.

I was on my way up the curving staircase when I met Will, who was coming down.

“Will,” I said when he didn't seem to notice me.

“Oh! Cora. Sorry. I was just on my way out.”

“I see that,” I said wryly. He'd almost walked right over me. “Where are you off to?”

He studied me a moment and then checked his pocket watch. “If I can make it, a Compline service at a church in the city. Figured I needed something to calm me if I am to sleep tonight.”

“An excellent idea,” I said, hesitating as an idea took hold in my mind. “Might I join you?”

He paused, and I sensed he had really wanted to go alone. But I waited him out, growing surer by the second that attending an evening prayer service might bring me just the measure of peace that I needed.

“If you'd like,” he finally said politely.

“Wonderful. I'll change quickly and meet you outside?”

He nodded once, and we passed on the stairs. But his manner was polite, distant. There was none of the heat that I'd felt between us on the ship.

I puzzled over the memory as I pulled the feather from my hair and changed. Had I imagined the whole thing? His eyes bright with interest. The pause when he nearly fell on top of me. Our lips, so near. But ever since, it was as if he had shut that door, never looking back.

Which was all right by me, I thought, pinning a massive hat to my head with one eight-inch pin and then another. The hat matched a light-blue jacket and skirt that would be warm enough for evening temperatures and demure enough for a church service. My thoughts returned to Will. I had enough to contend with, considering Pierre. And my goal was to complete the tour and get back to Normal School, not to get romantically involved. I didn't belong with any of these people. Any of them.