Surrender to a Stranger (20 page)

She struggled to free herself from his grip, but he held her fast. “I understand perfectly,” she bit out between clenched teeth.

He released her abruptly, causing her to fall back against her seat. “Good.” Evidently thinking the matter settled, he closed his eyes and once again appeared to sleep.

It was very late by the time the carriage turned down the road that led to Sir Edward’s home. Jacqueline peered out the window and saw an enormous, dark estate rising up into the moonlight, with only a few lights spilling through the windows on the main floor. When the carriage finally ground to a halt Armand swung the door open and climbed down, then turned and offered his hand to help her.

“Your new home, Mademoiselle,” he said in a clipped voice that told her he did not want to hear any arguments to the contrary.

Jacqueline accepted his hand without comment. She was utterly exhausted from the difficult traveling of the past few days, and all she wanted was to be escorted to a bed where she could sleep undisturbed for at least a week. But there was excitement building within her as well. She was finally going to see Suzanne and Séraphine. As she mounted the steps that led to the front door, she found she could not restrain herself from squeezing Armand’s arm with nervous anticipation. She felt his hand cover hers in a gesture of support, and for a brief moment the tension between them seemed to disappear.

The heavy oak door swung open and an elderly butler ushered them in.

“Good evening, Mr. St. James,” he said stiffly in English.

“Good evening, Cranfield,” returned Armand. “Are Sir Edward and Lady Harrington still up?”

“They had hoped you would be arriving tonight and await your presence in the drawing room,” replied Cranfield. “If you will kindly follow me.”

He led them to a massive room, heavily swathed with ruby velvet draperies and dark oil paintings. A portly, smiling couple, whom Jacqueline assumed to be Sir Edward and Lady Harrington, were already rushing toward them as they entered.

“By Jove, Armand, you really did do it!” blurted out Sir Edward enthusiastically. He was a stout man in his late fifties, with a narrow fringe of gray hair circling a shiny bald spot at the top of his head. His nose and cheeks were rosy, indicating a love of good brandy, and his brown eyes were filled with genuine warmth and friendliness. He grabbed Jacqueline’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Welcome, my dear Jacklyn, welcome,” he said, beaming. “We have been waiting anxiously for your arrival, and of course Lady Harrington and I have been beside ourselves with worry these past few weeks that something might have gone wrong, or that those damned Frenchies had already harmed you and we would be too late. I tell you, when St. James did not appear at the door with you early this morning as promised, well, we just about went mad with anxiety—”

“You poor dear, you must be simply exhausted after such a long and dreadful experience,” interrupted Lady Harrington. She moved up to Jacqueline and planted a warm kiss on her cheek. Like her husband, it was obvious she relished a good meal and did not care for too much physical activity. She carried her plump frame with elegance, and wore an exquisite gown of sapphire brocade that exactly matched the sapphires lying against her plump bosom. “Now you don’t worry, you are safe now and you can forget all about those terrible things you have been through. Why, if you like, we will just not talk about them, we will simply wipe the slate clean and say that no one is to ask you about the horrors you have been forced to endure. Why, you poor child, you are as thin as a rail, and no wonder after being starved in that awful prison. Well, we’ll soon fix that, we’ll have the cook prepare all your favorite foods. Would you like something to eat now?”

Jacqueline stared at them blankly. She had not understood a single word they said. She turned and looked helplessly at Armand, who was watching her with an expression of concern. It was obvious he had not realized she did not speak any English whatsoever.

“Pardonnez-moi,”
she began hesitantly, wondering if either of the Harringtons spoke any French. Surely if Sir Edward had been such a good friend to her father years ago, he must speak at least a little of her language? She turned her eyes to him.
“Je ne peux pas parler anglais. Parlez-vous français?”
she asked hopefully.

Sir Edward looked at her in surprise.

“Mademoiselle de Lambert does not speak any English,” interjected Armand, silently cursing himself for not having realized that earlier. He should have prepared Jacqueline for the fact that the Harringtons spoke only a smattering of French.

“The poor dear, of course she doesn’t.” Lady Harrington clucked, making it sound as if her inability to speak English was due to some terrible form of neglect. “Let’s see, er, Jacklyn,
avez-vous faim?
” she pronounced haltingly, asking if she was hungry.

Jacqueline shook her head as they stared at her expectantly. She was all at once feeling very isolated and out of place.

“Perhaps Mademoiselle de Lambert should be permitted to see her sisters,” suggested Armand, sensing her distress and wanting to ease it.

“A splendid idea,” agreed Lady Harrington. “Cranfield, have Miss Lindsey waken the girls and bring them down at once.”

“As you wish, Lady Harrington,” replied Cranfield. He bowed and left the room.

“Well now,” said Sir Edward awkwardly, “I guess my old friend Charles-Alexander did not think it necessary for his daughters to learn English. Not to worry. We have engaged an excellent English tutor for Suzanne and Séraphine, and Suzanne’s English is coming along splendidly. Séraphine sits in on the sessions of course, but as she is still not speaking, it is hard to say how much she has learned. You tell Jacklyn here that I wager within a month she will be speaking English like the rest of us,” he asserted happily.

“Sir Edward, Mademoiselle de Lambert’s name is pronounced
Jacqueline,
not Jacklyn,” Armand pointed out, wondering as he did so why the anglicization of her name irritated him so much. Clumsy pronunciation of French names was common in England and generally accepted. It certainly happened with his own name. It was most unlike him to make an issue out of something so trivial.

Sir Edward looked at him in surprise. “Of course,” he acknowledged. “Jack-el-een,” he repeated slowly, thoroughly butchering her name once again, only this time in three painfully distinctive parts.

“Perhaps we should call her Jackie, to make it easier for everyone,” suggested Lady Harrington brightly.

“A splendid idea, my dear,” agreed Sir Edward. “Armand, ask Jacklyn if she would object if we all called her Jackie.”

“No,” replied Armand firmly. Sir Edward and Lady Harrington looked at him in shock, clearly taken aback by the intensity of his tone. He felt ridiculous. “What I mean is, I am sure if you practice, you will eventually get it,” he explained apologetically.

Jacqueline stood silently and watched them have this discussion. She understood it had something to do with their inability to pronounce her name. Why had it not occurred to her that the Harringtons would not be able to speak French? Her father was a learned man who had traveled widely before he married, and was fluent in several languages. Obviously when he made friends with Sir Edward it was he who had transcended the language barrier. The Duc de Lambert had insisted that his son, the marquis, be educated in languages as well, a requirement that caused poor Antoine to complain bitterly, for he did not have a flair for accents. But the duc did not consider the ability to speak a foreign language necessary for his daughters, and therefore neither Jacqueline nor her sisters had been tutored in anything other than French. She wondered how Suzanne and Séraphine must have felt, being sent away to live in a strange house with people who could only communicate with them on the most basic of levels. Her heart bled for them.

“Jacqueline!”

She turned as the little voice gasped her name, just in time to kneel and be embraced by two small arms that wrapped fiercely around her neck and hugged her close to a blond cloud of curls.

“Suzanne, my pet, my dove, how wonderful it is to see you again!” she cried in French, kissing the little face that was pressed so close to hers. She looked up to see Séraphine, a smaller, blonder version of her sister, looking very pale and grave and uncertain, still standing in the doorway. “Séraphine, my little angel, come to me that I may kiss you, too!” Jacqueline called joyfully as she extended her arm to her.

The little girl stood rooted to the spot, staring at her with empty gray eyes as if she was a complete and total stranger.

“Séraphine, it is I, Jacqueline,” she crooned, wondering if she could possibly look that much different from before. She reached up and pulled off her enormous blue satin hat so the little girl could see her better.

“Oh, Jacqueline,” wailed Suzanne, “what happened to your beautiful hair?” She reached up to touch the short, ragged ends.

“Why, I cut it,” stammered Jacqueline, realizing too late that the removal of her hat was not a good idea. Séraphine continued to gaze at her vacantly. “It was so much trouble, always having to wash it and brush it and pin it up, I decided I would be bold and start a new fashion,” she rushed on desperately, hoping her voice sounded bright. “Isn’t that right, Monsieur St. James?”

“Indeed it is,” agreed Armand. “And now women all over France are picking up their scissors and cutting off their hair to achieve the De Lambert style.”

Suzanne looked at Jacqueline skeptically.

“I thought I heard voices,” breathed a soft, musical voice in English. A pretty, auburn-haired young woman, dressed only in a pale blue nightdress covered with a filmy matching wrapper floated into the room. “Why, Armand, how wonderfully fit and well you look after your latest adventure crossing the channel,” she gushed as she stepped closer to him. “I am simply dying to hear all about it.” She gave him a lovely smile.

Jacqueline found she was momentarily distracted from Séraphine by the entrance of this girl. She could not understand a word she was saying, but it was obvious to her that the girl was flirting outrageously with Armand. A hot sense of irritation rushed through her.

“You must be Jacklyn,” said the girl sweetly as she turned to acknowledge Jacqueline’s presence.

“Jacklyn does not speak English, Laura, and you are not appropriately dressed to be down here in the company of men,” said Sir Edward sternly.

“Oh Papa, it is so late, and besides, Armand is practically family,” Laura protested, giving Armand a conspiratorial smile. With that dismissal of her father’s comment she turned to Jacqueline. “Hello Jacklyn. My name is Laura and I can speak French,” she said slowly in heavily accented French.

“A pleasure, Mademoiselle Laura,” replied Jacqueline politely.

The formality of their introduction observed, Laura turned her attention back to Armand. “Now, Armand, I want to hear all about how you came to save this poor girl from those awful, murdering Frenchies. Were you in grave danger? Did they have ships watching the coast? Were any of your accomplices killed as they escaped with Jacklyn? Did you have to kill anyone?”

“That is quite enough, Laura,” intervened Lady Harrington. “Why, our guests must be utterly exhausted after their ordeal, and I am certain poor Armand is in no mood to start recounting all the details of his journey to you now. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. Right now I am sure our guests would like nothing more than to be taken to their rooms.”

“Regrettably, Lady Harrington, I am not able to stay the night,” apologized Armand.

“Oh, but you must,” pleaded Laura, her lower lip jutting out into a pretty little pout. “Why, I shall simply die of curiosity if I don’t hear all about your adventure, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Jacqueline noticed that the girl was standing very close to Armand, not quite touching him, but looking as if at any moment she might toss propriety to the winds and just throw her scantily clad self against him. She had to restrain the urge to take the silly girl aside and give her a good slap.

“You can hear about it from Mademoiselle de Lambert, and practice your French at the same time,” suggested Armand smoothly. “I have been away from my home too long, and I must get back.”

He turned to face Jacqueline, who still knelt with her arms wrapped around Suzanne.

“It seems, Mademoiselle de Lambert, the time has come for me to take my leave of you,” he told her in a low voice in French.

She looked at him in surprise. “Tonight?” she whispered blankly, feeling as if he was abandoning her and at the same time wondering why that should be so. After all, he had completed his mission. He had saved her life and delivered her to Sir Edward, as he had been hired to do. He forced her to leave her country against her will, true, he had been overbearing and rude and totally uninterested in her wishes. But he had not let her come to harm along the way, and he had stayed by her side and nursed her when she had been so ill she wanted to die. They had been through much these past few days. She had told herself she would be glad to be finished with him, but now that the moment of separation had arrived, she found herself strangely reluctant to say good-bye.

“I thought perhaps you would be staying for a while….” she began hesitantly.

He was surprised by the trace of vulnerability in her voice, but he was careful not to show it. He knew that at this moment she felt a little lost, but he also knew that she still hoped she would eventually be able to convince him to help her return to France. Well, he would not. His business with her was finished, and it was time he returned home. She was safe from her enemies and reunited with her sisters. Sir Edward and Lady Harrington would take good care of her. It would be difficult for her at first, but eventually she would learn English and start to fit in. Her dark fury and her consuming need for vengeance would gradually dissipate in the wake of frilly new gowns, gay parties and balls, and the stream of suitors who would undoubtedly soon ask permission to call on her. She was attractive enough, and her lineage as the daughter of the Duc de Lambert would make her a desirable match. True, she no longer had the great wealth she enjoyed before the revolution, but he was sure Sir Edward would set her up with an impressive dowry most bachelor aristocrats would find more than acceptable. He thought back to the moment in the woods when she smashed her fist into his jaw as he tried to kiss her, and he smiled. God help the poor fool who decided she was for him.