“That’s not a problem,” Rafe assured her.
“He and I have talked about that, sweetheart.” Her husband continued to show her his calm in the eye of this storm they faced. “If need be, Rafe and I can carry Luc.”
“How far, eh? I suggest a bateau for the Seine. One with a roof to conceal us,” she said.
Neither man responded.
She went on. “A boat is quiet. Beneath the streets where they will hunt for a carriage or horses. They will expect clatter. We can foil them by hiring a few children to clang their homemade drums.”
Evan smothered a chuckle. “A boat is easy to rent.”
“Better yet,” Rafe said, shaking a finger at them both, “we should buy one. Then we are not tracked by the owner. We don’t want to have issues with anyone.”
“More than that,” Inès insisted, “we need a place for Luc to bathe and dress, and for all of us to rest, if necessary.”
Evan downed the last of his cognac. “We will move on to the coast as soon as Luc can travel.”
Inès stared at him. “We need a plan of escape, a series of auberges in which to hide. Guards will imagine we go up the Seine back to the southern coast of England. But what if we don’t?”
“Darling, how fast can we be if we take another route?” Evan was not arguing with her but taking her advice and building on it.
She smiled slowly at this man who took direction from his wife and grinned at her in return. “If we head south and take the Loire west, we can go faster to the sea.”
Evan sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face. “So tell us, my love, who is this person who will help us with all this?”
“Cecily, Countess Nugent, who walks among Society and has for more than a decade.”
Rafe snorted, appalled. “The woman who left England and the regent to become the mistress of the old Duc d’Orleans? Pardon me, Inès, but how can that be?”
“Too easily, I am afraid,” she responded with all the compassion of one who knew secrets millions would never even guess. “My brother once owned our vineyards and chateau along the Loire. We produced the most luscious white the Countess Nugent ever drank. What’s more, Luc became her vintner for her home in Paris. She recommended our wines to everyone.” She could see Rafe was not convinced. “What’s more, Madame Nugent is the aunt who raised Augustine, Lady Ashley, and the one who took in a little orphan, Amber, now Lady Ramsey.”
Rafe shook his head, skeptical. “But she is friends with Josephine, with Pauline Bonaparte and Thérésa Tallien! How could she help us?”
Inès shrugged one shoulder. “Because she loves her adopted daughters, their husbands, and their friends.”
“And their politics?” Rafe asked. “Why?”
“I cannot answer that for her, but I do know I can go ask her for help.”
Rafe stared at her. “She won’t turn you in?”
“To Vaillancourt?” Inès asked with a sense of whimsy. “Oh, never. That man nearly killed her two daughters. He is her enemy. And, dare I say, since the day that man helped in the murder of her beloved Orleans, the devil she hates most is René Vaillancourt.”
#
Two days later, Inès strolled in front of the bathing house near the ancient burial vaults of the French monarchs in the churchof St. Denis. She had been here often before. Once she had met Gus, when she wished help to find her missing friend Amber. Today, she would meet the woman who had given a home and love and laughter to those two admirable women.
Cecily, Countess Nugent, did not appear. It was ten minutes after the hour they were to meet.
Inès fidgeted. She could not stay here much longer without attracting attention. True, some men met their lovers here. But not usually women. Across the cobbles on the corner where a café stood, her husband purchased a gossip sheet from a ragged boy. Evan pretended to read the paper, caught by a story that raised his brows, and allowed him to pretend his interest and dally there.
“Machérie,” came a liquid-whisky voice from behind her. “How lovely you have grown.”
Inès turned into the open arms of a tall lady whose classic beauty could not be concealed by the silken veil she wore from her elegant green chapeau. The hat, of course, matched her cloak, which, however, spoke of poorer circumstances than Inès knew the countess’s to be. “I am so grateful you have come,” she whispered, nigh to tears that the lady would help her.
“Ça va bien. I would always come for you. I know about your brother’s fate.” Cecily smiled at Inès with compassion and patted her back. “Now, now. No tears. I venture we are here to do work, comme ça?”
That the lady perceived her challenge was such a relief. She did not have to explain.
