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Dull as her spirits still were, she missed him. His acute observations, his teasing eye, his stories … and the surcease from sorrow she found in his arms, when he loved her so sweetly and completely that nothing, not even anguish and loss, could tarnish the bliss. She’d hoped he would come to her some time during the one night he spent at Denby Lodge before leaving for London, but he hadn’t.
The day of his departure had dawned all the more dreary for that lack.
Surprised at first that Max Ransleigh had not gone with Will to instigate the proceedings, she’d thought he must want to consult with her about the now-distant events in Vienna, so her account of it, when she at last spoke to the authorities, would reinforce what he’d told them of the affair. But to her bewilderment, he had not sought her out in private to quiz her about her memories, nor had he referred to the matter in any way when in company.
Her host and hostess had insisted she dine with them, and though Max had initiated several discussions of Vienna, their object seemed more to entertain Caro than corroborate what she remembered. He described some of the most notable balls and receptions they’d attended, asking her to share her recollections, or else he traded impressions with her about the colourful array of notables and hangers-on who’d attended the Congress.
Perhaps he didn’t wish to distress his wife, who was still recovering from her confinement, by referring to the scandal. Elodie’s initial favourable impression of Caroline Ransleigh had quickly deepened to a friendship she would sorely miss when the time came to leave for London. Not since Clara in Vienna had Elodie had a female friend with whom she could converse freely, and growing up an exile with no sisters, she hadn’t ever had a confidante from her same level in society.
Though Caro insisted she might borrow any garments she liked, not used to being idle, Elodie had asked Max to sell one of the small pieces of jewellery she’d carried with her, so she might purchase material to make herself some garments. Accompanying Caro to the village, she’d bought several dress lengths, and was now completing the second of two stylish gowns.
In addition to the sewing keeping her occupied, she thought that, if she wished the officials at the enquiry to find it credible that she had been the hostess of a high-ranking French diplomat at the most glittering assemblage of aristocrats and government leaders ever gathered in Europe, she couldn’t appear in one of her tattered old gowns, looking like a rag picker.
If prison were the outcome, she might be able to sell the new garments to obtain the coal and candles that would make her existence less miserable. And, if the worst happened, at least she’d have something attractive to be buried in.
At that moment, her hostess entered the parlour with her characteristic, brisk step. ‘Elodie, what exquisite work!’ she exclaimed, coming over to inspect her embroidery. ‘I can easily believe an exclusive Vienna modiste clamoured for you to embellish her gowns.’
‘Hardly “clamoured”,’ Elodie replied. ‘But she did pay me promptly and rather well for a seamstress.’
‘I’m so hopeless, I can’t sew a stitch! I ought to commission you to make some gowns for me. I’ve never cared two figs what I wore, as long as it was modest and serviceable, but now that I’m regaining my figure …’ A blush heated her cheeks. ‘I’d like to have something new to intrigue my husband and remind me I’m more than just a mama.’
‘Something that shows to advantage that fine mama’s bosom,’ Elodie teased, smiling when Caro’s blush deepened. ‘I would be happy to make you something, if I have time enough before I leave.’
A shadow crossed Caro’s face. ‘I do wish you didn’t have to go. But I don’t mean to speak of that, for it will only make me melancholy, and heavens, it seems lately the merest nothing has me wanting to burst into tears! Me, who has never in her life been missish,’ she finished with disgust.
‘It goes with becoming a mama,’ Elodie said.
‘The nursery maid is just finishing Andrew’s bath. Shall I bring him down?’
‘Please do! I’ve been working on a gown for him, too.’
‘You’re sure? Sometimes I worry that seeing him must make it … more difficult for you.’
‘I should miss Philippe every day, even if I never saw another child. But a baby should be a joy. Not for the world would I want yours to diminish, because of my loss! It lifts my spirits to see you with him and know that such happiness still exists in the world. Besides, who could resist such a handsome charmer as your son?’
Caro beamed. ‘He is handsome, isn’t he? And demanding. Which is good. If I didn’t have him to occupy me, I don’t know how I would bear the inactivity. I know the doctor said I must not ride for another two weeks, but I’m feeling perfectly fine and cannot wait to get back to my horses!’
‘Go get your son and we’ll let him entertain us,’ Elodie said.
Smiling, she went back to her stitching. She’d not just reassured her new friend to ease her anxiety; she did enjoy seeing the child. Holding and playing with the infant, recalling as it did memories of happier times with Philippe, always lifted her spirits and eased the dull anxiety that sat like a boulder in her gut, an ever-present worry over a future she didn’t want to envision.
What if they only interviewed and then released her? Though she tried to keep herself from contemplating anything beyond that meeting in London, occasionally speculation about a different, better resolution crept into her thoughts.
What was she to do with herself if she did not end up in prison or on the gallows? Though she knew her new friend would invite her to stay indefinitely at Denby Lodge, she didn’t wish to be a burden. Perhaps she could get lodgings in London and find employment as a seamstress. Rich women would always need new gowns.
There was no question of returning to Paris. The Ransleigh name might command the attention—and protection—of the Prime Minister and the respect of Prince Talleyrand, but Elodie Lefevre, her brother dead and his rising career with him, was no longer of any importance. Besides, sojourning in the same city that contained her son, but unable to be with him, would be a torment beyond enduring.
So, London it must be. Unless … unless Will wanted her. They had been excellent comrades on the road and passionate lovers. Perhaps he would keep her as his mistress for a while, until he tired of her. Such a handsome, charismatic man would make any woman who set eyes on him try to entice him; it wouldn’t take Will Ransleigh long to find another lover to share his bed.
As the door opened, she looked up, expecting to see Caro and her babe. Instead, the object of her imaginings walked in.
‘Will, you’re back!’ she cried, jumping up. Within the dull empty expanse of her chest, her moribund heart gave a small leap of gladness.
She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from his face as he approached her, smiling faintly, his sheer physical allure striking her as forcefully as it had that first day.
‘Sewing again, I see,’ he said. ‘Just like when I found you in Vienna.’
Was he thinking of their first meeting, too? ‘Although this time, you enter, quite boringly, by the door, rather than thrillingly through a window.’
‘I see I am failing in my duty as a rogue. I shall have to redeem myself.’
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to walk into the arms he held out to her, to lift her face for his kiss.
He took her mouth gently, but she met him ardently. With a stifled groan, he clutched her tighter, deepening the kiss. She moulded herself to him, her body fitting his like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
After a moment, he broke the kiss, his turquoise eyes dark. ‘Does that mean you’ve missed me?’
‘I have. I feel …’ At home? At peace? As content as it was possible for her to be? ‘Safe when you’re near,’ she finished.
His expression grew serious. ‘And I mean to keep you that way.’
‘Must we leave at once for London? I … I had promised Caro to make her a new gown.’
‘She has treated you well?’
‘Very well. We so very quickly became friends, I shall miss her when we leave for London.’
‘We’re not going to London.’
‘Not going?’ Elodie echoed, puzzled. ‘Is the Foreign Office allowing me to give a deposition here, rather than testifying in person?’
‘No deposition. No testimony at all. I don’t want to risk it.’
She shook her head, more confused than ever. ‘But what of Monsieur Max? How is his name to be cleared, if I do not testify? What of his career?’
‘Max is quite happy with the career—and the family—he has at Denby Lodge. And if, in future, he has a longing to return to government, he means to go on his own merits, elected to Parliament by the men of this district, not relying on the prestige of his family or the patronage of some high official.’
‘This is truth? You are sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
She would not have to testify. After girding herself for that trial for so long, she could scarcely comprehend she would not be facing the looming spectre of prison or the noose. Dizzy and disoriented with relief, she stumbled to the sofa. ‘What is to become of me, then?’
