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‘Mama!’ Elinor murmured, cringing at the bluntness of the enquiry. Theo was hardly likely to answer that.
‘Why, helping him retrieve the missing items,’ he answered readily. ‘I had some success, especially with the pictures. They are easier to identify than pieces of furniture.’
‘Ah, so you have located some more items,’ Lady James said, apparently happy now she had pinned down Theo’s precise business.
He did not answer. Which means, Elinor thought, studying the back of his neck as though that singularly unresponsive and well-barbered part of his anatomy could give her some clue, Mama is not correct and his business with Count Leon is something else entirely. How intriguing.
Waiting at the bottom of the hill was a closed carriage. Theo’s own? Or had he hired it especially? Determined not to be as openly inquisitive as her mother, Elinor allowed herself to be handed in and set to studying the interior.
Dark blue, well-padded upholstery. Carpet underfoot. Neat netting strung across the roof, cunningly constructed pockets in the doors and pistol holders on either side. Theo’s own, she was certain. Her cousin was a man who enjoyed luxury and valued practicality, she deduced, her gaze on the swinging gold tassels of his Hessian boots and her memory conjuring up the contents of his sketching satchel. But what sort of life encompassed carriages of this quality and the need for rabbit snares?
She lifted her eyes to find him watching her, one dark brow raised. She had been wrong to think he would not do that, she thought. Today, far from the comfortable cousin of yesterday, he was a society gentleman and a rather impressive one at that.
‘I was admiring the appointments of your carriage,’ she said calmly, in response to the raised brow. ‘Although I cannot see the container for the game you snare.’
He gave a snort of laughter, the gentleman turning back into Cousin Theo again. ‘You guessed it was mine?’
‘I am coming to know the style,’ she said, and was rewarded by a smile and an inclination of the head. He looked rather pleased at the compliment.
‘Whatever are you talking about, Elinor?’ Lady James did not wait for a response, but swept on. ‘How far is it, Theophilus?’
‘Another five miles, Aunt. I do not suppose I can prevail upon you to call me Theo?’
‘Certainly not. I do not approve of shortening names. Most vulgar.’
Under cover of brushing his hair back he rolled his eyes at Elinor, almost provoking her to giggles. She frowned repressively and set herself the task of talking her mother into a good humour before they arrived. ‘Do tell me about this chapel, Mama. I am sure I will not appreciate it without your guidance.’ This time Theo crossed his eyes, making her cough desperately and be thankful that the interior of the carriage was dim enough for Mama not to notice.
He was back to being the perfect gentleman again by the time they rolled past the outlying farmhouse, through the gatehouse and into the courtyard of the chateau. ‘I sent ahead yesterday to apprise them of our visit; we should be expected.’
As he spoke the great double doors at the top of the steps swung open and a young man stepped out, two women dressed in mourning black just behind him. Elinor did not like to stare and with the fuss attendant on having the steps let down, retrieving her mother’s reticule from the carriage and following her up the steps, it was not until she was within arm’s length of the count that she saw his face.
It was only the tightly tied garnet ribbons under her chin that stopped her jaw dropping: the Comte Leon de Beaumartin was quite the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Chapter Five
The pain in his right hand recalled Theo to the fact that he needed to be making introductions, not reacting to the look in Elinor’s eyes when she saw the Count. He relaxed his grip on his cane and removed his hat. His cousin was once more demurely composed; he doubted anyone else had noticed her widening eyes. The count had been looking between them as though to assess their relationship. Now a polite social smile replaced the assessment.
‘Monsieur le Comte?’
‘Monsieur Ravenhurst. I am delighted to meet you at last. My father, unfortunately, told me so little about you.’
I’ll wager he did, Theo thought grimly. ‘Aunt Louisa, may I introduce Comte Leon de Beaumartin? Monsieur, Lady James Ravenhurst, my cousin Miss Ravenhurst.’
The count switched his attention to the ladies, and more particularly to Elinor. Theo was close enough to see his pupils widen. And, of course he has to kiss her hand. Lady James received an elegant bow, Elinor the full flourish ending with a kiss a fraction above her gloved hand. Why the hell does she have to look so damnably pretty this morning? And she doesn’t even realise.
‘Lady James, Miss Ravenhurst. Allow me to introduce my mother, the Countess Christine, and Mademoiselle Julie de Falaise.’ Theo bowed, the countess and Lady James bowed, the younger ladies curtsied. It was all extremely proper. Now all he had to do was engineer an invitation to stay for the three of them and he would be able to search the chateau from garrets to cellars for his property. It was what he needed to do, yet suddenly his appetite for it was waning. Surely that beating he got when the object was taken hadn’t shaken his nerve?
‘We will take coffee,’ the countess pronounced, leading the way acros
s a stone-flagged hallway.
‘My aunt is a notable scholar of ancient buildings,’ Theo interjected smoothly, pulling himself together and following the ladies. ‘As I explained when I wrote, the purpose of our visit is largely that I had hoped you would be willing to show her your famous chapel, ma’am.’
The countess stopped, turned to Lady James and positively beamed. ‘But it is our family pride and joy, madame, I would be delighted to show it to you.’ Her English, like her son’s, was fluent, although accented. Hers was a heavier accent; the count’s, Theo thought darkly, was precisely the sort that sent impressionable English ladies into a flutter. Elinor, of course, was made of sterner stuff. Or so he would have said half an hour ago.
‘Excellent. Kindly lead the way.’ Aunt Louisa thrust her parasol into the hands of the waiting footman, produced a notebook from her capacious reticule and stood waiting.
‘Before coffee?’ The question seemed rhetorical, the countess recognising single-minded obsession when she saw it. ‘This way, then.’
