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“Is that why you’ve arrived two days late to the house party?”
His expression turned serious. “No. In fact, I wasn’t certain I would arrive at all. I came through Paris.”
“But Versailles is only a few hours’ journey from Paris.”
“The difficulty, Comtesse, was leaving Paris. Have you not heard?”
She shook her head. Since her husband’s death, she’d paid little attention to French politics, eschewing the balls and court affairs at the Palace of Versailles as well as the theaters and galleries of Paris. She’d come to her late husband’s Versailles estate because it was cooler in the summer than the château in Avignon. Not to mention, her brother-in-law was in Avignon now, as was his right, and he’d recently married and she thought it only polite to give him and his new wife privacy. Her mother, being English, had returned home when Angelette’s father had died, but Angelette had friends in France, the closest being her older sister Thérèse, who was now the Marquise de Beauvais.
“I’m afraid I have not.”
The viscount’s gaze shifted to the footman, then back to her. “There are riots in Paris and mobs in the streets. The gates were closed for at least a day while the royal army attempted to restore order.”
“The bread shortages,” she said, understanding now. Years of poor crop yields had meant shortages of flour as well as other goods. She’d had to allot more money from her budget to buy the necessities, and she could only imagine what that meant for those without means. “No doubt the king and his ministers will find a solution.”
Daventry glanced at the footman again. “If by that you mean locking the Third Estate out of the hall at Versailles and causing them to make pledges on ajeu de paume—you see how annoying that is? Three words when two,tennis court,would do. In any case, if panicking the commoners into taking oaths against their monarch on a tennis court is your king’s policy, then I am less than impressed. The situation has gone from bad to worse.”
Angelette gave her footman a pointed look. “Leave us,” she said in French. She’d been speaking to the viscount in English, but she could not be certain the servants did not understand that language. The liveried footman left the room, closing the door behind him. When they were alone, she rose and walked around the table so she could speak softly.
The viscount rose when she did, meaning she had to look up at him when she stood before him. She had not considered that eventuality. She was not a short woman or particularly petite, but he made her feel both. “My lord—”
“Call me Daventry. Everyone does.”
“Very well, Daventry. I do appreciate you making me aware of the situation in Paris, but you must understand this sort of discussion is most distasteful to the members of the nobility. I hope you will keep this news to yourself for the remainder of the house party.”
His expression remained unchanged. “You want me to keep my mouth shut so you might bury your heads in the proverbial sand?”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Oh, I understand what you are saying, Comtesse. I don’t think you understand what I am saying.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Which is?”
He bent down, leaning close to her. “You, and all the rest of your class, are in danger.”
“Ridiculous. There have been excesses, of course. I understand the anger the lower classes feel, but neither I nor my late husband have treated our tenants unfairly. Not to mention, I am only half French and spent much of my youth in England.”
“The mobs in Paris weren’t asking those they confronted their nationality. If a lady or gentleman looked like a noble, he or she was a target.”
“Of violence?”
“Not yet, but I have no doubt it is coming.”
“And what do you suggest? Leave my home, my friends, my family?”
“You have family in England. I met both your mother and sister, and they asked me repeatedly to persuade you to return with me to England.”
Angelette waved a hand. “The British papers exaggerate the unrest here and my sister is unnecessarily worried.”
He gave her a long look. The intensity of his striking blue eyes made her shiver. “Madame, as I said, I have just come from Paris. I assure you the unrest is no exaggeration.” He raised a hand before she could demur again. “I am heading for Calais and a packet to Dover tomorrow morning. I would like you to travel with me. I cannot force you, but if you choose to stay here, then I doubt we will meet again. Ever.” He gave her a short bow. “Excuse me. Your butler offered to show me to my room.” He marched out of the room, leaving her alone.
“What an annoying man,” she muttered to herself. Thank God he’d be gone tomorrow morning.
***
LITTLE ANGEL, INDEED,Hugh thought that afternoon as he waited for his turn with bow and arrow. He’d never met a person so misnamed. She should have been namedlittle devil. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite work out the French for that. He watched the comtesse raise her bow and narrow her eyes along the shaft of the arrow at the painted hay target. He had to admit, she looked angelic enough. Her dark curly hair had been arranged in an artful style and swept back and up. Her straw Bergère hat, worn on the crown of her head and tilted down over her forehead, was adorned with pink silk ribbon and an assortment of pink and white silk flowers. Tendrils of her dark hair spiraled down about her neck and blew across her pale cheek when the breeze rustled the trees. He couldn’t help but notice that in the dappled sunlight her dark hair seemed to be infused with strands of red and gold.
Herrobe à l’anglaisewas pink silk with a white underskirt. It was far less ornate than what many of the other ladies wore, being devoid of ribbons and lace and other fripperies. He had heard some of the female guests remarking that the comtesse was only recently out of her widow’s weeds. Hugh was of the opinion black would have suited her, since it was the color of Satan. The pink only made her look sweet and pretty. Hugh considered her neither.
