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“No. I feel quite refreshed.” She pushed the covers away and rose. “I shall take my turn. Did you see anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “It’s been quiet. I saw a woman leave with a market basket. I thought she might be the wife of the gaoler overseeing the care of the dauphin, but she might be the cook or a servant. She returned about an hour later. Nothing else.”
“Please try and sleep,” she told him. “I promise to wake you if there is any sign of the princess. When my watch is over I will go out and buy us something to eat.”
As she spoke, he’d taken the chair across from the bed and had begun to remove his shoes. Now he looked up. “I should go to the market. You must be famished.”
Honoria gave him a look of warning. “Sir Andrew said it would be dangerous for you to be seen. If the residents of this area are familiar with you because of your association with the Comte d’Artois, then it would be better if you stayed inside and out of view.”
“And I should send you out and into danger while I recline in safety?”
“What danger is there for me in walking to the market? I have never had the luxury of maids or footmen to shadow my every movement. I’m quite capable of buying goods and transporting them back without any assistance. I have done so for years in London.”
Seeming mollified, the marquis began to remove his shoes again. “This is not London, and you are not a Frenchwoman.”
Honoria shrugged in the way the French always did. “I will wear the patriot’s cockade, and as you know, I speak French perfectly.”
“Ah, yes. Your parents from Brussels.” He stripped off his coat. He began to unfasten his shirt at the throat. Apparently, he intended to sleep without it. Honoria did not know what else he intended to remove, and she did not want to find out. She backed out of the room. “Now I had better go to my post.”
Coward,she chided herself as she scampered away, closing the bedchamber door behind her. Her real fear had nothing to do with the bloodthirsty peasants on the streets, but with the irresistible noble in the room a few feet away.
Honoria sat at the table near the window, pleased to note the marquis had positioned it so she might see out, but anyone passing by would not have a clear view of those seated there. The day was cloudy and overcast and the lack of sun meant the temperatures had dropped. It would be a long winter in Paris—and a bloody one—if the harvest was as poor as it had been in recent years.
The draft from the window made the seat beside it less than ideal, but Honoria was thankful for the small fire in the hearth and made a note to buy more wood when she went to the market. She rubbed her hands together to warm them, then turned her attention to the notes the marquis had made of his observations from the early morning.
He’d sketched his view of the Tower and the gardens surrounding it. As everyone in Paris was ravenous for information about the royals, their location in the Temple had been published. He’d made notes pointing out the location of the Grande Tower, where the royal family was being held. From all accounts, the ground floor housed about forty National Guard. The third floor had been the king’s before he had been sent to his death. The princess and her aunt occupied the fourth floor. The dauphin had been separated from his mother and sister in early July and moved to solitary confinement.
At one point the family had been in the smaller tower, the Petite Tower, but they had been moved to the Grande Tower by order of the government. This was all noted and on a separate sheet of parchment he had begun a map of the interior of the Tower. Some sections were dark and in a definitive hand while others were lighter, indicating the marquis was less certain as to his memory of those. Perhaps given more time and sleep he would recall more.
His notes indicated there really had been very little activity at the Tower. Guards stood outside the entrance, and more had arrived shortly before he’d woken her. These had taken over for the others. The marquis suspected the next change would be in the late afternoon. The only other activity had been the exit of the woman.
To Honoria’s pleasure, he’d also sketched a picture of her. The marquis was a rather talented artist. All of the drawing lessons he’d taken with Madame Royale must have been to his benefit. His sketch of the Tower was very well executed, and Honoria thought his drawing of the woman detailed enough that she would recognize her if and when she returned.
The first hour of her watch was rather tedious, and only the cold from the window kept Honoria from dozing off. The woman the marquis had sketched returned the next hour. Honoria could not see what she had in her basket, but she thought she saw at least one bottle of wine and perhaps more. If the gaolers spent much of their evenings drinking or inebriated, that could work to the League’s advantage. She made a note of her observations and put her chin on her hand to continue the surveillance.
“That is certainly a lovely picture,” said a deep voice.
Honoria turned to see the marquis standing in the bedchamber door. The movement of her head made her realize how stiff she was. She should remember to stand up and move at intervals. “You are supposed to be resting,” she said.
“I slept,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. She might have accused him of lying, but his hair was rather adorably tousled. His hand moved to the stubble on his chin. “What I wouldn’t give for a razor.”
“Perhaps I can purchase one in the market. You should go back to bed. I have only been watching for an hour.”
He gave her an odd look. “It has been more than three.” He gestured to the clock on the table beside one of the chairs near the hearth.
Honoria rose in surprise. She must have been daydreaming and lost track of time.
“I hope you did not fall asleep.”
“I did not,” she assured him. “Nothing has happened, and so I suppose I allowed my thoughts to drift. I was always good at losing focus—or so my papa used to say.”
The marquis moved into the room, lifting a chair and carrying it to the window so he might sit across from her and still see the Tower. “Is that the papa who taught you so much about Roman artifacts?”
She smiled.
“You thought I would forget.”
“I thought it would not interest you.”
