Chapter Ten

If he had been paying attention, he would have realized that Delphine was leading him to the same door he had used when he arrived at the chateau. As it was, he was still under the spell of the music and did not notice where he was until he stood again on the stone floor, with the somber paintings of religious processions looming over him.

He frowned. “I came this way when I arrived.”

“Yes, I know.” She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “But no one uses this entrance any more. That is why it took so long for anyone to let you in.”

He continued to frown. “But you, you were up there at the top of this staircase.” He gestured at the stone staircase that was, he now noticed, an elaborate one of carved granite. Surely this was no servants’ entrance. Why had his entrance here been so unexpected?

“Yes, of course,” she said, starting up the stairs. “This way we can reach the real chateau, not that dreary part the vicomte chooses to live in now. All those gloomy stone walls. This is where his family lived when all was beautiful and gay. You will see.”

Horace held back. “But Madame said we should not go there.” He stammered slightly.

“Nonsense.” Delphine waved an airy hand as she continued up.

“But Madame said,” Horace repeated stubbornly.

At the top of the staircase, Delphine spun around. “Then do not join us. Go back to Madame. Go!” She waved dismissal.

Horace managed to look both mulish and cowed, with his lower lip stuck out before he turned and shuffled off, muttering, “She said. You know she did.”

Ned looked after him uncertainly. “Is this part of the building unsafe?”

“No, of course not, unless you consider dust dangerous. Come along.” She waved to him impatiently and vanished down the corridor.

He followed more slowly, feeling uneasy for reasons he did not understand. Part of it was simply that he was a guest here, and had no business intruding on private—or forbidden—areas. No one was likely to reprimand him, of course. Over the years he had learned that few people ever reprimanded the son of a marquess. That made him particularly careful to avoid overstepping boundaries. He disliked even the possibility that he might be taking advantage of his position.

But was this part of the chateau private? No one lived in these rooms. That much was obvious. Dust there was in plenty, dust everywhere, piled up in corners and covering every surface. The only indication that anyone had entered these rooms in years—possibly in centuries—was the disturbance in the center where footprints and smears could be seen. Small footprints, probably Delphine’s. And smears from her trailing skirts. Did anyone else come here?

His first thought, that the building might be physically unsafe, seemed wrong. The floor under his feet was definitely solid, and there seemed to be no danger from the ceiling. The plasterwork and cornices showed no missing pieces, no likelihood that bits might come tumbling down. The only possible threat came from the spiders that had spun those webs up there.

So why had Delphine been told not to come here?

“In here. Come.” Her head appeared from a doorway and promptly disappeared.

He obeyed.

The doorway was one of those immensely high ones with double paneled doors folded back on each side. And the room itself was…incredible. He turned slowly, drinking it in. Even covered with decades of grime, something of its old glory shone through. It was a ballroom, he supposed. It was too big for anything else. On one side were long windows so coated with dirt that they barely let in any light now, but he imagined that they probably opened onto a balcony stretching the length of the room. On the opposite wall were long mirrors, their frames echoing the window frames. The chandeliers were long gone, only the plaster rosettes and brackets in the ceiling showing where they had once been. Bits of fabric still clung to the window frames, tattered remnants of old glories.

Ned shook his head. It was all incredibly sad.

Delphine stood on the dais at one end of the room, smiling joyously and stretching out her arms. “Is it not magnificent?”

He raised his brows. “That is not quite the way I would have described it.”

“Oh, not at the moment, perhaps.” She shrugged dismissively. “But when I have restored it, then you will see.”

“You are planning to restore it?”

“Not yet, of course. I must wait until it is mine. It will be expensive, no doubt. I will need to find the treasure. He cannot live much longer, and he really must tell me how to find it before he dies.” She was looking around the room meditatively.

“You are the vicomte’s heir?” She seemed to assume so, but no one else had said anything about it.

“Who else?” She was not paying much attention to Ned. Her attention seemed focused on the windows.

Ned did not know whether to laugh or scold. She had said something of the sort once before. Playing games of make-believe was all very well and good, but she really should learn not to talk that way. “Tony is his great grandson,” he pointed out. “And Marguerite is as closely related to him as you are.”

She made a dismissive noise. “I told you, they are not truly of the nobility. Not any more. Their blood has been contaminated by their parents’ mésalliances.”

“Delphine!” It was more gasp than protest, more shock than either.

He might as well not have spoken for all the attention she gave him. Her thoughts were directed elsewhere, and hectic red spots appeared on her cheeks. “Tell me, do you think I should have velvet for the draperies or brocade? It must be blue to match my eyes. I may have to have it specially dyed. And I shall wear sapphires in my hair. The guests—they too will be of the ancient nobility, none of these new creations—they will all be struck with admiration for me, and they will recognize my worth. I shall reign over them all.” She tilted her head as if in gracious acceptance of the admiration of the crowd.

Ned did not know what to say. Was this just a childish fantasy? He was beginning to doubt it. She looked and spoke as if she seriously planned all this. As if she believed what she was saying.

“Delphine.” To his relief, Marguerite came through the door. She approached slowly, almost hesitantly, and spoke in the soothing tones one used for a frightened child or a wounded animal. He had heard her use that tone to Delphine before. “Delphine, I thought…”

“There is no need for you to worry, Marguerite,” Delphine interrupted with a regal wave of her hand. “I have not forgotten you. There will be a piano up here on the dais for you, beside the orchestra, and you will be able to play for my guests.” She looked at her cousin with a frown. “But if you persist in dressing like a crow, I must insist that you sit behind a screen. I will have no black at my ball.”

“Very well, dear, no black. But don’t you think…” Marguerite stretched out a hand toward the younger girl.

“Stop that!” Delphine leaped back, out of reach. “You don’t believe me. You think I am just being silly. But it will all be true. This will all be mine. Why do you deny it?” Her voice kept rising.

“Calm yourself, Delphine.” Marguerite kept her voice soft, but she looked as if every muscle in her body was tensed.

Ned wanted to help. He hated that he was just standing there, but he did not understand what was happening and he feared making things worse. There did not seem to be any physical danger at least.

“Enough.” Mme. d’Hivers’ voice was not loud but was decisive. “It is time, Delphine. You will come with me.”

Everything seemed frozen. Mme. d’Hivers stood in the doorway, holding out a hand to Delphine, dominating by her very presence. Horace hovered behind her, his head appearing over her shoulder. Inside the room, Marguerite waited, watching Delphine, just watching.

And Delphine? She stood up on the dais, head high, one hand at her breast, immobile while they all stared at her. Finally, she gave a gracious smile and nodded at Mme. d’Hivers. “But of course,” she said, and moved gracefully across the dais, down the two steps, and across the floor to the door, where she placed her hand on that of the older woman and allowed herself to be led from the room.

Ned let out the breath he had not realized he was holding and turned to look at Marguerite.

She shook her head. “I am sorry. It is not your fault. Someone should have warned you.”

“What isn’t my fault? What should someone have warned me about?” His confusion was giving way to anger. “What the hell just happened?”

She was standing there looking coldly emotionless again. Could this possibly be the same woman who had made the music he had listened to not an hour ago? This, this ice queen? She was so pale he could believe that it was ice water, not blood, running though her veins.

“I am sorry,” she said again. “It is just that…” She licked her lips—at least that was some sign of emotion. “Delphine…she is very imaginative. There are times when she forgets and gets carried away.”

“You mean she lives in a dream world.” The brutality of his tone made her flinch.

She held herself up stiffly, however, and persisted. “It has been difficult for her. Her father died, then her mother, then her uncle. My mother. The siege. My father’s death.”

“I apologize.” He felt a guilty flush creep up his face. “It must have been difficult for you as well.”

Her shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “I am not so…fragile as she is. And then I never knew her father, barely knew her mother and uncle.”

“Now you are responsible for her?” This could not be right. Delphine was…he was not sure what Delphine was, though she was obviously not the sweet, angelic creature he had thought when he first saw her. Something was certainly wrong with the girl. Marguerite could not possibly have such responsibility thrust upon her. She was too young herself, not more than a year or two older, and, now that he looked more closely, too pale and thin, too fragile herself for such a burden.

But she looked away. “I promised my mother. There is no one else.”

He muttered an oath and seized her by the arm. “Come with me.”