Chapter Twenty-three

“Fetch the doctor,” he snapped at a maid hovering in the corridor. “And ask Mme. d’Hivers to come.”

He managed to lean over and open the door of her room without dropping her and laid her carefully on the bed. She was too thin. She was a tall woman and should not weigh so little. Did no one ever take care of her?

His hand hovered over her cheek. The mark was darkening, and she would have a black eye. “There is a bit of blood. His ring cut you.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

“It’s nothing, truly.” She tried to smile but winced at the movement.

“Right, nothing. You’ll be fortunate if he didn’t break a bone.” He sat down on the side of the bed and took her hand, caressing her fingers gently.

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Ah, well. He was angry. Men like him, they do not like to think someone has played them for a fool.”

He gave a dismissive snort. “No one likes to be played for a fool. Decent men do not react by using their fists on a woman.”

She gave him one of those looks of hers that made him feel like a naive idiot. He tried to ignore it. “Anyway,” he said, “what made him think his arrival would be welcome? I cannot believe you invited him.”

“Of course not. It was, I think, Delphine.”

“Delphine? What about Delphine? What has she done now?” Mme. d’Hivers came hurrying in. After one look at Marguerite’s face, she began making clucking noises. Moving efficiently, she poured water into the washbasin and soaked a cloth. Her glare made Ned get up. Only after she had sat down in his place and held the cloth against Marguerite’s cheek did she speak again. “Tell me what Delphine has done now.”

“Louvois said she had written to him. Ah, the cold feels good.” Marguerite closed her eyes.

“A cold compress? Yes, that is good.” Doctor Fernac arrived to take over. Ned found himself pushed out, told he would just be in the way.

He resented the dismissal, though it was quite possible that he would be in the way, since he had no idea what to do about Marguerite’s injury. But he was too angry and frustrated to do nothing.

Delphine. He recalled what Marguerite had said. Delphine had written to Louvois? Whatever for? She had to know that her cousin feared and loathed the man. Why was she trying to create difficulties for Marguerite?

He charged off to confront her.

After slamming his way through half the rooms on the main floor of the chateau, his temper began to cool. Still, he needed to talk to the girl. When he finally found her in the green sitting room, she was standing, arms akimbo, staring out the window at the drive, where the comte’s carriage was just disappearing, and tapping her foot impatiently. And, of all things, she was in costume. She was wearing one of those silly gowns she had found. It didn’t quite fit, and was trailing on the ground.

Once the carriage was out of sight, she let out a disgusted humph and flung herself into a chair. When she noticed Ned’s arrival, she burst out, “She let him leave without her. How could she be so foolish?”

“Foolish! You think she is the one who was foolish?” He heard his voice rising, so he took a deep, calming breath and began again. “Is it true? Did you write, asking him to come?”

“But of course.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Marguerite, she does not write herself. She does not have the sense to see that he is the best she could hope for. I think to do her a favor. He will come, she will see that he is still interested, and poof! She will go off with him.”

“What are you talking about?” He could not believe what he was hearing. “Do you realize that he struck her?”

Delphine shrugged. “She should not have angered him. At her age she should know better how to deal with a man.”

This was utter nonsense. He felt as if he had tumbled into a topsy-turvey world. Had Delphine lost all sense of reality? Taking still another deep, calming breath, Ned tried again. “She does not want to deal with Louvois. You know—she has told you—she does not even like the man.”

“Bah, like! What has liking to do with it? She must be realistic. He is a comte, not perhaps the highest of the high—it is only a few hundred years old, that title. But still, he is of the aristocracy, and he is rich. She will mingle with people she could never hope to meet otherwise, and she can stop always pinching the pennies. He will buy her decent clothes, so she does not always go around in black, like a crow. And if she uses her wits, she should be able to get some good jewels from him.”

It was getting increasingly difficult to keep a rein on his temper. Yes, she was very young, but even a child should have more sense than this. “Delphine, don’t you understand? He wanted to make her his mistress.”

“But of course.” She looked at him as if he were the child. “What else could such as she hope for? Ah, I know she has her eye on you, but your family is also of the aristocracy. They would never allow you to marry a performer.”

“You cannot be such a fool. Marguerite is hardly a music-hall performer. For heaven’s sake, you’ve heard her play, you’ve heard her music. She has an incredible talent, and my family—any family—would be honored to welcome her.”

She turned on him in fury. “Music, music, music! That is all I hear from her and her father. As if anyone of any importance cares! And the humiliation for me. Imagine it to yourself. I am of the true nobility, la noblesse ancienne, and I must stand by while my cousin displays herself on the common stage.”

Ned lost his temper completely. “Have you lost your mind? You must be mad to think that your childish pretenses are of any importance compared with Marguerite’s gift.”

There was silence while she froze and stared at him. Then she erupted into a whirlwind, shrieking and attacking him with her hands curved into claws. “I am not mad! I am not! You are wicked to say such a thing! Wicked!”

Caught off guard, never having expected such a frenzy, Ned stumbled back, holding up his arms to keep her from scratching his eyes out since that seemed to be her goal. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she had turned into some sort of demonic creature. “Delphine…” He should probably say something to calm her down, but he didn’t know what would work. All he really wanted was to get away from her.

“Delphine!”

Mme. d’Hivers’ voice carried over Delphine’s shrieks. Ned had never been so glad to hear it.

“Horace, come help me.”

While he was ducking and fending off Delphine’s attack, he caught glimpses of the pair of them—the companion and the servant—coming up behind the girl. Horace caught hold of her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, and Mme. d’Hivers stepped in front of her to administer a sharp slap to her cheek.

“Enough of that, Delphine!” The older woman spoke sharply, and to some effect. Delphine’s shrieks subsided to sobs, and she sagged against Horace.

Mme. d’Hivers took the girl into her arms, rocking her gently and making soothing noises.

“He said…he said I am mad…” The words came out between sobs and hiccups.

“No matter,” said Madame. “Come along now, you need to rest.”

The two women walked slowly from the room, the older supporting the younger while she murmured soothing words.

Ned felt in need of support himself. He had no idea what had just happened. Surely a scolding—and a well-deserved one at that—should not have brought on such a tempest.

He turned to Horace, who was regarding him reproachfully. “What was that all about?” he asked. Then he wanted to laugh at himself for asking a simpleton for an explanation.

Horace shook his head. “You shouldn’t get Mlle. Delphine upset. It’s not good to get her upset.”

Not good to get her upset? He stared at Horace, though the statement seemed to have been made in all seriousness. For God’s sake, the girl had created a situation where Marguerite had been attacked, struck in the face by that bloated bastard, then she had flown into an hysterical temper tantrum at a perfectly justified reprimand, and he was being blamed for upsetting her?

Were they all mad?