Chapter Thirty-six

The Penworths arrived far earlier than anyone had expected. The servants naturally coped with aplomb, ushering them into the warmest of the sitting rooms and providing them with refreshments. The butler, who seemed quite pleased, explained that the vicomte’s family and guests were all gathered in his room rejoicing over the discovery of the treasure.

Once they were alone, Lady Penworth looked at her husband. “There actually was a treasure? I must confess that I am surprised.”

“Hmm.” He was looking around in a distracted way. “You know, this really is an odd place. From the way Ned wrote about it, I was expecting suits of armor draped in cobwebs with skeletal hands reaching out. Not…not this.” He waved his hand at the furniture. “It looks more comfortable than my club.”

“Yes, I see what you mean. Not that I’ve been in your club,” she sniffed—that was a sore spot—“but all these leather chairs and sofas. The feminine touch is not much in evidence.”

“Well, the vicomte has been living here alone for a good many years.” He smiled gently.

They seated themselves and Lady Penworth had just taken a sip of really excellent coffee when a young woman swept into the room.

Lady Penworth froze momentarily, then put her cup down carefully and came to her feet. Her husband was already standing and looking at her with a plea for help in his eyes. She could understand his distress.

The young woman was quite beautiful. That was undeniably true. She had large blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and a tiny chin. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head with a ringlet dangling down over her shoulder.

She was also wearing a gown of pale pink silk printed with a trellis of ribbons and small bouquets of flowers. The bodice was cut square—and very low—across the bosom and the narrow sleeves ended in a frill of lace. The skirt opened over an underskirt of a slightly darker pink and was held out straight on hoops for at least a foot at the sides.

In short, she was wearing a dress that would have been the height of fashion more than a century ago.

What on earth was going on? Did the inhabitants of this chateau habitually dress up in costumes? Were visitors expected to do so as well? Lady Penworth had no intention of doing any such thing.

Then there was her companion—a servant? Lady Penworth wasn’t sure. He stood behind her, but not with the passive expression one expected of servants. This fellow, with his round, pasty face, looked worried. And the way his mouth hung slightly open—really, he looked simpleminded.

The girl sank into a graceful curtsy. She did that very well, thought Lady Penworth, and it can’t have been easy in that outfit. Perhaps she was an actress and there was some sort of performance going on. Then the girl spoke, in English but with a pleasant French accent. “Monsieur le Marquis, Madame la Marquise, Lord and Lady Penworth, you are most welcome to Morvan.”

Having survived far more awkward encounters over the years, the Penworths smiled graciously and inclined their heads in acknowledgment. “Delighted,” said Lord Penworth. Then they waited.

“You cannot know how pleased I am that you have made the journey to meet me,” said the girl. The Penworths looked at each other, unable to think of the proper response to that. The girl laughed lightly. “How foolish of me! Since Lord Edward is not here to present his betrothed properly, you must permit me to do so myself. I am Mademoiselle Delphine de Roncaille.”

At that she curtsied deeply once more. Lady Penworth was grateful for the depth of that curtsy, since it meant the girl could not see the look of horror she shared with her husband. They had composed themselves somewhat by the time she rose, but before she spoke to them, she noticed that her companion was making distressed noises. She turned on him and waved a hand in dismissal. “Go find Madame.”

Returning her attention to the Penworths, she assured them, “You must not distress yourselves. My parents and I are of la noblesse ancienne, the true nobility. Never has our bloodline been contaminated by the bourgeoisie. Nor do you need to fear that I will look down on Lord Edward because he is a younger son. It does not distress me at all.”

“I am certainly glad to hear that,” Lord Penworth said with a touch of acid in his voice.

Lady Penworth could not quite manage to speak. She was too angry. This nonsensical creature was going to marry Ned? Her son? Absolutely not! Thank heaven they had come here.

Mlle. de Roncaille apparently noticed a certain lack of enthusiasm, so she spoke reassuringly. “You need not worry yourselves. Since I am French, I understand how things should be arranged. You need not fear that I will make scenes or carry on.”

“Carry on?” Lady Penworth’s throat was so tight that her voice came out as something between a squeak and a crack.

The girl nodded and gave the Penworths an understanding smile. “I know how it is with gentlemen. I saw it with my own father. I know how these things are done. So you can trust that I will not interfere with any little arrangements Lord Edward chooses to make. Obviously there can be nothing more than an arrangement with Marguerite, but she will be in Paris. He can provide for her a home there. I, of course, will be here, once we have restored the rest of the chateau, or at Versailles.”

“Versailles?” It was Lord Penworth’s turn to sound befuddled.

“Yes, at the court.” Mademoiselle smiled. “And you can rest assured that my lineage will suffice to make your son welcome there.”

“Will it indeed.” Lady Penworth spoke softly, but her fingers were curving into claws. Oh, she was very glad they had come here. It wasn’t too late, but any more delay could have spelt disaster.

There was a flurry of noise—hurried footsteps, rustling clothing, and Ned burst into the room, followed closely by a woman in black.

Ned came to an abrupt halt. Mlle. de Roncaille turned to him with all the hauteur of a grand lady interrupted by her underlings. Lady Penworth noted the worried look on her husband’s face and looked at her son with exasperation. He had better have a good explanation. She did not like having her husband distressed.

Ned and the woman in black exchanged a quick look. Then she hurried to Mademoiselle’s side—perhaps she was the girl’s keeper—while Ned went to his parents.

“I have been welcoming Lord Edward’s parents,” Mademoiselle informed the other woman. “And I have told them that I will not interfere with any little arrangement you have with him.”

Lady Penworth allowed Ned’s kiss on her cheek, but she was listening carefully to the women’s conversation. What could the girl mean? There was no way Ned—her son—would carry on an affair with a servant. That would be a despicable abuse of privilege.

“That was most courteous and gracious of you,” said the servant, if that’s what she was, softly, moving so that the girl was drawn away from the Penworths. “And you are wearing a very beautiful gown this morning.”

“Yes, I am.” Mademoiselle looked down at it complacently.

The servant put a hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder. “And what will you wear to luncheon? I think it must be time for you to change. It is already past noon.”

“Is it so late? Then I must indeed hurry. You will have to help me dress.”

“Of course.” The woman in black threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she led the girl out of the room.

Ned, meanwhile, had greeted his parents with a touch of embarrassment. “I apologize for not being here to greet you. We had not thought you could arrive so early.”

“Your mother couldn’t sleep, so we had an early start,” said Lord Penworth dryly. “Very early.”

His wife sniffed and gave her son an extra hug before stepping back. “Your young lady greeted us. Quite impressively.” She spoke quite as dryly as her husband.

“She’s very pretty.” Lord Penworth sounded as if he was not sure that was the appropriate comment.

“Pretty?”

It sounded as if Ned did not know who he was talking about, so Lord Penworth said, “Mlle. de Roncaille. The young lady who greeted us. She is a very pretty girl.”

Ned grinned. “Yes. That’s the first thing people notice. Did you talk to her long enough to realize that she is also as mad as a hatter?”

Lady Penworth collapsed into a chair. She had not realized how tense she was until the fear evaporated. “Thank God.”

“What’s the matter?” Ned ran to her side.

She glared at her son. “You do realize that she introduced herself to us as your betrothed.”

“Ah, yes. That.” Ned rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a bit difficult.”

“You do not mean you are planning to marry her?” Lady Penworth was horrified and made no effort to disguise the fact.

“Of course not.” Ned sounded actually affronted. What had he expected them to think?

His father raised his brows. “Well, she is quite pretty in a fragile, damsel-in-distress, sort of way. And I suppose one might consider her in need of protection.”

Ned still sounded annoyed. “Yes, but I can’t believe you’d think me such a fool as to marry her. It’s Marguerite that I’m planning to marry.”

“Marguerite,” repeated his mother. His parents exchanged glances. “Do you mean the musician you mentioned in your letters?”

“Yes. Mlle. Benda.” Ned’s face softened into a smile. “You saw her just now, but I didn’t have a chance to introduce her. She’s the one who took care of Delphine.”

“The young woman in black?” Lady Penworth frowned slightly. “I thought she was a servant, so I didn’t really look at her. She seemed to be the girl’s keeper.”

“I suppose she is, in a way. They’re cousins, and Marguerite feels responsible for her. And, of course, since we’re getting married, I am too.”

“That must be a considerable relief to Miss Benda,” said Lady Penworth. She looked at her husband again. “She sounds like a very clever girl.”

Ned finally seemed to notice that his parents were less than happy about something, but before he could ask for an explanation, Tony came bursting in. Now there was someone in the room who was completely happy.

“Lord and Lady Penworth, welcome!” Tony greeted them exuberantly, with French embraces and kisses on each cheek. “You could not have come at a better time. Did you know? No, how could you? It was only the other day that we found the Morvan Treasure, thanks to your brilliant son.”

“The treasure?” Lord Penworth said. “The butler mentioned it. So there really was one?”

“Indeed, and but for Ned’s cleverness, we might never have found it.”

“The treasure?” Lady Penworth couldn’t help being interested in spite of herself.

“No, Mama, we did not dig up chests of gold and jewels,” Ned said with a laugh. “The treasure turned out to be a reliquary containing the bones of St. Mael, and will now be restored to the church in the village, where it belongs.”

“Bones.” Lady Penworth said the word as if it had an unpleasant flavor.

Tony laughed at the fallen faces. “You look as disappointed as my cousin Delphine. But cheer up. In a few days we will have an elaborate ceremony. The priest and all the village officials will come, there will be speeches, and a procession will carry St. Mael back to his place of honor in the church.”

“And you? Are you not disappointed that there is no treasure to invest in your steel factory?” Lord Penworth asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tony could not stop smiling. “My great grandfather is so pleased to have the treasure found that he has promised to provide the funding we need to get started. Our lost investors no longer worry me.”

“That reminds me,” Penworth said. “Ned had asked if I knew anything about a fellow named Louvois. I didn’t, but I asked some people in Paris, and it seems that he may have been behind the hesitation of some people at the Crédit Mobilier to back you. Have you had problems with him before?”

Tony looked startled. “I’ve never even heard of him.”

Ned was aghast. “No. He went after you because you are related to Marguerite. He probably thought he could punish her through you.”

“But why?” Tony looked even more confused.

“He is that bastard who showed up here not long ago—he was trying to force Marguerite to be his mistress,” Ned explained. “When he failed, he must have been trying to get revenge by targeting you, Tony.”

“Force her…?” Lady Penworth was finding this more and more distasteful.

“Yes, Mama. It seems he had enough influence to prevent her from working in Paris, but that’s all taken care of now.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose it is.”

Lord Penworth was frowning. “An unpleasant fellow. I discovered that he had also caused some uncertainty about the funds Matthias Benda had on deposit. But he shouldn’t cause any more trouble. Alphonse de Rothschild doesn’t like it when people try to insert personal vendettas into the banking system.”

“I’m sure Miss Benda knows she has nothing more to worry about,” Lady Penworth said. Her words were perfectly amicable, but Ned looked as if he was unsure of her meaning.

Good.