Chapter Five

Mlle. de Roncaille fluttered into the breakfast room, followed once again by her dark shadows, Mlle. Benda and Mme. d’Hivers. Her smiles and pink ruffles were all the more delightful against the black robes and stern faces of her companions. Ned rose to his feet to seat her while a footman took care of the other two.

She rewarded him with an even more brilliant smile over her shoulder as she settled herself. “I am so glad that you are here, Lord Edward.”

Ned returned to the other side of the table, the better to look at her. “And I am delighted to be here in such enchanting company, Mlle. de Roncaille.” His smile caught briefly when he heard a quiet snort from Mme. d’Hivers but he did not look away.

“Mlle. de Roncaille, no, you must not call me that. It is much too formal when we are all living here at the chateau. You must call me Delphine, and I will call you Edward.”

Her smile was irresistible. “I would be honored,” he said.

“And Marguerite too, of course,” she continued, waving a hand at her cousin.

“Of course,” replied Mlle. Benda dryly. She looked at Ned and shrugged. “Attempting to maintain formality would be futile once Delphine has decided against it.”

Ned suspected that the bow of agreement he gave to Mlle. Benda—Marguerite—might be too formal, but really, the woman did not invite informality despite her words. She had, he supposed, a sort of beauty, but it was a stern, almost fierce beauty with her strong features and proud carriage.

They were such unlikely cousins. Where Delphine’s blonde curls danced around her face, Marguerite’s dark—almost black—locks were pulled back harshly into a severe bun. Delphine’s eyes were of a guileless blue; Marguerite’s were fathomless dark pools. There could be a hundred—a thousand—secrets hidden behind those eyes.

But perhaps it was not their looks that made them seem so different. Delphine was all softness and sweetness, the sort of delicate creature a man instinctively sought to protect. Marguerite—he would try to think of her by that name—seemed surrounded by a hedge of prickles, fierce and independent. If she had red hair, she would make a good Boadicea.

His mother and sisters would probably like her. At least they might like her if she ever smiled again.

Ned felt that shiver run down his spine.

He turned back to Delphine. “Tony told me that you were in Paris during the siege. That must have been dreadful for you.”

“Oh, it was. It was simply horrible. At the start, it was exciting, though. I went out to the ramparts with friends, and we could see the Prussian army in the distance. I had seen officers before that, of course, but it was different to see a real army.”

“Especially when they began to shoot,” said Marguerite.

“Surely not.” Ned was shocked. “They would not shoot at women.”

Marguerite shot a contemptuous glance at him. “They were besieging the city, bombarding the walls. Do you think they were particularly worried if their shells hit sightseeing fools?”

Ned felt like an idiot. Of course she was talking about the bombardment, but somehow he had imagined soldiers shooting rifles at the people on the walls. Surely no sniper would ever harm a delightful creature like Delphine.

“And it was so difficult to get food,” Delphine continued as if there had been no interruption. “Some of the poor even ate horsemeat.”

Mme. d’Hivers and Marguerite rolled their eyes.

“Even worse,” said Delphine, “They killed some of the animals from the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes, and butchers were selling the meat. Truly. The English butcher on the Boulevard Haussmann was selling parts of Pollux. He was the elephant that used to give people rides. It was so sad.” Tears of tender sympathy threatened to fill those blue eyes, and the rosebud mouth quivered.

“Delphine.” There was a warning note in Mme. d’Hivers’ voice.

Delphine ignored her, but the threat of tears receded. “Things got so expensive, and it was so difficult to buy food, that Marguerite sold my pearls. She insisted on taking them no matter what I said. I couldn’t stop her.” The girl’s voice started to rise, and her eyes flashed. “Even when I said that she could sell her brooch instead, but she wouldn’t.”

“Delphine!” The warning note had sharpened. “You know perfectly well that Marguerite had already sold all the rest of her jewels and her mother’s jewels.”

“But I miss my pearls. It was cruel to take them from me.” Delphine’s voice softened, and her mouth pursed in a pretty pout. “We didn’t even need all the money, because a week later it was all over.”

“Yes, it was all over,” Marguerite said, her voice barely audible. She rose and hurried from the room. Mme. d’Hivers went to follow but not before she snapped at Delphine, “Pearls can be replaced.”

Delphine looked startled at the reprimand, so Ned commented gently, “You forget that Marguerite lost her father in that last week.”

“Yes, I know that, but he was old, and it was all so silly.”

“Silly?” That was not a word he could imagine associating with a death.

“The whole thing was silly. What did it matter to any of us? I just wanted to be able to go shopping again, and see the handsome soldiers in their uniforms.” The pout had returned. “My uncle wasn’t involved in the fighting, but he made us all stay inside for days and days while it was going on. We weren’t even allowed to go near the windows to see what was happening. And after all that, when it was almost over, a shot came through the window and hit him.”

She spoke with the callousness of a child. Ned reminded himself that she was very young, but he still had to reprimand her gently. “It must have been terrible for Marguerite to lose her father that way.”

Delphine frowned slightly. “I don’t think she can have been terribly upset. She hardly cried at all. She just sat there for ages, holding him in her lap. And afterward, she would sit staring at nothing for days and days.” She took a bite of her croissant.

She was obviously too young to understand grief. That must be it, Ned thought. He swallowed some coffee and found it hot enough to burn his mouth.

The gasp he made after he had swallowed it attracted her attention again, and she smiled. “It makes me feel safe, though, knowing that you will be able to protect us.”

“Protect you?” Ned was still trying to breathe in cool air. “Protect you from what?”

“Why, from the curse, of course.” She took another bite.

Ned closed his mouth, then opened it, then closed it again before he finally spoke. “Delphine, it may be amusing to joke about it, but you know that there is no such thing as a curse.”

“Of course there is. How else do you explain it?”

“Explain what?”

She looked at him as if he were the simple-minded one. “Ever since the family fled the chateau during the Revolution, there has been nothing but tragedy. The vicomte’s two brothers died in the fighting. Then on their way to England, his father died. When the vicomte married, his wife died giving birth to their son. That son died even before his own son was born. And that son died when Antoine was an infant. Brothers and sons all died before they were thirty. And his sister? She had only a daughter. And that daughter has only daughters who have only daughters. What can it be but a curse?”

She returned to her croissant with a shrug, and nothing Ned could say made any impression.

Mme. d’Hivers caught up with Marguerite in the hallway, and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and held her until her shudders eased.

Taking a deep breath, Marguerite lifted her head and huffed a sigh. “I am such a fool—I should know better than to let her disturb me. I know I promised my mother that I would take care of her, but sometimes… It’s just that every now and then I suddenly cannot bear it.”

“Pftt. Since when can we control our feelings to such an extent? One would have to be a saint to keep from being distressed by that one from time to time.”

“Thank you for that.” Marguerite lifted one side of her mouth in a crooked smile. “I just don’t know what to do. We cannot stay here forever.”

“I know it worries you, but for the time being we are safe enough here. We can stay until we know more. Have you sent the manuscript to Oscar Villoteau?”

“No, not yet.”

Mme. d’Hivers shook her head impatiently. “If you do not write to him, we do not know, and so we cannot make any decision. Give it to me. I will take it down to the village to post. No one will see.”

The girl nodded in acquiescence. “But what should I do about Delphine?”

“Do? Nothing. She is busy with the English aristo. So long as she is practicing her wiles on him, she will not be too difficult.”

She shook her head. “True, but it seems unfair to him. He seems too kind, too gentle. Nothing like those arrogant Parisian aristocrats. Nothing like Louvois.”

“Marguerite,” the older woman said in exasperation, “kindness costs him nothing. If he does not seem like Louvois, it is because he has no need to be so at the moment. Just remember that he is an aristo, accustomed to having whatever he wants and expecting everyone to fawn on him. Delphine will do so, he will be charmed by her, and they will both be happy. He does not deserve your concern.”

“You are doubtless correct.” Marguerite did not look as if she believed her words. “But he seems…I do not know.” She gave herself a shake. “It is of no importance, as you say, and in all probability she can do him no harm. Come. I will write to Oscar and send him the manuscript. And I must ask for his advice as well. Paris is not the only city in the world where music is played. Perhaps he will have some ideas about where we might go. Someplace far from Louvois.”