CHAPTER SIX
Itinerary.
(Prepared by Miss Charlotte Granville)
Paris.
Day 1. A full day will be spent at the Exposition Universelle. Highlights of which will include an ascension to the top of the Eiffel Tower and the perusal of the many international exhibits, both cultural and progressive. The group will spend the evening in enjoyment of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West.
Day 2. The morning and afternoon shall be devoted to appreciation of the extensive collection of mankind’s artistic accomplishments at the Louvre Museum. Following a day of artistic enlightenment, the entire party has been invited to an evening of music hosted by the American ambassador.
“WHAT DO YOU think of her?” Dante said to his sister beside him but his gaze remained fixed on Willie. Halfway down the Louvre’s Salon Carré, with a guidebook in one hand and a voice that carried, she regaled the rest of their group with details about the paintings covering the walls and the palace itself. Today, according to her unyielding schedule, was to be spent at the Louvre.
“Oh, I think she’s marvelous, of course, but then I always have,” Roz said. “Something about the play of light and perhaps the use of color makes the subject much more palatable. I recall seeing her on my very first trip to Paris. You remember—shortly after Paul and I were married? No, you probably don’t. Regardless, I thought she—no—I thought everything here was quite wonderful. Centuries of artistic accomplishment and all that. I did so want Harriet to have the same experience.”
Dante’s attention snapped to his sister. “What?”
“It’s a mother sort of thing. You wouldn’t understand.” She dismissed him with a curt wave of her hand. “Did you know those girls are calling Harriet Harry now?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure if I’m appalled or amused.”
“I—”
“Well, of course I knew you would be appalled. Precisely why I have decided not to be. Besides, while I have always thought a female with a man’s name to be the tiniest bit shocking, it is, as well, most delightful. It gives a woman a sense of strength and goodness knows, we could all use that. I know you don’t agree, Dante, but it is something you should consider. While you do tend to embrace progress in general, you really need to be open to new ideas when it comes to things like this.”
“I am—”
“However, to your credit, I have noticed you don’t seem quite so stuffy about it when it comes to Lady Bascombe’s name.”
“Are you deliberately misunderstanding me?” He glared. “I was not talking about—” he gestured at the painting of Salome receiving the head of John the Baptist on a platter on the wall in front of them “—this.”
She smiled in an overly sweet manner. “Yes, brother dear, I know.” She moved to the next painting and he trailed after her.
For once Dante could ignore his sister’s determination to annoy him. After all, she had done him an enormous favor when she had begged off seeing the illumination of the Eiffel Tower, allowing him hours in Willie’s company without interruption. Not that there was anything improper in their evening together, which oddly struck him as something of a shame when they had retired to their respective rooms. Shocking idea, of course, but there it was. Even if she was nothing more than his path to the Portinari, she was still a fascinating creature and he was a normal man. Those kinds of thoughts were to be expected.
Yesterday, they had spent most of the day touring the exposition and joining thousands of other visitors in taking their turn to ascend the tower. In spite of Dante’s belief in progress, the elevators that transported them to the summit shuddered in a most disconcerting way. Still, it was well worth a few secret moments of terror. Only slightly more remarkable than the view was the look of awe in Willie’s eyes when she gazed out over the city of Paris, a view previously reserved only for birds and angels. It was a fanciful thought and, as Dante was not accustomed to fanciful thoughts, he had no idea where it had come from. Upon their return to earth, most of the group headed off to see the villages of the world while Geneva Henderson and Tillie Corby—at least he thought it was Tillie—accompanied Willie and Dante through the Gallery of Machines. A remarkable display of progress that could not only be walked through but viewed, as well, from the perspective of the heavens by moving overhead walkways. It was indeed an astonishing age to live in.
Equally astonishing was last evening’s visit to Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show, in Paris in conjunction with the exposition but located a short carriage ride away near the Bois de Boulogne. Dante hadn’t seen the show two years ago when it was in London and frankly had had no desire to see it at the time. Everyone else in London—including the queen herself—had flocked to it. But the Americans in their group, as well as his sister and niece, were eager to attend. And by God, they were right. By the end of the program he was ready to sit a Western saddle and learn how to lasso. Not that he ever would, of course, but it was an intriguing idea. They were all captivated by the trick riding and the Indian attack but most of all by the female sharpshooter, Annie Oakley. The gleam in the eyes of the young women in their company—and more than one of the mothers—declared they too had momentary dreams of Wild West adventure.
“Well?” he said.
“Well what?”
“What do you think of her?”
“I like her. She’s very easy to like.” Roz leaned over the brass railing to closer study a sadly washed-out work by Reni. “She strikes me as being at once independent and yet a bit lonely. To be expected, I suppose. She hasn’t said it directly but I have the distinct impression her friends—or those she considered her friends—haven’t been especially welcoming since her husband’s death.”
He nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“Which means she very much needs a friend.” She glanced at him then returned her attention to the painting. “And how goes your attempt to fill that role?”
“Quite well,” he said with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. He was no longer sure his course of action was correct, an uncomfortable realization for a man who rarely saw the need to question his own decisions. Regardless, his campaign did seem to be working. Why, Willie had even begun calling him by his first name. Which was a success of sorts but did put his efforts in an awkward light.
He had always considered himself an honorable sort and nothing he had done thus far was truly dishonorable. Certainly his initial reasons for cultivating her friendship remained and he had always intended that friendship to be genuine. It would be of no benefit otherwise. There was nothing the least bit deceitful about that. A voice in the back of his head—no doubt an overly active conscience—questioned exactly who he was trying to convince. He ignored it.
“If one didn’t know better, one would think you were trying to be more than her friend.”
“Rubbish.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head in dismay at his obvious idiocy. “Flirtation, my dear Dante, is not the best course if all you desire is friendship.”
“I am and always have been a perfect gentleman, especially where ladies are concerned,” he said in a lofty manner.
“Interesting that you choose not to deny it.”
He shrugged. “There is nothing to deny.”
Especially as his sister was right. He and Willie were engaged in a definite flirtation. He wasn’t at all sure how it had happened. Oh, he had certainly flirted with women in the past but even with Juliet, a woman he considered to have a great deal of potential for a wife, his behavior was never less than proper. Of course—as his sister would attest—he could indeed be charming when he chose to be, although he usually considered such efforts rather silly and certainly not worth the time.
In that perhaps he was mistaken.
Flirting with Willie was oddly natural and effortless. He’d never imagined flirtation with a woman who was every bit as intelligent as she was lovely would be both enjoyable and shockingly addictive. Willie Bascombe brought something out in him he never knew existed. Flirtation with her was like a game of chess or a subtle kind of warfare. Engaging and exciting and irresistible. One never knew where the next move would lead. First and foremost, of course, he wanted the Portinari. Beyond that he had no idea what he wanted. For the first time in a long time, if ever, he didn’t know what might happen next. At the moment, life struck him as an unexpected adventure. It was a disturbing and strangely delightful thought.
It had struck him, as well, on more than one occasion, how remarkable it would be to kiss her—to drag her into his arms and kiss her quite thoroughly on the top viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower. Or in the shadow of the giant incandescent lamp at the Gallery of Machines. Or behind the corrals at the Wild West show. It was an absurd thought. Not at all anything he would ever do. He was not a man of impulse nor had he ever so much as considered kissing a woman who had not invited a kiss before. That would be extremely improper. Worse, it would complicate his ultimate purpose. He really needed to ignore such thoughts. And yet he could not get the idea out of his head. Even here, amid the artistic genius of the ages, the idea of pushing her back against the wall between a Titian and a Raphael and pressing his lips to hers...
Willie caught their attention and waved to them to join the rest of the group.
Dante drew a steadying breath. “Aren’t you going to give me any advice? You always insist on giving me advice for this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing, Dante?” she asked in an all-too-innocent manner as they started toward the others.
“I don’t know,” he said sharply.
“Yes, well, that is a bit of a problem. I would never presume to give you advice on something that was as yet undefined.”
He snorted. “You’ve never let that stop you before.”
“Perhaps but you’ve never taken my advice before.” She cast him an assessing glance. “Nor have you ever asked for it.”
His jaw tightened. “Today, I am asking.”
“And today I have no advice to give.”
“You always—”
“Very well.” She halted in midstep and met his gaze firmly. “You’ve never been the least bit indecisive about anything. Nor have you ever considered that you might possibly be wrong.”
“That’s scarcely advice.”
“I’m getting to it. You, brother dear, need to decide what is more important to you. The lady or the painting.”
“The painting, of course,” he said without hesitation.
She studied him for a moment then nodded. “Very well.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means a great number of things. One of which is that, as I said, I like Lady Bascombe. I like her a great deal, far more than I expected to. And while my daughter and I are a part of your little plot to be with her in Venice when she reclaims her painting—”
“Our painting.”
“I shall not in any way assist you in your ill-conceived plan to become her friend. Or whatever else you now have in mind.”
He gasped. “I have nothing else in mind.”
“You can lie to yourself all you wish, Dante, but you have never been particularly good at lying to me. You are entirely too honest. Which in the past has served you well.”
“I am not lying.”
“Regardless, it’s no longer my concern. I am washing my hands of all of it. From here on, I am only interested in enjoying this trip you have so generously provided. No more, no less.” She turned and started toward the rest of the group then swiveled back. “Oh, and you might want to check your letter of credit. According to the schedule, we are to spend the morning tomorrow exploring the shops of Paris. We shall visit Cartier’s—I think Paul would very much appreciate a new watch and I wouldn’t mind a discreet bauble for myself—Guerlain for perfume and perhaps a new traveling trunk from Louis Vuitton. But the rest of the day is devoted to appointments at the House of Worth, which Miss Granville arranged for all of us. Both Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Corby plan on ordering entirely new wardrobes for themselves and their daughters. And while neither Harry nor I need new wardrobes, I should hate to let this unexpected opportunity escape. Especially as you are financing everything.”
“I did not intend—”
“Everything, Dante.” She smirked and headed toward the others.
“And her name is Harriet!”
Roz fluttered her fingers at him but didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder. His sister was and always had been infuriating. Even when she might possibly be right.
He paused in front of da Vinci’s masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, a portrait of Lisa Gherardini—la Joconde as she was popularly known. He’d been in Paris any number of times for his own business interests or representing Montague House. And on every trip, he made the time to wander through the halls of the Louvre and always stopped to admire da Vinci’s work. Today, he scarcely saw her.
What on earth had happened to him? He was a rational, sensible sort. It made no sense whatsoever that after a mere handful of days in a lady’s presence, gazing into the endless blue of her eyes, breathing in the intoxicating faint floral scent she wore, discovering the way a tiny furrow formed between her brows when she was annoyed, hearing her laugh echo through the halls of museums and galleries, he would have such thoughts. Desires if you will. One would think he was besotted with her. If one didn’t know better, of course. If one hadn’t been somewhat besotted with the wrong woman in the past and hadn’t learned one’s lesson. And Willie Bascombe was most definitely wrong. Furthermore, she was not why he was here. He had to keep that in mind, although it was becoming more and more difficult.
“You’re lagging, Mr. Montague,” Willie said, stepping up beside him. “The others have already gone into next gallery.”
He glanced at her. “Last night you called me Dante.”
“Last night I feared I might be swept away by a frenzy of marauding Americans.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“That would be a very great shame.”
“Why, Mr. Montague, you do say the most charming things. However...” Resolve set her chin. “We really shouldn’t dally.”
“On the contrary, Lady Bascombe, the enjoyment of great art cannot be hurried.”
“There is a lot to see and we shall scarcely see even a small portion of it. There are more than two thousand works in the picture galleries of the Louvre, which encompass a total length of five furlongs.”
He bit back a smile. “According to your Baedekers.”
“Page one hundred and eleven.” She paused. “It is an excellent guidebook.”
“No doubt. But surely you don’t need a guidebook for the Louvre? You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“I’ve never had the time,” she said in an offhand manner. “Paris is so filled with...with other sights.” The slightest touch of panic shone in her eyes.
The oddest thought struck him and he studied her curiously. “You’ve never been to Paris at all, have you?”
She scoffed. “Everyone has been to Paris.”
He raised a skeptical brow.
“No, I haven’t.” She glared. “There now, are you happy?”
“I’m surprised. I assumed you were an experienced traveler.”
“And I thought you had thoroughly checked into my background.”
“Apparently, not thoroughly enough.” He grinned. “Aside from Paris, have you ever been anywhere on our tour?”
She hesitated then shook her head with a resigned look of surrender.
“That seems to have eluded my inquiries. It was a question I never thought to ask. Quite frankly, it wasn’t something I so much as suspected.”
“Then I am doing an excellent job.” A smug smile curved her lips.
“Well, you do have a schedule.”
“Indeed I do. One that needs to be adhered to.” A firm note rang in her voice.
“Regardless—” he plucked the guidebook from her hand “—I have been to the Louvre a number of times.”
Her brows drew together. “You will give that back to me, won’t you?”
“I will but not now.”
“The others are already out of sight and we—”
“We, you and I, will spend a few minutes considering one of the most famous paintings in the world. The others will do without us.” He gestured at La Joconde. “You’ve seen pictures of da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, of course?”
“Yes, I suppose.” She rolled her gaze toward the gallery’s coved, painted ceiling with its massive skylight.
“Surely you studied art during your school years?”
“I was not a particularly good student. Things like this, art in general—” she waved at the painting “—were not at all interesting to me.”
He stared in disbelief. This was the woman who claimed ownership of his painting?
“You may close your mouth now, Dante.” She huffed. “And you needn’t look at me as if I were an uneducated lout. I simply found the subject to be dry and boring. Judging from your shocked expression, I assume you no doubt find it fascinating. You’re probably quite knowledgeable about all of this.”
“I was an excellent student. In fact, I studied the history and theory of art extensively as well as methods to prove authenticity. My family has always been extremely supportive of artistic pursuits. My grandfather was a well-known collector.” There was no need to keep this from her and it would be interesting to note her reaction. “Upon his death, he decreed that his collection and his house be opened as a museum. I currently serve as its director.”
“Do you?” She considered him thoughtfully. “And I assumed you were in business of some sort. Or you were perhaps a solicitor.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You carried a valise with you on the train. The sort men of business tend to have.” She shrugged. “Men who do nothing but rely on their family’s position and wealth for support rarely carry anything that sensible.”
“While I am indeed engaged in business, my position as head of my grandfather’s museum is a temporary one as the museum’s future is uncertain at the moment.” His tone hardened. “I intend to remedy that.”
“London is full of museums. Which one is yours?”
“Montague House.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Precisely the problem,” he said under his breath and turned his attention back to da Vinci’s work. “Now then, tell me what you see when you look at this.”
“There really is no time for this sort of nonsense—”
“We are making time.”
“I am not interested in a lesson on art.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We have a schedule to maintain and—”
“I have always been a firm believer in schedules, Willie. Indeed, much of my life adheres to a schedule.”
“Then you understand.”
“Under other circumstances perhaps. However, I am on holiday at the moment and I have left my schedules behind.”
“I have not.” She glared. “Nor am I the type of person who has ever followed a schedule of any sort.”
“Ah, that explains it.” He shook his head. “The newly converted are always more dedicated than those who have long followed a doctrine.”
“I have not come to believe in the sanctity of schedules for the most part. But I will admit, as you have ferreted out my secret and uncovered the distressing truth about my lack of travel experience, I am clinging to the schedule as if it were salvation and I was the worst sort of sinner.” She paused. “Which I’m not, of course. Gossip is never nearly as accurate as one might think. And even a colorful reputation may not be as legendary as might be imagined.”
And wasn’t that interesting? “I assure you, Willie, I am a man who makes up his own mind based on his own observances.”
“I don’t know why I said any of that.” She shook her head. “Obviously I am more concerned about the schedule than even I suspected.”
“I shall make you a promise. Indulge me in sharing my love of great art for a few minutes and then I will do whatever is necessary to resume your schedule.”
“You are a stubborn man, Mr. Montague.”
“In that we are evenly matched, Lady Bascombe.” He nodded, tried not to grin with triumph, then clasped his hands behind his back and considered the painting. “Once again, please tell me what you see.”
“Very well.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I see an old painting, somewhat dark, of a rather plain woman with no eyebrows and a slight smile.”
“That’s what you see?”
She gestured at the work. “That’s exactly what I see.”
“Do you want to know what I see?”
“Not especially but as I have little choice, tell me, Mr. Montague, what do you see?”
“I see a remarkable work a man poured his heart and his talent into for four long years with his brushes and his paint. I see endless effort, long hours of labor and toil. And flirtation.”
“Flirtation?” She looked at the painting then back at him. “I don’t see so much as a hint of flirtation.”
“How do you think he managed that enigmatic expression?” Dante cast her what he hoped was a mysterious smile of his own then continued. “Da Vinci surrounded her with musicians and singers and clowns, simply to keep her amused and content while he labored.”
“It was the least he could do if it was going to take him four years,” she murmured.
He ignored her. “I see a face so finely wrought it could be a photograph, lit by a soft, ethereal illumination. I see eyes that bewitch and compel and hold the merest suggestion of laughter. I see hands so lovingly crafted one can almost feel the softness of them. I see the world depicted behind her, her world, a lush landscape of rich vineyards and surging rivers and nature as yet untouched. I see light captured so expertly it seems to glow from the painting itself, as if you could hold your hand in front of it and see the light reflected on your palm. And of course, I see her smile, subtle and secret on lips that she holds barely in check. As if da Vinci caught her in the very moment before she would lose all control and laugh aloud with a laugh that would reach into your very soul.”
“Do you really see all that?” Willie stared at him.
He nodded and turned to her. “I do.”
She glanced at the painting. “I must say, Dante, the picture you paint with words is every bit as impressive as anything hanging on these walls.”
“I am not the first to be moved by this work but I do thank you.” He chuckled. “Now, look at the painting again and tell me your thoughts.”
“All right.” She squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle, braced her hands on the brass railing in front of the painting and studied da Vinci’s work.
“Well?” he said at last, failing to keep the eagerness from his voice. “What do you see?”
“Well...” She winced. “I see a darkened portrait of a woman with no eyebrows whose hands are either too small for her head or her head is too large for her hands.”
Surely she didn’t just say that? “That’s what you still see?”
“I thought her dress was nice,” she said weakly. “For that period of time, of course.”
“All these paintings—” he waved in a grand gesture “—you don’t appreciate any of them?”
“I’m certain they’re worth a great deal.” She cast an assessing gaze around the walls. “They are old after all.”
“They are priceless!” How could she not understand this? “And not just in monetary value but in what they do to a man’s soul. Just look around you. These magnificent works are the very expression of emotion—of love and hate and passion. Art, Willie, is man’s soul made manifest.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying I have no soul because I do not appreciate art?”
“No, of course not.”
“It certainly sounded like that.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That I am a philistine?” Her voice rose. “An uncultured barbarian?”
“Oh, I absolutely did not say that.”
“A creature who is too frivolous to appreciate man’s soul made manifest?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Willie.” He tried to stop himself but the words seemed to have a life of their own. “Your failure to appreciate these extraordinary works is obviously due to your lack of education and not any deficiency on your part. You just said you didn’t pay attention during your school days to lessons about art.”
“Because I found it dull,” she snapped. “And I had no interest in it.”
“What does interest you?” he said in a sharper tone than he had intended.
“I have no idea!” Her defiant gaze locked with his. “But at the moment, I find Paris to be extremely interesting.”
“Then I would be honored if you would allow me to help you discover the city.”
“I’m certain you can be of great help to all of us in that regard. The schedule—”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said without thinking.
“We are to attend a musical evening at the American ambassador’s residence tonight, a gathering of those Americans attending the exposition, I understand, but we are all invited. It was arranged before we left London.”
“Beg off.”
“Very well,” she said without hesitation. “We can discuss the schedule. Your knowledge of Paris will be most beneficial.”
“I look forward to it.”
“A late supper, after everyone has gone to the ambassador’s.”
“You would prefer not to let my sister and the others know we are dining together?”
“Exactly.” She huffed. “Goodness, Dante. I am not prepared to answer questions when I don’t know the answers myself.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“Nonetheless, it will have to do.” She glanced down the gallery. “Now, if you would please return my guidebook, we can find the others.”
He handed her the guidebook then offered his arm. “They probably enjoyed a respite from your constant readings from Baedekers.”
“I know I did.” She took his arm and they made their way toward the next gallery. “You may well be extraordinarily nice, Mr. Montague, but you can also be incredibly annoying.”
“Thank you, Lady Bascombe.”
They walked on in silence. How could she possibly find all this—Raphael and Titian and Correggio and, God help her, da Vinci—dull? For this reason alone he needed to rescue the Portinari.
“If there is some work you think particularly worthy of notice,” she began in an offhand manner, “you may feel free to mention it to me.”
“Everything in this room in worthy of notice.” He glanced at her. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“As apparently there has been an enormous lack in my education, I would be most receptive to hearing your thoughts about—” she sighed “—all this.”
He chuckled. “It’s not a punishment, you know. You might well like it.”
“I wouldn’t wager on that, Dante.” She summoned a weak smile. “But I am not completely opposed to the acquisition of knowledge as long as you refrain from being superior about it.”
“I would never—”
“A moment ago you came perilously close to it.” She shook her head. “I do not like to be thought a fool. But I am hopefully wiser than I once was and can possibly see where, in certain areas, I could use some improvement.”
“Very few,” he said gallantly but it was the truth. At least as far as he could see. Oh, it was disconcerting that something as big a part of his life as the enjoyment of art had no appeal for her whatsoever. Not that it mattered really. He might well never see her again after they resolved the matter of the Portinari. He brushed aside the oddly unsettling thought. “No doubt there are any number of things you enjoy that hold no appeal for me whatsoever. In fact, I understand raiding the shops of Paris is on the schedule for tomorrow.”
“That’s right, it is.” She brightened. “I am quite looking forward to watching your sister and the Americans spend money with rapt abandon.”
“And you do not intend to spend with rapt abandon?”
“Oh, I think not on this trip.” She slanted him a quick glance. “Do you plan to accompany us?”
“I daresay I can find something else to occupy my day.”
“Pity really. If done correctly, with enthusiasm and passion—” she smiled in an entirely wicked manner “—shopping too is an art.”