Chapter 10
“I shall have a little talk with Gloriana,” Philippe said in an under voice. He and Lady Marianne were standing together in a corner of the ballroom—a good location for private conversation whilst being noticed by those around them. He had his doubts about the efficacy of their plan as far as Freddy and Marianne’s future was concerned, but if it kept Gloriana away from Hythwick House, that was good enough for him.
Lady Marianne giggled. “I don’t think she’s the obedient sort.”
“I shall have to make her see sense.” To do that, he might have to tell her about his own difficulties. Damn, the last thing he needed was a tête-a-tête with her.
A couple of ladies sauntered toward them, and Marianne immediately changed the topic. She was an excellent co-conspirator. She understood that his requests amounted to orders; she didn’t ask too many questions, and she had found an excuse to continue their interrupted discussion—a question about a poem by François Villon. The book was open in her hand, and her gaze was serious.
“Villon is one of my favorite poets,” Philippe said. “He had a hard life.”
“As have you, monsieur,” Marianne said, but she had no idea of the extent of his difficulties or how much his checkered career resembled Villon’s. He wasn’t about to enlighten her. They resumed their discussion of the poem until the ladies drifted past.
Marianne had been unsurprised, when he’d first broached their little plot, to learn that her brother had stolen a precious book from Gloriana’s house. Needless to say, he hadn’t told her about the attempted rape.
“A boy was expelled from Eton for stealing a snuffbox from one of the masters, but Alvin was the real thief,” she’d said. “I know, because I heard him telling one of his horrid school friends. But I dared not say anything, for he would have beaten me, and even if my parents believed me, they would have done nothing to correct the injustice.”
“And if the theft was a conspiracy of boys wishing to get rid of another, the boy who was expelled would have been bullied unmercifully if the masters agreed to his reinstatement.”
She sighed. “That is probably true, but nevertheless, I have always felt badly about being unable to help. I shall take great pleasure in helping you recover Gloriana’s book.”
“Thank you, but you must not search for it,” he said. “It is too dangerous. If a servant spies you poking about and mentions it to your brother, he may suspect. If you chance to find out where he keeps it, let me know, but whatever you do, don’t take it.”
“I shan’t,” she had said firmly. So far, so good—as long as she continued to do as she was told.
Now, at the ball, Freddy Barnham was also playing his part well. He lounged against a nearby wall, glowering. The two ladies glanced at him and then at Philippe and Marianne, tittering. They drifted past, feigning disinterest.
“It is the greatest of pleasures to tutor such a lovely lady in the language of my country,” Philippe said. “Let me know if any of the argot in the poems confuses you.” Once the gossips were out of earshot, he added, “And please make sure Gloriana has no opportunity to try searching for the book herself.”
“I shall.” Marianne smiled sweetly and tripped away.
He avoided her for the rest of the evening, for it would not do to rouse Hythwick’s ire just yet. He avoided Gloriana, too, but that didn’t stop him from propping up a wall, doing his best not to glower like Freddy, while the despicable earl danced with her.
~ ~ ~
Gloriana continued to avoid Philippe for the next several days, even going to the extent of crossing the street and diving into a millinery shop when she spied him on a big black gelding, and later clambering hurriedly into a hackney when she would have preferred to walk. Out of sight, out of mind, or so she hoped. She’d kept her feelings for him alive for five years. Perhaps if she crushed them for the next five, they would cease to exist.
“Come have coffee with me,” Sophie beckoned from her doorstep later that week. Gloriana had no choice but to agree. She didn’t intend to forgo friendship with Sophie just because she was eternally at odds with Philippe.
“Thank you, I’d like that,” she said, crossing the threshold, “unless your brother is here—”
Sophie motioned her into the drawing room. “He wishes a word with you. I shall see about the coffee.” She shut the door behind her, and Gloriana found herself face to face with Philippe.
“Don’t blame my sister.” He was leaning against the mantelpiece, warming himself by the fire. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She glowered at him. “Because I don’t want to argue with you.”
“Then don’t, just listen to what I have to say. Sophie made me promise to get it over with quickly and let her enjoy your company.”
“Get what over with?”
“My . . . confession.”
Confession? “What, you’re a murderer as well as a thief?” Immediately, she regretted such unkind words.
He scowled. “So far, I have only killed in defense of myself or others, but one of these days I may strangle you. I know perfectly well why you suddenly became bosom bows with Marianne Delfin. Enough, Gloriana!”
“How dare you interfere with my friendship?” She flung away from him and went to the window, fists clenched, for if she faced him, she might shriek at him. “You are insufferable!”
“I do not question your friendship, but the reason for it. You wish to gain access to Hythwick House and search for the book.”
She didn’t answer, for to deny this would be a lie. She didn’t want to lie anymore, but she had to find the book. She watched two sparrows as they fluttered and hopped along the pavement, and tried to think what to say.
“You will not succeed, and more than likely, you will put yourself in danger again. Can you not see that Lord Hythwick still has designs on you?”
This horrid thought had occurred to her while dancing with Hythwick, but she wasn’t about to admit to Philippe that it worried her. She turned away from the window, saying airily, “Perhaps he does, but I shall be careful not to find myself alone with him.”
“Mordieu,” he uttered. “Quelle folie! Stop looking for ways to get the damned book back and leave it to me!”
“Why should I? You owe me nothing.”
“True, and I should be glad to leave it that way, but I cannot.”
“Why not?” She stormed to the window again. Why couldn’t he just leave her be? The sparrows had moved on, but she couldn’t unless he got out of her way. “My book is none of your business.”
“No, but my freedom is.”
“Your freedom?” She faced him again, confused now.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Hythwick risked a scandal if he accused me of attacking him, so he found another way to revenge himself. He has denounced me to the government as a French spy.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“It is a lie,” he said.
“Of course it’s a lie,” she cried, her mind whirling. “But—But . . .” Oh, God.
“Fortunately, I have friends in excellent standing, none of whom have access to government and military secrets, so I was not immediately clapped in irons,” Philippe said. “Julian Kerr explained his lordship’s grudge against me to the Home Office, and others, such as Freddy Barnham and his father, support me as well, but Hythwick is a powerful man who cannot be completely ignored.”
Gloriana felt the blood drain from her face. She swayed . . .
She started awake. She found herself in a chair by the fire, Sophie chafing her hands while Philippe paced before them.
“Ah, voilà,” Sophie said. “She wakes!”
“I—I fainted?” Gloriana faltered. “I never faint.” She struggled to sit up straight.
“And yet you did, right into my brother’s arms,” Sophie said. “So now you must rest and stay calm. What happened, Philippe?”
“I told her about being denounced as a spy,” he said. “But I also told her I was safe for now, so . . .”
“No, you didn’t,” Gloriana said. “You are not safe. I see it on your face and in your eyes.” She pictured him being hanged, and dizziness threatened again. “They will execute you.”
“Non, non,” Sophie said. “This is not France under Robespierre. Sir Julian will not let it happen.”
Gloriana shook her head. Julian didn’t have that sort of power. She clutched the arms of the chair, forcing herself to stop dithering and concentrate. “Why are you still here, Philippe? You must flee England at once!”
“Like a frightened rabbit?” The haughty aristocrat in him came to the fore. “I am not a spy, but I am still a Frenchman. I shall not cower before these English fools.”
“Powerful English fools,” Gloriana said.
He snapped his fingers. “That for the powerful English. What would happen to Sophie and the children if I ran away? Such a departure, if it becomes necessary, must be planned.”
“I’ll take care of them.” Gloriana ran a still shaking hand over her face. “Please, Philippe—”
“You are kind, my dear friend,” Sophie said, “but it has not yet come to that. Tell her, Philippe.”
“I am not yet in danger,” he said. “Sir Julian has advised me what steps to take. The first was to remove myself from my lodgings in town, for a few residents of the same building are in government employ. I am not and never have been friendly with them, but it seems wise to keep my distance.”
“You are innocent,” Sophie said. “It is most unfair.”
“Life is not often fair,” he said. “I am luckier than many. My head still rests upon my shoulders.”
“What other steps did he advise you to take?” Gloriana asked.
“I must not change my name to Bonaventure. I am stuck being a marquis at least until the war is over.” He rolled his eyes. “I must cease to attend philosophical discussions about freedom and equality. This I accept. What fun are such meetings if I can no longer dispute with Miss Gloriana Warren?”
“You didn’t attend all those meetings because of me,” she retorted.
His lip curled ever so slightly—whatever that meant. “I shall complete a grand tome about education instead and publish it once the war is over.” He paused. “Another step is to cease all contact with smugglers between England and France. I hope to be able to do so soon.”
“You must do it now,” Sophie said.
Gloriana frowned. “You told me you are no longer a thief.”
“The continued contact is for personal reasons,” he said austerely. In other words, none of your business.
Sophie was not so restrained. “It is for nothing!” She seemed close to tears. “Your life matters more.”
Gloriana looked from one to the other of them, wondering. She had never seen the Frenchwoman so distressed.
“Why must you be so stubborn?” Sophie cried.
“Because I will not let that cochon harm those I love.”
Sophie threw up her hands and stormed away, but paused in the doorway, watching them. Philippe went over to the window. Gloriana waited uneasily for what would come next.
At last Philippe said, “Julian’s final suggestion is that I should marry an Englishwoman of good birth and unquestioned loyalty.”
“Oh,” Gloriana said, and that was all. She couldn’t summon another word. Her heart plummeted.
Which it had done over and over, but it clambered back to the brink each time and waited, hopeful again. Stupid heart. How could she still want him for herself?
He intended to marry. It shouldn’t sadden her. He had every right to be happy, and if marriage would save him, so be it.
“This I do not accept,” he said.
That startled her into speech. “Why not? Surely that is better than dying on the scaffold!”
He turned from the window and faced her again. Fortunately, by now Gloriana had recovered her composure. Quietly, Sophie left the room.
“True, but many years ago, when I was a young man in France, I swore never to be forced into marriage. Did I not say as much at the ball?”
“Yes, yes, I remember.” She had dismissed it as mere talk. “But at the risk of your life?”
“I do not fear for my life,” he said. “I fear for my freedom and my honor.” His smile grew, and Gloriana’s heart squeezed with unrequited love. He had a devastating smile. Droves of women couldn’t help but sigh for him. He could choose one of them tomorrow if he liked.
And she would have to accept it and be happy for him. She couldn’t quite summon a smile, but her voice was calm enough. “But surely you shall marry someday.”
He took a seat in a nearby chair. “Perhaps, but not to save my skin.”
“Why not? There are abundant English ladies who would be happy to wed you.”
“Abundant fools, yes. I prefer my honor. But do not begin thinking I am such a noble sort of man.” His expression turned cold and intent. “First, I shall get my revenge.”
She shivered. She would not want to be his enemy. How strange that she had insulted his convictions frequently for years, and never once feared retaliation. He had provoked her in return, certainly, but never with the slightest hint of anger, showing only amusement or disdain. She had not realized how formidable he could be if he chose.
How deceptive his appearance—this polished gentleman in a snowy cravat and a coat of superfine, brushing a speck of dust off his lapel, who had beaten Hythwick without hesitation.
“And while I do so,” he said, “I shall get your revenge as well.”
“I don’t care about revenge,” Gloriana said. “All I want is my Book of Hours.”
He flicked a dismissive hand. “That is the easy part. It is a pity you told the world you do not always disagree with me. We must not give Hythwick reason to suspect we are working together. You must resume your behavior of the past several years. Do not run and hide when you see me in the street.”
“I didn’t—I wasn’t hiding.”
He favored her with a flicker of the eyelids, far more disdainful than a mere roll of the eyes.
“You can’t read my mind,” she gritted out. “You don’t understand.”
His brows knit, but after a few seconds of what might have been genuine concern, he shrugged. So much for that.
“Philippe, be reasonable! I cannot suddenly pretend to disagree, once again, with everything you believe.”
“Why not? Think of it as acting a part. Your maid says you are a good actress.”
“I should appear to be a lunatic! Not only that, I began discussing the education of the lower classes because I need to find patrons for the school.”
“Very well, but you must continue to actively dislike me. Instead of running away, you must pointedly ignore me. When an appropriate occasion arises, find a way to insult me.”
“I—I don’t know if I can.” This was something she wanted to explain. “I have . . . I have turned over a new leaf. To have to revert to being as contrary as possible . . .” It was unthinkable and sickening.
“I’m sure you can do it,” he said dryly, “if you try.”
“Perhaps, but it would be wrong.”
“Mistreating me was wrong, and you did it for years.”
“With good reason! And no, I won’t explain.” Perhaps she had an excess of pride, but who would wish to confess to such humiliation?
“Someday, perhaps, you will wish to do so.”
Never.
He raised quizzical brows. “We admitted our mutual attraction recently, did we not?”
“I didn’t,” she retorted.
He dismissed this with a flick of the hand. “It makes things easier between us, I think.”
“In what possible way?” she cried. “We admitted it five years ago, and look what came of that!”
“But now we are older and wiser. Neither of us, I think, wishes to ruin the other’s life.” He put up a hand. “Instead of becoming hurt or angry, think about it.”
She took a deep breath and did so. If they gave in to their physical attraction and he got her with child, they would feel obliged to marry, ruining both their lives. Or they would refuse to marry, thus ruining both their reputations. She choked back a laugh at the absurdity.
“Precisely,” he said. “The luck runs against us, either way. But we are forced to work together for the moment, so we should try to help one another until we have recovered the book.”
“In other words, we must do as you think best.”
“For your safety, and if you refuse to think of that, Lady Marianne’s. What do you suppose her brother will do if he finds she let you search his rooms and take the book?”
She hadn’t thought of that, but suddenly she realized what his plan was. “But you think it’s safe for her to do so?”
“Much safer, but still too risky,” he said. “I have asked her not to do so—merely to keep her eyes open.”
She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Then why are you suddenly so friendly with her?”
“I have my reasons, which I do not wish to explain.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he put up a hand. “Leave it to me. I shall get the book back.”
“Another burglary, this time while Hythwick is in Town? That is foolhardy, and you know it. I don’t want you to endanger yourself.”
“Because you believe it will be your fault if I am caught,” he said.
“No, I don’t wish you to come to harm for any reason,” she cried. “For Sophie’s sake, for the children’s, and—” And for mine, but she couldn’t confess that. “And for your own.” She paused. “I’m not your sister or even your friend. It’s wrong that you should come to harm because of me.”
“I shall not be harmed,” he said. “Later, when this is over, we shall laugh together about it.”
She doubted that, but she must be more considerate of him. A sword of Damocles hung over his head, and he didn’t even like her, and still he was doing his best to help her.
She should be kind to him regardless. Five years of hating him . . . Good God, she must have been mad. She still hated him a little, when she remembered how he’d treated her that night, but it was so long ago. It was better to forget the past and move forward.
“We had a good conversation, walking together several nights ago, did we not?” he asked.
She nodded, clasping and unclasping her hands. They were having a good conversation now, too. Perhaps . . .
“Who knows, we may even become friends,” he said, his tone light.
Her heart froze. She dropped her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
Friendship would never be enough.
His sister, composed once more, came in with the coffee tray. He stood. “I must go now. Do not attempt to contact me.” He bowed and left.
~ ~ ~
When Philippe came down to breakfast the next morning, Sophie was waiting. “Why did you leave so abruptly, so rudely? You had another perfect opportunity to take her in your arms, and you wasted it!”
“Give me some coffee before you scold me,” he said. “Perhaps then I shall concoct some excuse to satisfy your hunger for romance.”
She poured him a cup of delicious, steaming brew. “Why do you think I left you alone so long? You should have kissed her and comforted her. For a Frenchman, you are a very poor lover, mon frère.”
“Fortunately, I do not have to live up to your exacting standards. I pity the man obliged to do so.” He savored the aroma of the coffee and looked up to see that she was blushing. “Oh là là! Who is this man of whom you dream?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said irritably. “You know I cannot marry again.”
“Sooner or later you will be able to do so. You must introduce me to your suitor.”
“No, for if you tell him the truth, he may leave me.” Her voice trembled slightly. Seemingly, she truly cared for this fellow, whoever he was.
Anyone who would abandon his sister for such a stupid reason was unworthy of her. “A fickle sort of man.”
Indignation suffused her features. “He is not fickle. He has a reputation to consider.”
“A man who puts his reputation above love does not love at all.”
“I am the one guarding his reputation,” she retorted. “You do not understand Gloriana, and now you don’t understand me.”
He didn’t want to discuss Gloriana. “Most likely, he is afraid to meet me, and rightly so.”
“You are the one who is afraid,” she retorted. “You are afraid to say you love Gloriana.” She glowered. “Quant à mon ami, he does not fear you.”
Philippe shrugged. “You are a grown woman and may make your own decisions. What a pity you will not let me make mine.”
“I would be happy to let you make a good decision, mon cher.” She put her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you see how she met the news that you had been accused of spying? She fainted!”
“Because she knows it’s her fault,” he said. “Hythwick hardly noticed me until the day I saved her from him.”
“That may be part of it, but did you not see the despair on her face when you told her you must marry?”
He’d been looking out the window at the time, facing a bleak prospect. He’d only ever wanted one woman, but he could see no way to marry her. He certainly didn’t trust himself to read her expressions.
Later, she’d turned her face away when he’d suggested friendship. Surely that meant love was far from her mind.
“Now is not a good time for love. Perhaps, after I have my revenge, and after I return the book to Gloriana, we shall become friends, but—”
“Friendship! She does not wish for anything so tame.”
Alas, nor did he.
~ ~ ~
Gloriana gave up trying to quash the yearnings of her heart. Her love for Philippe, or infatuation, or whatever it was, would have to fade in its own time. Meanwhile, she would put on a brave face and accept that he would marry another woman.
The sooner the better, her practical side decided. Once he was taken, she would no longer long for him. She laughed at herself—a good sign. Five years ago, she might have fancied herself a martyr to love. Now she was merely sad.
But no less determined to find a way to get the book without Philippe’s help. She brought her stitchery to the drawing room and sat down to think.
If only she knew of a dishonest servant in Hythwick’s household. There was a reason servants were suspected of theft—because all too often they really were thieves. Alice Stowe had once arrived home from a ball in the wee hours to find her footman tied up in the butler’s pantry, claiming he’d been overpowered by burglars. The silver was gone, but the Bow Street Runners, who’d seen this ruse before, found the stolen items in the home of the footman’s cousin and accomplice.
But Gloriana had no contact with the servants at Lord Hythwick’s, and a dishonest one might not be reliable. A discontented one, however . . .
A brilliant notion descended from the spheres. Why hadn’t she realized this before? If she hadn’t been so caught up in her own difficulties, she might have. Not only was it a marvelous idea, but she might be able to do Elspeth a good turn—if her guess was correct.
She would lose Elspeth’s services. That made her think hard for a while, for she loved Elspeth dearly . . . but the maid would still be her friend, and . . . She smiled to herself, remembering her youthful idealism. She might never wed the man she loved, but why shouldn’t Elspeth have a happy ever after? Love—if it truly was love—should not be denied.
She set down her stitchery, leapt up, and pulled on the bell rope. When Elspeth arrived, she was pacing up and down before the window, thinking and planning.
“You rang, miss?”
Gloriana stopped pacing and smiled at her maid. “You told me you fell in love at a house party.”
A shadow crossed Elspeth’s face. “Yes, miss.”
It occurred to Gloriana that perhaps she should have eased her way more gently into the discussion.
It was too late for that. She soldiered on. “As far as I know, you’ve only attended me at one house party—at my brother’s estate last summer.”
“Yes, miss.” Elspeth’s expression was wary.
“It was Lord Hythwick’s valet, wasn’t it? A Mr. Turner, I believe.”
Elspeth didn’t respond.
“You were upset right afterward. Your eyes were all red and puffy. Was it because you had to say farewell to the man you loved?” Gloriana’s heart squeezed. “Please tell me, Elspeth. It’s important.”
“I’d rather not discuss this, Miss Glow. I don’t want to think about him. I’m not like you. I can’t cling to the same hopes for years and years. I set them aside and get on with my life.”
“Maybe you don’t have to set them aside. Maybe you can marry him after all!”