Once Upon a Scandal (20 page)

“None that Father sent out, but he did receive two other notes in the afternoon. After reading them in his study, he told me he needed to see to a personal affair. That once it was settled, everything would take a turn for the better. When he left, the sun had not yet set. It was the last time I saw him alive.”

“How did you discover what had happened?”

“Father’s pockets, of course, had been emptied, but the thieves had little use for his calling cards. They’d been dumped beside him, and someone had the decency to track down a night watchman. When I received word in the very early morning, Thompson kindly delivered a note to Gerard. And Gerard informed Sir Aldus.”

“Why wasn’t an investigation launched, the runners involved?”

“Neither of them thought it would help. Father was dead, and in a most mortifying way. The scandal would have grown exponentially if the press got word of it. And by all appearances, it was a random act of violence. It was horrible.”

“I’d have tried to see you through it, had I known.” He might have found a way to keep Fitzsimmons home that night. Home even from Rempley’s and what must have proven a terrible temptation to a desperate man.

“We hardly knew each other well, Benjamin,” Jane said, a single tear finally breaking free, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. “And yet you came to Father’s funeral. It was such a kindness, when no one else would.”

He swallowed, something like bile in his throat. “I was … awed … that you would risk so much to save Alec and Annabelle.” And he had been. But it was hardly the reason he’d joined her in the rain that day.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, that such a great price had to be paid for telling the truth?” She’d turned towards the carriage window, clearly struggling to mask her emotions. “No wonder it is so much easier to lie.”

“No, Jane. The cost of lies may not always be readily apparent, but you lose a little piece of yourself every time.” Until nothing was left of you but a shell all too easily broken.

Bashfulness, the flower of female chastity, is of a nature so delicate and tender, as always to thrive best in places the least frequented.—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

“It’s a lovely day for a ride in the park,” Sir Aldus said as he greeted her in the hotel’s lobby. “And I am blessed to share it with an even lovelier companion.” He’d obviously taken great care with his attire. His hair wore its customary pomade, but his dark green jacket and fawn trousers fit better than any clothes she’d seen on him previously. Probably because they were a size larger.

“Such compliments,
monsieur le baron
,” she replied, already regretting the excursion. “You will turn my head.”

“That’s my sincere hope,
madame
,” he said, eyes gleaming until he noticed Oakley standing behind her. “There’s no need for your maid, surely? I’ve brought my barouche, which is open to the sun, so there can be no question of impropriety.”

“Of course not. But as you say, the day is such a pleasant one. And she, too, is eager to see this Hyde Park. It is very fashionable, no?”

He pasted on a smile. “Indeed. Especially at this time of day,” he said, walking them towards his carriage. It was an expensive vehicle, led by two beautifully matched greys and a liveried driver. Once Oakley had climbed up onto the perch, Sir Aldus joined Jane on the squabs, and they set off.

“We have many such parks in Paris,” she began. “But my favorite is the Jardin des Tuileries, near the Place de la Concorde. Such beautiful sculptures and fountains, with small tents set around the perimeter, offering petit cafes and the most wonderful treats.”

“It has been many years since I’ve been to the city, of course,” Sir Aldus said. “That brief peace at the end of the First Coalition War. You’d have been a young girl then. But there was a wonderful restaurant not far from the Place de la Concorde, just off the Champs-Élysées. It had a two-story pavilion with terraced gardens. Do you know it?”

She swallowed, suddenly ill at ease. Was he testing her? She’d studied countless news-sheets and journals. She and Pierre had even discussed the most popular restaurants, but in that moment, she couldn’t name a single one. “So many wonderful places ... ” she said, with a breezy wave of her hand, hoping that would end it.

“I’m certain it was the oldest establishment in Paris. And very popular. I can’t believe you’d not know it.”

“Perhaps the street name would help?” Something. Anything.

“Come now,
madame
,” he said, stiffening beside her. “I don’t like to admit my memory occasionally fails me. Save me from the embarrassment of it.”

She’d wager his memory was perfect. And any true Parisian would know the name. Pierre was certain to have mentioned it. Think! Sir Aldus was watching her carefully, his eyes dark.

“Ah yes, but of course!” Thank God. “You are speaking of Ledoyen, on the Avenue Dutuit. How could I not have known it the instant you mentioned the gardens?”

“It is still there then?”

“Yes, indeed. Supposedly, Napoleon first laid eyes on his Josephine there.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, relaxing once more beside her. “I recall they served a delicious breakfast.”

Let him doubt her now. “You must have been there with all the duelists then,” she said, laughing gaily, nearly giddy. “After shooting at each other in the Bois de Boulogne, they reconcile over breakfast at Ledoyen.”

“I’d fight a duel for you,
madame
,” he said, not bothering to mask his sudden interest in her bosom, even though she’d worn the most modest dress in Lillianne Fauchon’s wardrobe. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“La,
monsieur
,” she said, with what she hoped was an appropriately flirtatious smile. “You’d not be the first one.”

The park was thronged with carriages, their progress slow as the driver navigated between a seemingly endless stream of pedestrians and men and women on horseback. Rotten Row was always a spectacle, young bucks eyeing the Season’s debutantes, while matrons looked on, stiff with disapproval. Gossip thrived here, too, and already, dozens of people had watched them pass, openly curious as Sir Aldus nodded to each of them, smiling broadly. “You’ll be the talk of the city by nightfall,
madame
.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she said. “One does like to be noticed, as long as it is for the right reasons. Before my trip, I worried a French citizen would not be readily welcomed.” A rather clumsy attempt to sway the conversation, but she needed to get a better sense of where his sympathies lay.

“There is much about your country an Englishman will admire,” Sir Aldus said. “The wines are a marvel, and the food is vastly better. Even the prince regent employs a French chef.”

“He doesn’t worry about spies beneath his roof?”

He shot her a quizzical look. “What do you know of spies?”

She hoped she hadn’t overplayed her hand. “Only that they are rife in Paris. Napoleon’s ministers are suspicious of everyone, and the emperor insists a soldier taste every dish before he will eat it.”

“He’s a wise man, then,” Sir Aldus said, an edge to his voice. “There are many who’d like to see him dead, myself included. But let’s not speak of politics when I can learn more about you.”

“I am no great mystery.” Indeed, he might be surprised by how little substance Lillianne Fauchon had.

“I disagree, and I plan to discover all your secrets. But know this,” he said with a leering smile, “I’d trust you to put anything into my mouth. In fact, I’d welcome it.”

“How you tease,
monsieur
!” she said, rapping him playfully with her fan when she’d rather break it over his head. Even when he’d been her father’s friend, she’d never been comfortable with the way he watched her. It was one of the many reasons she’d refused his repeated proposals of marriage. But she’d never suspected the depths of his lechery. Benjamin had saved her from a fate she couldn’t imagine without nausea.

“Rempley, won’t you introduce us?” asked a voice nearby. Welcoming the reprieve, she turned to find Nicholas Bourneman, the Marquis of Winchester, staring down at them from a massive black stallion. With equally dark hair, blade-sharp features, and an imposing physicality, he was very handsome, so intimidating in his riding attire she didn’t immediately see Henry Brougham, the Baron of Brougham and Vaux, beside him. A small, middle-aged man, he had a kind smile and lively brown eyes. Both, she knew, masked a fiery temperament. He was also a staunch supporter of Queen Caroline, the regent’s estranged wife. But did either fact make him a likely suspect in the theft of the dossiers? It was hard to imagine it.

Rempley hastily performed the introductions, obviously wishing them on their way, but neither seemed so inclined. “It is an honor, Madame Fauchon,” Winchester said. “Lord Marworth has spoken at length about your beauty and poise.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were so close, Winchester,” Sir Aldus said, apparently miffed. “I’m surprised he’d share such thoughts.”

“You know how it is with Marworth. We all like to think he’s a good friend. It puffs up our sense of importance.”

“I understand you’re newly arrived from Paris,
madame
,” Brougham said. “I hope you will find your stay here hospitable, despite the sad tidings precipitating it.”

“Thank you,
monsieur le baron
. The purpose does indeed pain me, but everyone has been so kind.”

“I understand you’re staying at Grillion’s?” Winchester asked. “I hope you’ll allow me to pay a call. I did not know your cousin well, but hers is an inspiring story, one about which I’d like to hear more.”

How sincere he sounded. One would never know he was a partner to their duplicity. “I would so enjoy the telling of it. Please do.”

“Rempley, surely you know the prime minister is eager for your attention on at least one matter,” Brougham said, his manner gone stiff. “I’m surprised you have time for a leisurely ride in the park.”

Was he referring to the missing dossiers? Would Brougham mention them aloud if he was in any way culpable?

“I am doing what I can to get to the root of the matter,” Sir Aldus sniffed, clearly annoyed.

“Good. Because we need its resolution.
Madame
, it has been a pleasure.”

Both gentlemen tipped their hats and moved along. Unfortunately, Sir Aldus remained. They were in his carriage, after all. “I hesitate to cut our afternoon short, but I’m reminded of pressing political concerns.”

“
C’est domage
.” She sighed. “I was so enjoying myself.” On the inside, she was dancing.

• • •

Benjamin had been pacing far longer than he should have been in Grillion’s lobby. Indeed, the fact that he was pacing at all had drawn more than one surprised stare. But surely Jane should already have returned from her ride in Hyde Park? Or had Rempley ordered his driver to take a protracted route back to the hotel? He’d not attempt something inappropriate with Oakley close by. Would he?

Perhaps Benjamin was being overprotective. To ensure he’d not miss her, he’d cancelled his weekly sparring session with Gentleman Jack, heretofore sacrosanct. He’d also fobbed off the prince regent’s request for advice on renovations at Carlton House. And he’d sidestepped another invitation from his mistress, Claudette, to call.

Nor could he offer himself a convenient excuse for his actions, other than to admit that his focus was on Jane and the dossiers right now.

It was only logical he spend as much time in her company as possible.

When at last, however, Jane swept into the lobby, he ignored his many justifications and simply admired her. Dressed in a walking dress of cerulean blue, with an emerald green pelisse and a matching hat adorned with plumes, she looked happy and possibly relieved. The ride must have gone well. Or perhaps she was merely glad it was done. Oakley was just a step behind.

“
Monsieur le Vicomte
,” she said as he approached. “Such a lovely surprise. Did we have an appointment I’d forgotten?”

“Not at all, Madame Fauchon,” he replied, bowing over her hand. “I was merely wondering if you’d had need of your impressive backhand today.”

“Sir Aldus was suggestive,” she said in a low whisper, to make sure they were not heard. “But he kept his hands on his own knees.”

Evidently, Rempley had more restraint than he did in close quarters. Thank God. “Would you care to accompany me to Gunter’s for an ice?” It was perhaps the last thing he’d come here to do, but it was a warm summer day. And he had a regrettable weakness for ices. And for Jane Fitzsimmons. “I understand they’ve just introduced a new flavor.”

In less than a half hour, they were settled beneath one of Berkeley Square’s large maple trees, having just received their order from a waiter dashing between traffic with his tray. Caught up in the antics of a group of small boys playing on the manicured lawn, Oakley was sitting with her ice on a bench in the square, Benjamin’s driver beside her. Meanwhile, Benjamin and Jane sat together in his barouche as he watched her slip her spoon between her lips.

“Elderflower ice,” he said, rolling the word on his tongue. “I should have thought you’d prefer lemon.”

Jane, too, had been watching the young boys, but her head turned at that, her expression amused. “Because it’s so tart?”

He grinned. “I was thinking of the word sharp.”

“This from the gentleman who ordered a parmesan ice … ” Her head gave a small little shake before turning back to the boys, who were laughing with delight as they chased a flock of pigeons up into the air. There was something like longing in the way she watched them. Perhaps for the brother she’d never known. Or the playmates she’d never had. No doubt, she’d have been a reserved child, with a spotless white dress and crisply curled hair done up in bows.

He looked around the square to be certain no one was listening before leaning closer. “Chasing pigeons is not as fun as it looks.”

“I’ll have you know I was a very active little girl,” she said archly, as if she’d been insulted. “I’ve seen my share of scrapes and bruises. And pigeons.”

He lifted a hand in mock surrender. “I meant no offense,” he said. “But you hardly seem the type.”