The Making of a Duchess (33 page)

   The curtains parted again and then snapped shut.

   She narrowed her eyes. "Julien."

   He turned to look at her, and for a brief second, she glimpsed the agony that must have been devouring him inside. Then his face went blank.

   She nodded to the house across the street. "I saw the curtains part. Someone is watching us."

   "Well, let's see who it is." And he marched across the street. Sarah jumped down off the cart with an "oopmf" and ran to catch up.

   "I don't think that's such a good idea," she hissed in French. "We don't know who it might be."

   But Julien ignored her, stopped in front of the door, and knocked loudly.

   Inside the house was a scraping sound and then silence. She tugged on his arm. "Let's go."

   But Julien reached up and knocked again. There was

a long silence, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. Finally, the door swung open, revealing a small, gray-haired man impeccably dressed but far too thin and haggard. His skin was sallow, his wrinkles deep.

   He looked first at her then at Julien, his eyes widening. "Monsieur le Duc," he said, blinking as though to clear his eyes. "Is it really you?"

   "May I come inside, Gilbert? I don't think it's safe to stand about talking on the streets."

   Gilbert nodded furiously and swung the door wide. Beyond him gaped dark, shrouded rooms.

   "I shall stable your horse and… carriage, Monsieur le Duc."

   Sarah was instantly alarmed. How could they expect this frail old man to work for them? She would do it herself before she allowed that to happen.

   "No," Julien said, obviously of her same mind. "We've traveled a long way. Please take my wife inside, and I'll join you in a moment."

   "As you wish, Monsieur le Duc. Madame, this way, I beg you."

   With a backward glance at Julien, who had already started back across the street, Sarah stepped into the dark home.

   It was well-ordered and clean, but the windows were covered with heavy draperies, blocking out all of the light. It was nigh noon, but despite several candles burning, the parlor was gloomy and dim.

   "Please sit, madame." He offered her the best chair. Indeed there were only two, and this looked the most comfortable. Sarah did not want to take it, but she did not see how she could refuse. She sat and smiled at him, hoping he would take the other chair. Instead, he remained standing, looking ready to serve her. "May I fetch you a light repast, madame? I'm certain you must be hungry after your journey."

   She was starving, but she did not want to eat this man's food. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

   "Some wine then. Surely your throat is dry." He looked so eager to be of service that she finally agreed. He disappeared into another room for several minutes and returned with a tray holding a bottle and two glasses. He filled one with the red liquid and then nodded for her to taste it.

   She was no wine connoisseur, but the wine was sweet and refreshing, and she smiled her approval. "Won't you join me, sir?"

   He looked horrified at the suggestion. "Oh, no, madame! This glass is for Monsieur le Duc."

   "You'd better stop calling me that," Julien said, striding into the room. She had not heard him enter the house. "Or we'll all be thrown in prison by the end of the day."

   "Of course, Monsieur le Duc." Gilbert poured Julien the second glass of wine and handed it to him eagerly. Sarah doubted he even realized his mistake.

   "Call me 'Monsieur Harcourt,'" Julien instructed then sipped the wine. "Very good." He nodded his approval and then sat in the vacant seat. "And I shall call you Monsieur Pierpont."

   "As you wish, monsieur." But she could hear in his voice that he wanted to add Julien's title. Sarah wondered if he would remember to omit it.

   "How have you been, monsieur?" Julien asked. "I

see you have kept a faithful watch on our home."

   "Yes, Monsieur le... monsieur. I am only sorry it is in such a sad state. I would give anything to have it back the way it was."

   "As would I," Julien said quietly. "What happened?"

   "I stayed in town when the family went to the country. Your father, God rest his soul"—he made the sign of the cross—"asked me to guard it with my life. But one morning, we received the news that all of you had been murdered, and that night the peasants"—he scrunched up his face in obvious distaste—"came and burned the lovely home." He paused and rubbed his eyes. "I would have rescued as many of the valuables as I could Monsieur le Duc."

   Sarah saw Julien frown, but he did not correct his former servant.

   "But I was fortunate to escape with my life."

   "Of course." Julien nodded. "You did right. But if you thought we were all dead, then why did you watch over the house?"

   "Because I heard that your father would be guillotined. I wanted to go visit him in prison, but it was too dangerous. I might have been labeled a sympathizer. But I went out on the streets the day he was to be…" He paused and swallowed. "On the appointed day, when I saw they had only him, I knew some of you must have escaped. If they had you and your brothers, the peasants would have killed them. They loved nothing more than a show."

   Julien nodded. "So you saw it?" he asked, looking at a spot on the wall. "You saw my father's death?"

   Gilbert nodded. "I did. He went honorably,

Monsieur le Duc. He did not cry or fight. Kept his head high and walked on his own to the guillotine."

   Julien nodded curtly. "How did you know where to find me?"

   "I have been looking for you for years, and finally word came to me that you were making inquiries about your brothers. Do not ask me how I gained this knowledge, Monsieur le Duc. I cannot tell you. But I was able to learn that you and the duchesse made it safely to England."

   "I'm sure all of this must have come at great risk to your personal safety," Julien remarked. "I hope you know you'll be adequately compensated."

   "I want nothing but to leave this godforsaken country," the servant said, his eyes lit with fire now. "As I said in my letter, life here has become dangerous for me."

   "Very well." Julien leaned forward. "Then let's get to the point. You know why I've come. Where is my brother Armand?"

"Armand?"

   Julien held his breath and watched Gilbert Pierpont's eyes flick to the floor. When he looked up again, the former butler looked anguished. "Oh, monsieur, I do not like to tell you this."

   Julien's heart clenched, the vise of fear locking in. "I'm too late, aren't I?" Julien said, careful to keep his voice level. "He's gone." Damn it! He should have left as soon as he received the letter. He could have sailed one of his own ships across the Channel and to hell with the consequences.

   Bur Gilbert was shaking his head. "No, monsieur. Where would Monsieur le Comte go? Your brother is in prison."

   Julien stood. "Prison?" Thank God. Prison was not death, but it did pose problems. "What are the charges?"

   "I do not know, monsieur. I fear he has been there a long time. Years, monsieur."

   Julien did not like the ominous tone in Gilbert's voice. "Has there been a trial? What sentence is he serving?"

   "Again, monsieur, I do not know. I might have asked questions, but I thought it best not to. It appears—" He glanced at the windows and doors as though afraid they were being watched. "It appears"— he lowered his voice to a raspy whisper—"Monsieur le Comte has been forgotten."

   Sarah made a small sound of distress, but when Julien looked at her, she did not seem surprised at Gilbert's words. Julien himself had to exert all of his control not to react to the horror he felt. "For how long?" he asked, voice steady.

   Gilbert shook his head. The man knew, but he did not want to say. Perhaps Julien did not really want to hear anyway.

   "What prison, Gilbert? Can I see him?"

   "Le Grenier," Sarah answered for him. "The Attic."

   Julien glanced at her in surprise. So this was the information she'd held on to. How long had she known Armand's whereabouts? All along?

   He looked back at Gilbert. "Can I see Armand?" Julien repeated.

   Gilbert shook his head. "That would be very dangerous. He might recognize you and inadvertently give you away. I have seen him, and I assure you that the man I saw is your brother."

   Julien reached behind him, fumbled for the chair, and sat. Gilbert had said the words he had hungered to hear for twelve long years.

   Armand was alive. His brother was alive.

   "I have to get him out," Julien said. "I'm taking him home to England."

   Gilbert nodded, as though he had expected this, but Sarah gaped at him. "Julien, he's in prison. You can't just get him out."

   He scowled at her, dismissing her protests. "I'm not going to let him rot there. Tomorrow we'll go the prison," he said, addressing Gilbert, "and I'll take a look. We'll come up with a plan to get Armand out." His mind was working quickly now, plotting how he could steal the guard's clothing, when the best time to go inside would be. He did not dare picture his reunion with Armand. He could not allow himself to think of that yet.

   "I'll take you tomorrow, monsieur, but you cannot rely on your brother to be of any assistance. He's… changed."

   Julien's body went cold and numb. "What does that mean?"

   Gilbert sighed. "Perhaps you will see tomorrow, monsieur. They allow him out in the courtyard once a week. I do not think it a fixed schedule, and some weeks I have not seen him at all. Perhaps tomorrow you will see him."

   "And what will I see?"

   Gilbert spread his arms. "He has changed, monsieur. Prison will do that to a man."

   Julien clenched his fists but asked no more questions. There was something very wrong, something Gilbert did not want to talk about. Julien would rather see it with his own eyes anyway. He would form his own opinion.

   He did not want to impose any further on Gilbert, so he rose and went to Sarah, assisting her to her feet. "What time should we call in the morning, Monsieur Pierpont?"

   Gilbert's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, no, Monsieur le Duc! You must not go out into the streets again tonight. There are those who remember you and your family. You look too much like your father, monsieur. I beg you to stay here tonight. I know my abode is humble, but I will give you and madame the bedroom. I will sleep in the parlor."

   "Thank you. Can we give you money to go and buy dinner?"

   "No, monsieur. I have food in the kitchen. If you will just give me leave to prepare it?"

   Julien nodded. "Thank you, Gilbert."

   As soon as the old butler disappeared into the kitchen, Sarah smacked his sleeve. He gave her a disgruntled look, but she was frowning at him fiercely. "How could you agree to that arrangement? We are not taking an old man's bed."

   "We'd insult him to refuse."

   "Ha!" She swiped at him again. "You, Valère, have never been a servant. I assure you we are not offended when we get to sleep in our own beds."

   "What is this
we
?" he said blandly. "You're a duchesse now, or have you forgotten?"

   Her answering look was skeptical, enough that he wondered if she harbored doubts about their marriage. Did she think he was the kind of man to break a vow? He was her husband until death parted them. He had not taken those words lightly.

   Had she?

   For the first time, he wondered if all of this might be an elaborate ruse by the Foreign Office to collect evidence against him. But, no, he could not believe even the Foreign Office would go so far as to send in an operative to marry him.

   "You knew about the prison," he said to Sarah. "You knew Armand was a prisoner and did not tell me."

   She nodded, her eyes filled with pain he did not think she could have manufactured. "I realized only a few days ago. Sir Northrop said something to me once, something about your brother being hidden where you would never find him—in the attic. Later, I saw a list of prisons on your desk. When I read the name Le Grenier, The Attic, I knew that had to be where he was held. Now, after hearing what Monsieur Pierpont says, I am certain."

   There was more, something else she was not telling him, but for the moment this was all he could take in. They were silent for a long moment, and then she gave him a direct look. "Your old servant risks much by taking us in and agreeing to help you, and you repay him by taking his bed."

   He shook his head. Did she realize she was in just as much danger as Gilbert, if not more? "I plan to take Gilbert back to England with us and repay him handsomely for his kindness. Will that make his one night in a chair worthwhile?"

   She still had a stubborn look on her face, but he could see that inside she had softened. "Perhaps" was all she would allow. She was looking away from him, the thrust of her jaw stubborn. If they had been alone, he would have taken her in his arms and kissed that stubbornness away. He liked that she was not afraid to challenge him. He liked that she worried about an old servant like Gilbert.