A Daughter's Destiny (24 page)

Evan chuckled and poured more brandy into his glass. “Last I heard, he was reputed to be working for Napoleon in the blockade off the English coast. I am afraid both of us have become quite legitimate.”

“That must have been a surprise for quite a few people,” his friend returned dryly.

“No one could be more amazed than Dominic and me.” He started to add more, then paused when Grand-mère yawned. “Madame LeClerc, I fear we are keeping you from your rest. I know you probably spent last night pacing your room, wondering if today would be the day that your granddaughter arrived.”

“That is true,” Grand-mère said. “I know you told me it would take more than a week for your journey, but I admit to being anxious every minute until my dear Brienne was returned to me.” She gave him a grateful smile.

Brienne did the same. Mr. Porter's household would be quick to reveal to their host how Brienne had taken off and Evan had followed her. Evan's skillful bending of the truth would cover any mistakes she or Grand-mère might make while they were here.

“Forgive us,” Porter said, setting himself on his feet, “for delaying you from your rest. My surprise at discovering Evan here has persuaded me to set aside my manners, I fear.”

“Nonsense,” Grand-mère replied with a smile. “I am sorry to disrupt your conversation.”

When Evan drew Grand-mère to her feet, then held out his hand to Brienne, she wondered how long they would remain in this grand house on Grosvenor Square. It might be better if she and her grandmother disappeared into the
émigré
community closer to Soho. She must speak with both of them about this right away.

Her plans were dashed when Grand-mère said, as they climbed the stairs to the upper floor, “Good night and thank you, Evan.”

“For rescuing you from that gabble-grinder?” He laughed. “I never thought Porter would attach himself to a prattler. You are most welcome, Madame LeClerc, for, to admit the truth, I was hoping to spare my ears as well as yours.”

“Grand-mère—”

Patting Brienne's hand, she interrupted with, “Tomorrow, child. I know you have many questions, but Evan is right. I am exhausted from pacing the nights away in anticipation of your homecoming.”

“I am so sorry, Grand-mère,” Brienne said. “When you hear what kept us from returning posthaste, you will understand.”

“I hope so.” She wore the stern expression that Brienne had seen so seldom. “However, that must wait for the morrow. My mind is paralyzed with fatigue. After a good night's sleep, I will be looking forward to hearing why you were so addlepated, child.” She put her hand on Evan's arm as they paused by her door. “Thank you again for bringing my strong-willed granddaughter to me.”

“My pleasure, madame.” His smile lasted while Grand-mère kissed Brienne good night and went into her room. It disappeared as soon as her door closed. In a taut whisper, he said, “Brienne, I have a few things I need to say to you that cannot wait for the morrow.”

“I guessed that.”

Leading her to the room she had used when she last was in this grand house, he said, “I had no idea that Porter would be here now.”

“I guessed that, too.” She glanced behind them and, seeing no one, asked, “Do you want me and Grand-mère to leave?”

“No!” He chuckled at his own vehemence that narrowed her eyes. “For many reasons, honey, but the most important one other than I want you here with me is that I want to keep my eye on you. Lagrille's men may have followed us back to London. We cannot be certain of anything until they reveal themselves.”

Brienne shivered as she opened her door. She drew him into her sitting room. Closing the door, she leaned back against it.

“You shall ruin your reputation with these antics,” Evan said as he faced her. He picked up a book from a table and thumbed through it, but she did not believe his nonchalance. Through his sleeve, she had felt the muscles that were tightly coiled, waiting to spring out in any direction at the first sign of trouble.

“My reputation is pretty much in tatters now,” she replied.

“No one knows that but you and me.” He gave her a smile. “I do like to keep some things secret.”

“You keep too much secret.” She sat in a chair by the window. “I am not as worried about my reputation as I am about my grandmother. Can we trust Mr. Porter?”

“He has been my friend for several years.”

“Mayhap I should ask that differently.” She dampened her arid lips. “Can
I
trust him?”

He closed the book and set it on the table. “One of these days, Brienne, you are going to learn that your allies and mine are the same.”

“You were the one who told me I was too trusting.”

“Why do you only heed me when you can toss my words back into my face at the worst possible time?”

She knew she had hurt him with her comment, but she could not be too careful. She wanted to trust him. With every bit of her being, she wanted to trust him, but the wariness she had seen in his eyes downstairs warned her more than his words of the danger surrounding them. “I would do anything to protect Grand-mère.”

“As I would.”

“Would you? Really?”

Sadness dimmed his eyes. “I cannot convince you to take me at my word, and I hope I never have to prove that to you.”

“I hope not either.” She hesitated, then asked, “What of Miss Woods? I fear we intruded upon what was to be a tryst here this evening.”

“You are learning, honey.”

“Don't forget that I often saw gentlemen and their latest conquests at L'Enfant de la Patrie.”

“I am sure you did. You were far enough from Mayfair to keep a chap from fearing his wife would discover him with his incognita, but still close enough to be an easy drive.” His smile returned. “I suspect Miss Woods was not happy about our interruption of her plans with Porter or to discover you are sleeping here in what was her room.”

“I thought she was Mr. Porter's mistress.”

“In spite of what you have seen, you still have a lot to learn about the Polite World, honey. A young woman who does not negotiate for her own private rooms as part of her agreement to become a man's mistress has little hope of obtaining a grand settlement when the time comes for him to replace her.”

“You know so much about the
ton
that one would suspect you are a part of it.”

He laughed. “On occasion as the need arose.” Drawing her into his arms, he murmured as he caressed her neck with swift kisses, “But there are many of their ways that I never took as my own.”

“Such as going from one mistress to the next?”

“Why are you asking such questions when I could be holding you in that bed?”

“After you bathe.” She drew back and tapped the front of his filthy waistcoat. “You are abominable, Mr. Somerset.”

“And you are stubborn, Miss LeClerc.” His fingers sifted through her hair, letting it fall around them. “And so enticing that I will obey your command … if you will scrub my back for me.”

“You might be able to persuade me.” Her nose wrinkled. “Although the water should be chilly by now.”

“Then, I shall let your touch warm it up as you warm me.”

As she took his hand and crossed the hall to his room, she thought only of the joy of being in his arms, delighting in the touch that drove her to the apex of ecstasy. It was hours later, as he slept, his cheek against her breast, and she stared up at the design on the wooden canopy over them, that she realized how he had changed the subject when she probed too closely to his past.

He was hiding something that was buried so deeply she could not guess what it might be. She shuddered as she imagined what might cause it to emerge and hoped that moment would not doom them all.

Chapter Fifteen

The tap of rain against the window was the only other sound as Brienne entered her grandmother's room. It was as ornate as her room, only decorated in subdued red and blues, giving it a more masculine aura. The furniture was heavy, like the chairs in the book-room downstairs. She wondered why her grandmother had chosen it, then decided mayhap Grand-mère liked the solid sensation of this furniture after their lives had been twisted inside out.

Lamps kept the dreary day at bay, creating pools of light on the dark rug. It was cozy, in spite of its elegance and the high ceiling. Going to where her grandmother was reading the morning newspaper by a brass lamp, Brienne bent and kissed her on the cheek, keeping her hands behind her back.

Grand-mère patted her cheek. “Child, it is so good to see you here and safe.”

“I am sorry I frightened you by leaving as I did. Maman wished for me to go without delay, and I promised I would.” She hesitated, then sat on the floor beside her grandmother, resting her head against Grand-mère's knee as she had done when she was a little girl. “Forgive me, Grand-mère.”

“I only want you to promise me not to be so foolish again.”

“I promise.” She hoped it was a vow she could keep. Setting the dirty bag on her lap, she opened it carefully and took out the wooden box. She had checked inside the box before coming to her grandmother's rooms. The vase was chipped near the base, but it was still in one piece. “Grand-mère, would you keep this box in a safe place for me?”

“A safe place?”

“A place where no one will find it.”

“What is in the box, child?”

“The miniature of my father.” She looked down at her hands, not wanting to let her grandmother know that she was not being totally honest. The miniature
was
inside, but that was not why she wanted to conceal this box. She wished she did not have to ask Grand-mère, but she could not involve Evan. He seemed to have accepted that the vase had been destroyed, and she did not want to resurrect any questions in his mind. “I took the miniature with me when we fled the apartment over L'Enfant de la Patrie. The frame is broken, but the picture has not been harmed. I do not want to lose it. It is all I have of him.”

Folding the newspaper, her grandmother put it beside her on the chair. She took the box and set it on the table beside her before cupping Brienne's chin. “You know that is not exactly true, child. You have a legacy from him that is far more than a single portrait.”

“So, Grand-mère, what Evan told me is true?”

She lowered her voice, even though they were speaking in French, which none of the servants should understand, but Brienne knew her grandmother wanted to be cautious when she said, “If he told you that you are the daughter of a
duc
, it is true.”

“And the estate?”

“Is yours if your older brother is, indeed, dead as your mother—as Lucile and I believed.”

Putting her hand on her grandmother's knee, she said, “You are my
grand-mère
, and Maman was my
maman
. Nothing can change that.”

“You are a dear child, but you know, as I do, that when you claim your heritage, nothing will be the same.”

“If I do not—”

“You will negate all that Lucile and I have done for you.” She brushed Brienne's cheek with quivering fingers. “Child, we would have returned to France years ago if we had not known that you were in danger from those who would like to claim what was your father's.” She sighed. “How I have longed for the sound of the Loire passing beneath my window! The Thames is loud and dirty. The Loire is as pretty as a poem.”

“I never guessed what you sacrificed for me.”

“It was worth it to see you grow up so I can see both the
duc
and the
duchesse
in you.” She sighed again. “I should have told you years ago, but first you were too young, then that dirty Corsican claimed France for his own and began to make war on his neighbors.” A smile played with her lips. “Brienne. That is something else I kept from you.”

“My name is not really Brienne?”

“Yes, it is Brienne, but I never told you that you were named for the military school both your father and Napoleon attended. Your grandfather, the old
duc
, insisted on your father receiving a stringent education, despite the rank that was his from his birth.” She laughed. “No one gainsaid the old
duc
. He was as stubborn as you are.”

Looking past her grandmother to the box, she whispered, “Still I ask that you hide this box. I do not want to chance losing Papa's picture.”

“You may be right.” Grand-mère stood and carried the box into the other room with Brienne following. Opening the armoire that faced her bed, she lifted out all the blankets stored in a lower drawer. She set the box inside and replaced the blankets. “It should be safe here, child. The weather is growing warmer each day, so there will be no need of extra blankets.”

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me by telling me the truth.”

“About what?”

“You and Evan Somerset.”

She did not hesitate. Grand-mère would know if she was lying about this. “I believe I am in love with him, Grand-mère.”

“I was afraid of that.” She sat on a petit-point stool at the foot of the bed. “He has more than his share of charm, and I feared that he would use it upon you.”

“But you sent him to find me.”

“Yes, but I might have chosen another if I had had any other choice.” She took Brienne's hands. “Child, do not mistake my words. I like Evan very much. He honored his promise to return you to me when he had no reason to take upon the obligation of finding you. He gave us a roof when we had none.”

“But?”

“You are the daughter of a
duc
. It would not be right for you to marry a man who has made his living smuggling art from the châteaux of your neighbors so it could decorate some English country house.” Coming to her feet, she wrung her hands in her gown as if she were wearing the apron she always had used in the kitchen of L'Enfant de la Patrie. “You never showed any interest in the lads who were intrigued with you, so I held my tongue. But now I can no longer do that.”