Elizabeth Boyle (57 page)

Startled, the man looked up at them, his pinkish eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to figure out where they had come from. “Oh, my. Oh, yes. If it is no trouble,” he said in a rush.

She placed several tasty-looking morsels on a plate and handed it to him. “I suppose this is difficult for both of us. But I hope we can have the same working relationship you had with my father. I know he held you in high esteem,” she lied, wondering what had ever possessed a smart man like Henri de Chevenoy to hire such an obvious ninny.

“Oh, yes, your father,” he said, with an odd smile. “A good man, though not without his own idiosyncrasies, shall we say. Like why he left his dear daughter in Martinique for so long? Or kept your existence such a secret from so many, including myself, I am afraid to admit. Imagine my surprise when I found his last will and testament left everything to you, a daughter few knew he had.”

Lily smiled. This was ground she felt comfortable with, as Webb had drilled the responses into her.

“My father thought it best that few knew of my existence so as to better protect me,” she offered in quiet even tones, trying to sound like a girl who’d been closeted away for the last eight years and unused to such attentions. “France has been through some turbulent times since I’ve been away. From my father’s letters and the news that reached the good sisters, I am sure the secret of my existence, while a shock to most, is easily understood as the extraordinary steps taken by a protective, loving parent.”

Her smooth words seemed to put the man at ease. As he continued to ask questions about her life in Martinique, her memories of her home, and how she found Paris changed, his nervous demeanor softened subtly. By the end of his quizzing, he appeared almost pleased as she answered his inquiries with a practiced recitation of her fictitious life.

M. Troussebois sighed as she finished a quaint story about her admitted inability to learn to dance.

“Why Monsieur Francois was nearly driven to distraction with my two left feet.”

“Oh, Mademoiselle de Chevenoy, I can’t see how such an enchanting young lady as yourself could be anything but graceful as a bird on wing,” he told her. “Now that we are thoroughly acquainted, I must address the more necessary business part of our relationship. As you know, your father, the former Comte de Chevenoy, known most recently as Citizen de Chevenoy, left you a rather handsome inheritance. In fact, from my preliminary estimation, you could be worth close to …” the man paused, shuffled through his papers and then named the amount.

While Webb remained outwardly cool, not showing any surprise at the astronomical amount, Lily didn’t miss his slight intake of breath. It had taken all her self-control not to let her jaw drop upon hearing the amount of de Chevenoy’s accumulated wealth, which, as Adelaide, was now at her disposal.

“I can see,” Troussebois said, “that you didn’t realize the extent of your father’s estate. As it is, you are easily one of the wealthiest women in Paris.”

Though Lily had suspected that Henri’s work for the British government paid well, she could not understand how he could have made this tremendous fortune.

And more importantly, held on to it during the Terror and the recent Directory regime without drawing undue attention to himself.

No wonder the little solicitor looked so nervous.

She wondered just how much Troussebois knew about de Chevenoy’s business with the British and what other illegal ventures the wily agent had dealt in. Lily knew Webb would ring a peal over her for departing from their practiced scripts, but she took a calculated risk to see if she could ferret out the truth.

She took the approach she thought the flowery, oblique little solicitor would find the most unnerving, the direct one.

“How could that be possible, Monsieur Troussebois?” she said, trying to look as confused and innocently demure as possible. “There must be some mistake. The Tribunal seized my father’s estates just after I left. I hadn’t thought there was anything more than this house and perhaps a small trust from my mother’s dowry. Surely not such a tremendous fortune.”

Webb edged closer to her, taking her hand in his, squeezing it.
Leave off, don’t pursue this.

She ignored his subtle warning and continued anyway.

Troussebois, hiding behind his cup of coffee, smiled over the rim of the china cup as if he hadn’t quite heard her question.

For most of their meeting, she’d felt the solicitor had been grilling her as if testing her veracity, and now it was time to see how much he knew.

“How could that much money be possible?” Lily asked again, lowering her voice and hoping she sounded nothing more than truly concerned. Setting Webb’s hand aside, she leaned forward and waited until Troussebois had taken a large swallow from his coffee. “I hope there is nothing illegal in any of this.”

The solicitor sputtered. “Mademoiselle! How can you think of such a thing? Your father was a model citizen, a true patriot.”

Lily nodded. “You misunderstand me. I am just a little overwhelmed to find out I have inherited such a vast fortune, and at the same time, I am trying to be cautious, monsieur. I may have been in Martinique, but I am not so innocent as to not understand that my inheritance will lend itself to some serious questions regarding how my father, during a most tumultuous period of history, amassed such a fortune! I only fear for myself and for what people might say as to your dealings with my father.”

There, she’d laid it out, and if there were more brains than wool between his ears, as she now suspected, he would understand her meaning fully.

Betray me, and as surely as I breathe, you will go down with me.

His nose twitched. “Well, I can assure you there is nothing untoward about this money. Your father was just an extraordinarily fortunate man and a shrewd investor. While the de Chevenoy château and lands were forfeited, the comte was able to keep this house and your mother’s dower house in the countryside.”

“That still doesn’t explain how my father retained two properties and continued to prosper. My eyes were wide open as I entered the city. I have seen the condition of the houses and the streets and the businesses, while this house appears to have remained untouched. It just seems unusual.”

“Count your blessings, my dear girl, and think nothing further of this. It is better for all concerned.” He scratched his chin. “A house in the country can be quite a nice respite in the summer. Perhaps you recall it? It is about an hour’s drive from here.”

“Ah, yes. It is near
Château Malmaison
,” she said. “I remember it quite well.”

“Good. So you will understand that your wealth puts you in a rather enviable position. There are many other
émigrés
returning to France who are coming back to much less, if anything.”

Lily lowered her gaze. “How good you are to point out my happy fate, monsieur, in light of the misfortune of so many others. I will do well to remember that.”

“I have tried my best to conceal the amount of your inheritance. This type of money tends to bring out the worst sort of rapscallions, especially when the holder is as gentle and kind as you.”

Lily demurred to his praise by attempting to blush.

“At least,” M. Troussebois said, “you have the protection of a fiancé to ensure that you are not abducted or compromised.” He turned his gaze on Webb. “I can count on you to protect our heiress?”

“You can be assured of it, sir.”

“Mr. Milne,” Lily said, “is quite protective of my good interests. He was so kind as to provide one of his ships for my crossing and made every effort to see that I arrived in Paris without any delays.” She paused and beamed up at Webb, hoping she looked as lovesick as she sounded. “I am sure my father would have more than approved of such a husband for me.”

“Ah, yes, this marriage,” Troussebois said, clearing his throat. “That is a … difficulty. While I can see you have chosen well for yourself, it was not your place to do so.”

Lily felt a strange foreboding even as the man continued. “What do you mean? I am of a legal age and with my father gone there isn’t anyone to object to this marriage.”

“That may have been true in the past, but because of the size of your inheritance, the court was ordered to appoint a guardian for you. Your guardian will have to give his approval before you can consider undertaking this marriage.”

“My guardian?” Lily asked. “And who might that be?”

“The First Consul.” Again Troussebois swallowed. “General Bonaparte. He has taken an immense interest in your welfare, for which we should all be most grateful.”

Lily thought the man sounded anything but grateful.

Troussebois took another sip of his coffee before he continued. “In fact, I have here a standing order from our illustrious leader that you are to present yourself at the Tuileries Palace on the first reception night after your arrival.” The man paused for a moment. “Which, as it turns out, is tonight.”

“W
hat ever possessed you tell that man we would be delighted to attend the reception tonight?” Webb said as he watched Troussebois scurry up the street, his great flapping black coat twisting and turning in the blustery afternoon wind.

He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Lily, who sat primly on the settee, in the process of selecting another roll. Her lashes fluttered with an innocent air, as if she hadn’t the vaguest notion as to what he was talking about.

How many times did he have to remind her
she
was the inexperienced agent, which meant she followed
his
orders precisely?

Obviously once more.

“You are not in charge of this mission,” he told her, “and from here on out you will do as I say, and not take any more of these untrained, undisciplined forays on your own.”

She buttered the bread, and just before she popped it into her mouth, she said, “I think Monsieur Troussebois suspects I’m not Adelaide.”

Webb stared at her, unsure of what to make of her preposterous notion. “And you came to this conclusion after thirty minutes with the man.”

She nodded, her mouth full of roll, stray crumbs clinging to her chin.

Oh, this was perfect. Now she was directing their mission with probably nothing more than some female intuition. The day he started living his life based on the assessment of this overweening chit was the day he’d hand in his resignation. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, “What makes
you
think that?”

From the stormy look on her face and the flash of green fury in her eyes, his gibe hit the spot.

She swallowed and rose to her feet. “He was testing me. You were here. Didn’t you think he asked an inordinate number of questions about my family and my life? Why would he ask these things unless he didn’t believe who I was? When Thomas died, I’d never met his solicitor, but when the man arrived at our home, he never questioned my identity. He just expressed his heartfelt condolences and then proceeded to tell me how his bill was paid and how much he received.”

Webb opened his mouth to make some glib remark about her quick, inexperienced appraisal, but then he realized she might be correct.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, “I would think that Monsieur Troussebois is well aware of Henri’s, shall we say, duplicity, and was testing me to see how much I knew of my ‘father’s’ business.” Her brows slanted upward, as if challenging him to come up with a better assessment.

He’d been so busy trying to keep her from carrying her deception too far, that he hadn’t paid as much attention to Troussebois’s seemly inane chatter.

Now it almost killed him to admit she was right. Troussebois had asked her a lot of questions, even asked some of them twice. At the time, he’d been willing to chalk that up to just being part of the nervous solicitor’s bumbling ineptitude.

But wasn’t that exactly what a good agent did? Ask a lot of questions—always on the lookout for a momentary lapse in the facts, something to prove this person wasn’t who they claimed to be.

And what other reason was there for a rabbit of a man like Troussebois to do that, unless he …

Unless he was as atrociously bad as Webb had first surmised or Troussebois knew of de Chevenoy’s duplicity and was now working for Napoleon, or worse, his Minister of Police, Joseph Fouché.

Possibilities more credible than he cared to admit.

Especially given the amount of money de Chevenoy had left to his heiress—a fortune in gold a cash starved ruler like Napoleon would stop at nothing to get his hands on. Either by seizing the estate outright, or by controlling her future through marriage.

Napoleon might need the de Chevenoy connections in Paris right now to cement his alliances, but if he decided to brand the family as traitors and seize everything, who would dare stop him? Given that the General had all but left two thousand of his troops to die of fever in the East after his Egyptian campaign, what was the life of one heiress?

He glanced over at Lily, a little in awe of her astute handling of what could have been a disastrous situation.

She sat happily munching a piece of cake.

Had it been pure luck or was there more to her than any of them, his father included, had suspected?

“Not bad for someone so, … how did you put it?” she said. “Ah, yes, so untrained.” She leaned back in the settee, a self-satisfied smile on her lips. “Now you see why I had to accept the invitation? If I refused to attend it would have appeared as if I had something to hide. After all, what woman in her right mind would turn down a chance to meet the hero of Italy? To see the inside of the Tuileries? Meet Madame Bonaparte?” Lily’s gaze rolled skyward. “I had no choice. And I am going, with or without you.”

Webb turned his back, afraid she might see in his eyes the grudging admission that she’d made the right choice.

What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been doing this for twelve years. He should have spotted Troussebois’s nervous manner and blatant inquiries as the fishing expedition it was.

He knew exactly what was wrong with him, and she was sitting across the room, grinning over her cup of cream-laced coffee like a cat. With her kiss she’d turned him into the worst kind of green agent and then left him floundering to catch up with her.