Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (12 page)

I entered a library, and he followed, sitting down in a big leather chair while I went to the window to open the telegram. I scanned it. “It’s from my parents,” I said, then fell into reading it in silence. They’d received my own telegram. My father continued to make good strides since his stroke. He still wasn’t able to speak, but he seemed to understand much. And he was walking. Clearly, the hospital in Minneapolis was giving him good care. I reread the words twice, then a third time, hearing my mother’s voice, smiling at the glad tidings they contained. The hope.

I stared through the chateau window, which boasted a view over the second city wall, out to the verdant green valley below, and thought how far I felt from my parents. Our life together seemed a decade ago, even though we’d parted less than two months ago. So much had changed in that time. I had changed. Was I still the same person, at the core? Or less or more of who I was meant to be?

“Is his health improving, child?” the bear asked.

“Much,” I said, folding the thin sheet of paper. “I am very grateful.”

“And yet hearing from them leaves you homesick,” he said gently.

“Indeed.” Slowly, I turned to face him, wondering if I was so very transparent.

“Many start to yearn for home about this time on our journey,” he said, waving his unlit pipe in the air. “It is normal. And, trust me, something you can overcome.”

“What if…” I began, biting my lip, then walking toward him, perching on the edge of the couch beside him. “What if I did return home now?” As much as I loved the tour, in these last days, things had become almost unbearably complicated.

“To what gain? You’d have no funds for your schooling. And your father…”

“Wallace Kensington is not going to force my papa out to the street. Not now. He got what he wanted. Me, on this tour. An opportunity for me and my siblings to come to know one another, find a measure of trust. But…” I looked to the window again.

“Is it your home that calls you? The familiar? Or the fear of the unfamiliar ahead? Perhaps it is the idea of Pierre de Richelieu once again crossing paths with us? If it is that, rest assured—”

“No. No,” I said. “I mean certainly. Pierre complicates things, in good measure.”
But not nearly as much as Will.

“Are you…are you falling in love with him, child?” the bear asked, lowering his gray, bushy brows in consternation.

I choked and brought a hand to my chest, fearing for a moment that he’d read my thoughts about Will. “What? In love?” I laughed and shook my head. “No. Pierre is beyond charming. I think him attractive, enticing, even,” I said with a shrug. “But he is not the sort…”

“You imagined as your husband?” he finished for me.

“Exactly.” I had always pictured myself with someone far more…average—far less encumbered.

“That is good. Matches made on tours rarely amount to anything good. But what of my nephew?”

He asked it so steadily, I ran back over the words, certain I had misheard him.

“W-William? What of him?” I returned, fiddling with my jodhpurs, too cowardly to meet his keen eyes.

“Is he the sort of man you mean, Miss Kensington?”

“Mr. McCabe, I don’t know what you are asking.”

“I think you do.”

I abruptly stood. What had begun as a pleasant session with a confidant had turned into an interrogation. “I don’t know what you’ve imagined, but—”

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Will said, entering the room with three others.

The bear and I both jumped and glanced back to each other. And in that glance we both knew the same thing—I had feelings for Will. Deep feelings.

“Look who has just arrived,” Will said, his tone carefully droll. He and Arthur and Felix separated to reveal the other.

Pierre de Richelieu.

CHAPTER SEVEN

~William~

He couldn’t bear to watch her go to him. He felt as if his heart were literally tearing in two as Richelieu took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. He could hear the Frenchman murmuring, the delight in his tone. Cora’s meager words sounded bright, excited to see him again.

“Do you mind if I escort Miss Cora for a brief walk on the veranda?” Richelieu asked the bear, after shaking his hand in greeting.

“Not at all,” the bear said, gesturing them outward, obviously as eager for their reunion as they were. Will swallowed hard. From the salon windows, they’d be in plain view, giving them privacy, but not beyond propriety.
How can I keep my eyes from straying to them?

Arthur snapped a photo of the two as Richelieu tucked Cora’s hand around his arm, then bent to show Felix something on the back of the camera. Felix had purchased his own Autographic Kodak and was learning to use it. The two excused themselves to continue their tutorial, following Cora and Richelieu outside.

“William Henry McCabe,” Stuart said, striding toward him with no shortage of fury, the cane in his hand shaking. “What have you done?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Will glanced to the empty doorway. He took the red-faced old man’s arm. “Sit, Uncle. You know such agitation isn’t good for your heart.”

“Pour me a drink,” demanded his uncle, falling more than sitting down. Had he become so much frailer in the last week?
I’ve hardly given him a moment’s notice
, Will admitted to himself. His attention had been solely…elsewhere.

Will walked over to the crystal decanter and poured a stiff drink for his uncle, then carried it over to him, sitting where Cora had been. “What has you so upset, Uncle?”

The man took a quick swig of the amber liquid and swirled the rest around the glass, studying it. Then he looked back to Will. “I asked Cora if she thought of you as husband material.”

Will swallowed hard, now wishing he’d poured a glass for himself. “And…and what did she say?”

“You saw what she
said
! She said as much in what she
didn’t
say as what she did! It’s as plain as day! The girl’s holding Pierre de Richelieu at arm’s length because she’s in love with you!”

Will’s eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder to the closed door. A moment before Felix and Arthur’s voices could be heard on the veranda; now they’d dropped to silence. “Please, Uncle, keep your voice down.”

“Are you in love with her?” Stuart bellowed, ignoring Will’s entreaty, his face becoming even more red.

“What? No! I know what the rules are,” Will said. “My only intentions are to get through this tour and get back to school. No matter how attractive Cora might be.”

His uncle stared at him, searching his eyes. Will stared back at him, lips clamped.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course!” But even as he said it, his heart sank. Because he wasn’t certain. Not certain at all…“I know what this tour means to you,” he whispered. “The extra money will see us both through in good order.”

His uncle let out a breath and sank back against the chair. He rubbed his temples, squeezing them with one hand. “More than you know. And I would have to send you home if—”

“No.
No
,” Will said, raising a hand, giving him an exasperated look as if his uncle had imagined far too much. If Stuart sent him home, there would be no increased pay for the summer’s toil, possibly no pay at all. What would happen then to his plans to return and enroll in fall session? His plans to finish his degree? He’d never be on his own, never be free to be an adult, out from under Stuart’s ever-present watch.

Stuart swallowed the rest of his drink in one enormous gulp and studied him again. “So, you are telling me that there is nothing at all to be worried about between you and Cora?”

“An idle attraction, flirtation, nothing more,” Will said, smiling as if it were a painful joke, hating himself with every word. “It’s part of my assignment, yes? To make every young lady feel attractive, desirable, while keeping a respectable distance?”
How many times has Uncle said those very words to me?

Stuart paused for several long seconds and then nodded once. “Good.
Good
. Forgive me, Nephew. But I would advise you to ease back, since the girl seems to be a tad confused on that front. We don’t want her leaving with a broken heart.” He shook his head and brought his fingertips to his forehead, looking more gray and frail than ever. “That can enrage a father even more than having his daughter fall in love.”

“Understood,” Will choked out.

“We’re to be on to supper at the café in but an hour,” Stuart said with a sigh, apparently mollified for the moment. “You’d best go change.”

Will nodded and turned on trembling legs while trying to convey utter ease. But what he saw in the foyer stopped him cold. Hugh stood right around the corner, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Hugh,” Will grit out.

“William,” the man said with a catlike smile. He followed Will up the stairs, and Will instinctively knew the man had heard every word of his conversation with Uncle Stuart.
Every word.
Even if Felix and Arthur hadn’t, this one had.

“I thought you were up resting before supper,” Will said, hating his own strangled, infuriated tone.

“Indeed,” Hugh said, falling into step beside him as they climbed the grand staircase. “I’d come down to see if I might have a word with our bear, but from what I heard, he seems cantankerous.” He paused to take a breath. “Perhaps later.”

“Catch him right after supper,” Will said, forcing some semblance of kindness to his voice. “He’ll be in brighter spirits. But you know how sleepy he gets after a meal.”

“I shall.”

They parted at the landing, Will heading to one wing, Hugh the other. As he walked, he rubbed his neck, thinking it felt as stiff as a rock. He’d failed them all. His uncle. Mr. Kensington. Cora.

And Hugh knew it. Would he tell her? Drop his hurtful words on her at some fateful moment, hoping to get a chance at her himself? To become a confidant of a kind for her? Will’s eyes narrowed. He was the sort. Hurt her in order to comfort her.

Will had to get to her first. Say something that would help her understand, if it came up. But did he dare? When he was feeling so…weak?

~Cora~

Our hosts had left for Marseilles, telling Arthur that he could play host in their stead, but he led us to a town café for dinner, rather than have us eat in the massive dining room again. Even in our most simple of touring suits, we far outdressed the locals. I shifted uneasily as I entered. The ceilings were low; the place packed with laughing, mingling people who gave us only a cursory glance before dismissing us; and we were led to a long table in the corner.

I glanced at Pierre, wondering how he’d fare in a café so…base. Part of me relished seeing him here, for once far from his usual environs. More like my own. To my surprise, he looked utterly at ease.

“Oh, it’s marvelous. Perfect, Arthur,” the bear enthused. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“Not at all,” Arthur said, his eyes moving to the others. “It’s one of my favorites in Carcassonne. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”

“Come, Cora, Pierre,” the old bear said. “I’d be very honored if you sat with me.”

“Of course,” Pierre said, moving to follow him, tugging me along. We were at one end of the table, and Will was on the other. I couldn’t help but think the seating arrangement was by the bear’s careful design.

We settled in, and two waitresses set out long baguettes that smelled like they’d just come out of the oven, as well as
escargot
, snails covered in butter and garlic. I’d still not acquired a taste for them, but I tore off a piece of bread as the others did before me, smiling as my younger sister giggled over the “barbaric practice.”

“Oh, no, no, no, my dear,” said the bear. “It isn’t barbaric. Only customary. These people would surely giggle if they sat down at the chateau table we shared last night.”

“All that cutlery makes
me
giggle,” I said lowly.

He smiled at me and nodded graciously. “There are charms belonging to each, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, looking down the long, country table covered in a clean but worn linen and over to Pierre. “Given the choice, I’d sit at this one most every night of our tour.”

Pierre gave me a mischievous look, pulled off his jacket, and settled it on the back of his chair, then unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. His action gave me pause. What was this? He immediately looked more relaxed, welcoming, even if his shirt was made of a finer cloth than anything I’d ever touched before joining the Kensingtons. He broke off a piece of bread and handed it to me with a grin.

Never had I thought he looked more attractive. Was it because he looked less…formal? More approachable?

Vivian, sitting between Arthur and Andrew, had overheard me. “This might be good, hearty food. But surely you would miss Pierre’s chef’s preparations. Or what we ate aboard the
Olympic
? Or with the Bellamys?”

“Forgive me,” I said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s only that cafés like this are more…me. Where I’d come if I was just Cora Diehl, traveling on her own.”

She stared into my eyes a moment, her own squinting a little as if she was trying to understand such a mad statement. Andrew leaned over and whispered something in her ear while Arthur took a sip of his wine, absorbing every word, every nuance. What was his interest in all of us anyway? I shoved away the idea that Andrew was saying something dismissive about me and concentrated on my crusty bread, trying to rein in my thoughts. We were past all the cattiness. Weren’t we?