Lady Scandal (16 page)

"Then perhaps they turned towards Le
Havre?"

"We have men on that road.
And to Calais,
and to Boulogne, and Dieppe!"

Putting down his wineglass, Taliaris shook
his head.
He strode to the window, his hands folded behind his
back.
In the yard, under a chestnut tree, a half dozen of his men
rested, sitting or standing, smoking pipes, drinking, sharing
stories.
When the next group returned from scouting, these would go
out.
But to find what?

More useless drill!

Taliaris turned.
"This Marsett.
He must have
guessed we would find the farmer who sold him the gig.
What would
you do if you had his shoes?"

Paulin shrugged.
"Buy faster horses."

"Or slower.
Or different enough that
everyone looks blank when we ask.
That must be it.
We ask the wrong
questions, Paulin.
We ask about a gig and farm horses!"

"But, sir, what else should we ask, other
than after a man who might be injured, or...?" Paulin let his words
fade.
His captain had on a smile that left Paulin uneasy.
He did
not understand his captain.
But he did not care for that.
He took
orders.
He did his job.
He was a good soldier, and if he kept at
it, he would have a good retirement someday.

He straightened even more as Taliaris said,
his tone brisk, "Change the questions, Lieutenant.
Ask after a girl
with golden hair and blue eyes—a beauty like that is not forgotten.
Ask after her and we shall find Marsett!
Now go.
And I want answers
by sunset!"

#

Two days and two nights on the road took
their toll on his Andria.
They had had to avoid a dusty troop of
French infantry who seemed to be escorting cannons some place—a
sign Paxten took to mean that they neared the coast.
He could not
imagine that troops would be anywhere but near to the borders, and
marching out to stand between France and England.
After glimpsing
the uniforms, he kept to narrow tracks that had not so much as a
milestone marker upon them.

The rain, however, broke his will to keep to
the open countryside.

It started in the afternoon on the second
day, a light mist that drizzled steadily.
Not a cold winter
downpour, but enough wet that only flowers and spring crops could
enjoy it.
Alexandria huddled under the blanket that Paxten had put
over her shoulders, and even Diana's perpetual cheer diminished as
the rain thickened.

Long before dark, Paxten found them a barn.
A few coins persuaded the farmer who owned it to give them its use.
But that did not put dry clothes on Alexandria.
And even Paxten was
tired of the cold bread and cheese they had been given as a parting
gift by the dour, black-eyed Madam Lafeu.
That, and potatoes stolen
from a field, had filled their stomachs, but Paxten noticed that
Alexandria only nibbled at their meal.

He could not blame her.
With the smells of
roasting meat coming from the farmhouse, this seemed poor fare.

Seeing nothing else to do, he made up a bed
for them of sweet-smelling hay.
At least it was dry.
He persuaded
Alexandria and Diana to strip from their wet outer garments and to
wrap themselves in blankets.
The ease with which Alexandria agreed
showed how tired she was.
But he could see that already in the
deepening of the fine lines around her eyes, the pallor of her
skin, and the sagging of her shoulders.

Diana, unwilling to rest, and with her
blanket now worn like a Roman toga, amused herself with the barn
cat.
She seemed, Paxten had noticed, to have appointed herself her
aunt's guardian.
He had not been able to do more than kiss
Alexandria's hand, or touch her as he handed her into or from the
donkey cart, without the niece interrupting him.
Even now, the girl
hovered close to her aunt.
But it was not long until she, too, was
yawning.
And her eyelids drooped low.

The light of the lantern pooled around them
as dusk fell.
The quiet patter of rain against the stone walls of
the barn, the soft shifting of the cows, the pleasant aroma of hay
and the warmth from the animals, soon wove a lassitude that sank
into Paxten's bones.

He sat with his back to the wall of the
barn, the farmer's barn lantern nearby and flickering low.

Alexandria lay asleep on her hay bed, her
deep, steady breathing that of someone exhausted.
Her brown hair
fanned around her on the rough blanket, touches of gold and silver
glinting in the light, the mixture of strands tempting him to touch
them.
She had the other blanket wrapped tight around her, leaving
one white shoulder bare and peeking out from the thick, brown wool.
An enticing picture.
But not one he could act upon.
His mouth
lifted.
Two cows, three chickens, and Diana hardly made for the
most seductive setting.
Outside, rain pattered harder.

Would this have been their life if
Alexandria had come with him nearly a decade ago?
He certainly had
known lean times, and he had lived in worse conditions than this.
What if she had brought her son with her?
Traveling with Diana made
things complicated enough, but how much more trouble would a boy
have added?

Perhaps it had been a good thing that his
Andria had not come with him.
But such thoughts did not ease the
ache and resentment in him.
How different might it all have been if
he had had her with him.
For her, after all, he would have changed
his life.
She had cheated him out of that chance.

He glanced at Diana.
The girl had fallen
asleep with the strand of twine that she had been using to tempt
the kitten still in her fingers.
She lay with her head pillowed on
her arm.
A pretty thing, that one.
But much too much energy.

He glanced back to Alexandria.

She had woken and now stared at him, the
expression in her gray eyes unreadable.
And she asked, her voice
wistful as a child's, "Do you think we might stop in the next
town—just for one night?"

Instinct urged Paxten to deny the
possibility.
Where some soldiers were, more would be, and that
meant danger.
To him, and to her and her niece.
They must be only a
few days from the coast.
Less perhaps.
Or more if they got lost.
Which they might, if it gave him the time he needed to seduce
her.

He smiled at himself, and gave up.
His
Andria might sit straight in the cart every day.
She might eat cold
food without complaint.
She might smile even when she rubbed what
must be an aching neck.
But while he wanted revenge on her, having
her endure conditions that were hard enough when one was accustomed
to them had not been in his plans.

"
Ma chére
, we shall stop at the next
inn and dine like royalty and sleep on featherbeds."

Smiling, she closed her eyes.
"I should
settle for hot soup and a bath."

He promised himself she would have both.
And
he told himself that it was only to his advantage, anyway, to gain
her trust and carve that path to her heart that he wanted for his
own use.

Shutting his eyes, he pretended to sleep as
well.

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the
air fresh and the ground soft.
Their still-damp clothes clung to
them, but the sun rose warm in a sky dotted by white clouds as
Paxten asked the farmer the direction of the nearest village.

Their luck held.
Not only was it less than
two miles, but a local fair was to start that day.
Lodging might be
difficult to come by, the farmer warned.
But Paxten knew they would
be not so memorable in a crowded fair town.

Diana seemed delighted by the treat of a
fair.
Alexandria merely tightened her smile another notch, and so
Paxten put an arm around her and drew her close.
That earned him a
glower from the niece, which prickle along the back of his
neck.

However, he put his attention on Alexandria
who had stiffened at his touch.
"Remember, we have a pretense to
keep up of being a married couple."

"I do not know any married couples who share
embraces in public," Diana muttered, her tone as censorious as an
old spinster's.

He glanced at the girl.
"All you know are aristocrats who marry for land.
The rest of the
world is different,
ma
fille
." He distracted her by telling of
other fairs he had been to, watching jugglers and actors in Naples,
performing bears in Russia, and fortune tellers in
Spain.

The farmer's prediction proved correct.
Even
though they arrived before mid-day, they found only a single room
for let, in an attic of the inn nearest to the town square, and
therefore closest to the noise and bustle.

The room smelled musty, but a bed was a bed,
after all.
And this one was wide and soft.

Catching Alexandria's eye, Paxten gave her a
wink.
She glanced at the landlord and edged closer to Paxten.
His
pulse lifted.
Was she thinking what he was—that there could be more
use to a bed than sleeping?
Tugging on his arm, she pulled him a
little away from Diana and the landlord.
He followed, wishing the
others anywhere but here.

She wet her lips and
anticipation hammered in him.
Yes, ask me.
Ask me the question I already see in your eyes.
Ask me if we can
share a room, just the two of us tonight.

But she said, "Do you need another of my
broaches to pawn for money?"

For a moment Paxten only stared at her.

Alexandria noted the shock in his
eyes.
His dark eyebrows lowered and his lips parted as if she had
offended him.
Had she?
But she did not think he would mind.
Not
Paxten.
When had he ever paid any heed to matters of money?
She
remembered, however, that he had said he had changed?
Had he really
done so?

After a moment, his mouth curved, and
amusement flickered in his brown eyes.
"I think not.
If there is a
fair, there must also be a horse race, or a fight, or something
else to gamble on."

She started to protest, but realized she did
not have enough French to do so.
He grinned at her, and she knew he
was thinking the same thing about her lack of language skills.
He
turned away.
With a few words to the landlord and an exchange of
coin, they seemed to acquire the room for the night.

Alexandria glanced about the small room
again with its slanting, low ceiling and its bare, white walls.
A
few days ago she would have scorned its mean size, and she would
have wondered how they could possibly be comfortable with a single
bed and hardly enough room to turn about.
Now this seemed almost
luxury.
Or it did until Paxten slapped her backside.

She swung around to glare at him.

He said something in rapid French that she
could not follow, and tucked two of his coins into her bodice
before she could pull away.
His fingers brushed her skin, leaving
behind a warm shiver.

"Buy yourself something pretty," he said,
his French slow enough that even she could understand.
With a nod
to the landlord and a wink to Diana, he sauntered away.

Frowning after him, Alexandria turned aside,
dug out the money, and asked the landlord about a meal and the
price of a bath.

The landlord insisted he had not the time
nor the staff to heat water to bathe—not with the fair on—so they
had to settle for cleaning as best they could with sponges and
basins in their room.
Diana at least procured sufficient hot water
to wash her hair.
Alexandria contented herself with a good brushing
and cleaning the stains from her dress.

Looking presentable again, they went to find
food.

Diana ordered and they ate in the common
taproom, a room so crowded they barely found seats tucked into the
corner.
Alexandria forgot the low company around them when the food
arrived.

A plump, red faced girl brought out spring
pea soup, gammon pie, roast mutton with a wine sauce, and a desert
of strawberries tarts.
The wine could have used another year in the
barrel, but Alexandria could find no fault with anything else.
Steaming dark tea and thick cream put her into a charitable mood
with the world.

Since Paxten still had not returned by the
time they had eaten their fill, they set out for a stroll around
the town's main square.

Diana admired everything—the stone
buildings, the cobblestone square, the ancient fountain in the
center around which children played, the bright streamers hung for
decorations from tree limbs and balconies.
Everyone seemed to be in
their best clothing, bright yellow scarves and vivid red waistcoats
and pretty white muslin gowns.
None of it compared with the fine
silks and satins of Paris, but Alexandria found she did not mind as
much as she once might have.

She stretched the rest of the coins far
enough to buy her niece a wool shawl.
She argued down the price by
simply shaking her head over and over again.
Finally, the woman
added embroidery thread to embellish the cream shawl, and
Alexandria agreed.

Time had slipped away from her, she
realized.

The crowd in the street had thickened.
Daylight had ebbed.
Music now flowed through the town, the fiddles
loud and the tempo fast.
Alexandria glanced about them, uneasy.

The lanterns hung from the trees and above
doorways had been lit and the sky had darken overhead to deep
purple with the first scattering of stars glinting.
Shadows rose
deep and dark from the corners of the buildings and in the spaces
where the flickering lanterns did not reach.
Outside the inn, the
landlord had set up a length of board across two barrels to sell
wine, ale, and roast meats.
Men stood about, slouch hats pushed
back or their heads uncovered, colorful kerchiefs knotted about
their necks, shirts sleeves rolled up.
And they stared at Diana
with a little too much admiration, Alexandria thought.

And a complete stranger—a rough
faced fellow with a red nose—winked at her.

Cheeks warm, Alexandria took hold
of Diana's hand to retreat to their attic room.
Diana protested,
but Alexandria knew her duty—and that included keeping her niece
safe from such low company and such increasingly raucous
disorder.

Paxten returned not long after, smelling of
ale and with his hair disheveled.
From her seat on the bed near a
lamp, with Diana's shawl in her lap and one corner now decorated
with looping vines, Alexandria glanced up.
Diana turned away from
where she had been standing beside the deep-set window that
overlooked the merriment below.

Frowning, Paxten glanced from one to the
other.
"What are you both doing here when all the amusement is
outside?"

Alexandria ignored the question.
"Did you
lose our money or win?"

"I lost—" he said, spreading his hands wide.
As her expression tightened, he added with a grin, "Nothing."

"You wretch!
But did you win?"

"Enough to celebrate.
And why not?
We have
only a few days between us and freedom."

She started to say she would rather retire
early, but she glanced at Diana.
Longing lay in her niece's eyes.
Except—how could she sanction anything to do with that rabble?

"It is a bit crowded," she said.
The words
sounded prim to her and not like the sensible reason it had seemed
in her head.

Paxten waved away the objection.
"No more so
than any Paris salon."

She tried again.
"Everyone sounds
drunk."

"None as drunk as a lord.
What is it?
Can
you not forget you are a lady and just enjoy being a woman for a
night?"

That stung.
He made it sound awful to have a
seemly reserve.
Even worse, Diana came and took her hand, pleading,
"Please, aunt.
Could we not just go down for a short while?
For the
dancing at least?"

She might have resisted one of them, but not
both.

Perhaps she had been too sheltered.
She had
only been to formal balls, and sedate musical evenings, and proper
affairs.
Any May Day or fair she had attended had been with male
escort and servants to fetch for her and the status of her position
wrapped around her.

A burst of laughter drifted to their room,
and suddenly she wanted to know what she was missing.

She stood, but with her palms damp and her
insides quivering.
"Well, only for a short time then."

Paxten smiled, as he if had known all along
that she would not hold out against him.

He ushered them out of the inn, and
when they reached the street he put an arm about each of them.
Alexandria frowned at this, but he only whispered to her, "I'm not
dressed to have you take my arm as if I were a
gentleman."

She could almost wish they were dressed as
ladies and a gentleman as they stepped into the noise and the crowd
and the smells of ale and torches burning and the musky aroma of
heated bodies.
It really was not as crowded as a fashionable
Parisian salon.
But in Paris, elegant society moved gracefully,
slowly.
Here laughing maids ran from grinning lads who chased after
them.
Farmers danced bouncing jigs, whether they stood close to the
musician or not, and careless of the tempo.
A few men staggered
with tankards in their hands, singing or simply grinning like
fools.
Woman laughed loud and drank their ale as bold as any
man.

It did have, she noticed, a certain
uncivilized enthusiasm.

It also left her glad to have Paxten's arm
about her.
She had not felt safe earlier, but with him, she knew a
sense of being protected.
How had she come to rely on him for that
in just a few days?
The question unsettled her.

But had she not always relied on someone?
On
her parents to guide her, even to the point of selecting her
husband.
And on Bertram.
She had to own that he had known how to
smooth the world for her.
Or at least his title, position, and
wealth had done so.
What did she really know of anything beyond the
small circle of Society?
Had that been part of her decision not to
go with Paxten?
Was he in part right—had Jules been an excuse?
A
way to avoid stepping into a frightening unknown?