Sweet Bravado (15 page)

The following morning the Marquis’s household was a scene of chaos. Madame Chenier had taken to her bed after reproaching
Nicole for the destruction of all her carefully laid plans. “Wretched girl,” she wailed. “In two seconds you ruined us all.
No lady of quality would ever betray herself by behaving like a common cit. I wash my hands of you!”

The Marquis, who had merely commented on the Har-court temper the night before, wisely stayed out of sight.

Perry was the first to arrive with an account of the aftermath. “Don’t look so blue-deviled, my girl, not everyone is down
on you, even if Constance Burton allied herself with Madame Von Hoffman. Danforth put the squelch there by asking Tessa about
her latest amour, Lord Crawley. Neat move, eh?”

“Honestly, Perry, one minute I am so angry I would like to scream, and the next I would like to crawl into a hole and hide.”

Perry chuckled and placed a comforting arm about her shoulders.

“Cheer up, Nicole, it will blow over.”

“If everyone were like you, Perry dear, I should not worry a fig, but they are not. Madame Chenier will have nothing more
to do with me, and… and even poor Uncle Maurice is in hiding today. I am so wretched.”

“Then forget it and come riding with me in the park.”

“I would rather die first than face all those catty snobs,
never knowing who will cut me to my face. It would be too humiliating.”

“We’ll show‘em we Harcourts don’t care what they think,” he spoke defiantly.

“Perry, you are a dear, but I am afraid it would take more than you and me to face them down.”

“I suppose you are right.” He flung himself into a chair. “Now, mama could handle them.”

“Yes,” Nicole admitted reluctantly.

“Don’t take it so hard, Nicole, you are bound to come round. Sure wish Val were here.”

Suddenly Nicole’s dejection was replaced by a surge of pure fury. “If your brother were here, this would never have happened!”

“Oh… I forgot… sorry, luv… I did not mean…” he stuttered an apology.

“I know… I know,” Nicole became contrite. “I should not take out my wretched temper on you.”

“Quite all right. I don’t mind. Most everyone in the family does.”

“Poor Perry,” she took his hand. “Whatever shall I do without you?”

“I still have a few more days to pester you.” He grinned.

“I am glad of your pestering ways,” she assured him.

“Speaking of‘pestering ways’ you owe me a game of piquet. How about now?”

“I don’t think I could begin to concentrate…”

“All the better. I will get the cards.” Perry hurried out of the room.

Dear Perry! She was going to miss him when he returned to London at the end of the week.

Perry was right. Not everyone had dissociated themselves from her. That very afternoon flowers arrived from
the Bramwells, and Danforth called with two other friends of the Viscount as a show of support for the troubled Viscountess.
And by evening the Marquis joined her for supper to discuss the possibilities of a dinner party in the near future. When she
protested that no one would come, he declared that society would not dare refuse his invitation. Although Nicole was not necessarily
comforted by this, she voiced no further objections.

It was at this juncture in Nicole’s affairs that Madame Lafitte returned. Amidst the excited clamor of ringing doorbells and
running servants there was a familiar voice claiming,
“C’est barbare.”

Nicole almost shouted, “Darling Fifi,” and flung herself into her arms.

“What I suffered to come to you would make a strong man weep. But
enfin,
I am here.”

Madame Lafitte did not question Nicole but made small talk while she observed her former charge. Nicole talked gaily enough
and laughed at the little jokes which passed between them; however, the pale face and haunted eyes told a different story.
Finally she asked,
“Ma chère,
how may I help you?”

That did it. The barrier was down. The tears flowed as the story of the Wexfords’ ball tumbled out, an incoherent jumble of
characters and scenes unfamiliar to Madame Lafitte.

“But this Von Hoffman woman, Nicole, was it not settled with her some weeks ago?” Madame Lafitte queried.

“She is still Valentin’s mistress!”

“Still? Nicole, are you sure?”

“Sure? I have such assurance that it is breaking my heart.”

“Ma pauvre enfant,”
Lafitte sympathized. “Tell -me, what is this assurance you have?”

Nicole hesitated, searching for words to relay what
seemed to her an indelicate disclosure. “Valentin… on our wedding night… he… he called for her.”

Madame Lafitte looked shocked. “You mean the Viscount, he sent for her on your wedding night?” Her voice was hushed with incredulity.

“No, no! Of course not.”

Madame Lafitte relaxed.
“Eh bien.
But I do not understand? What do you mean he called for her?”

“In his sleep, after… oh, you know…”

“And this is what makes you so sure Tessa Von Hoffman is his mistress still?”

“Not only that! There is more, much more! Did that woman not come to the Hotel Belmontaine before the wedding?”

“Oui,
and Lady Eleanore…”

“And Lady Eleanore as usual took charge!”

“But that was the right thing for her to do, I am sure.”

“Well, I am not so sure. No! Valentin’s mama has treated me all along as if I were an incompetent nobody…” Suddenly Nicole
was remembering all her grievances against the Harcourt family. The accumulated injuries both real and imagined, began to
pour forth. “She made me feel unworthy of the Ardsmore name. And Cecily never thought I was good enough for the Viscount.
You know that.”

“That may be true, Nicole…”

“How can you side with them?” Nicole demanded hotly.

“Ma chère
Nicole, I do not take sides with them. We do not even discuss the Harcourts.” The woman tried to soothe the distraught girl.

“Oh, yes, we do! I realize it all now. That is exactly what we are discussing. I never should have married Valentin. The Harcourts
hated my mother and ruined her life, and now they are ruining mine.”

“Nicole, you must not say these things. It is too late for such charges.”

“You do not know the final insult in this whole foolish charade, Fifi, do you?”

Lafitte was not sure she wanted to hear the rest, but Nicole plunged ahead anyway.

“My husband left me on our honeymoon and went straight to the arms of Tessa Von Hoffman.” Her outrage reached its peak. “He
left me and made
me
vulnerable to the maneuvers of that unscrupulous woman! And now the whole world blames me. Oh, it is so unfair! It is insupportable!
Whatever am I to do?” Nicole sobbed on Madame Lafitte’s shoulder.

“Hush, hush, child, you will make yourself ill. We must think…
oui?”
Surely there was an answer to this puzzle. But what? The girl was desperately in love with the Viscount, and it seemed to
Lafitte that he was far from indifferent to his bride. Yet these two strong-willed individuals were destroying their chance
for happiness. Ah, love, thy guises cause such pain to those who wear the mask.

Fortunately for the pining and unhappy Nicole, the Marquis came up with the right diversion for her—a night at the ballet.
A love of the ballet had been instilled in Nicole since early childhood. In her youth Sylvie Harcourt had been a member of
the corps de ballet, and because of her Nicole had received more than the average young lady’s training in the dance. It was
considered necessary that a girl of gentle breeding acquit herself well in the various country dances and waltzes of her day.
But anything beyond that was uncalled for and unthinkable. Secretly, Nicole had nurtured a yearning to perform on the stage
as her mother once had done.

She vividly remembered her mother’s tutelage in the art of the ballet. An empty room at the back of their house had been turned
into a dance studio where her
mother continued to practice faithfully every morning at the
barre
and train her young daughter in the rigors and intricacies of the dance.

Looking back on it now, Nicole realized that when Sylvie Harcourt practiced her art, the intervening years of her marriage
slipped away and she was once again the beautiful ingénue of the Opéra de Paris that claimed the patronage of kings. Striking
various poses and attitudes, Sylvie had floated across the room executing intricate dance patterns which she had performed.
Eventually she would turn to Nicole and instruct her in the five basic positions essential to the dance. Gaily she would chatter
about her career and the courtship of Rupert Harcourt while Nicole worked diligently at the
barre.
When Nicole was ready, Sylvie would sit contentedly while her daughter performed for her, and a faraway look would creep
into her eyes as she would recall her own youth. The spell would be abruptly broken the moment Nicole made a mistake and the
recriminations would start. The Harcourt blood would prevent Nicole from ever attaining the true spontaneity of a dancer,
her mother would charge with dismay.

Desperately wanting to please her mother, Nicole would steal back into the room and practice long hours hoping to undo her
mother’s disfavor and prove her wrong about her skill as a dancer. Nevertheless, this period in her life was short-lived,
for she was soon sent to the convent school and the years passed quickly. Nicole was a young woman when her mother died, and
she always regretted never having been able to win her approval.

Naturally, when the Marquis suggested an evening at the ballet, Nicole accepted the invitation with alacrity.

The fiasco at the Wexfords’ ball was the last time she had mingled in society, and Nicole looked forward to the
evening despite some apprehension. Her gown for the affair was a dark blue silk in the high-waisted Empire style. The hem,
sleeves, and neckline were embroidered with brilliants and tiny seed pearls, and she wore a matching headress. Elbow-length
white satin gloves and a dainty painted fan completed her outfit.

As the Marquis slipped a blue silk cape about her shoulders, he complimented her, “As always, you are
magnifique.”

“Do you think I shall pass inspection?”

“But of course, my child, do not fret. We shall come around.” He patted her arm reassuringly. There was a definite twinkle
in his eyes. Nicole was certain he looked forward to the confrontation, and his attitude gave her confidence.

As Nicole stepped into the foyer of the theater on the Marquis’s arm, a number of interested faces focused on their arrival.
With a pounding heart, she walked slowly through the crowd of people with her head held high. Jeweled heads turned speculatively
in their direction. Some stared rudely while others smiled encouragingly and greeted them. There were noisy whispers and some
friendly nods. Qearly it was a mixed victory. She was not going to be cut—certainly not in the company of the Marquis. However,
her reception was a cautious one. A distinct formality cloaked most of their polite exchanges as they wended their way toward
the grand staircase.

“Monsieur le Marquis!”
A loud voice arrested them midway up the staircase.

The Marquis barely turned his head to acknowledge the man who called. “Sir.” He nodded curtly and continued to escort Nicole
toward their box.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Lord Crawley said as he followed closely on their heels.

“What are you doing here, Crawley? I thought by now you would have fleeced enough pockets at the tables to return to England,”
the Marquis spoke contemptuously.

Crawley laughed, “Don’t be such a quarrelsome old devil, Maurice. Will you not introduce me to your charming companion?”

“Damned if I will. I never liked you and neither do any of the Harcourt family!” With that, the Marquis steered Nicole into
their box.

Nicole’s interest was aroused. This was the man Valentin had wounded in the duel, and she longed to question the Marquis,
but his set profile discouraged any inquiry about Lord Crawley.

When the curtain rose, the performers captured her attention completely and she forgot all about Lord Crawley. Seeming to
ignore the law of gravity, the dancers glided and spun across the floor in fairylike motions. The beauty of their movements
during the
pas de deux
surpassed her expectations. Blissfully transported by the performers’ grace and charm, Nicole sat spellbound, overwhelmed
by a strong desire to be a part of this enchanting beauty. To experience and share in the dancers’ magical world would be
sheer delight. Her mother must have felt this need and grievously missed performing in those last years with her father. A
sharp pain of regret for her mother’s lost world smote Nicole’s heart. How deeply Sylvie must have loved Rupert Harcourt to
give up such joy. Surely she had not married him just for position and money, as the cruel Harcourt family insinuated. Yet
their love had failed and Nicole could not forget her mother’s bitter charges against Rupert and his family.

The applause at the end of the first act abruptly drew Nicole back to the present. The Marquis asked her if she were enjoying
the ballet, and she pleased him with her enthusiastic praise.

During the intermission several acquaintances joined them in their box including Gordon Danforth who offered to escort Nicole
to the refreshment salon. She accepted graciously seeing it as an opportunity to question him on a matter she had been wondering
about.

“My dear Mr. Danforth, I have been hoping to ask you about Mademoiselle Lumière.” She noted the hot color that flushed his
cheeks as he replied. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing her for several days, Lady Ardsmore.”

“You must not think me forward, sir, but I could not help noticing the easy sympathy that seemed to grow between the two of
you at our Christmas party.”

“Not at all, my lady. Mademoiselle Lumière and I have become… good friends.”

“Geneviève is the best of people, Mr. Danforth. Her friendship is to be greatly valued.”