Sweet Bravado (16 page)

“I am very much aware of the lady’s fine qualities…”

“Of course. You must forgive me if I sound critical. I am so very fond of Geneviève.”

“I understand, and I share your concern for Gene… Mademoiselle Lumière. You see I… Mademoiselle Lumière… that is…” Gordon
Danforth was stammering uncomfortably when he was interrupted.

“So Gordon, I see you have the good fortune of knowing the Viscountess. Would you be so kind as to introduce us?” Lord Crawley
had come up behind them. Danforth scowled but made the unavoidable introductions.

“My dear Lady Ardsmore, if you only knew how desirous I have been of making your acquaintance,” Lord Crawley murmured silkily.

“How kind, my lord, but I cannot imagine why you should particularly wish my acquaintance.” She knew she should not encourage
his attention, but the flicker of danger she felt in his presence was a temptation to her. Nicole
studied the heavy features of Lord Crawley’s face trying to read the character of the man who was her husband’s enemy. Despite
a certain predatory manner, there was an attractiveness about his swarthy skin and dark eyes.

“Perhaps you will let me tell you sometime.” He was deliberately suggesting something, she felt sure.

“Perhaps I shall,” she replied provocatively.

Danforth moved to end the interview by asking pointedly, “Shall we continue to the refreshment salon, Lady Ardsmore?”

But not to be outmaneuvered, Crawley intervened. “It is such a crush in there. I am sure the Viscountess would prefer to wait
out here while you secure her refreshment. I will be only too glad to look after her.”

Before Danforth could reply, Nicole responded, “Would you be so kind, Gordon?” It was the first time she had ever used his
first name. The demands of courtesy left Danforth no recourse, so he bowed stiffly and withdrew.

“Are you enjoying the ballet, Lady Ardsmore?”

“Very much, I find their technical skill amazing.”

“I take it you have a knowledge of the dance?”

Nicole hesitated. Was this a sly attempt at a slur, or was he genuinely interested? She decided to proceed on the latter assumption
for the present. “Yes, it is one of my favorite art forms.”

“It is also one of mine,” he smiled broadly. “Do you come to the theater often?”

“This is my first time here, but I hope to see this company in performance again soon. They dance beautifully.”

“Indeed they do. I am immensely pleased that you appreciate their excellence.”

“Why would that be, Lord Crawley?”

“I am a patron of this troupe, and it is gratifying to find them appreciated by so lovely a lady.”

She smiled, accepting the compliment without demur. “It is so good of you to support them. I understand they are fairly new
in Paris.”

He had managed to capture her interest at last. “This year is their début and being a young company, they are in need of all
the backing they can receive. Right now they are having quite a struggle establishing themselves.”

“I certainly hope they are able to continue to bring pleasure to so many,” Nicole added thoughtfully.

“Including yourself, I trust.”

“Why yes.” Nicole stiffened slightly, sensing that he was trying to lead her to some point.

“I wonder,” he hesitated a moment. “Would I be too bold in suggesting that you yourself might be interested in becoming a
patron?”

“Me? A patron? This is rather sudden, my lord; I have never considered myself in such a role.”

“If the idea were appealing to you, I could arrange for you to meet the director and his artists,” he suggested warily.

Nicole felt herself tempted. “That would be very exciting. But you must give me time to think it over.”

“Naturally.”

“Excuse me,” Danforth appeared with the refreshments. “I believe it is time I was returning Lady Ardsmore to the Marquis.”

“Why yes, the intermission must be nearly over. So nice to meet you, my lord. I will think over your suggestion.”

“You are too kind, dear lady. Until we meet again.” Lord Crawley caught Danforth’s eye and smiled before turning smartly on
his heel and departing.

Danforth continued to stare after the gentleman’s retreating figure.

“He seems a congenial man. Why do the Harcourts detest him so much?”

“That is not for me to discuss, my lady,” Danforth said at his most formal. “But believe me, the Viscount would not wish you
to become friendly with Crawley.”

“Oh, really?” She spoke curtly and turned from him thinking she might enjoy encouraging a man the Viscount held in such contempt.

Danforth grasped her hand and said urgently, “Nicole… I may call you Nicole, mayn’t I?” She nodded. “Once before I pledged
my loyalty to you. Will you let me speak as a friend?”

“No, I would rather you did not!” Nicole pleaded and tried to withdraw her hand; however, he held it more firmly.

“Then may I offer one word of advice?”

“It seems I am obliged to listen since you insist.”

“I am afraid I must, Nicole! Lord Crawley is a bad companion for anyone—especially the Harcourts and those who number themselves
among Valentin’s friends.”

“That may be, but I consider myself an exception. I personally have no reason to reject Lord Crawley’s friendship. You must
let me lead my own life, Gordon. That was understood by the Viscount when he… left me.”

“Certainly he did not mean for you to ruin your life!” he retorted in exasperation.

Stunned, Nicole stared at him. Then she laughed, “Oh, come sir, you are much too melodramatic. Now, do let us hurry or I shall
miss the opening of the second act.”

Reluctantly Danforth followed her back to the Marquis’s box. Before taking his leave, he mentioned that business compelled
him to travel to England for a brief
time. However, he hoped to see her within a fortnight.

Rather absentmindedly she attended to the second half of the ballet. Danforth’s unexpected departure surprised her since she
had hoped to question him further about his courtship of Geneviève. He was about to confide something to her when Lord Crawley
had intruded upon them during intermission. And Lord Crawley? He had surprised her too. Could he possibly be the villain everyone
depicted? In the name of loyalty she should have nothing to do with him, considering that the original cause of that duel
was Crawley’s insult to her mother. Perry had taken him up on it, and Valentin had finished it, yet she was sure there was
more than that insult causing the hatred between the Harcourts and Crawley. If only Perry were still in town, she could ask
him, but he was not, and she was curious about Lord Crawley. Besides he had promised to introduce her to the dancers, and
she wanted to meet them. What harm could there be in that?

Flowers arrived from Lord Crawley in the morning with a note requesting the presence of the Viscountess at a party which was
to be given for the patrons of the Opéra de Paris. She hesitated, recalling the reactions of both Uncle Maurice and Gordon
Danforth toward him. But she decided the problem between the Harcourts and Crawley was not her problem. Refusing to worry
about it, Nicole dispatched a note to Crawley. If innuendoes about her and Crawley reached Valentin, all the better. If nothing
else, it would wound his pride and give her a little revenge. Yes, Crawley would be a handy diversion. Paris was threatening
to be dull, and Nicole had no intention of letting time hang heavy any longer.

The Marquis came into the salon shortly after she had sent off the message and immediately spied the large bouquet of flowers.

“What is this?” He approached the table on which the bouquet rested. “Who is your admirer, Nicole?” A hint of sternness had
crept into his voice.

Hesitantly she replied, “Lord Crawley.”

“What?” he shouted angrily. “The insolence of the man!”

“Uncle Maurice, it is only a bouquet of flowers.”

“Sacré bleu!”
he stormed, turning a fiery red and flinging his hands in the air. “You do not understand!”

“I understand that Lord Crawley has been kind to me where many others have not.”

“Nicole
ma chère,”
he shook his head angrily. “Crawley, is someone no man or lady can completely trust. He is a gamester with an unsavory reputation.
Besides, he has no love of the Harcourt family. Tread softly, my dear.”

“Uncle Maurice,” she laughed nervously. “You make him sound sinister, and I am intrigued.” Seeing his distress, she added
hastily, “However, I shall remember your warning.”

“That is all I ask, my child. Come, we should have breakfasted an hour ago.”

Unhappily, Nicole followed, remembering the invitation she had just accepted. How was she to break this to the Marquis?

When Nicole finally approached the subject of attending the dinner party at Crawley’s, she found the Marquis reluctant but
acquiescent. He realized his instinct to shout at her would only stir her to rebellion. The Marquis was beginning to feel
that Nicole was becoming too much for him to handle.

Nicole’s curiosity about Geneviève Lumière and Gordon Danforth was satisfied the next day when her old
friend came to visit. Within minutes of her arrival Geneviève was revealing the concerns of her heart to Nicole.

“Ginny, how serious is it between you and Gordon?”

“I… I have never felt this way before in my life.”

“And Gordon?”

“I believe it is the same with him. But Nicole… his family… there is no… money…” her lips quivered. “And there is this girl…
to whom he is practically betrothed.”

“Oh, dear,” Nicole met her friend’s anguished eyes. “She has money?”

Geneviève nodded in the affirmative.

“Has there been a formal announcement made?”

“No… but there is an understanding.”

“I see,” Nicole whispered.

“He… he has gone home to see… if there is a chance… to alter the situation. But I fear it is hopeless.”

“Oh, Ginny, I am sorry. If only there were something I could do.”

“There is nothing.” She fought the tears that threatened. “He shall do the honorable thing.”

“But what of you? You said he would try to alter things.”

“I know, I know, but Gordon must do what is right. And so must I.”

Seeing her distress, Nicole tried to soothe her. “I should not have upset you. The power of money to control one’s life is
so unjust.” Nicole was thinking of her own marriage as well as the plight of her friend. “There must be some way to resolve
this problem for you and Gordon, Ginny dear. Do not despair; he may yet come up with a solution.”

“I can’t think what it could be,” Geneviève answered hopelessly.

They parted shortly afterward, each saddened by the circumstances of fate over which they had no control and which contrived
to make two lovely young women terribly unhappy.

A Madame Coupé was sent by Lord Crawley to chaperone Nicole the night of his party. Both Madame Lafitte and the Marquis stifled
their protest about her companion until Nicole had gone. Then the Marquis stomped his cane on the floor and exploded vehemently,
“Should have known Crawley would provide a chaperone of dubious character!”

“It is too bad of him to send one such as that to accompany the child. I told her I did not like this venture, but she would
not listen,” Madame Lafitte agreed.

“It is that damn Harcourt obstinacy! If it were not for this gout…” he let his voice trail off as he sagged helplessly back
in his chair, his bandaged foot resting on a footstool.

“Do not worry,
Monsieur l’e Marquis,”
Madame Lafitte consoled, “Nicole, she is headstrong, but she is a good girl.”

“Let us hope she uses some common sense tonight,” he growled ominously.

Nicole found the party to be a large one with many new faces. The main salon was brightly lighted with candelabra and crystal
chandeliers. Its white paneled walls and cream satin draperies created an air of opulence. The ladies were dressed in revealing
pastel-hued Empire gowns. Ankles were visible as the women whirled gaily about the room with their partners, who were garbed
in dark frock coats, tight evening breeches and colorful vests. Nicole began to wonder about her own appearance, for she had
chosen a demure evening dress of pink satin in a
classical style, with a comparatively modest décolletage. Her only ornament was a diamond pendant from the Har-court collection.

Guiding her among his guests, Joseph Crawley casually introduced her to a half dozen new people. They were too many to be
remembered, but the name of one guest startled Nicole unpleasantly. “Phillippe Beauchamp!” She repeated the name stiffly,
barely disguising her displeasure. Her French past was crowding back into her life at a surprising rate—first Geneviève and
now Phillippe. The o grinning dandy facing her was none other than her cousin whom she had long ago lost sight of, and would
gladly have had it remain so. The Beauchamp family had lived on a small farm outside Beauvais and had allowed their half-English
relative, Nicole, to spend a summer with them, but it had not been a happy time and in the following years the visit was not
repeated.

“Ma chère cousine
Nicole,” he fawned over her hand.

Phillippe had been a nasty child who found pleasure in tormenting his young cousin. His simpering cries of delight on discovering
her were transparently false.

Lord Crawley observed the exchange with unconcealed interest.

“Mon Dieu,
you have grown into such a beauty.” Phillippe leered greedily at the diamond pendant at her breast. “I am grateful to the
kind fate that has brought us together like this.” Nicole snatched back her hand as he continued, “We must not lose touch
again. It would be a great pity,
non?”

“I am afraid that we will have little opportunity to resume our acquaintance, cousin. Once my husband’s tour of duty is completed
we will be returning to England,” she replied, attempting to dampen his enthusiasm.

Phillippe shrugged. “Well, you are here now and I must make the most of what little time there is. We shall
dance,
oui?”
Before Nicole could protest he swung her onto the dance floor.