Sweet Bravado (17 page)

“That was extremely rude, Phillippe,” she cried angrily.

“Vraiment?
Then I will apologize,
chère cousine.”

“You were rude to his lordship more than to me.”

“Who? Joseph?
Au contraire!
He will understand my desire to be with you after all these years.”

“There were a number of years you forgot all about my existence,” she reminded him tartly.

“But,
chère
Nicole, how could I see you? I was out of the country so much of the time during our Emperor’s reign.”

“Doing what?”

“This and that.” He laughed uneasily. “But let us not talk of the past, but of the present,” Phillippe insisted.

“As I mentioned previously, I do not think we will have much opportunity…”

“But, of course, your marriage to the Englishman,” he seemed to sneer. “Tell me,
ma chère,
why are you not in Vienna with the Viscount?”

How did he know so much about her, she wondered angrily.

“That is our affair!” Nicole replied coldly.

“Pardonnez moi
if I intrude. It was an innocent enough question I assure you.” He watched her closely.

She lowered her eyes not wishing to continue the conversation and murmured something indistinctly. They finished the dance
in silence.

“Merci,
Phillippe, but pray excuse me. I must speak to Lord Crawley.” She spoke hastily walking away without allowing him to reply.

Later that evening Nicole met the aged artistic director of the Opéra de Paris, André Volent, his prima ballerina Natalya
Lavronsky and her partner Rudolph Ostrosky
who invited her to have supper with them. While Ostrosky went for food, Monsieur Volent complained about the plight of his
troupe.

“You see, our company has been struggling for so many years. Ever since the fall of the House of Bourbon in‘93, support has
been meager. Since Louis XIV established the Royal Academy of Dance in the 1600s, dancers have always enjoyed royal patronage.
No more, however,” the grey-haired maestro explained. “This… new aristocracy does not understand the arts.”

“But you have received public recognition.”

“Recognition, perhaps, but what good is that without financial support?”

“I didn’t think. I suppose your expenses were exorbitant?” Nicole questioned.

“But of course. We need to develop a new ballet, one for our times—for our audiences. What does this generation care about
Greek myths!”

“I see—to capture the imagination of the young you need to develop a new style,” Nicole replied enthusiastically.

“Precisely. That means new costumes, new music, new stories… and above all money.”

“Maestro,” Rudi interrupted as he placed platters of assorted appetizers on the table. “You promised, no unpleasant reminders
about our debts,
n’est-ce pas?”

“Please, André,” moaned Lavronsky. “Do not spoil a pleasant evening. Order some champagne from one of those idle footmen,
yes?”

“Try one of these shrimp
diable
or stuffed tomatoes,” Rudi prompted the maestro.

“Very well, I will not bore the Viscountess with our financial troubles.”

“But you are not,” she assured him. “I want to know all about the company.”

“Ah, a true angel,” Rudi pressed a quick kiss to her hand. “Nevertheless, we will not talk of our problems.”

“Then tell me about yourselves. How did you manage to get here from Russia during these difficult times?”

Rudi laughed, “You sweet innocent!” She blushed indignantly. “You must promise not to divulge our secret if I tell you.”

“No, of course not,” she promised.

“Those are our stage names. We both are French.”

“Speak for yourself, Rudolph. I, at least, have a Russian grandfather,” claimed Natalya.

There was much friendly bickering, and Nicole was quite diverted by the tales of their adventures in establishing their company.
For the remainder of the evening they were her constant companions, and it was not long before she found herself offering
them her financial support and promising to visit them at rehearsal the very next day.

Nicole left the party expressing her gratitude to Lord Crawley for having provided her with the opportunity of meeting such
entertaining people. Crawley was pleased with the results of the evening. Although he had remained unobtrusively in the background,
the Viscountess of Ardsmore was being drawn into his plans for her.

Vienna, too, was a scene of unfolding drama. The city was almost giddy with the constant whirl of social events acting as
cover for the secrets of nation-making. All restraint was cast aside in the mood of extravagant pleasure seeking.

At a typically festive ball at the Countess Aldenberg’s castle, Tessa Von Hoffman made her appearance in Vienna creating a
small stir by wearing a shocking gown that did little tp conceal her obvious charms. Her bosom was
all but bare, and the gown so heavily damped that it clung to her limbs revealing more than it concealed. She paid little
attention to the admiring male glances cast hopefully in her direction, since Tessa had a specific target in mind for that
evening—the Viscount Ardsmore! He, too, was present. As soon as she discovered his burnished blond head towering above the
others, she made straight across the room for him.

“Valentin,
Liebchen,
I have been searching everywhere to find you in this mad crush. Come, talk to me.” She placed a soft hand on his arm.

Good God! Valentin thought with a start of guilt. What the deuce am I to do now? He had more than he could handle already.
“Tessa, my dear, I am surprised to see you in Vienna.” His words were cool.

“Don’t you know by now that wherever you go, I am sure to follow?” She smiled provocatively. “Come,
mein Schatz,
there is a
petit salon
where we can be private.”

The Viscount had no choice but to follow her. He owed her that much.

“Sit here beside me,
mon brave,”
she beckoned invitingly.

“Tessa, my dear…”

“Hush,” she interrupted putting her arms possessively around his neck and pressing herself to him. “Kiss me first.”

He complied but it was a mechanical performance, a repeat of the scene in Paris after he had left Nicole. He had sought out
Tessa in a state of angry pride that night, but found, to his chagrin, that Tessa could do nothing for him. Her voluptuous
charms no longer had the power to inflame him as they once had. There remained only the cold ashes of a bright flame that
had burned fiercely. He did his best to conceal it from the lady at the time, but he
realized now that he should have settled the matter once and for all. Madame Von Hoffman wguld not fade out and quietly disappear
from his life.

Tessa drew back from him and observed his perplexity through veiled eyes.

With a muster of courage Valentin began to explain. “Tessa, my dear, there is something I must say to you.” He looked directly
into her eyes without wavering.

“No, don’t,” she protested, sensing the direction in which he was moving. “It is such a joy to see you again,
Liebchen.
We will have some gay times in Vienna, will we not?” she pleaded.

“Tessa, that is what I want to talk about with you,” Valentin insisted. “I am in Vienna with the British delegation. My attendance
at these affairs is purely a matter of duty.”

“And can you not enjoy yourself as well as perform your duty?”

“I do not seek enjoyment.”

“Well, then, you are a fool! I know a sense of duty does not keep your wife from enjoying herself!” she flung at him.

“We will keep my wife out of this if you please.” He was unable to suppress his anger.

“Your chivalry is admirable. But do you not care that your wife flaunts the Harcourt honor and consorts with your enemy?”

“Enemy? What are you talking about?”

“It is common knowledge that she entertains Lord Crawley. Crawley and a troupe of dancers are her constant companions. She
cares nothing for your feelings.”

Valentin stood up abruptly and strode across the room before controlling himself enough to speak. “Tessa, don’t lie to me
just to create trouble. If you are…”

“But, I am not,
Liebchen!
She and Crawley are causing
talk.” Tessa went to him. “Forget her! Let us—you and I—go on as before.”

The Viscount barely heard her. A black rage stirred in his heart. “We cannot, Tessa. One cannot resurrect what is finished.”

She read the finality on his face, but she persisted. “Valentin, can we not…”

“No, I am sorry, my dear, but we cannot.”

She studied him carefully, then shrugged her elegant shoulders and replied with resignation, “Very well, but do not expect
me to cry for you when you come to your senses.”

“I would not expect or ask it of you, Tessa my love.” He smiled grimly.

“Yes, there are limits to my generosity,” Tessa replied, rallying. “I think some champagne would suit us both admirably at
this time,
n’est-ce pas?”

“A splendid idea. I will see to it at once.”

Still seething bitterly over Tessa’s indictment of Nicole the Viscount went in search of champagne. That damn Crawley! He
would kill the cur! This blasted tangle had gone too far. But one thing was certain, he would bring his wife to heel and assert
his mastery! Of that he had no doubt. He clenched his fists convulsively and pushed his way through the crowded rooms. His
instinct to strike out for Paris and take command of the situation was overpowering him. God help that woman when next he
laid hands on her!

With Danforth and Perry in England and the Marquis confined to bed because of his gout, Nicole found more and more of her
time taken up by her new friends and Lord Crawley. Madame Lafitte was the only objector to Nicole’s entertainments. She tried
to persuade Nicole that a ballet company was a most unfortunate association for her, that Crawley was undoubtedly suspect
since he and the Viscount were hostile to one another, and that it was tantamount to a rejection of society to choose such
questionable company.

Lafitte’s tirades were doomed from the start, however, for it was these very reasons that drove Nicole into further associations
with Crawley and his companions. Madame Lafitte’s pleas for greater discretion fell on deaf ears.

One afternoon as Nicole sat beside the old maestro watching the dancers work out, he exclaimed,
“Mon Dieu!
Rudi, extend the leg but do not bend the knee. It is an
arabesque
not an
attitude,
for God’s sake!”

Rudi scowled.

“Sloppy, my boy, sloppy! Do it again!”

Rudi hesitated momentarily, but as the pianist struck the chords once more, he responded.

“He is very good,” Nicole dared to comment.

“Good, yes, but sloppy. The boy could be great. Unfortunately he does not care enough. No dedication.”

“Perhaps it is because he is young.”

“Of course, he must be young. When he grows old, he will no longer dance.”

“He and Natalya are a marvelous pair of dancers.”

“And Natalya, she already grows old.”

“Old! Oh, no, monsieur.”

“Yes, it is true. She is twenty-five and her heart begins to grow weary. She begins to think of security, a home, children.
That is always the trouble with women. They are not meant for careers. It is a pity. If you will excuse me, madame.” He rose
somewhat slowly. “Try that
chassé
again! The two of you were not together.” He walked toward the stage.

Nicole sat in thoughtful silence as the maestro lectured his troupe.

“Do I break in on your reverie, my dear Viscountess?”

“My lord, Madame Coupé, I was just lost in thought about… about the company’s future,” she said quickly.

“You have been a most generous patron, madame. Your financial support will allow them to work on a whole new production.”
Madame Coupé tried to flatter Nicole.

“I am pleased that I could be of assistance.” Nevertheless, Nicole pondered the rashness of her act. Those hastily
written drafts had depleted her bank account for the entire month. Next month she would have to be more cautious.

As on previous occasions, Rudolph, Natalya, and Nicole were invited to Crawley’s for afternoon tea. Several other guests joined
them including Phillippe Beauchamp. Once again he tried to Ingratiate himself with Nicole who did her best to avoid his cloying
attentions. She allowed herself to be drawn into a game of cards with Crawley and Madame Coupé, but before they were able
to begin Phillippe insinuated himself into the group and seated himself across from Nicole. Inexperienced in the nuances
QI
cards, Nicole played poorly, and at the end of the game she discovered to her dismay that she owed a large sum of money to
her cousin.

“Do not worry about it. You may pay me at your convenience.”

Upset by this obligation, Nicole slipped a pair of Ards-more heirloom earrings from her ears and, wrapping them carefully
in her lace handkerchief, handed them to her cousin. “Please keep these until I am able to repay you, at the beginning of
next month.”

“Ma chère cousine,
this is not at all necessary.” He hesitated briefly. “Ah, but I can see you are upset, so I will hold them for you until
you wish to redeem them, and I shall leave them in the care of our mutual friend, Lord Crawley.”

“Excellent idea. If you will come with me, Phillippe, we will put them in my safe.”

The two men excused themselves and proceeded down the hallway speaking in undertones.

“Wait till Ardsmore gets word of this!” Joseph gloated.

“Bah! You drive a sane man crazy with your talk of this vendetta. Must I remind you again there are greater matters at stake.
You will keep these earrings until I tell
you otherwise. Your personal revenge will be served effectively through the cause!” Beauchamp closed the subject emphatically.

Shortly thereafter Nicole left Lord Crawley’s home. As the chaise bounced along the cobblestone streets to the Marquis’s home,
she could not allay the unbidden thoughts that assailed her. Phillippe’s malicious grin as he took the earrings, and Lord
Crawley’s saturnine gaze throughout the transaction loomed before her inner vision. It worried her. She had been extremely
foolish in not heeding the Marquis’s and Madame Lafitte’s warnings. Flaunting society, spending large sums of money, and now
gambling —all the worst Harcourt traits. What was she trying to do, ruin her life? Danforth’s very words! Suddenly very frightened,
Nicole promised herself to be more prudent in the future.