Sweet Bravado (19 page)

However, the trials of the day were not ended with her safe return to the Marquis. A pounding at the front door followed by
swift strides across the foyer startled both the Marquis and Nicole at a game of piquet. A distraught Danforth stood on the
threshold. “Nicole, where is she?” he cried in anguish.

“A fine greeting, my boy,” barked the Marquis.

“Please, Uncle,” Nicole whispered, “leave us alone for a few moments.”

Reluctantly he rose, eyeing Danforth who stood rigidly waiting. “Very well, but if he goes berserk I will not be far away.”
With that he left them.

“Sit down, Gordon.”

“I would rather stand.”

“Please, I must talk to you.”

“I do not want conversation. Just tell me where she is. For God’s sake, Nicole…”

“All right Gordon,” she soothed. “She left this for you.” Nicole handed him a letter. He ripped it open, reading frantically,
his eyes darting across the page. Then he sat down. His face had grown deathly pale and to Nicole’s dismay he burst into tears,
but before she could collect her thoughts, the terrible sound died away and he stood up.

“Forgive me, Nicole. I should not have given way.”

“Oh, my dear Gordon, you are only human,” she cried. Then she went to him and placed her hands on his shoulders and whispered,
“I know, my friend… it… it is not easy to lose the one you love.”

His eyes met hers and they both understood. He gathered her gently next to him and they momentarily drew solace from one another.

Finally, Nicole led him to the divan and sat quietly beside him. He spoke barely above a whisper. “She told me not to follow
her. That she valued my honor as well as her own. And that God would see us through.”

“She has done what she thought was best for both of you.”

“Yes, I know. If only I could have seen her one more time to tell her of my love.”

“She knows, Gordon.”

He sighed deeply and rose. “Forgive me if I say goodnight now. I need to walk.”

“You will come again… soon?”

“If you will have me.”

“Any time.”

“Thank you.” He bowed stiffly and took his leave with dignity.

Days continued to pass and between the Marquis and Gordon Danforth, Nicole’s time was once again occupied by the more respectable
members of society. February drew to a close and a windy rainy March descended upon them.

Nicole was seated in the drawing room with Madame Lafitte when the sound of urgent voices erupted from the hallway. The door
burst open and the Marqtiis staggered into the room gasping, “Bonaparte!”

“What is the matter, Uncle Maurice?” Nicole cried in alarm at the Marquis’s grey appearance.

“Bonaparte… has escaped from Elba!”

“Mon Dieu!”
cried Madame Lafitte.

“That fiend will drive us all back into exile!” he raved almost incoherently.

“Uncle Maurice, please do not agitate yourself so.” Nicole went to him in considerable fear.

“My beloved home… once again to be torn from me… It is too much to bear!”

“Uncle Maurice, come and sit down.” She grasped his trembling hand and tried to settle him on the divan, but he would not
be calmed.

“I shall… I shall…” he gasped and clutched at his chest. “Nicole,” he uttered and collapsed on to the floor.

“Uncle Maurice! Uncle Maurice!” she screamed as she bent over his prostrate form while Madame Lafitte ran to the door shouting
for the servants.

It was a sorrowful week for Nicole: The Marquis Maurice de Crécy had collapsed and died without regaining
consciousness. He was buried quietly three days later and Nicole remained in semi-seclusion.

It was Danforth’s arrival that brought her into the salon. “Will the rain never cease?” she asked almost inaudibly before
turning from the clouded window to face her visitor. “So, you are off to Ghent?”

“Yes.” Then after a pause he said, “I do wish you would reconsider and let me arrange for you to go to London.”

“You know that is impossible.”

“But why, Nicole? It is Valentin’s express wish that you do. He wrote me requesting that I see you safely on your way. What
else can you do?”

Nicole decided not to tell him that she had already accepted Madame Chenier’s invitation to join her entourage to Brussels.
It would bring only further objections.

“Don’t worry about me, Gordon. You have an embassy job to think about. You must go. It is your duty.”

“But Nicole, how can I leave you here unprotected in Paris with Napoleon advancing on the city!”

“You forget I am French, and have lived under Napoleon Bonaparte for over ten years. Do not fear for me.”

“I hope Valentin will forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I have made my own decision. Good luck, Gordon, and do not worry about me. I shall be fine.”
She extended her hand and he kissed it.

“Until we meet again. Take care, Nicole.”

“Goodbye, Gordon.” She watched his departure and then drew the note from the Viscount out of her pocket. She did not have
to read it, for the words were burned into her memory—the cold unfeeling words that had been his only communication to her
since his lightning appearance that night. No, she would not comply with his request that she join his mother in London. If
only he had come to her when she needed him so desperately. Then
she would have done anything he wanted. But he had not come, and she was alone, and alone she would make her own decisions.

“So, child,” Lafitte startled her as she came into the room, “everyone is deserting the city. I just heard the Wexfords and
Montgomerys have left for Brussels.”

“And Danforth is off to Ghent,” she replied. “We shall follow with Madame Chenier in a day or two for Brussels ourselves.”

“You will not change your mind about England?”

“No, I will not change my mind about England, I will not go where I am unwelcome. Besides, Fifi, everyone will be in Brussels.
I shall enjoy myself there much more than in some stodgy. English country house,” she said closing the subject.

Madame Chenier’s journey to Brussels was well planned to the last detail. She arrived accompanied by Nicole and Madame Lafitte
in mid-March to a rented house located on the Rue d’Anglais. It was a commodious establishment which Madame Chenier was fortunate
enough to have prepared for her in advance of her arrival. Among its many rooms was a large salon with high ceilings of carved
walnut and tall windows hung with heavy damask draperies in blue and gold. It would provide a fine setting for musicales and
balls, both of which Madame Chenier was fond of giving. The weary travelers, however, were in no frame of mind to explore
their dwelling the first night ot their arrival. Each sought her bedchamber, and after a light supper served on a tray before
a cozy fire, each retired gratefully for the night.

Nicole’s first few days in Brussels were spent in Madame Chenier’s constant company setting up house to suit their needs and
familiarizing themselves with the city. It
did not take them long to be included as part of the growing elite now circulating in Belgium and populating the capital.
As Napoleon advanced into Paris, the Duke of Wellington’s presence was anxiously awaited in Brussels. Troops from the allied
nations were crowding the city in great numbers and amidst the green of Belgian dragoons and the blue of Dutch infantry, was
the brilliant scarlet of the British uniforms.

Despite the undercurrent anxiety over Napoleon and the possibility of war, Brussels, like Vienna, became the nexus of a frenzied
social whirl. Determined pleasure-seekers tirelessly pursued a daily fare of parties and balls in an effort to ignore their
fears about the inevitable confrontation with the escaped emperor. The more frightening the reports, the more frenzied the
merrymaking.

It was not surprising that Lord Crawley should be numbered among the throngs of pleasure-seekers. He presented himself to
Nicole shortly after her arrival in Brussels and was well received by her. Had Nicole not been chafing under an acute sense
of Valentin’s abandonment, she might not have fallen in with Crawley’s machinations so readily again. But the injury, real
or imagined, rankled bitterly and Nicole found Crawley’s renewed pursuit to her liking. There was an aura of danger surrounding
him and despite the fears she naturally felt, she did not discourage his interest in her.

She was in a private salon reading when Lord Crawley was announced. He lingered over her hand, kissing the fingertips in a
meaningful way until she withdrew them rather pointedly.

“Nicole, dear lady,” he murmured and looked searchingly into her anxious violet eyes. He read their indecision accurately
and decided that although a little circurrP spection was required, his presence was not disagreeable to Ardsmore’s disconsolate
bride.

“It is good to see you, Lord Crawley,” she greeted him.

“I am happy to see you joined the exodus from Paris,” he replied.

“I could not be left behind. I believe all of Parisian society must have fled to Brussels.”

“It is true. Even Rudi and Natalya are here.”

“Rudi and Natalya? And the maestro?”

“He remains in Paris.”

“So, they have left the company.”

“I am afraid so. It means they must start all over.”

“Surely they will be asked to entertain in a city filled with pleasure-seekers?”

“Ah, but as always there is the problem of recognition.”

“Rudi and Natalya will find many houses open and ready to sponsor them,” Nicole replied.

“It is certainly to be hoped. Such talent as theirs should not go without reward. And yet… they lack that all too necessary
opening invitation…” He hesitated hopefully, but Nicole did not pick up his hint, so he said, “I imagine you will be entertaining.”

“Madame Chenier is quite fond of musicales. Even now she is planning one for the near future. You must be sure to attend.”

“Thank you, my dear. I don’t suppose…”

“Yes, my lord, what don’t you suppose?”

“Rudi and Natalya—for the musicale…”

“Hmm, I wonder…” she paused. “Madame Chenier’s plans are pretty well set… perhaps she might be persuaded to. include our friends
as part of the entertainment.”

“You are too good, dear lady. It is just the kind of opening they require. Once they are seen, I have no doubt of their success.”

“I am sure you are quite right. And it would give me great pleasure to be the one to launch them on the rpad to success.”

“Again, Nicole, I can only express my admiration for your kindness.” He clasped her hand fervently and would not release it
though she tried.

“Lord Crawley, I beg you…”

“Joseph, Nicole, Joseph. Do you not feel by now that you could use my given name?”

“I…”, she hesitated.

“Come now, after all, are we not joined as partners in this venture to promote Rudi and Natalya?”

“I suppose one could regard it as rather a business venture,” Nicole equivocated.

“But, of course, my dear, that is the perfect construction to put upon it. I am sure we will find it to be a most satisfactory
arrangement.”

He had led her aright. She now felt comfortable with her conscience and closed the interview just as he had hoped.

“Very well… Joseph. I shall approach Madame Che-nier this very evening.”

Madame Chenier was in her boudoir preparing herself-for dinner at the Barclays’ when Nicole approached her.

“Mais non,
Nicole, it is not the same as having Catalani sing for us.”

“I know, madame, but Rudi and Natalya were members of the Opéra de Paris. Surely they are accèpable,” she coaxed.

“Two Russian dancers? I do not know,
chérie.
I shall think upon it, eh?”

“That is all I ask, madame.” Nicole rose from the footstool and started for the door.

“Mon enfant,”
Madame Chenier stopped her.

“Oui,
madame?”

“Why is it that you champion these dancers?”

Madame Chenier observed a clouded look come into Nicole’s violet eyes. “I know you will tell me of the hurt your mother suffered
at the hands of your in-laws, but…” she held up her hands as she saw Nicole was about to protest, “let me finish,
enfant,
but did they not suffer too? And this handsome husband of yours, did he, too, humiliate your mother? Was he not merely a
boy at the time?”

“You do not understand,” Nicole drew in her breath.

“Is it that I do not understand,
chérie,
or is it that you are looking… for revenge?”

“Revenge? Oh no, madame…” Nicole denied vehemently, suppressing her feelings of guilts.

“I hope this is so, for you may be sacrificing your whole life over imagined slights.”

Nicole hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. Could this be true? But all those things her mother had said, and Nicole had
witnessed. And what about Val’s brutal condemnation of her mother? That was no mere slight! That was unforgivable! And his
betrayal with Tessa… She shook her head negatively and said, “No, it is not my imagination, Madame Chenier.”

Madame Chenier sighed, “Very well.” And then added, “There is one more thing you should know.”

Nicole waited for Madame Chenier to speak.

“Tessa Von Hoffman is here in Brussels.” Rising, she came to Nicole. “Promise me,
ma chère,
no further confrontations with that woman.”

“I shall not be so childish again, of that I can assure you!”

“Grâce Dieu!
So now go and dress for the Barclays’.”

The confrontation between the Viscountess and the brazen Von Hoffman woman Madame Chenier dreaded did not occur until the
following week. It was at a performance of Mozart’s
Le Nozze di Figaro
that Nicole was put to the test concerning Tessa Von Hoffman. As she and Madame Chenier relaxed with “the Barclays over refreshments
during intermission, Nicole was surprised to come face to face with Tessa Von Hoffrtian in the company of Lord Crawley. Polite
greetings were exchanged by those present, but Madame Chenier watched Nicole with anxious eyes.

“My dear Tessa,” Lady Barclay was saying. “How did you find Vienna while you were there?”