Sweet Bravado (20 page)

“Utterly captivating. Such gaiety has never been equaled. Not even in Paris!”

“How I envy you,” Lady Barclay exclaimed. “Tell me, is Metternich as dashing as they claim? Did you meet the Czar?”

“I have heard the Congress seldom meets in formal session, and very little of their work is accomplished,” Lord Barclay claimed
sourly. “Too much carousing, if you ask me.”

“It is only the opinion of a mere woman, my lord,” replied Tessa, coyly, “but I think more than carousing transpires at those
gay parties. The Duke himself is often to be seen in society, and his brilliant corps of young officers never misses an event.”

“Perhaps you have had the good fortune of meeting Lady Ardsmore’s gallant husband on such occasions,” Lord Crawley suggested
blandly.

“But, of course, who could miss the handsome Viscount. He is always on the front line of duty. The Duke relies on him greatly,”
Tessa replied smugly.

Nicole stiffened with sudden anger. What game was Crawley playing bringing that shameless woman here to flaunt her knowledge
of Valentin so brazenly for all to hear? She felt she would burst with the effort to appear calm.

“The Viscount is always one to do his duty. His devotion to the Duke is well known,” Nicole stated coldly.

“It is a comfort to know that men of Wellington’s caliber are working for our welfare,” Madame Chenier added.

“It would be more comforting if Wellington were here in Brussels,” Lady Barclay complained. “One hears such rumors regarding
Napoleon.”

“Do not trouble yourself, Lady Barclay,” Tessa soothed. “I am quite certain we will hear of Wellington’s arrival any day now.
I have it on good authority.” Tessa insinuated much.

Oh, the gall, Nicole fumed inwardly, violet eyes flashing.

Shortly thereafter Crawley and Tessa Yon Hoffman returned to their box. They left behind a relieved Madame Chenier, but a
disturbed Nicole. The appearance of Tessa Von Hoffman inflamed her desire for revenge against her husband. The need to strike
at the Viscount and make him regret he* existence became a driving passion. Discretion be damned! She was riding with Crawley
tomorrow and would use him to get back at Valentin. Lord Crawley might be playing a dangerous game, but so could she. If Joseph
Crawley thought he was using her to attack her husband, all the better, for it suited her own plans perfectly…

Events conspired to assist Nicole in her pursuit of foolish vengeance. Madame Chenier was invited to join the French court
at Ghent, and the Viscountess would be her own mistress with only Madame Lafitte to act as mentor. The very day of Madame
Chenier’s departure, Nicole invited Joseph Crawley, Rudi Ostrosky, and Natalya Lavronsky to her home. Madame Lafitte looked
askance on these arrangements but posed no immediate objection.

“Since Madame Chenier is not here, I have decided to go ahead with her plans for a party on my own. And you, Rudi, and Natalya,
will provide the entertainment. What do you say to that?”

“Chérie,
what a marvelous idea!” Natalya cried happily.

“Merci, mon ange.”
Rudi kissed her hand, and drawing her to her feet, he whirled with her around the room. “But you are a born dancer!” he commented
enthusiastically. “You should perform with us.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Nicole struggled to free herself from his hold.

“Think what fun you would have. You would be the envy of the
beau monde.
Maybe even start a fashion that all the society ladies would be mad to follow.”

“Ridiculous! Ladies of quality do not perform.”

“Ridiculous? Why?” drawled his lordship coming to her side. “Women of the nobility have often performed in various tableaux
and pageants.”

“You see! It is not so foolish as you think.” Rudi seconded Crawley.

“Yes, I suppose there is something in what you say,” Nicole admitted reluctantly.

“Are you afraid of what your husband might say?” Crawley taunted.

Nicole’s eyes flashed dangerously. “My husband has nothing to do with it. It is simply that I am not trained as a professional
dancer.”

“You would not actually have to dance. Would she, Rudolph?”

“No, a small part could be arranged where you would appear briefly.”

“What… what part could that be?”

“I know,” Natalya claimed coming to them. “That part of the Egyptian princess who is about to become the bride of the pharaoh.”

“That is perfect! The princess dances to please the pharaoh,” Rudi explained.

“Actually all she does is introduce the other dancers,” Natalya added. “That would be Rudi and me.”

“Magnificent!” Lord Crawley encouraged.

“With two or three rehearsals, you will be perfect as the princess,” Rudi continued eagerly.

“I do not know. What would I have to do?”

“Simply pantomine a few graceful movements at the feet of the pharaoh. Then there would be the clash of cymbals and Natalya
and I would appear and do our dance.”

“That is all?”

“That is all.”

“It does sound simple.”

“Enough, my friends, you are pressuring the lady. She must have time to consider. After all, her in-laws may not approve…”
Crawley struck the very note to rouse Nicole at last.

“Oh, nonsense, Joseph. How could I offend society in my own home by merely introducing the dancers. I will do it!”

“Very well, if you insist.” Crawley smiled triumphantly.

Nicole experienced some uneasiness as she contemplated the events set into motion by herself, Crawley, and his friends long
after her guests had departed. Would she regret her rash decision? But it was the perfect opportunity to strike back at Valentin
and the Harcourts. So they scorned her mother for a dancer, did they? Just wait until they heard of her performance with Rudi
and Natalya! What would Valentin do? What could he do? No doubt he would come to Brussels with Wellington, and family pride
would force him to seek her out. Nicole trembled with hope and fear. She was playing with fire, but she wanted a showdown
between them. Perhaps fate would force them to solve their marital dilemma, and that was what she really wanted, and she knew
it. Nicole whispered a prayer, “Yes, in Brussels my love, we shall see.”

So Nicole continued with her plans to perform at her party. Every detail must be perfect, including her own début. She worked
tirelessly with Rudi, and it seemed that destiny was conspiring to accomplish her aims. Madame Chenier extended her stay indefinitely
in Ghent, and all Nicole’s preparations moved ahead smoothly.

Madame Lafitte’s efforts to forestall Nicole’s plans to perform with the dancers at the coming reception met with stony resistance
from Nicole. There was little Lafitte could do other than act the part of chaperone whenever
the dancers or Lord Crawley were in the house. And they were there daily.

The lady tried to reassure herself that Nicole’s plan was not as outrageous as she knew it to be. Her charge’s part was little
enough, consisting of a few whirls and graceful turns—but the costume was far too revealing! She shuddered, watching Nicole
practice her obeisance before the reigning pharaoh.

“Lovely, my dear, Nicole. Absolutely lovely,” Crawley praised her as their practice came to a close one afternoon; however,
he did not see the look of black disgust Lafitte directed to the back of his head. How she would like to murder the man!

Natalya, who had been assisting as pianist during the practice sessions, began to play a lively gypsy tune with much gusto.
Immediately Rudi broke into a spirited Cossack dance whirling around the room and catching Nicole by the waist, forced her
to dance with him. Something primitive and wild within her responded, and soon the pair was stomping and twirling in true
gypsy fashion, clapping their hands and clicking their heels in a joyous impromptu romp. They whirled madly until they collapsed
in an exhausted heap on the divan.

“But you are a wild gypsy at heart, my dear Viscountess! You are wasted as the wife of a British officer. You were meant to
be a dancer!” It was heady wine to hear Rudi praise her so, but in her heart of hearts all Nicole wanted was to be the adoring
wife of one particular British officer.

The day of Nicole’s party arrived bright and clear with unseasonably warm temperatures for early April and augured well for
the turnout that evening. Nicole spent the early part of the day overseeing the final decorations of the grand salon which
had been turned into a ballroom
for the dancing. At the far end of the room a raised dais had been contrived as a stage for the evening’s entertainment. The
musicians were to assemble in a small alcove to the left, and an antechamber to the right was to be used as the backstage
area for the dancers.

All day long, great baskets of flowers filled with irises, nasturtiums, lilacs, and chrysanthemums in blending hues of blues
and purples arrived from the florist. They were banked in profusion about the dais and garlanded with trailing greens of ivy
and fern in trellises over the French doors leading out to the terrace and gardens.

The dining room was arranged to accommodate long tables covered in heavy linen and adorned with glittering crystal and silver
awaiting the sumptuous buffet now in preparation in the busy kitchens.

Nicole managed to avoid the reproachful presence of Madame Lafitte under pretext of one duty or another, and in late afternoon
she took to her room with strict instructions to her maid that no one was to disturb her. She would try for an hour’s rest
in preparation for the evening’s activities. But try as she may, sleep would not come. She was too worked up with nervous
energy, and repressed misgivings over her audacious début. Giving up the pursuit of rest as useless, she rang for her maid
to prepare her bath.

She was finishing her toilette when Madame Lafitte finally cornered her. As her maid adjusted the small jeweled plume in her
hair, Lafitte entered her room.

“Well, Fifi, how do I look?” She rose showing off her Empire gown of pale violet silk with a net overdress sprinkled with
diamantés. Gleaming amethysts accentuated the fullness of her bosom in the low-cut dress.

“Beautiful,
chérie”
A nervous hand plucked at the delicate sleeve.

“You may go,” Nicole nodded to her maid who silently
withdrew. “Well, what is it, Fifi? I can see you will not be satisfied until I allow you to speak.”

“Chérie,
do not
do
this foolhardy thing.”

“Fifi, there is nothing the least bit foolhardy in my plans. It has all been worked out very carefully. I am sure I will do
my mother proud,” Nicole answered defiantly.

“And the Viscount? Will he be proud? What of him?” Lafitte countered.

“We have been all through that, and I will not have you spoiling my evening. I am nervous as it is. Now if you will excuse
me, my guests are about to arrive.” Determinedly Nicole marched from the room.

Although many ladies and gentlemen of distinction were in attendance, Nicole’s entrance on Lord Crawley’s arm created a stir
of excitement. The colors of the ballroom decor were chosen to enhance Nicole’s ensemble. The entire setting was a dramatic
backdrop to her own vivid beauty, and the scene was altogether one to dazzle the senses. It was a night for revelry and drama.

Between dances the floor was crowded with lovers, gossipers, and intriguers, and as the night wore on the note of gay abandon
increased. It needed only the stunning news of the arrival of the Duke of Wellington in Brussels to mark the night as a momentous
occasion. The news swept the ballroom like wildfire and cast the revelers into a frenzy of expectation.

Nicole moved happily among the guests until she heard the report of the Duke’s arrival. For a moment she froze. To her the
news meant only one thing. Valentin was in Brussels! She was seized by an unreasonable desire to flee, but she knew that if
she succumbed to the feeling seeking to master her, the evening would be ruined. The only thought that came clearly through
was that she must proceed
with the entertainment as planned. Forcing herself into an unnatural calm, Nicole changed into a harem -skirt of deep purple
trimmed with gold and a matching bodice. Her midriff was lightly concealed by diaphanous gauze, and her feet were bare. A
filmy cloak was clasped over one shoulder to ensure that her attire was not completely immodest, This had been added at Madame
Lafitte’s entreaties.

The time for her performance approached, and while the guests were at supper, chairs were set up at one end of the ballroom
where the entertainment would take place. Several candelabra were lighted near the stage area, and the remainder of the room
was darkened. Finally, the anticipation was over, and a clash of cymbals announced the arrival of the pharaoh. Violins struck
up the princess’s theme music. It was her cue!

Controlling a quiver, Nicole moved forward into the light toward the pharaoh. She knelt as a supplicant at his feet and stretched
out her arms to him. Receiving a nod from him, she rose and whirled gracefully extending her arms toward the right. There
was another clash of cymbals, and Rudi and Natalya appeared. As they reached center stage, Nicole whirled again and sank at
the pharaoh’s feet. Unable to resist the impulse, she stole a quick look at the spectators. Lounging against the wall was
the one person she feared to see. Valentin was glaring across the room at her! Nicole closed her eyes, almost fainting with
alarm. When she opened them, he was still there in his brilliant red uniform, his blazing eyes stabbing hers angrily. The
remainder of the performance passed in a blur. There was music and movement, but she saw none of it. A burst of applause and
shouts of bravo greeted her ears, breaking the trance which held her. And then a throng of well-wishers was surrounding the
performers,
laughing, and praising them. Presently there was a break in the crowd, and the tall, handsome figure of her husband faced
her.

“Nicole, my dearest, I compliment you on a most amusing homecoming.” The stormy eyes and strained voice belied the arched
grin as he raised her hand to his lips.