The Duke's Daughter (23 page)

Avery rubbed his forehead. How could he put his fears into words? Lucy held a higher opinion of him than he did of himself, but it was he who had to live within his own skin. He looked at the pocket watch before finally forcing himself to meet her gaze.

‘Because I’m a bloody coward, that’s why. I cast up my accounts on the side of the mountain because I was too scared to go and look at a dead deer. How on earth do you think I will be able to face the family of the man I killed?’

‘Because I will be standing beside you when you do. You just have to find your soldier’s spirit again. Or is there something else you haven’t told me?’ Lucy replied.

Avery sighed. She was going to drag it out of him piece by piece.

‘You of all people should know I’m not good at dealing with others. I was a soldier for many years, but until I had to fight for my life that day, I had never fought hand-to-hand combat. As a sniper I was always away from the real heat of conflict. Even though I was killing the enemy, it was at a distance. I didn’t see them up close as they died. At the end I saw the Frenchman die and it haunts me every day.’

Lucy pursed her lips. He could see that she now understood the reason for his reluctance.

‘All the more reason for us to go to France. You cannot spend the rest of your life avoiding the matter; I won’t let you,’ she replied.

Lucy would not be denied. Whether it was now or in ten years, she would see to it that they made the trip across the English Channel and sought out the Rochet family. She was adamant the watch had to go.

‘All right; we should go to Paris,’ he relented.

He was a military man, and military men were easy targets for logic and reason. Everything that Lucy proposed made crystal-clear sense. He needed to free himself of this burden. Apart from making travel arrangements and securing funds from Lord Strathmore, there was nothing to stop them leaving as soon as possible.

Much as it seemed a hastily planned errand, he knew they must not delay. If he remained in Scotland, the watch would prey on his mind, and he would likely lose his nerve.

Lucy reached out and took hold of Avery’s damaged hand, raising it to her lips. It was only a matter of days ago that he would not have let her touch his hand without it being hidden in a glove. Now he no longer felt the need to hide from her.

‘Good, then let’s be on our way,’ she replied.

She got up from the table and began to busy about their belongings. Within minutes she had packed all their clothing and only the breakfast dishes remained. There was a definite sense of victory in her demeanour.

‘We can wash them in the brook which flows just the other side of the woods. There is a stone bridge not far from here,’ she said.

Avery grabbed the bowls and piled them inside the small iron pot. He headed down to the water to scrub the pot clean. When he saw the so-called brook he laughed. It was a roaring torrent. Trust the Scots to think a river such as this was only a small trickle.

As he dipped his hands in the icy water, he paused for a moment.

His life had changed so irrevocably since the last time he had sat by a stream and washed out his army meal kit. The years he had lived this way now seemed so foreign. Another life, another man.

Lucy’s cheery Gaelic
halò
had him looking up. She walked with a spring in her step, oblivious to the light rain which fell. The water beaded on her woollen cloak and ran down in small veins. Small trailing ringlets of her hair escaped from under her Scottish blue bonnet.

My bonnie girl.

He turned away from her, stunned by the shock of thinking such words about his wife. Every day she got deeper under his skin. The emotions he felt were no longer just those which came from a sense of duty. Odd and unknown.

Was it possible he could be falling in love with her?

Lucy dropped Avery’s travel bag on the river bank, and climbed down to meet him at the water’s edge. She pulled out the water flask from the pack and plunged it into the water.

‘A wee bit nippy for a swim I would say; what a pity,’ she said.

He shook his head. Lucy was a constant source of amazement.

‘Can you actually swim?’ he replied.

She gave him a half-disgusted look.

‘Yes. Though not in this water; I doubt it ever gets warm enough up here to venture in for a dip. We tend to swim in the loch lower down in the valley.’

They gathered up the rest of their belongings and, after closing up the hut, continued on. By mid-morning they were clear of the mountain and could discern the outline of Strathmore Castle in the distance. They crossed over to the road and quickly began to make good time.

‘What do you think your parents will say when we tell them about France?’ Avery ventured.

Lucy stopped.

‘Considering how things were between you and me before we went up the mountain, I would suggest my mother will be more than happy to know we are travelling to France together. Don’t be surprised if she has us packed and on our way before the day is out.’

Lucy wasn’t far off the mark; within a matter of days she and Avery were on their way to France. They travelled first to London to arrange funds. Before leaving for Dover, they called in to see the Saunders family, who promptly loaded them up with letters and gifts to give to William. Eve pressed upon Lucy the need to convince her brother to return to England.

They sailed with the evening tide to Calais just over a week after they had arrived back at Strathmore Castle. As the ship sailed away from the dock, Lucy gave a huge sigh of relief. Avery had said little while they were in London, and she was in constant fear that he would get cold feet and attempt to cry off the trip. She dreaded the row that would follow if he did. They were going to France even if she had to haul him on board the ship.

Avery had taken to carrying the watch with him. Pulling it out of his jacket every so often, briefly examining it and then putting it away again. Standing beside him on the ship’s deck, she could see the movement of Avery’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed what appeared to be a large lump in his throat.

‘Would you like to go below deck?’ she asked.

‘No. I’m fine up here. The last time I sailed out of England, I left from Southampton. The view here is a little more interesting.’

He turned to her and took her by the hand.

‘And it’s nice to be travelling with someone. No matter what happens in Paris, I shall always be grateful that you convinced me to undertake this journey. And especially grateful that you came with me.’

They stood on the ship’s deck watching as the crew hauled in the lines while the first mate bellowed his orders.

It was raining heavily the afternoon they finally reached Paris. Introductory visits to the duke’s banker and connections would have to wait until at least the following morning when, with luck, the weather would clear.

Upon reaching the newly opened Hotel Meurice in rue Saint Honoré, they checked in. Lucy penned a quick note to William informing him of their arrival in Paris and left it with the concierge to deliver at the earliest opportunity. They then followed the porters up the long staircase to their well-appointed suite.

‘Very nice; I’ve never stayed in a proper hotel before. The inns along the Great North Road do not exactly rival this place,’ Lucy exclaimed as the hotel porter closed the door behind him.

‘That makes two of us. I was busy trying to work out the logistics of getting our luggage upstairs when those boys picked up our cases. It’s a nice touch that the staff can speak English,’ Avery replied.

‘Yes, Monsieur Meurice has seen the need for this sort of hotel with all the English tourists who are now flocking to Paris. He even owns the road coach in which we travelled over from Calais,’ Lucy said.

The 36-hour trip from Calais to Paris had been harder than the relatively calm sea crossing from England. The coach, though nicely built, left little room for comfortable sleep. A number of times during the long journey she had silently rued their decision to make the trip to Paris non-stop.

‘I’m looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed. I would love a bath, but I’m too tired to wait for water,’ Lucy said. She nodded her head in the direction of two large wash bowls set out on a washstand near the window. The pile of towels and washcloths did look particularly inviting.

She was halfway through a jaw-stretching yawn when something caught her eye. She immediately dropped her small travel bag onto the bed and raced to the balcony doors. She threw back the sheer lace curtains.

‘Look, it’s Notre Dame! I can’t believe we are so close!’ she exclaimed.

Avery ambled over to her side and gave the cathedral a cursory look.

‘It’s big, I will give them that. But I still think York Minster is a better-looking church,’ he said.

‘Oh!’ she huffed.

As he stepped closer, his cologne filled her senses. She felt strong hands on her shoulders and he leaned in.

‘It’s very old, isn’t it?’ he asked.

She nodded at what was a rather foolish question.

‘And it is likely to still be there in the morning?’

‘Yes.’

He began to undo the long row of buttons on the back of Lucy’s gown. With the inclement weather, and the hot kiss Avery placed on the back of her neck, she sensed she would not be visiting Notre Dame this day.

‘The manager said they will arrange to send you a lady’s maid in the morning, but for tonight let me be your personal maid,’ he murmured softly in her ear.

She groaned appreciatively. They’d been unable to share a bed for the past three days, so she was not surprised to find her appetite for his sexual attention suddenly flared hot. Unbridled lust begged to be slaked. How quickly she had developed the need for his strong, warm hands to roam over her body and bring her to fulfilment.

He stripped her naked and gently washed her body with warm water and rose-scented soap. Lucy tended to Avery’s body in the same way. Both slowly washing the dust and fatigue of their long journey from one another’s bodies.

When they were finished, Avery led Lucy to the big bed by the window. Under the cool, soft sheets they made love. A simple act of connection between them. A confirmation that they were united in their mission in France. Lucy reached her completion on a soft cry, which Avery drank up with his lips.

Gazing, mesmerised, into his eyes, Lucy watched as Avery reached his own fulfilment within her sated body. Every time he claimed her she felt renewed.

He eventually rolled off her and as they had become so accustomed to doing, Lucy lay with her back against Avery’s chest. Spooned together, he wrapped his arms around her and they soon fell fast asleep.

Somewhere in the watches of the night, they both stirred and made love once more. As Avery stilled over her, the look of rapture on his face revealed by the moonlight, Lucy heard him whisper.

‘Mine.’

Lying beside him later in the warmth of their bed, she stared out into the Paris night sky.

She pulled the blankets up around her neck, softly chiding herself for imagining that he could be feeling anything that approached love for her. Avery liked her, she was willing to concede that much. And he lusted after her body.

‘He is a man; sexual union with his wife is as natural to him as breathing. It means nothing more to him than that. Don’t go thinking that this marriage is anything but one of obligation for him,’ she muttered.

Avery had faced up to the inevitable fact that a divorce was a near-impossibility and in doing so had decided to make the best of things. Lucy closed her eyes and told herself she should count her blessings.

The long, tiring journey from Scotland caught up with them the following morning, and it was two more days before they finally ventured out into the streets of Paris. Their first stop the morning they finally left their hotel suite was to the offices of Rothschild’s bank. Avery handed over the letters of introduction and instructions from the Duke of Strathmore.

Little more than an hour later, they left the bank with money in their pockets and a line of credit established with the Hotel Meurice. Whatever future funds they required would be sent directly to their hotel.

‘I cannot believe that I can simply walk into a bank hundreds of miles from London with a mere letter from your father and they just hand over a small fortune in francs,’ he said.

He handed some coins to Lucy, who examined them closely.

‘Nice to see that Napoleon is no longer on the currency,’ she noted.

Avery smiled. Lucy always managed to find the right way to lighten the mood. Somehow she sensed his apprehension now that they were actually in Paris and going to try to find the family of Monsieur Rochet. The face which had haunted his dreams now at least had a surname. Soon they would know more.

‘So what’s next?’ Avery asked as they climbed back into the carriage the hotel had hired for them.

‘Vacheron, the watchmakers. You did bring the pocket watch with you?’ Lucy replied.

Avery patted the right side of his coat. Even as he sought to relinquish ownership, the watch was never far from his reach. It took all his self-control not to take it out and look at it yet again.

‘If we have good fortune with the watchmakers, then we shall put whatever resources we have at our disposal to find his family. That is, of course, if he has one,’ she added.

Avery nodded his agreement. Lucy, as ever, was a level-headed, practical girl when the moment required. He expected she had thought their plans through over and over as they made the long, tiring journey from England.

The prospect that there would not be anyone in France who would be able to claim Rochet’s watch had crossed his mind, but the need to assuage his guilt meant he would explore every possibility. Only after all avenues to locate the Rochet family had been exhausted would he consider returning to England with the pocket watch.

Lucy’s enthusiasm in working to find the Rochets was compelling and Avery found himself caught up in it. For the first time in a long time he felt he had purpose in his life. Whatever the outcome of their mission, he prayed a small amount of his self-respect might be restored. To ask for anything more would be vanity.

Vacheron’s Paris representative was located in a rather plain shop on Rue Saint Denis. As Lucy and Avery stepped inside the front door, they exchanged a look of surprise.

A small table surrounded by a handful of chairs sat in the middle of the small retail space. In the corner was a counter with a glass display case containing only two watches. The walls of the room were a dull brown oak, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be cheap panelling. The pale red carpet did little to lift the mood of the room. The room had a slightly damp smell about it, which Avery surmised to be a mixture of tobacco and a roof in need of repair.

‘Not exactly the place I had envisaged such a fine piece of work originating from,’ Lucy said, echoing Avery’s own unspoken sentiments.

‘Let’s hope they put all their efforts into their watchmaking,’ he replied.

Inside the shop they were greeted by a small elderly man, who quickly realised he would have to speak to Lucy if they were going to make any progress. After taking a seat at the centre table, Avery handed over the watch. The Vacheron representative opened the back and read the name aloud.

Avery was able to make out a few odd words here and there as Lucy explained what they were attempting to do. He observed his wife with pride. Not only was her French perfect, but she spoke it like a true native.

The man nodded his head. He withdrew to a small room at the back of the store and quickly returned with a large brown book which he set down on the table.

‘He is going to see if he can locate the last known address of Monsieur Rochet,’ Lucy explained.

They watched as the man ran his finger down the list of previous clients.

‘Ah. Pascal Rochet,’ the man said as his finger reached the right name.

A wave of nausea washed over Avery. Finally, the man on the battlefield had a name. The man he had killed.

Pascal.

Lucy pulled out her notebook from the satchel she had brought with her from London and began to take notes. She asked the man several more questions, humming softly as she wrote. While Avery tried to calm his breathing, Lucy remained businesslike and unaffected.

‘Pascal Rochet was from Paris and now we have his last known address. The watch was purchased about six years ago, so we have to hope that his family has not moved in the interim,’ she said.

It had not occurred to Avery until that very moment that the previous owner of the watch could have come from anywhere else in France. To him Paris was France.

‘He wants to know if you want the watch repaired before you give it back to Pascal’s family.’

Avery stared at the watch. He doubted that the workings of it would matter to the family. Nausea began to turn into cold dread. What had been thoughts and mere concepts was now becoming all too real.

‘I don’t know. I am finding it rather difficult to think at the moment. The only thing I am certain of is that I would like very much to leave,’ he said.

He saw Lucy’s gaze fall on his tightly fisted hands. She thanked the shopkeeper and taking the watch, handed it back to Avery. He stuffed it quickly into his jacket pocket and rose from the table.

They left the shop and got back into their carriage. Avery sat on the leather bench and stared silently out of the window. Forcing himself to take in the scenery was the only way he could deal with the tightness in his chest and the heavy pounding of his heart. As they made their way through the crowded streets of Paris, he was surprised to see that in many aspects it looked little different to London.

There were the crowds of well-dressed citizens and ragged poor jostling against one another as they made their way to and from their destinations. In doorways, he spotted the all-too-familiar beggars.

More often than not the male beggars were still in the rags of what had once been proud uniforms. The missing limbs or bandaged eyes revealing that both England and France had little time or care for wounded former heroes.

‘It’s just like home, only less crowded,’ Lucy remarked.

He turned to see her staring out the same window at the passing parade. It was uncanny how at times she was so much in tune with his own thoughts. Almost as if she could read his mind.

He prayed she could not reach into his mind and see the depth of his cowardice. The hope he had felt before they left the hotel earlier that morning now lay consumed in the ashes of doubt. How on earth was he to face these people? And what of Lucy; would she still see him in the same favourable light if she knew the whole truth?

It had been a rash and foolish notion to decide to come to France. To seek out the family of the man he had killed at close quarters was madness. The sensible thing to do right this instant would be to call the whole thing off.

He would give Lucy a few pleasant days of sightseeing in Paris, call it a belated honeymoon and then go home. The pocket watch would be buried in the bottom of his kit bag somewhere out of sight and hopefully forgotten.