The Duke's Daughter (25 page)

Avery and William took a seat in a private corner of the hotel lobby, away from the other guests. A waiter brought them over a wine list and William quickly selected a bottle.

‘I hope you appreciate a good drop of Burgundy, Avery. We are in luck: the hotel has my father’s favourite year. He ships it to England by the case load, often via the Yorkshire coast. Lucy tells me your family hails from that region,’ William said.

Avery nodded, but gave nothing away. His family connection to the smuggling trade which operated out of Robin Hood’s Bay had ended with his father’s and brother’s deaths. Better that people thought his old home had been further up the coast at respectable Whitby. He intended to keep it that way.

When the bottle arrived, the waiter poured them each a sizable glass before taking his leave.

‘No point in leaving it in the bottle,’ Will remarked with a wry grin.

He sat back in the deep leather armchair opposite to Avery and took a long drink from his glass. Then, leaning forward, he put the glass down on a nearby table and looked at Avery.

He pointed at Avery’s damaged left hand. ‘I take it you wear the gloves to hide the scars. You were lucky to keep those fingers; from what I recall, they were a particularly bloody mess.’

A cold chill ran down Avery’s spine.

William chuckled. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

‘No.’

‘I was there the night they took you from the coast at Ostend. In fact, if I recall, you were not expected to make it back to England alive. That was a nasty stomach wound you had. I am certain it was only the insistence of Major Ian Barrett that saw you survive.’

Avery looked around the room, suddenly realising that Will had chosen a strategic place for them to sit. With his back to the wall, facing the doorway, Will had a perfect view of anyone who walked into the Hotel Meurice. In contrast, the large column to one side of the door hid him from view.

Everything about William Saunders was unremarkable. His brown hair was simply cut. His grey eyes revealed nothing of what was going on in his mind. Even his clothing was nondescript. It was as if his sole intention in life was to blend perfectly into the background.

‘Who are you?’ Avery replied.

Will examined his fingernails. ‘Just a family member. Eldest son of a daughter of the House of Strathmore. Nothing more.’

‘But how did you manage to spend the war living here in Paris? How were you not arrested by the French authorities as a spy?’

‘My father is French. Saunders is the Anglicised version of our family name, Alexandre. My parents met and married in France a few years before the Revolution. Fortunately they moved to England before the likes of Robespierre and his bloody thugs took power. That, of course, is not to say that my father’s side of the family did not suffer. Both my French grandparents met their deaths during the Terror, along with numerous other close relatives.

‘When my father saw how things were going under Napoleon, that France had exchanged one tyrant for another, I suggested I join the English army and fight. My father proposed another career. With my fluent grip of the language and a certain talent for getting out of sticky situations, he knew I was perfect for a particular kind of role.

‘I came here the year after I left university at Cambridge and have been here ever since. There were many others in France also desperate to see Bonny gone. I worked with an underground network of English and French agents to help bring about his downfall.’

Tales had often circulated around the army camp about the role informants and spies played in the lead-up to battle, but Avery had never thought to actually meet one in person. The notion that William knew Avery from the days after Waterloo unsettled him greatly.

He remembered little of the days following the battle. His only coherent memories were of searing pain burning deep in his side and left hand.

‘Sorry old man, it is wrong of me to play games with you. I was working for one of Wellington’s secret units at Ostend when you were brought on board the royal yacht. In fact I was the one who commandeered it from the Prince of Wales’ household. They were going to send it back to England empty, but I saw a more pressing need to get some wounded officers out of Belgium.’

‘But I wasn’t an officer, only a lieutenant,’ Avery replied.

Will picked up his wine glass. ‘Well, you have Ian Barrett to thank for that. He insisted you be brought on board. He wasn’t leaving without you. We had an argument with the captain of the yacht about the fact that the other wounded men were all officers and gentlemen. He thought you should travel with the other soldiers and be taken to hospital in London. Of course, both the major and I knew you would never survive the journey and if you did, the butcher surgeons would finish you off. In the end we hung the major’s jacket over your shoulders, had his batman address you as my lord and carried you onto the boat.’

During the past few days Avery’s thoughts had been wholly occupied with a dead man. It took Will’s revelation to suddenly remind him how close he had come to joining Pascal in the list of the battle fallen. William had not lied when he said the decision to take Avery back to England on the royal yacht was one of life or death. It had taken the best surgeon the Earl of Rokewood could find to repair the knife wound which had twisted through Avery’s gut. Almost a year of long and painful recovery had followed.

‘I suppose I should say thank you; I clearly owe you my life,’ Avery said.

Will waved him away. ‘All in a day’s work. It was just good to see a vile dictator brought down and both countries once more at peace. I take it your military career is now at an end?’

Avery closed his eyes and nodded. ‘They didn’t want to know me after Waterloo. I was fortunate to be taken in by the Barrett family as I had nowhere else to go. The army discharged me and cast me adrift.’

Fifteen years of faithful service and all he had to show for it was a mangled hand and some medals. A small pension, but not the sort of money he could survive on without finding gainful employment.

Before receiving word from London that Thaxter was missing, he had been at a loose end as to what to do with his life. The thought of returning to Robin Hood’s Bay and taking up the family trade had at times been tempting. Each time he decided he would go back to Yorkshire, he was reminded of what he had left behind.

Finally, he had been forced to admit that the real reason he avoided going back to his childhood home was the chance of encountering his brother. Thaxter would no doubt have gone to great pains to show the world what little his long-lost brother had made of his life.

The thought of his brother mocking him, even after all these years, had kept him away. Hearing of his brother’s elevation to earl-in-waiting had sealed the deal. The last thing he needed was to meet a well-heeled Thaxter when he was living on the charity of others.

‘How can I ever repay such a huge debt to you?’ Avery replied.

The smile disappeared from Will’s face.

‘You could start by taking better care of Lucy.’

The air escaped Avery’s lips in a silent whoosh. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that response from his saviour.

‘I know the two of you got off to a rocky start. Lucy wrote to me and told me the truth about your sudden and unexpected marriage. She also explained about her plans to leave you and asked if she might come and live with me here in Paris. I can see that the two of you have come to some sort of accord regarding your marriage, but it doesn’t take an overly observant onlooker to see that Lucy is miserable. I just hope for both your sakes that she hasn’t thrown her lot in with you only to now find herself bitterly regretting that decision.’

Avery was suddenly overcome with the uncomfortable sensation that his clothes no longer covered his body. As if all the rich finery he had become so accustomed to wearing had been stripped away, leaving him exposed.

‘If you had had any sense you would have explained to her that you would never suit. She could then have come to me. I would have taken care of her. It crushes me to see her so unhappy.’

He sat forward in his chair and fixed Avery with a steely gaze.

‘What I see in her eyes when she looks at you is a passionate love. I suspect you don’t see it because you are too wrapped up in your own thoughts. I pray for your sake that it’s not because you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Avery stammered.

‘No, I don’t expect you do. From where I sit, all I think you are concerned about is yourself and that bloody pocket watch,’ Will said.

Lucy appeared at that moment and began to cross the lobby floor toward them.

‘Just ask yourself what will become of your life with Lucy when you are finally rid of your burden? Think on that, Avery.’

‘Oh, French wine in Paris. I do hope you have left some for me,’ Lucy exclaimed as she reached the two men.

She was clad in an elegant blue-and-white striped silk evening gown, set off with a stunning white lace shawl. Avery’s gaze ran appreciatively over her body. Whether she was in London or Paris, he knew Lucy could hold her own in fashionable society.

A stab of jealousy speared its way into his heart when William instantly stood and offered Lucy his chair. Avery cursed himself for having been too busy ogling his wife to observe the rules of polite society.

‘Just a moment; I shall summon the waiter to bring us another bottle and a fresh glass,’ William said.

‘Thank you,’ she replied.

She smiled only at William.

‘You look lovely, cousin,’ William added, giving Lucy a kiss on the cheek. ‘And the sweet scent of lavender. Hmm . . . you truly are a delight.’

Avery flexed his fingers. The kiss was a tad too familiar for his liking. From where he stood, family or not, William had no right to be making such personal remarks to Lucy. Especially not in front him.

He had known William for little more than an hour and his opinion of the man was constantly evolving. Five minutes ago, he saw him as the hero who had saved his life. Now he was beginning to form an unshakeable dislike of the man. Who was William Saunders to tell him how to live his life?

Lucy pulled a piece of paper out of her reticule and handed it to Will.

‘We managed to get a name and address for the previous owner of the pocket watch when we visited the watchmakers today. I thought you might be able to help,’ she said.

Avery shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Much as his temper simmered in the presence of the self-assured Will, he knew Lucy’s cousin was the best chance they had to make successful contact with Pascal’s family.

‘Oh dear,’ Will whispered as he read the note.

‘What?’ Avery replied.

Will folded up the note and laid it flat on the table, his fingers resting gently on the top.

‘I had hoped that since Rochet is a fairly common French name, your soldier could have come from anywhere in France. Unfortunately we were not so lucky. I know this address. The Rochet family is well known in Paris, they are one of the major families who managed to survive the Terror relatively intact. While I never knew Pascal myself, I know his brother Jean-Charles.’

Lucy gave Avery a hopeful smile.

‘But isn’t that good news? We should be able to approach the family now and see about returning Pascal’s property,’ Lucy replied.

Will shook his head. ‘Jean-Charles Rochet is not the sort of man to forgive you for taking this from his brother. He is more than likely to have you murdered.’

‘So what do you recommend we do?’ Lucy said.

Will cleared his throat in a none-too-subtle gesture and looked at Avery.

‘He would suggest we take the first boat back to England and forget about the whole thing,’ Avery replied.

He looked to Lucy who, as he expected, was shocked. He cursed himself. He’d been a fool to let her become such an intrinsic part of his quest. Somewhere long ago it had stopped being his mission alone.

‘There must be something we can do. I refuse to go home without trying to make contact with the Rochet family,’ Lucy stated.

Something which felt a lot like pride swelled up within him. Lucy stubbornly refused to accept defeat. Possessed of a resolute heart, she would stand by her husband.

‘Lucy’s right in her thinking, Will. We have not come all this way just to give up because you are afraid of some Frenchman. I have done battle with one or two of them in my time,’ Avery added.

Will shot him a look of disdain and Avery sat back in his chair, quietly savouring the moment.

How dare he sit there telling him what to do? He hadn’t reached the rank of lieutenant by blindly following orders. After half a lifetime in the army, he knew something about dealing with difficult people. Avery Fox would decide what course of action he and
his
wife would be taking.

‘Lucy and I will think of something. This Jean-Charles cannot be the only member of the Rochet family we could approach. What about Pascal’s parents; are they still alive?’

Lucy sat forward in her chair.

‘Yes, what about someone else?’ she added. The appreciative look she gave Avery helped bolster his confidence.

Will looked from husband to wife and nodded his understanding. Avery and Lucy were not going to leave Paris until they had succeeded in returning the pocket watch to its rightful owner.

‘Let me make some enquiries and come back to you. I’m not promising anything, but I know Madame Rochet still lives. If she is anything like most Parisians of wealth, she will have returned to Paris sometime earlier this month.’

Avery frowned. ‘Why would she have left Paris?’

‘Because August in Paris is unbearably hot. It was a relief to finally travel back to England to enjoy the mild English summer weather,’ Will replied.

Lucy laughed.

‘Mild? I wore a heavy coat for most of the past two summers.’

So it was agreed. Will would make a private, discreet approach to Madame Rochet and the Foxes would wait for her response.

However, what was not agreed upon were any future steps that might be taken if Pascal’s mother refused to meet with Avery and Lucy.

They headed for the nearby Café de Foy, Will’s favourite place to dine in the Palais-Royal. While they enjoyed the first of several glasses of champagne, they talked of the chilly evenings Lucy and Will had spent at Strathmore Castle during their younger years.

When Will quizzed Avery about his own childhood, Lucy sat and listened. The little that Avery did reveal only served to fill her heart with sadness. She couldn’t comprehend why members of the same family would treat each other the way the Fox family had.

‘‘Tis little wonder you ran away at such a tender age, Avery,’ Will remarked, before changing the conversation to something a little lighter.

Lucy was grateful for her cousin’s instinctive ability to know when to leave a subject alone.

‘Ah, food,’ Will said as the waiter placed a platter on their table with a great flourish.

‘Belon oysters?’ Lucy asked as she picked up the first of the natural oysters and popped it in her mouth. She sat back in her chair and hugged herself for joy.

Will chuckled and offered the platter to Avery. ‘Packed in ice and brought in every day from Brittany.’

‘These are good; even better than the ones we used to catch in Portugal. They certainly have plenty of meat,’ Avery exclaimed.

The soft, sweet jewels of the ocean soon disappeared, leaving Will to order two dozen more.

Later in their hotel suite, Avery helped Lucy remove her shawl and gloves.

‘Paris certainly gives London a run for its money when it comes to excellent food. I don’t think I have tasted such flavoursome fare in my entire life,’ Lucy said.

‘Yes, it was very good; the veal we had after the oysters was especially tender,’ he replied.

She watched as he crossed the floor, opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside. Her mind drifted back to when she had first arrived downstairs earlier that evening. The tension between her husband and Will had been palpable, but whatever had caused them to disagree, Avery was keeping mum.

‘Would you like a nightcap before we retire?’ she called to him.

Avery didn’t reply.

She picked up her shawl from the chair and slipped it back on before joining him outside. As she stepped out onto the balcony, he turned to her. The moonlight showed the lines of worry etched on his face. His emerald eyes lacked their usual spark of light.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

He reached out and, taking hold of her hand, raised it to his lips.

‘What William said tonight about Jean-Charles Rochet being a dangerous man should not be taken lightly. I want you to promise me that if things look as if they are becoming difficult, you will do as I say and immediately remove yourself to the English ambassador’s house.’

‘But . . .’

She would have continued to protest but something in his look stopped her.

‘Much as you are entitled to your own opinion, there are times when I need you to do things without question. Paris may be crawling with allied troops, but it is still a dangerous place if you are English,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

Starting another quarrel with Avery would serve no gain. Today they had made progress with their endeavour. They had a name and Will was going to try and use his connections to make contact with Pascal’s mother.

Besides, there were other ways to soothe her husband’s temper. She rose up on her toes and placed a warm and inviting kiss on Avery’s lips.

‘Come to bed.’

‘Madame Fox?’

Lucy turned. As soon as she set eyes on the woman, she knew who it was. Tears came fiercely to her eyes as she whispered, ‘Madame Rochet?’

Madame Rochet stepped forward, her body supported by a heavy walking stick. She held out a trembling hand, which Lucy readily took.

Before she knew what was happening, a warm kiss had been placed on her cheek.

‘Thank you, my dear, thank you for coming to Paris.’

Lucy studied her. She was immaculately dressed, perhaps not in the very latest of Parisian fashions, but her clothes were of a quality that only a well-funded woman could afford. A smile crept across Madame Rochet’s face.

‘You didn’t expect me to be able to speak English?’

‘No, no I didn’t,’ Lucy replied.

She most certainly hadn’t expected to meet Madame Rochet that morning as she made her way downstairs to enquire about sightseeing around Paris.

Avery had made his position clear with regard to her safety. She could venture down to the hotel lobby on her own, but other than that she was to stay by his side at all times. No risks were to be taken.

For all they knew, Madame Rochet might wish to do both the man who had killed her son and his wife great harm.

He had only agreed to a morning of visiting the local sites after Will assured him there was little chance of the Rochet family responding immediately to his communiqué.

And yet here before her stood Madame Rochet, embracing Lucy as if she were a long-lost daughter.

‘My father was a Swiss diplomat, we lived in many places including London. I speak five languages apart from French,’ she explained.

Lucy waved away the concierge who had been arranging a carriage for Avery and herself. With the arrival of Madame Rochet, their visit to the Louvre Museum would have to wait.

‘My husband is finishing a late breakfast; would you like to come upstairs now and meet him?’ Lucy asked.

Madame Rochet shook her head.

‘A little later perhaps. I wish to speak with you in private first before I meet Mr Fox.’

They settled in a quiet corner of the hotel’s cafe and ordered coffee.

‘I must say I was more than a little shocked when I opened the letter from Mr Saunders earlier this morning. Fortunately my eldest son Jean-Charles had already left the house before it arrived,’ Madame Rochet explained.

Recalling Will’s warning about Pascal’s brother, Lucy smiled. It was a relief to know that Jean-Charles remained for the time being ignorant of Avery’s presence in Paris and of his quest. An angry, vengeful brother would most likely cause Avery’s well-intentioned plans to collapse and fail.

Lucy sipped her coffee, all the while desperately searching for the right words to say.

‘So, Mrs Fox, or is it still Lady Lucy? Mr Saunders mentioned that you are the daughter of the Duke of Strathmore. For my own part, I could never quite get my head around the protocol of what to call a duke’s daughter when she married.’

Lucy smiled. She found a private delight in being called Mrs Fox.

‘It’s still Lady Lucy. My husband will eventually become the Earl Langham.’

‘Yet he was only a lowly lieutenant in the army?’ Madame Rochet replied.

‘Yes, he has only very recently become heir to the title,’ Lucy explained.

Madame Rochet gave a brief nod of her head, and Lucy silently gave thanks that she was not going to have to explain the unpleasant circumstances surrounding Thaxter Fox’s demise.

Pascal’s mother picked up a small piece of cake which the waiter had brought with the coffee. She took a bite and sat quietly chewing for a moment. Finally she brushed the crumbs from her fingers and straightened her back.

‘I think I am ready to see your husband now,’ she announced.

Lucy hurried over and helped Madame Rochet to her feet.

As they made their way toward the staircase, Lucy thought to ask Madame Rochet what she had intended to discuss with her in the cafe. It was only when the older woman took a deep breath and lifted her chin up high that realisation dawned on her.

The coffee and cake had been all for show. Madame Rochet was doing everything she could to calm her own nerves before meeting Avery. Lucy took hold of her arm and they slowly ascended the staircase.

When they got to the door of their suite, Lucy stopped and faced her.

‘He is a good man, my husband. He has risked a lot in travelling to France to seek out your family. I know you lost your son at Waterloo and for that I am sorry beyond words. All I ask is that you give Avery the opportunity to set something to rights.’

Madame Rochet pursed her lips.

‘Let your husband speak for himself and then we shall see.’

‘Avery,’ Lucy gently called as they entered the room, ‘we have a visitor.’