The Heroic Baron (12 page)

Such a minor threat would have been negligible if it
had come on the tails of several military victories, but
against the defeats of the winter, the threat was no
longer possible to ignore. Alain should have realized
the politics behind it. An intelligent junior clerk or
aide-de-camp looking for quick promotion would have
detected the commonality all the families had in common. The only stroke of luck was that no one had detected the connection between the Panchettes and
Pierre Ramboulet. Alain hoped that bit of luck would
hold. The Panchettes had left early enough that they
might escape notice altogether. If not, it was not a difficult trail to him. He was new in town. He had shown up
at the time the disappearances began. He had asked to
borrow Pierre Ramboulet to help him with his correspondence. Too many coincidences to be overlooked,
especially if coupled with the random comments made
by Major Von Hausman about how he was nothing like
the man Von Hausman had heard rumor of.

Oh yes, the game had become dangerous indeed. He
did not think General Motrineau would take kindly to
discovering he’d harbored a traitor under his roof. He
would have to leave soon. It was small consolation that he’d have to leave soon anyway. If the armistice failed,
as it looked like it would do, fighting would resume and
he’d be expected to rejoin his Lancer unit. Either way,
his life in Paris was quickly coming to a head.

The thought would have been more welcome if it
hadn’t been for Cecile. He was eager to get back to
Hythe and see the progress on the resort. The season
had officially ended in London, August 12, three days
ago. His investors would be visiting Hythe to see the
resort taking shape. It would be awkward if he wasn’t
there. He couldn’t expect Daniel to manage them on
his own.

The summer moon rose above the trees, golden and
warm in the dark sky. Alain scolded himself for spending so much time contemplating the situation when the
decision to be made was obvious. There were no viable
arguments for staying. He would tell Cranston to pack
only their clothes and anything that would give away
their English presence. The boat was at Calais. They’d
leave the next evening. If Ramboulet refused to go,
then he was on his own. Those concerns were easily resolved. More difficult, was what to do about Cecile.

He’d see Cecile tomorrow as planned and ask her and
Etienne to come with him. Alain leaned heavily on the
window sill and expelled a deep breath. What would
Cecile’s reaction be to the truth? Would she be able to
understand that he was still fundamentally the same
man who’d spent the last weeks with her? He just didn’t
wear a Lancer’s uniform. Cecile had no love for the supporters of Bonaparte’s regime or soldiers. It had been a
token of their growing relationship that she’d been able
to put aside her dislike for his uniform. That realization gave his courage a boost. Still, coming with him would
be a commitment. She’d be leaving behind her homeland and all that she knew, even her language. To his
best knowledge, Cecile might recognize English but she
did not understand it. If she agreed to come with him,
she and her brother would be entirely his responsibility.

The thought of taking care of Cecile brought a smile
to his face. He would love to dress her in fine gowns,
finer than the ones she wore at the general’s house. She
would be an asset to Hythe with her compassion towards others. He would take great pleasure in having
her preside over his table and his house. There was only
one way he knew of to have a woman like Cecile and
that was to marry her. Oddly enough, that was exactly
what he wanted to do.

Alain’s heart leaped joyously with the realization.
He had been foolish not to recognize it earlier. It would
not be enough to have Cecile nearby in a cottage in
Hythe, to simply see her in passing by chance on High
Street or at St. Leonard’s. It would be torture to travel
to London and leave her behind. He wanted her by his
side, sharing the daily living of their lives as they had
done here in Paris.

Daniel might say such actions were overly hasty on
his part. He had not danced with Cecile or done any of
the things a suitor ought to do if he were in London. He
had not courted her in any of the ways he’d courted Alicia. He’d never taken Cecile for a drive in an open-air
carriage, or on a picnic or out riding. He didn’t even
know if Cecile rode. She probably didn’t-an ironic
situation for such a neck-or-nothing rider as himself.
He’d known Alicia two years before proposing. He’d known Cecile for a few short months. Alain raised his
head, struck by a staggering thought. He and Alicia had
played the courting game, found each other to their liking, and Alain had taken things to their logical conclusion. He’d proposed to Alicia out of duty. The thought
of refusing his suit would never have entered Alicia’s
mind. Duty demanded that she accept. This was entirely different. He was proposing to Cecile out of love
and that would be the only grounds on which she would
accept. Alain wondered if she loved him enough to say
yes. The rest of his life depended on it.

A light summer breeze blew against Cecile’s cheek
as she lounged on the picnic blanket Alain had spread
beneath a tree. Close by, young boys played with toy
ships in the park’s boat pond. She watched them idly,
drinking in the little pleasures of the day. It had been
years since she’d indulged in an afternoon picnic and
lazed around afterwards on a blanket. Never had she
done so with a gentleman, like she did today. She
moved her gaze from the boys sailing their boats to the
man on the blanket beside her.

Alain lay stretched out, his long legs crossed at the
ankles and his hands tucked behind his head. His eyes
were closed and he looked utterly at peace in his rest.
Looking at him now, it was easy to discard the anxieties
of the night, to forget what she’d overheard in his garden. Resting as he was now, it was impossible to believe Alain was other than an officer from a titled
family. Aristocracy and athletic grace were mixed in the lines of his reposed body. Only nobility could rest
so completely in the middle of the day without a care in
the world.

She was somewhat surprised that such tranquil repose came to Alain so easily. When he’d arrived that afternoon, he’d seemed agitated, distracted, as if there
was something on his mind. It had seemed odd that
Alain had not invited Etienne to join them. He must
have understood the broad hints Etienne dropped and
he must have known how much Etienne would love a
day at the Tuileries.

Alain stirred and popped open one mossy eye with a
grin. “You must think me a lazy man, to lay here napping
while you pick up our meal” Alain propped himself on
one elbow. “Are you tired of sitting? We could take a
walk. I have something I wanted to talk over with you”

He said it too casually, Cecile thought, rising to her
feet and shaking out her skirt. What could it be that he
wanted to talk over with her? Would he ask her to be his
mistress? To move to Poland with him when he was recalled? Whatever it was, it was going to alter their relationship. His news would probably do more than alter
the relationship, it would most likely end it. Cecile
fussed with the picnic basket trying to hide her nervousness, thinking of ways to forestall what came next.

Alain took her hand and tucked it through his arm.
“Leave those things; they can wait. I find that I am running out of time.”

The cryptic comment sealed Cecile’s attention. She
spoke frankly. “I have felt all afternoon that you’ve had
something on your mind. Perhaps you should have told
me before we picknicked? Then we could have relaxed.”

“I wanted to make sure that you had a lovely afternoon. I wasn’t certain you would come on the outing if
I told you my news first”

Cecile felt a knot growing in her stomach. Her instincts had been right. So much for the lovely food he’d
fed her: fresh bread, expensive cheeses, summer fruits
and a light red wine. Perhaps they had been part of the
bribe he was preparing to offer her.

They walked a bit in silence until they were well
away from the usual crowd of others who thought to
walk in the park. Alain began to tell her terrible truths,
and the fairy tales she’d harbored throughout the summer came to an abrupt close.

“Cecile, I’m not a French soldier.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re Polish,” Cecile said
desperate to save her fantasies.

“Please, you must not interrupt,” Alain cautioned. “I
am not Polish, nor am I a solider of any type in
Napoleon’s army. Captain Stanislawksi is a fiction, at
least he is now. He died in a tavern brawl, and I took his
papers”

He wasn’t a noble-born Pole. There would be no
more dreams of being whisked away to a life of minor
nobility and ease. But they’d just been dreams. Impossible dreams at that. “Then who are you?”

“I am an English baron. My name is Alain Hartsfield. I am the Baron Wickham.”

Her first reaction was concern for him. It was dangerous for an Englishman in Paris these days. Her second reaction was anger. He had lied to her, assumed a
false identity and let her believe in it. Checking her anger, Cecile asked, “Why are you telling me this?
Surely you know how perilous it is for you to be here.”

“I am telling you this because I am L’Un, the one the
general talked about at dinner last night. I must leave
soon if I am to escape”

“What do you stand to gain with your confession?”
Cecile cast an appraising glance at Alain, watching his
face for any sign of manipulation. Whatever he wanted
of her, it would come next.

Alain stopped walking and turned to face her, his
green eyes intent upon her. “I’m telling you these
things because I want you and Etienne to come with
me. I want to take you to England with me tonight. I’m
sorry there isn’t more time to think this through, but I
can wait no longer without seriously jeopardizing my
safety”

“What would I do in England? I don’t speak English.”

“You’d be my wife, Cecile. I am not simply asking
you to come away with me and take a chance in a foreign land, I am asking you to come away with me and
be my wife.”

Alain still held her hand, and she felt the intensity of
his grip until her hand hurt from the pressure. She realized he did not know how tightly he held on. Could it be
that he meant it? He wanted to marry her? It sounded
too good to be true and it was, she reminded herself,
because there was no truth between them.

She drew her eyes away from his handsome face.
“Why do you think I will marry you instead of running
to General Motrineau with what you’ve told me? He’d
reward me generously.”

“Because I care for you, Cecile, and you love me,”
Alain said quietly.

Cecile’s head shot up defiantly. “I fell in love with a
fiction. I loved the man I thought you were. As it stands
now, I don’t know you at all.”

“You know my name.”

“I know many men’s names.”

“Cecile, I can understand you’re upset, but there isn’t
time.” Alain gripped her forearms in frustration with
her resistance. “You know me, only the name is different. I’m still the same man who accompanied you on
rounds, who followed you to market, who sat at your
table and shared bread with you. Don’t let your stubborn pride blind you to those truths”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. In a few moments, they’d
spill over and she’d embarrass herself with crying.
With her whole being, she wanted to believe Alain’s arguments, that he was still the same, that she knew him
well enough to trust him with her life and her brother’s.
But it had been easy enough to assume the identity of
Captain Stanislawski. How could she know that he was
really a baron? How could she be guaranteed he’d
marry her when they left Paris? What if she went with
him only to have him cast her aside?

Her lip trembled. “How can I believe you, Alain? If
you’re truly an English baron, why did you come here
at all? How would you have known about the
Panchettes?”

“That is a long story, Cecile.”

“You must find the time to tell it.” Cecile folded her
arms across her chest and planted herself firmly in Alain’s path. She was dug in both figuratively and literally.

Alain sighed, recognizing the customary defiance he
associated with Cecile. If there was any hope of her
coming with him, it lay in telling his tale, how he came
to be L’Un. He gestured to a quiet bench out of the way.

“It all began the day I stopped in at The Sail and
Oar.” Immediately, Cecile’s eyebrows shot up and
Alain knew that it wouldn’t be enough to start there.
She wanted to know why he’d been at the pub. Of
course she’d want to know. She didn’t want to commit
herself to a man who drank. But she already knew that
didn’t she? Hadn’t she watched him consume the beverages of the general’s table in moderation? Nonetheless, Alain found himself pouring out the whole of the
tale, how he’d been in Hythe for the funerals of his parents, how he’d seen the Panchette’s boat founder. How
the Panchettes had convinced him to rescue the other
family members and how they’d told him about Pierre
Ramboulet.