The Heroic Baron (20 page)

Alain leaned back in his chair and exhaled heavily.
“Alright, tell me what you know.”

Slowly, Daniel held forth a crumpled piece of paper,
worn and tattered about the edges. “It seems the game
you played in Paris was deeper than I understood with spies and counterspies and secret societies abounding
from every corner,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness at having been left out of his friend’s thoughts, his
friend’s agony.

Alain felt guilty. Daniel had stood him well in his
friendship and yet he had not once included Daniel in
the changes that had occurred in his life, or the grief
that had encompassed the last three years. But it wasn’t
only Daniel he’d left out, he had told no one of the burden his heart carried. Perhaps he should have.

Alain reached out and took the paper. He smoothed it
on his knee and read. It was in French of course. He
read it once then twice to make sure he had the translation correct. He did. The document was a confession of
patriotism to the now defunct government of Napoleon
with Cecile’s name signed neatly, legibly, at the bottom, owning to traveling in L’Un’s company for the express purpose of compromising Pierre Ramboulet and
unmasking L’Un.

It was so at odds to everything Cecile had explained
over dinner but the magic of that wondrous night
seemed far away now in light of this development.
“Where did you get this?”

“You know how Tristan and Isabella worry over
you,” Daniel shrugged. “Tristan knows everyone at
Whitehall from his experience in the wars, and I think
he and Isabella sensed your grief over the death of the
accomplice. When there was no more news forthcoming about the person, it seems Tristan took it upon himself to look into it. An associate of his in the Foreign
Office stumbled across this during a diplomatic mission in Paris a month or so ago”

Later, when the anger and hurt faded, Alain divined
he’d been touched by his friend’s efforts. Although he
was close to Daniel, Tristan was a friend from his boyhood, the most trusted friend he’d ever known. When
others had not fathomed the depth of his feelings over
the unknown accomplice’s death, Tristan had intuitively recognized its import to him. Tristan had acted
even though Alain had chosen to shut him and others
out of his private mourning. Tristan had asked only
once about the violin over the hearth and then had the
good sense to say no more. But it had been enough to
put him on the scent.

Alain glanced back at the paper and bits of the conversation over dinner at Rules began to take on new
perspectives. She had been under house arrest, not sent
to a dank prison like so many others. She’d had friends
in influential places. All she’d had to do was sign her
name to a piece of paper and she was saved.

For a moment his heart leapt. What was that she’d
said about her redefining of her family motto? Ah
yes-that she understood now there were circumstances when a lie served better. His mind’s logic
crushed the surge of hope. If there was a lie interwoven
amongst the truths, what was it? It could be the piece of
paper-a signature for her freedom, a very small price
to pay to ward off the certainty of death. It could just as
easily be the lie behind why she did not come to him
for three years. She had not come out of fear of betraying him to assassins as she’d said.

Oh God, this was getting murkier by the moment.
Why had she come now? Dark scenarios clamored for
his attention. Alain put his head in his hands in an effort to stifle the irrational thoughts. He clung to the instinctive answer he knew to be true in his heart. Cecile was
not a traitor. She had not betrayed him. She was neither
a traitor to L’Un as indicated by the paper he held, nor
the accomplice gossiped about years earlier.

“What are you going to do?” Daniel asked quietly.

Alain lifted his head. He’d entirely forgotten Daniel
was still there. “I must tell Cecile. I must ask her about
this paper.”

“She may not admit to it. She has no reason to incriminate herself.” Daniel shook his head, wary of
Alain’s idea.

“Still, I cannot resolve this situation making halfguesses on my own.” Alain rose and went to the door.

“Alain, I am sorry to bring you the news. Tristan offered to come but he feared he would be too late.”

“It’s alright.” Alain felt his friend’s need for absolution. “It was right to tell me even though it is news I’d
rather not know. I am glad for it. How much harder it
would be to find this out later, once I was married”

Harker was in the hall waiting for him when he exited the study. “I have put Miss Cecile in the room overlooking the gardens, my lord. A maid is with her
helping with the unpacking.”

The man was clearly anxious over Daniel’s news but
Alain kept it to himself. He pasted on a smile. “Very
good, Harker. I’ll go up and see how she is settling in.”

Alain strode up the staircase, his heart pounding
with every step that brought him closer to Cecile’s
room. Once he went through that door, he’d have to
face the answers to the questions that troubled him most: why had Cecile signed the paper? Had she lied to
him in London? If so, why had she come to him now?
Alain gripped the door knob hard with his right hand,
taking a moment to rest his head against the door frame
and gather his strength. He had never run from unpleasant encounters in his life. He wasn’t going to start
now-not with his future at stake.

lain!“A This room is wonderful.” Cecile exclaimed
when he entered the room. “I’ve opened the windows to
let in the sun and the beautiful day.” Her face glowed,
open and happy. She looked perfectly placed surrounded as she was by white furniture and the rose papered walls, her trunks open, clothing strewn on the
bed. If he’d been an artist he would have painted this
scene and captured the moment forever-a young
woman so clearly in love, unpacking for the first time in
her fiance’s home.

His heart lurched at the duty he came to do. It
seemed an obvious disservice to bring up such sordid
things.

Cecile tugged playfully on his hand. “Come to the
window. You can smell the lilac bushes. It’s like nature’s own sachet.”

Alain went to the window with her and breathed
deeply the smells of The Refuge in spring. It was a smell he loved-lilacs mixed with honeysuckle and the faint
overlay of the roses that grew further out in the gardens.
Cecile breathed it in too, closing her eyes and giving herself over to the delights of nature in full bloom. Watching her drink it in, he wanted to throw away Daniel’s
crumpled paper, wanted to forget such a thing existed.
But his heart and mind prompted action with their silent
counsel: “Ask her. She loves you, you saw the depth of
her love moments ago when you looked in her face and
saw her abject happiness over the room, you saw it just
now as she breathed in the scent of the land you love.
She will forgive you if you’re wrong. She loves you. She
has never been anything but goodness itself…She loves
you … she loves you….”

“It is no wonder you love this place, Alain.” Cecile
said, opening her eyes. “I love it too. I never stopped
being a country girl at heart even after years in Paris.
Might we go down and stroll in the garden? I could pick
some flowers for dinner. Harker mentioned Etienne
would be coming up. I can hardly wait to see him.” She
stopped suddenly in her excited chatter. “What is it,
Alain? Was there bad news waiting for you?” Cecile
reached up a hand to smooth away the furrow on his
brow. Her touch was soft and cool.

Alain took her hand and kissed it. “Let’s go walk in
the garden. I find I have something to ask you”

The quiet warmth of the garden surrounded them. It
was still enough in the garden to hear the bees at work
in the flowers. Further in, Cecile caught the burble of a
fountain hidden by a screen of square hedges. She
would love caring for this garden. It had been ages since she’d had a garden to tend and never anything as
extensive as this. She bent over a lilac bush and inhaled. Something was bothering Alain, but she would
patiently wait until he wanted to share.

They strolled around the next corner into a pretty alcove decorated with a low stone bench surrounded by
climbing roses. Alain gestured for her to sit. She
looked at him expectantly. He did not sit. He paced the
ground in front of her. She tried cajolery. “Alain, whatever it is, we’ll resolve it together. It can’t be as bad as
all this.” His anxiety was contagious. If he was worried,
perhaps she should be worried too. But what was there
to worry about?

“Is it Etienne?” she asked cautiously, unable to think
of large concern that encompassed them both.

Alain stopped pacing. “No. I am sorry, Cecile. What
I have to say is sordid and low but I find it must be said
if we’re to have any hope of a future” Alain reached
into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Daniel
brought this with him. It’s a paper, signed by you, confessing to the betrayal of Pierre Ramboulet which led to
his execution.”

Cecile clamped a hand to her mouth. The paper that
she’d signed because it hadn’t mattered. It had been a
harmless act at the time, but now she saw it from
Alain’s perspective, saw the fear of damnation, and the
belief that she’d lied to him in his sharp green eyes. Her
claim on happiness was suddenly quite tenuous indeed.
“Oh Alain, you don’t believe it do you?” She gasped in
her hurt.

“I don’t want to believe it but I am not sure it can be
so easily discarded. Is this not your signature? Did someone sign your name without your knowledge?
Were you coerced to bear false testimony?”

Cecile knew Alain was grasping at straws, rational
excuses he’d concocted to justify the existence of her
name on the paper. She could seize one of them and allay his suspicions for good and claim her happiness.
She could tell him the general had forced her to sign it,
which wasn’t all false, just not the harrowing coercion
Alain would conjure up in his mind. But it was the truth
or nothing. She would not, could not build their future
on a foundation of half-truths.

Cecile met his gaze evenly, her hands clenched
tightly in the lap of her gown. “It is my signature, Alain.
No one forced me to do it. I chose to sign the paper.”

Alain stifled a moan and sank to the low bench. “Oh
God. How? Why? I loved you, I trusted you with my
life and you gave Motrineau the final validation he
needed to arrest Ramboulet.”

It was Cecile’s turn to stand and pace. She was utterly undone by Alain’s distress and the depths of the
betrayal he thought her capable of. “Let me explain,
Alain. It’s not exactly how you think. I did not betray
you.” Desperation threatened to swamp her. She had
not fought for three years to have it end this way-with
him believing she had lied to him. She felt very much
like the little boy who held the dike by plugging it with
his finger. Except she’d be plugging the hole with
words, words that had to be meticulously chosen in her
fledgling English.

“Motrineau was willing to help me clear my name in
exchange for a favor. He needed to make his household
look heroic, in case the French managed to be victori ous in battle. He didn’t want Napoleon questioning his
loyalties. It looked suspicious that the secretary had
been a traitor and that Motrineau had done nothing
about him for so long. Enter me. Motrineau said he’d
see to my release if I signed a paper stating I had turned
in the secretary. This way, his household looked as if it
had been plotting to catch the poor man all along and it
explained why I had been in Le Havre” She held her
breath, letting Alain ingest the information. Alain’s
head lifted, studying her.

She went on. “Of course, my signature looked suspicious since I’d been caught with L’Un at the Le Havre
docks. My presence with L’Un made Motrineau look
like a traitor who had been supporting Napoleon’s enemies the whole while. We had to explain my presence
with L’Un in order to make everything look legitimate.

`By `turning in’ the secretary, I could pretend that
Ramboulet told us the identity of L’Un, that I infiltrated
L’Un’s ranks in order to lead Motrineau’s men to him.”
Cecile sighed. “I didn’t think it mattered except to protect you and yes, to protect myself. The secretary was
already dead. Signing the paper couldn’t hurt him any
more. Signing the paper couldn’t hurt you, couldn’t expose you any further. But it could save us, buy us time.
Then Napoleon was defeated and I figured the paper
had been lost. The confession was useless. It was certainly a useless piece of paper since no one would be
checking out the loyalties of a regular citizen at that
point.”

Cecile fell to her knees before him and clasped his
long hands tightly. “I did not think the paper would
resurface in such a disastrous way. Your friend told you what he knew, thinking it best for you. But he did not
know everything. I have never lied to you.”

Her unspoken message hung between them. He had
lied to her about his identity. He had created a complete
fabrication and yet she had forgiven him enough to risk
her life for his. She had forgiven him for much more
than she was asking him for. She wasn’t even asking for
forgiveness. She was simply asking to be believed.