Glamorous Illusions (27 page)

The ladies had brought out their parasols, and they'd just gotten settled, distributing the picnic items, when a large boat appeared in the center of the lake, covered with a fabric roof to keep out the sun. “What is that?” Nell asked, pointing.

“I've seen canoes and rowboats, a few small sailing boats,” Uncle Stuart said, “but never a boat of those proportions on this lake.”

Will chewed on a chunk of bread, thinking back to his studies on Versailles. “Didn't Louis XVI once cavort about the lake in something similar, Uncle?” he asked.

Uncle Stuart nodded, thinking. “I do believe you're right, Will. Along with yachts sent to him from distant kings and gondolas from the doge of Venice.”

Six sets of oars were rowing in tandem, three on either side of the big boat, and it soon drew near. The girls giggled with excitement when a call went up inside and the rowing stopped, but the boat continued to drift toward them. At last it bumped up against the shore, and immediately, a gangplank was lowered.

“Oh my,” Nell said, hand at her throat.

“What is it?” Lillian asked.

Out walked Pierre de Richelieu, dressed in a fine summer suit, complete with jacket, vest, and ascot. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making him appear as a prince of another period. He grinned at their surprised expressions and walked straight to Cora.

When he got closer, they all could see the purple bruise on his cheek, the slight swelling. But he was looking only at Cora.

“Miss Cora,” he said, getting down on one knee. “Last night did not end as we wished, but today, I'm determined to give you your prize.” He gestured back at the boat. “Please, come with me, and you shall do nothing but drift and dream for an hour.”

Uncle Stuart finally seemed to awaken from his surprised stupor. “You are most kind, my lord. But I'm afraid we have to get on toward the chateau directly after our picnic—”

“All I ask for is an hour with Cora,” Richelieu said, meeting Uncle Stuart's gaze and cutting a glance to Will. “We shall meet you at the chateau.”

“But we have her bike,” Will tried.

“That is no great difficulty. I'll send a servant to fetch it, and we'll bring it with us. There's plenty of room for it.” He tucked his head and stared at the bear, waiting the briefest of moments for the approval he knew would come. Uncle Stuart nodded his assent, and Richelieu reached out a hand to Cora. “Come away with me for a bit, Cora.”

Glancing back at Will, she hesitated and then placed her hand in Richelieu's. They walked to the boat, hand in hand, and he helped her up the gangplank and into the boat. A servant ran up the hill for the bike, then disappeared inside the boat, the gangplank following after him. Six sets of oars set into motion again.

“Well, for heaven's sake, cease your fretting,” Vivian said, turning from the sight. “We'll see her in an hour. They're not sailing off into the sunset! I, for one, am glad that Lord de Richelieu has seen fit to look beyond last night's…misunderstanding.”

“As am I,” Andrew said, pouring Vivian more wine.

“I think it's the most romantic thing I've ever, ever seen,” Nell said dreamily, chin in hands.

Hugh and Felix groaned.

“We have a problem,” Uncle muttered to Will, sitting down heavily beside him.

“I know,” Will said.

A pirate had just kidnapped one of their clients. And there wasn't a blessed thing they could do about it.

CHAPTER 31

~Cora~

It was the most extraordinary boat I'd ever been on. Like something in the storybooks about the Egyptians or Venetians, with slaves down below, propelling us forward. I doubted Pierre would be anything but a benevolent employer, but with the heat of the day, I worried over our oarsmen.

“Are they all right?” I asked, peering down through a small space, where I could glimpse men pulling hard on their oars.

“They're fine. And earning quite handsome pay. Now you must take your wished-for hour of silence and make it all worth
your
while.” He put his finger to his lips and smiled at me, then led me to the end of the boat, where there was a pile of pillows awaiting me.

I stared up at him. Once again, I felt the yawning distance between me and Montana, wondering just what sort of dreamscape I'd found myself in. I might as well have been Alice in her wonderland, so foreign was it.

He laughed and brushed a hand under my chin. “Honestly, Cora. Take it as the gift it is. I ask nothing in return.” He gestured toward the pillows, and I settled into them, realizing that they hid a lounge chair underneath. Pierre settled into another, several feet away, risking no sense of impropriety as a servant poured us tea and then set individual trays of tea sandwiches near each of us. We both faced forward, watching the chateau slowly edge nearer, as if we drifted on a cloud.

“How did you manage all of this?” I asked. “In just a morning's time?”

He put a finger to his lips, shushing me again, then tossed a small sandwich in his mouth and pulled a book and pencil from his pocket. The lone remaining servant on deck stood in the rear of the boat, steering it.

I'd asked for an hour of silence, in which nothing was required of me. An hour in which I could just be.

And he was giving it to me.

A part of me wished he'd simply come up by himself in a rowboat, but I supposed when one was raised in a chateau, with elaborate parties like we'd experienced last night, nothing so basic would do in a place like Versailles. His world was full of grand gestures.

I looked over at him, again opening my mouth to speak, but he shook his head, his handsome eyes crinkling at the corners with glee.

I gave in then, smiling with him.

After eating all of the tiny cucumber sandwiches, and several with tuna—or maybe they were sardines—a few brightly colored macaroons filled with raspberry cream, and two chocolates, I drained the last of my tea, leaned my head back, and listened to the rhythmic sound of the oars. It was soothing, the low rumble of a leader's call down below, the creak of them leaning forward, the
kerslup
as they dipped, the creak as they pulled backward, the drips as they raised and waited for the next languid pull.

I stared at the chateau but then closed my eyes, not wanting any more information in my head. No more pictures of things I wanted to memorize. No more effort in imagining Marie Antoinette and Louis here. I just wanted to
be
for a moment. With no one asking anything of me, no role to play, no hard feelings to soothe, no sorrow about yesterday, no fear about tomorrow. Just me. Being.

My breathing slowed, and I relaxed, my hands settled on the rough silk of the pillows, the lounge chair fitting me perfectly. For a moment I resisted, not wanting to waste my precious hour of escape on sleep, and then realizing that there really was no more perfect escape.

I remembered the song of the birds in the trees, echoing across the lake. And remembered meadowlarks at home, singing so sweetly…

“Miss. Miss,” a man said, shaking my shoulder.

I awakened with a start and sat up. Pierre was gone. The servant smiled at me. Obviously, he spoke no more English than “miss,” and he gestured to the chateau rising high above us, and Antonio waiting for me alongside the group's bicycles.

I'd been dreaming of Mr. Kensington's note. Of his words.
The question isn't how society defines you, nor how I define you, but rather how God defines you, and in turn, how you yourself want to be defined.

It made me think of my mother's words too.
You're about to find out what it means to be a Kensington… And what it doesn't.

I was a Kensington, but I was also a Diehl. Claiming both the name of my childhood as well as the name on my birth certificate was somehow key…

“Lord de Richelieu,” the footman said, lifting a stiff card in my direction, offering it to me.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, rising. I opened the card and sucked in my breath. Inside was a perfectly splendid and simple sketch of me sleeping on the lounge.
“L'ange au repos,”
was written beneath it. I wondered if my guess at the translation—angel in repose—was correct.

“Où est Seigneur de Richelieu?”
I asked, following the servant to the side of the boat and a new, wider plank to exit.
Where is Lord de Richelieu?

He raised a brow and shrugged his shoulders. I suspected he knew where Pierre had gone but had been instructed not to tell. I smiled and accepted his hand as I made my way down and over to Antonio.

Pierre had kept his promise, giving me an hour without asking for anything in return—not even waiting to accept my thanks. It had been a fine gift. An outrageous gift, but a fine one. The question lingered in my mind: how did it define me, to be courted by Pierre de Richelieu? And did I like that definition?

“You realize, of course, that this is merely part of Lord de Richelieu's ploy to win you with grand gestures,” Antonio said as I came near.

“I take it you do not approve.” We fell into step beside each other, climbing the massive staircase, and I accepted his offered arm, still feeling rather sleepy.

He shrugged. “Lord de Richelieu is like a beautiful gem on the beach. How can you pass him by?” He cocked his head. “But is he merely a beautiful bauble, or a jewel of worth? That remains to be seen.”

I smiled, inwardly hoping that Pierre might be a jewel. “Agreed. But that takes time to decipher, does it not?”

“Alas, the tour affords little time for such examinations. We are soon on to Provence. And perhaps that is just as well.”

Was he warning me? Trying to dissuade me from allowing Pierre's pursuit? His expression was difficult to read. “The others are already inside?”

“Yes. They were eager to see the grand chateau.”

“Mm, yes.”

“You are not eager?”

“I have already seen more grand homes than my mother has seen in her whole life,” I said. “And they are lovely…” I turned to him. “Why is it, Antonio, that we cannot continue to hold such places in the same esteem as we did with the first?”

“It is true. We lose our sense of awe,” he said, studying me with his dark eyes. “We become accustomed, and then only bigger and better impress us.”

“Indeed. I'm thankful I haven't lost all of it. I think I'll continue to appreciate the unique. But I look upon this”—I waved forward—“and think it's all a bit much, isn't it? What is the purpose? To impress your neighbors? Your friends? Why not house a city of orphans, feed the poor instead? Would that not be all the more impressive?” I shoved aside an arrow of guilt as I remembered I'd just stepped off a lavish boat worthy of dreams.

He smiled and nodded. “Agreed. But you must put it into context, Miss Cora. The men who built them. Their desire to control, conquer. It mattered not if they occupied but two rooms in this grand house.” He gestured toward it. “What it told the people of France was that they might be poor and starving, but their lot was to struggle, while the ruling class's lot was to live in splendor. It worked for a time, until the poor and starving had had enough and rebelled.”

“Good for them for rebelling, I say.”

He laughed and stared at me quizzically. “What has come over you, Miss Cora?”

I stared back at him, pondering his question. “Me,” I said at last. “I've overcome myself. I am who I am. And I think…I think I'm about to claim what's mine.”

~William~

Will's eyes narrowed as he watched Cora arrive on Antonio's arm. They were in the Hall of Mirrors, and every single reflective surface seemed to showcase the pleasing blush high on her cheeks, the bright sparkle in her eyes. The gilt chandeliers above made her golden hair shine. But she seemed intent on listening to the bear as he lectured, and slowly edged her way near.

“What happened to her?” Will whispered to Antonio as the man came to stand beside him.

Antonio shrugged and lifted his brows. “I know not. She came off the boat as you see her.”

So he'd recognized it too. Something that had shifted, changed for Cora.

Will searched over his shoulder for a glimpse of Pierre de Richelieu. Was it possible that the man had come to take her for a boat ride and then disappeared? After all that? Was he not lurking about, waiting to collect on a debt now owed? Or had he already received payment? Was that why Cora wore that tiny secret smile?

Will turned and abruptly strode toward the nearest double doors, which led to a porch outside. Once there, he leaned against the balustrade and took in great gulps of air. His imagination was running wild. Even if they had kissed, what did it matter? What right did he have to let it agitate him at all? He was merely a guide, a caring shoulder, nothing more to her—

He smelled the cigarette smoke before he turned. A glance over his shoulder confirmed it. Hugh.

Hugh grinned and tapped the ash off his cigarette over the edge of the balustrade. “What has you in such a state, man?”

Will attempted to move his expression to boredom as Hugh came to stand beside him. “If I see the Hall of Mirrors once more in my lifetime, it will be a hundred times too many.” Especially with Cora's face in every one…

“Come now. Don't play me the fool. Might it not be the lovely Cora that has you all up in arms?” Hugh took a deep draw on his cigarette and casually blew the smoke out his nostrils, all the while staring out at the gardens. “Must've grated, to see Lord de Richelieu sweep her away just as you might've coerced her from my blanket to yours.”

Will sighed and leaned on the balustrade as he stared out onto the massive gardens reminiscent of Richelieu's. “Go back to the group, Hugh,” he gritted out. “I think my uncle was looking for you.”

But Hugh stayed where he was. He took another pull on his cigarette and slowly let the smoke out so it billowed around them. Will resisted the urge to cough.

“What do you fear, Will? That you've lost her to that brash Frenchman?”

“You know nothing of what concerns me.”

“Don't I? Cora's just the sort of itch I long to scratch. You should've seen her at the lake, coming out of the water under the moonlight, her bathing costume clinging to every sweet inch—”

Will grabbed Hugh by the shirt and rammed him against the doors before he knew himself. Just like the night before.

Hugh only laughed, his breath coming at Will in disgusting waves, sweet with the scent of his French cigarettes. “Ahh, there it is again,” he said, staring into Will's eyes with triumph in his own. “Does she know?”

“You know nothing,” Will said, glimpsing the others inside, staring with wide eyes at them, on the other side of the glass. He dropped his hands.

“Right. Nothing,” Hugh said. “Why not just own up to it? Play your hand? See if she burns for you like you do her?”

Will shot him a look of fury, and Hugh laughed again, holding up his hands in surrender. “I'm only asking.”

“You ask too much. And you pry into business that is not your own.”

Hugh lifted his brows and pursed his lips. “If she's not your business, I'll keep trying to make her mine. Once her little crush on Richelieu is over, of course. He's doing the yeoman's work. Prying open her heart. Making her see that she might find love in her new world.”