The Paris Affair (26 page)

“She wouldn’t be the first woman to feign grief over a lover. Or perhaps she really did feel it. Never held much call with it myself, but agents have been known to be struck by guilt. I’d have thought you knew quite a bit about that.”

“As it happens.” Far more than Tatiana, actually. But even Tania hadn’t been entirely immune to twinges of guilt. Malcolm remembered the suspicious streaks of damp on her face after a young French lieutenant she’d seduced had died in an ambush in Spain. An ambush she had instigated.

“Nothing to be done about it, I suppose,” Dewhurst said. “She’s dead and beyond retribution. But I’m relieved to have the mystery solved.”

“If it is solved.”

Dewhurst shot him a look. “Not as free of illusions as you claim, are you, boy?”

“Perhaps. I’ve also learned it can be a mistake to accept the obvious explanation.”

 

The scent of orange trees wafted from the orangerie as a breeze rippled across the Jardin du Luxembourg. Gabrielle Caruthers sat with her sketch pad by the Medici Fountain, Marie de’ Medici’s fanciful re-creation of Renaissance Florentine style, set in a statue-filled grotto. Gabrielle’s little boy twirled a top nearby under the watchful eye of his nurse. Gabrielle looked up at Suzanne and Colin’s approach and to Suzanne’s relief smiled. “Mrs. Rannoch. And Colin. Would you like to play with Stephen? I know he’d be glad of company his own age.”

Colin grinned and ran forwards. He and Stephen were soon happily engaged taking turns with the top. “It’s a gift to make friends easily,” Gabrielle said. “I don’t think I ever quite had it.”

“Colin seems to take everything in stride,” Suzanne said, settling her muslin skirts as she sank into a chair beside Gabrielle. “I think it’s a happy side effect of the unhappy fact of spending his early years in a war-torn country. It reassures me that we weren’t horribly selfish to drag him about with us.”

“Children are amazing.” Gabrielle rested her chin in her hand, watching the boys. “Whatever becomes of a marriage, one knows one will always have them.”

Suzanne had thought much the same herself on more than one occasion. What she hadn’t anticipated properly was how Malcolm’s tie to Colin would tie her to Malcolm as well. “It’s a bond I had no conception of,” she said. “Not until Colin was born.”

Gabrielle turned her head and looked into Suzanne’s eyes, her own clear and open in the afternoon sunlight. “You know, don’t you? About Rupert and Bertrand?”

Suzanne returned the other woman’s gaze. “I’m afraid murder investigations dredge up all sorts of secrets. Your husband told you?”

Gabrielle nodded, as though she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“I’m glad he told you. But it must have been a shock.”

Gabrielle gave a dry laugh. “Everyone keeps behaving as though I’m a sheltered girl still in the schoolroom. It’s not as though I’ve never heard of such things. To own the truth, once Rupert told me I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.”

Suzanne thought of the weeks last autumn when she’d been convinced Tatiana Kirsanova was Malcolm’s mistress. “It can’t have been easy.”

“Easier in some ways than having a woman as a rival. At least now I understand why he never—” Gabrielle swallowed. The pulse beat rapidly in her throat just below the blue satin ribbons that fastened her bonnet. “Why he never could desire me.”

Suzanne gripped her hands together. That at least was something she had never found lacking in her relationship with Malcolm. For a moment, the startling intimacy of her wedding night was vivid in her mind. She had been playacting, years of experience subsumed into the role of a girl who had known only violence, yet she had rarely experienced desire that was so honest. “You were caught in an intolerable situation.”

“That’s what Rupert said. But knowing about him and Bertrand doesn’t change my gratitude to Rupert for coming to my rescue.” Gabrielle looked down at her hands, ungloved and smeared with pencil. “I’ll own at times thinking it over I’ve been angry. I smashed one of my scent bottles, and I nearly broke a jewelry casket Rupert gave me for our first anniversary. But even then I was angrier at the situation than at Rupert. He’s as trapped as I am, and he’s actually been faithful to his vows. I think because what he felt for Bertrand was so strong he can’t bring himself to seek such intimacy again. I only wish—” She drew a breath, as though parched for something she could not name. “I could see the depth of what he felt for Bertrand. I should like to experience that myself, not the pale counterfeit I found with Antoine.”

Suzanne had often felt the same, looking at David and Simon and other couples who shared startling intimacy. Now, at moments, she wondered if perhaps she and Malcolm had it themselves. “It’s a rare thing,” she said. “And something not many find in their marriages.”

“But you did.”

“Perhaps.”

Gabrielle looked up as her son gave a sudden shriek of delight. “Rupert won’t let his father see Stephen now. I can still scarcely take it in. That Lord Dewhurst was behind Bertrand’s death—”

“You were fond of your father-in-law?”

Gabrielle twisted a stray blond ringlet round her finger. “He was always kind to me. It was rare to find an English aristocrat so welcoming to an émigrée. Now I understand that it wasn’t me at all. He was relieved to see Rupert married to a woman, any woman.” She swallowed and jabbed the ringlet back beneath the chip straw brim of her bonnet. “I hate that I helped his plans along, however unwittingly.”

“Your cousin Étienne had worked for him as well.”

“And went off to his death on Dewhurst’s orders. No, I suppose there I wrong Dewhurst, much as I despise him. Étienne was eager enough—filled with thoughts of honor and dreams of glory. I’ll never understand men. Women are much more practical.”

Suzanne nodded, though she knew full well what it was to be driven by a cause. “Did you correspond with Étienne at all after he went to France?”

Gabrielle fortunately didn’t appear surprised by the question. “Yes. He had a courier system to report to Lord Dewhurst, and he was able to include letters to us. He wrote to me more than to anyone in the family, actually. Somehow he seemed to find it easier to talk to me.”

“Perhaps that had to do with what he wanted to talk about.”

Gabrielle drew a breath, then hesitated. The splash of the fountain against the elaborate stone of the grotto echoed through the garden.

“Lady Caruthers,” Suzanne said, “was your cousin in love with a woman in France?”

Gabrielle’s blue eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“From something Malcolm and I’ve learned, it seems Étienne may have become involved with a woman called Tatiana Kirsanova. She was murdered in Vienna last autumn. She was a friend of Malcolm’s.”

Gabrielle nodded. “I’ve heard—” Confusion shot through her gaze. “That is—”

“You’ve heard the gossip about Malcolm and Princess Tatiana. But I’m sure you know better than to believe all the gossip you hear. As it happens they weren’t lovers. Though for some weeks I believed they were.”

“That must have been beastly.”

“Yes. It was hellish. I scarcely realized my own capacity for jealousy until then. And yet when she was murdered I was more concerned for Malcolm than anything.”

Gabrielle nodded. “Last night when Rupert told me about Bertrand, I could only think that I hadn’t been able to comfort him properly.” She folded her sketch pad. “Étienne never said—He never told me the woman’s name.”

“So he did confide in you about a love affair?”

“Yes. I can’t believe—” Gabrielle’s gaze fastened on the white marble statue of Venus in her bath that the architect Jean Chalgrin had recently added to the fountain’s grotto. “He said it was the last thing he’d ever expected, to meet the love of his life in Paris. That he couldn’t forgive himself for dragging her into danger. That it was a terrible irony that they’d met when so much was at stake. You know the sort of thing young men say when they fancy themselves in love. But I never thought the woman he wrote about was an—” She bit back the word.

“An adventuress?”

Gabrielle flushed. “I’m the last person who should be using such words about another woman. But Étienne was more the sort to fall for a helpless ingénue than a powerful woman. And the tone of his letters was that of a man in love who truly believed the feeling was returned.”

“From the stories I’ve heard, Princess Tatiana gave the impression she was very much in love with your cousin.”

“A penniless émigré who, much as I loved him, would have probably appeared callow to an experienced woman?”

Lord Stewart’s incredulity at her marriage to Malcolm echoed in Suzanne’s head. “Love can take people by surprise. Do you think the woman your cousin loved could have been involved in the plot against Napoleon?”

Gabrielle gave a surprised laugh. “My cousin Étienne was the sort to want to protect the woman he loved, not expose her to danger.”

“My husband occasionally has those tendencies, but fortunately he overcomes them. I doubt such behavior would have found favor with Princess Tatiana, either.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Étienne said—He said she was brave. Which surprised me. That wasn’t the way I’d have expected him to talk about the woman he loved.”

“Did Antoine Rivère say anything to you about Étienne’s lover? Or about the plot?”

Gabrielle stiffened. For a moment, Suzanne saw the defenses slam into place in her eyes. Stephen’s and Colin’s giggles echoed across the garden in the stillness. Then some of the tension drained from Gabrielle’s shoulders. “You know. Though I suppose there’s no need for secrecy now that Antoine is dead. He was concerned about the repercussions if it became known he’d been plotting against France’s government. Even by the Royalists.”

“How long have you known?”

“Antoine told me. It was how we first—how we first became acquainted.” Gabrielle picked up a pencil that had fallen beside her chair and tucked it into its case. “He came up to me at the opera and told me he’d had the good fortune to know my cousin and that he was a brave man. At first I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Étienne or Bertrand. Then I realized he must be the third man who had worked with Étienne and our cousin Christian. I was surprised he admitted it to me, given his worry about his involvement getting out.”

“I expect he had his reasons for wanting to find favor with you.”

Gabrielle flushed, then smiled. “Perhaps. He seemed to trust me, which was a bit seductive in itself. Rupert isn’t much in the habit of confiding in me. At least he wasn’t. And I liked being able to talk about Étienne.”

“What did Rivère tell you?”

Gabrielle pleated a blue-sprigged muslin fold of her skirt between her fingers. “That at first he’d taken Étienne for something of an idle fribble, a spoiled young aristo with dreams of glory. But that Étienne had surprised him with his determination and his ingenuity.”

“Did he mention Étienne’s mistress?”

“I asked about her.” Gabrielle hesitated a moment, waved to the boys, who were now running races in front of the fountain. “He said that without her, they might have pulled it off.”

“Did he mean she was a distraction?”

“What else could he have meant?” Gabrielle’s gaze skimmed over Suzanne’s face. “You think Princess Tatiana is the one who betrayed them?”

“There’s no evidence to suggest that.”

“But you think it’s a possibility.” Gabrielle watched Suzanne closely.

“There are a number of possibilities.”

“Someone betrayed them.”

“Who did Rivère think it was?”

“He didn’t know who. Or why it was only Étienne who was betrayed. Only that he’d be forever grateful to Étienne for not betraying him and Christian.” Gabrielle rubbed her arms, bare below the puffed sleeves of her gown. “I didn’t always believe the things Antoine said to me. But that had the ring of truth.”

“Do you think your cousin Christian knows more?”

“Perhaps. To own the truth, I don’t know Christian well. Until these past few weeks I hadn’t seen him since I was a baby. I confess I find it hard to imagine him involved in a secret plot. He’s a great admirer of a friend of yours.”

“Of mine?”

“Dorothée Talleyrand.”

CHAPTER 21

Malcolm rapped at the door of Talleyrand’s study once and then strode into the room. He stood on less ceremony with the prince than he had in Vienna.

“Malcolm.” Talleyrand looked up from the papers on the desk before him with so little surprise that Malcolm wondered if the prince could recognize his step on the stairs. He wouldn’t put it past Talleyrand for a minute. “An unexpected pleasure.”

Malcolm pushed the door to and advanced to stand before the desk. “Did you put Tatiana up to her affair with Étienne Laclos?”

Talleyrand stared at him for the length of a half-dozen heartbeats, then raised his brows. “My dear boy—”

“You’ve rather exhausted the feigned innocence, sir. Particularly where Tania is concerned.”

Talleyrand gave him a smile of acknowledgment. “Étienne Laclos wasn’t a trained agent. He had adequate cover for slipping into France, but it was obvious early on he’d been sent by your government. I needed to find out what he was up to.”

“And when you did know?”

The brows lifted again, this time with pretension-dampening hauteur. “They were plotting to take my sovereign’s life.”

“Quite.”

Talleyrand gave a laugh and waved a hand towards a shield-back chair beside his desk. “God knows Bonaparte and I had our disagreements, but I don’t recall anyone ever accusing me of having designs on his life.”

“Nor do I.” Malcolm dropped into the chair, not taking his gaze from Talleyrand’s face. “Which doesn’t mean—”

Talleyrand adjusted a crystal paperweight that anchored a stack of papers beside his elbow. “I won’t ask you to have faith in my morals, Malcolm, but you should have the wit to believe me when I point out that assassination of a leader leaves a dangerous vacuum. I’ve seen enough of chaos in my life to deplore a vacuum.”

Malcolm scanned Talleyrand’s face. His only prayer of keeping up with the prince was to keep all his wits about him, and even then Talleyrand had the edge. “So it was you and Tania who put an end to the plot.”

“No, as it happens.” Talleyrand’s fingers curled round the paperweight. “We planned to, if they ever got so far as putting it into action. But someone else betrayed them first.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Nor could I ever find out. Tania was furious. She’d developed quite an affection for Étienne Laclos. She’d made me promise that when we put an end to the plot, Étienne be allowed to escape.”

“She tried to hide him.”

“Yes, I know. And when he was arrested, she begged me to intervene. Begged, entreated, threatened, wheedled. I’ve never seen even Tania run such a gamut of emotions. But of course there was a limit to what I could do. I could hardly let it be said I’d come to the aid of a traitor in the pay of the British with designs on the emperor’s life.” He stared down at the sunlight bouncing off the crystal of the paperweight. “I think it was one of the worst quarrels Tatiana and I ever had. She wouldn’t speak to me for weeks afterwards.”

“And then she asked you to help her leave Paris quietly.”

“A few months later, yes.”

Malcolm drew a breath. “Do you think Étienne Laclos was the father of her child?”

Talleyrand’s eyes narrowed.

“You can’t tell me you never considered it.”

“No, it was an obvious possibility. The strongest argument against it was that it’s difficult then to see the reason for such overwhelming secrecy. For the actual birth, yes, she wouldn’t have wanted open scandal. But to fear any whisper of mention of the father’s name—?”

“Perhaps she didn’t want it known she’d been the lover of a traitor.”

“That would have garnered her sympathy in some circles. Especially after Bonaparte was exiled.”

“Could she have feared vengeance?”

“From whom? The Lacloses were in England. Christian Laclos was hardly the sort for anyone to fear, let alone Tatiana, who could run rings round him without trying.”

“Could she have been afraid it would come out that she’d betrayed Étienne?”

Talleyrand’s brows lifted. “I told you, we didn’t—”

“You didn’t. Could Tania have done it on her own?”

Talleyrand didn’t give the quick denial Malcolm more than half-expected. He sat back in his chair, fingers loose on the ink blotter. “I won’t deny I’ve thought of it. But if you’d seen her concern for Laclos—” He shrugged his satin-clad shoulders. “Then again I’m the last to put store in emotional outbursts.”

“You didn’t take Rivère into custody.”

“No. As I told you, I found it useful to watch Rivère. I was rather annoyed that whoever exposed the plot had disrupted one of my best sources. At least the damage was contained to Étienne Laclos.”

“What about the gold?”

“Gold?”

“Dewhurst told me the gold to fund the plot was never recovered.”

“And you’re asking if it found its way into French coffers?”

“Can you blame me?”

“No. Any more than I can expect you to believe me when I deny it.”

“We’re not going to see Manon Caret.” Aline looked up as Suzanne dropped into the chair beside her at the rail of their box in the Comédie-Française. “Apparently she’s ill. Such a pity. She even makes me enjoy all that declamation in Racine, and I’ve never seen anyone I liked so much as Countess Almaviva.”

“Sometimes an understudy can surprise one,” Suzanne said in a steady voice. She still didn’t know if Manon had made it safely out of Paris. Or if Raoul had safely returned.

“I imagine there are gentlemen sighing all over the theatre.” Cordelia settled her skirts—black opera net over seafoam satin—as she seated herself beside Suzanne.

“Yes, I think even Geoff isn’t immune to Mademoiselle Caret’s charms,” Aline said. “She’s rather a thinking man’s Aphrodite.”

“Have you heard?” Dorothée brushed through the curtains at the back of the box.

“That Manon Caret is ill?” Aline asked.

“But she isn’t.” Dorothée dropped into a chair in the row behind them in a swirl of jade crêpe and Pomona green satin. “At least not according to the gossip I’ve been hearing. They say the management’s put it about that she’s ill, but in fact she’s disappeared from Paris. There are even odds on whether she’s run off with a lover or disappeared to escape her creditors.”

“I would think it would take something more serious for an actress to forego her profession,” Cordelia said, glancing down at the programme in her lap. “I doubt a mere man would do it and surely a woman in her position could evade creditors. Don’t you think, Suzanne?”

“Quite.” Suzanne was scanning the boxes with her opera glasses. She caught sight of a familiar graying dark brown head and sharp profile across the theatre. The constriction in her chest eased. Raoul had made it back to Paris.

“But plenty of people have reason to flee Paris these days,” Aline said. “Was Mademoiselle Caret political?”

“Not particularly,” Dorothée said. “She was rumored to have a liaison with Jerome Bonaparte, but then any number of actresses have been connected to the Bonapartes. Look at Mademoiselle Georges’s success, and she was linked to the emperor himself.”

“Perhaps it was something that wasn’t common knowledge,” Aline said. “Suzanne, have you heard anything?”

“No,” Suzanne assured her husband’s cousin. Why did lying seem more of a strain these days? This was the sort of deception that should be second nature to her. “But then I’m hardly in the confidence of the minister of police. Doro, I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I understand Christian Laclos is one of your cavaliers.”

“Yes, that’s why I came. That is, I wouldn’t call Christian a cavalier, but he comes to my salons. He’s quite sweet in a bumbling sort of way. Willie told me. That you might want to talk to him. . . .” Dorothée hesitated.

“Don’t mind us,” Aline said. “We’re used to secrets with Malcolm and Suzanne.”

“And it’s not exactly surprising that Suzanne would want to talk to a Laclos cousin,” Cordelia said.

“Can you help me talk to him at the interval?” Suzanne asked Dorothée.

“Yes, of course. You know I’ve been longing to help.”

Malcolm, Harry, and Geoffrey came through the curtains from the anteroom, and Dorothée left to go to her sister’s box. Her thoughts with Manon, wherever she might be, Suzanne settled in to watch
Phèdre
. With the part of her mind that could focus on the stage, she noted that the understudy was giving a quite creditable performance but lacked Manon’s sparkle and fire.

Dorothée found her in the salon during the first interval. “Stewart’s already drunk,” Doro said, slipping her arm through Suzanne’s. “I don’t know how Willie stands it.”

“Love can cloud the mind.”

“I can’t believe Willie loves him.” She glanced up at Suzanne. “I wasn’t sure how much Lady Cordelia and Aline knew.”

“They don’t know about the child.”

“I’m honored Malcolm told Willie and me. There’s Christian.”

“Madame la comtesse
.
”
Christian Laclos pushed back his chair, getting his feet tangled up with the rungs. He made a grab for the gilded chairback, knocked the chair forwards, and jostled the table, spattering champagne from his glass onto the marble surface. “Terribly sorry.” He righted the chair and stepped away from it as though it were a dog liable to bite. “Won’t you sit down?” He pulled out two more chairs from the table, with great care.

“Thank you.” Dorothée sank into one of the chairs, settling the crêpe and satin folds of her skirt with care. “You know Madame Rannoch, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. That is, I don’t know that we’ve been properly introduced, but one can’t fail but to be aware of Madame Rannoch.” Christian sketched a bow and nearly collided with the table again. He had disordered brown hair cut into a fashionable Brutus crop and wore a well-cut coat and high shirt points.

Suzanne sank into a chair beside Dorothée. “I’m sorry we’ve interrupted you.”

“No. Not in the least.” Christian tugged a handkerchief from his sleeve and blotted the spilled champagne. He turned to summon a waiter, but Dorothée had already done so with a simple lift of a finger.

The waiter brought Suzanne and Dorothée champagne. Christian returned to his chair without mishap. “Jolly good show, as the British would say. Pity about Manon Caret, but the actress is charming. Of course not quite as much of a spectacle as the Waterloo ballet at the opera last week.”

Suzanne’s gloved fingers tightened on the beaded strap of her reticule. The ballet had re-created the battle in great detail and had ended with an English officer presenting a French officer he had taken prisoner to the Frenchman’s mistress, who had believed him dead. They had knelt and kissed the hem of the English officer’s garment before dancing the finale. The French audience had gone wild with applause. Suzanne hadn’t known whether to laugh or to cry.

“Certainly memorable, though to me it didn’t seem in quite the best taste.” Dorothée took a sip of champagne. “You must be wondering why we wanted to see you,” she said with one of her charming smiles.

“No. Yes. That is, always a pleasure to see you of course,
madame la comtesse
.”

“I fear it’s about your cousin.”

“Gabrielle? Is anything the matter with her? Just saw her across the theatre. Looked perfectly lovely. Or Gui? Has he got himself into some sort of trouble?”

“No.” Dorothée set down her glass. “Étienne.”

Christian’s champagne glass tilted in his fingers. Dorothée righted it before it could spatter over the table again. “It must have been very hard to lose him.”

“Yes. That is—I didn’t know him well. Just a boy when they all left Paris. And I didn’t realize—”

“It’s all right, Christian.” Dorothée squeezed his hand. “We know about the plot. We know you were part of it. It’s nothing to hide now. You should be proud.”

Christian dragged his glass closer and took a quick swallow. “Seems mad now. But we thought it could work. Étienne was fearfully clever. I just mentioned about a line about the security at Malmaison in a letter to him. No one was more shocked than I was when Étienne said he was coming to France in secret and had to see me. He arrived with the whole plot worked out.” Christian stared into the glass for a moment, then took another swallow. “To own the truth, I was more than half-inclined to refuse to get involved. Wanted Bonaparte gone as much as the next man, of course. Well, the next Royalist. But never thought to take a hand personally. Not really my thing. Had a job, an income. Managing to get along. Which isn’t easy in Paris. Wasn’t easy. Well, still isn’t for that matter.” He shifted in his chair.

“But—?” Dorothée said gently.

“Family, you know. Étienne was family, for all we hadn’t seen each other since we were boys. And he was so sure he could make it work. Change the future of France. Bit hard not to get caught up in that.”

“And Monsieur Rivère worked with you as well,” Suzanne said.