The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (28 page)

“It is possible that she is our Madeleine,” M. Larrabee said in a hopeful whisper.

“I imagine anything is possible, yet I hesitate because she does not seem to acknowledge any past involving a family or a fiancé. I have asked for her to be brought to greet you, then we shall see.”

M. Larrabee looked at the duke, finally understanding he was merely a victim of circumstance. “Your Grace, I appreciate your hospitality and consideration.”

Carole entered the parlor with a tray of tea.

“I expect you are tired after a long trip. Please, sit.” Gideon motioned to the settee as he and Perry took the two chairs across from them.

“I must warn you, Francine isn’t able to speak. She hurt her throat in the accident, and it hasn’t improved entirely. Of course, she’s been able to communicate using sign language. I’m assuming now that it’s the French derivation.” he said, watching them. It eased him a bit that they didn’t seem to understand. “I happen to have an architect working on the manor who is also adept with sign language. I have asked him to join us, though I suppose if she is your daughter, you would also be familiar with it.”

They both looked confused.

Stapleton opened the door to the parlor and Francine walked in.

M. and Mme. Larrabee both stood, then Mme. Larrabee ran to Francine, hugging her tightly, before Gideon and Perry even had a chance to stand upright.

Perry instinctively put his hand out to grasp Gideon’s arm, but he was too late; his brother was already across the room, next to Francine.

“
Ah, ma fille précieuse
?
Est-tu bien
?
Le Duc, il dit que tu ne peux pas parler, c’est vrai
? Madeleine?
Mon petit chou
?” Mme. Larrabee went on in rapid-fire French. “
Monsieur
!
Qu’est cet
?” the woman asked, looking at Gideon.

Gideon watched Francine’s eyes as the small woman fussed. “Madame, I must insist you unhand her,” he said firmly when he saw panic reach Francine’s eyes. She looked quite terrified, and Gideon felt instantly protective. “Madame, Monsieur Larrabee, sit down!” Gideon ordered.

M. Larrabee rushed to his wife and took her into his arms to comfort her.

“You can see she doesn’t recognize either of you. There is no need to terrify her.” Gideon put his hand on Francine’s back to steady her.

“Let us be seated, and have some tea, and attempt to discuss this rationally,” Perry said, ever the diplomat, motioning to the chairs.

M. Larrabee walked to the settee with his arms around his wife, easing her down. She was weeping and trying to convince him of something in French.

“
Je sais, je sais, s’il te plait mari, un moment
.
S’il te plait
,” M. Larrabee said. She nodded as he handed her a handkerchief and she blotted her eyes, attempting to quell her tears.

Gideon steered Francine to the chair next to his. He wanted to be closer to her, to hold her hand, but if this did turn out to be her father then there was no sense in enraging his feelings of propriety by handling his daughter in an untoward fashion. It made his skin ache and his heart wrench to be unable to comfort her.

Perry could see the effect of the situation on his brother and decidedly took over the conversation to move attention from Gideon and Francine before any inappropriate conduct could be insinuated.

“Monsieur Larrabee, are we to understand that you believe Francine to be your missing daughter Madeleine?” he asked.

Francine’s heart sank. She shook her head violently and stood from the chair, but Gideon grasped her wrist and pulled her back before she could speak. He placed her hand on the arm of his chair, hoping to offer some bit of reassurance that he wouldn’t let them remove her, particularly if she were unwilling.

She looked at her hand, then up to Gideon’s eyes, which bid her hold his gaze. She forgot the rest of the room, losing herself in the iridescent depths.

Perry drew the attention back to him. “Monsier Larrabee?”

“Yes, my lord, this is our Madeleine,” he said, gesturing toward her. “Our
fille
, our Madeleine, she was betrothed to Lord Hepplewort when she was of ten years. He came to France one month past to bring her to England to be married. If you ask what our daughter looks like, our answer is this girl. I would swear an oath on the Bible that this is our Madeleine.”

Every word he spoke drove her heart faster, but at that moment Stapleton announced Mr. Shaw and everyone turned.

“Your Grace, my lord,” Shaw said, looking from one to the other.

Gideon stood and spoke quietly to Mr. Shaw, who then took the chair next to Francine and began signing.

The Larrabees watched the silent exchange, astounded, as Gideon looked on intently.

“Where did your daughter learn to speak with the deaf?” he asked quite bluntly.

M. Larrabee stood. “She did not, she does not. I do not know what this is. This is our Madeleine, but I do not know this,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Francine’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest.

Gideon wasn’t sure what to think.

Shaw stood and, leaning toward Gideon, began to quietly explain to him what Francine had said. But M. Larrabee interrupted.

“If she has said something, we have every right to know it.”

Gideon looked at him, then nodded at Shaw, who sighed and began to explain.

“Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee? Miss Francine has said that she does not know you,” he said.

“Is that all?” M. Larrabee asked.

Shaw glanced at Gideon, who nodded. “She was quite empathetic.” Shaw paused. “More specifically, she said she doesn’t recognize you at all, in any fashion. She feels no sort of connection with either of you. She doesn’t speak French and she doesn’t know who you are or what you want, and will not go anywhere with you.”

M. Larrabee looked directly at Gideon. “I would like to speak with Your Grace in private.”

Perry started to shake his head, but Gideon waved him off. “Go find Marcus,” he said, holding his brother’s attention.

Shaw was confused, then seeing the crooked smile on Perry’s face, comprehension dawned. Then Gideon turned to him.

“Mr. Shaw, would you mind attending the ladies?”

Shaw nodded and glanced between the women, who were examining each other carefully as though each wished to know their opponent before waging battle.

Gideon looked at M. Larrabee and motioned to the door. “My study is this way. We can speak privately there.” M. Larrabee nodded, following Gideon from the room.

As soon as they were out of sight, Perry followed.

Francine looked at Mme. Larrabee. She held a certain familiarity for her; her face held a reminiscent countenance that she couldn’t quite place, like a long lost relative you have only seen in old photographs. Before her panic could set in, she placed her hand on Mr. Shaw’s to get his attention.

He looked at her as she began to sign. “Madame Larrabee, Francine says she is saddened by your grief. She wishes she could help somehow. She doesn’t remember much before the accident, but she remembers her name, and feels as though if you were her mother, no matter what had happened, she would feel something when she saw you. But she has felt nothing, just as she has felt nothing for any—” Mr. Shaw stopped when she did, gesturing for her to continue, but she didn’t. Mme. Larrabee looked at her.

“Nothing for what,
ma fille
?” Mme. Larrabee asked.

Francine shook her head, not wanting to finish the thought. She did feel something after the accident—she felt a very distinct pull toward one person: Gideon. She was desperately drawn to him, as if a memory of him had been born with her. She was irrevocably his, no matter where she had come from or where she was going. That bond could not be broken.

It must be what had drawn her from her own time, brought her here. She was suddenly terrified that she might be taken away by the Larrabees, more so than before, when she’d worried that she would awaken from this life to be spirited back to Denver and the 21st century, where she had come from.

She looked at Shaw, shaking her head, and Shaw nodded. “I beg your pardon, madame. She is quite tired, and still recovering.”

“
Je comprends
,
eu
, I understand. I only want her to find comfort,
eu
, to find herself. I believe
dans ma cœur
,
eu
, my heart, that she will remember,” she said as she gazed at Francine. “Your name is Madeleine Adelais Larrabee. You are born
le cinq Février mille huit cent soixante-deux
. You are the second of our
quatre belles filles
,” she said as she held up four fingers, pointing at the second. Then, pointing at the first finger, she continued. “
Votre sœur
Aisling is the
plus vielle
, and Amélie and Maryse are at home in Lisieux,
prés du Port de Havre
. Your fiancé is Lord Hepplewort, the Earl of Shropshire, and he also look for you. He will expect us to arrive with you soon.”

Francine’s heart beat rapidly. Something about that name sent it pounding against the inside of her ribcage. Her hand stole to her chest, pressing back against the heavy beats.
Madeleine,
she thought,
Madeleine Adelais
. She was the girl from the portrait. Shaw glanced at her and she started signing rapidly:
I have no sisters, there are no sisters, I have no family, please don’t listen, don’t believe her
. Her hands shook, and her breath quickened. Francine panicked.

“Madame, please. I must beg of you to stop. I must protest. She is obviously distraught,” Shaw said, catching only part of what she tried to tell him.

Francine sat quietly, her mind racing. She didn’t have sisters. Her parents were dead. They carried her family’s name—Larrabee—and the only other facts of significance were the rambling words of her father’s thesis. She shook her head, looking down. He had been right all along and it was one thing to believe something in theory, quite another to believe it in truth.

Gideon walked into his study, motioning to the sideboard. “Can I offer you a brandy, Monsieur Larrabee? I believe this situation warrants. I happen to have an exceptional 1864 Raynal Cognac,” he said as he poured himself a snifter of the fine French brandy. He turned to Larrabee, who smiled and nodded. Gideon handed it to him and poured a second, then walked to the chairs in front of the grate, gesturing for Larrabee to sit. “What is it you would like to discuss?” he asked.

Larrabee warmed the brandy, swirling it in the glass between his palms. “Perhaps I should explain, more clearly, my position on this situation. My daughters are raised most of their lives in convent, for
garantie leur chasteté et leur
innocence. You understand? I make a promise to the betrothed, and in return, they make
une promesse
,
eu
, a pledge to my family, for our dedication.”

Gideon was beginning to understand. Larrabee sold his daughters’ maidenhead for profit. He stifled a groan.
Grotesque,
Gideon thought as he cleared his throat and steadied his features.

“It is not different from your girls here being chaste for marriage,” Larrabee said defensively.

“Except for a few details. My understanding of your practice is that there is a complete lack of explanation, none whatsoever, to the young girl of what will happen to her. She’s not even instructed in basic anatomy. Girls raised in this manner are led much as lambs to slaughter. I imagine it would be a terrifying position to be in,” Gideon said coldly, rolling the balloon between his palms to avoid crushing it with his fingers.