Before Sophia could ask Elizabeth what she meant and demand to know what had happened
to her cousin, Elizabeth suddenly put down her teacup and rose to her feet. She leaned
over to kiss Sophia’s cheek.
“I must go now,” she said. “But I hope we will see each other again before I leave
Paris. You don’t need to see me out. I remember the way.”
She lowered the veil on her bonnet and hurried out of the room, leaving only a trace
of violet perfume in the air. Sophia went to the window and glanced out to see Elizabeth
being handed into her carriage on the street below.
For a moment, Sophia wondered if she had imagined the whole encounter. It had been
so long since she saw any member of her family. Now there was the hint that she could
be welcomed back as she had hoped, if only she did what a Huntington should. If she
found a staid, dull husband and settled down.
But staid and dull never seemed to be interested in her. All she seemed to find were
men as complicated and difficult as Jack, Lord Hammond—and Dominic.
Dominic St. Claire was
definitely
not staid. And a St. Claire would be the last person her family would consider
acceptable. Aidan had left the family when he married Lily St. Claire, and Sophia
envied him. He had found himself, found happiness, when he found love. But she would
never be so lucky as Aidan. Surely it was better to take this opening and find a way
to return to her family, as she had hoped.
The salon door opened and Camille hurried in amid a rustle of feathers and ruffles.
“Sophie, did you have a caller?” she asked as she unpinned her hat. “I saw a grand
carriage pulling away. It must have been someone terribly interesting.”
“Yes, but I am sorry to disappoint you and your matchmaking, Camille,” Sophia said
with a laugh. “It was not a gentleman admirer, but my cousin Elizabeth, Lady Severn.”
“Ah, so sad! I was sure it was a fascinating man. But I thought you said you were
estranged from your family now?” Camille went to examine the tea tray and nibbled
at one of the untouched sandwiches.
“I am. I haven’t see Elizabeth in ages, but she happened to catch a glimpse of me
at the theater.”
“Oh, yes, the theater.” Camille gave her a mischievous smile. “You quite vanished
there for a while, Sophie. As did the handsome Monsieur Dominic.”
“I got lost amid all the scenery backstage,” Sophia said, trying to sound careless.
Trying not to remember what had really happened there on the walkway. “He helped me
find my way.”
“Did he indeed?” Camille said, much too innocently. “How kind of him.”
“Yes. Very kind.”
“Well, then,
c’est vrai.
At least you are not still
wandering around lost backstage, or you could not attend our little al fresco luncheon
tomorrow.”
“Al fresco luncheon?” Sophia said, glad of the change of subject. She left the window
and went to see if there was any tea left. “Are we having a party?”
“
We
are not, but my friend Madame Dumas is. I saw her while I was out shopping, and she
invited us to accompany a group to Montmartre for a little country outing. Count Danilov,
that Russian who has been courting me so charmingly, will be there, and he is bringing
friends. And I think the fresh air would do you good.”
“Who else will be there?” Sophia asked suspiciously. Camille had let the topic of
Dominic drop a bit too easily.
Camille shrugged. “No one in particular, I suppose. Just some friends. Do say you
will come, Sophie! It will be such fun.”
Sophia laughed. Such fun—like when she indulged in too much champagne last night,
trying to forget what had happened with Dominic? But she had to admit a country picnic
did sound lovely. She had been in the city for too long. “Very well, then, I will
go. But I warn you, no matchmaking…”
“Is everything all right, my lady?”
Elizabeth smiled wearily at her maid as she handed her the veiled bonnet. Meg had
been with her for a long time, through all the painful years with Severn, and she
seemed to have a sense for when Elizabeth was feeling low.
For when the evil lure of the opium called to her again.
But this was not one of those times. “Quite all right, Meg. I am just a bit tired.”
“Were you shopping today?”
“No, I had a better errand than that. I called on a family member I have not seen
in a long while.”
“A family member, my lady? Here in Paris?”
“Yes. Perhaps you remember her? Lady Sophia. She is Mrs. Westman now.” As the maid
bustled around putting things into wardrobes, Elizabeth sat down at her vanity and
drew the pins from her hair. She sighed as the heavy mass tumbled down, easing her
headache.
“Lady Sophia? Of course I remember her,” Meg exclaimed. “Why, the two of you used
to run wild over the duke’s estate. It has been ever so long since you saw her, my
lady.”
“Yes. Much too long.” Elizabeth closed her eyes against the image in her mirror, and
for a moment she was sixteen again, riding across her uncle’s land with Sophia. The
two of them laughing as their horses hurtled over jumps and they raced each other
through the woods, as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
And back then they hadn’t. They were young, spoiled, free, the best of friends, as
they giggled together over romantic poetry. Before the real world closed in on them,
the expectations and obligations of being Huntingtons. Before her parents arranged
her disastrous marriage to Severn.
Before she lost the man she really loved, Brendan St. Claire, in such a horrible way.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and found herself staring back from the glass. That all
seemed so very long ago, and yet sometimes it seemed only a brief moment back in time.
She could see his face so clearly, feel his kiss. But Brendan was gone completely
from her life. Surely she would never see him again except from a distance.
And Severn was gone, too, the long nightmare of their marriage over at last. She hadn’t
touched a drop of opium in months, and she was beginning to make a new start in her
life. A good first step would be to renew her lost friendship with Sophia, so she
had leaped at the chance to intercede when Sophia’s mother asked for her help.
Not that being in the smothering embrace of the Huntington fold was always such a
good thing. Maybe Sophia was happy to have escaped. But at least they could be together
again, as they were when they were girls. Elizabeth wanted to make amends for not
being there when Sophia needed her.
Meg finished putting the clothes away and came to take up the brush to run it through
Elizabeth’s hair. “How is Lady Sophia? She must have been happy to see you, my lady.”
Elizabeth hoped she was, yet all she could sense from Sophia had been wariness. “I
hope so. I only wish I could be of some help to her.”
“Help, my lady?”
“I’d like for her to come back to England with me, but I’m not sure she will.” If
only Sophia would just let her try, she was sure that she could be of help. That they
could be friends again.
“I hope she will, my lady. It would be good for you to have a friend like Lady Sophia
again.”
Elizabeth nodded, but she was afraid it was all much too late.
The preparations for the duke’s visit have been a wonderful distraction for me, and
everything seems to be going well. I have ordered most of the provisions, and the
house is being scoured from the attics to the root cellars. At last the grand state
bed John’s parents ordered so long ago will be used. John seems to think this visit
means new favors for us at Court, though I fear that will mean he will be gone from
me even more.
My brother is also coming to visit in the next few days, and I am sure I can persuade
him to stay for the royal visit. I want to help my family any way I can, and Nick
declares he has some fine news for me. I cannot wait to see him again. This is surely
a new, better day in my life…
M
onsieur Dominic! Monsieur Brendan! You must come quickly.”
Dominic glanced up from the script he was studying with a flash of irritation at the
interruption. A quiet evening with no performances or engagements was rare indeed,
and he needed the chance to get caught up on reviewing plays for next season at the
Majestic. He had spent too much time thinking about Sophia and their conversation
at the café. But he took one look at the red-faced actor who had just run up the stairs,
and he knew it wasn’t a frivolous interruption. The man looked truly frantic.
Brendan pushed himself up from the sofa where he had been lounging and reading. “What
is it, Marcel?” he asked tightly. “Has there been an accident? Is someone hurt?”
Marcel shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. Dominic noticed that the man
looked as if he had been through a storm, his clothes pulled askew and his hair standing
on end. A bruise stood out on his cheek. “No, no, but someone will be very soon if
you don’t hurry! It is Monsieur James. He came with us to Madame
Brancusi’s establishment tonight and has been drinking. There was this man, he said
Monsieur James was cheating at cards…”
Dominic exchanged alarmed glances with Brendan. James and brothels were a dangerous
combination. He seemed to find trouble lurking every time he entered one, and he was
ripe for fights and cons. And when one added in drink…
“Let’s go,” Dominic said, and snatched up his coat from the back of his chair.
They had visited Madame Brancusi’s when they first arrived in Paris. It had a reputation
even in London as a place of luxury and elegance. But tonight it looked as if a dockside
brawl had suddenly been transported to a gilt and brocade haven. When Dominic ducked
through the door and saw the havoc of Madame Brancusi’s salon, he almost laughed at
the farcical scene. Girls stood on velvet sofas and atop marble tables, shrieking,
sobbing, or calling out encouragement to the men fighting on the fine silk carpets.
One of the whores threw a glass at the velvet-covered wall. It cracked and splattered
amber liquid down a marble sculpture of a couple entwined in anal coitus, but it didn’t
deter the fighting one bit.
The air, thick with the scents of cigar smoke, expensive perfumes, and brandy, rang
with shouts and grunts and the sounds of fists connecting with flesh. Bodies clad
in fashionable black evening coats, now torn and ripped, rolled atop overturned card
tables.
“The world has obviously gone mad,” Brendan shouted.
Dominic had to agree. He was used to tempers flaring out of control—it happened every
week at the Devil’s
Fancy, a potent combination of drink, money, and women. But there were ways to defuse
such situations. Madame Brancusi was a professional. He was surprised she had let
things get so out of hand.
“Never mind that,” Dominic shouted back to Brendan. “We need to find James and get
him out of here.”
They waded into the fray, pushing heaving bodies out of the way as they searched each
face for their brother’s. Dominic drove a fist into one man’s jaw. One of the girls
leaped onto his back as he pushed past her table. He neatly deposited her on a sofa
and ignored her screams.
Brendan was right. This
was
a madhouse. And he wished he had time to leap right into the fray, to lose himself
in the bloodlust of a good fight. He needed to free some of the frustration he had
kept locked inside him ever since he met Sophia Westman again.
But James had to be his first mission now, not brawling. James was no good in a fight,
and yet he very often seemed to find himself in trouble just like this.
Dominic drove an elbow back into another assailant’s midsection as the man tried to
choke him. As Dominic shoved him away, he finally glimpsed James. His brother lay
in a dark corner, sprawled out on a carpet of scattered cards. His coat and cravat
were gone, brandy spilled on his shirt, and there was a bruise blooming on his jaw.
Dominic glanced over his shoulder to wave at Brendan, who had a man in a headlock.
Brendan calmly nodded and shoved his opponent away to wend his way across the room.
Dominic knelt and grabbed James’s arm to pull him to his feet. James groaned, and
his head lolled back as his eyes fluttered open.
“Wha’ happened?” he groaned.
“That’s what we would like to know,” Dominic said. “How do you find yourself in such
fixes, James? Surely a monastery would erupt in a brawl if you set foot in it.”
“Not my fault!” James cried, then moaned as if at the loud noise in his head. “I don’t
even know how this started. I was just having a game of cards, and the next thing
I knew there was this man…”
“And you were unconscious on the floor, covered in spilled brandy?”
“Lost all my money,” James grumbled.
“We need to get out of here,” Brendan said as he reached their corner at last. “I
think I saw a back door the last time we were here.”
“You always do know all the exits,” Dominic said, trying to hold on to James as his
brother listed to one side.
“One never knows,” Brendan said tightly. He looped James’s other arm around his shoulders
and led them through a doorway half-hidden behind a velvet curtain.
Dominic saw that it led to a steep, narrow flight of stairs twisting up to a dimly
lit corridor. A thick carpet muffled their footsteps, and a series of small peepholes
lined the dark-painted walls. Tiny points of light shone from behind them, and Dominic
could hear soft groans and gasps, the crack of a whip, a shout.
So not everyone was involved in the fight downstairs.
“A spy system,” Dominic said with a grin. “Most ingenious.”
“Perhaps we should install something similar in the Devil’s Fancy when we get home,”
Brendan said. “But there’s no time to examine Madame Brancusi’s interior design right
now. We need to get James out of here and sobered up.”
The words were barely out of Brendan’s mouth when a door flew open at the end of the
corridor. It bounced back against the wall, and Madame Brancusi herself appeared there.