The Abandoned Bride (15 page)

“Yes,” he said reflectively, “it is a remarkable view, I grant you, Miss Hastings. It quite took my breath away and I can readily understand how it has affected you. But I do think
we ought to try to make conversation despite the magnificence of it.”

Julia turned to him with a strong retort ready upon her lips, but the mischievous,
understanding
expression of wry amusement he wore, as though he expected her fu
r
y and was patiently awaiting it as a schoolboy waits deserved punishment, quite disarmed her.

“It is only,” Julia said, relenting by speaking honestly of her helplessness, “that I didn’t know quite what to say. That is, I don’t often dine alone with gentlemen, unless you count those times with little Toby, of course. But since you don’t seem inclined to throw custard at me, or weep if the waiter brings you snap beans, I don’t know if I quite know how to go on this evening.”

He laughed openly, as though delighted by her response, and seemingly as relieved to escape her bad graces as the toddler she was describing might have been.

“I don’t know,” he answered thoughtfully at last, “I might accept snap beans without a fuss, but I think that if they bring out some of that omnipresent ratatouille, I shall at least overset my water glass and feed it to the dog while they rearrange my place setting. Oh, pity, there is no dog in attendance. Now that is how you know you are in a French establishment,” he said with a great deal of mock regret, “for any respectable English inn has a few dogs slouching about, looking sharp for a handout. I cannot imagine what
little
French boys do when they’re served something nasty then, can you?”

Happy to be included in his unexpectedly high spirits this evening, Julia turned her sigh of relief into a little chuckle and said with as much spurious seriousness as he had used, “I don’t think little French boys acknowledge that there is anything nasty to eat. After all,” she said reasonably, “they do eat snails. And from an early age upward, I do believe,” she concluded with such a look of censure upon her face that her host laughed once again.

They laughed often during that dinner. For when Julia realized what their first course was to be and then saw the look upon her host’s face when he lifted the cover off the dish and held it out for her inspection, she was so overset by mirth that she had to request a glass of water before she could speak rationally.

“But do try one. Try to think of them merely as unknown creatures that just happen to be called escargots,” her host implored. “Picture them to be a sort of a cross between crabs and kippers,” he said brightly, and she had been unable to speak for some time again at the look of sweet reason he had given her along with his impossible request. Then she had made it impossible for him to drink his soup when she had, with great exactitude and an inspired bit of mime, described her encounters with members of that species which he had just devoured when she had been out early gardening after a rain.

By the time that they had been served chicken in a heavy wine sauce, they had done with their uproarious mirth and were merely chuckling weakly at each other, as people will do when they have laughed long and hard and wish to give their sides and cheek muscles a rest. Julia could not remember when she had had a better time, and only wished that she could completely forget who her host actually was.

But that was more than merely difficult. All the while that they had seemed so in concert, even while she had held her hand to her stomach to support her laughter, she had in some portion of her active mind remembered who he was, and in some portion of her wary heart observed him carefully. She was not the only one to do so.

The Emperor had so depleted the land of its able-bodied men that their waiter was, perforce, a waitress. The expression upon the proprietor’s face had been one of hopeless helplessness when he had accompanied the girl to their private parlor. His establishment, his morose expression made manifestly clear, was used to better ton, abler servants, and higher standards. “C’est la vie” and “C’est la guerre”: his language had all the right expressions for the situation, but their host’s shrug as he left the girl Delphine to continue serving them was even more eloquent than speech could have been.

Julia knew the girl’s name was Delphine by the way she had whispered that name hoarsely to the baron as she had served him his veal. She knew that Delphine was a very friendly girl by the way she smiled and smiled at the baron, even when he was clearly laughing together with his dinner guest. She was fairly certain that Delphine was a poor seamstress, for she seemed to have a badly fitting blouse, from the way it consistently slid off her shoulder whenever she waited on the baron.

And, Julia thought sourly when she had a moment to think alone while her host was sampling a new wine, the girl was either
inordinately
proud of her chemise, or she had some secret message written for him alone on the inside of her frock, since she bent forward so frequently whenever she had a thing to give to the baron.

It hardly matters, Julia told herself when the baron gave the wench a pleasant smile as he put down his glass. If he confuses the sheen of grease upon her black tresses for the glow of health and if he finds the scent of garlic and overheated girl stimulating, it is scarcely my concern, she thought with a queer pang of virtue. But as their meal went on and their moods turned from high hilarity to more reflective speech, she was forced to conclude that in all honesty, he was no more than courteous and no less than kind, both to herself and to Delphine.

They discussed many subjects during that strange dinner, politics and poetry and all sorts of topics that a governess who possessed a questing mind and had had an empty hour or two to fill in the past could be expected to handle coherently. This was so obvious to Julia that she was amused by the frequent look of surprise that she often spied upon her host’s face when she replied both sanely and knowledgeably about some subject he brought up. In turn, she was herself surprised not only at how
little
notice he took
of the increasingly blatant movements of their waitress, but at how much attention such a staple of the ton had obviously paid to art and literature, when she assumed he had been occupied by far more worldly pastimes.

When the last plates had been cleared, and the last crumbs had been
languorously
swept from the tabletop, and one last, lingering, burning look had been tenderly offered by Delphine before she so reluctantly left
the
m, the baron sat back and sighed.

“I shall never complain about lack of service in an inn again,” he said, shaking his head. “I never knew that total attention could be far worse than meager attention.”

“You ought to be flattered,” Julia said lightly, although privately she was amazed at how he spoke to her as an equal and how readily she accepted that designation.

“Ought I?” he asked, giving her a bright and searching look before he answered just as lightly, “But there is no flattery in it, you see. There are so few healthy, mobile men left in this poor land, that the mere fact that I possess all my teeth, can walk unaided, and am above the age of fifteen and below the age of seventy makes me uncommonly attractive. Now were there a dozen hearty fellows within this inn tonight, and were Delphine to still accord me such outsize attentions, why then I would be delighted. But as it is, I fear it is the rarity of my appearance, rather than the glory of it, that inspires such admiration.”

Julia smiled at his comment, but could think of nothing to add to it. If she were to deny what he said, she would seem to be just as doting as Delphine. If she were to agree, it would seem as though she were not a very grateful guest. Then remembering her status as guest and seeing that there was nothing left to eat or drink upon the table save for a bowl of fruit, even if she should be glutton enough to want more, she brought her napkin up from her lap, placed it upon the table, and began to rise.

“No, don’t leave just yet. Please,” he said.

“I did want to speak with you,” he said as she sank back to her chair. “I had hoped that a pleasant dinner in a civilized atmosphere would help to erase some of the bad memories we share. We did start badly, Miss Hastings,” he said quietly, his eyes direct and sincere and his entire body seemingly rigid and poised as though he were prepared to react to any sort of response from her, from mere verbal insult to wild physical attack.

At her nod of agreement, for there was no rebuttal she knew, of course they had started badly, he went on.

“I misjudged you,” he said with utmost sincerity, as she searched his face for mockery and could find none, “and misled you, and misused you. Lord, I shouldn’t blame you if you refused me the time
o
f day. But I would like to make amends. And this evening was my poor way of beginning an attempt in that direction. Do you think we might go further?”

Julia looked down at her hands and drew in a deep breath. She could scarcely believe the words she was hearing. As he said nothing further, she looked up to find him watching her quietly, awaiting her answer. His gaze was fixed upon her face, his eyes were clear and free of any inward look of deceit, and even in the softened late light of a summer’s evening, she could clearly see his expression was one of deep concern.

“Yes,” she breathed, “that would be good. After all,” she said in a rush, “it is not pleasant to be mistrusted, and I confess I have been careful of my speech in your presence, ever since you struck—” but here she left off speaking, for in truth, she still feared a sudden anger on his part and remembering the violence he had done her, suddenly wondered if bringing the subject up again would bring up his rage again.

His face grew very pale and he stood abruptly, seeming to loom over her. She gasped, wondering at how she could have been foolish enough to have been lulled by only a few kind words into endangering herself again.

But he only looked down at her, his hands closed into tight fists at his sides. Then he walked to the window and stared blindly out into the distance. “There is no way to undo what has been done,” he said in a tight voice. “You have said you will not accept my apology, and indeed, I can now understand that, for I find that I cannot accept my own. I wonder,” he said, his voice wavering a bit as he gazed toward her with a wrenched smile, “if you wouldn’t mind picking up some instrument, that fireplace poker over in the
corner
for instance, or that candlestick upon the table perhaps, and giving me a sharp rap upon the head with it? For I don’t know how else we can begin again with the score evened between us, and believe me, Miss Hastings, I very much wish to do that.”

He looked so very unhappy that Julia rose from her chair and went to him where he stood by the window.

“I will forget it,” she said softly, “if you will, and then we’ll both be done with it. But if you really wish to make amends, then why not call off this wild hunt and let me go home?”

“You know,” he said in a soft voice filled with regret, “I cannot, though believe me, I wish I could. But soon, soon the matter will be settled and you will be free to go anywhere you wish. In the meanwhile,” he said, his voice and face brightening, “there is no need for you to suffer. I promised a fine fee for your compliance, and so you shall have it. I don’t know where my head has been these past days. When we get to Paris tomorrow, I insist you take your Celeste and invade the finest couturiers. Buy bonnets, Miss Hastings, and frocks and slippers and gauderies and gauzies and thingamabobs for your hair and ribbons and bows. Buy trunkloads, my dear, I shall not begrudge you a groat for it. For I see how fine your hair looks, and how i
ll
your garb befits you now. And please don’t mind my saying so,” he added quickly, “since such saying ensures an end to the problem. But within a day in Paris you can have frocks to match your face, have you all matching in fact, and all magnificent.”

He beamed at her, he made as if to take her hands in his, and then drew back a step and raised his hands in denial as though she t
h
reatened him with some weapon. “Ah no,” he said waggishly, “I remember, you do not care to be touched.” But there, for the first time, Julia detected mockery in his voice and his eyes, and finding it, suddenly doubted all that had gone before.

“No,” she said simply, “I don’t want fine clothes and gauderies, my lord, and never did. For they’d be of little use to a governess. And I do wish to be a governess. Don’t be fooled by Celeste’s expertise, it is her hand you see in my appearance, and not my own wish.”

“I see only you,” he said, stepping closer, his hands still raised as a barrier between them, “and nothing of Celeste, or any other woman.”

He said nothing further but looked at her so steadily that she could not pretend to be unaware of the question in his searching gaze. She hastily lowered her lashes over the secrets she knew must lie in her eyes, as though she feared he could read them there by the sheer force of his regard.

She sought a glib comment to end the unnerving silence, but when she opened her eyes again it was to discover him still looking at her. But now his eyes held such a sparkling, knowing look of amusement that she caught up her breath. Then smiling, still without a wont, he reached out a hand and smoothed one wayward curl back from her forehead. No more than that. But as she felt his fingertips briefly, barely skim against her skin, she found herself realizing that she had far more to fear than his anger.