Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (26 page)

“You are deuced punctual, too, My Lady. I’m certain First
Consul Bonaparte will appreciate that quality above all others.
What opera are we attending again, Henri?”

The man smiled. “I’ve heard it is called
The Angel
, My Lord. I’m sure you’ll find it entertaining. It has created quite a stir.”

Helene took her time with her gloves, making certain the
buttons at her wrists and just above the elbows were securely
fastened. The dressmaker
on Bond Street had crafted the gloves in white.
Helene knew she wouldn’t be put to shame even here, in what they were calling the
fashion capital of world.

“You’re breathtaking, darling.”

Gil whispered the words as he helped her into the carriage.
Helene would’ve answered in kind, except that
Colonel Fontenelle was sitting on the opposite bench, looking
official in his dress uniform.

She’d expected an escort, but the presence of one of
Fouche’s agents was mood dampening to all but the most
ignorant. And for some reason, Gil seemed determined to play that role. His chatter filled the carriage the entire ride to the theater. Helene listened with half an ear. She felt certain Fontenelle paid it the same attention.

Being a special guest of Napoleon meant she and Gillian occupied a balcony with at least forty others theatergoers. Helene smiled
slightly at Gillian’s observation of how favored he felt, although he must not notice how Colonel F
ontenelle sat directly behind them.

Since she’d been singled out for special attention, Helene
could hardly relax enough to enjoy the program, but, when it began, she found it a simple matter after all.

Although the opera’s opening and closing acts were set in a
graveyard, those were the only pointed references to angels
. The rest of the stage was devoted to scantily clad women
dancing among faceless men.

“Oh. Pity there are no blondes,” Gil commented.

Helene barely stifled any reaction.

“I shall check for you, Lord Tremayne,” Fontenelle replied,
“but I’m certain the First Consul wouldn’t have overlooked such
an important distinction. Although, come to think of it, there aren’t many natural-born Frenchwomen with that hair color.”

Gil stiffened, but Helene kept
her eyes on the stage. They were watching her more closely than
she’d suspected. And she didn’t know why.
She didn’t get to meet Napoleon or his consort, Josephine,
but she knew exactly when they were apprised of her presence, although Gillian remained oddly blind to the proceedings
.

It was during intermission, when she supposed the actors
were finding more gossamer material to put on, that a shadowy
figure stepped behind Napoleon and pointed over at her. Even sideways to him and across
the theater from his box, she felt the First Consul’s eye on her
. And shivered.

“If
Monsieur
and
Madame
Tremayne would agree, I have
instructions to see that you have the finest French cuisine for your repast,” Fontenelle said.

“My thanks, good man. I’m impressed. I don’t believe it’s possible to find a
more inviting place to visit than Paris under the new regime. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

Gillian made certain his comments were overheard
. Oh. He was good. But she knew that. He’d already proven how well he could act. By pretending he loved her. In front of dozens. In any situation. Right now he acted a perfect fool. And it worked. 

Every look the colonel gave her husband held
such undisguised contempt, it was
almost comical.

The man was at their heels after the play, down the grand staircase, and at her elbow when their carriage arrived.

“Maìson L’amour
is the best restaurant in all Paris.”

Colonel Fontenelle held the
door for her, or he’d have noticed her jump at his proximity.

The house of love?

She almost translated the
words for Gillian, but stopped herself. He’d probably reply with something wicked.
She didn’t need any more comments about blondes.

The front of their destination was ablaze with lights,
carriages, and liveried servants that were the equal to any she’d
seen at Chateau Montriart. It gave her heart a lurch. S
he hoped it didn’t show. It made no sense. Why would they revolt against the
ancient regime–noted for its extravagance and excess – then copy it?

“I wish to thank you for your escort, my good man, but I’m certain we can find our way back to the Blouet Palace. My thanks.
” 

Gillian then turned his back
on the colonel in a gesture of dismissal. Helene watched his face darken, and his eyes narrow. That’s when she knew what she suspected was true. He had his orders. And for some reason, they involved her.
She wasn’t surprised to
find him at their heels once the maître d’ had them seated, but Gil was still acting the part of a buffoon.

“
I believe we’re causing quite a stir, my dear,”  Gil said, “but
you’ll have to take credit for that.”

He was half right. All the ladies present were clothed in outrageous dresses in every hue but black. And her
decollete
was unusually
modest, too. But Gil failed to notice how much he stood out. He was already outstandingly tall, handsome, and striking,
but dressed elegantly, he caused most
of the women to look and keep on staring.

It should have upset her. She should be bristling with jealousy. But she wasn’t.
She was thrilled to know she was the woman on his arm, and at his table. Why…if it hadn’t been for Colonel Fontenelle’s continued presence, the entire evening would seem a perfect part of a fantasy honeymoon.

‘Thank you,
Garçon.”

Gil stumbled over the French word as
he waited for Helene to be seated, then he turned to look at the colonel
with an outraged, pinched-nose, superior expression.

“I wasn’t aware I’d extended an invitation to you, Colonel,”
he said. “But if you insist on being there, I’d suggest you
sit. I don’t enjoy eating while being watched over my shoulder. I
suppose we’ll appreciate your expertise with these damned
Frenchie terms, as well. My talents with that language, as you’ve probably
noticed, are unexceptional at best. If I didn’t have the lovely Lady
Tremayne to grace my table, I’d likely be served some bloody
snails.”

The colonel inclined his head and waited while another chair
was brought.

“I don’t believe snails come with that particular affliction, My Lord,
” Helene said.

“What one is that, darling?”  His eyes twinkled so merrily,
she fought the smile.

“Bloody.”

The colonel coughed discreetly into his napkin, while Gillian stiffened, as if insulted. Oh. She’d have to amend her observation of his acting. He was extremely good. She was ready to applaud.

“If you approve,” Fontenelle said, “I shall order for you,
Monsieur et Madame.
I promise I won’t put you through such
traumas as
escargot.
”

“Oh. You’re a useful fellow,” Gil commented. “Remind me to tell your
superiors. And would you have a bottle of brandy fetched?
I’ve been on a drought,
and I plan on changing that.”

He winked at her as he said it, and she blushed
.

“Your husband has little grasp of the language,
Madame?” 
Fontenelle leaned toward her to say it. In perfect French.

“That’s to be expected from an English
gentleman, isn’t it? I’m surprised you think it worth mentioning.”

“I only remark on it,
Madame,
because it makes it easier for me to
ask you a few questions.”

Helene fought to maintain her color, managing only by
focusing on the candles before her. She’d known something
like this was coming ever since the colonel met them at the stairs, but his a
udacity surprised and frightened. He wanted to interrogate her? Now? In a
public place?

“I hope it won’t be too inconvenient,
Madame,
but I don’t
wish to anger your husband or cause undue strain on our
relationship with his country. And I assure you we’re in no danger of
being overheard.”

Helene glanced about. He was right. The tables surrounding theirs were conspicuously empty.

‘What do you...wish to know?”

“Are you two going to chatter in that Godforsaken tongue all
evening?” Gil asked. “Because you’re wasting a good vintage here, and interfering with my enjoyment of this brandy.”

He
shoved the snifter at the colonel, and the
man flushed.

“Forgive our rudeness, darling,” she replied, “but the colonel seems to know several of my old acquaintances.” She didn’t betray herself by
an eyelash twitch.

“Then don’t let me stop you. My Lady. Colonel
.”

Gil took a drink before setting his goblet down to gush
with pleasure as a stuffed salmon was set before him.

“Well. Look at this. Looks delicious. What do you think, darling?” 

Helene smiled faintly and glanced down at the m
eal before her. She wasn’t taking one bite. Not until she knew she’d be able to swallow.

“Paris has become a byword for good cuisine, My Lord Tremayne,”
Colonel Fontenelle replied, while cutting a bite from his own fare. “I’m certain you’ll agree when you’ve
finished.”

“Probably before. Then
again, think of all the chefs you
put into domestic agencies after their employers met
Madame
Guillotine.”

He laughed heartily after his statement, but the
colonel didn’t look or sound amused.

“Your husband is a baboon,” the colonel informed her.

“Colonel. Please. You’re referring to the man I love.”

She
spoke sweetly and toyed with her fork. Gil made an odd noise, and the colonel spent a few minutes
making certain his fish wasn’t too hot or spicy. Helene spent the
time regaining control of her pulse.

“Enough delay. I have questions for you.”

“Very well, Colonel. Ask them.”

“Have you received any contact of a financial nature,
Madame?”

Helene frowned and didn’t bother hiding it. Financial? Of all the
things she’d expected to be asked, that was the most bizarre. She finally shook her head.

“You are certain,
Madame?”

“Oui.”

“You and your husband visited the Montriart chateau?”

“Oui.” 
Her voice didn’t even tremble. She was very proud of that.

“Why?”

“Family memories.” 
And cursed nightmares
.

“I see.”

The colonel shoved another bite of salmon into his mouth. Helene waited while he chewed and then swallowed, so attuned to her act of looking aloof and uninterested that a buzzing noise filled both ears.

“I will ease your curiosity. I ask because the First Counsel has tasked me with
ascertaining the state of the Montriart family affairs.”

“I didn’t know there was any to ascertain, Colonel.”  Helene kept her voice even and calm, although her fingers tightened on the napkin in her lap.

“Some financial arrangements the late
comte
made…have
recently come to light.”

“Arrangements?”

“
Oui.
And it is in your best interests to allow the state to assist you.”

“I don’t know of any arrangements.”

“You’re certain,
Madame?”

“Oui.”

“I’ve been informed otherwise.”

“I beg you to check
your source, Colonel. I’ve no knowledge of Montriart…aside from
vague childhood recollections.”

“You’re telling the truth?”

“Wouldn’t I place myself in Fouche’s
hands if I speak falsely?”

“Careful,
Madame.” 

Helene bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to speak the name. Or admit her knowledge.
She knew better. She caught
Gil’s frown from across the
table and quickly looked down at her plate.