Glamorous Illusions (22 page)

Come what may.

CHAPTER 25

~Cora~

By the time we returned to the hotel that afternoon, I truly wished we could do nothing but go to bed. I longed for farmers' hours—up with the sun and to bed not long after it disappeared. It seemed that in society, no one took their supper until after eight, so I was starving as well as exhausted. I honestly feared I'd inhale half my soup and then fall asleep in what remained. The day had seemed to take everything I had. My brain and my heart were full.

After a brief nap from which Anna awakened me, I hurried into an appropriate gown—a violet creation with intricate purple lace over the shoulders—and clipped on my only pair of earrings. I was eager to arrive at Pierre's and see my plan through. Then I could return to the hotel and slip beneath the cool sheets and go to sleep, a smile on my face. I merely had to tell Pierre that I was an illegitimate child of Wallace Kensington and he'd readily send me—and my companions—home for the night, just as surely as the duchess had.

I was no longer going to hide who I was. I'd take on the truth of my identity with my shoulders back and my chin held high. It was up to the people around me to decide how to tolerate such information, be they kin or stranger.

At least, those were my brave thoughts while I was still at the hotel.

We drove for quite a while, and this time I traveled with Antonio, Lil, and Nell. The girls chattered on about how handsome Pierre and his friend had been, wondering what the Richelieu chateau would be like. “Perhaps it will be a lovely apartment above a little bistro.”

The driver clearly overheard us and glanced back at us. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Pierre de Richelieu?” he said. “Surely you know of the Richelieus?”

The girls quieted at his superior tone. I doubted anyone had ever spoken so condescendingly to them. A shiver of apprehension ran down between my shoulder blades. What now? Was Pierre more than he appeared? Or less?

Antonio conversed with him for a moment in French and then looked back over his shoulder at me with a glint of warning and delight in his eye. “You remember, miss, what I told you aboard ship?”

I nodded, recalling his statement that the only sort of man more dangerous to a woman than an Italian was a Frenchman. As we slowed to turn a corner, my eyes widened, and the girls gasped. At the end of a vast lawn—a half mile deep, with its own boulevard lined by huge trees, their branches spreading over both lanes—was a gray gothic mansion, four stories tall.

The girls erupted in excited clapping and chattering. We hadn't been in as fine a place since we'd stayed with the duke and duchess that first night. This was what had alarmed Antonio. Pierre de Richelieu was not only French; he was powerful—or at least from a very powerful family. I closed my eyes, my will faltering. It was one thing to imagine taking the upper hand this time around, telling Pierre of my scandalous beginnings, watching as Vivian's self-satisfaction melted from her face…and another thing altogether to do it. Especially on such a grandiose stage. It was as though my plans had moved from a children's playhouse to the city's opera house.

We approached the grand chateau, and my heart pounded as my courage waned. The driver pulled to a stop, and Antonio helped me out, giving me a look of approval; but Pierre was already coming down the steps, eagerly welcoming us like long-lost friends. Primarily me. He took my gloved hand and kissed my knuckles, his eyes alight as he watched me.

He didn't release me; instead, he tucked my hand through his arm and led me up the stairs, speaking over his shoulder to the others.

“Pierre,” I said, tugging at his arm, pausing on the last step. “M-
m'lord
.”

“Oh,” he moaned, “I much preferred it when you only thought of me as
Monsieur
de Richelieu,” he said, looking down at me. “Better yet, simply Pierre. Can we not go back to that, dear Cora, regardless of social convention?” The way he said my name, as if he'd just called me by an endearment, brought a flush to my cheeks.

“Pierre, I fear I must speak with you immediately about something of some urgency.”

“Oh?” His face clouded, and he came back down to my step. The others gathered around us, half looking ahead in gawking fascination at what we could see of the amazing foyer—decorated in Louis XIV style, with white marble, gold, and a massive chandelier—and half glancing back in curiosity and consternation at us.

This was only going to become more difficult as the evening progressed. And to wait was to allow Vivian or one of the others to share what should be only mine to share. I looked Pierre in the eye, and he covered my hand with his other, his forehead a wrinkled mask of concern. “What is it? Tell me at once, and I shall see if I can remedy it.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I think not. You have been so kind to invite us all here, to be our host. But before we take advantage of your hospitality, I think you ought to know something…” I glanced past him. Now all of the Morgans and Kensingtons were staring solely at me.

“Please,” he said kindly, “tell me.”

I took a deep breath and made myself look him in the eye. “Pierre, I feel it's best that you know from the start that I am the
illegitimate
daughter of Wallace Kensington.”

Vivian gasped, and Andrew pulled her close. Even as my face burned, I swallowed a laugh—apparently, it was all right for her to share my birth story, but I could not do so myself. Felix turned to me, eyes wide. Hugh snorted, and the girls looked at each other in surprise. I couldn't manage to look at the bear or Will or Antonio, but instead forced my eyes back to meet Pierre's.

He was smiling wryly, more remarkably handsome than ever. His eyebrows arched up in surprise. “This is it? This is the news that burdens you so?”

“Why, yes. I…I thought…”

“Oh, my dear Miss Kensington, this is no problem here in France. In fact, you'll find such a beginning makes you all the more intriguing.”

Now my eyes widened.

He smiled and patted my hand. “You left the provincial behind you when you left England's shores.” He gestured around him. “This is the land of love and passion. We embrace who we are; we do not aspire to be who we are not. And tonight, we are but a group of friends who met aboard a ship. Let us celebrate as such.”

He tucked my hand more firmly around his arm and led me past Will, whose eyes were wide with surprise, and Antonio, who looked on with a knowing eye. The bear put up his hands and shrugged, as if this was a surprising but utterly delightful turn of events. I struggled to find my voice again, and Pierre seemed to understand my shock, so he chattered, telling the group of his family's fourteen-generation history, how his ancestor had been a commander in Napoleon's army and had been sent as far as Morocco and Algiers before he returned home with enough plunder to establish his banking business in Paris, from then on building upon his wealth.

We entered a massive parlor with hundreds of oil paintings—four high on the fabric-covered sixteen-foot walls. A quartet in tuxedos waited behind stringed instruments the corner. After a nod from Pierre, they began to play. The furniture was refined, pristine. Servants emerged, champagne on one tray and fat poached shrimp on the other. Thirsty, I took a big swig of the bubbling liquid and wrinkled up my nose.

Pierre laughed. “You do not care for champagne? That is the finest in all of Paris.”

I smiled. “Perhaps I'd like the least fine. In all honesty, I'd love a cup of tea.”

He smiled with me. “Then you shall have it,” he said. He snapped his fingers at a servant and bent to whisper in his ear. The servant rushed off.

Lillian and Nell drew near, eyelashes fluttering. Andrew and Vivian stood off in a corner, as if they really didn't care to be here any longer.
If he accepts me
,
I thought,
they surely don't wish to accept him.
“Tell me, Lord de Richelieu,” Nell said, “are any of your other family members at home? Are there others?”

I covered my smile by looking downward. Clearly, the girl was wondering if there might not be a few younger brothers around the corner…

“My friends are my family,” he said, throwing his arms wide, gesturing toward all of us. “Won't you help me fill my empty halls by staying with me for the duration of your time here in Paris? I will introduce you to my other friends, and tomorrow, I am to host a masked ball. You all must be in attendance.”

The girls chattered in excitement. “A masked ball!” Lillian said, clapping her hands. “Father hosted one when I came of age.”

“I'm certain the young gentlemen came from far and wide to present themselves,” Pierre said, nodding toward her.

Antonio had been right. Pierre was truly sweet, but he also embodied flirtation, from head to toe. I'd have to watch myself around him.

“The only question is if we can get you all costumed in time. I do not suppose you travel with costumes.”

I let out a little laugh. “Uh, no.”
What sort of people might travel with costumes in their trunks, other than actors or performers?

“I thought not. But it's quite the elaborate function, you see, and many have had their costumes on order for months.” He paused, chin in hand, and then raised a finger. “I have the solution.” He spoke in hushed tones with a servant. The man hurried off just as the first arrived with my cup of tea.

I looked around as scents of licorice and lavender wafted up to my nose. Three more servants were stationed about the room, ready to do Pierre's bidding.

The bear was at my elbow. “If you are certain that we will be no imposition, we'd be honored to be your guests, my lord,” he said. “We depart on Saturday for the countryside.”

“So soon?” Pierre frowned. Then he waved a hand, his expression easing. “No matter. I shall send word to my many friends. They will be your hosts wherever you wish to go.”

“You are most generous,” the bear said.

I sighed in relief. Two new couples arrived, as well as a group of single men and women. Pierre moved off to speak to them, and Vivian sidled near. “Just what do you think you are doing?” she said in a strained whisper.

I gave her a sidelong glance. “Merely taking matters into my own hands for once, sister.”

She stiffened. “You risked our whole experience in Paris with such a declaration.” She did not look at me, only out to the others, smiling demurely toward the newcomers and our host.

“You yourself did the same thing in London. Why is it all right for you to tell of family secrets and not me?”

“You are
not
family.” She said it so lowly I wondered, for a moment, if I misheard her. “You do not have the right to make such decisions.”

I raised my chin and thought on that for a moment. “The truth affects me, more than any,” I said.

“How selfish of you!” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. My tea was rapidly cooling in my cup. “Our futures are inextricably entwined. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes,” I said. “And so would you.”

She looked away, then back to me. “We shall tolerate our ties through the end of the summer, but only until then. After that, you shall go on your way, with whatever guilt money Father feels he must fill your pockets with, and we shall go ours. Agreed?”

I stared at her. Could she possibly be so cruel? And was she truly speaking for the whole group? Not that I wished to be together forever, nor had I thought of anything beyond the summer. The idea of sharing a Christmas with this cold woman and her bristly beau made me nauseous. “I can't imagine ever wishing to see you again,” I said brightly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Good, then.”

“Good,” I repeated. I moved away, my eyes inexplicably filling with tears. She'd wounded me, just when I'd thought she'd already done all she could. I thought I was ready to handle them all, head-on, shoulders back, chin up.

But over and over again, she found new ways to twist the knife.

“Cora,” Will said lowly, eyebrows lowered in concern, reaching out to me as I passed. But I shook my head and brushed by, out into the hall and down it. I turned a corner and went to the end of that, drawn by tall doors covered by curtains. I was relieved to find them unlocked, and I hurried through, quietly closing them behind me.

I was alone on a small balcony. Taking deep breaths of the cooling evening air, I desperately tried to hold back my tears.
Why do I care, Lord? Why do I care if Vivian accepts me?
I clenched the marble balustrade in my hands and leaned against it, lifting my face to the sky. I was resolving to not care, to pretend as if Vivian did not exist, to
show
her, when my mother's words came back to me.
Bitterness leads nowhere but down. Accept God's love, even if you don't understand His ways. And out of respect of that love, love others, even when you don't wish to.

She'd said it in reference to my anger over Papa's stroke, my railing against the heavens for lowering him so, just when we had been poised at the door of such a sweet future together. In those first terrible days, I could sense God's presence, Him holding me close even when I felt so completely, achingly set adrift. Now here I was again, feeling terribly lost, but I felt none of that holy reassurance. I sighed and closed my eyes, concentrating on nothing but my breath, my heartbeat, the sound of the birds in the air, the breeze on my face.

I thought of my papa, his arms around my shoulders, holding me. I thought of my mama, taking my face in her hands and leaning forward to touch my forehead to hers. Of suppers when we spoke of nothing but the weather, or the cows, or the sprouts, or old Mrs. Chandler down the road, who needed help with the chores when her rheumatism acted up. I wished I was sitting down at the old pine table tonight, with the knots that looked like faces and food that was simple and served on one plate all at once.