Glamorous Illusions (26 page)

A shiver of disgust ran through me. Was I as wanton as my mother had been with my father? Was this sort of passion, taking place in unseen passageways, the sort of thing that led them to…?

I wrenched my hand from his grasp. “Which way to the exit?”

He frowned and then turned and pointed. “Right there, at the end of this arbor. Then to the left…”

I lifted the hem of my skirt and raced down the far steps and through the other arbor.

“Cora. Cora!”

I ignored him, wanting to be out, away, alone.

“Cora, wait!”

I knew I should hold on, wait for him, be polite, even if I saw him only as my host, but I didn't, I couldn't, not anymore. He was right behind me. I didn't want to talk about it tonight. I was liable to start crying, and that would be beyond horrifying. I turned to the left and raced out of the maze—and ran directly into Will and Antonio.

“Whoa,” Will said, helping me stand upright, steadying me. “We were just looking…” He was taking in my hair, my ripped sleeve and bloody hand, my bare toes sticking out from beneath the hem of my dress. And then he was looking up in consternation at Pierre, just exiting the maze, chasing me.

“Why you…” Will said in a furious sneer, pulling back his fist.

“No, Will!” I cried.

But it was too late.

He rammed his fist into Pierre's face and sent him sprawling.

CHAPTER 30

~William~

“Pierre!” Cora screamed, running to him.

But he was already scrambling to his feet, rising to meet Will's charge.

Two men from the maze had exited and were running to his aid. Antonio was behind Will, waiting for Richelieu to get up.

“No!” Cora said, coming between Will and Richelieu. She put a hand to his chest and the other to Richelieu's. “Will, there's been a misunderstanding,” she said, panting. “You owe Lord de Richelieu an apology.”

Seeing the insistent look in her eyes, Will could feel the color drain from his face. He'd thought that Cora had been fleeing from Richelieu, but perhaps she'd been running from the other men in the maze. He glared at the two of them, now on either side of their host. Richelieu rubbed his cheek and warily studied Will. A crowd was forming around them, including Hugh and Andrew.

“Cora,” Will said carefully. “Tell me what happened. Your dress—”

“Nothing!” she said, clearly horrified. “We were playing a game of hide-and-seek in the maze, and my dress got caught in the bushes.”

A look of shock ran through Richelieu's face.
“Vous pensiez que je…”
You thought I…
He straightened, and his eyes hardened. Muscles in his jaw twitched. “Monsieur, I pride myself on respecting a woman's honor as well as her wishes. I am French, but I am a gentleman.”

Will swallowed hard. He took a deep breath. “Of course you are. I am very sorry, my lord. I only sought to come to Cora's aid. I made a hasty assumption. Please, forgive me.” He touched his chest and bowed his head. He wished the man would take a swing at him, make things even.

But Richelieu only gave him a solitary nod. “You are Miss Cora's protector, and for that I am grateful. You acted out of care for her, and because I, too, care for her, I shall overlook your attack.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Will said, still wishing he'd just hit him. It'd be easier to deal with than owing their host an additional debt. Uncle Stuart would lecture him for hours. Never had he gotten himself into such a mess before.

“It is very late. Perhaps it's best if we all said good night,” Richelieu said.

“Thank you, Pierre,” Cora said, reaching up as if to touch his cheek, then pulling away. “I am so sorry it ended as it did.”

“As am I. I shall see you tomorrow?”

“We plan to go to Versailles,” Cora said, apologetic.

“Ah, that's right.” He hesitated. Cora did too, and Will moved on, feeling as if he was intruding. He looked at Antonio and, with one glance, knew the man would wait to escort Cora. Will led the others to the chateau, enduring ribbing from Andrew and Hugh all the way.

“I'm only disappointed it didn't come to full fisticuffs,” Andrew said. “A good fight would be a welcome relief.”

Will rolled his eyes. That would have been utter disaster. They were lucky, as it was, that Richelieu hadn't been so offended that he showed them out the door despite the hour. But it didn't bode well that he was so drawn to Cora that he
didn't
toss them out either.

“I've been wondering if she has a bit more of her mother in her than we'd been led to believe,” Hugh said with a wink.

Will turned, grabbing hold of Hugh's ruffled jacket in both hands and ramming him into a portico column. “Don't ever speak of her in such a manner. She is a lady, regardless of her parentage.”

Hugh stared back at him, eyes wide with shock.

Andrew took hold of Will's arm and wrenched him backward. “Enough, Will.”

Hugh brushed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Will. “So, I was right in assuming the tutor wishes he had more of sweet Cora than the tour rules allow.”

Will surged toward him again, but Andrew held him back. “Stop it,” Will seethed, trying to pull his arms free of Andrew's hold.

But Hugh stepped toward him, his eyes widening with understanding. “It's true. You're jealous.”

“I am not. I was merely seeking to come to her aid. As I would for Lillian. Or Nell. Or you, for that matter.” He shook off Andrew's hold and then led them onward, into the chateau and toward the staircase that led to their rooms. Both men were silent for once, which told Will they didn't believe him. It didn't matter; all he wanted was to fall into bed and into such a deep slumber that, for some hours, he wouldn't remember the awful way the evening had ended. In the morning, he could cope.

But tonight, it seemed impossible.

Will awakened stiff and sore. He forced himself to his bath and into clothes, so he'd be ready for anyone who came to his door. He hoped to fit in a brief walk before breakfast, needing time under the trees, a chance to pray, in order to be fortified for the battles ahead. And there would be battles. Uncle Stuart, for one, once he found out about the altercation last night. Managing the clients, when they were less than respectful. Cora… Who knew how that would be resolved? And facing Richelieu? He cringed and rubbed his face.
Strength, Lord. Give me strength.

He was glad he'd gotten that time in before Uncle Stuart found him on a bench beneath the trees. The portly man came toward him, hands behind his back, chin down, as if deep in thought. He sat beside Will, and they both stared at the sprawling gardens and the chateau beyond it.

“So you've heard,” Will said.

“I have.”

“I'm sorry, Uncle Stuart. Truly. It was an honest mistake.”

“A grievous error. But understandable.” He sighed. “I have greater concerns.”

Will hesitated. What could be heavier on the older man's mind? “Such as?”

“Your feelings for Miss Cora.”

“I have no more feelings for Miss Cora than I have for any of our clients,” Will said. The words, though he wanted to believe them, felt false. He frowned.

“No?”

His frown deepened, and he met his uncle's gaze. “No,” he insisted.

His uncle continued to stare at him, searching his eyes, until he acquiesced. “All right, then,” he said, rising. “Time to go and face our host.”

Will sighed and followed behind him by a few steps, feeling every bit the small child as he had been when he had first come to live with his uncle.

But when they reached the blue breakfast room that held eight round tables to accommodate guests for small functions, their host did not arrive. Only other guests, looking rather worse for wear after a night short of sleep. Richelieu sent his regrets via a servant, and after Uncle Stuart gave Will a meaningful look, no one chatted but the youngest girls, who were blissfully unaware of anything that had gone on the night before, besides the marvelous ball.

Will picked at his food, chewing a croissant until it was paste in his mouth, wishing they were scheduled to leave for Provence today, rather than in a few days. At least they wouldn't have to be back here at the Richelieu chateau until nightfall. With any luck, they wouldn't see their host until tomorrow, and perhaps the day's respite would have soothed his ruffled feathers.

Perhaps.

They stopped in an open-air market in a village outside of Versailles, picking up bread, cheese, chocolate, strawberries, and wine, reputedly Marie Antoinette's picnic items of choice, according to Uncle Stuart. The groceries were loaded into backpacks, and they all took rented bicycles from a rack. Lillian shared a tandem bike with Will, since she said she wasn't very adept at riding. Will was already weary. By day's end, he'd be exhausted. That was fine by him. The more spent he was by nightfall, the more likely he would be to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Dreams were unwelcome. They frequently consisted of his mother and father, his mother welcoming him with open arms, over and over, his father patting his back… Seeing his parents made waking painful, their dream time together always cut short.

“Look out, Will!” Cora cried, riding past, the first she'd spoken to him since last night.

He opened his eyes wide and swerved, narrowly missing a tree.

“Should I be steering?” Lillian asked nervously from behind him when they were once again on a steady course.

“No, no. Sorry. I was just distracted for a moment. It won't happen again.” The silly girl barely pedaled, and he had to work very hard to keep them upright. Now she thought she should steer? Frustration bloomed in his chest. Everything was falling apart around him, which he knew was an overreaction, which in turn made him all the more agitated. What was wrong with him?

Pull yourself together, Will,
he told himself. Calm and collected, that was how Uncle Stuart liked him to be. Such demeanor reassured their clients.
Calm and collected, calm and collected, calm and collected…

He focused on the dirt path before them, the long line of tall green trees on either side, the green pasture beyond a wooden fence, where horses busily grazed on long grasses. The group stopped near a small hamlet, where they reclined on the grass as Uncle Stuart lectured them on how Marie Antoinette had it built to remind her of her native Austria and often escaped there to “play” at farm life. “Immaculate livestock, bathed daily, were about, and the queen liked to feed them. She even milked the dairy cow,” he said. “It was a welcome respite for the queen from the constant positioning that took place up at the chateau. She only invited her most trusted friends here.”

They moved back to their bicycles to head toward the Grand Trianon, a smaller palace on one end of the Grand Lac, the man-made lake that spread out from the chateau, but Cora hesitated, staring at the timber-and-plaster buildings with thatched roofs. “Cora?” Will asked. Lillian looked from him to Cora and back again, plainly curious.

Cora jumped, startled out of her reverie, and turned to him.

“Ready?” he added.

She nodded hurriedly and passed by them. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Grand Trianon and walked through the massive pink columns to the patio that edged the lake. Shaped in the form of a cross, the Grand Lac was deep enough for boats and took a good hour to ride around on bikes. Riding—either in a carriage, in a coach, or by bicycle—was truly the best means to explore it.

Uncle Stuart lectured for a bit about it, and they headed off again, toward the next arm of the lake, riding along a path that traced the waterway. They parked their bikes and walked down a broad hill. At the far end, in the distance, was the massive staircase lined by sculptures, and the sprawling chateau, a monument of white. It reminded Will of a king sitting on a green throne.

“My goodness, isn't it beautiful?” Nell said.

“Can you imagine picnicking here every afternoon?” Lillian added, looping her arm through her friend's.

“It's lovely,” Vivian said, waiting as Andrew spread out the blanket for them. “No wonder the queen loved it.”

Women always seemed entranced by Marie Antoinette. And the young men liked the vivid drama of the French revolution, the royals driven out, necks placed upon bloody guillotines.

Felix lay down on Vivian and Andrew's blanket. “Ahh, that's perfect, Drew, thanks,” he said, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers over his chest. “I'll just take a quick nap. You know, recover from our arduous ride, and then hand it over to you two for a go.”

“Felix Kensington!” Vivian chided.

But Andrew merely smiled and grabbed hold of the side of the blanket with two hands, then quickly lifted it, neatly sending Felix tumbling away. The group laughed as Felix pantomimed his outrage.

Hugh spread a blanket out and gestured for Cora to join him. Will could see her hesitation, but there was little that he could do about it—after last night, the worst thing he could do was to invite her to sit with him instead. He needed to steer clear of her, pretend he hardly thought about her. At least until tensions cooled. Then—perhaps then—they could resume their friendship.

He ignored the cocky look of triumph Hugh tossed his way as Cora sat down on the corner of the blanket.