Lady Emily's Exotic Journey (22 page)

“Mama, you are ignoring what I said about
two
weddings.”

Suddenly her mother looked very tired, slumping slightly—her mother's posture was
always
perfect—and rubbing the space between her eyes. “Whatever possessed me to urge your father to bring us here?” Her voice was so soft she might have been talking to herself. “You could have been killed. Both of you could have been killed, and all because of that stupid, selfish, little brat. Who would have expected her to be so foolish, so desperate?” She tilted her head back, eyes closed, and bit down on her lower lip.

Emily did not know what to do. Her mother did not get upset. That was one of the givens in the universe. Whatever happened, Mama dealt with it with aplomb. Whatever the problem, Mama made it go away. She reached out a hand to touch her mother's arm. “Mama?” she asked tentatively.

With a deep sigh, Lady Penworth straightened up, patted her daughter's hand, and managed a tight smile. “Yes, I heard you. Two weddings, you said. Absolutely not.”

“Mama! Why not?”

“For one thing, you must not overshadow Julia's wedding, and you would most assuredly do that were you to marry at the same time. For another, the French are quite as punctilious as the English, and Louis-Napoléon is even more so, given his uncertain support now that he has made himself emperor. A hasty wedding in some obscure foreign city will not do.”

“Mama!”

“My dear, I know this has all been very dramatic, and it is highly romantic to be rescued by a dashing young adventurer…”

“But he isn't an adventurer. His grandfather is a French count.”

“Yes, but you didn't know that, did you?” Lady Penworth's shrewd, all-seeing eye was in evidence again.

Since her mother was quite right about that, Emily couldn't meet her eye and said nothing.

“And I assume you do not know anything about his family.”

“Oh, but I do.” Emily lifted her head up. “Lucien has talked quite a bit about them, or about his grandfather at least. He seems to be an unpleasant man, but Lucien says that he has his own estate so there is no need for us to live with the count. Besides, he must be very old.”

“Old!” Lady Penworth smiled tolerantly. “Yes, I suppose he is. Well into his eighties by now. But still a man of some power and influence, and none of it benign. I have heard of him from friends in France. He was one of the moving forces behind the White Terror after the restoration of the Bourbon king, Louis XVIII, and he is still one of the ultra-royalists. He persists in behaving as if the Revolution never happened. He would be a comic figure if he did not have so many followers.”

“Well, that needn't worry us. I don't think Lucien is terribly interested in politics, and that was all a long time ago.”

“A long time ago? Perhaps it seems so to you, but people have long memories. And in France, everything is political—the books you read, the music you hear, everything. The estate Lucien has inherited from his mother is near his grandfather's estate, your father tells me. That means that his grandfather can create serious problems for you with neighboring families.”

“Oh, Mama, please don't make difficulties!” A moment ago marriage to Lucien had been almost within her grasp. She had known it. Yes, Papa was raising objections, but she knew he would never deny her what she truly wanted. Mama, though—she had not expected Mama to be a problem.

“I am not trying to be difficult, child, but I do not think you have any idea what you are facing. You have known M. de Chambertin only a short while—yes, I know the circumstances have been unusual, but still, a foreign country, a difficult family…” She shook her head ruefully. “There are always problems in life. Must you seek out more?”

“I am not seeking difficulties, Mama, but if these difficulties exist, I will not avoid them. I cannot. Together, Lucien and I can face anything. And without him…without him I do not know if I can face anything at all.”

Lady Penworth regarded her daughter long and thoughtfully. At length she gave a resigned huff. “Well, I am sure you can cope if you must. But I do not see why my children must marry into such difficult families. And I do not see what objection they can possibly have to being married from their home.”

Emily threw her arms around her mother with a crow of delight. “You know I love Penworth Castle, and I promise we will visit often, but we would have to wait months and months to marry there. I could not possibly wait!”

“People do, you now,” said Lady Penworth, a trifle acidly. “Indeed, there are many who consider a year to be a reasonable length for an engagement.”

“And how very sorry I feel for such insipid couples,” said Emily, laughing. She wanted to shout with happiness, but did not want to try her mother's temper too much.

“But if the wedding is not to be at our home, it will have to take place in France. Yes, France,” said Lady Penworth when Emily exclaimed in protest. “As you have pointed out, he is the grandson of a French count, and he is marrying the daughter of an English marquess. It is inconceivable that the wedding should be some hasty, hole-and-corner affair. The assumption would be that there was some embarrassing reason for the secrecy.” At that point, Lady Penworth fixed her daughter with a gimlet eye. “I trust there is no such reason and that you would tell me immediately should such a reason be forthcoming.”

Emily felt herself shrinking in her seat. She blushed furiously and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

They took shelter under the awning on the roof. It was not simply a matter of privacy. The rooftops were all deserted in the middle of the day, when the awning was needed to provide relief from the blistering sun.

“She is right, your maman.” Lucien leaned against the parapet with Emily in his arms, resting against him while he caressed her back in an effort to soothe her. “It will be better if all is done as it should be.”

“As it should be! That is so sensible, and I am so tired of being sensible. I have been sensible all my life,” she grumbled, twisting her fingers into his shirt. “Do you realize that by the time we get back to England, and all the balls and receptions to honor David and Julia take place, and we go down to the castle, it will be at least December, and more likely January or February, before we can be married?”

He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, her soft honey hair. She even smelled sweet, and a little spicy. “I could not wait so long. It drives me mad, being so close to you, and not being able to have you. Ah, I should have been a better man. Then perhaps this would not be so difficult.”

“Are you regretting what we did?” She sounded half-frightened, half-outraged.

He could only smile, but the smile was tinged with rue. “One does not regret the fulfillment of one's dreams. One can only be grateful. But when the world intrudes, it brings with it fear. You will tell me, will you not, if there are any…complications? Because then I will carry you off at once, and we will be married at the nearest consul's office. It must be arranged that your parents blame me, and not you.”

“Oh, is that what is bothering you?” She turned scarlet and hid her face against him. “You need not worry. Yesterday…well, never mind. Just, there is nothing to worry about.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.” Her voice was muffled against him. “I have an older sister, and when she was enceinte…well, she talked a lot about it. And how you know.”

He tightened his hold on her and pressed his mouth to her temple. “I should, I know, be pleased that I have not made difficulties for you, that I have not given your father reason to despise me. But there is a part of me—not the most honorable part, I fear—a part of me that wishes I had a reason, an excuse to carry you off at once.”

“And I wish that too.” She sighed. “Almost a year to wait. I do not think I can bear it.”

“As to that…” Lucien stepped back with a grin and tilted up her head with his fingers so he could look into her face. “As to that, I have an idea. My uncle, the brother of my mother, lives near Avignon. His family estate, the chateau, it is there.”

“I thought you said you had no family, or very little family.”

“I was speaking then of my father's family in Burgundy. But most of my mother's family is in the Vaucluse. My grandparents died long ago, but my uncle remains, and there are many cousins. It was to this uncle that I went when I first left my grandfather's house. He is not fond of my grandfather, you see, nor does my grandfather approve of him. So if I marry from his house, it is most proper, most fitting that only my mother's relatives be in attendance.”

A delighted smile crossed Emily's face. “And how soon could we be in Avignon?”

“We go to Baghdad, Basra, then we stop in Cairo for the wedding of David and Lady Julia—a month? Six weeks at most before we can marry.”

She fell into his arms and they spun around, laughing in delight.

* * *

Emily and Lucien were still smiling—and sitting side by side, hand in hand—as Lucien explained his plan to Lord and Lady Penworth. They were in the room Lord Penworth used as an office. He sat behind the broad wooden expanse of a European-style desk in a stiff leather chair, with Lady Penworth in the armchair upholstered in a sensible brown twill and the young couple on a pair of uncomfortable and unadorned wooden chairs.

Lucien's plan sounded wonderfully reasonable to Emily, but she could not fail to notice that although her parents listened attentively, they were not smiling. They were not actually scowling, but they regarded Lucien with less than unbridled enthusiasm.

“I do not wish to pry into matters which are none of my concern,” said Lady Penworth, obviously considering this most definitely her concern, “but could you tell me the reason for the animosity between the two sides of your family?”

“In part it is political,” said Lucien, waving a hand in that French gesture that dismisses things as unimportant. “My mother's family, none of them are strong monarchists. Not revolutionaries. They have no desire to see heads roll, you understand, but they would be happy to see no more of the Bourbons.”

“In that case, I wonder that your grandfather wished his son to marry into that family,” said Lord Penworth. “I understood you to say that he is a strong monarchist.”

“Indeed he is,” said Lucien, “one of the ultras. But he covets the estate of Varennes, which lies alongside his lands and was my mother's inheritance. Since she is a woman, he assumes she has no thoughts, no opinions that must be considered.”

Lucien correctly interpreted the strangled noise that came from Lady Penworth to signify that she considered such a belief to be beyond idiocy and anyone who held such a thought to be a fool. He smiled in agreement and said, “That is the other reason for my uncle's dislike. My mother was his older sister, and he was most fond of her. It angered him greatly that her husband's family made her unhappy.”

Lord Penworth's fingers were beating a tattoo on the arm of his chair, something he did only when he was not happy with the course of events. Emily eyed him nervously. “Perhaps,” he said, “you could tell us a bit more about your uncle.”

“But yes.” Lucien fidgeted beside her. He sounded less confident that he had been at first. “He is Baron Antoine de Marbot, and he serves as a deputy in the assembly, though not a passionate one. It is mostly to protect his family and its interests that he involves himself. In his part of the Vaucluse, in Provence, the family is of considerable importance socially, and they are far from poor. My uncle did much to advise me about my affairs, and I have benefited from his advice.”

“Will this not put him in an awkward position in regard to your grandfather? No one needs enemies, and your grandfather, as I understand it, is still a man of some influence. Will it not seem that your uncle is encouraging you to defy your grandfather, whose heir you are?”

Lucien nodded. “That is why he will be most happy to help me. Not only will it displease my grandfather, but it will also be of help to my uncle to be seen to have me in his camp, so to speak. Others—including the emperor—will be pleased to think that at least one family will no longer pine for a restoration.”

While Lord Penworth mulled this over, Lady Penworth asked, “Is your uncle married?”

“But yes,” said Lucien, “and I have four young cousins there.”

“In that case, the feelings of your aunt might be a matter to consider,” she said. “After all, it is on her shoulders that the burden of arranging the wedding will fall, and that is no small burden.”

Emily felt a twinge of guilt. This would not have occurred to Lucien, but she should have thought of it. She had seen the preparations for other weddings, and it was no small task. Especially if it was to be the kind of socially prominent wedding that Mama clearly considered necessary.

Lucien's surprise and confusion were obvious, and Lord Penworth also looked startled. Lady Penworth and Emily exchanged looks of understanding.

“Lucien, you will send a telegram to your uncle immediately, to be followed by a letter explaining all in detail. I will write to your aunt—you will give me her direction—and we will endeavor to work out a manageable schedule. Phillip, you will need to send a telegram to your secretary. He may need to travel to Avignon to arrange places for us all to stay, and he must discover if anyone we need to invite is staying in that part of the world. Come along, Emily. We have a great deal to do.”

With that, Lady Penworth swept from the room. Emily sighed, but followed dutifully behind her.

* * *

In the cool of the evening, they all gathered in the courtyard to consider the remaining problem. The household had settled back into its usual rhythm. The chatter of the servants, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter, made a distant hum. The ubiquitous perfume of coffee mingled with the scent of the jasmine vine, an odd commingling that would always mean Mosul to Emily. Most of them sat or reclined on the colorful cushions that softened the benches in the loggia, but Lucien sat at Emily's feet, resting his head against her leg. She held her hand where she could tangle her fingers ever so slightly in his hair without her mother seeing what she was doing. Perhaps Mama just pretended not to see. It didn't matter. His hair was delightfully soft and silky.

Julia looked different. It was nothing spectacular. Her hair was dressed in its usual neat chignon, she was wearing a familiar dress of yellow-and-white-striped India muslin, and she was sitting with her usual perfect posture, her hands folded in her lap. Only perhaps her posture wasn't quite as perfectly erect as usual. The set of her shoulders wasn't quite as rigid as usual. And the expression on her face wasn't quite as impassive as usual.

Everything about her was just a bit softer than usual. Not a great deal, but enough to be noticeable. The hint of a smile hovered around her mouth. And even when she was not looking at him, she seemed to be in tune with David. It was as if they breathed in unison. Then they looked at each other and smiled. Tiny little private smiles inside the bubble of happiness that protected them from the rest of the universe.

Emily could feel the tears prickling at her eyes. This was why people wept at weddings. The happiness was too extraordinary. It demanded a response.

Lord Penworth cleared his throat, and the bubble shattered. A sigh of regret washed almost audibly over them as they turned to look at him.

“I know you are all fully occupied with plans for the future, but we must clear away the detritus left by recent events. We cannot condone Mlle. Carnac's actions, nor can we absolve her father of all responsibility.” He gave a short, angry laugh. “Although M. Carnac seems to think that is the case. I have received two letters from him so far, asking—no, demanding—that we begin efforts to rescue his crates from the river.”

Lady Penworth shook her head in disbelief.

Lucien also shook his head. “He has only one idea in his head, that one. He sees nothing else. That I should have brought him and his daughter into your acquaintance, I cannot begin to tell you how much I regret it.”

“You cannot claim all the blame for yourself. There was no need for me to involve myself in his project,” said Lord Penworth.

“What is done is done,” said Lady Penworth. “There is no point in berating ourselves for actions that were taken from the best of intentions. What remains is the task of deciding what to do now. I assume it is up to us and not to the local authorities?”

“Er, yes,” said David. “Much though I would like to recommend official… Despite the sultan's efforts…” He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “If we involve the authorities, it will be a mess. It will be a diplomatic embarrassment for all the countries, and we could be trapped here forever.”

Lord Penworth nodded. “That is what I feared. But I don't like the idea that Mlle. Carnac will escape punishment.”

Lady Penworth closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “When I think what could have happened… She wanted Emily killed. It doesn't matter that she was not going to do it herself. That is what she wanted. And then Julia—Julia, who had gone out of her way to be kind to the girl. They were going to sell Julia into slavery and that, that
creature
never even raised an alarm.” She looked down at her hands, which were trembling on her lap. Clenching them, she said, “I am sorry. When I think of what she put us through, what might have happened, I could chop her up into little pieces.”

Julia gnawed at her lip and decided to speak. “But nothing did happen. In the end, I mean. In the end, everything turned out all right.”

“Really, Julia!” Emily sat up straight. “It's all very well and good to be charitable and forgiving, but that little monster was perfectly willing to have us killed. That does not leave me feeling in the least charitable.”

“Not charitable, precisely, but I keep thinking… She's really just a child, still. And she has had no education to speak of. Her mother taught her to read and write, but she's terribly ignorant.” Julia looked around at the others as if asking them to understand. “And desperate. Really desperate.”

Emily shook her head in exasperation. “How you can sympathize with her…”

But Lady Penworth held up a hand to interrupt and spoke slowly. “No, Emily, Julia is right. Mélisande is just a child. A foolish, selfish child, but that may be because she has never been taught any better. She has no one to take care of her, so she tries to take care of herself. With potentially disastrous consequences this time, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she frowned in thought.

Emily looked thoughtful as well. “It must have been dreadful for her, growing up here with no one but that horrid father of hers.”

Lord Penworth looked at his wife with a dubious expression. “My dear, you are not going to start managing the Carnacs' lives too, are you?”

Lady Penworth nodded decisively. “Well, someone must take charge of that girl, and her father is obviously not up to the task. If she is left here, there is no future for her. None at all. She must be taken in hand. At the very least, she needs an education.”

“
Tiens!
” Lucien exploded. “You will reward her by sending her to Paris? A fine lesson that will be.”

“No, Lucien, not Paris. I was thinking…” She turned to David. “Are there any schools in Cairo, do you know?”