Madeleine's Christmas Wish (3 page)

“How did you come to be involved in this scheme?” Lord Jamison asked.

She told them about the document.

“Were there any other gently bred females?”

“No. I did not see the other women until we boarded the ship. Even then, the men kept me away from them, but my maid spoke with them a bit. They were all from Paris, and had worked in brothels.”

Lord Jamison's sandy brows drew together. “When did you pass through Paris?”

“We did not. They met us in Calais.” She fought the tears pricking her eyelids. “If we had gone to Paris, I would have demanded to see someone in the government, even Fouché if necessary.”

His complexion reddened, and he muttered something she did not understand.

“Jamison,” Georges growled, “watch yourself.”

“Sorry, my lady. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me. I don't usually have these conversations with gently born females.”

The interruption had been welcome. It gave Madeleine time to get herself back under control.

Jamison's brows snapped together again. “Did you ever consider that you, not your sister, might have been whom they wanted?”

She had not, yet now that she thought of it, with Madeleine gone Monsieur Coupe had control over the vineyards. Yet, he never appeared well connected enough to be left completely in charge. No, there must be another reason. “You could be correct, but why? What would anyone hope to gain?”

Georges's jaw clenched. “Once I have you safe in Berkshire, that is what I intend to discover.”

Safe!
If only he knew the truth. She hadn't been truly safe in years, and if he thought she would not be involved in discerning the truth, he had better think again. Madeleine was, after all, the head of her family now. It was her duty to protect them, and keep her promise to be home by Christmas. But how? If only she knew what to do.

M
adeleine was tense and all the color in her face had fled. Small lines bracketing her mouth showed the strain she was under. Despite what she'd asked Georges earlier, he was sure she'd answered all Jamison's questions truthfully.

She was a curious mixture of naïveté and cynicism. Despite her certainty that she would have been able to find help in Paris, Georges doubted she would've been allowed the opportunity.

Except for the inclusion of Madeleine, the French plan to plant female spies in brothels catering to gentlemen in high levels of the government was brilliant. He dismissed the idea her sister would have been the target. The nunnery the women had been destined for did not use child whores. What he needed to learn was who gained by her removal from Beaune.

“If you'd like to change for dinner,” Georges said, rising and holding his hand out to Madeleine, “there are a few other matters I must discuss with his lordship.”

“Thank you.” She placed her small hand in his. “Lady Palmerton said we would dine at seven o'clock.”

“It is after six now.”

She gazed up at him. “Where do I meet you?”

“Have your maid send for me. I'll do myself the honor of escorting you.”

Once Madeleine left, Georges poured brandy for himself and Jamison. “Do you wonder if the Coupe in Beaune could be the same one or related to the Coupe we have been trying to locate?”

The corners of Jamison's mouth turned down. “I had the same thoughts.”

Georges took a sip, then told Jamison the details about the deaths of Madeleine's father and brother. Georges had to find out if all of this was related. If it was Le Coupe, Georges must not waste time. Her family could be in grave danger. “I shall go to France as soon as possible.”

“You're going to have a problem with the lady.” The older man rubbed his jaw. “You may not have noticed the way her lips set, when you announced you'd leave her here, but I did.”

“Leave the countess to me.” The last thing Georges would allow was for Madeleine to endanger herself. “I plan to marry the lady as soon as possible. Many families are still here waiting for Louis to give them their property back. One of them must have a priest in attendance. As my wife, she will have to listen to me.”

Jamison began to cough so hard, Georges slapped the other man's back. When Jamison finally stopped, his eyes were watery.

When he spoke, his voice trembled suspiciously like he was attempting to hold back a laugh. “I wish you good luck with your plans.”

“Thank you, but I will not need luck.” The English always thought everyone was like them. Madeleine had been raised to be dutiful. In this regard, she was merely exchanging a father's authority for a husband's. She would not expect a love match. They were not common in France, and she would welcome Georges taking on her burdens. An eminently practical arrangement. “May we depart tomorrow? I do not wish to cause my mother any further worry.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry to have detained you, but I wanted to hear what the countess had to say. It looks like the rumors of trouble brewing are right. Damn. I almost forgot.” Jamison reached into his jacket, bringing out a document with the French royal seal on it. “I brought this for you. It took some doing, but we were finally able to get King Louis to sign it.”

Georges carried the packet over to the desk, carefully popping the royal seal off and spreading the papers out.

Thank God
. He officially had his lands back. His throat tightened. Finally he could go home without any interference. And now he'd have something to offer Madeleine besides money and an empty title. She would be his marchioness as their fathers had intended. “Thank you.”

“If anyone deserves it, you do. You've played a deep game these past few years. Not many men could have managed it.”

“My only wish was to reclaim my heritage.” Georges thought of what he'd done during the war; the people he'd killed and betrayed, all the identities he'd assumed—the most feared was Monsieur Renaud, French for “ruler of judgment.” And he had been judge and executioner. His only consolation was the innocent lives he'd saved, and the damage he'd done to Napoleon.

Georges escorted Jamison to the front door, noting that none of the servants was around.

Jamison grabbed his hat, coat, and sword stick. “If you need assistance . . .”

Georges's lips tugged up at the ends. “I'll ask.”

“Do you know your travel date?”

“I'll depart for France after my sister's wedding.”

“I'd heard she's marrying Wilton.” Jamison nodded. “Demmed good match.”

“It is.” Georges smiled. “He will treat her well.” The Marquis of Wilton was so in love with Pauline, and she with him, they were sure to be the most unfashionable couple in the
ton
. What would it be like to have that sort of love with Madeleine?

Jamison stepped out into the still, cold night. “Will you go to your estate in France after you've settled the countess's problems?”

“No. I will come back for her first. Though, I plan to spend Christmas there.” With Madeleine as his bride.

“Then I won't say good-bye yet.” Jamison clasped Georges's hand. “May the fates be with you.”

Georges waited, until the man climbed into a plain black coach and it rolled down the street, before closing the door and locking it. It appeared as if he would not yet be able to completely slough off his old life, but at least his property was officially his once again. He and his dependents had fought hard to protect it from squatters. Even so, he'd lived in dread it would be given to another. God had been with him.

Less than half an hour later, when Georges went to Madeleine's chamber, her maid informed him she had already gone down. As he entered the drawing room, she held the glass up to the candlelight, and twirled the goblet. “Lady Palmerton has good taste in wine.”

Something had changed. Madeleine seemed more distant, cooler, than she'd been with him thus far. “Even during the war, the English could not give up their taste for French wines.” He poured himself a glass. “We may leave London tomorrow.”

“I have some items I must purchase before then.” She fixed him with a stare. “I will not go to your mother's home a complete beggar.” She turned her focus back to the goblet. “I shall ask Lady Palmerton which shops I should patronize.”

Of course she would want to buy a few things. He remembered his mother arriving here with little more than the clothing on her back. “Do you have funds?”

“Yes, I hid some, but I will need to change it into British currency.”

“I'll do it for you.”

She nodded once in acknowledgement then took a sip of wine, and frowned as if trying to remember something. “What is the date?”

“The twenty-fifth. Why?”

Madeleine brightened. “Then the
marché de Noël
must be open. I shall be able to pick up a few small presents for your mother and sisters.”

He didn't want to ruin her mood, but . . . “There are no Christmas markets here.”

Her face fell. “Oh. Perhaps there is somewhere else.”

He could imagine a light snow falling as they visited the festively decorated stalls at the market in Beaune. Hot chestnuts to eat, and spiced wine to keep them warm as they looked at the wares from around France and parts of Germany. Even his own village had a small market.

“Do you remember when my family visited yours?” That was when the match between them had first been proposed.

“Yes.” Finally she smiled. “You bought me gingerbread and candied nuts. I ate too much and got a stomach ache.”

She would have had to remember that part. “If you would like my company, I am yours to command.” A slight tic appeared in her jaw. He had not expected anger from her. What the devil was going on? “But only if you wish.”

That was the problem, Madeleine did wish it. Despite her determination to accompany Georges when he traveled to France, and his obvious resistance to the idea, he was the same fairy-tale hero she had dreamed about for years. The one who would make her feel protected, and had stayed by her side when her family and his had tromped through the forest to find the perfect Christmas tree. At the market he'd bought her a tree ornament she still had. Yet war had changed them both, and the responsibilities she'd taken on after her father's death had matured her even further. Still, having him with her tomorrow could not hurt. It might even make convincing him to take her easier.

She glanced up and smiled. “I would enjoy your company extremely.”

The next morning, Madeleine received a note from her ladyship giving her the names of a modiste, shoemaker, and other places to buy items she might need.

She dressed for the day before going down to breakfast.

Georges, already eating eggs and beef, stood when she entered. “Good morning. Lady Palmerton has given us the use of her town coach for your shopping excursion,” he said as he held a chair for her.

“
Bonjour.
” Madeleine sat, and allowed him to add fresh toast to her plate. “Thank you. That was kind of her.”

He returned to his seat. “It also has the advantage of being much smaller than mine.”

“I understand.” She bit into the toast. It was good, but what she would not give for a crusty roll or a croissant.

“Your maid will accompany us.”

“Is that the custom here?”

He paused for the slightest moment. “Yes.”

There was something more. “What aren't you telling me?”

Raising his light green eyes to her, he said, “Unless we are betrothed, we should not be in a closed carriage together at all.”

Her mind was in a jumble. Had he merely not thought about this on their journey here, or was he attempting to compromise her, and to what end? “In that case, maybe you should not come with me.”

Georges stared at her for a moment, before grumbling, “I shall take a hackney.”

“
Bon.
” She had no idea what a hackney was, but if it preserved the proprieties, then so be it. She finished her bread and tea. “I'll meet you in the hall in a few minutes.”

Madeleine would need to discover all the customs here. It would not do to run afoul of them before she returned home.

 

 

A half hour later, Georges stood back as Madeleine exclaimed with pleasure over the fashions displayed on little dolls in Madame Lisette's store window.

“These are beautiful!”

Granted, the gowns were fashionable, but he couldn't understand why Madeleine was so excited. “I imagine they have the same styles in Paris.”

She cut him a look. “They may, but I haven't been to Paris since I was a child. Maman thought the trip was too dangerous.”

A small lady with dark hair and eyes strode out to greet them. “Madam, monsieur, welcome to my shop. I am Madame Lisette. How may I assist you?”

He inclined his head toward Madeleine. “Bonjour, Madame, this is Countess du Beaune, and I am Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel.”

Madame curtseyed. “I have had the honor to dress your mother and sister, milord.”

Well, that explained their modiste bills.

“Lady Palmerton”—Madeleine cut in, frowning at Georges as if she could hear his thoughts, before turning a brilliant smile on Madame—“assured me you would be able to make up some gowns for me.”

“Of a surety, milady. Please follow me, and we will begin.”

The two women disappeared behind a curtain. Feeling rather awkward standing alone in the shop with nothing to do, he strolled to one of the dolls dressed in the latest fashion.

“Monsieur?” A young woman carrying a tray addressed him.

“Yes?”

“Madame would like to know if you wish to have some coffee.”

“I would.”

The girl waited a moment, then said, “Please, have a seat on the sofa.”

God he was an idiot. There was a whole seating area behind him. How had he not seen it before. Probably because he was focused on Madeleine. “Thank you.”

Two interminable hours later Madeleine strolled into the waiting area chatting with Madame. Madeleine turned to him. “
Bon.
I am ready to leave.”

By noon, he was heartily wishing he'd never offered to come. Other than answer the occasional question as to whether he liked a bonnet or parasol—she had looked ravishing in several of them—he'd had no time to talk with Madeleine as she shopped. At least she appeared happy and carefree, even if there were no Christmas decorations to be found. He'd never before understood his mother's and sisters' wishes to visit London's shops, but there appeared to be something about all this shopping women enjoyed.

“There,” Madeleine said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, “I am finished. You will remember to have the bills sent to me when they arrive?”

“Of course,” he lied. “I'm famished. Shall we return to Lady Palmerton's for luncheon?”

Madeleine's pretty lips formed a
moue
. “Is there not a café or restaurant where we could go?”

“Not in London, my dear.”

“Then I suppose we have no choice. Oh!” She covered her lips with her fingers. “I shall require a trunk.”

Damn if he'd go looking at luggage as well. “I'll send my valet out. He'll know just what to buy.”

Besides, Georges wanted to get her to his mother and make their wedding plans. No matter where he was this Christmas, it would be the first one he would have knowing everyone he was responsible for, including Madeleine, was safe.

 

 

Before dark fell the following day, they arrived at Georges's manor house in Berkshire. She wasn't happy that he'd traveled in the coach with her, but she did have a maid, and it was too cold for him to ride the whole way.