Vintage Love (42 page)

“Yes,” she replied in a trembling voice.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” he went on to explain. “Your driver took me for a highwayman, but I am only a traveler, like yourself, who wished to ride along with you for mutual protection.”

Her fear drained away slowly and her breathing grew more regular. “I also was of the opinion you meant to rob us.”

“Well, now you know better. I understand you are going to the chateau of Duke Victor d’Orsay. By an odd coincidence, that is my destination, too. So we shall be fellow house guests.”

“The Duchess d’Orsay is an old friend of mine,” Enid told him.

The man nodded. “Of course; she is English.”

Enid wished she could see his face, but it was in shadow. His speech sounded like that of a gentleman and his voice was deep and warm.

“We are almost halfway there,” he said. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Armand Beaufaire.”

“And I am Lady Enid Blair.”

“My pleasure, your ladyship.”

“You are welcome to ride in the carriage with me,” Enid offered. “Couldn’t you tie your horse to the rear?”

“I think not. In any case, my purpose is to provide you with protection, and I can do that better by riding alongside the coach in the manner of a guard.”

Having said this, the count closed the carriage door and spoke briefly to the driver before remounting. Then the carriage began to move through the dismal night at a proper pace.

Now that Enid could relax again, she found it interesting, even exciting, that this courteous nobleman was going to the same place as she. No doubt Lucinda knew him well and could tell her more about him. She wondered how her childhood friend would react to her surprising visit and the events surrounding it, and she hoped that Lucinda would be sympathetic and would remember one of their last conversations together.

Lucinda’s father was a titled gentleman, and he and his family had lived on a nearby estate. They had moved to London when Lucinda was sixteen, and she had been launched into society there. At a brilliant affair during one winter season she had met the older Duke d’Orsay, who had promptly fallen in love with her. Lucinda, on her part, had soon found him her ideal.

She had spent a week in the country with Enid before embarking on the final wedding preparations. They had strolled in the woods together, hand in hand, as in the old days. The pretty, black-haired girl had insisted that they always remain friends.

“Even with the English Channel between us?” Enid had murmured.

“I will be far away,” Lucinda had admitted. “But we can write. And if one of us ever needs the other, we must not hesitate to give our help.”

Enid had smiled sadly. “You will never need my help now that you are marrying a rich and titled man.”

“Sometimes life plays strange tricks,” her friend had pointed out. “I just ask that we stay friends and keep in contact.”

“That is not a difficult promise. I shall miss you terribly.”

“And I shall miss you. But that is the way of life. Soon you will marry, too.”

“I cannot see matrimony in my future as yet,” Enid had said. But that had been long before she had met Lord Andrew Blair. Now she was indeed married, as well as in grave trouble, so she felt justified in seeking out her friend.

The rain was still lashing the countryside when the carriage reached what Enid assumed was the d’Orsay chateau. The driver and Count Beaufaire approached the door and pounded on it. Several long minutes elapsed before it was opened rather timorously by a thin, elderly servant wearing a nightcap and a white nightshirt and holding a candle. He recognized the count immediately, became very apologetic, and opened the door wide. Then he vanished into the shadows of the hall to summon others.

Beaufaire approached the coach and opened the door for Enid. “You may enter the chateau now,” he said. “I have explained to old Simon that you are a guest of the duchess’s.”

“Thank you,” Enid murmured gratefully as she stepped down. “I had no idea how I might gain entry.”

“People are wary at this hour of the night,” he remarked as he escorted her through the rain into the reception hall of the imposing mansion.

The driver followed with her bag. A stablehand came to take the horses and the carriage, and another led the count’s steed away.

“What about the driver?” she fretted. “He will need to rest.”

“I have arranged that with Simon,” the nobleman told her. “He will be given a bed in the stablehands’ quarters. He can sleep there tonight and return to Paris in the morning.”

Enid was now able to see Armand Beaufaire’s face clearly. Its features were strong and firmly etched; his even white teeth contrasted sharply with his dark complexion. His black eyes held a glint of amusement, but his expression was stern. He looked to be about twenty-six or so, but he carried himself with the dignity of an older man.

As they waited for the servant to return, he stared at her with interest. “May I inquire what drove you to make a dangerous journey on such a bad night?”

She felt her tenseness return. “I know it was foolish of me. My host in Paris warned me of the risks, but I foolishly did not listen to him.”

“I
could
have been a highwayman,” he reminded her dryly.

“And I could have been robbed or even killed.”

“That is true,” he agreed.

“May I ask why you made the journey under the same conditions?”

It was his turn to hesitate. When he replied, his tone was wary. “I had an urgent matter to discuss with the duke, and as I did not wish to attract attention to my visit, it seemed a good idea to arrive in darkness.”

She listened with growing curiosity. So this fine-looking man had his secrets also. She smiled and said, “Well, it turned out well for both of us. Your idea that we join forces was an excellent one.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the servant’s return. He had pulled his breeches up over his nightshirt, revealing his thin shanks. He still held a lighted candle, which he used to lead them up one curving stairway and then another. After they reached the upper floor, he assigned Enid to a room and continued along the corridor with the count.

A wood fire had been started in Enid’s room. She stood before the hearth for a few moments to warm her chilled body. Then she removed her damp clothing and began to prepare for bed.

In her haste she had brought along only one extra gown, but she did have undergarments and a nightdress. She could tell nothing about the room from the glow in the hearth or from the light of the single candle Simon had left for her. However, she saw that the bed was large and had a canopy. After donning her nightdress, she slid between the cool sheets and soon was asleep.

Once again her repose was interrupted by nightmares. This time she dreamed of the naked young men at the vicomte’s, as well as her moments of terror in the onrushing carriage. Several times she wakened in near hysteria, to fall back into a fitful slumber.

She was aroused in the sunlit morning by the door to her room being thrown open. Lucinda, still in a dressing robe, her dark hair tumbled pleasantly about her shoulders, ran into the room and over to her bedside.

“Dear Enid!” she cried, and kissed her on the cheek.

Enid smiled and returned her friend’s greeting. “I made myself your guest,” she said. “I trust I am not an unwelcome one!”

“Unwelcome in my house? You know that will never be! But what are you doing in France? Tell me everything!”

“I came here on my honeymoon.”

Bewildered, Lucinda sat down on the bed. “Then where, pray, is your husband?”

“In Paris.”

“In Paris,” the dark-haired girl repeated. “And pray, why have you separated?”

“That is a rather long story,” Enid replied wryly. “I would have sent you word of my marriage at the time it was planned, but Andrew objected.”

Lucinda’s eyebrows lifted. “This Andrew of yours sounds stranger by the moment! Who is he, anyway?”

Enid took her friend’s hands in hers and spoke in a troubled voice. “I have come to you in desperate need, Lucinda. My marriage is really a sham, a fiasco. I had to have someone to talk to and somewhere to rest and think things out.”

“You have picked the best possible place,” Lucinda declared firmly.

“I shall leave as soon as I have decided what to do.”

“Talking of going—and you have barely arrived! Nonsense! You must stay a while and get to know Victor, my husband.”

Enid smiled sadly. “I will stay as long as time allows. I expect to hear from my husband when he is ready to return to London.”

“Now I simply must know what is behind all this!”

“Promise you will never tell anyone except your husband, and that you will bind him to silence.”

“Whatever you ask. Just tell me.”

Haltingly, Enid told her story. When she had finished, she said, “So now you know the terrible predicament I’m in.”

“You entered into a loveless marriage for your parents’ sake—if only you hadn’t!” Lucinda cried, then embraced her.

“I did not guess Andrew’s vice,” Enid sighed. “I have been so sheltered all my life.”

Lucinda looked grim. “We know about such things here in France. Sodomy seems to be the fashionable vice, together with lesbianism! It is no wonder your debauch of a husband wanted to spend his honeymoon in Paris—and no mystery that he didn’t wish to spend it with you!”

Enid eyed her friend incredulously. “You mean that such corruption is prevalent over here?”

“Very! The king was forced to dismiss several members of his court who were caught in a flagrant situation. There are whispers of a seraglio of sodomites in Versailles. The king fears to take the offenders to public trial because of the dishonor it would bring to many fine old families and because that kind of publicity might increase people’s desire to experience those very same sins.”

“How horrible!”

“The king had to dismiss one of the worst offenders, the queen’s head of household who had perverted one of her Hungarian subalterns.”

“What are things coming to?” Enid shuddered in dismay.

“I dare not think,” Lucinda told her. “The entire country seems to be eaten away at the core with rottenness. There is a great deal of poverty and discontent, and even talk of a revolution.”

“Surely people like you will not be touched by such happenings.”

“I hope not.” Lucinda frowned. “My husband is most generous with the peasants who work the estate, and he is kind to the servants. But should the dam burst, I doubt that any of his good deeds would be remembered.”

“I find it all too frightening!”

Lucinda smiled brightly and placed an arm around her. “Let’s not dwell any longer on these ugly thoughts! We are together again, and that is what is important now. I had lost hope of ever seeing you here.”

“And I of coming, but fate has worked it out in a strange fashion.”

“You shall enjoy every moment of your stay,” Lucinda promised. “We will talk of England—all the things we loved there—and go for rides in the country. You shall see the palace and maybe even get a glimpse of King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette. The king loves the theater, and whenever a Molière play is performed on an afternoon, he is almost sure to attend.”

“To be so near the royal palace! It does sound exciting!”

“And it also increases our danger. For if and when there is an uprising, it is claimed that the king and queen will be the first seized.”

“Is nothing being done to cope with this problem?”

Lucinda nodded. “Yes. We Royalists have our own secret organization. We spy on the meetings of the would-be revolutionists and try to minimize their potential. It is on such business that Count Armand Beaufaire is here to see Victor.”

“The man who met my carriage on the road last night?”

“Yes. You were fortunate it was he and not some roguish highwayman. The roads are full of them. In Armand you had the best of guards. He has been active in the army despite his high title, and he is an expert fencer as well as a crack shot. He has also made his name in the boudoirs of our land, since his reputation as a ladies’ man follows him everywhere.”

“Indeed! After what I have been through, it is a relief to hear that some still exist!”

“You may be sure about Armand Beaufaire.”

“Is he a bachelor?”

“A widower. His wife died in childbirth, and it is said this tragedy broke his heart. He has time to woo many women, but no inclination to marry any of them.”

“What about yourself? Do you have children?”

“Alas, no,” Lucinda said. “My husband is more than twice my age. But I do not blame it on that. I fear the truth is I’m barren, for it is well known he has several bastards among the women on the estate.”

Enid blushed. “Lucinda!”

Her friend laughed. “I’m being honest with you, as you have been with me. But do not get the wrong idea. Victor is a good husband. Those incidents happened before our marriage, and truly, I could not ask for more devotion.”

“I’m glad!”

“And with all the trouble lurking in the background I’m thankful we have no children. It’s difficult enough for us to be caught up in a wave of national madness without having young ones to suffer along with us.”

“I shall never have any children,” Enid said sorrowfully. “How can I? I do not even have a proper husband!”

“Will you stay with Andrew?”

“I must, at least for a little while,” Enid replied. “Back in England, with my friends to keep me company, I may be able to close my mind to what is going on. But I couldn’t remain in that wretched chateau with him—I had to get away!”

“And he told you that you should come here alone?”

“Yes. He doesn’t care what I do as long as I don’t bother him.”

“Then I should lose no time in finding a lover for myself,” Lucinda stated.

“How can you say such a thing?” Enid cried in dismay.

“I’m telling you what you should do.”

Enid shook her head. “I know there are wives who do such things, but I never hoped to be one of them.”

“Remember, you didn’t know what your marriage would be like.”

“That is the truth, but I’m not prepared to have an affair.”