Page 78 of Souvenir of Love

She saw Joley glance at James, obviously awaiting his decision on whether she would be allowed to walk outside. She forced herself to smile, to appear the picture of wifely patience.Once again waiting on the decisions of a man, she thought, resisting the urge to drum her fingers against the folds of her skirt. “I’ll get my wrap,” she said a split second before her pseudo-husband could give his approval.

When she returnedfrom her walk, Joley was dressed in a suit of James’s clothes and they were sipping brandy, seated by the fire. They rose as she entered, inquired politely if she’d enjoyed her walk, and James invited her to join them. She sat and listened as they discussed sites of historical interest in England and what the weather most likely would be like when they arrived. They might have been meeting in a drawing room, instead of engaged in a rescue that might cost them all their lives.

Gradually, as most polite discussions do, the talk turned to family. “Do you have children?” Joley asked.

“Not yet,” James answered. “We are newlyweds.”

“Congratulations.” Joley lifted his glass. “To many long and happy years together, filled with fine and healthy children.”

Elizabeth flushed at the toast, uncomfortably reminded of the morning and James’s words:We are not man and wife. It is madness to think we can ever be. Anxious to change the subject, she asked Joley if he had any children.

“Two,” he said, staring for a long moment at the fire through his brandy glass before adding, “living. My son passed away four years ago. I have two daughters.”

James offered his condolences. “And where are your daughters now?”

“As soon as the troubles began, my oldest fled to Austria with her husband and children. My youngest is still in Paris.” He turned his glass slowly, as if mesmerized by the flames in the glass. “I tried to convince her to flee with me, but she insisted on remaining in Paris. Fancies herself a painter.”

“Does she have family in Paris?” Elizabeth inquired.

Joley shook his head. “She’s a widow. No children. She lives in an apartment with a small studio in the Marais district.”

“I’m sure she will be safe.”

“Safer than she would have been hiding with me in that dreadful hole. Safer than she would be if she were discovered in my company. Indeed, as the public charges against me mounted, I took pains to distance myself from her. Not that it was difficult. Her late husband, Gerard, was a Girondist, a representative to the National Assembly. He believed France should be a constitutional monarchy.” Joley took another swallow of brandy. “The only fortunate aspect of his death from influenza last year was that he wasn’t party to the vote for regicide.”

“You did the right thing, monsieur.” Elizabeth reached out and touched the man’s hand lightly, aware of the impropriety, but moved by the pain in his voice. “You are in good hands now.”She glanced at James, then turned back to Joley. “I’m certain that you and your daughter will be safely reunited in England.”

Twenty-Nine

The sound of a fist pounding on the door awakened Elizabeth from a fitful sleep. Clutching sheets to her chest, her heart racing, she stumbled out of bed. The sun had not yet risen, and the room was still dark. “We’ve been dis—” She stopped in mid-gasp. Joley was sitting in a chair across the room, dressed in clothes from the night before. James was also fully dressed, and he was answering the door.

“We weren’t certain you’d be up,” Andre said, entering. David and Marcus followed behind.

“I set the time,” James pointed out.

“True”—Andre winked—“but we all know how hard it is for society gents to wake up before noon.” Arms full of packages, he nodded over his shoulder. “Why, we practically have to fire a gun next to Marcus’s ear to get him to lift his head from the pillow.”

“It’s a miracle I sleep at all considering how you snore.” Marcus, carrying a tray full of covered dishes, scowled at Andre’s back.

“And speaking of sleep…” David shifted the box in his arms and pointed an elbow in Elizabeth’s direction. “Looks like we woke someone up.”

“It appears”—Elizabeth pulled the sheets up around her neck—“someone neglected to tell me early morning visitors were planning to call.” She glared at James, annoyed that after all she’d done, he still didn’t consider her a member of the team. “I would very much appreciate it if one of you gentlemen would move that screen”—she pointed with a sheet-draped arm—“near to the washbasin and my trunk.”

The three men hastened to unburden themselves while Joley quickly rose from his chair and moved the screen to where Elizabeth had directed. “A thousand pardons, Lady Dinsmore.”

“Look on the bright side, Lady Dinsmore,” Andre said. “At least Marcus here has brought breakfast. Poached eggs, bread fresh from the oven, raspberry preserves, and hot coffee.”

“Coffee?” Joley’s face lit up. “I haven’t had a good cup in weeks…”

Andre made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If you’ll sit down at the table, monsieur, I promise that by the time you’ve finished, you’ll be an entirely new man.”

“Well,monsieur, what do you think of your new look?”

Nearly two hours and two pots of coffee later, Joley brought the mirror Andre handed him close to his face, turning his head this way and that. His skin looked spotted; Andre had touched up his features with theater cosmetics. He ran his fingers through his freshly dyed brown hair, then smiled, studying his teeth, which Andre had stained. “I certainly don’t look like myself,” he said in amazement.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re not supposed to look like yourself; you’re to look like Lord Dinsmore’s new coachman, Armand…” He snapped his fingers at Marcus. “What’s his name again?”

Marcus pulled a packet of papers from his pocket and held them out to Joley. “Armand Duval.”