Regency High Society Vol 3: Beloved Virago / Lord Trenchard's Choice / The Unruly Chaperon / Colonel Ancroft's Love

Chapter Six

The following morning, when finally she had managed to prise open her eyelids a fraction, Katherine felt as if she had taken a punishing tumble from a horse. There didn’t seem to be an inch of her that didn’t ache abominably, and her poor back felt as if it might break if she attempted to move. Discovering bright morning sunlight surprisingly streaming through the bedchamber window did little to improve her overall discomfort, and she swiftly closed her eyes against the sun’s smarting rays, but was prompted to open just one again a moment later when she clearly detected a strange rasping sound emanating from the general direction of the washstand in the corner of the room.

‘Oh, God!’ she groaned, when at last she had brought that nightmarish figure dragging a razor across its chin into focus, and her one and only hope that the events of the evening before had all been some fiendish bad dream had been wholly dashed.

The muttered exclamation carried, and Daniel paused in his shaving to stare through the mottled glass on the washstand at his companion’s pained expression. A few minutes before, whilst still soundly asleep, she had looked utterly adorable, with those auburn locks in enchanting disarray framing her lovely face. It was quite evident that her mood had not improved to any significant degree during the night hours, and he could not in truth say that he was in the least surprised. The winged-chair might be comfortable enough to sit in for an hour or two of an evening, but it hadn’t been fashioned to afford its occupant a good night’s repose.

He managed with precious little effort to suppress a smile, but was not nearly so successful in ignoring that imp of pure devilment which induced him to say, ‘Good morning, sweetheart. I trust you slept well?’

The darts of antipathy discharged from the depths of turquoise-coloured eyes very nearly sent him into whoops of laughter and in grave danger of taking a slice off his chin with the razor. Controlling himself with an effort, he glanced at her again through the mirror before concentrating on his own reflection. She was a termagant, right enough, stubborn and headstrong, and not every man’s idea of a comfortable companion. Yet, in truth, he could not be sorry that she did possess an abundance of spirit, for he very much feared that she would require every ounce of mettle she possessed if they were to come through this venture unscathed.

Deciding to keep these reflections to himself for the time being at least, he concentrated on preparing himself for the day ahead. When at last he had arranged his cravat neatly about his neck, he slipped on his jacket, and turned at last to face her.

‘There is sufficient hot water left in the pitcher to cater for your needs,’ he remarked, successfully bringing to an end what appeared to be her idle contemplation of the dead ashes in the hearth. ‘I’ll go downstairs and order breakfast. You’ll feel better for having some food inside you.’

His considerate gesture to leave her to undertake her toilette in private did little to alleviate Katherine’s disgruntled mood, and she darted yet another vitriolic glare in his direction. ‘My spirits are only ever likely to improve, Major Ross, when we part company … permanently.’

His lips twitched. ‘Believe me, m’dear, it would afford me the utmost pleasure to oblige you. Unfortunately I’m unable to do so, at least not for several days.’ He made to move across to the door, then checked and looked down at her again, a frown between his eyes. ‘Let me hear you say something in French. Say anything you like to me.’

How Katherine wished her command of the language was such that she could do precisely that by consigning him comprehensively to the devil! Unfortunately it was not and she had to be satisfied with telling him politely to withdraw immediately, to which his response was to utter a protracted groan and clap a hand over his eyes.

‘Dear God! Bath seminary French! Marie was right—you would never pass for a Frenchwoman in a million years!’ He removed his hand to bestow a faintly exasperated look upon her. ‘None the less, we must strive to maintain the pretence of a happily married French couple as best we can. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready. You cannot remain skulking in the bedchamber now that your husband is here to protect you. We’ll eat in the coffee-room. But kindly leave all the talking to me.’

‘Insufferable oaf!’ Katherine couldn’t resist muttering the instant he had departed.

‘I heard that,’ a deep voice informed her from the other side of the door.

Aches and pains instantly forgotten, Katherine flew out of the chair to lock the door. From what sounded suspiciously like a rumble of deep masculine laughter floating down the length of the passageway outside the room, she strongly suspected that his sharp ears had also detected the grating sound of the key turning in the lock. The confounded man had the acute senses of a cat! And could move as silently as a feline too! She would have sworn she had been awake throughout most of that wretchedly uncomfortable night, striving to combat the very natural desire to part company with the Major at the earliest opportunity, and yet in all honesty she could not say she had heard him return the key to the lock.

She turned her attention to her small trunk, which had sat in the corner of the room since her arrival at the inn. Nothing would have afforded her more satisfaction than to begin to re-pack it at this very moment with her belongings, and persuade Marie to accompany her at least as far as Calais. Her wretched conscience, however, simply wouldn’t permit her to attempt this course of action. She had pledged to do all she could to help Sir Giles in his endeavours to unmask that British traitor who had eluded him for several years. So she must strive, somehow, to overcome her quite understandable antipathy and collaborate with the Major. Their mission was the important thing, not her disinclination to work with someone whom she found an utter bane, and she must never lose sight of this fact, she reminded herself.

Consequently she swiftly made use of the pitcher’s remaining contents, and after dressing herself in one of her modest, high-necked day dresses and arranging her hair in a neat chignon, she made her way down the stairs to the coffee-room, where she discovered the Major seated at the table by the window, staring intently out at the street.

Not surprisingly he detected her light footfall almost at once, and rose from the chair to place his lips lightly on one cheek before Katherine could do anything to avoid the fleeting contact with that much too attractive masculine mouth. She would have derived a deal of pleasure from stamping on one of those large feet encased in boots that since the previous night had received a polish, but as there were several other patrons present she refrained and merely betrayed her resentment of the chaste salute by flashing a speaking glance, which he blithely ignored.

As this was the first time she had eaten downstairs since her arrival at the inn, Katherine gazed about her with interest, and although the Major maintained a flow of conversation to which she only needed to contribute the occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’, she did notice his attention straying as the meal wore on, his keen gaze alternating between a spot beyond the window, quite outside her own field of vision, and a certain area in the coffee-room beyond her left shoulder.

She realised at once that something was not quite to his liking, and was not unduly surprised, after they had both eaten their fill, that he seemed disinclined to linger. ‘I fear, my dear, that I must leave you to your own devices this morning,’ he remarked in a carrying voice, which the bearded man seated alone at the table nearest the door must surely have heard. ‘I have an appointment with my bankers, so I’m afraid we must delay our departure until tomorrow. Annoying, I know, but it cannot be helped.’

Had Katherine not known that the Major was acting the part of the loving, considerate husband, she might have supposed the smile of gentle warmth he bestowed upon her as they made their way towards the stairs was perfectly genuine. ‘Why not enjoy a last spending spree and treat yourself to a new bonnet?’ he suggested. ‘It might be some little time before we have a chance to visit Paris again, my love, so take advantage of a last browse round the shops.’

After accompanying her back up the stairs, he followed her into the bedchamber, where he remained only for the time it took to collect his outdoor garments. Then, without uttering anything further, not even a word of farewell, he left her, closing the door quietly behind him.

Katherine clearly detected a murmur of voices from the room adjoining her own, which Marie had occupied throughout their time at the inn. She could not hear precisely what was being said, and even if she could she doubted very much whether she would have understood half of what was being uttered, because the conversation quite naturally was being conducted in rapid French. Even so, there certainly seemed an urgency about the whispered exchanges.

Some few minutes elapsed before she heard a firm tread along the passageway, and several minutes more before she saw, from her bedchamber window, Major Ross leave the inn, and set off at a brisk pace towards the centre of the city. Almost at once a figure emerged from one of the doorways on the opposite side of the street and made off in the same direction. Mere coincidence, or something more sinister? She could not help wondering.

Her faintly troubled thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and a moment later Marie entered, dressed in her outdoor clothes. ‘Ah, madame!’ she announced cheerfully, immediately perceiving Katherine by the window. ‘Your husband has instructed me to bear you company in your quest for a new bonnet. How lucky you are, madame, to have such a generous husband and one who, moreover, panders to a lady’s every whim.’

Katherine’s response to this piece of arrant nonsense was to give vent to an unladylike snort of derision. She couldn’t help thinking that poor Marie was allowing those lingering feelings of gratitude to cloud her judgement when it came to assessing Major Ross’s true character.

She chose not to argue when it was suggested that it might be wise to don her heavy, fur-lined cloak before venturing out on what promised to be a very mild, almost spring-like day. Nor did she attempt to discover why Marie should consider it essential for her to place all the funds in her possession, enough to purchase a dozen dresses, let alone bonnets, in her reticule before setting off. It was only after they had left the inn, and Marie for once chose to dawdle along the streets, while maintaining an inexhaustible flow of small talk that Katherine began to suspect her companion had a very good reason for behaving in such an uncharacteristic way.

This suspicion was confirmed when, idly glancing in a shop window, she happened to catch sight of the man who, earlier that morning, had been seated alone at a table in the coffee room. His grey hair and beard suggested that he was not in the first flush of youth, and yet his gait was remarkably sprightly, and his hard, dark eyes, she noticed, before he stopped to study the goods on display in another shop window, appeared youthfully clear and direct.

‘Marie, am I imagining things, or are we being followed?’

Katherine feared the worst when her companion’s fixed smile began to crack. ‘Yes, petite,’ Marie admitted, as they continued their stroll. She did not, however, attempt to quicken her pace. ‘Major Ross suspected that there were people watching the inn. But do not be afraid. He is at this very moment organising your removal from the city. All we need do is successfully lose our shadow. And I believe I know how this can be achieved. Endeavour, petite, to behave normally, and on no account be tempted to keep checking if he is still behind us.’

Resisting the temptation to glance over her shoulder proved to be more difficult than Katherine might have imagined. Strangely enough, though, she did not feel alarmed; in fact, she felt more intrigued than anything else, wondering how the traitor’s henchmen had managed to locate their whereabouts.

Of course she realised that Sir Giles had intended to make it known that he had managed to discover the whereabouts of Justine Baron’s sister, and that Louise would be travelling to London under an assumed name. It was also possible that Sir Giles had made it known that the person whom he had engaged to escort Louise to England would be adopting the role of her husband. But what had made them suspect that she might be Justine’s sister? Did she truly bear such a strong resemblance to the Baron sisters?

This might possibly be the reason, Katherine supposed. Yet it still did not account for the fact that the traitor’s associates had managed to locate her so easily. Paris was littered with inns. It would take some considerable time to visit them all in order to search for their quarry. Had it been pure chance which had prompted them to stumble upon the inn at which she and the Major were putting up?

Marie’s unexpected exclamation of delight induced Katherine to abandon her puzzling conjecture for the present, and she turned her attention to the creation in the shop window which appeared to be holding Marie so enraptured. She suspected at once that there was something more to her companion’s display of enthusiasm, and so offered no resistance when Marie insisted on entering the premises in order to view the fussily adorned bonnet more closely.

No sooner had they stepped over the threshold to find the establishment surprisingly empty except for one sales assistant than Marie’s demeanour changed dramatically. She insisted upon seeing the proprietress, and after a few moments’ haranguing the young assistant was persuaded to go in search of her mistress.

Not appearing best pleased at having her daily routine disrupted, the modiste, like a fearsome Amazon prepared to do battle, suddenly appeared between the plush red velvet curtains. Surprisingly enough, however, after one startled glance of recognition, she clasped Marie to her ample curves, for all the world as if she were some long-lost bosom friend.

A hurried and whispered exchange swiftly followed, the result of which had Madame throwing up her hands in a despairing gesture, casting a sympathetic glance in Katherine’s direction and voicing the fervent hope that all hardhearted males would suffer the torment of eternal perdition.

Although faintly puzzled by this pronouncement, Katherine didn’t hesitate to follow the modiste when she beckoned imperiously with one podgy, beringed hand. Having once passed between the velvet curtains, she found herself in a dimly lit passageway, from which, she swiftly discovered, one gained access to an enclosed, narrow yard.

Extracting a bunch of keys from the pocket of her severe black gown, Madame unlocked the gate set in the high, stone wall, and then surprised Katherine again somewhat by enveloping her in her plump arms.

‘You may place your trust in Madame Perot, petite. I shall send that fool who follows about his business if he should dare to enter my shop,’ she announced, before utterly confounding Katherine by adding, ‘Now go, petite. And God speed! You shall soon be safe in the arms of your lover.’

Before Katherine could gather her wits together sufficiently to demand of Madame precisely what she meant, Marie grasped one of her wrists and, after checking no one was lurking in the alleyway beyond the gate, commenced to lead the way hurriedly along a series of narrow, twisting streets. It was only when they eventually arrived at a much wider thoroughfare, running parallel to the Seine, that Marie slackened her pace.

Finding herself in a part of the city where she had never ventured before, Katherine looked about with interest, but eventually her mind returned to the brief encounter with that larger-than-life modiste. That Marie was well acquainted with Madame Perot was obvious. What wasn’t quite so clear was what she had imparted during that hurried and whispered exchange which had taken place in the shop.

Curiosity got the better of her at last and she found herself asking, ‘How long have you been acquainted with Madame Perot, Marie?’

‘Do you not recall my mentioning that Justine Baron worked for one of Paris’s most fashionable dressmakers, petite? That was Madame Perot. She was fond of Justine. She admired very much her spirit. After I returned to France, I kept in touch.’

That, of course, explained why Madame Perot didn’t hesitate to offer her aid, Katherine mused. It did not, however, explain Madame’s curious parting words. ‘What did you tell her about me?’

Marie’s harsh features were once again transformed by one of those endearing smiles. ‘I told her you were my new mistress, and that you had been very good and kind to me.’

‘And?’ Katherine prompted, when she surprised a mischievous glint in those world-weary eyes.

‘I told her you had fallen deeply in love with the most brave and charming man, but that your papa stubbornly opposed the match. I told her you had been forbidden to leave the house, and had been denied all contact with the man you love, so you had been given no alternative but to agree to an elopement. Unfortunately your papa, guessing what you might do—’

‘Stop! Stop!’ Katherine beseeched her, both amused and slightly resentful at being cast as one of those idiotic, lovelorn heroines too frequently found between the covers of those books to which her companion, Miss Mountjoy, seemed addicted. ‘I believe I can guess the rest.’