Chapter Five

He saw her as soon as he walked in. She was wearing blue this evening. Ironically, so was he. Hers was a deep blue, the color of royalty. She looked regal with her head held high and her slight smile.

He tore his gaze from her and searched for Bertrand. He found Amelie instead.

“My lord,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Who told you?” he asked.

“Lady Fieldhurst. She said you are the Earl of Arlington.”

“Armbruster.” He wanted to laugh because Amelie seemed to find his subterfuge entertaining, and she wasn’t the least bit upset that he’d lied to her.

“Armbruster,” she repeated.

She was wearing another cream gown tonight, a different style, but the same color. She put him in mind of an ice princess, although she’d never been cold to him.

“Are you here with your father?” he asked.

She nodded but didn’t elaborate. Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist, loose tendrils brushing her neck and the top of her shoulders. Amelie put him in mind of his sister, Josie.

“I hear tonight’s entertainment is an ensemble.” Much better than a poetry reading. He thought he might gouge his eyes out if he had to live through another of those.

Her smile was slight, as if she were reading his thoughts. “That is what I hear as well.”

Silence fell between them after that.

“What part of France are you from?” he asked. A waiter came by with a tray of wine and Oliver snagged two, handing one to Amelie.

She took it with a soft thank you.

“Paris.”

“I have been many times. A beautiful city.”

“I miss it,” she said quietly.

Oliver tilted his head. “Oh? How long have you been in London?”

“A few weeks. I am ready to return home, but Papa says we must stay a bit longer.”

“Is he here on business?”

Amelie shrugged, a purely Parisian gesture that was an answer in itself.

“What business is your father in?” Oliver asked.

“He works for the government. I am unsure what exactly he does.”

Oliver doubted this story but didn’t doubt that this was what Amelie believed. Bertrand more than likely worked with some sort of government, but not the French government.

Ellen was making her way around the room, smiling and stopping to talk to random people.

Amelie’s crystal gaze swept the room as well but in a bored, resigned sort of way.

“Why did your father bring you along on a business trip? It seems you would have preferred to remain in Paris.”

Her gaze met his. “I do not want to seem rude. I’m happy to be here, of course, in the most vibrant city in the world. Please don’t think I am unappreciative that my father would like to expand my knowledge of the world.”

“I don’t think that at all. You just seem sad.”

Her gaze swept the room, but this time he thought it was so she could collect her thoughts. “It is lonely. My friends are in Paris and Father does not have time to introduce me to people my own age.”

“Have you attended any balls?”

“We have not been invited.”

Oliver had a brilliant idea to introduce Amelie to his sister. Josie would love to introduce Amelie to her friends. But bringing a possible Chartist into his family was probably not a good idea.

“Let me see what I can do about that,” he said recklessly, while also chastising his big mouth.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you,” she said quickly.

“I can’t guarantee anything, but I will see.”

The good doctor had reached Ellen’s side and cupped her elbow with his hand. She smiled over her shoulder at him, and Oliver’s stomach twisted. He had no right to Ellen. For God’s sake, she’d been married for nearly fourteen years to another man. If he’d had any rights, he’d given them up long ago.

“Amelie?”

Antoine Bertrand approached, his gaze bouncing between his daughter and Oliver. Clearly the man was confused as to why his daughter was speaking to Oliver.

“Papa, I would like you to meet Lord Armbruster. My lord, this is my papa, Antoine Bertrand.”

Bertrand eyed Oliver warily. Oliver gave him his most charming smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bertrand. Miss Bertrand was telling me all about her home in Paris and how much she misses it.”

Bertrand’s eyes clouded, and Oliver wondered if maybe he had misspoken. Recklessly he went on, ignoring the clanging in his head to shut his mouth.

“I was thinking that Miss Bertrand and my sister would suit well. My sister could show Miss Bertrand around the city. They could go riding in Hyde Park one morning. It would all be very proper.”

Bertrand now seemed intrigued. “Poor Amelie has been lonely since I dragged her to England. I will admit that I don’t know many people her own age. That is very kind of you to offer.”

Oliver noted that Bertrand did not take him up on the kind offer.

“Where are you staying? I can have my sister call on Miss Bertrand.”

“My lord.”

Oliver turned to find Ellen at his elbow, and his breath caught in his chest. Would he ever not be surprised to see her so close to him?

“Lady Fieldhurst.” He bowed over her hand as her gaze flickered between him and Bertrand.

“Mr. Bertrand, I hope you don’t mind if I pull Lord Armbruster away for a moment?”

“Of course not.” Bertrand took his daughter’s elbow and steered her toward the refreshment room. Oliver was disappointed to see them go. He’d been hoping to find out more information from Bertrand.

“That is an odd acquaintance to make,” Ellen said, looking at him closely, not willing to admit that she was curious as to his interest in Bertrand.

“I don’t know what you mean.” But he did know what she meant. Ordinarily, Bertrand was not the sort of person Oliver would talk to at any type of event. “I was merely welcoming him and his daughter to London.”

She raised her brow in disbelief.

“Can I speak to you privately?” he asked.

The other brow rose. “Here? Now?”

“I realize it’s probably an inconvenient time…”

The doctor was nowhere to be found, and Oliver wondered where he had gone off to. Normally he was hovering closely behind Ellen, like a lap dog.

The thought was unkind, but Oliver didn’t care.

Ellen seemed to be considering him. “I have to make sure the ensemble is ready, then direct my guests into the room where they will be playing, but…”

“There you are, dear.” And just like that, when Oliver was hanging on that word “but,” the doctor appeared, frustrating Oliver to no end.

She smiled up at Needham and patted his hand.

“We are almost ready to go in,” he said.

“Splendid.” She turned back to Oliver. “You are staying, of course. It’s a most excellent ensemble.”

He almost mumbled, “Better than the poetry reading?” but held his tongue and nodded.

“Shall we start herding the people in?” Needham said to her.

Ellen hesitated, glancing at Oliver. “Give me one moment, William, and I will be right with you.”

Needham shot a confused look at Oliver before walking away.

“Call on me tomorrow morning,” Ellen said hurriedly. “There is something I need to discuss with you.”

It took a moment for Oliver to realize what she was asking. What could Ellen possibly need to discuss with him?

“Very well.”

She reached out to squeeze his arm. “Thank you for what you did for Philip the other night.”

“I’m assuming he’s feeling better?”

“It took the better part of the day but, yes, he’s his old self.”

By the way she said “old self” Oliver got in the impression that maybe that was not a good thing, but he held his tongue. He was doing a lot of that this night.

“Tomorrow then,” he said.

She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but nodded, then hurried after the doctor.

…

“Really, Oliver, you ask too much. I don’t even know this girl.” Josie had not been as open to showing Amelie around the city as Oliver had hoped.

He’d stopped by his mother’s house on his way to Ellen’s to ask this favor of his sister and had not found Josie in the best of moods. He probably should not have come here rushed as he was.

“Just a ride around Hyde Park. She’s lonely, Jose.”

Josie huffed and put her stitching down. He was stuffed in a small, delicate chair that was more for decoration rather than utilitarian purpose, in her sitting room on the second floor.

“How do you know this girl?”

“I met her at a salon.”

Josie’s brows went up, and she asked a thousand questions with just one look.

Oliver sighed and then thought he might be able to turn Josie to his side with the truth.

“You can’t tell anyone, Jose. Not even Mother.”

Josie sat forward a bit more, curiosity lighting her features. Josie—short for Josephine, a name she despised—was considered a beauty of the first water. She’d had marriage proposals the moment she’d debuted, but nothing Oliver would even seriously consider. More than once she’d told him that she would marry for love or not marry at all, and he adored her enough to take that proclamation seriously. Because he felt the same way. He’d experienced love once, a deep, abiding love, and wanted nothing less with the woman he chose to spend the rest of his life with.

How could he ask less of his sister?

But she was also bored with her life as a debutante. Josie liked adventure and intrigue, and he feared that someday that would land her in trouble.

“I was asked to discover some information on a man named Antoine Bertrand.”

“That sounds French.”

“He is French, as is his daughter, Amelie.”

“What information? Who asked you to do this? Why you?” Her questions came one after the other with barely a breath in between.

Oliver held up his hand. “Who asked is none of your concern. Why me, is none of your concern, either.”

She sat back and folded her arms across her chest, pouting. “Then I won’t help you.”

He contemplated her, testing the angles he needed to take to get her to do what he wanted. “Very well. I’ll find someone else to help me.”

He stood, not an easy task when he feared the chair would collapse beneath him. “Tell Mother I’m sorry I missed her.”

“She’ll be angry if you don’t stay until she returns.”

“I have business to attend.”

She was watching him warily, trying to decide if he would follow through with his bluff. “Business with this Bertrand?”

He tweaked her nose and grinned. “None of your concern, since you said you wouldn’t help me.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll tell Mother you were here, and you will feel her wrath that you didn’t stay.”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard it before. Besides, I really do have a business meeting.”

He made it all the way to her door, stopped, hesitated, then pulled it open and walked out.

She held out longer than he thought she would. He’d made it almost to the front door before she came barreling down the steps, skidding to a stop in front of him, practically flinging her arms out to block his exit.

“What would you need me to do?”

He barely concealed his satisfied grin.