~ Nine ~

 

THE STILL COLD AIR NIPPED at Letty’s cheeks, but she was conscious only of the wondrous beauty of the new scenes spreading forth before her. She felt like a small child opening the pages of a fairy tale and finding there, everything she had ever longed for was true!

They rode unhurriedly past farms yellowed by the long winter, past quaint wood barns and stone cottages of grey and brown, all scattered among the neatly cut fields. Smiling up at the distant sun, a small laugh escaped her lips.

Charles gave her an affectionate smile and said lightly, “Happy, child?”

“Gloriously so. Oh, Charles, I feel…wild. I wish I could take hold of this time, these days with you three, and never let it go. I just want to keep reliving this time.”

“Yes, when one is happy, one wants nothing more than to remain so. However, time moves, and we have to find a way to move with it and still find whatever happiness is to be had. You need always to face up to truths if you are to survive them.”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “No…not yet. My truth is that I have to somehow escape the future until I am one and twenty. I don’t know how I will manage to do that just yet, but I mean to live in the now. My life is just as I want it to be right now, and I don’t give a fig for tomorrow.” She looked towards Bel riding just ahead with Fitz.

“More child you,” Charles answered, watching her and sighing. “We, all of us, must recognize when something…someone, is not attainable.”

She turned sharply to stare at him. “I may be young, Charles…naïve even, but I know what your meaning is. You are afraid that my…hero worship of Bel will end with…with me suffering a broken heart. You need not worry about that. I know Bel will never see me as more than the little girl who followed him around all through our early days and even later…even now.”

“Indeed, I am afraid, Letty, that is precisely what will happen—you finding yourself hurting far more than you imagine,” he said sadly.

She didn’t want to think about that, so she urged her horse forward. They had been riding for what seemed like forever. She longed for a respite, but did not wish to be the one to ask for it. She caught up to Fitz and Bel, and allowed her horse to fall into step with them as Charles brought up the rear.

“I say,” Charles called out. “Wouldn’t mind if we…”

It was then Bel said, “Finally! I was beginning to think I was the only one, and that we might have missed the opportunity when we came upon that little inn we passed an hour ago.”

It was with a sense of deliverance that Letty followed as they turned onto the Posting Inn’s wide gravel driveway and found stable lads running towards them and merrily calling out in French, “Good morrow, citizens.”

Paris had been reopened to foreign visitors after the Treaty of Amiens had been signed, and she felt a keen sense of anticipation. Here was an adventure that would last her memory forever!

Her companions had already dismounted with ease, but she sat still on her horse, stiff and just a bit worried about doing the thing with agility. Bel was at her boot and said quietly, “Trouble, little one?”

“I must own that I do not think I can alight without assistance…but that would look very odd, would it not?”

Charles said, “Hang it…if you need help, help you shall get!”

Bel nudged him out of the way and said loudly in French, “Is that pauvre leg still paining you, mon petit fre?” He reached for her then and added, “Ne marche pas!”

Letty immediately found herself in Bel’s arms. He carried her as he might any young boy suffering from a leg injury.

The innkeeper’s plump, red-cheeked wife observed this and came flurrying towards them, clucking her tongue in gentle sympathy, begging milord to carry his young charge to the private dining parlor waiting for them.

Upon seeing her newly arrived patrons settled comfortably, she put her wide rough hands together and beamed, “Tiens, hot bouillon, I will bring. A fowl, oui, and wine for milords. That goes well, hein?”

The viscount put an extra coin in her hand and thanked her. She went off happily, telling her husband they were honored to have such distinguished guests at their inn, even if they were English.

Letty breathed, “Whew! Thank you, Bel. I had no notion how I was going to contrive dismounting without collapsing like a fool.”

“It is not to be surprised at, poor little madcap. After all, you have not ridden a mount these six months and more I’d wager, and never have you taken on such a long journey. Well, it’s a wonder you didn’t fall off your horse long since,” Bel said, and the admiration in his voice nearly made her tear up.

Bel had placed her upon a cushioned wooden chair near the fire, and had pulled up a chair beside her. He now stretched his long firm legs, leaning back upon his own chair so it tilted to and fro in a leisurely fashion.

Letty was all too conscious of his masculinity and felt the heat in her blood reach her cheeks. She had been kissed, once by a groom against her will, then once by one of Thomas’ horrid friends, and once by Thomas himself. She hadn’t enjoyed those kisses and had wondered why women were forever longing to be kissed. Watching Bel, she understood such a desire.

Charles was quite right. She would never have him for her own, and he was the only man she would ever want…ever love. Her future in that respect was doomed. It was a lowering thought, and she hurriedly brushed it aside.

 

* * * * *

 

Bel was aware of a very strong, very improper erotic desire when he looked at his Letty. For so long, he had only seen the child, but these last few days…he saw the woman. And such a woman. She was exquisite, with eyes that made him dream of things he shouldn’t, and a spirit that called to his own.

She instilled carnal thoughts in his brain and he couldn’t allow it, must not allow such wayward thoughts, he told himself.

One day, he knew, a young lad would come along and steal her away, and that notion blue-deviled him in a way he found objectionable.

He would lose his little mascot forever. How could he bear it—how could he bear to see her whisked off by another man?

He had no choice. He couldn’t keep her in this limbo relationship with himself forever. She should marry and have a family…a happy life. It was his duty as her friend, her protector, to make certain she had everything she needed. Indeed, but he would make certain that whoever courted her, deserved her. Yet the thought of another man taking her in his arms, and his bed, filled him with jealousy—a jealousy he had no right to feel. Absurd, he told himself. He had become far too attached to his little one. He knew, of course, she admired and looked up to him. He had allowed—even encouraged that when they were younger, and now, he knew he should put a stop to it. But he found he wasn’t ready to do that. He cared for her too well, and letting her go was far more difficult than he had ever thought it would be. She was plucky and sweet. She was so damn beautiful and innocent. Hell and brimstone—what was wrong with him?

 

* * * * *

 

Sir Charles had been engaged in lively conversation with Fitz, but he chanced to turn his head and noticed Bel gazing at Letty. There was just such a look in his friend’s eyes…on his face, that his attention was immediately arrested. Just what was he witnessing?

Letty looked up at Bel then, and the two stared into one another’s eyes. Charles could not stall the small gasp that came into his throat. Dash it! Just what was happening?

The aroma of food being laid out at the long, worn, dark oak table caught all of their interests at that moment, as they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and then only muffins and coffee. Charles watched Bel get to his feet and stretch out his arms before he helped Letty remove her coat, and as Bel helped her to her feet, Charles saw Bel take her hand, and it was as though the electric tension between the two filled the room! Well, by Jove, what was this?

He saw Letty blush rosily and Bel’s expression dip into a state of confusion. Deuce take the man! Bel was a confirmed bachelor. Letty would fall even deeper into love, and Bel was simply leading her on. This would not do unless…?

 

* * * * *

 

Letty felt the air rush out of her lungs as Bel’s hand took and held her own. She wanted to fall into his arms. She wanted him to kiss her—right then and there, hang it all. She wanted him in every conceivable way!

What was she going to do? She had been transported into a dream she could never achieve…a dream where she and Bel were forever together.

She felt a fever in her veins. She felt shaken to the core, simply because of his touch, his hand over hers, then he pulled away and she lowered her eyes, hoping no one noticed what she had just experienced.

She heard Fitz say something she did not quite understand, but he placed a glass of wine in front of her. She raised it up and poured the cool liquid down her throat in nearly one gulp, looked around at three startled men staring quizzically at her and said, “I should like another.”

Fitz poured her only a half glass and cautioned, “Do taste this one before you down it. I fancy it is rather good French wine.”

She and Bel had stared into one another’s eyes. Did it not mean anything to him? Watching him now, it seemed that he felt nothing at all. The sensation that had flowed through him to her must have only been generated within her own body. She sighed and poked at her food.

“It is really very good,” Charles said. “Try eating it, child.”

Madame Innkeeper came into the parlor hurriedly and went about her work in a sedulous manner, assuring herself and her patrons that they were enjoying a hearty French meal. She looked pleased with them and herself as she scurried out of the cozy little room, shouting blandishments at her harried servants. Her French was guttural and amused Letty, who remarked that the French were a free-minded lot.

“’Tis true,” Charles agreed, grinning. “Fact is, when Boney became First Consul, he summed it up admirably. He said, ‛It’s not liberty our Frenchmen want, it’s equality!’”

“Aye, ’tis why he formed the Legion of Honor, which allows every Frenchman the opportunity of advancement, regardless of his birth, wealth, or position. Merit is what wins them a knighthood.”

“How very just. Do you know, I do not understand why so very many of us dislike Napoleon. He seems to be an excellent leader,” Letty commented.

“He may be good for France, although, in the end, that may be debatable, but consider this, the little Corsican is too ambitious. He has ideas that make him dangerous to us, possibly to Russia, and in the end to his own country. France wanted peace. He knew it, and so he gave his people peace, but he doesn’t mean to keep his word or the treaty. He doesn’t like Pitt’s terms, and he wants more than he already has. That makes him a threat.”

“Are you saying, Bel, that Boney is contemplating war with us?” Letty was surprised.

The three men looked around their private room and Bel whispered, “Hush, little one, and do not, under any circumstances, repeat what I have just so unwisely said. Do you understand?”

She understood at once, and sincerely made her promise never to repeat anything political that went on between the three of them. It occurred to her that all the little things she had heard her companions say in bits and pieces now made a great deal of sense. She suddenly realized the search for new pleasures was not what actually had made them all rush off to Paris.

Having consumed their meal, and two bottles of wine that Fitz declared better than anything in all of England, Fitz rushed off to buy four bottles to take with them.

At their horses once again, they distributed the bottles between their saddle bags and headed for Montdidier, where they meant to meet up with their coach, Fitz’s valet, and Letty’s puppy, who she spoke of continuously and with some concern.

“He will wonder where I am,” she complained to Bel.

“Indeed, and then you will be reunited,” Bel assured her.

It was already dusk when they finally arrived at the village of Montdidier, very much in spirits, though somewhat weary.

Heckson was on hand, and with some affection, released the puppy, who ran wildly towards Letty with a frenzy that only matched her own. Laughing, petting, cooing to her puppy, she gave him a good run around the yard before he sat and put up a paw to her.

“Look, I have tired him out,” she called enthusiastically.

The viscount noticed Heckson watching her and felt a moment’s uneasiness. As it was obvious to him that his page was a female, he wondered that others would not, if they studied her, come to that conclusion. The sooner he got her to Fanny, the better!

“Nice young lad…my cousin, eh?” the viscount remarked casually to the valet.

“I am sure, sir, but it is not for me to say, is it, m’lord?” the valet remarked, not meeting Belfort’s gaze.

“Hmm, to be sure,” Bel answered. Fitz may be right. Whether or not Heckson had surmised the page’s real sex wouldn’t matter. The valet was a gentleman, and his conclusion would go no further. He found he instinctively trusted the valet.

Meanwhile, Letty was acting very much like a boy as she twirled and encouraged her puppy to play. Max bounded forward and tripped over himself just as a young lad, evidently with his head in the clouds, stepped out in Max’s path.

Max barked, warning the boy off.

“Quelle horreur!” the lad exclaimed in startled accents. Then, as he saw it was just a puppy, his face lit up and his thin lips spread in a wide grin. “Ah, ici…ici, mon chien!”

Letty went forward, and in careful French, apologized for Max.

The French lad looked at her for a short moment and replied in English. “Ah bah! Me—I was not afraid. No, he is wonderfully brave, is he not?”

“I am delighted Max finds favor in your eyes, monsieur,” Letty said brightly.

“You are staying here, oui?” the boy asked with interest.

“Why…er…yes,” Letty answered.

“Then come, we will go in and have a glass of wine together, you and I,” the lad suggested.

Letty had already appraised the lad and realized he was French gentility, although the French now referred to one another as ‘citizen’, one could still see the markings of the ‘old world aristocracy’ in many. His accent was refined French. His clothes were expensive, and his age she put to be around fourteen or fifteen.

Politely, she declined, explaining that she must give her dog some more exercise. The lad snapped his fingers and called, “Jacques!”

A moment later, a small, white-haired man in a dark woolen cap, and the clothes of a well-appointed servant, came ambling out of the stables. He exchanged a few words with the boy, who then turned back to Letty and said, “Jacques will walk your dog.”

Letty looked around for Bel, but he and the others were nowhere to be seen. A moment later, they had taken up two chairs near the huge fire and ordered a small bottle of wine.

The French lad smiled with confidence and said, “I am the Comte de la Bedissière, but please, monsieur, if we are to be friends, I am Antoine. I am on my way to visit ma mère at her chateau in Bordeaux.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be traveling with only a servant in attendance?” Letty asked curiously.

“Non, non. You are my years, oui? So, you know…we are older, are we not, than our age. But I do not travel with only Jacques. I have the coach, the driver, and deux, how is it called…ah yes, the outriders. My English is quite good, is it not?”

Letty laughed. “Oui, better I think than my French.”

He beamed. “So you are my age, oui?”

“If your age is fourteen or so?” She gave the lie, for which she felt a blush beat its way to her cheeks.

“Oui…how did you guess? You are very clever, I think, but are you alone?” he asked on a frown.

“No, I am not traveling alone. I am Robert Bascombe, and I am traveling with my cousin, the Viscount Belfort, and two other companions. We are on our way to Paris.”

“Ah, Paris. I have just come from there. I was with my aunt and cousins, but ma mère writes she is unwell. So, I go to her. I must,” he said gravely.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Comte,” Letty said sincerely.

He inclined his head and then pursed his lips. “Monsieur, there is something I should like to discuss with you, if you will permit.”

“Why, yes, of course,” Letty answered in some surprise.

“It is this, Monsieur Bascombe—ah bah, such a name. It sticks upon the tongue and will not leave easily. How can such a lovely name, Robert…end with the other?”

Letty burst out laughing.

He inclined his head. “Good, I amuse you. Enfin…so now I wish to bargain with you.”

Letty had often heard that the French considered the English crazy. She now thought much the same of the French. “Bargain with me?”

“Oui. I have taken a fancy to your little, how do you call him…Max, yes, to Max. He is lovely, the little golden one. I would like to have him.”

“My puppy, Max, is not something I will bargain or sell. I am very attached to him, as you well might understand,” Letty said without smiling, although she felt a pang of sympathy for this young boy with the adult mannerisms.

“Oui, but wait, Monsieur Robert. I have here…” He produced an elegant length of ivory paper, which he held before her proudly.

She could clearly see the First Consul’s name scrawled above the seal. She read something about authority, but could see no more.

“The First Consul is a dear friend of ma mère. He wished me to bring her a gift. He had a very lovely ring designed for her. This letter permitted the jeweler to release it to me. Here, is it not beautiful? It is a very valuable memento, don’t you think? Of course, you do. Would you not be pleased to own such a ring in exchange for your Max?”

“No, I would not, and you should not be offering a gift the First Consul wishes your mother to have from him,” Letty said sternly. “Do you see?”

“Oui, I must applaud your principles, mon ami. Enfin, the matter is settled.”

“Believe me, Comte, my regret that I am unable to oblige you in this regard.”

“I will make you a present of this letter from the great Napoleon…to remember me by. I can always purchase another for ma mere.”

“No. I cannot,” Letty said.

“Ah…you do not wish to remember me?” He looked stricken.

“Of course,” she answered at once.

“Then…here…you must please to accept,” he said, and shoved it at her.

She realized Max had returned with Jacques, and turned to take him into her lap when she saw the viscount’s uncovered head of gold and ginger locks gleaming in the sunlight. The expression on his face was one of both surprise and fury. His dark violet eyes swept over her and then over the Comte, and as he approached, she put down the glass of wine she had scarcely begun to enjoy.

She jumped to her feet, bade the viscount and the Comte a hasty farewell, repeated her thanks for the wine and the Napoleon keepsake, held the wiggling Max, and made her escape.

The viscount watched her rush into the inn, shook his head slightly, prayed he would soon have her safely back in a gown and chaperoned by the Lady Fanny Marling!