~ Seventeen ~
THAT EVENING FOUND THEM ALL at Madame Renet’s. As she was one of Paris’ leading hostesses, Lady Marling was quite proud to find that Madame seemed much taken with her little group.
Fitz smiled automatically at the dowager seated at his left, nodding now and then politely at her silly chatter. When he was able, which was not often, he turned to the woman on his right. However, although she was younger, he found her prattle just as tedious, and with a poke at his asparagus and a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to the inevitable, once again wishing he was back in London.
Sir Charles, seated diagonally across, seemed to be doing only slightly better, as the two females who flanked him were at war with each other, and he found himself being used as their pawn.
The viscount, at the corner of the table, was in conversation with the elderly hostess, Madame Renet. This indomitable woman had survived the French Revolution and had reached the lively age of seventy-five. She was one of the few remaining from the Old Regime. It had been her cunning and her marriage to a Revolutionary leader that had saved her neck, and she was regaling the viscount with some of her adventures.
Ordinarily, Belfort would have found her outrageous candor exquisitely amusing. Today, however, his attention was diverted by the conversation going on directly across from him.
An incroyable, and Madame’s youngest son, was seated opposite the viscount and beside Letty. He had been keeping up a lively banter with Letty, and this had brought Bel’s dark brows together with distaste. Jean Renet was over thirty and obviously sophisticated. Bel didn’t want him turning Letty’s head!
Bel studied the man. Jean Renet wore his light brown locks tied at the nape of his neck. His face and figure were lean and not unattractive. His eyes were brown, and other than lighting up now and then when Letty spoke, they held a look of boredom.
Bel looked him over with irritation. The man wore a grey velvet cutaway coat ornamented with silver buttons and frogging. The squared tails of his coat were embroidered heavily with silver facing. His shirt sleeves of white lace hung low over his wrists, and he wore jeweled rings on four fingers of his right hand. His knee breeches were of pale grey satin, and his stockings were of white silk. His black shoes were ornamented with large silver buckles. He was just the sort to turn a young maid’s head and then leave her brokenhearted. Bel was concerned. After all, look at his Letty. She was ravishing in her pale blue velvet gown, and the cut of her bodice was low enough to draw a man’s eye. Indeed, Jean Renet seemed intrigued and determined to engage Letty in non-stop conversation. Damn the impudent dog!
* * * * *
Jean Renet found that Letty neither gushed nor shied away, though she blushed adorably now and then. She further caught his attention when she gave him a direct look and asked whether his mother had constrained him to come to her dinner party.
He was taken aback, and his habitual attitude of languor vanished. He smiled at her and replied that he was of an age when he did what he pleased, and had been doing so for quite some years.
Letty’s spontaneous response was to sigh and say, “That pleasure is afforded to a man, but sadly not to a woman. I am now old enough and financially capable of doing as I please, but I am unable to do so because I am not a man.” Letty waved a hand. “I thought you had been constrained to attend this dinner because I noticed you were looking very bored.”
Jean Renet was immediately enchanted. Never before had a young miss spoken so honestly to him. He said, “I’m honored that you have noticed me at all.”
“I don’t know why you should be honored…I noticed you because I thought you a bit rude.”
Jean Renet burst out laughing, which brought up the viscount’s head. Letty and Bel’s gazes met for a flitting moment before she looked away.
It was at this juncture that Monsieur Renet lost interest in his food and found himself completely taken with the English woman-child.
It was after some twenty minutes that the viscount found himself at a point where his temper threatened his manners. He couldn’t hear most of their conversation, but from tidbits, he realized they were talking about Voltaire amongst other subjects men did not normally discuss with women.
The viscount’s stormy mood continued, and it was with some relief that he noted his hostess was about to get up from the table.
Madame stood, her mauve, heavily beaded gown rustling around her plump form as she moved to lead the women off while the gentlemen relaxed over their port in the English manner.
Jean Renet jumped to his feet just as the other gentlemen did when the women started to leave, but he, unlike the others, bent his arm and offered it with a quizzical smile to Letty, saying, “I am loathe to let you go. I shall accompany you.”
The viscount watched with a fallen jaw and starting eyes. His chagrin was only surpassed by his astonishment. He moved in beside Charles and seethed, “Did you see? That popinjay went off with Letty!”
Charles smiled. “I noticed.”
Fitz moved into the empty seat beside Bel and said, “Confound it, Bel, this has been an insipid evening.”
Charles snorted and answered, “Rather gentle, ain’t you, ole boy? Never spent a duller evening in my life!”
“That may be, but Letty has been having a time of it,” the viscount complained. “What does she see in that—that fop of a popinjay…that coxcomb, Jean Renet?”
“You know,” put in Fitz thoughtfully. “Not exactly a fop. His style is somewhat overdone, ’tis true, but still seems quite fashionable to me. I would call him a tulip. That’s it, he is a tulip.”
“No, no,” teased the viscount. “You are a tulip…he is a fop.”
Fitz started to object, until he noted the viscount’s wide grin and smiled responsively. “Aye, then, Bel. I’m going to duck out of this establishment. Have a go at Royale. Have to before I say something devilish to our hostess.”
Charles laughed and declared he was joining him.
“Heigh-ho! You two run off and leave me in this muddle? Try it, m’darlins!” Bel challenged.
“Bel, we’ll take a hackney, leave Aunt Fanny with her coach to go home when they will,” Charles said. “Nothing wrong in that.”
“No, can’t leave them without an escort home,” Bel insisted.
“You’re out there, Bel. Aunt Fanny has been in Paris on her own, coming and going…on her own. She won’t mind.”
“Doesn’t matter. We brought them here, and we damn well will escort them home—now in fact!” Bel answered caustically.
“No, that ain’t right,” Fitz stuck in. “Letty is having a grand time. Fond of her, can’t whisk her away…not fair, selfish. You stay if you must, but we are leaving.”
“Devil take you then,” Bel snapped. “Go on, go. I am staying to escort our ladies home.”
“Well, then we will go…right, Charles? We’ll leave now,” Fitz returned on a firm note.
Their dissension had been in English, but as it steadily grew in volume, it attracted the attention of their fellow male companions. These worthies had been standing and sitting in several small groups, carrying on conversations of their own, which suddenly, and with acute precision for timing, stopped!
The three Englishmen found themselves the objects of curious interest and made an attempt to lower their voices.
Bel folded his arms and turned his face away from both Charles and Fitz.
Charles cleared his throat, and Bel regarded him, as Charles had propped his elbow onto the dining table and was only partially concealing a smirk.
“What?” Bel demanded.
“Since when, Bel, have you been governed by the proprieties?” Charles said smoothly. “The truth is you don’t wish to leave Letty in the hands of the French tulip…admit it.”
Bel felt a rush of heat, and his mind was filled with denial. He stood and said, “Shall we go then?”
Fitz pulled a face at him. “Shouldn’t let you accompany us after all that fuss. We should make you stay.”
“Do be quiet, Fitz,” Charles said in some exasperation.
It took them another ten minutes to take their leave of their hostess and bid both Aunt Fanny and Letty adieu, though Bel could not help but touch Letty’s chin and whisper, “Enjoy yourself, little one.”
* * * * *
Letty watched him leave, and her disinterest in Monsieur Renet increased with Bel’s departure. She hadn’t meant to make him jealous, but had thought for a moment or two he was, and the chance that he was had excited her.
Jean Renet continued to flirt with her, spurred on by her inattentiveness. Although his conversation was intriguing, Letty wished she could escape him.
“I think I should return to Lady Marling,” she offered sweetly.
He immediately rose from the sofa and took her hand to help her up, at which point, he moved the lace of her gloved hand, exposing her wrist, and placed a light kiss there. This made Letty blink and release a light giggle.
“Monsieur, are you in your cups?”
“Why no, what makes you think so?” He was surprised.
“Well, you missed kissing my fingers quite completely,” she answered in earnest.
Jean Renet let go a peal of laughter that attracted his mother’s interested gaze.
“My dearest life, my angel of innocence, I meant to kiss your wrist. It is a Frenchman’s way of feeling his lady’s pulse to see if it quickens at his touch.”
She chuckled. “And you found it did not!”
“Alas, it did not. I must strive to do better,” he answered, and led her to Lady Marling, who looked as though she was ready to depart.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Aunt Fanny said with some relief. “It is late, and we have a full day tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes…time to go. Will we find Bel at home, do you think?”
“Of course not. Those rascals went out for some gaming, no doubt.” She lowered her voice. “But the evening has been insipid, and ’tis time we bid our hostess good-night.”
* * * * *
Max awaited Letty in her room. He was already on her bed, and rolled over for his petting, which she enthusiastically rendered.
“Silly pup, did you think I abandoned you?” She rubbed his belly some more. “Never, but you can’t go with me to these dinner parties. Besides, you would find them very dull. Once Bel left, it was even worse.”
He whined in response.
She undressed and slipped into a cream-colored velvet wrapper, and sighed to tell him, “There, that is better. She plopped on the bed and dragged him onto her lap. He was larger now, and a good part of him hung over, but he didn’t seem to mind, and she laughed before her tone changed and she told him, “He doesn’t seem to be in love with me, Max. All the lovely gowns and jewels I have donned in the hopes…but he still sees a little girl. I shan’t brood over it. At least he cares for me.” She sighed, then with a final pet, she placed him on the coverlet beside herself as she climbed under. “That is enough. Time to sleep, for I can’t think any longer. I just can’t.” She blew out her candles, and with her dog snuggled now against her, fell off to sleep thinking of Bel and his kiss.
* * * * *
Bel and Charles were seated with John Darcy, playing deep at the faro table. Fitz stood behind them and studied the play for a while before wandering off with some French acquaintance, only to come up short with an exclamation, “Tom Liverdale! You old dog! What the deuce are you doing in Paris? Thought you would have been home by now.”
“Fitz!” the startled gentlemen returned merrily. “I could ask you the same. Truth is, would have been home, but got detained in Boulogne with er…a friend.”
“A friend, eh?” Fitz grinned. “Was she blonde or redhead? I have always had a weakness for a redhead.”
“As a matter of a fact, she was a brunette.” Tom suddenly lowered his voice and looked about himself, took Fitz’s arm and walked him away from the Frenchman and into a private corner, saying, “Keep an eye out, Fitzy…and stop me if anyone comes towards us!”
“What the devil?” Fitz’s eyes opened wide.
“I will dive right in. Had it from Whitworth that you are here with Charles and Belfort on king’s business. Had a letter from the damned fool last week, but don’t worry, I burned it. Tell Belfort Paris is getting dangerous. The Royalists have hatched some plan to take a crack at Boney. Don’t ask me how I come by my information, for I can’t and won’t tell you, but believe me, dear boy, ’tis true. I don’t know when they mean to strike, but it will be soon. Word has it that the assassins are in the pay of the English.”
“Bosh!” Fitz returned disbelievingly.
“The truth of it doesn’t matter,” Tom Liverdale said impatiently. “What matters is the Parisians believe it. Paris will not be comfortable for the English in the very near future. Besides that, something very odd going on in Boulogne. Don’t know what it signifies, but there seems to be a large army of Boney’s assembling there. Strange for a country that ain’t contemplating war.”
Fitz shaded his eyes as he considered this and softly exclaimed, “Pon my soul! Thank you, Tom. Perhaps now Bel will accept to go home.”
They shook hands, and Fitz hurried off to wedge his body between Sir Charles and Belfort and whisper, “Must have a word with you…now!”
Sir Charles stared at Fitz and nudged Bel. “Perhaps we should…”
Belfort laughed. “No doubt some Frenchy has…”
“Bel, please, now!” Fitz interrupted to insist. “We must hail a hackney and leave at once!”
The viscount and Sir Charles looked at one another, for it was evident Fitz was frenzied, so they retrieved their greatcoats and hats, and a few moments later, were neatly ensconced in a hack.
Fitz lowered his head and his voice to tell them portentously, “Have news—something of the utmost urgency.”
Belfort chuckled, but Fitz took immediate umbrage and poked his cousin’s knee to say grimly, “Well, all right then. If you don’t want to know what Tom told me, so be it on your head!”
“Tom? Tom who?” Charles inquired, putting a stop to Bel’s scathing retort.
“Liverdale,” Fitz said, his chin well up.
“Tom Liverdale? Marmaduke’s younger brother?” Charles asked, his brow up.
“Yes, are you acquainted with the duke, Charles? Don’t really know him well, but he chums with Prinny. I don’t care for Prinny’s set, but Tom is a right one.”
Bel was now at full attention. “What did Tom have to say? He is a right one, know him well.”
Fitz was never one to stay angry, so he once again lowered his head and voice, and said, “Tom was in Boulogne—never mind why, but there he was when he got a letter from that idiot of an ambassador who mentioned we were here on king’s business.”
Charles snapped, “Blast the fellow!”
Bel cursed softly, then said, “Go on.”
“Tom is no fool, so he burned the letter. No sense fretting it now, but that wasn’t all he had to tell me. Wanted me to let you know that the Royalists plan another attempt at Boney.”
“No. No…they wouldn’t dare,” Charles said.
“Not only that, but the Parisians are whispering that the English are behind the plot, and besides that, Boney is assembling a large army in Boulogne. Tom knows this as a fact. Said Paris will not be safe for us much longer, but we need to let the Home Office know about the army.”
Bel and Charles stared at one another before Bel told his cousin, “Knew we had to have you with us on this trip, Fitz. You have found out everything we needed to discover in one conversation! Good man!”
Fitz preened and mumbled something unintelligible as the hack pulled up to Lady Marling’s lodgings.
A few moments later, they stood in the library sipping brandy and discussing this news and all its meanings.
“What to do next?”
“Leave Paris,” Fitz put in soundly.
Both men ignored him.
“I say Fitz has a point, though. Perhaps it is time to pack up our ladies and head for London,” Charles sighed to say, watching Fitz nodding vigorously in agreement.
“And so we shall…it will look suspicious if we do so in a rush, though. What say you, Bel?” Charles said.
Bel sighed after a time and said, “I am for bed. Not making any decisions tonight.”
Charles and Fitz watched him leave before Fitz said, “Bel is not himself. Have you noticed?”
“Yes, but what have you noticed?” Charles returned intrigued.
“I have seen Bel chase a woman just for the fun of it. I have seen him dally with a beauty now and then, though never in earnest, but I’d swear that I have never seen him flirt with an innocent before.”
“And what innocent is he flirting with?” Charles smiled to himself, for he knew the answer.
“Letty, of course. He can scarcely keep away from her, and when he is with her, he looks like a lover engaged in…in…oh, perhaps I’m off on this?”
“As it happens, Fitz, you are right on the mark,” Charles said, and put a fond hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I think our Bel is besotted with our Letty, and now all we need to do is make him realize it.”
“Oh-ho, not I. Leave me well out of it,” Fitz said, then chuckled. “Good match, though. I should like to see it come to fruition.”
“Indeed, I quite agree,” Charles said as they fell into step and parted above stairs for their rooms.