Philippe Moreau stood in front of a tall mirror, eyeing his appearance. He tilted his head to the right and left, admiring his new suit. Eighteen months ago he would have donned a worn-out tweed coat that made him look like a pauper. Now he was living like a king.
“What do you think, Bernard?” Philippe glanced at his valet, who stood behind him adjusting the shoulders of his ensemble. As usual, his face remained stoic and noncommittal. He doubted that the man would ever warm up to his presence in the von Lamberg manor.
“It is a good fit, sir,” his valet remarked. “The count used the same tailor in years past. He is the finest in Vienna.”
Philippe kept his gaze on the mirror, viewing his valet’s facial expression in the reflection. “I agree, and it is quite kind of my daughter to recommend his services.”
Bernard made two quick swipes of his hand over his shoulder, brushing away a spot of lint. Philippe turned around and looked him straight in the eye.
“I know that I am no count, Bernard. There is not a drop of aristocrat blood in my veins, and I surmise that you find it offensive.” Philippe attempted not to scowl at the man as he inwardly struggled with his bruised self-esteem.
“Not at all, sir. It is my duty to serve, not to question.”
“Well, then, I thank you for your service,” Philippe replied, nodding his head in deference. “And I sincerely appreciate that you are not questioning my presence in this house.”
“Will that be all?” Bernard stood awkwardly rigid in front of him.
“Yes,” he replied. His valet swiftly departed his quarters.
Philippe lowered his head suppressing the feeling of unworthiness that still gnawed at his stomach. He made poor decisions throughout the years, but returning with his daughter, Jolene, to Vienna had been one of the wisest. The dreary, lonely life of the past faded away as he settled into his new surroundings. Besides the luxury of his lifestyle, he had grown closer to his daughter.
After the burial of Jolene’s aunt, they returned to Vienna. When he first walked into the grand home of Count von Lamberg, he felt awestruck by its opulence. After living in a small, dingy rental in a poor neighborhood of Paris, the transition from poverty to wealth had been an adjustment.
The servants of the household, including the butler and the count’s former valet, did not welcome his arrival with open arms. Understandably, it must have been a shock to the staff when she announced him to be her real father. At first, Philippe encouraged her not to reveal their relationship to mitigate any rejection. Jolene would not hear of it. She held the opinion they would be expected to welcome him regardless of the oddity and circumstances.
Perhaps on the surface they appeared to do so, but Philippe deduced by their dark glances and whispered comments it was not the case. Most of the staff had served Count von Lamberg for decades. When Jolene offered Philippe her stepfather’s quarters, he swiftly declined the offer lest the servants became offended. It was far too soon after his passing to usurp what rightfully belonged to the count. Surely it would appear disrespectful and presumptuous on his part.
Upon Philippe’s arrival, the language barrier had proven to be a trial. Fortunately, the butler spoke a little French. The communication, though tedious at times, did occur. His valet knew little, and at Jolene’s insistence, the butler tutored Bernard with what knowledge he possessed. After a year of training, Bernard had become rather proficient.
On the other hand, the staff inquired of his daughter why he did not learn German. Living in Vienna and entering society necessitated his own schooling in the native language. Jolene took on the role of personal tutor, which he found both endearing and frustrating when he quickly learned her lack of patience. Nevertheless, Philippe used each day with her to make up for years lost, and his fatherly love deepened.
Upon their arrival in Vienna, Jolene met with Herr Wilhelm, her solicitor, regarding her discovery of being Philippe’s birth daughter. Had the count another family member, they could have legitimately challenged her inheritance and title. However, he had no living relative, so the conveyance of wealth remained.
As far as acceptance into society, it had not been an easy transition. Jolene felt it her duty to attend social functions to keep alive the von Lamberg legacy. They attended a few gatherings together, but it soon became painfully apparent that Philippe would not be accepted into her inner circles. Jolene had begun to lose acquaintances as a result, but she remained firm and adamant that nothing would change.
Philippe exited his room and proceeded downstairs for breakfast when the butler approached.
“A telegram arrived for you, sir.”
“For me? Are you sure that it is not for my daughter?” He could not think of anyone who would send him a cable message.
“No, sir, it is distinctly addressed to Philippe Moreau.” The butler extended the envelope for his taking.
“Very well,” he said, waiting for the servant to retreat before opening the correspondence.
“My wife and I would like to extend to you and Jolene an invitation to visit us at our country estate for an extended period of time. Confidentially, it is imperative that you come. There are serious matters that I wish to discuss with you in private.”
Alarmed by the clandestine appeal received from the duke, Philippe scowled. He found it curious that the man should write such a cryptic message. Immediately he began to worry about Suzette. Had something happened? Was she ill? Had young Robert fallen into trouble? What else could it mean?
Frustrated over the unknown, Philippe shoved the note into his pocket and entered the dining room. Jolene sat at the breakfast table drinking tea and reading a letter.
“Good morning. You look rested,” he said, attempting to greet her with an ounce of cheerfulness.
“I had a good night’s sleep. I am not sure why I have been so fidgety of late,” Jolene commented.
Philippe filled his plate with the breakfast selection on the sideboard. Once again, he passed by the German sausage that had been set out regularly for the past eighteen months. Apparently no one ever considered ham or bacon, or a better choice of pastries, for that matter. Frankly, he missed French cuisine.
After he had sat down next to Jolene, he began a conversation. “Another letter? Who from this time?”
Jolene shook her head and smiled. “Alastair Whitefield, I’m afraid. He has been writing to me every week for months now.”
“He is one of Robert’s friends, is he not?”
“Yes, and Grace’s brother. She is the young lady that Robert is courting.” Jolene laid the letter face down on the table. “I’ll finish it later.”
“The young man must have much to say to you if he writes each week. Do you reply?”
“Occasionally.” Jolene smiled. “I am afraid he is attempting to win my heart, Father. Living so far away, I cannot take it seriously.”
An opportune time arrived to inform her of the invitation. Philippe dabbed his lips with a napkin and then cleared his throat.
“I received a telegram this morning from the duke. The Holland family has invited us to visit and stay at their country manor for an extended holiday.”
“May I see it?” Jolene’s eyes lit with excitement.
“It is nothing more than the invitation. Nothing to see,” he said. Philippe changed the subject. “It appears to me that if this young man is interested in you, this might provide a perfect opportunity for the two of you to spend time together.”
“Oh, Father, how can I leave Vienna? I possess responsibilities.”
“I have been thinking about that for the past few weeks, actually.” Philippe took a sip of tea to moisten his dry mouth before continuing. “Why don’t we take an extended leave? I think it would do us both good. If you are concerned about vacating the residence for a few months, you can always rent it out.”
“Rent it out? How long do you wish to be gone?”
“Long enough for you to find a husband perhaps,” Philippe said. A sly smile spread across his face.
“A husband?” Jolene jerked her head in his direction. “Are you trying to marry me off?”
Philippe returned to his poached eggs and took a few bites, attempting to suppress his laughter.
“Well, is that what you are trying to do?” Jolene demanded, scrunching her brow. She picked up Alastair’s letter and waved it at him. “He is a fine young man, but I have been with him once before. There was no spark.”
“Oh, so that’s your definition of male enchantment,” Philippe said dryly. She definitely needed counsel in the area of courtship, he thought. “Is it a spark you seek foremost rather than a sound character in a man?”
“Well, like any other woman, I would enjoy an exciting, romantic, and attentive male. Were you not like that with Mother?”
Philippe practically choked at her question. After composing himself, he answered her inquiry.
“Your mother and I grew to love one another slowly by getting to know each other. I never behaved impetuously in her presence but sought to make a good impression upon her father. Early on I realized she deserved my respect and care, not my spark as you call it, bringing her to ruin.”
“This is definitely disillusioning,” Jolene replied, pouting over his admission. “I thought the French were more modern in their romanticism.”
“Some perhaps, but your mother and I had not been brought up to be promiscuous,” he curtly replied.
Philippe shifted in his chair irritated over Jolene’s remark. It brought up wounding memories that Suzette had not kept herself but stooped to giving her virginity to a man he had despised. She was nothing more than a kept woman until he rescued her from his clutches. Jolene noticed his puckered brow as he ruminated over the past.
“Obviously I have upset you.”
She reached across the table and touched his clenched fist. Philippe shook his head in exasperation.
“I worry about you. Love is more than a spark or an exciting physical attraction to a handsome man. If it does not have the foundation of respect, you place your future happiness in jeopardy.”
Jolene withdrew her hand and lowered her eyes to the letter still clutched in her hand.
“Shall I respond and tell them when they may expect our arrival?” he asked.
“How long do you think we shall be gone?”
“Would six months be too long? If we outlive our welcome at the Holland estate, we can travel. I wouldn’t mind seeing Scotland and Ireland.”
Jolene silently pondered before answering. “Let them know we will come after we lease the residence. It will keep the staff occupied and employed during our time away.”
Philippe eyed the letter, teasing his daughter. “So what does this Alastair have to say?” He tried to snatch it, but Jolene prevented him from doing so.
“I do not know because I have not finished it yet,” she snapped, flashing an impish smile. “It would do you well to mind your business.” Her usual arrogant chin lifted in his direction.
“Oh, I see,” Philippe replied, playing her little game.
His attention returned to breakfast, and the telegram hidden in his pocket. Hopefully they would be able to leave within a fortnight.
After breakfast, Jolene excused herself to walk in the garden. She was intent on finishing Alastair’s letter, for it always contained news regarding Robert and Grace. Anxious to read if their relationship progressed, she discovered Alastair’s heartfelt plea that he hoped to see her one day soon. Perhaps someone mentioned to him the invitation.
When the first letter arrived, she admittedly chuckled over the contents. He stated that Robert granted him permission to write, based on the fact he granted Robert permission to court Grace. The two sparred with one another, and the arrangement sounded quite plausible. By Alastair’s admission, he threatened Robert bodily harm if he hurt Grace.
In her short time of knowing his sister, and from their exchange of correspondence, Jolene had no doubt that the young lady would give Robert a challenge. Jolene hoped that the two of them would eventually marry. Physically they made a handsome couple when standing next to each other. More importantly, Grace would be a good match for Robert’s character. Jolene saw her as a stabilizing influence on his less than admirable tendencies she observed before.
Jolene tried to recall when she first arrived in London. The only recollection of Alastair had been their waltz at the ball while she yearned for that rake of a man, Geoffrey Chambers. Robert, Geoffrey, and Alastair were best of friends in pursuit of women. Nevertheless, Grace assured her that deep down Alastair was a man of character and not like the others. Remembering despicable Geoffrey made her shudder. Dear Lord, I hope I do not see him while in England, she thought.
Jolene sat on a garden bench and opened the letter. Alastair’s penmanship was flawless. Not a blotch of ink or crooked line met her eyes. His thoughts filled the page with grandiose prose. Naturally, he attempted to impress her with his reputed good character. He never failed to compliment her on some aspect of either her appearance or personality. How could he ascertain so much about her with one family dinner and a waltz?
“Conjecture,” she mumbled. “He must wish me to be this way.”
She could not help but wonder if Robert and Grace were encouraging him on this path.
“Oh, perhaps I shouldn’t be so judgmental.” She shoved the letter back into the envelope and rose to her feet. Undoubtedly, he would vie for her affections as soon as she set foot on English soil. Possibly she would feel a spark this time instead of that dreadful feeling of having no interest. She hated to hurt his feelings, but Jolene did not want to settle for anyone.
Her father’s words of caution to seek character floated through her mind. When remembering the insatiable passion her mother had felt for the duke and their illicit affair that it produced, she swore to never act so shamelessly. Even though she wanted the spark of romance and physical attraction, she convinced herself that she would never succumb to ruin.