The upstairs hallway was filled with cool shadows, a relief from the afternoon heat but not from her thoughts. Standing outside the closed oak door now, Becca listened to the muffled sounds of Hannah and Augusta laughing. Her shoulders knotted at the sound.
“Go on.” Daniel touched the small of her back for comfort. “You can’t put off telling them about the marriage license.”
She imagined announcing to Lady Augusta and Hannah that there would be no wedding in France, that she’d uprooted their lives for nothing. “Do you think they will arrange passage home right away?” Becca asked as she pushed open the door.
The room was a jumble of linen, silk, cotton, and lace. Bed hangings puddled onto the floor from their unstable perch on a side table. Gowns and undergarments jockeyed for space on a couch. Ivory napkins and tablecloths lined up like soldiers on the shelves of an intricately carved wardrobe, her wedding armoire, at the far end of the cozy space.
“What is this?” Daniel’s eyes widened.
“My wedding trousseau,” Becca said.
“It is overwhelming,” he said.
“They have been working on this for weeks. I don’t have the heart to tell them to stop.”
Hannah and Augusta faced each other on two straight-backed chairs in the midst of the hurricane of cloth. They each held needle and thread in one hand and linen in the other. They wore matching looks of surprise at the interruption.
“We didn’t expect you,” Augusta said.
“How lovely,” Hannah echoed. She cleared her throat and nodded at Augusta as if prodding her to speak.
Augusta rose slowly. Her thin face seemed gaunt in the late afternoon light. Becca suddenly dreaded whatever Augusta was about to say.
“Can you forgive me?” Becca began as Augusta said, “I owe you an apology.”
“I never should have….” both women said, then stopped. Becca shook her head in confusion. Augusta’s chin rose.
“Forgive you for what?” they asked at the same time.
Hannah laughed first with a sound as pure as sunlight. Augusta’s rare laughter rose next.
Becca joined them until tears came, though she couldn’t say why, other than the fact that the laughter restored the warmth among them.
Not a demonstrative woman, Augusta awkwardly opened her arms, and Becca, so much taller, swept into them. She did her best not to hold her mother-in-law too tightly.
“Go ahead, Augusta,” Hannah goaded. “You promised.”
“In my own time, not yours,” Augusta snapped.
Becca took a grateful breath. Augusta must be fine if she was snarling at Hannah.
Her mother-in-law stepped away. “I have not been myself, Becca, not since we left America, and that has nothing to do with poor Mr. Fenimore or the fact that he reminded me of Philip.”
“What is it, then?” Becca shook her head, confused.
“It is you. I haven’t been myself because of you,” Augusta said. “You and Mr. Alloway will build a life, here or somewhere else, and I will not be part of it. This is how it is meant to be. This is what marriage means, and I find that I especially do not care for the idea that I may never see you again once you wed.”
Augusta twisted, meeting Hannah’s gaze.
“You are almost done,” Hannah said.
Augusta lowered her shoulders and lengthened her neck, adding at least an inch to her five-foot-one frame. She turned back to Becca. “I know you only wanted to protect my feelings, Rebecca. I know that is why you didn’t tell me that Jude was a spy nor that you saw him at the cathedral. And yet I was enraged. I am sorry I became so angry. It is as if I have to make myself mad enough to leave you before you leave me. Anything else hurts too much.”
Augusta frowned at them all. “Hannah insists that telling the truth makes one feel better. I do not feel better at all.” She clamped her lips together so tightly that her chin dimpled.
“I didn’t know that leaving hurt you the way it hurts me.” Becca choked the words out. “You have always been so strong.” She took one of Augusta’s hands. “Don’t go back to America. Stay with us in France. Both of you. Stay.” Becca turned to search Daniel’s expression.
He nodded, but Augusta and Hannah shook their heads.
“My home is America,” Augusta said. “I am too old to start over, and Mr. Mason is waiting for me there.”
Becca exhaled. “Of course.” Mr. Mason and Augusta had rarely been apart from the day he waylaid their carriage two years ago. He was an enigmatic thief who practiced his trade along the edge of the Hudson River. When he helped rescue Daniel in New York, Mr. Mason had earned Becca’s gratitude for life.
“The only reason I am here is to see you married,” Hannah said. “I never would have come back to France otherwise, my dear, and I will not be comfortable remaining here.”
“You won’t have to worry about how long to stay in France, ladies.” Daniel stepped past the tablecloths and bed linens to stand by Becca. “We can’t marry in France.”
The room went silent. A white dove landed on the windowsill. It seemed to stare through the window at them, then launched itself, wings flapping.
“We do not have the paperwork they insist upon.” Becca listed what the magistrate said was required.
“Then come home with us,” Augusta said. “We will begin packing now.” Her gaze traveled the room. She winced seemingly at the sheer volume of objects there. “You will marry in Morristown.”
“And then there’s the fact that we are both suspected of murdering Mr. Fenimore,” Daniel added. “We are not permitted to leave France. Not yet, at least.”
“Not permitted to leave France? That’s absurd,” Augusta said.
“You heard Monsieur d’Aumont,” Hannah said. “Daniel and Rebecca must remain here until Jude’s killer is found.”
“Beyond ridiculous.” Augusta’s cheeks flushed pink. “We shall discover who killed Jude Fenimore and find someone to slap sense into that magistrate. We will see you married.”
“Well said, Lady Augusta.” Hannah clapped her hands. “Where shall we start?”
Daniel stepped away from the women as if to protect himself from their enthusiasm. “Your good wishes are more than enough, aren’t they, Becca?”
She didn’t answer. A delicate glass bottle no taller than the height of her pinkie had captured her attention. It rested precariously at the edge of a side table and glowed scarlet in the late afternoon sunlight. A red-and-blue glass stopper protected its contents. Perfume.
“Perfume. That is how you can help. You will help me buy perfume.” Becca suddenly felt light; the day’s exhaustion lifted.
“What does perfume have to do with anything?” Daniel asked.
“You must remember. We crossed the Seine and followed Mr. Fenimore.” Becca conjured up the image of their chase from Notre Dame to the neighborhood of small houses and shops. “We lost his trail just past a perfume shop on the rue du Roule. I meant to return there. We should go.”
“The shopkeeper wouldn’t open the door when I pounded on it.” Daniel’s approving smile warmed her.
“Why did she work so hard to avoid us after we followed Jude from Notre Dame? Becca recalled the woman in the window of the perfume shop. “She may know nothing of Jude. But we won’t be certain until we visit.”
Daniel nodded. “You have become as suspicious as I am.”
She wasn’t certain his remark was intended as a compliment. “I know nothing about perfume, but what shopkeeper would question my interest in his store if I arrive with Lady Augusta…” Becca added a verbal flourish to Augusta’s English title. “…and Hannah, the healer? We need new perfume, don’t we, ladies?” She curtsied to the two women, who returned the gesture.
“I dislike scent that announces my presence before I arrive,” Augusta announced.
“Lemon, orange, tangerine. I could bathe myself in those scents.” Hannah sighed.
Augusta’s eyes lit with pleasure. “I doubt that Parisian perfume is better than the English scents I recall. But I look forward to finding out. I hear the French queen spends a fortune on perfume.”
“Marie-Antoinette?” Hannah tilted her head.
Augusta nodded.
“I wonder if the perfumers work with frankincense?” Hannah asked. “It has healing qualities, you know. The old perfumes were all intended to coax us back to health.”
“When will you visit?” Daniel asked cautiously.
“It is too late to go today. Tomorrow morning would be best.” Becca turned to Augusta and Hannah. “If you are free to join me then.”
Both women nodded.
“I will accompany you,” Daniel said. Before Becca could protest, he added, “But only up to the perfume shop door. Paris isn’t safe. And speaking of safety, I have preparations to make for my date with Mr. Bancroft.” He bowed and was gone.
Paris would be almost as dangerous for him as for her. Becca listened to the clack of his steps retreating down the marble-tiled hall and resisted the urge to call a warning after him.