Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 59
“Oh, well, I am sure that is of no import.” Lorelei turned to the bewildered manservant to explain. “This is my father’s dearest friend, Monsieur De Pez. I will inform him of your arrival.”
“His lordship, I mean the comte, has instructed that he and his guest not be disturbed under any circumstances,” the butler fumbled, casting his eyes to the floor. “My apologies, Lady Lorelei.”
“Well, I am sure my father would make an exception for his very dear friend’s arrival.”
“He was very clear that he and Lord Chastain not be disturbed.”
Lorelei froze, the forced smile draining from her face. “He is with Lord Chas—” At this very moment, Chastain could be regaling her parents with tales of their daughter’s wanton actions and her behavior unbefitting a lady. The man was despicable enough to spread falsehoods about their previous encounter, though she hoped the comte intelligent enough to see her actions for what they were: a means of gaining entrance to Lord Chastain’s life.
“Lady Lorelei,” De Pez cut in. “I have only arrived in town and may discuss my news with you, just as well as with your father.”
She couldn’t concentrate on anything he said, for her thoughts traveled to the study where her father spoke with Chastain.
While it put her on edge, the mention of Chastain had softened De Pez. “Very well, please follow me,” she said to him. “I was preparing to break my fast when you arrived. Can I interest you in a morning meal? I assure you our cook is very adept.”
“I would much relish that.”
There were many things De Pez relished, food being at the bottom of his list, Lorelei was certain. In their limited association, she’d heard of De Pez’s fondness for cruelty, intimidation, and violence. She hoped never to witness them firsthand.
Lorelei dismissed the servant attending them in the breakfast room and hurriedly filled two plates with an assortment of eggs, meats, cheeses, and bread. If she were lucky, she would have him gone before her father and Chastain were done in his study. If Chastain knew anything about his family’s history with the French government, then he would recognize De Pez in an instant, bringing their charade to an end—and likely bringing her family’s assignment to a most unsatisfying conclusion. De Pez was likely so shortsighted he would never think of the consequences for all of them should he be recognized by the duke.
After setting De Pez’s dish before him, she took her usual seat at the table.
Lorelei took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “How may I help you?” she asked.
“You are so much like your father, my dear. Never one to mince words.”
“I find those who do to be ignorant and oblivious to the important things going on around them,” she replied coolly.
“Can I not try the meal you so graciously offered before we discuss,” he paused, looking for anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. “…enterprise?”
“I apologize for my dreadful manners,” she acquiesced. “Please, the food here, while not of the quality we are accustomed to in France, is nevertheless delightful.”
De Pez speared a boiled egg and brought the round mass to his mouth, taking a large bite. His eyes closed as he savored the fresh taste.
Keeping a guarded gaze on him, she brought a piece of cheese to her own lips. The normally flavorful delicacy tasted of sawdust in her dry mouth, and she decided the farce could not continue. De Pez was not just any visitor, and she was not one to entertain her father’s friends. At the moment, she didn’t know which was worse: her awkward meal with De Pez, or her time spent dwelling on what was happening in the study.
“Why are you in London?”
“I have traveled far to see that you and your family are moving toward concluding your assignment.”
“Did you not hear that Lord Chastain—at this very moment—is ensconced in my father’s study?”
“Yes, I did. Yet, his attendance here could mean many different things.” He brought another morsel to his mouth and chewed before continuing. “I do so hope to gain sight of the man before I depart.”
“You cannot be serious… That will jeopardize all we’ve worked hard to accomplish here. You could very well ruin our entire ruse.” Part of her screamed that that may very well be De Pez’s goal in London. If Lorelei’s family failed, De Pez would enact swift punishment upon them all. But what his plan could be surely eluded her. “My father would be most unhappy.”
The idea was appealing, nonetheless. If De Pez were the one to alert Chastain to their true motive for being in London, then the failed mission would once again be due to his incompetence, and in no way her family’s fault.
“Come, Lore, I only want a glimpse of him, to see if he looks anything like his late father or grandfather before him. It is highly unlikely he would remember me, for he only saw me once, when he first arrived in England.”
“You will address me as Lady Lorelei, Monsieur De Pez.” She would not stand for the man’s careless usage of her nickname, an informality she hadn’t given him permission to use, nor ever expected to.
“Touché,” he droned. “We have known one another for many years.”
“I am aware of our past.”
“And our future?” he asked.
“My father will never allow that to happen.” Lorelei was not oblivious to the fact that De Pez had pushed her father for Lorelei’s hand in marriage since she was no more than thirteen years of age.
“One day he may not have the choice of turning me away.” He’d looked upon her with lecherous eyes ever since the day she’d stumbled on her father and De Pez deep in discussion in their study. She’d been eight at the time—and he, older than her father. Then, she’d been unaware of her father’s connection to Louis XVI and had gladly joined the pair, accepting De Pez’s invitation to sit on his lap as the men discussed business. It was only when she’d told her mother later that Monsieur De Pez must have had a large candy stick hidden in his pocket that the comtesse—in a rare moment of motherly affection and advice—had cautioned her only daughter and forbade her to interrupt her father while he worked, no matter that someone in the room beckoned her forth.
She’d heeded her mother’s words ever since, never letting herself dwell on how her mother knew to avoid her father’s business friends.
“Please, come forth and say what you’ve come to say,” Lorelei pressed. The man, seeking the favor of a new shining light in France after his exile by Louis XVI and the Directory’s unwillingness to consort with men associated with the executed King, was determined to bend all to his will. “We both know that is the task you’ve been assigned.”
Once he’d said his piece, Lorelei could go back to worrying about what was happening behind her father’s closed door.
“If you insist,” he said, sitting straight in his seat and setting his fork aside.
“I do.”
De Pez pushed his plate from him and crossed his arms upon the table, leaning in her direction. “I grow impatient with your family’s lack of progress.”
“We have only been in town a short while.”
“Be that as it may, if the task had been assigned to me, I would have gathered what I needed—by force if that’s what it took—and returned to France with all due haste.”
“Is that how you accomplished your previous mission with the Chastain family? With brute force?” That had been exactly how he’d completed and failed his previous mission under Louis XVI—and why he hadn’t risked accompanying her family to London in the first place. “Did killing the previous Lord Chastain allow you to find what our old government sought?”
She didn’t need an answer to her question because she already had it.
And from his cold stare, he hadn’t forgotten his publicized failure, either.
“No?” she asked, keeping her mocking grin at bay. “Well, since you and Napoleon Bonaparte gave my family this mission—confident in our methods—I will insist you allow us to do it in the fashion we deem appropriate.”
“Are you fully aware of what is at stake?” His steely eyes drilled into hers.
“Of course,” Lorelei snapped. “My pere has been very forthcoming with everything.”
“So you know, then, that I was against including you in this delicate matter.”
She wasn’t surprised in the least. De Pez was from the old way of doing things, preferring to use women only when seduction was needed… But hadn’t she essentially proven him right and bargained her body to Chastain?
“I do hope my delicate nature and sensibilities do not jeopardize your neck, monsieur.”
“I hope not, either—for your sake and the comte’s.” Quick as the tide turns on the Channel, De Pez was all business again, putting at bay his threats. “And you know what you are looking for?”
She’d gone over and over this with her father. “Yes, the plans to Carassonne should be housed in a small cylinder no longer than a tall vase, leather in construction.” It had taken Lorelei some time to figure out exactly why De Pez sought to present the plans to France’s greatest fortified city of trade to Bonaparte, but it made perfect sense. Bonaparte looked for a way to take the country willingly, and if that did not come to pass and the citizens of Lorelei’s country fought his rule, then he would take what he wanted by laying siege to France’s most vulnerable city, in essence crippling and starving its people from within until they submitted to his will.
Lorelei sat back, not realizing she’d leaned toward De Pez. “Will that be all?”
De Pez stood, knocking his chair over in his haste, bringing a servant scurrying into the room.
“Everything is fine,” Lorelei said, dismissing the woman once more. “It was lovely seeing you, and I did so enjoy your tales of my home country. I am sorry my pere was waylaid and unable to see his dearest friend.” The words were for the benefit of the woman standing just outside the room, as was her own use of English during their conversation. But she gained great satisfaction from the look on De Pez’s face at her curt dismissal.
One day she knew she would have to pay for her gross mistreatment of De Pez, especially if he did indeed come to have his own power under Bonaparte. But the look of rage on his face, knowing he could do naught to her at the moment, would be worth the pain she’d likely suffer at his hands.
“Do tell Mathis I was here.” De Pez hurled the threat as calmly as any man with his expertise could before he left the room—and the house—without so much as the slamming of a door.
Yes, the man was well-versed in his role, not letting even the insubordination of a woman rile his outward appearance.
He would come to learn that Lorelei had developed her own mask to hide her true feelings.
She took advantage of the empty, quiet room to calm herself before joining her father and Chastain.
Her anxiety rose once more.
She’d tarried long enough, and keeping the comte waiting was not in her best interest—especially if Lord Chastain let slip what had transpired between them. Would she have the fortitude to tell her parents what she’d done?
The error in her actions was clear, and her folly was only hers to remedy.
She paused for a fraction of a moment before entering her father’s study, running her damp palms down the front of her skirt and then lifting her chin.
Lord Chastain may have cruelly misused her, but she’d be a damned fool to allow him to see her broken.
So it was that with a serene smile she grasped the knob and turned, pushing the door open to greet her parents and their esteemed guest.
“Good morn, father, mother.” She nodded to the pair who sat in a matched pair of high-backed chairs. Turning, she curtseyed to Chastain, who had stood from the sofa he’d likely been sprawled upon before her entrance. “And a very lovely morning to you, my lord.”
She couldn’t fathom his reason for calling on her parents after the way he’d treated her.
“Lady Lorelei.” He smiled slyly and made to take her hand, but she snatched it back and hid it in the folds of her dress. His stance stiffened, noticing her discomfort. “Your father and I have been discussing a topic most serious and deserving of your opinion.”
She eyed him suspiciously. If he thought inviting her to the conversation and insinuating that her stance on the matter at hand would impress her father, Chastain had sorely misjudged the comte and his regard for women. If they actually cared for her opinion, they would have requested her presence earlier.
Lorelei realized she frowned at Chastain and quickly replaced her downturned mouth with the placid smile from a few moments past. “How can my limited female mind be of service to you?”
Her father laughed—a deep, throaty sound—that had her turning to him, no doubt a look of shock on her face. He grinned back at her. Next she looked to her mother, hoping the woman would impart something of use, but the comtesse kept her eyes on her hands, knotted in her lap as if she hadn’t been a part of the conversation at all. They looked at odds. Her father never smiled.
She had most assuredly missed something of great importance.
“Father?” she asked.
“Come, my daughter.” He held his arms wide. Grudgingly, she moved to him and allowed him to embrace her. “You have done well, my child,” he whispered for her alone.
She pulled back and looked to him for clarification. “What have you done?”
He brought her close once more. “You will remember your pledge—and wipe that dour look from your face. This is a joyous occasion.”
“We are to be wed,” Lord Chastain said behind her. “I have spoken to men in powerful places and banns are to be read with all due haste. We shall be married not long after.”
Marriage? Reading of the banns? All due haste?
“Surely you jest.”
The words bounced around her head, causing a splitting headache within seconds.
Her whole body screamed no. She should feel elated by the news, renewed in her mission knowing De Pez’s threats were unfounded.
While she hadn’t done so in a very long time, at one point in her youth, she’d envisioned herself walking down a long aisle with hordes of onlookers. She’d be gowned in a dress befitting a queen, with yards and yards of material spanning the length of a large cathedral. The only thing lacking from these dreams was her intended. Never had she so much as gotten a glimpse of the man’s face, though she was sure he wasn’t Lord Chastain.
“Do you not have something to say to the duke?” her mother prodded.
There was much she longed to say to the duke.
Though none of it was appropriate to say in polite company, nor in front of her unsuspecting parents, for she hadn’t only been keeping De Pez’s letter a secret—they had no idea she’d deviated from their plan and snuck out to meet Chastain.
Lorelei would delight in railing at Lord Chastain, diminishing his manhood. Or questioning the stock of his blood, for no man raised a true gentlemen would take such liberties with an innocent.
Rage flared in her. The nerve to show his face here and ask for her hand in marriage. And why? That was the burning question—why her?
“Perhaps they need a few moments to speak privately,” the comte finally said, ending the awkward silence that had befallen the room.
She would not be left alone in Chastain’s company.
She looked to the duke, and his smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched at her sides, her passive expression having melted from her face at Chastain’s mention of marriage.
Had he awoken from his stupor, realized the grave mistake he’d made with her, and come to make things right? If so, marriage made little sense, for he didn’t look about to apologize.
“I fear, Comte, that I haven’t the time for an extended social call,” Chastain said. “I have things to attend to before our announcement is read by one and all in the papers tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Lorelei wondered if her father had ever planned to ask her if she were willing to marry Chastain. It was too much to ask, even for her country.
“Camille.” Chastain bowed before her mother. “It was lovely to meet you. I must say your housekeeper prepares fine tea. You must send instructions round to my kitchen.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Her mother blushed, actually turned a soft crimson at the man’s compliment. Lorelei had never seen her mother so openly display her emotions.
Next he stood before her, every inch the gentleman, and stared at her intently. “Lady Lorelei, we shall suit well, I have no fear.”
“If you say it is so, I am sure it will be, my lord.”
“May I call on you?” There was little emotion in his words, almost as if he were saying what he thought was proper for the moment. “Lady Lorelei?”
She would rather throw herself in front of a runaway buggy again then be subject to his company for any extended amount of time.
Thankfully, her mother saved her from responding. “Oh, I see that as very unlikely, Lord Chastain.”
“Please, call me Benji,” he said. “You are to be as a mother to me, after all.”
“Very well, Benji,” her mother tentatively tried the name. “Lore and I will be extremely busy preparing for her big day, and she may be indisposed until then.”
“So it is settled.” The comte stood and slapped Chastain upon the back. “We shall allow the women their time to prepare, and we will do what men do.”
Lorelei had no notion of what her father referred to, and truly, she didn’t recognize the man before her. He smiled, he laughed, and he patted another man on the back. All actions her father, with his severe nature, had never allowed himself to do.
“Then I will be off.” Chastain bowed to her once more before turning toward the door. “I will see myself out. I wish you a blessed evening, Camille and Lore.”
The man dared use her shortened name.
If her mother’s smile wasn’t beaming so brightly, and her father wasn’t pacing before the fire murmuring to himself about their good fortune, Lorelei would scream.
Alas, she knew it would do no good.
France was a country of unrest and revolution. And at the moment, Lorelei was the one sent to find the plans that could save them.
