Chapter 1
London
October 1814
When Giselle Bernard, accompanied by her mother, knocked at the town house door of Rupert Oakden, the Earl of Heathbrook, the grizzle-haired servant who opened it caught her by surprise.
“Mr. Renham!” she exclaimed.
“Mademoiselle Bernard!” the gentleman said. “What on earth are you doing in Mayfair? You said you were returning to Paris last time I saw you at Verdun. Three years ago, was it?”
“Yes, and I did return to Paris. But after Napoleon’s abdication this past April, Maman and I chose to leave France entirely. All is chaos there.” She took her mother’s hand. “Maman was worried about what might happen under a new regime. Besides, we have family in England.” Well,shedid, anyway. “But why are you at the earl’s home?”
Mr. Renham puffed out his chest. “I am Lord Heathbrook’s butler now.”
“How wonderful!” It must suit him, for his tall, healthful appearance differed greatly from the gaunt and stooped fellow she’donce known. “I am delighted you made it safely back to England. I was aware that Lord Heathbrook and his friends were offering posts to many Verdun detainees, but I did not realize you had received one. When did you return to London?”
“In April, when you did.” His eyes twinkled. “You probably don’t realize this, mademoiselle, but before my imprisonment in France, I served as underbutler to the Marquess and Marchioness of Tweeddale.”
“Very impressive!” She tapped her chin. “Isn’t that the couple who died of cholera a year after arriving at Verdun?”
He turned solemn. “The very same. So, knowing of my former post, the earl hired me on the spot when our mutual friend Mr. Beasley sent me over here to interview for the position. It seems Lord Heathbrook’s butler had left the family while the earl and his father were still prisoners in Verdun.”
Her mother, who spoke little to no English, asked in French, “What is he saying? Will we be allowed inside?”
Mr. Renham looked startled, then answered her in French. “Forgive me, madame. We are merely reminiscing. Please, do come in, both of you.” He continued in French as he ushered them into a grand entry hall, waiting while she helped her mother make her slow way inside. “I assume you are here to call on the earl?”
“Oui,” Giselle told him.
When she said nothing more, Mr. Renham looked concerned. “Is his lordship expecting you?”
“Not exactly.” They were here to ask a large favor of him. But she dared not speak of that to a former detainee who might know more about the situation than most.
Instead, Giselle paused to take in her surroundings. She’d never been in the earl’s house but was not surprised to find the hall’s furniture looking ragged. After all, his mother had died in London over four years ago and his father had passed away soon after, during his and his son’s detainment in France. After eleven and a half years abroad, Lord Heathbrook had undoubtedly been too busy taking care of the family properties and arranging his financial affairs to bother with such things as wallpaper styles and the efficacy of bronze sconces.
“So, this is to be a social visit,” Mr. Renham said when it became apparent she would not reveal more.
“It is.” She cast him a bright smile that seemed to make him relax.
“Very well. This way, ladies.” Mr. Renham gestured to an open door. “His lordship will be with you in a moment. I’m afraid that today is not the best—”
“The man is an arse!” roared a voice down the hall.
It was the earl’s. Giselle frowned, having never witnessed Lord Heathbrook in a temper, at least not in England. She had only occasionally seen him that way in Verdun, the town where he and thousands of other English civilians had been detained for years at Napoleon’s whim.
That is, until Lord Heathbrook and his friends had attempted an escape three years ago and been packed off to the dungeon in Bitche for their trouble.
“Do not fret, my lord,” said a voice unfamiliar to her. “I swear—”
“Do not fret!” Lord Heathbrook cried. “Evan, Kit, and Zachary are still wards of my mother’s damn cousin. How can I ‘not fret’?”
At the sound of the worddamn,the butler colored, then hastily ushered them into a drawing room and closed the door. “If you will be seated, ladies, I will make sure his lordship knows you are here. But I don’t know if he will be free. At present, he and his attorney are involved in a … er … discussion.”
“In France, we call that an argument,” Maman muttered, thankfully low enough that Renham couldn’t hear.
“We understand,” Giselle told the butler, forcing a smile, though she disliked men with hot tempers. Her stepfather had tried to bully both her and her mother from the time Giselle was small. Mother had put up with it, although she had complained a great deal out of his hearing. But past the age of twelve, Giselle had not tolerated her stepfather’s temper, and she certainly would not tolerate it from an Englishman.
Unfortunately, she still needed a favor from this particular Englishman. “If the earl cannot see us now, Mr. Renham, please ask him when he can. We would very much like to chat with him.”