“They are called servants,non?”
With a chuckle, he gestured to the Chesterfield sofa, but she chose to amble about the room, taking in the marble fireplace, the four glass-fronted cases filled with books and objects from his father’s many trips to France, and the large, walnut pedestal desk with ormolu trim.
“Your family certainly had a fondness for French décor,” she observed.
“My father had relatives—and property—in Normandy. They were the reason he and I traveled to France after the Treaty of Amiens was signed.” Not the only reason, but no point in telling her that. Even Jon and Scovell didn’t know all the sordid details of his past. He hoped they never did. “It was the first time Father had dared go since the Revolution. You saw how well that turned out.”
“Forgive me,” she murmured, her heart in her eyes. “I did not mean to pry.”
Her pity made him stiffen. “It’s fine. I’m merely pointing out that we aren’t typical Englishmen.”
She strolled over to the window to gaze out into his courtyard. “Your garden is grown over.”
He relaxed. He could handle small talk, even in this new England he was still trying to adjust to. “You should have seen it when I first arrived in London. I haven’t had time to interview a full-time gardener, but Renham has managed to hire some of my fellow détenus to clean it up a bit.” The French word for detainee had become the de facto term for those unlawfully imprisoned at Verdun. Even those who couldn’t speak French used it.
“They have done it well,” she said. “But you could use some flower beds just there, and a flowering bush in the middle for interest. Perhaps even a statuary of some kind—”
“Miss Bernard!” he said firmly to stay her assessment of his gardens. When she merely continued to stand with her back to him, he said, “Please don’t keep me in suspense. Why are you here?”
With a sigh, she faced him. “Do you know a détenu named Lewis Nash?”
The unexpected question threw him off guard. “Is he residing in London?”
Her brow furrowed. “I suppose he could be. I am not sure. I met Mr. Nash in Bath at a gathering of détenus.”
He stared at her a long moment. “My estate is near Bath, you know,” he said, wondering if that was why she had come to him and not to Jon or Scovell. “So, I’ve met most of the détenus who live or have settled in that area. I don’t recall anyone named Nash.”
She seemed to take that in with some worry. “Your estate is called Longmead,n’est-ce pas?”
“Indeed, it is.” Perhaps Jon had told her. Or Tory. “Have you seen it?”
“I have heard of it. Everyone in Bath knows of Longmead. But unfortunately, when Maman and I go to Bath, we cannot tour the countryside, so I have not yet had the pleasure of viewing it. We must spend all our time in the baths, you see. Maman has verybad—I don’t know how you pronounce it in English—rhumatisme.”
“Rheumatism. I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “C’est comme ça. In any case, she derives great relief from the hot springs there. We go as often as we can, but it is a hard trip for her, and she prefers to live in London. She is a city lady.”
“And you?” he asked. “Are you a city lady?”
A faint smile crossed her lips. “I am. But I also like country towns like Bath and Verdun. I can be happy wherever there are amiable people.”
“Ah. That is the difficult part, isn’t it? Finding amiable people.” When she nodded, he said, “So, why do you ask about this Nash fellow?”
Dragging in a heavy breath, she glided about the room. He didn’t mind. Her wandering was pure pleasure to watch. She was the most graceful woman he’d ever met, and that included his well-bred mother.
She finally answered him. “When Maman and I were in Bath a week ago, Mr. Nash approached me to ask who had ‘created’ the English passports that Maman and I use.”
He sucked in a harsh breath. Sothatwas why she was here. “And you, of course, didn’t want to tell him they were forged by our mutual friend Mr. Beasley.”
She whirled on him in alarm. “You knew this? A-About Monsieur Beasley?”
“Not for a fact. But I suspected as much. Beasley is adept at creating such documents.” He searched her face. “What did you tell Nash?”
“That we got our passports legitimately, of course.”
He shook his head. “So, you lied.”
“What else was I to do?”