DoIhave a story about Marchand foryou, Mrs. Pariseau, Ginny thought, bitterly.
“Indeed I do have a story. I heardyouhave an enchanting way with a story, too, Mrs. Pariseau.” Marchand twinkled at her. “I’m looking forward to hearing you read aloud this evening.”
Mrs. Pariseau delicately laid her heart with her hand and beamed at him. “We thought we’d read Greek myths tonight. Lots of mayhem and bad behavior mingling with moralizing. For adult ears only.”
“Mayhem for adults is my favorite kind,” Marchand confirmed.
He hadn’t so much as glanced at Ginny yet, but she could not help but feel that remark was tailored just for her.
Marchand then shook hands with Captain Hardy and Lord Bolt, the handsome husbands of their proprietresses, who greeted him warmly, almost as if he wasn’t dastardly. He was apparently already acquainted with both of them.
“I hear you’re a tree now, Bolt,” Marchand said, and Lord Bolt laughed.
Mr. Delacorte, whom she liked very much, was built a bit like an egg propped on legs, and he had thick, frisky eyebrows and rather lovely blue eyes. He sprang cheerfully to his feet. “Very good to meet you, Marchand. I’m in business with Hardy and Bolt in the Triton Group. And I also import remedies from the Orient and sell them to surgeons and apothecaries up and down the coast.”
Marchand’s eyebrows went up. He seemed intrigued. “Interesting line of work, Delacorte. Profitable?”
“Oh, I make a fair bit, a fair bit. If you ever need a little help with, you know, a certain struggle unique to gentlemen”—he extended his forefinger horizontally then let it slowly droop, by way of illustration—“it’s one of my popular cures.”
“Thank you.” Marchand’s composure stuttered for less than a second. “I’ll keep that in mind should that tragic day ever arise.”
At last Mr. Marchand was brought over to Ginny.
Heat rushed from Ginny’s nape to her feet as she met his eyes again. For all the world as if he’d ignited some invisible fuse that traced the length of her spine. Her heart lurched then began beating at an absurdly swift clip.
“How do you do, Miss Woodville. A pleasure.” He sounded grave and sincere, the charlatan. He bowed.
She dipped a swift curtsy. “How do you do, Mr. Marchand.” She’d attempted to say it crisply, but she’d gone so breathless her words emerged sounding appallingly sultry.
His vanishingly swift, secretive little smile suggested he knew all about that invisible lit fuse and her shortened breath and her heart speed.
He at last settled in at a table across the room but directly in Ginny’s line of vision, which was unforgivably provocative of him yet undeniably helpful, on the theory that it was a good strategy to keep an eye on ones’ enemies.
She could not help but wonder what precisely he did during the day. Her own day had featured a fruitless journey to the establishment of Madame Marceau, the celebrated modiste, who had heard about etched silver buttons but was unfortunately unable to tell her where to find them, as none of her lady customers had yet requested them. Ginny would visit Weston tomorrow. She knew a visit to that exclusively male bastion would take most of her restores of nerve.
Ginny’s head shot up when she sensed a fresh tension gripping the room.
This could only mean one thing: the arrival of Daniel Peck.
The primary trouble with Daniel Peck was that he was four years old. And while everyone who lived at the Grand Palace on the Thames had also once been four years old, none of them currently had children. They only vaguely remembered the age’s bewildering, unfathomable customs, as if it was a distant land they’d once visited.
Five days ago, Daniel’s mother, Mrs. Peck, had taken a suite for her two sons and their nursemaid at the Grand Palace on the Thames to await the return of her husband, who was traveling on a ship from Dover. Whereupon the family would return home to Northumberland.
Like a cherub in a Renaissance painting, Daniel was all dewy brown eyes, round red cheeks, black ringlets and shy smiles. Delilah and Angelique had been smitten during that first meeting. How refreshing it would be to have a child about the place! they’d thought, with wild optimism.
On the first night of their stay, Mrs. Peck brought Daniel (who nightly dined with his nurse in their suite) down to the sitting room after dinner while their nurse remained upstairs with the baby. The hush of happy anticipation fell. All the guests were prepared to be enchanted.
It began promisingly enough.
Daniel had bashfully fluttered his fluffy black lashes at Dot and Ginny and Mrs. Pariseau and smiled winsomely, captivating them.
But then things took an unexpected turn when Captain Hardy greeted him.
Daniel immediately burst into inexplicable, noisy sobs.
Lord Bolt fared little better: Daniel hid behind his mother and peered out at him, his little brow beetled in suspicion.
“Oh, he can be a little sensitive and fussy when he’s tired,” his mother explained with a little laugh. “It doesn’t mean anything. Please don’t let it hurt your feelings.”