Page 16 of Miss Desirable
The Duchess of Quimbey’s housekeeper had harangued Fournier for a quarter hour about dear Cee-Cee’s moods and crotchets. The butler’s lecture had been even longer.
“I haven’t a leash,” Miss Fairchild said.
“You won’t need one. He’s that well trained. You tell him to sit, and he will sit until midsummer. You tell him to stay, he will still be where you left him until Michaelmas. He can guard, hold, fetch, and he knows the usual parlor tricks.”
“What is the command for…” Her hand slowed. “Deterring an intruder?”
“‘Attack,’ though the dog will also make a lot of noise if you tell him to bark.”
Caesar cocked his head and gave a soft woof.
“Good boy,” Miss Fairchild murmured. “I’ve always wanted a dog. We never knew when Papa would have a new posting, or where that posting would be, so a pet wasn’t possible. I can’t imagine Caesar would enjoy the climate in Cairo very much.”
Caesar’s gaze had gone from adoring to besotted, while Fournier was jealous of a damned dog.
“He’s enjoying your company already,” Fournier said, “and thus I have accomplished what I set out to do. You will sack Deems today?”
“After the kitchen serves lunch, I will inform Deems of his good fortune and thank him for all his years of loyal service.”
“And tell him that he has lodgings elsewhere for the nonce.” That part mattered very much. If one wanted a villain to flee the scene, one had to provide him an escape route.
“You were very considerate, monsieur, to arrange for me to borrow Caesar. I would never have thought… That is…” Miss Fairchild used the back of her hand to swipe at her cheek. “Caesar and I will get on famously. You have my thanks.”
The other side of all those stupid, infatuated feelings reared its inane head: a horror of seeing the lady displeased or discommoded, an inability to ignore her suffering.
“I must apologize,” Fournier said, passing over his handkerchief. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“You have not upset me.” She touched his linen to the corners of her eyes. “I am simply not at my best. A bereavement brings many adjustments, and I never anticipated one result might be to introduce me to a new friend.”
She meant the dog. Fournier was almost certain she meant the dog.
“When my wife died, I was lost,” Fournier said. “Gabriella was my everything. I have been years putting myself back together, but what choice does one have?”
“You were married?”
“I don’t generally speak of it.” Heneverspoke of it. Goddard probably knew, but Goddard was blessedly discreet. “In the last years of my marriage, my wife remained in France, while I spent most of my time in London. Thanks to the decimation of the French fleet at Trafalgar, Napoleon’s blockade was not as formidable as it might have been, but I still wish…”
That he’d never agreed to leave Gabriella in France, tending to the vineyards and hoping the château would still be standing after the next wave of violence.
That he’d not waited so long to send Gabriella to her cousins.
That he’d had the wisdom to withstand the selfish impulse that had seen him married to her in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Fairchild said, touching his shoulder. “You seem so self-possessed, the equal of any situation, and yet, I know such savoir faire is usually earned at a high price.” She folded Fournier’s handkerchief into eighths and tucked it into her pocket. “I hope she appreciated you.”
“She did.” Gabriella had appreciated more being lady of a fine château and then de facto supervisor of the winemaking. Even her boldness and confidence had appealed to him, at first.
“You have savoir faire too,” Fournier said, knowing the change of subject was clumsy. “But that puts you out of the common mode in the society where you dwell. I think you might be happier on the Continent.”
He would love to show her his home, love to walk with her in the cool of the morning as the mist rose from the river and the sun shone golden on the vineyards. That he could experience such longings nearly in the same breath as he mentioned Gabriella was astonishing.
Where guilt should have been, Fournier instead felt a measure of relief. Gabby had been gone for years, and she would not have wanted him to wallow. Then too, there was little of desire in these longings, just enough desire to confirm that Fournier’s animal spirits had not expired along with his wife.
“I did enjoy my time abroad,” Miss Fairchild said, “and I will enjoy getting to know Caesar. I am in your debt, monsieur.”
“Friends do not keep a tally of kindnesses, Miss Fairchild, and it is Caesar who is in my debt—and yours.” A fine little exit line, so Fournier bowed. “I will be on my way. Send to me if you have need, and thank you for extending your hospitality to Caesar. If he becomes troublesome, I will escort him back to his home.”
She walked with Fournier to the gate, the dog panting at her side. “And if I merely want to see a friendly face? If I long to stroll my garden while recounting attempted kidnappings and admiring nearly naked statues? Must I haveneedof you to gain your notice?”
