Page 67 of Miss Desirable
“Monsieur, bonsoir.”
The voice accosted him before he’d reached the end of the alley. “Victor, you are out late.”
A portion of shadow detached itself from the darkness. “Saw your carriage pull around, thought you’d want a report.”
“I want you to be safe at home in bed, my young friend, but what have you to tell me?”
“Somebody is watching Miss Fairchild’s house. I can’t tell for certain, because the clothes are all wrong, but I think it’s that butler fella she sacked.”
Deems.“Tallish, unhappy, a face like a tired hound?”
“Could be him. He tries to pretend he’s a clerk out on an errand, but he never comes ’round The Boar’s Bride. If Nevin is walking the dog, the fellow disappears. No real clerk dawdles about on the walkway when he could be having a pint.”
“A fair point. Anything else?”
“Nevin is spying on Miss for some toff. He meets the toff at the Bride, and Nan don’t care for the toffat all. She says he’spuantthis andvilthat.Vilmeans vile, but I don’t know about that other.”
“Stinking, reeking, malodorous. The feminine form ispuante.Une truie puantewould be a stinking sow. Nanette does not care for aristos in the general case. Has this toff given her particular offense?”
“Interfered with her, you mean? I’d like to see him try. Knows her way around a knife, does our Nan. He paid her to spy on Miss Fairchild’s letters for him.”
French curses rolled through Fournier’s mind. “And does Nan plan to accommodate him?”
“Spy for him? She told him what he wanted to know when he dropped in this evening. The letter he was waiting for is ready for Nevin to pick up tomorrow morning. He paid Nan in sovereigns, monsieur. A bag of ’em.”
“Good for Nanette.” An enterprising creature, because she’d had to be. Fournier sold a lesser Merlot to The Boar’s Bride, and Nan had made an impression. “If I pay you a sovereign, Victor, what will you do with it?”
“Never had a sovereign before. Buy some flowers for Nan, I s’pose, and give her the rest to keep safe for me.”
Chivalry was not dead, after all. “A sound plan,” Fournier said, passing over a shiny gold coin. “If you ever want me to invest a sum for you, you have only to indicate, Victor.”
The money glinted dully in the moonlight, then disappeared into Victor’s pocket. “Merci beaucoup.Why pay me so much? Nevin probably don’t make but five times this much in a year.”
“You work harder than Nevin ever has.”
Victor melted back against the shadows from whence he’d sprung. “Nevin says a bastard will never rise, no matter how hard he works, so why bother? I say that’s an excuse to sit on his arse and makes sheep’s eyes at Nan.”
“Do you blame him?”
A smile gleamed. “No, monsieur. Mind how you go on the way home. The streets can be dangerous.”
“My regards to Colonel Goddard and Mr. Dorning, Victor.”
The only reply was a silent swaying of the branches above the alley.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Catherine needed a whole week of rainy days to find her balance after yesterday’s developments—and last night’s developments—but the weather refused to oblige her. She woke to a gloriously sunny spring morning, complete with tulips blooming along the garden wall and birdsong accompanying the morning chores in the stable.
“Fournier, you are prompt.”
He looped Bertold’s reins through a hitching ring on the ladies’ mounting block. “On this beautiful morning, I had good reason to rise early. You are looking well rested.” He bowed over Catherine’s hand with mere politeness, probably for the benefit of the groom. Nevin not only had the horses ready, but also had his own cob saddled.
“I am well rested, thank you,” Catherine replied, a glaring falsehood to the man who’d asked her to be honest with him. “Shall we be off?” Her voice held a damnable note of forced good cheer, one Fournier would detect easily.
He nonetheless boosted her onto Franny without comment and swung onto Bertold’s back. They kept to a walk most of the way to the park, and when Catherine should have manufactured some friendly conversational gambit—a discussion of the rosé he’d brought over for her to try yesterday evening—her mind produced only worries.
And anger.
