Page 78 of Miss Desirable
Fournier smiled at her crookedly and glanced at the library sofa. “Alas, I have only a few moments, and such an undertaking requires far more than that. Armbruster is sending an agent to France.”
“We expected him to try something like that.” Nonetheless, the news was terrifying.
“Sit with me,” Fournier said, taking Catherine by the hand and leading her to the sofa. “The agent is no fool, a Frenchman named Ablesdorf—he has other names—whose path crossed mine more than once during the war. Ablesdorf is shrewd, and that works to our advantage.”
“How?” Catherine sank onto the sofa and hugged a pillow to her middle. “He will find Marie, he will confirm my relationship with her, and he will bring back proof that I have a daughter.”
Fournier rubbed her back in slow circles. “He will be thorough and careful, for his own sake, if not for Armbruster’s. He also charges exorbitantly for his services. If I take you to France so you and Marie can flee Cahors one step ahead of Ablesdorf, he will pursue us, and he excels at pursuit. Whether or not he finds you immediately, he can still bring back affidavits, copies of records, and other evidence Armbruster will use against you.”
Catherine tossed away the pillow and curled into Fournier’s side. “I want to run, Xavier. I want to beg you to take me to France so I can disappear with Marie to some obscure Canadian frontier town.”
He looped his arm around her shoulders. “We have a plan,mon coeur, a good plan. One that keeps Marie safe, puts Armbruster to rout, and preserves your standing, your freedom, and your fortune. We can do this.”
Catherine burrowed closer, drawing comfort from Fournier’s calm. “I have longed for somebody to call my own, somebody to confide in and lean on. Mama loved me dearly, but I always felt I must not be a burden to her, must not impose on my parents any worse than I already had.”
“And now,” Fournier said, lips near her ear, “you have my utter devotion, and the idea that you must trust me to safeguard your child is intolerable.”
“Difficult,” Catherine said, “but how much more difficult if I were still trying to manage the situation on my own? I am prepared to marry Armbruster if I must. I don’t want to.”
“You shall not marry that man, Catherine. He does not deserve you, and if you demand that he have the banns cried for the requisite three successive weeks, I should be back before he can march you to the altar.”
Fournier was reminding her that they had time, in other words. Not a lot of time, but some time. Enough time, God willing.
“Kettering is meeting with Belcher and Sons tomorrow,” Catherine said, “and effectively removing them from involvement with my affairs. Lady Casriel and Lady Trysting are to look in on me the day after. I have made it known to Mrs. Trask that if you call here, I am not at home to you.”
“And if Lord Fortescue condescends to visit you?”
Catherine recited the answer that comported with their agreed-upon plan. “I will be reluctantly—very reluctantly—charmed and flattered by his attentions.”
“You are the bravest woman I know, Catherine Fairchild. Be brave a few weeks longer, and we shall prevail.”
Nobody had ever referred to her as brave before. As a schoolgirl, she’d been outspoken, headstrong, and difficult. Facing London Society, she’d become quiet, unassuming Miss Dubious, and then she’d had to summon something like stoicism as her mother’s illness had progressed.
“I don’t think of myself as brave.”
“To bear a child takes courage, to part from a child takes enormous courage, to watch a loved one die takes courage, to maintain composure in the face of Society’s judgment takes courage. You are brave, Catherine, while Armbruster is arrogant, weak, and greedy.”
Catherine peered at her lover.Weak?The word fit and fit well. “When you put it like that, I am not as afraid.”
Fournier kissed her cheek. “I thank the merciful God that Armbruster was so stupid as to abandon you when he could have had your devotion for the rest of his life. He is to be pitied.”
Catherine smiled, and it felt good to allow a thread of genuine humor to leaven her worry. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would,” Fournier said, sitting up. “I was a fool for love, ages ago. I see now that it’s better to be a fool for love than a fool for vanity and coin. I was naïve, Armbruster is an ass. I have Armbruster to thank for showing me this distinction, so yes, I do pity him.”
“Pity him when his creditors have hounded him from London.” Catherine rose, when she wanted to cling and fret and melt into a puddle of anxiety. “You have a point, though. I have Marie to thank for any fortitude I claim, and in a sense, that means I must thank Armbruster as well.”
“There,” Fournier said, springing to his feet, “we have been philosophical and wise and gracious, none of which means we will spare Armbruster the fate he deserves. Kiss me for luck, and then I am off on the fastest sloop ever to carry contraband between London and Bordeaux.”
Catherine wrapped her arms around his waist. “How is it you claim a berth on this sloop?”
“I own it, a necessary competitive advantage in the wine trade. Wish me fair weather and a swift journey. I shall dream of you.”
She imprinted on her mind the sense of safety and comfort she found only in Fournier’s embrace. “Tell Marie I love her, and I will come to Bordeaux to see her as soon as I can.”
“The château staff will rejoice to have a child underfoot again, and, Catherine?”
She drew back. “Xavier?”
