Page 79 of Miss Desirable
“I learned to say the words, during the war, and that takes courage too: I love you. I love you madly and sanely, with my heart, soul, and body—forever. I was still very much at sea, even as I peddled my wines and donned my fancy Bond Street waistcoats. You have brought me home. I will not fail you.”
He’d said she was brave, and Fournier would never lie to her. “I love you too. Madly and sanely and forever. Go to my daughter, Fournier, and get her to safety.”
Catherine opened the French doors. Fournier offered her a bow and a smacking kiss, and then he disappeared into the darkness.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
“Where is my sapphire cravat pin?” Armbruster peered at the jewelry box Henri held open before him. “Sapphires do marvelous things for my eyes.”
“I believe that pin had to be taken to the Ludgate jewelers for repairs, my lord.” Henri had more dignity than the queen mother and more discretion than a ducal butler. He also had just a hint of a genuine Parisian accent, as all the best valets did, and touch of hauteur, as befit his station serving a marquess’s spare.
He was also a terrible liar, for which Mama doubtless treasured him. “Told you to pawn it, did I?”
“Last autumn, sir, and such a fine piece sold before I could retrieve it. Perhaps the amethyst will do?”
“Amethysts will remind all and sundry of my intended’s eyes, Henri. Good choice.”
“Are felicitations in order, my lord?”
Even an English valet might have presumed to ask such a question. The marriage of a peer’s son was a matter of universal interest, after all.
“Soon, my good man, soon.” Armbruster raised his chin so Henri could affix the pin just so amid the folds of Armbruster’s cravat. “Mama must be brought ’round, but Papa has agreed to take on that task.”
Henri stepped back. “Speaking of your mother, sir…”
Armbruster fluffed his cravat and examined his reflection in the cheval mirror. The dressing closet was the usual chaos of discarded cravats, rejected waistcoats, and unsuitable gloves, though Henri would set all to rights as he waited up for his employer’s return. The fellow would be bored to tears without shirts to press or boots to polish.
“If Mama has been remiss with your wages again, you must take that up with her lady’s maid. I’ve told you and told you, Henri, finances bore me. I’ll need the chocolate hat and matching gloves.”
“With an amethyst cravat pin, my lord?”
“What would you suggest?”
“That depends on your destination, sir.”
Oh, delightful. Now Henri was in a pet, and all over a few pounds that would doubtless show up by the end of the week.
“I’m to meet Ash Dorning for a hand of cards at the Coventry. He’s the melancholic, or so the gossips claim, and I intend to add to his woes by relieving him of some coin over a friendly game or two.”
“Mr. Ash Dorning is said to be quite proficient at cards.”
“He is, or was, part owner of a gaming hell,” Armbruster said, fluffing the curls Henri had spent half an hour styling. “Of course he’ll have a good reputation at the tables, but he’s only an earl’s third or fifth spare. He’ll lose to me to curry my favor.”
Henri held out a dark emerald hat. “I am at a loss to fathom the complexities of Mayfair Society, my lord. Why would Mr. Dorning curry your favor?”
“Because he is my prospective in-law, Henri, though one doesn’t speak openly of that. Miss Fairchild has received me twice in the past week and agreed to drive out with me Tuesday next, weather permitting. Proper courtships proceed according to a plan, and this one is adhering wonderfully to the plan of my choosing.”
“Ah, I comprehend, my lord. The banns will soon be cried, and the lawyers will hold long meetings with their respective clients.” He set the hat just so on Armbruster’s head, though no hat would ever fit quite as exquisitely as the gray had.
“You are learning,” Armbruster said, tilting the hat a half inch lower to the left. “But we won’t bother with crying the banns. I applied this morning for a special license, and by this time next week, I should be rehearsing my make-me-the-happiest-man speech. Within a fortnight, my new wife and I might well be starting on our wedding journey.”
“Paris, my lord? Paris in springtime is all the rage.”
“Perhaps. A wedding journey in France would be a delicious irony.” Also far cheaper than wandering about the New Forest or squandering coin on some fashionable seaside watering hole. But then, married to Catherine, even Brighton would become the affordable—a cheering thought.
Armbruster pulled on the matching emerald gloves and left Henri to deal with the mess. The damned special license had cost five bloody pounds, which meant winning some coin off Dorning was all but imperative.
Tedious, though Thurlow had reported that Miss Fairchild had stopped receiving Fournier, and Fournier had apparently nipped off to France to lick his wounds. The plan was moving along nicely, and that was another exceedingly cheering thought.
