Page 47 of A Lady's Past
“And nearly landed your head in a basket.” Preston lowered his empty glass.
“Indeed. It was a near thing, and without your intervention, my parents would have been devastated. Still, I was not in love with Monique. At least now I can see it was merely an infatuation with a beautiful and experienced woman. She intrigued me, and of course she was a great deal of fun.” He recalled all the times they had laughed together after making love. A shame she used him to profit from a government hunting for dissidents.
“You have not answered my question about Miss MacLeod.”
The server was a buxom woman with blond hair peeking out from under her cap. She smiled and her cheeks were rosy apples. “I brought you some bread to go with the soup. It’s beef. I hope that will appeal to you gentlemen.”
Preston favored her with a wide smile. “Thank you, madam. It smells divine, and is just what we needed after a wet, cold ride.”
Blushing, she curtsied and backed away.
Surprisingly, the soup was delightful. Tender beef, potatoes and carrots melted in Jacques’s mouth. “It is very good.”
While he spooned soup, Preston shook his head. “Still no response. Shall I take that to mean you are in love and don’t want to admit it.”
Jacques put down his spoon. His head spun with both regret and brandy. The knot in his chest tightened painfully. “Diana is both brilliant and beautiful. I have found her heart to be pure in spite of the horrors she has endured. Despite my determination to never let another woman enter my heart, she weaved her way inside me. I will not let anything happen to her. I have failed her to the point where my chances of winning her are destroyed. For this, I shall never forgive myself.”
“Are you saying you don’t intend to pursue the woman you love?” Preston had put his own soup aside and stared at him wide-eyed.
“She has distanced herself from my affection.” Even saying the words broke Jacques’s heart far worse than Monique’s betrayal. “I cannot blame her. I promised to keep her safe, and the moment I lured her out of Everton House she was taken by the very man who killed her parents.”
“That was not your fault. No one can blame you for the attack on the road. Victor Caron was well prepared to wait her out. She couldn’t stay in that house indefinitely. At least we were able to retrieve her and Lady Chervil. This is not a tragedy, Jacques. This was a success.” Preston pounded his fist on the table, making several heads turn.
Jacques forced a smile to ease any worries the revelers might have had. “I appreciate your passion on the subject and your support, but I failed her. She is alive and that will have to be enough for me. I am determined to find Caron, even if it means finding every man named Farmer in London to do it.”
“I don’t know how you can let her go. I would not allow anything to take my Millie away from me.”
“And Millie is lucky to have you. She is a gem and you are a perfect pair. Diana and I are mismatched from the start. I cannot imagine that loving a man of the same nation that imprisoned, hunted and tortured her would be an easy thing.” Another piece of his heart tore away and died.
It had been years since Jacques had cried, but the lump growing in his throat told him if he didn’t let this subject go, he would make an ass of himself.
“I never thought I would say this, Jacques, but you are a fool. That woman loves you just as much as you love her. You will both end miserably if you don’t pursue her.”
Jacques turned his attention back to his soup and the crust of bread. “It is not relevant. I must find Caron and secure a future for Diana even if that future is not with me.”
Shaking his head, Preston also returned to eating his soup. “Why is it that men in love turn to idiots? I have seen it dozens of times, and was nearly guilty of it myself. Ask the lady directly about her feelings. If she rejects you, at least you won’t have to wonder for the rest of your life over what might have been.”
The last spoonful of soup was cold after more talk than eating. Jacques poured another glass of brandy. Better to numb his pain than experience it tonight. “I think she made it quite clear by her cold reproach this afternoon. I could not illicit any emotion from her. If that does not tell you of her resolve, then nothing will.”
Jacques tossed several coins on the table, picked up his glass and the bottle, and tromped up the steps to their room, where he planned to get good and drunk.
At the steps, the server who’d brought their food stopped him. “Sir?”
“I left your pay on the table.” He mounted the first step.
She touched his arm. “It’s not that, sir.”
He stared at her hand on his arm. She was not dressed as a prostitute, but sometimes these things were less obvious. He met her gaze. “I’m not in the market for company this evening, my dear, though I appreciate the thought.”
A deep blush stained her round cheeks, and she pulled her hand away. “I overheard you and your duke friend talking about Mr. Farmer and his French friend.”
Jacques searched her eyes for any signs of a ploy. He saw only dark rings of a hard-working woman at the end of a long day and earnest blue eyes. “What can you tell me, madam?”
“Billy Farmer was here a week ago with some man with a French accent. The Frenchman was rude and grabby.”
“What is your name, my dear?”
“May.”
