Page 51 of Never a Duchess
Lillian moved to the dressing table. “Your name was on a list of patrons who bought Baudelaire’s lily of the valley perfume. We were making enquiries there when Lord MacTavish took ill.”
“How dreadful. But it is a popular fragrance,non?”
“A woman was abducted from Lord Kinver’s garden while the guests ate supper.” Dounreay pulled the bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket. “She dropped this.” He brought it to his nose and inhaled. “It bears yer perfume, and witnesses place ye at the scene at the time of the abduction.”
The opera singer’s eyes widened when she noted the dried blood. “It could be anyone’s perfume. Had I witnessed a crime, I would have reported it to the authorities.”
“We need to know why you were there,” Lillian began, “and if you had a tussle with a gentleman in the garden. Be advised, this is a police matter, and we expect your assistance.”
The Frenchwoman’s long lashes fluttered like insect wings against her porcelain cheeks. “I—I called to present them with a wedding gift, a figurine. Theirs, it is a true love story, and I wished to offer a small gesture of support.”
“And yet no one can locate the figurine.”
Madame Delafont frowned. “It was in the study when I left.”
“Ye went upstairs,” Dounreay said in an accusatory tone.
“I did not think it appropriate to use the ladies’ retiring room.”
“Yet, in truth, ye were looking for Lord Sheridan.”
“You found him in Mrs Gregory’s arms,” Lillian added, coming to the logical conclusion based on the footman’s testimony. “Perhaps you were unaware the lord keeps more than one mistress.”
The lady’s resolve faltered. Tears sprang to her eyes. She gripped the arm of the chair and fell into the velvet seat. “I—I heard him in the corridor, spouting the same nonsense, making the same promises he made to me. Telling Mrs Gregory she had won his heart.”
“You thought he loved you?” Lillian had lost count of those duped into believing a man’s false protestations.
Looking like a shadow of her earlier self, Madame Delafont’s sigh was almost painful. “Sometimes, it is hard to know if a man’s heart is false.” She gestured to the duke as if he were a walking monument to deceitful males.
He is different, Lillian wanted to shout from the rooftops.
And yet Dounreay knew how to play roles. He knew what to say to gain the advantage. Indeed, the desire to stop the games and get to know the real man pushed to the fore.
“Even with all my experience, I made a mistake.” Madame Delafont dabbed tears from her eyes. “But yes, you are right. I went to deliver the gift so I might confirm my suspicions about Lord Sheridan.”
“Did ye see Lady Sheridan?” Dounreay folded his arms across his broad chest in an obvious sign of contempt. “She also wears lily of the valley perfume. Did Sheridan encourage ye to make the purchase to throw his wife off the scent? Pardon the pun.”
Madame Delafont jerked, for she must have felt a sharp jab to her conscience. “Lady Sheridan has a string of lovers. And I did not purchase the perfume. Monsieur Baudelaire, he likes to give me gifts.”
Lillian glanced back at the perfume bottles. “Does Mr Valmary do the same? You have his May Bell fragrance. Most ladies have a preference, whereas you seem to favour both.”
Madame Delafont gave a mocking snort. “Mr Valmary, he thinks he is London’s greatest lothario. He heard I wore Baudelaire’s scent and insisted his was superior.”
“The men are in fierce competition.” Lillian had witnessed the venom in Mr Valmary’s gaze whenever he mentioned his rival. “Both want theirs to be known as the ultimate fragrance.”
Madame Delafont’s bitter laugh proved unnerving. “You think this is about perfume? How naive of you to suppose they would fight over something so trivial.”
Lillian’s cheeks flushed hot.
She scoured her mind, searching for another explanation, finding one when she recalled the licentious glint in Mr Valmary’s gaze.
“The men compete for women,” Lillian said.
Madame Delafont clapped her hands as if praising a child. “Bravo! Like skilled card sharps, they keep score and look for ways to undermine their opponent. Mr Valmary is handsome, but Monsieur Baudelaire possesses a charisma only found in Frenchmen. They serve in their perfumeries when in need of a new victim. A new muse to squabble over and inspire new scents.”
Then what Mr Valmary said might be true. His rival might contaminate the perfumes out of spite to place the blame elsewhere.
“Are their victims aware of their games?” Lillian said.
