Page 67 of Ravishing Camille
And the two children headed for the exit.
* * *
The following morning, Camille returned toMonsieurDaumier’s office to ask more questions about his offer. Might she start at any time? What if she didn’t want to remain in France a full year? Might she still take advantage of his generosity for less than a year?
That afternoon, Pierce and she escorted the two children to the Parc de Chaumont. One cannon, well rusted, amused Rand. A military band arrived, marched in order to a stand, played a few ditties and left. Rand grumbled. He was cheated! Sweets from a patisserie helped assuage his loss.
At tea time, they arrived home at Rue de Rivoli to learn from Remy’s butler that Marianne had received a telegram from Killian in London. He announced the family would arrive at rue Haussmann tomorrow afternoon and all, children included, were invited there to an early dinner tomorrow night at eight.
The butler passed over to her the telegram. “Madamesays you orMonsieurHanniford know how to communicate this dinner invitation to your friends.”
The invitation her stepfather extended was to Mister Lee Macfarlane and Lady Brianna.
But Killian also wanted them to know that he’d invited another couple and their daughter. Camille had met the young woman years ago at a house party. She was good company and accomplished at the piano. An American heiress of a reputed one-hundred thousand dollars or more, she was also outspoken. It was the reason she’d not yet landed a proposal from the gentleman titled enough to impress her parents. The home of the Randolphs was Hampton Roads Virginia, distant relatives of the famous American Randolphs. They’d lived in London for three years now. Looking for Eleanor’s prospective husband. Making new contacts for her papa who had made his fortune building merchant marine ships of huge proportions. They rivaled Killian’s transports in size, sales and quality.
So the night would be partly about business. Killian’s. Pierce’s. And perhaps even Lee Macfarlane’s.
Camille had a good idea that the evening would also be about Eleanor’s search for a match. And the lady was not shy about letting her preferences be known. Pierce would be her quarry. After all, he might not have a title or English blue blood, but he had looks and millions in his bank account.
The evening promised to be lively—and irritating.
Chapter 17
The dinner was the usual deluge of laughter and conversation. The room was chock full of children and adults. Remy and Marianne had come only to greet everyone briefly beforehand, then left to supervise the last-minute details of his exhibit tomorrow. The addition of the Randolphs, jovial folks, added to the joy of it. Then too because Eleanor was so far down the table from Pierce, her presence and her interest in him, the only single man at table, was negligible. Camille breathed more easily.
“How did your own show go, Mama?” Camille was able to get her mother alone to ask after dinner.
“Quite well. And I am grateful to you for finishing the acquisitions in London. I could not have done it without you.” She cupped Camille’s cheek—and Camille was thrilled that her bruise had largely disappeared. “I say. Are you well? You seem tired. Are you certain you want all the children? Neither you nor Pierce is used to that commotion!”
“It’s only for two days. They are yours again the morning after the ball. I am off to visit a friend in Tours that morning.” That was a lie, but her mother accepted it only with a question.
“Very nice. Do I know this person?”
Quite well.“A school friend. Dorothy Scarborough.”
Liv thought on that a moment. “The American girl from…Ohio, was it?”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm. Didn’t she marry an Irishman from Tipperary?”
Dear God, had she?Camille should have investigated who to fib about.
“Yes,” her mother said. “And he has some connection to the pretenders to the French throne.”
“He does? I didn’t know. How wonderful. Or is it, eh?” She had to get away. “Excuse me, please, Mama. I must have a word with Lady Brianna.”
Her escape to Brianna brought her relief of a sort. Her mother, however, had frowned over the fate of Dorothy from Ohio. If Doro had in fact married some chap from Tipperary, Camille was now officially stupid for having forgotten. Not the way she wished to leave Paris. Well, what could she do now but try to cover her tracks?
“You do not look well, Camille.” That from Brianna was no help at all!
“I’m not ill. Or perhaps I will be. Can you tell me if you remember Doro Scarborough from finishing school?”
Brianna stared off into space, collecting her thoughts. “Blonde. Pretty. But her teeth were…”
“Yes. Protruded.”
“Poor thing. She had trouble speaking. Her s-s were caught in her tongue.”
