Page 24 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
Gus would not reveal to Cecily that Ashley had been one of the conspirators on the Malmaison road two years ago. Her aunt was a woman with complex friendships and multiple loyalties. Once the mistress of George, the prince regent, she was handed off by him to his dear friend the Duc d’Orleans. For many years, the two had lived together in his house in Paris and in his seats in Chantilly and north of the river Oise. For her aunt’s relationship with the royal Bourbon, she had been carted off to Carmes prison and suffered the inquisition of the mobs. Through it all, Cecily had never said a word against her lover. Nor had he implicated her in any of his doings with the Revolutionary Committees.
They had guillotined him anyway. The very day Cecily was to die in the same manner, Robespierre had been killed by his own supporters. Cecily and her new friend and cellmate,a young woman, a widow of great charm, Madame Josephine Beauharnais, had been set free. The two remained fast friends, enjoying the fruits of Josephine’s second husband’s success.
Gus had not mentioned that she had been waylaid by one of the men who attempted to kill Bonaparte that day on the Malmaison road. Amber had said nothing, either, to protect Gus and herself. Gus had been ashamed she’d been caught by rogues. Worse, she feared if she told the details that the police might turn what she said against her. It was possible. It had happened to others. She had vowed not to be so naïve. She had kept her silence. And would now too. Today, she had other reasons to be discreet…and her aunt knew them not. Gus wanted that to remain true.
She met Aunt Cecily’s curious gaze. “The Earl of Ashley is an argumentative man. He needs time to adjust himself to his diplomatic role.”
“I thought he showed a spark of romantic interest.” Her aunt cast her a sharp eye.
“He did. I dissuaded him.”
Aunt Cecily inhaled and glanced to the far end of the room at the doors to the breakfast kitchen. That was all that was necessary for the footman to lift his porcelain carafe and come forward to pour her cup full of coffee.
“Merci beaucoup,” she said in dismissal of the man after he poured. When he had disappeared to the kitchens, she lifted her cup but paused to say, “You still feel the same about all the men at this court?”
Her words had Gus tracing the rim of her plate with a finger. “I do,Tante.I still do not have your skills at perception of a good man. I know not whom to trust. You have given me my inheritance, and with that independence. I will use it.”
“Money is cold comfort when the joys of life and its recriminations come to call.”
“I feel…nothing.” Which was not true in regard to Ashley. He intrigued her, confused her. Her breasts swelled at the memory of his touch. At the sight of his large, dark hands, her nipples hardened. Her mouth watered at the sight of his lips. All of those places on her body where he had once touched, she still felt his impression. But she had been childish once. She would not succumb to a fantasy ofamouragain. She would not have him, would not take him for her lover. “I will remain free.”
Her aunt knitted her brows. “Ma cherie, love does not leave room for freedom.”
Gus found that statement odd coming from her aunt. The woman had never once voiced concern for Amber’s sudden departure from town. Nor her continued absence. That meant she knew Amber’s reasoning and/or her destination, or she simply cared not an iota. All of that was either a secret, or a simple disregard of the other person in their lives who had been part of their little family.
Irritated about all of that, Gus took a path to discuss her aunt’s regard for her. “Your love has never restrained me. Yours has always been the only love I have ever needed.”
“My affections, Augustine, are no comparison to that of a lover.”
Gus shook her head.
“No, Augustine, you have been well loved as a baby and youth. To know bliss, you will one day take a man to your bed and to your heart. In fact, I recommend it, sweetheart. Greatly. And soon. While your youth allows you the—shall we say?—dexterity to enjoy the arts.”
That had Gus choking on her coffee.
“Forgive me, my sweet girl. But I have a warning. When you choose, you must take care to ensure the consequences are not yours alone. I have taught you how to avoid that, and I mean for you to employ those means. My other stipulation is, if yourchoice is to be this Ashley or one of his colleagues, that you marry him.”
“No! Aunt, I will not put myself in service to—”
“Augustine, it is the only way to secure your reputation. You have spent most of your life here with me. In this new regime, we see that a mistress may have a certainje ne sais quoi.A certain prestige. She may have her own household, her own court, her friends about her. She may gain a living from her lover and secure a house and land. That, never to be retaken by her benefactor if society is stable. Here in France, society is a volcano. Still. Take my word on it.
“But British law and British society are different. Precise and ruthless. A mistress is of no import. She merits no wealth and all ridicule. Her children are bastards from birth, never to be legitimate and never to inherit a penny. You have the forty thousand I have given you, my dear girl, but if you use it in Britain to secure your life beyond anyaffair de coeur, you will not have all that secures your freedom.”
Her aunt pushed back her chair and rose. “Have your affair, my dear, with whomever takes your fancy. Enjoy him. But if your lover is British, by all that’s holy, girl, marry him.”
*
“I have notseen you about town lately.” Gus scooted up to Ashley’s side three weeks later. The afternoon was a hot May day and the party was a celebration of a financier’s birthday. His wife, who was painfully drunk, danced solo in her wet muslin and golden sandals that showed her very large toes with very big bunions.
Gus had seen Ashley arrive and waited for more than an hour to approach him. She could not appear eager, after all. But in a spectacular frock coat of plum and a complementary waistcoatof embroidered lavender, he cut a most riveting figure. He was coming up to snuff, looking like a diplomat of the first water. She recalled his clean, crisp fragrance and needed to inhale it…and inhale him again.
Even as he took her hand to his lips, he chided her with a glance. “Is that so? I thought you missed my company.”
“I worried you were ill,” she offered with pluck, “and I never missed you.”
He arched a brow at her. His jaw, that chiseled, square perfection that gave him power, flexed in one of his devastating grins. “I do believe, however, I have seen you everywhere.”
She had not been discreet enough.Not good.“Impossible. Many Frenchwomen look like me. The dark hair, the eyes.”
