Page 58 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
“Very well,” she said, noting his failure to admit his actions. She knew that many in and out of Parisian Society paid the publishers on the left bank to printlibelles,damning stories against anyone. Such methods had worked public sentiment against the Bourbons and now criticized the consulate and all who ran it. If the printed word weren’t bad enough, balladeers strolled the Pont Neuf singing scandalous ditties and earning for themselves sizable remunerations. Amber had heard them singing as she and Ram rode here. “Define it as you will. I am not here to argue with you about your work.”
Kane gave no quarter. “My work is to negotiate commercial contracts for British citizens and, when I can, to buy agricultural products for them.”
“Of course it is,” she said with the politesse of a smile.
“Amber!” Gus flew into the room, her morning gown of white muslin aflutter beneath her heavy purple damask banyan as she ran to her friend, arms out. “Oh, you look wonderful. Healthy. I was so worried about you.”
She hugged Amber, who rejoiced at seeing her friend well. But she was here for reasons more vital than reestablishing a friendship. She braced herself for the argument she was undoubtedly about to create here.
Gus stepped backward, a bewildered look on her face at Amber’s cool façade.
Kane put his arm around his wife’s waist. “Join us.”
Amber resumed her chair. She had much to say here.
Gus welcomed Ram, who merely frowned. Then she took a seat across from Amber and said, “You come unannounced.”
Amber pressed her lips together and glanced down a moment to trace the folds of her pale-yellow gown. Ram gazed at her, his dark hair falling over his brow, but could not cover the despair in his blue eyes.
Gus grew wary. “Tell us quickly why you are here, Amber.”
“I know what happened to you last night.”
Gus inhaled. “Newssheets on the street, I suppose?”
“A new song, too, tells the tale of the Englishman who married the comtesse’s niece, both of whom were attacked by peasants hired by Vaillancourt.”
Gus added nothing.
Neither did Kane as he sat beside his wife in his own chair, his gaze never wavering from Amber.
“This,” she added, “comes on top of other reports that you, Augustine, did away with a fellow in Varennes. He, sad to say, died of a severe cut to his groin. He bled to death.”
Gus held her tongue.
Amber grew testy. “I see neither one of you will admit to these acts.”
“Why should we?” Gus replied. “You seem to have the facts you want.”
Amber regarded Kane. “I have a plan.”
Silence enveloped the room.
Very well.“I return to Society,” she told them. “I open up my house again. Announce I am ready to receive once more. Then I send out my invitations to dinner parties and balls.”
Gus set her teeth. “No.”
Amber countered, “You have no say in the matter, Augustine.”
Gus seethed. “The same way I had no say in your departure from Paris? Your extended absence? Your failure to perform your duties?”
“My duties,” Amber blurted, “did not suffer.”
Gus scoffed. “I beg to differ.”
Oh, I am being a harpy. But I must be to push all of them from me. If they find one crack, they will find another…and stop me.“No catastrophe has befallen anyone in my group in thetime I have been gone.”A lie, but I must be brazen.“While I take no credit for it, I take no offense either. Neither should you.”
“Oh, yes,” Gus offered with sarcasm. “The only catastrophe is that the man in Varennes is dead…after he tried to kill Kane and me.”
