Page 62 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
Add to that, in all these months, Vaillancourt had not arrested any of Amber’s friends. He did not go near Augustine, Lady Ashley. Nor did he appear anything but congenial to the contingent of British envoys attached to Lord Ashley.
In November, the British ambassador had finally arrived in Paris to assume his role formally. That man was an experienceddiplomat, cool, composed, a man of delicate sensibilities with the ability to talk a person to death. Bonaparte was not impressed.
Meanwhile, the city bulged with British. Hundreds crossed the channel, eager to see the sights of Paris now that the radicals had been eliminated. Charles Fox had come and gone. So too the notorious Earl of Egremont had come, along with his gaggle of lovers. Other British—delighting in strolling the parks, carousing in cafés, and attending the opera and theaters—extended their holidays.
As Christmas approached, Vaillancourt sent Amber little gifts. Hothouse roses one day. Confectioner’s chocolate almonds the next. A handkerchief of delicate NormanAlençonlace. The morning of December 24, he sent her an edition ofCandide.
Alone in her library, she snorted. The man could read, could he?
That night, Amber was to attend the opera with her aunt, but her heart was not in it. She had been invited on occasion to the Ashleys’ for social events, but she had declined. She predicted that Ram would be invited to most events hosted by them, and she did not wish to see him. She doubted he wished to see her. Amber declined to attend Christmas Eve dinner with the Ashleys and their friends. They had enough friends to enliven the evening—and she was in no mood to act as if she were enjoying herself.
The New Year brought with it the ice and snow that Amber hated. But she was invited to Vaillancourt’s house for dinner parties and garden soirees. At first, she feigned frail health. The cold, you see. Then it became apparent to her that to find this list Vaillancourt kept, she had to accept his invitations and go. So she found reason to disappear to find the ladies’ retiring rooms. Or feign a headache and ask for a quiet room in which to retire.
She always took the wrong directions and searched in his study, his library, or hismajordom’s rooms.
When, at last, she did find a bit of news at his house one evening, it came from a source rather than Vaillancourt. The occasion was at midnight among a gathering of Bonaparte’s generals, their wives, and other assorted dignitaries. A general was newly promoted and wished for more honors. His family had money and connections. His wife was dead. No children cluttered his halls. The man had ambitions to find a Society lady to help him secure his future. Poor fellow had not read the gossip rags before he pounced, and he had the gall to try for Amber.
She was gracious in her polite acceptance of his favors. Of course, she watched as Vaillancourt examined the military man with the slitted eyes of a jealous man. She soon found herself in a worthy discussion of the value of the Charleville musket. Lightweight, easy to use.
“Indeed, we have increased production numbers.” The new general puffed himself up, so proud of himself that he could boast of such things.
“Sound,” she agreed, and fluttered her eyes like a vacuous female. “One can never have enough, eh?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, showing all his bad teeth. “Especially since we have ambitions.”
Do we?“I hope so,” she told him. “We French are so much more civilized than many.”
“Especially the Germans and the Austrians.”
“Oh, but don’t we like those Germans close to us?” She pretended affection with a hand to her bosom. It was printed in thelibellesand sung in the streets that Bonaparte had asked for troops from German princes, one of whom was the former margrave of Baden, now for his services anointed a duke. “Those in the Alsace and Lorraine.”
He smacked his lips. “They are really Frenchmen. But those in Baden and Württemberg, a few others in the south, come close. That’s why we have a new shipment of muskets going to Baden and Strasbourg.”
“Really. How good.”
“It is. That city sits on the Rhine, and we must use it to march into the northern plains to Prussia. We will be shipping many munitions to that city.”
“So wise,” she said, bursting to leave this hideous man. Now she had to figure out how to convey the information to someone who could use it and forward it to those who needed it.
Kane would welcome it. But she could not go to him easily. She’d be noticed, even followed.
Soon she’d be in Vaillancourt’s house more often…and she’d have more information to send onward.
She must choose another.
*
“You dislike thenew general for the Rhine,” Vaillancourt said to her with a smile when all had gone home. She’d stayed behind, as she usually did lately. It burnished Vaillancourt’s reputation to say that the widow St. Antoine favored him more and more. She wanted him to see how necessary it was to go slowly with her. To get into his house often, she wanted him primed, beside himself with lust. Drooling would be best.
“Dislike? Hardly!” Sheadoredthe new general who had a loose tongue and a poor opinion of women’s understanding of weaponry. Accepting her glass of cognac from Vaillancourt, she took a sip. “I hope I was not obvious.”
“No. Never. You are such a good actress.”
“Thank you,” she said with hope Vaillancourt never thought that of her with him.
He took a chair opposite her, dangling his snifter from his fingers, his reptilian eyes all over her. “Do you tire of your solitary life yet?”
God, yes. May you never know how much.She could only bite her lip and gaze at him with all the sorrow in her heart.
