Page 27 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“I do, Suzette.”I do.
“Do you wish to see it? Inside? It is to let.”
“Is it really?” Viv saw no sign in the front window. “How do you know?”
“My mama is a friend of the majordom who is the caretaker. If you wish, I can rap upon the door and ask?”
“No, no. I have no desire to take a lease. I like our house. Very much.”
Suzette, like all her staff, knew her family history. Viv had read the stories herself in the gossip sheets. The trials and tribulations of the French actress Charmaine de Massé were often reported. Her servants might not know the full of the tragedy that occurred there, but it was enough for Suzette to wonder if Viv might wish to take over the house.
“I could introduce you, the famous actress of the ancient Massé family. Anyone would be proud to allow you to walk through, mademoiselle.”
Viv wavered, her lips parting in eager anticipation.
The girl’s blue eyes mellowed as she read Viv’s expression. “I can do it, mademoiselle. Shall it be now?”
“Oui, now.”Before I lose my nerve.
The young woman crossed the cobbles. Her basket, full of tiny potatoes and spring asparagus, swung with the sway of her hips.
The motion mesmerized Viv. Courage was a delicate cat, lured by peace, inspired by rabid desires.
The maid stepped up to the door and pulled at the filigreed iron-worked bell. She paused, glancing back at Viv, then smiling.
But minutes passed.
Suzette rang again.
No one came.
Viv nibbled her lower lip.
What would she do here, anyway? Survey what was left? Cry that the house was empty? Gasp that the Jarre family had retained Mama’s furnishings—or destroyed them as cruelly as they had all in the family?
Viv hurried to her maid and took her arm. “Another day, we will return. Another time.”
*
Flummoxed, Tate leftViv that morning and, instead of going home, steered his horse to rue Saint-Honoré. Kane would be up—he rose early. His wife, Augustine, was great with child and would not be able to receive anyone for quite a while. Kane and Tate would break their fast together, as they often did.
Tate also knew that Godfrey, Lord Ramsey, was at odds and ends lately. He did not sleep well and often joined Kane and Tate for breakfast. The reason for Ram’s insomnia was one Tate had recently learned quite by accident.
Ram was recently estranged from Madame Saint Antoine. Tate had not known that night in February, when they were all at the theater, that the reason for Ram’s odd behavior was due to the despair Ram felt at the loss of the lovely widow whom he adored. Their breakup was not recent, but it left a vast crack in Ram’s heart.
Work offered Ram many salves. Tate went about his with a similar lack of zest. Kane offered advice to his two friends with their professional worries and a respite from personal ones.
Tate looped his reins around the iron fence outside the door to Kane’s house and stepped up to pull the knocker.
Kane’s majordom, a resourceful Florentine named Corsini, promptly appeared and welcomed Tate inside. “I’ll have ourgroom see to your horse, my lord. Allow me to show you to the library. Lord Ramsey waits there too. Lord Ashley will attend you both shortly.”
Once there, Tate was startled when Ram took one look at him and his expression fell.
“Not happy to see me?” Tate joked.
“Not that at all, my friend.”
“What bothers you?” Tate watched Ram as he walked toward the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “From the look on your face, I’d say it is not that our ambassador and Bonaparte continue to carve each other up for dinner lately.”
