Page 39 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
A tall, gray-haired man stood there, his benevolent smile the warmth Viv recalled—not from him, for he was new, different from their previous servant, their majordom. Dear heaven, what had happened to their man? To all in the house who had served them so well? She had not thought of them. Not until now. Had they fled? Were they hunted? Had they died because they served tea and did the laundry and cooked the meals for the family of Vicomte de Neufchateau?
Viv ridiculed herself for her lack of concern for them. A hand to her mouth, she muffled her cry.
But there was more that stunned her. This man, this majordom before her, for surely he was the caretaker of the house, looked familiar.
Viv caught her breath. She swallowed hard on a vague memory. Could it be that she knew him?
Her mind raced to match his characteristics to those servants she’d known in the past. His nose was terribly large, his eyes bulging. His wiry gray hair was tamed but barely so. Still, he was quick to smile, and his pleasant look seemed the true essence of his nature.
He exchanged a few introductory words with Tate, then his pale gaze traveled across to her once more.
“We have come to ask if we may see the house,” Tate explained. “May I present the daughter of the former owner—this is Mademoiselle de Massé.”
Viv glanced at Tate, who evidently could not bear to call her by her sister’s name. A good thing, given the circumstances. Putting that aside, she smiled at the majordom.
“I am honored, mademoiselle,” the man greeted her with a sudden broad grin, then took her hand to lead her over the threshold. His gaze flowed over her with the kindliness of an uncle. “Come,” he pronounced delicately, as if he invited her into a fantasy.
And he did.
Like a butterfly drawn to a fragrant flower, Viv went. One foot before the other, she sailed into a phantasm of what had been.
“I am delighted you have come. I read that you appear at the theater nearby, and I did wonder whether you would wish to see the house.”
She tore her gaze from the familiar graceful architecture. “You are most gracious, Monsieur…?”
“Gaspard, mademoiselle. I am honored to welcome you.”
They stood in the foyer. The elegant, wide, white-stoned foyer, and the winding staircase up. The ones she and the others had run down to flee.
That night, Charmaine had been in a rush to leave and carried her pearls and small gold necklaces in her case. Barking at Diane, Charmaine had held her head high, superior as ever, but acting as if she had not a care…
The image of Viv’s oldest sister dissolved.
“The owners told me we have few pieces of the original furniture,” Gaspard told them as they climbed the steps to the first floor.
“The owners?” Viv asked.
“Oui, Monsieur Jarre,” he told her.
“The bankers.”The ones who increased the interest on Papa’s debts and turned in my father to the Paris Commune.
“Exactly.” Gaspard spoke as if it were unimportant and so far in the past. “They bought the house from your father.”
She blinked. That was not true. The house became the property of the state after Papa was guillotined. Jarre had bought it from the government.
“And in here,” Gaspard said, opening the doors to the salon, “only the drapes are original.”
Viv stood, her mouth open at the sight of sky-blue damask drapes against the curtains trimmed in ivory Chantilly lace. Her mother had adored these drapes, which kept the cold out in winter and the heat away in summer. The chairs and settees placed strategically around the salon were nothing she remembered.
“Would you like to go upstairs?” the majordom asked.
Tate deferred to her. “Would you?”
She swallowed. “Indeed, I would.”
Up they went to the third floor. Two tapestries hung, but they had been slashed at two corners and not repaired. One had a burn mark as if from a candle’s flame. All the art was gone, including the portraits of her father and mother, even the one of Viv with her two sisters. Gaspard led them into the small salon dotted with three bright chartreuse chairs. There her mother, father, and Viv would often sit when they were in town and Papa had no obligations at Versailles, or later, after the storming of the Bastille, when he was not sitting in the first National Assembly.
Further along was the girls’ bedroom. The frilly pink and white of the room was now painted over with pale blue, but to Viv it was as it had been that terrible night. She grabbed the bedpost as a vision swept over her of the three of them here packing. She saw Diane folding her dearest blue and green gowns. Charmaine was sniping at her.
