Page 65 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“It is not a pretty tale.”
“I did not expect it to be.”
“Very well,” the countess said. “For your happiness, to answer whatever may be a question in your mind about the past, I will reveal what little I know.
“Your sister Diane was a darling girl. Charming, strong, impervious to the threats of the guards. She was a beacon of light to many. She took up for all of us and all the sorrows we bore. She clamored for more food, better than the gruel they gave us. She wanted fresh water for us to wash with. She asked for time in the garden for us all, not for the flowers, because they were gone, trampled, but for the sunshine for our wellbeing.
“Sometimes, she was successful. A guard took pity on one or all of us. But more often they took advantage of any they wanted. Many young women were abused by these bastards who lusted for power.”
The countess took a drink of her hot chocolate.
“Diane was lovely, delicate in face and form. She was healthy, and the concierge of Carmes was attracted to her. Much too enamored of her. But she did not care for him, and ridiculed him.
“My own child, a young girl I brought up in my household, knew your sister better than I. If she knows more, I am certain she would tell you.”
“Madame St. Antoine?”
The countess nodded, her lips thin with dismay. “Exactly her. My bright, good girl. I know she would help you if she could, but I am afraid she is ill. Very ill. So very…incapacitated that she may lie dying.”
“Madame!” Viv took the lady’s hand. “I am so sorry.”
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” The countess reached into a tiny pocket of her gown and took out a handkerchief. She dabbed at her tears. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, madame. Nothing.” Viv squeezed the woman’s slim fingers. “I do not wish to upset you more. But I must ask this.”
The countess contemplated Viv with tears in her eyes. “I know what you want.”
Viv glanced at their entwined hands.
“Diane often talked about her memories of that night she was taken from your carriage. She was quite clear.”
Viv sat stock-still. This was the part of Diane’s fate that caused her to go numb. Today she had to listen and remember. She could not block out her own failure. Somehow she had to hear this and accept what she had done—and failed to do.
The countess wiped her cheeks. “Diane remarked that the crowd called for her. The one with the red hair. Not the blonde girls. Diane knew she had been targeted. She knew not how. She knew not why. But she was.
“She recalled that a young friend of the family ran after her. She heard him call to her. She said she looked back and saw him. He was then a viscount—he is this friend of yours, the Earl of Appleby, who wrote to me?”
Viv smiled. “Yes. The earl is that same man.”
“Diane had recollections that her younger sister’s little dog—Beau, perhaps?”
“Yes, Beau,” Viv assured her with a twist to her heartstrings.
“Beau jumped from the carriage too and ran after her. But neither of them caught up to her. She was hurried away. To the prison. Straight away.”
Viv’s head spun. To hear that last detail, that Tate ran to save Diane, and Beau followed, always stopped her heart. Whenever she spoke of it with Charmaine, Viv lost her awareness of where she was, what she did. All she recalled was the fright of having lost Diane.
Her feeling was the fright of the girl she had been. Her regret was the sorrow of not having run after Diane’s abductors. Such was her grief and self-criticism. Yes, she hated to hear it recounted, but was triumphant that at last she had confirmation that Diane knew Tate and Beau had tried to get to her.Tate and Beau…
“Diane said she never expected that anyone would leave the carriage to try to get her back.” The woman’s face held no rebuke.
But Viv felt the reproach like a slap in the face. For Charmaine, who had not moved an inch that night. Had not tried. And for herself! Yes, for herself, too!All these years, I saw myself like Charmaine. A coward. Afraid to die, I remained in the carriage.
The countess gazed at her with some small compassion.
“I am not proud.” Viv spoke aloud for once in her life the words she had never uttered and should have. “I am not proud I did not help. I am ashamed, very ashamed.”
The countess focused narrowly on her eyes. “You were a child.”
