Chapter Fifteen

M arie woke up the next morning sore, but she didn't mind. She decided at their next meeting, she would tell Samuel exactly how she felt, blame him for her soreness, and then ask him to do it again. She felt wild and wanton, but oh-so-safe in his arms. She loved him. She had to tell him.

And she needed to make things right with Mrs. Martin again. She owed her that. Her friend had not deserved to be deceived like that. But then at breakfast, the butler was reading the morning papers and tsked .

"What is it, Mr. Jones?" the housekeeper asked.

"These men and ladies, they get together so fast. Listen to this. An engagement is announced between Miss Hortense Campbell, of High Clapton, and Lieutenant Samuel Gage, of His Majesty's Second Battalion, 95th Foot."

" What ?" Marie asked.

"What is it, Marie? Do you know them?" Hattie asked.

The blood drained from Marie's face. "They… They were here last night. They danced together."

"Ah. So it is likely true, then, if they were seen dancing together in public. I say, we don't normally see engagement announcements in the papers, but these modern couples, who knows what they will do next." The butler turned the page.

Marie ate her porridge but hardly tasted it. It tasted like ash on her tongue. Samuel was engaged, to Hortense. But how could that be? After the night they had spent together in one of the upper guest rooms, it hardly seemed possible, or like a cruel joke. Could it be true? Or was this a horrid lie circulated by the Campbells?

Marie excused herself after breakfast, pleading a headache. The cooks teased her and said she'd probably had too much wine. She accepted their teasing with good grace and fled to her room, where she sat on her bed and trembled. Was Samuel really engaged? How could he not say anything? Had it all been a lie? He'd said he didn't care for Hortense.

There was a knock at her door. She quickly sniffed and pasted on a bright smile as her uncle opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Marie, how are you doing?"

"I'm all right, Uncle. Just a slight headache."

"You are not disturbed by the news of the lieutenant marrying the Campbell girl?"

She shrugged. "I do not know what to believe. He has been very attentive to me and declared he did not care for Miss Campbell."

"And if the news is true?"

She blinked hard. "Then I will bear it, with the good grace you have taught me, Uncle."

His stern expression softened. "You are too good for the likes of him anyway." He left.

The door closed behind him as the first tear dripped down her cheek, and then another. She wiped her eyes. If this was how the lieutenant was going to treat her, then he deserved Miss Campbell. She raised her chin indignantly, but then her shoulders slumped. She loved him. But did he love her back? Could the Campbells be spreading lies?

There was another knock on her door .

"Go away, Uncle, I'm fine," Marie called.

The door opened.

"Thom? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Suppose you heard the news. I was dismissed."

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, when he said, "Save it. Don't pretend you're sorry to see me go. I know you aren't. But before I go, I got information you'll want to hear," he said.

"I'm listening."

"A week ago, I was on Bond Street when I sees your locket hanging in the window of a pawnbroker's."

"You did?" She shot up from her bed.

"Aye. I sees a man go in, and he and a soldier were haggling over it. It's that soldier I seen you about before with, the one with the scar over his eye."

She breathed in. Samuel. Why hadn't he mentioned the locket to her?

"So I speak with the other man and tell him that locket belongs to a girl I know. So we meet for a drink, and he tells me he works for yer family Cadough, who are trying to find their daughter. He's been sent here to find her."

"What?"

"Your parents are alive, Marie. In France. They've been looking for you."

She so wanted to believe him. Her heart jumped at the thought. Her parents, looking for her. But why hadn't they come themselves? Why send a man ahead? Without even a letter? But this was Thom she was speaking with, and any kindness from him was to be treated with suspicion. He'd never been good to her before, so why now? It was odd.

Her expression was skeptical.

Thom shook his head. "You don't understand how these things work. You're too young and na?ve. That uncle of yours, he's kept you in the dark all these years. But that man, he's got more information. He was in the pawn shop because he recognized the locket instantly. It belongs to the lady who hired him to find her daughter. He's leaving on the first ship back to France in an hour. I'll take you to the dockyard if you want. Show you where the ship is. It's no place for a woman alone. But you'll have to pay me for my trouble." He leaned against the doorway and seemed to lounge, an insolent smirk on his face.

"Now why would I do that?" she asked, her hands on her hips. "You could be lying. Surely, if this man was searching for me, he'd delay taking the first ship and continue looking. He'd get another ship once he had found me, or write a letter to confirm. Wouldn't he?"

"Aye, I could be lying, princess. But I might not be. You ready to take that chance? Miss out on your parents?"

She wasn't, and he knew it. "How much?" she asked.

"Seeing as you're the reason I lost my position, gimme what you got, and we'll call it even."

Her eyes narrowed.

Thom shrugged and straightened. "I didn't have to tell you any of this. I'll just be going. Your loss."

He turned.

"Wait," she said. "I'll pay."

Indecision warred within her. She wanted to talk with Baptiste about it first. But she also wanted to know if there was information to be had about her mother and father.

"Let me just write a note."

"There's not a moment to lose, Marie. Come."

"I'll meet you around the back entrance. I just need to get my coat."

"Don't dally. The ship sails in less than an hour." Thom left.

Marie took her simple cloak and bonnet and penned a quick note to her uncle, leaving it on her pillow. She hoped she wouldn't be too late.

Samuel Gage's household was in an uproar. He'd woken up that morning, happy and free, preparing to bring Marie a bouquet of flowers and to formally ask her uncle's permission to ask for her hand in marriage.

But when he'd read the morning papers over a cup of tea, toast and jam, he'd spat out his tea, staining the newspaper. He stared at the fine, black print, glaring with increasing intensity at the horrifying announcement. It was false, and it required a retraction immediately. What was the meaning of this?

He was furious, and instead of riding to the nearest florist, he went to Fleet Street, where he called upon the newspaper, only to learn that the young Miss Campbell had started the rumor. He wrote a firm note to the editor, demanding they retract the announcement for being false, or print a correction. He didn't care which, as long as it was changed. He was most definitely not marrying Hortense Campbell.

He then rode to the Lyon's Den and called early, but on the doorstep he bumped into… "Mrs. Martin? What are you doing here?"

She wore a pretty beige walking coat and straw bonnet with green ribbon. She glared at him from beneath the shadow of her bonnet, her mouth firmed into a hard line. "I've come to comfort my young friend. No doubt she's heartbroken from today's newspaper announcement. And just what do you think you are doing? Come here to break her heart in person?"

He frowned at her. "No. I already called at the paper to ask for a retraction."

"Much good that will do. All that will accomplish is making Miss Campbell look like a victim and you like a cad. Not that I disagree, considering. "

He faced her. "Mrs. Martin. I do not know what you have heard, but I am not marrying Miss Campbell. I never told her I would. I am here to ask Marie's uncle's permission to ask for her hand."

"You knew she was a servant and still wish to marry her?"

He nodded. "I do."

"Oh, how romantic." She touched her heart. "I will go with you. Make sure you propose to her properly. Let us in! Maintenant !" she said loudly.

They were admitted when he said he wished to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. But upon being escorted up to Mrs. Dove-Lyon's office, Mrs. Martin sat and accepted a cup of tea, whilst they waited for Uncle Baptiste to arrive.

When he did, he glared at Samuel and addressed his employer. "Madam, what is he doing here?"

"I am here to ask your permission to ask for Miss Cadeaux's hand in marriage."

"No. I cannot allow that."

"Why not?"

"You are already engaged, sir. I will not have her be made a fool, or worse, your mistress." Mr. Allard's French accent was especially cutting.

"I am not engaged!" He emphasized this with a curse. "This is a false rumor, started by Miss Campbell or her mother."

"Hmm, interesting. They did create a scene last night at the ball. We had to ask them to leave. Most disturbing," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. "Well, Mr. Allard, the Lieutenant Gage is here and single. Will you not give your blessing?"

Uncle Baptiste looked down. "I…cannot."

"Why not now?" Samuel stood.

"Because I am not her uncle. I never was. I am her family's manservant, and it is her mother and father you should ask. And her name is not Cadough. It is Marie Cadeaux. "

"We know," Samuel said, running a hand through his hair. "Do tell me where I can find them."

"Mr. Allard, I think there has been some confusion as to Miss Cadeaux's background and parentage. Kindly clear the air for us, if you please," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. It was hardly a request, more of a subtle command.

Baptiste rested his hands on the back of a chair. "Many years ago, I worked for a great family. A chevalier, Sir Matthieu, and his wife, Clemence. They were wealthy landowners in the town of Gerberoy, north of Paris. It is a charming place, and very beautiful. They had a little girl, who they adored. You know her as Marie."

Mrs. Martin said, "I knew it! I knew she was more than what they claimed her to be. How horrible the Campbells are."

Baptiste swallowed. "When La Terreur broke out, the very towns and villages we knew so well had changed overnight. It was no longer safe to be wealthy, or to have a title. Rich men and women were being ousted from their homes, imprisoned, or worse: sent to meet Madame la Guillotine."

Mrs. Martin paled.

Baptiste said, "The fighting and turmoil reached us, even in our little village. So Chevalier Matthieu and Clemence did the best thing they could think of for their daughter—they sent her away. They trusted me, as Mattieu's valet, to take care of her. They gave me money, enough to get us transport to Calais, and pay for our passage overseas to England. We left with nothing but the clothes on our backs, a bit of money, and for Marie, they gave her the locket she always wears and a cookbook of French recipes, so she might never forget her heritage. She was always in the kitchen, you see, driving the cooks wild." He smiled at the thought of Marie as a laughing, blonde-haired child, running amok in the kitchen.

He continued. "We booked passage just in time and made it across the channel. I found places for us in a family's household in London, and we worked as servants. It was the perfect cover. No one would suspect a man and his niece. I told Marie the same story as everyone else. It seemed easier that way."

"So she has no idea that she is the daughter of a chevalier?" Mrs. Martin asked.

"No. She thinks her parents are likely dead in France. She believes she is a servant who can speak French. That is all. I have not led her to believe any different. It would do her no good to think of herself as better than her peers, when there is no way to know if we would ever return, or if her family were even still alive."

"But she is so much more than a servant. You have done her no favors by hiding the truth from her," Samuel said. "She thinks so little of herself."

"I have done what I can to keep us safe," Mr. Allard said. "Working for a rude employer was the least of our worries. Her parents charged me with her safety, and I mean to keep my promise."

"But what of her family? Have you kept in contact with them, to let them know you arrived safe?"

"I sent a letter or two when I thought it was safe to do so, but I never had a reply. For all I know, they might be dead." Baptiste's shoulders slumped and he glanced at Samuel. "That is why I cannot give my blessing to your asking for her hand, Lieutenant. It is not my blessing to give."

Mrs. Martin let out a sound and cursed in French. "The drama of it all. You should write for the stage, Monsieur Allard. Truly."

Baptiste glanced at her. "I do not think we have met."

"I am Mrs. Martin, formerly of Toulouse. I am the wife of Colonel Martin, and from what I comprehend, I am also the poor, lonely Frenchwoman whom Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked Marie to keep company in the Lyon's Den." She shot Mrs. Dove-Lyon a glowering look.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon seemed unbothered by this. "Let us tell Miss Cadeaux of her parentage. She deserves to know by now, don't you think?"

"Yes, let's. I want to tell her the news," Mrs. Martin said. "I heard this morning that the girl Miss Campbell is ruined. There is a rumor started that she lost her virtue to a common foot soldier. She is saying that soldier is you, Lieutenant."

"But I never touched the girl," Samuel said angrily.

"In response to the gossip that she is no longer pure, she is saying it was you. So now everyone will think you did it, whether it is true or not."

Samuel pounded the back of a chair, ignoring the slight pain. "Miss Cadeaux was worried about Miss Campbell's safety, especially when she kept going on with Lieutenant Walker. Do you think…?"

"That he is the one who ruined her?" Mrs. Martin said. "Most likely. She probably asked him to marry her and he laughed in her face."

Samuel said, "Mrs. Dove-Lyon, may we speak with Miss Cadeaux?"

"Yes." She tugged on a bell pull in her office and a servant knocked a few minutes later. "Fetch Marie up here, please."

They waited and drank tea, when there came a sharp knocking on the door and Lucy came in, a note in her hand. "She's gone."