28. The Count

Chapter twenty-eight

The Count

G yles understood little of the conversation between Louisa and their dandyish visitor, but the name Dammartin was easy enough to decipher. Had Louisa accidentally claimed a title that already belonged to someone else?

The conversation grew louder and more heated until finally, the ridiculous popinjay rushed forward, seized Louisa's hands, and deposited kisses on both of her cheeks. Then the two of them retired to the drawing room to continue their conversation while Gyles was left standing at attention in the entrance hall.

His mouth fell open in disbelief. The urgent visit to the cobbler was forgotten; the new livery could be put off till another day. He resolved to maintain a watchful presence at the house until this interloper took himself off to Jericho or somewhere even warmer.

"Did you understand what they said?" asked a pert voice in heavily accented English .

Gyles looked up and saw that Louisa's new lady's maid, Cosette Bouchard, had been eavesdropping from the top of the stairs. She was pretty, petite, and polished, with the expressive eyes and elegant nose that characterised so many Frenchwomen. She might have been twenty-five years old. She might have been thirty. It was impossible to tell.

"Not much," Gyles admitted.

"Come, I will tell you what they say."

Cosette sat down on the highest step of the staircase. Gyles ascended the stairs two at a time till he came to the top and sat down beside her.

" He is the Comte Dammartin . He accuses your lady of masquerading as his wife."

"I'm sure she meant to do no such thing—"

" Eh bien, how quick you are to defend her." Cosette looked at him slyly. "You know her well, I think."

"I have been serving her for over four years," said Gyles. It was true. One could say that he had entered her service long ago at Carlton House and never given up the position. And he knew her as well as anyone could know Louisa Lymington, which was to say, not well at all. The walls she built against all intruders were so high that he wondered if a man could ever scale them. He had made some headway, but he did not flatter himself that he had reached the top.

Sharp-sighted Cosette, however, had sensed that there was something more to Gyles and Louisa's relationship than mistress and footman. "Your lady says she did not steal the name, that she inherited it from her mother."

Gyles nodded. That would make sense. Louisa's mother had been a Frenchwoman who had married the Duke of Warrenton. No doubt she had assumed her family's title when she had fled to England, bringing the family fortune in her coffers.

"But le comte, he says that is impossible. He says that the title was—how do you say it?—defunct. It is only in the last year that our emperor has brought it back to life."

"So Napoleon awarded the title of Comte Dammartin to this dandy?"

" Oui , he did the emperor a great service." Cosette laughed. "Or so he says."

"Why did Napoleon choose that particular title?"

"Ah, that is a good question, Monsieur Pebble. Le comte says that it belonged to his grandfather before the Revolution. Your lady, she objects. She says it belonged to her grandfather. And then they realise the truth and begin to fall on each other's necks and kiss." Cosette looked at Gyles archly to see if he had realised the truth of the matter yet. "They are cousins, monsieur . Their mothers were sisters. Their grandfather, the old comte , was one and the same!"

Gyles took a deep breath. Cousins! So, Louisa did have family in France. His brow furrowed. Somehow, that fact did not entirely please him, especially if her family was this fancy-frocked Frenchman who was entirely too free with his kisses. Gyles knew enough of the aristocratic classes to realise that a cousin was often a favoured option for a matrimonial partner.

"What do you think they are saying to each other now in the drawing room?"

" Sacrebleu ." Cosette touched his arm playfully. "Who knew the English could be so jealous? I must teach you French, monsieur , so you can spy on your lady better."

"That would be…useful," said Gyles. He could not completely deny interest in "his lady" when Mademoiselle Bouchard was able to see right through him. "I'd be much obliged to you for lessons."

"What will you say first? ‘ Je t'adore! '" Cosette batted her long eyelashes at him and pursed her lips.

"I think there's time enough to learn that later," said Gyles, fully able to guess what those words meant. "First, you must teach me how to answer the door in French, for I'm afraid I shall embarrass us all if I can't understand milady's guests."

Louisa laughed until her stomach and the sides of her face hurt. Cousin Alphonse was such a ridiculous creature. He was like a tropical parrot at an eccentric dowager's home—one never knew what perch he would fly to, how long he would preen himself, or what absurdity he would next proclaim.

"You can imagine my surprise, cherie ," he said, sitting down on the drawing room sofa and reaching for her hand. "I go away for two weeks for a house party at Malmaison, and when I come back, I find that I have a wife. Sacrebleu! What have I done? At first, I think these rumour-mongers must be lying. And then I think, how much champagne did I consume at the gambling hell before I left Paris? What delightful ladybird did I meet while in my cups? And which of my servants was stupid enough to summon a priest to read the vows when I stumbled home? I have a comtesse ? But who?"

The purple-coated popinjay released her hand, jumped to his feet, and began to stride about the room. "‘She is English,' they tell me. English! But I have never been to England. ‘She is beautiful,' they say. I would hope so! Even with too much champagne in his head, le Comte Dammartin would not marry a cow of a woman. ‘And she is very tall.'"

The count drew himself up to his full height. "Tall! That is what worries Alphonse most of all. She is tall! What does this mean? Will I have to add heels to all my boots? Will I have to shorten the legs of her chair so that her head is not higher than mine?" He paused. "But then I think to myself, no. Napoleon's new wife is taller than he, and it matters to no one. No one will laugh at Alphonse Aubert if his wife is tall."

"I am pleased to hear that my height is not an insuperable impediment," said Louisa, trying to keep her expression neutral.

"Yes, and now that I see you, your height is très charmante . You are not a gatepost like I feared but a goddess." He leaned down, seized her hand, and raised it to his lips. "I catch a glimpse of you, and I am content with the idea that you are my wife. But then, I find you are not my wife at all, but my cousin. Ma grande et jolie cousine anglaise !" He perched on the sofa beside her, careful not to bend too quickly in his tight pantaloons. "Why is it that you have come to France, cherie ?"

Louisa smiled. She might enjoy her cousin's theatrics, but she was not about to share her predicament with him. "I have always wanted to visit the land of my mother."

"But in wartime! Comme c'est difficile ." He looked at her quizzically. "How did you persuade your papa to let you come?"

"My father died two years ago."

"Then who is your guardian, ma petite ? Never tell me that so beautiful a young woman is alone in the world!" He looked most eager as he said the last, as if he hoped that such a thing might be the case.

"Not alone, exactly." Louisa deflected the question. "But I am fully able to handle my own affairs." She adopted a business-like tone and began to move the conversation in a direction of her own choosing. "And I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, Alphonse. How fortuitous it is! You must introduce me to proper society in Paris."

" Mais oui, I shall," said her cousin obligingly. "But first I must tell my mistresses that the rumours are false. I did not wed an Englishwoman while in my cups. It is ma cousine who has come to Paris and played a grand joke on us all."

"Mistresses!" echoed Louisa. "Do you have more than one?"

"Occasionally," said Alphonse, pursing his lips. "Lately, yes. But sometimes they fight so much, I must say farewell to one of them. And then there are tears, many tears, and in the end, I always take the banished one back again." He beamed at Louisa. "But when they learn I am not married, they shall both be très contentes for at least a fortnight. Although, perhaps I ought not to tell them, for when I came home from Malmaison, the fighting had stopped and they were fully united in hatred of you."

"I am glad to have done you such a service, cousin," said Louisa, rising from the sofa and giving Alphonse her hand to kiss once again. They walked together toward the open door of the drawing room. "Pebble," said Louisa, looking about the entryway. "Will you show le comte out?"

"Yes, milady," said Gyles, his voice trailing down from the floor above. His cheeks were pink as he descended the stairs, and Louisa wondered what he had been doing up there. Her eyes travelled up the bannister, and she saw the swinging skirts of her lady's maid heading down the upstairs corridor.

Gyles cleared his throat. "I would be delighted to show him the door." He opened the door and clicked his heels together. " Adieu, mon seigneur."

Louisa looked at him sharply. A week ago, he had known nothing of French. Was he truly making an effort to learn her language?

You make too much of it. What are a few words? He may understand how to say good-bye, but he will never understand you . Make no mistake about that.