Chapter One

France

Late autumn, 1821

The country house party had been a mistake, Zo? Beno?t thought as she said her good nights and went in search of her bedchamber.

She had accepted the invitation, thinking there would be picnics, day trips, rides in the country and so on. It was, after all, what she understood people did at house parties.

Not this group. The guests were predominantly elderly people, and all they seemed to do was to sit and gossip, play cards, eat and snooze. So far the only exercise the ladies had taken was to stroll in the gardens or down to the lake, where they watched the gentlemen fishing—which was all they did, apart from eat, drink, play cards and shoot. It was most frustrating.

As for the handful of younger members of the party, she had very little in common with them. The girls were pleasant enough, but all they talked of was fashion—which was interesting enough—and gossip about people she didn’t know.

And the three young gentlemen? They were cronies of Monsieur Etienne, the son and heir—and the less said about him the better.

The only reason she’d accepted the invitation was that she was sure she’d finally have the opportunity to visit her mother’s former home, which was about twenty miles away, or perhaps twenty kilometres—the new French system of measuring everything in decimals was confusing; people chopped and changed from one system to the other. But it was not too far away, she was sure.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her. Blast. She knew who it would be. She quickened her pace.

Behind her, Etienne, the spoiled, indulged, and deeply irritating heir of Baron Treffier, quickened his pace. She could hear him puffing.

Zo?’s temper was at breaking point. Five days she’d been at the Treffiers’ country house party, and Etienne had spent four and a half of them in hot and unwelcome pursuit of her. And not for the purpose of marriage, either—he was already betrothed to the unfortunate young woman who’d sat through the house party pretending she hadn’t noticed her fiancé’s appalling behavior.

Had Zo? been in her position, she would not for a moment have put up with it. Not that she would have accepted him in the first place, fortune or not.

She was fed up with Etienne’s importunities, his sly, suggestive remarks and his even more infuriating surreptitious touches and squeezes, not to mention the persistent and unsubtle invitations to his bed.

And no matter how often and how firmly—even bluntly—she’d repudiated his advances, his self-consequence was so inflated that he took every rebuff as encouragement.

His parents must have known what he was like, but they’d done nothing, seeming to think it was natural for their beloved son to behave like a randy goat toward an invited guest. To him, all females were fair game.

Hurrying along, she turned a corner and found herself in a dark, deserted corridor that ended in a wall. Curses. A dead end. She’d been heading to her bedchamber, intending to lock herself in, but the old chateau was such a rabbit warren of corridors, in her haste she’d taken a wrong turn.

The puffing came closer.

Very well then, it was time to make a stand.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced him. He bustled toward her, red-faced and breathing hard. Even in the dim light she could see his triumphant leering grin. “So, mon petit chou , you wait for me.”

Zo? might speak French like a native, but she was English enough to dislike being likened to a vegetable, especially by this pig of a man. “Monsieur Etienne, I am not your little cabbage. I am not even your chou de Bruxelles !”

He giggled. “Ah, so witty, ma belle .”

“I am not your belle, either. I am your ‘touch me again and you will regret it’ guest!”

“Ah, such fire, such passion, cherie . Je’t’adore. ”

He hurried over to her, and she put up her hands to prevent the embrace that was clearly coming. “Monsieur Etienne—”

But before she could say a thing, he grabbed her outstretched hands and shoved them above her head. She struggled to free herself, but though he was shorter than her, to her fury, he was stronger. He pushed her hands together, gripping them in one hand, and shoved her hard against the wall.

“How dare you,” she began, but seeing his mouth aiming wetly for hers, she jerked her head aside, and he slobbered on her neck instead.

He pressed her hard against the wall, holding her immobile with his body. His aroused body. She shuddered.

“ Oui, ma belle , I am hot for you too,” he muttered, and with his free hand he clawed at her skirts, dragging them up, muttering excited obscenities.

She could scream for help, Zo? thought, but in this part of the chateau there was no telling whether anyone would even hear her, let alone come to help. Monsieur Etienne was indulged by all. No, she knew what to do. She’d never actually done it before, but if ever there was the time…

“I’m warning you,” she said.

He giggled with glee and rubbed himself excitedly against her. A cool draft against her legs told Zo? her skirts had reached her thighs. Which gave her much greater ease of movement.

She took a deep breath and jammed her knee as hard as she could between his legs.

With a shriek, Monsieur Etienne released her and collapsed like a failed soufflé, rolling on the floor, moaning and wheezing.

She shook out her skirts, dusted her hands and said, “I said no, Monsieur Etienne, and I meant it.” She stepped over his writhing body and walked away, leaving Monsieur Etienne in a crumpled heap, swearing and gasping out feeble threats.

Vile, disgusting, horrid little man.

She found the correct corridor, stepped into her bedchamber and locked the door behind her. She leaned against it, wishing it had a bolt as well, and realized she was shaking.

So much for being a lady. Three years of lessons in proper deportment down the drain.

One small difficulty and she’d reverted right back to the girl who’d grown up in the back streets of London. But what else could she do? She’d seen him bothering the other young ladies, and yet all they did was blush and move away and bleat at him, hoping he would stop.

Which he’d done once he’d spotted Zo?.

She poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the washstand and drank it down. She sat at the dressing table, removed her jewelry, pulled the pins from her hair and contemplated her reflection. Her hands were still shaking.

She’d done it now.

There would be a scandal. And she knew who would be blamed.

She kicked off her shoes, sat on the high bed and considered her options.

She couldn’t stay here now. The house party was far from over—there were at least five days left to go—but she would have to leave. First thing in the morning for preference. She had no intention of staying to deal with the fuss that would erupt once Etienne informed his parents of what she’d done.

Though, would he tell them what she’d done, or would he keep quiet about it, too mortified to admit to defeat by a woman? She wasn’t sure.

He’d deserved it, and more, but if he did make it public, he’d probably claim she’d attacked him for no good reason. The scandal might even reach Paris. Certainly it would deeply embarrass and upset Madame DuPlessis, her chaperone, who’d made it possible for her to attend the house party when Lucy, the friend and mentor with whom she’d been living the last three years, had been unable to travel.

It was regrettable—the motherly Madame DuPlessis had been very kind to her, and even if there were no scandal, Zo? had no doubt the good lady would be upset at Zo?’s abrupt departure—but what else could she do?

She made up her mind. Whether the despicable Etienne told his parents or not, Zo? would leave first thing in the morning. She’d really only attended because of the locality, and after what had just happened, she doubted any of the guests would be willing to drive her anywhere.

She found some writing paper and ink in the little desk in her room and sat down to write some notes. At first she planned to tell both her chaperone and her hosts that she’d been called away urgently on family business and would apologize for the inconvenience.

But the moment she picked up the pen, she decided no, she would not make things easy for her hosts. They must know of their son’s unsavory habits, and yet they’d done nothing to curb them. She was a guest in their home and they owed her protection at the very least.

She dashed off a letter, which she hoped would leave them squirming with embarrassment. She described in detail the disgraceful way Etienne had behaved throughout the visit and what he’d just attempted. She’d added that she’d been forced to defend herself, but had her guardian been present, Etienne would be facing a duel. Not that she had a guardian, but they didn’t know that.

Having expended a good deal of satisfying vitriol to the baron and baroness, her note to Madame DuPlessis was much shorter and more matter-of-fact. The kindly lady had been a delightfully lax chaperone, but Etienne’s behavior wasn’t her fault, so Zo? merely thanked her for her kindness and explained that Monsieur Etienne’s behavior had made any continuation here impossible. She added that she would catch the diligence to Paris, which was why she was leaving so early, and hoped it would not be too much trouble for Madame DuPlessis to convey the remainder of her baggage back to Paris when she returned.

It was a pity she wouldn’t get to see her mother’s former home, but she could see no alternative but to return to Paris. She’d never learned to ride, and besides, she could hardly compound her disgrace by stealing a horse.

Feeling calmer, she rang the bell to summon the maid she’d been assigned to help her out of her dress, then began a letter to Lucy and her husband, Gerald.

A few moments later there came a soft knock on her door. She stiffened, then realized Etienne was incapable of knocking softly. It would be Marie, the young maid assigned to her for the length of her stay at the chateau.

“ Entrez ,” she called, then recollecting that she’d locked the door, she rose and unlocked it.

“Your hot water, mademoiselle,” the maid murmured, and placed a large jug of steaming water on the washstand. “Shall I help you disrobe?”

“Yes, please, and perhaps you could—” Zo? broke off as the girl turned and the candlelight fell fully on her face. “Marie,” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

The maid’s eyes were red-rimmed and there was a nasty bruise on her face. Half her face was quite swollen and there was a cut on her cheekbone.

Marie dropped her gaze in shame. “It’s nothing, mademoiselle.”

“It’s not nothing at all. Tell me who did this to you.”

Marie lifted a hopeless shoulder and shook her head. “Shall I help you undress, mademoiselle?”

Zo? eyed the cut on her cheekbone. Made by a signet ring, she thought, a signet ring she’d seen very recently on a pudgy aristocratic finger. “Monsieur Etienne.” It wasn’t a question.

Marie nodded.

Zo? muttered something under her breath. “You resisted him?”

Marie nodded again, and a choked sob broke her tenuous composure. “I am dismissed, mademoiselle. As soon as I have finished with you here tonight, I must leave.”

Zo? frowned. “Tonight? But it’s dark. Where will you go? Do you have family nearby?”

Marie shook her head. “No family, mademoiselle. I am an orphan.”

“So what will you do?”

Marie’s eyes filled with tears again. She gave a hopeless shrug.

“Well, let’s see to that nasty cut, first. I have some very good ointment that my sister made.” Zo? fetched the little case filled with Clarissa’s products and pulled out a small jar. “This will help.” She soaked a clean cloth with the warm water Marie had brought and gently cleaned the girl’s face, then smoothed the ointment carefully over the cut and the bruise.

“Oh, that feels nice,” the girl said.

“My sister is very clever.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle. You are very kind. Now, I must leave or the housekeeper will be angry.”

“Nonsense! You can’t go out into the night with nowhere to go! It’s, it’s inhumane. Anything could happen to you,” Zo? said.

“But I must, mademoiselle. I was told to be gone as soon as I had completed my duties.”

“But what would you do?”

Marie said in a hopeless voice, “Walk to the village, I suppose, and try to find another position.”

Walk to the village?

Without a character reference, Marie would have no hope, Zo? thought. And walking that distance at night? It was not to be thought of.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Zo? told her. “Certainly not out into the night with nowhere to go! Would you work for me?”

“For you, mademoiselle, of course.” Marie brightened. “You mean it?”

Zo? nodded. The maid’s plan to walk to the village had given her an idea. She eyed the maid thoughtfully. “We’re about the same size, aren’t we?”

Marie looked puzzled. “ Oui , mademoiselle,” she said cautiously.

“Good. Take off your dress.”

“My dress?” Marie didn’t move.

Zo? laughed at her expression. “It’s all right, we’re going to swap clothes, that’s all.”

“Swap clothes? Mine for…yours?” Marie said incredulously.

“Yes. Here.” Zo? tossed her the plainest of her dresses, still much finer than anything Marie would own, and one of her fine lawn chemises.

Marie stared at the garments. “Such fine fabric…But mademoiselle, this chemise has lace on it.”

“Has it? I suppose so.” Most of her underclothes were trimmed with lace.

“Never have I ever worn real lace.”

Zo? smiled. “Good. There’s a first time for everything. Put these on, please, and pass me your clothes.”

With a bemused expression, Marie took off her dress. When it came to her chemise, she hesitated and shook her head. “It’s not fitting, mademoiselle.”

Seeing the garment, Zo? understood. It was clean enough, but worn thin and so often mended it was almost entirely made of patches. It reminded Zo? of the underclothes she’d worn in the years before Clarissa Studley had found and claimed her as a sister. Zo?’s life had changed dramatically as a result, but she would never forget the life she’d had before.

“It’s perfect,” she said briskly. “Exactly what I want. Now, help me off with this gown.”

Marie unhooked Zo?’s evening dress and folded it away, then the two young women exchanged clothes. Zo? examined herself in the cheval mirror and grinned. “I don’t look like a fine lady now, do I?”

“No, mademoiselle, not at all,” Marie agreed worriedly.

Zo? laughed. “Excellent.” She glanced around the room. “Now, I’ll need something to cover my head. My usual hats aren’t at all suitable. Do you have one?”

“I usually wear a headscarf, mademoiselle. I have several downstairs with my things.”

“Good. Run and fetch your things. You are not going out into the night! You can stay here with me, and we’ll both leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Both of us, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, both of us.” She grinned. “I gave Monsieur Etienne a taste of his own medicine earlier this evening.” She jerked her knee up in explanation.

Marie’s eyes widened. “You didn’t!”

“I did and I thoroughly enjoyed it. But I won’t stay here after that.”

“No, of course not. Oh, mademoiselle, you are so brave.”

Zo? sobered. “No, you are the brave one, Marie. The despicable poltroon can’t do anything to me, but you risked everything by resisting his nasty ways. And I won’t allow you to be punished any further for it. Now, go and fetch your belongings.”

Marie smoothed down her dress. “I will make sure nobody sees me in these clothes, mademoiselle.”

While Marie hurried off to fetch her things, Zo? sat down and added a postscript to Madame DuPlessis’s note, adding that she was not to worry, that she was taking a maid with her so it would all be quite convenable .

Then she wrote a longer letter, this one to Lucy and Gerald in Paris. In it she briefly explained Marie’s predicament and asked them to take care of the girl until she returned from the house party.

Dreadful though poor Marie’s situation was, it could turn out providential for both of them.

They left the chateau at dawn the next morning. Zo?, dressed in Marie’s drab clothes and wearing a headscarf, carried the cloth bundle into which Marie had fitted all her worldly belongings. It now contained everything Zo? thought she would need for the next few days. The maid’s pathetically meager collection was now stored in Zo?’s smallest portmanteau, which Marie carried. In Zo?’s clothes and wearing a smart dark green velvet hat she looked quite elegant—apart from the scab and the dark bruise on her swollen face.

She had been almost wholly silent all morning, but as they approached the village, she said, “Mademoiselle, what do we do here?”

“You will catch the diligence to Paris, and—”

“I? To Paris?” She stopped dead and put the portmanteau down in the dust. “But I have never been to Paris! I have never been anywhere! I went from the orphan house to the Chateau Treffier when I was twelve.”

Zo? smiled. “Well, now you will go to Paris.”

Marie didn’t move. “And you will be with me?”

“No,” Zo? said gently. The girl’s reaction had surprised her, but she supposed so much had already happened to Marie that she wasn’t ready for further adventures. “Now, don’t worry, Marie, you will be perfectly all right. I gave you the letter for my friend Lady Thornton—remember?—and the address is written on the front. The diligence will take you to Paris—and here is some money to buy food and whatever else you might need on the way.” She handed Marie a small leather purse. “Keep it safe. There are thieves and pickpockets everywhere.”

Nodding, Marie clutched the purse tightly. For herself, Zo? had fashioned a simple money belt that she wore around her waist, next to her skin.

“When the coach reaches Paris, hire a hackney cab and show them the address.” She repeated the address aloud several times to help Marie remember, for of course she could not read. “The driver will take you to Lady Thornton’s home, you will give her the letter and she will look after you. I will join you there later.”

Marie didn’t move. She looked doubtful and unhappy.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Zo? said gently, “but since you said you had nowhere to go…I thought this would be best.”

“You are very kind, mademoiselle, it’s just that…”

“You are nervous?”

She nodded.

“I understand. Until I was sixteen I had never traveled more than a few miles from where I was born. But I promise you, it will all work out. You will have a job and a home with me at Lady Thornton’s. And nobody will treat you cruelly.”

“But why do you not come with me?”

“I have other things to do first—things that are important to me.” Things that she had not told anyone about.

“Dressed like that?” Marie jerked a chin at the clothes Zo? was wearing.

“Yes, because it will be easier for me if nobody thinks I am a lady. And it will be easier for you dressed in my clothes because people will assume you are a lady. And you will be seated inside the diligence , not outside or on the roof.”

“Inside?” Marie’s eyes widened. Poor people invariably rode on top of the diligence coach; it was more expensive to sit inside. “But will you not be frightened, mademoiselle? It is dangerous for a woman to be on her own, especially someone young and pretty like you.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to look after myself,” Zo? said with more confidence than she felt. Really, it would be more sensible to give up the idea of visiting Maman’s former home and return to Paris with Marie. But there had been some unrest in Paris, so once Lucy’s morning sickness had passed, she and Gerald planned to return to London, taking Zo? with them. This would be Zo?’s last chance. “I handled Monsieur Etienne, didn’t I? And I will be careful.”

Marie bit her lip doubtfully.

Zo? said, “Now, make up your mind—the diligence will depart soon. Do you go to Paris, or do we part ways in the village?”

Marie ran her palms down the fine cloth of her dress. “Can I still keep the clothes?”

Zo?’s heart sank a little. “Yes, of course. And the money I gave you. And the portmanteau. But I will want the letter back.”

There was a short silence. Birds twittered noisily in the hedge that bordered the road. In the distance a rooster crowed. “Well?” Zo? asked after a minute.

Marie considered it for a few more moments, then said decisively, “I will go to Paris.”

Zo? grinned. “Excellent.” She produced a length of black lacy netting and a small paper of pins. “Now, let us pin this around the brim of your hat.”

Marie frowned. “Pourquoi?”

“Because it will disguise that nasty bruise on your face and make you look mysterious and like a lady who does not wish to be drawn into conversation with curious busybodies. But please, one more thing—do not tell anyone I have gone off on my own. I will be perfectly all right, but I don’t want anyone to worry. Do you promise?”

“I promise, mademoiselle,” she said, but she didn’t look happy about it.

They pinned the veil into place and walked into the village. Just in time, because after a few minutes the diligence bowled into town. A short time later it moved on, with Marie safely installed inside and waving a nervous goodbye to Zo?.

Zo? took a deep breath. So, that was that. Now to start on her own adventure.

She picked up Marie’s bundle and headed northwest along a narrow road. She’d hoped that someone at the house party would drive her there, but that was before she knew what Etienne was like, and wild horses wouldn’t get her into a carriage with him. Shanks’s pony it would have to be.

She was completely free to do as she wanted. The thought cheered her. Ever since her mother had died, she’d been subject to the control of others—first the strict and repressive control of the orphanage, then Clarissa and Lady Scattergood, and later Izzy, the half sister who looked exactly like her.

Oh, they’d been endlessly kind and benevolent, but their expectations and sincere desire for her to better herself had been, now that she was considering the matter, a little stifling.

And then there had been dear Lucy, who had taken her up as a challenge, to turn a street urchin into a lady, and was always correcting her grammar and English pronunciation so that no sign of her early life showed. Zo? was grateful to all of them—well, perhaps not Miss Glass at the orphanage—but certainly to her sisters and Lucy and Lady Scattergood, who had offered her not only security and a home but also unconditional acceptance and love.

But it did get a little wearing at times constantly striving to be perfect.

Now, dressed in the shabby clothes of a maidservant, in a place where nobody knew her, heading out on a pilgrimage that meant something only to her, it was as if a small weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

It had briefly rained in the night and the world smelled fresh and clean. She gave a small skip of delight. It would be like a little holiday.

There was very little traffic on the road. So far she’d passed two women and a youth heading in the opposite direction, the youth pulling a handcart laden with vegetables. They’d nodded and sent a cheery greeting and continued on their way.

A short time later a cart appeared, heading in the same direction she was going, but the driver had smiled ruefully and indicated by gestures that he was turning off the road shortly, and indeed she’d seen him do it.

Otherwise Zo? was wholly alone.

But it was a glorious sunny day, and she was young and free and doing what she’d always wanted to do—seeing her mother’s old home.

An hour later it was getting hot, and her feet were starting to get sore. How much farther to Maman’s home? she wondered. Was it twenty miles or twenty kilometres? She wasn’t used to walking in these boots.

Hoofbeats clopping along behind her made her turn. A cart with three men sitting on the driver’s bench was approaching. She waited, wondering whether they would offer her a lift, but as they drew nearer, she decided she didn’t much like the look of them. Their horse was bone-thin, dirty and unkempt, and anyone who treated an animal like that was not to be trusted.

“Hey, pretty girl, you look hot. Want to ride with us?” the driver, a man with a villainous-looking mustache, called to her as they drew near. He wasn’t much cleaner than his horse. The thickset man next to him sent her a broken-toothed grin and waved her over. The third man said nothing, but the way he was staring at Zo? sent a shiver down her spine.

“No, thank you, I’m almost home.” She crossed to the opposite side of the narrow road, hitched up her bundle and waited for them to drive on.

The driver shrugged and said something to his friends, who laughed. They drove on.

Zo? waited until they’d turned the corner and were out of sight, then she trudged on. I know how to look after myself. I handled Monsieur Etienne, didn’t I?

She gave a small shiver. Talk about misplaced confidence. What would she have done if those men had insisted? Next time a cart or wagon passed her she would hide.

She turned the corner and froze. The cart was just ahead of her, the horse tied to a tree, and two of the three men were walking toward her. Two? Where was the third?

A rustle in the bushes opposite told her where he was lurking. She whirled and saw him stepping forward, his thick arms reaching out to grab her. She flung her bundle at him and ran, diving into a thicket of scrub and pushing her way through it, heedless of the scratches caused by thorns and sharp twigs, fleeing for her life.

She did not know how far she ran or for how long, but she had a stitch in her side and was gasping for breath when she noticed a hole, a fox hole probably, half-hidden under a thicket of brambles. Without hesitating she wriggled in backward, dragging some weeds and a fallen branch after her to hide the entrance.

She hoped there was no creature inside. Even if there was, it would surely be less dangerous than the three animals that were searching the scrubby undergrowth for her, crashing about and swearing most foully.

She lay there, her heart pounding, trying to breathe silently. Footsteps came and went, passing so close all she could do was to hold her breath and close her eyes and pray.

Eventually the sounds faded. Had they given up? Or were they bluffing, pretending they’d left in order to lure her out?

What a fool she’d been, convincing herself she could manage alone. When she was a child roaming the back streets of London, she’d been wary of everyone, alert to the slightest hint of danger. But after years first in the orphanage, which was run like a prison, then living in luxury with Clarissa and Lady Scattergood and later Lucy and her husband, those finely honed instincts had been dulled.

She waited for a long time, huddled in the hole until her cramped limbs drove her to wriggle carefully out. She brushed dirt from her clothes, listening for any sound that might alert her to the men’s presence. But all she heard was birdsong, untroubled and cheerful.

She cautiously crept back to where she had left the road. There was nothing very valuable in her bundle—just some of Marie’s clothing, her sketchbook and pencils and some bread and cheese and sausage—but she needed them.

Thank goodness she’d made that money belt, still firm and tight around her waist.

It took a while to find her bundle. They’d torn it open and flung her things about. The women’s clothes, shabby as they were, hadn’t tempted them. The food was gone, and her sketchbook—oh no!—it had been tossed into the road and lay half in a muddy puddle.

She dived on it and did her best to wipe it clean of mud and damp. The paper would dry in the heat and the sketches, though stained with mud, were still mostly visible. At least they hadn’t taken it or ripped it to shreds in their rage at being balked of their prey. And where were her pencils? She searched among the roadside weeds and found them broken in pieces. She collected them, regardless. A stub of a pencil was better than none.

Her arms stung, crisscrossed with fine lines of dried blood where they’d been scratched. She’d brought a little pot of Clarissa’s healing salve, giving Marie the rest, but where was it? Had they smashed it? She searched through the long grass at the side of the road and eventually found it, undamaged. Applying it to her scratches, she felt instantly better.

She knotted up her bundle again and resumed her journey in a much more sober state of mind. She would be far more careful in future. At the first sound of horses or men, she would melt into the scrub at the side of the road.

Whether it was twenty kilometres or twenty miles, she would rather walk than take the risk of what had almost just happened.