Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) Page 18

  “Mon ange!” Pierre de Richelieu said, his face the very definition of joy as he strode over to me, hands outstretched. “Forgive me. I simply could not stay away.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cora

  He took my hands in his, kissing me on both cheeks as he smiled at me. “You look surprised to see me. You received my gift of the flowers, yes?”

  “Th-those were from you?” What an idiot I’d been. To think that Will could afford such a gift, given his circumstances.

  “But of course! Who else would they be from? Do you have so many admirers you cannot keep track of them? Why, certainly you do!” He grinned, and I had no choice but to smile back at him. He embodied exuberant pleasure, ease. And he was so pleased to see me, it was infectious. But I could not seem to find my tongue.

  “Forgive my largesse,” he said, gesturing toward the trail of petals. “But I do love a dramatic, romantic moment.” He lifted my hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles of one and then the other. “Oh, how I have missed you since you left, my sweet! Nothing has been the same since we parted. Nothing.”

  “P-Pierre,” I stuttered, “did you not receive my letter?” Even as I said the words, I knew it was impossible. There hadn’t been time.… He probably left before—

  “Your letter? No.” He shook his head in sorrow. “What did it say?”

  “Pierre,” I said, aching over what must be said, all over again, and finding it twice as hard in person. “You are so lovely. So kind and generous. But you and I…” I shook my head. “I simply don’t think we are meant to be together.”

  He frowned, inhaled and held the breath, lifting his chin. He studied me and then slowly exhaled, nodding. “Cora, we are just beginning to explore what we might have. Would you stamp out a sprout before you’d yet seen its flower?” He shook his head. “I hear your heart, dear one. Your doubt. But I cannot let you go so easily.” His eyes searched mine, and he lifted a hand to cradle my cheek.

  I stared up at him, wondering what else I could say…to tell him without it becoming a knife wound, slashing his heart.…

  “Cora?” Will asked, behind me.

  I turned slowly, feeling vaguely nauseated. He’d certainly seen. Seen Pierre speak to me in such a caring manner, caress my face.“Will,” I said, feeling caught and unaccountably guilty. “L-look who’s here!”

  Pierre moved past me to shake Will’s hand enthusiastically. “Imagine my good pleasure when I received word that you were coming to this hotel! I despaired I’d never find you!”

  “Yes, well,” Will said, shooting me a confused glance, “that is fortunate.” He paused, and a flash of displeasure washed through his eyes. “I understood we wouldn’t enjoy your company again until we met in Vienna.”

  “As did I!” Pierre said gleefully, his eyes still solely on me. “Happily, I was able to revise my plans.”

  “What a nice surprise,” Will said, no note of joy in his tone. Pierre appeared not to notice. Or ignored it. “How long might you sojourn with us before Paris calls you back? A day? Two?”

  “No, no, no, my friend,” Pierre said, clapping him on the back. “I have two weeks before I must tear myself away.” He spoke to Will but smiled at me. “I’ve arranged to meet Cora’s father in Vienna to discuss a certain business venture. It’s become clear to me that nothing could have greater import.”

  “Speak with my f-father?” I said.

  “Yes,” Pierre smiled, clearly pleased. “It came to me, after you departed. That Montana Copper might be the perfect partner for a certain business enterprise of my own. Monsieur Kensington telegrammed me in return, suggesting a rendezvous in Vienna. It is perfect, no?”

  No, I wanted to say. No, no, no! He continued to smile at me, then at Will. “I would very much like to travel with you to Vienna and perhaps as far as Venezia.”

  “You showed us great kindness in Paris and beyond, Pierre,” Will said, as polite in his tone as a servant, now, “but I regret I must say no. It is against our policies to accept any other travelers, being in the employ of our clients’ fathers, solely to care for their children.”

  “But what of Arthur Stapleton?” Pierre asked, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “I welcomed his continued company as an additional man to guard the women in the group, but I’m certain we’ve left our ne’er-do-wells behind in France. Art intends to part ways with us in Vienna. Where you yourself can rendezvous with Miss Kensington again, as well as her father.” He turned to wave Claude near, obviously preparing to depart and yet not wishing to abandon me without escort. “I shall leave you two to your evening.” He reached over and offered his hand to Pierre again, careful not to look my way, and shook it. Then he turned to rush down the stairs. I followed after him, pausing at the top, wrapping my hands around a gazebo pole.

  “William,” I said.

  He halted, looked up to the sky, and then turned partway back to me, as if he had to force himself. “Yes, Cora?”

  “Will, we need to discuss—”

  He shook his head, glancing at Pierre. He didn’t want him to know. If Pierre found out, the others would too, most likely. “There is nothing more that needs to be said.” His tone was overly bright and polite. “It is a beautiful night. And your dashing admirer has come to call. Don’t let me interfere.”

  His eyes searched mine. Did he doubt I’d sent the letter? Anger flashed through me as he turned to walk away.

  Pierre wrapped his hands around my shoulders and gently turned me, even as he glanced at Claude. “If our time is to be so short, let us get back to us,” he whispered, “and me telling you how I missed you every moment of every hour of every day since I left your side.”

  William

  He strode down the hill, avoiding the groups of people as he fought the urge to break into a run, to tear his tie from his neck, his jacket from his back. Fury surged through him, dismay at Cora’s betrayal, rage at himself for not taking a stand, regardless of what would ensue. The thought passed through him that Richelieu hadn’t had time to receive the letter, or if he had, that he was here, bent on convincing her to reconsider.

  He shook his head. What did it matter? He was not free to fight for her. Claim her. Drive Richelieu off back to Paris. His hands were tied. Tied! He took a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray and swallowed it in one gulp, then walked directly to Antonio. “You knew he was here,” he hissed in his friend’s ear, grabbing another glass of champagne and downing it in similar fashion.

  The older man studied him a moment and then looked back over the crowd. “And you need to cease imbibing. It isn’t our place as guides. As to Miss Cora…William, given your financial straits, would it not be best to simply look the other way? For both of you?”

  Will grimaced and moved his head as if the man had hit him, forcing himself not to react for a moment. “Did you invite him here, or did Cora?”

  “Neither of us invited him.” He waved his hands in agitation as only the Italian could do. “But is it not best? Your uncle did not wish for Cora to lose her heart to Richelieu, but he knew it was far more dangerous if she lost her heart to you.” His dark eyes bore into Will’s.

  Will sighed heavily and turned away, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  After a moment, Antonio said, “It will pass in time, my friend. It will hurt like the devil for a while. But in time, you will see that it is best. People like the Kensingtons…they do not welcome people like us as anything but hired help. And Miss Cora—she has enough to manage without you…complicating her life further, no?”

  Will thought of ten things he wished he could say. Half of him wanted to fire the man now. Half of him wanted to weep, accepting his words as wisdom. But instead, he blurted, “I need the evening. You will see to our clients?” He cast a furious look in Antonio’s direction, but he wasn’t awaiting permission.

  The older man nodded even as Will turned away, striding to the trees and, once there, rushing down the hill, eager to enter h
is hotel room.

  To lock the door. And seal the rest of them out.

  Cora

  I edged away from him. “Please, Pierre. I…I need a little time. To think.” I paced back and forth, before him.

  “Mon ange. I know our lives are so different…but must they be? Why could we not live for a time in Montana and a time in Paris? Bring together what was once so separate? Weave together an entirely new life—part yours, part mine?”

  “Pierre, it is hardly appropriate to speak of such things—”

  “But if we cannot speak openly of the problem, how might we ever come to a solution? It is a dam in our river, no? We must get past it in order for the river to meet the ocean, no?”

  I sighed and lifted my hand to my forehead. “You simply don’t—”

  “Perhaps we live in neither Montana nor Paris. Perhaps we live in New York. Or London…”

  “Pierre.”

  He smiled and stepped closer, reaching up to touch my chin, but I shied away. He sighed and rested his hand on his chest. “I see that we’ve lost hard-won ground. Perhaps you feared what your father would say when he learned of our romance?”

  “What? No…”

  “Well, rest assured. I have declared my intentions to your father, and he was most receptive. He says that we can speak of it in person once we all gather in Vienna.”

  I felt my mouth drop open. He had written to Wallace of his intentions? My mind spun. Was it not an unwritten rule that there were to be no romantic entanglements while on the tour? Or was I merely a commodity that could be bartered off to a wealthy business partner? I thought of Vivian’s betrothal to Andrew—was that, too, a means of securing his partnership with Morgan?

  “Come, mon amie,” he said, taking my hand and leading me down the steps of the gazebo. “If you will not allow me to kiss you, I at least wish to dance with you until the musicians cannot play another note.” He tucked my hand around his arm and led me, in a daze, to the bottom of the hill and onto the dance platform.

  And as we waltzed, I slowly eased into his charms, one after another, the delight of being in his arms through a dance—how he made me feel as if I were floating, treasured, a delight—with every word, every movement.

  But over and over, I wished it weren’t Pierre who held me, but Will.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cora

  I awakened angry. Angry that Pierre had ignored my protests, so certain that he was right, and I was wrong. Angry that Will had walked away from the gazebo, assuming the worst of me. Was I any different from my sister, swayed by the men around her? I sat up with a groan, pulling my sleeping cap from my head as I stared at the huge bouquet of red roses, each blossom spreading like a morning welcome from Pierre. What had delighted me yesterday brought me nothing but misery today. They reminded me that Pierre was here and Will was far from me.

  Anna knocked and then entered without waiting. Her eyes widened at the sight of me. “Did you not sleep well, then, miss?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “A bit, yes,” she said, going to the hall door and, after retrieving my breakfast tray, returning to set it on the table in front of the roses. “Bad dreams?”

  “No,” I said with a humorless laugh. “Bad thoughts upon waking. Over and over again.”

  She frowned as she poured me a cup of tea and stirred in a spoonful of sugar, just as I liked it, then handed it to me. “Many would welcome the arrival of a suitor such as Lord Richelieu. Is it the memories of the attack at his chateau that plague you?”

  “No,” I said quietly, sipping from my cup and then watching a piece of tea leaf adrift on the surface.

  “Is it the man himself that dismays you?” She went over to the window and drew back the curtains. “Has he treated you poorly?”

  “No. He is a gentleman. Charming from head to toe. And handsome to boot.”

  She returned to my side, arms crossed, eyebrows in a wry arch. “So you want someone offensive and rude and disagreeable. And ugly, if at all possible.”

  I smiled. “Of course not.” I searched her face. “But I do want someone more…real. Sturdy. Regular. Not Prince Charming.” I gestured to my room. “All this comes to an end for me, Anna, come fall. I return to real life. No grand balls. No grand meals. No fine maid seeing to my every need,” I said to her with a nod. “Normal School in Montana. A boardinghouse room. A meal made on a small wood stove. A job, eventually, on the prairie. And that’s fine with me. It truly is. It’s who I am.”

  I knew I said the words for myself as much as for her. To remind myself. Or was it to convince myself? Regardless of what my father might want?

  “May I?” she said, gesturing toward another chair.

  I nodded and moved my feet, making room for her.

  She looked at me as if trying to choose her words. “I suspect you are already different from who you were once, miss.” She swallowed hard and rubbed her hands together. “One cannot experience what you have and remain unchanged. You wish to remain who you were out of loyalty to your mama and papa.” She paused and studied me.

  I stared back at her, waiting for her to finish.

  “But miss…you know this time is a gift. And perhaps the road you once thought was the right one for you might be more difficult to find if you retrace your steps.” She crossed her ankles. “I came to work for the Kensingtons when I was just fifteen years old and their children were just out of diapers. Even as a maid, my life was changed because of it. I lived in a boardinghouse once. But now? I favor the servants’ quarters in the grand palaces we get to see. I favor the adventure. I favor the new turns my life takes each year in the company of my employers. I am different. Might you, miss, be different too? More than you care to admit?”

  I frowned at her words but kept silent, thinking them over. I supposed I had been fundamentally changed in some respects, even though I was the same in others.

  She reached out and took my hand. “You’ve been given a chance few of us would ever dare to dream about. You’re living a fairy tale. Why not consider the prince, too? Why cast him out before you’ve even had a chance to see what you can discover about him through courting?”

  I looked to the window, then back to her. “Because I’ve already given my heart to another.”

  She frowned, and I almost winced at how hard she gripped my hand. “T-to whom?”

  I stared back into her eyes until understanding reached them. She lifted a hand to her mouth and shook her head, her face becoming a shade paler. “No, Miss Cora. You cannot.” Her eyebrows knit with worry. “Do you not understand? It is one thing for a man of Monsieur Richelieu’s standing, his wealth, to pursue a Kensington daughter. But our young bear?” Fear rounded her eyes. “No, Cora. You must end that in all haste. Because if Mr. Kensington discovers it, he will destroy William. Destroy him.”

  I pulled my hand from hers, my heartbeat picking up its pace. “Surely, you exaggerate—”

  “No. No. Miss Vivian…” Anna said anxiously. “She once loved a boy she’d known all her life. But he wasn’t like Mr. Andrew. No, he was a miner’s son, hired by the Kensingtons since he was little to fill the stove each day and stock each of the fireplaces with fresh wood and kindling. He always made Vivian laugh. Oh, how she laughed,” she said, giving me a small smile. “But when Mr. Kensington found out, he had the boy’s father fired from the mine, and he called in the rent on their home three months in advance. With no other mines hiring, the boy’s family had no choice but to move on to look for work.”

  I frowned back at her. “That…that’s barbaric.”

  “No, miss. That is power. Mr. Kensington believes he knows what is best for his children. And he had long known he wanted Andrew Morgan as Vivian’s groom.”

  I laughed, the sound mirthless in my own ears. “He is wealthy beyond measure. But he is not God.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” she muttered, rising and going to my breakfast tray.

  “He purports to follow God’s lead,”
I said, following her.

  “He does,” she said, placing a scone on a plate and then a scoop of clotted cream. “He’s devout. Faithful. And he oft says he owes a debt to God for his failings. But you see, that only lends more weight to his decisions. His desire to put things right, with you and your siblings, by sending you down the best road. And you, Miss Cora, perhaps even more than the others.” She shook her head in grave warning. “No, while he sent you away once, he came to reclaim you. And now duty will convince the man that he shall see you restored in spades.”

  She handed me the plate, and I took it from her, numb, my stomach filled with knots. She waited until I met her gaze again. “Trust me, miss. If he’s agreed to meet Monsieur Richelieu in Vienna, you’d best not interfere. What you must pray for is that the man comes up wanting in Mr. Kensington’s eyes. And then he shall send him packing. But if it is because you have your heart set on William?” She shook her head. “Please. For his sake. And your own…”

  I set down my plate with a clatter and strode to the window. “I refuse to be corralled. Trapped. My life is my own to live. Not his. He gave up any rights he had as my father when he sent my mother off on that train to marry another.”

  “Rights he reclaimed this summer.”

  “No. No! I agreed to the tour, and he agreed to send me back to school. To take care of my papa’s medical care. See my mother settled in Minnesota again. We made a deal.”

  “And he will see it through. He might allow you your education, if he cannot dissuade you. Beyond that…”

  Let him try, I wanted to scream. But her solemn expression made me fear not for myself, but for Will. Will, saddled with his uncle’s debt and his own unrealized dreams of returning to school. To someday becoming an architect. To continuing the family business as bear, if nothing else. I turned to the window, looking out at the wide silver blue of the lake under a bright morning sun.

  And all I could think about was how my father would cut short every dream Will had, should he become the target of his wrath. The family’s Grand Tour business, ended, when my father warned every wealthy associate that Will had tried to convince his daughter she was in love with him. The university, sending him a rejection letter, persuaded by a certain wealthy donor. One architectural firm after another, passing his application by in favor of someone else’s, worried about incurring the wrath of Wallace Kensington or one of his cronies.