The captain shook his head. “Don’t think he’d care for that.”
She could not fight it. Whatever the paper she’d signed might say, in truth she had as much business with him now as a stranger. Since she had wished for precisely that, she supposed it was a fitting punishment.
THEY TOOK HER to the constable and showed her the still, white face of the man that Luc had killed on the beach. She recognized him. He had been one of the men in the alley that Luc fought.
“They attacked him in retribution for defending me,” she whispered numbly.
The burial would take place at sea the following day. Then, Lord Bedwyr said, he would settle his cousin’s affairs and join her at the chateau. Until then it would be best if she continued on to her destination. He handed her into the private carriage where Mr. Miles awaited her, and with a burly sailor from the Retribution riding on the box with the coachman, they set off for Saint-Reveé-des-Beaux.
THE CASTLE APPEARED before them abruptly through a parting in the woods. In Gothic magnificence it arose from the river itself, gleaming gold in the pale evening light with thrusting, pointed turrets and graceful arches, all trumpeting its aristocratic splendor and all reflected in the water’s mirror.
The weakness gripped her that she’d felt aboard ship when they had come to Saint-Nazaire. But now Luc did not stand behind her to assure her, nor did she feel the touch of his hand holding hers as she had then. Her only companion this time was an odd little man with stiff collars and high heels who had not spoken to her on the day-long journey except to offer her food and pillows.
She supposed Mr. Miles was mourning too, in his way.
Now he leaned to the window and said, “As you see, the chateau is French Renaissance at its whimsically elegant best, madam. Brilliant architecture. Exquisite artistry.”
It was a fairy-tale castle out of a storybook and it gave her no pleasure.
“The dowager comtesse’s charitable work in the area saved it from the Revolutionaries and maintained it in the family,” he continued. “She perished some years ago, but her younger son continues to reside here in his brother’s absence. Are you acquainted with his lordship or his royal highness?”
“No. The prince hired me by letter, and I know nothing of the comte except that he is a minor English lord who has been absent from home for some time. I heard nothing of him in society.” She stared at the castle. “The people for whom I typically work have no interest in absentee lords, only those in London who might take notice of their daughters.”
Mr. Miles’s lips were tight. “The comte is heir to a title and property of extraordinary prestige in England, madam.”
In two month’s time Prince Reiner intended to introduce his sister into London society for the purpose of finding her a suitable husband. Perhaps he now visited the comte’s chateau in the hope of allying their families.
“Is he married?” she asked.
Mr. Miles turned his attention to the window. “Quite recently, in fact.”
They approached the castle with its walls that swept into the azure sky from the silver river like a fantasy. Two men came from within, liveried in blue and gold and bearing swords at their hips. Another man appeared, his black coat corded in silver, perhaps a butler. He opened the carriage door. Mr. Miles climbed out, stepped back and said, “Miss Caulfield, cousin to Lord Bedwyr. She has come to take up her post with her royal highness. His lordship the earl will be along in several days, I believe.”
Arabella was now cousin to an earl. She had not given a thought to it.
She took a footman’s hand and stepped out.
The butler bowed. “This way if you will, miss.”
Within, the chateau was yet more splendid than without. The foyer glittered with a crystal chandelier and mirrors to either side that turned her reflection into infinite images. She snapped her gaze away and allowed the butler to take her cloak. He guided her up a magnificent spiral staircase carved of stone to a corridor lined with lush red and gold carpets and portraits of ladies whose coifs rivaled the castle towers and men draped in purple robes trimmed in white ermine. He opened a door figured with gilt onto a drawing room of perfect splendor.
Silhouetted by light from the window, tall and slender, a lady turned. Amidst Egyptian brocaded chairs and sparkling pianoforte and gilded harp, and gowned in plain white muslin and a drab lace shawl, she looked nothing like a princess.
“Miss Caulfield?” she said.
Arabella curtsied deeply.
The princess came to her with eager steps. “Why, you are so young! And beautiful!” She spoke perfect English with the softest turn of her tongue that marked her as foreign. She took Arabella’s hands and bent to offer her two kisses, one upon each cheek. “When Reiner told me he had hired the redoubtable Miss Caulfield of London, I commenced quaking in my slippers. For who other than a perfect termagant of a governess could place so many young ladies in advantageous marriages? But you are not severe and horrid at all. What great fortune this is for me.”
“The fortune is mine, your highness.”
“I am Jacqueline to my friends.” She appraised Arabella’s face with open, intelligent eyes. The princess was a plain girl, with black, straight hair, a long nose, and a wide mouth that smiled easily. Her only adornment was a pearl pendant upon a filigree chain about her neck. “We shall be fast friends, I think.”
“I hope so, your—”
The princess squeezed her fingers. “Jacqueline,” she corrected. Her dark brows bent. “Unless you are a horrid, wicked, villainous witch of some sort and hide it well behind your lovely face and pensive smile. Are you?”
Witch.
Arabella pressed down on the ache in her chest. “You will discover that in due time.”
The princess laughed again and drew her to a sofa. “You must be fatigued after your journey. But Reiner understood from his secretary that you were to have arrived days ago.”
“I intended to. Then, unexpectedly, I suffered the loss of . . . a close relation.”
“Oh, I am terribly sorry, dear Miss Caulfield. I saw the black drape upon your carriage and imagined it was for the old duke. I had no idea you were in mourning. Yet you came to help me. You are better than I even imagined.”
That the princess understood little of the obligations of the serving class did not bother Arabella. Jacqueline was bright and kind and her hazel eyes shone with sincere sympathy now. Arabella nodded and wished for her sisters, to whom she could have confided the truth. Tonight she would write to Eleanor and Ravenna.
“The old duke?” she said.
“The Duke of Lycombe, uncle to the comte. He died little over a month ago, leaving our host as heir to his unborn child, it seems. I have never known an English duke. I always thought they were all pale and gray and severe. But my brother says the comte is a fine man, so if he should inherit his uncle’s title, my notion of English dukes will be quite dashed away.” She smiled. “Of course, Reiner likes horses and hunting dogs better than most people, so I don’t know that his recommendation can be taken without sober reflection. In fact, my brother is off hunting at a neighboring estate at present and shan’t return for at least a sennight.”
“I understood you were to depart for the winter palace within days.”
“Reiner is having too splendid a time here hunting and riding. So am I. It is ever so nice a place to read and write. We have decided to go directly from here to London.”
She might not have hurried. She might not have taken passage with Luc, and he might now be alive.
She struggled to make words come. “Is the comte here now?”
“No. His brother was in residence until a few weeks ago when he went off with my mother and Reiner’s courtiers to Paris. Since then it is only me and Reiner and a few of my waiting ladies who are all quite nice and deadly dull. But what a lovely holiday Reiner and I have been having. I do wish it could go on forever.” She sighed. “It cannot, of course. Reiner intends to wed me away to some old stodgy English lord, and I suppose since I have expected this since I can remember, I mustn’t think anything of it.”