Velvet

Chapter 11

"Georgie, how wonderful to see you!" Gabrielle flew up the steps and into the hall, arms flung wide to embrace her cousin. "What a wonderful surprise."

"I couldn't resist it," Georgie murmured into her ear as she hugged her. "Simon and Miles are as cross as two sticks."

Gabrielle gave her a conspiratorial squeeze, then drew back to greet the two men standing behind Georgie, her crooked smile faintly mocking as she saw their clear discomfort. "Simon… and Miles too. How kind of you to escort my luggage."

"We were just passing," Simon said, kissing her cheek.

"Yes, just passing," Miles agreed, taking her proffered hand and raising it to his lips. "You're looking very… um… very well," he finished somewhat lamely.

"Positively windblown," Georgie declared, removing her velvet bonnet and shaking loose her golden ringlets. "What have you been doing?"

"Sailing on the river," Gabby replied. "Nathaniel was teaching me… where is Nathaniel?" She looked around, puzzled, having assumed he would have followed her up the steps. "He must have come in through the gun room. But why would he do that when he knew he had visitors?"

Miles and Simon exchanged a dourly comprehending look just as Nathaniel entered the hall from the side corridor.

"Well, well," he drawled. "This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe it? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"We were just passing," Simon repeated as awkwardly as before. "Just passing and we thought we'd drop in on our way and leave Gabby's luggage." He cast a fierce glance for support toward Miles, who was trying to be invisible.

"Yes… yes, just passing," Miles reiterated, clearing his throat.

"Passing from whence to where?" demanded Nathaniel. "As far as I know, Burley Manor isn't en route to anywhere that would entice Lord and Lady Vanbrugh or Mr. Miles Bennet in the middle of the Season. Far too countrified."

A dull flush appeared on Miles's cheekbones at this caustic statement, and he shot an I-told-you-so glare toward Simon, who pursed his lips but said nothing. Even Georgie appeared to lose some of the assurance that had so far swept all opposition aside.

"For heaven's sake, Nathaniel!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "Don't be such a miserable grouch! They're your friends and they've come all this way to visit you, the least you can do is offer them some refreshment. Besides, they were doing me a favor, bringing my luggage so quickly."

"I stand corrected, ma'am," Nathaniel said as sardonically as before. "I was forgetting your own claims on my hospitality. Of course they must extend to your friends."

Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath, but before she could come up with anything suitably cutting, Nathaniel gestured toward the library.

"I'm afraid there's no fire in the drawing room, gentlemen, since I wasn't expecting guests, but come into the library. I'm sure I can produce a bottle of decent claret. Gabrielle, I will leave you to entertain Lady Vanbrugh."

"He is so rude," Georgie declared in a fierce undertone. "How can you stand him, Gabby?"

"All in good time," Gabrielle said with a grin. "I know perfectly well that's why you're here. Let's go up to my boudoir and we can have a comfortable coze."

"I beg your pardon, my lady…" Mrs. Bailey, who'd been standing in the shadows, a silent observer of the last minutes, stepped forward. "Should I prepare bedchambers for his lordship's guests?"

"Yes, if you please." Gabrielle smiled warmly. "Lord and Lady Vanbrugh and Mr. Bennet will be staying overnight, of course. You'll know how best to accommodate them."

"So I'll tell cook there'll be five for dinner?" Mrs. Bailey still sounded a trifle hesitant.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "And could you send Ellie up to my boudoir with some tea, please. I'm sure Lady Vanbrugh will be glad of a cup after her journey."

She swept Georgie upstairs to the Queen's Suite, closing the door firmly behind them.

"What a pleasant room." Georgie looked around the apartment with a shrewdly appreciative eye, assessing the elegance of its furnishings, the richness of the carpet and draperies.

"It's a very pleasant house altogether," Gabrielle agreed, drawing the curtains across the window, closing out the encroaching dusk. "Take off your pelisse and sit by the fire, Georgie. I know how you detest exertion of any kind, and traveling in particular, so only overriding curiosity could have brought you here. I'm deeply complimented, I assure you."

Georgie was not a whit put out by this teasing, she was far too accustomed to it. Her cousin had always been three times as energetic as herself, and the contrast between them was something of a family joke.

"Well, you really are behaving scandalously," she declared, tossing her pelisse over a chair and bending to warm her hands at the fire. "If word of this gets out, I dread to think how you'll be received in London. Why, you might be denied vouchers for Almacks." Georgie's tone invested this last hideous possibility with suitable solemnity, but her eyes, burning with curiosity and excitement, belied the tone.

"Stuff," Gabrielle scoffed. "It's no: going to get out unless you or Simon or Miles blabs about it… and I know you won't. I shall simply let it be known that I returned to France for a couple of months."

She regarded her cousin through narrowed eves. "Come clean, Georgie. You don't have a prudish bone in your body and you're certainly not here as chaperone to safeguard my precious reputation. You're here because you want to see for yourself what's going on."

Georgie laughed and sat down by the fire. "Yes, I do. So tell all, and start from the beginning."

"Listen closely," Gabrielle said in the hushed tones of one about to tell a scandalous ondit in the greatest secrecy. Georgie's benign thirst for gossip would be easily quenched with the surface truth-the actual facts were so far from her experience, she wouldn't be able to credit them anyway. Gabrielle was a past master at entertaining her cousin and knew exactly what details of her liaison with the misanthropic and utterly discourteous Lord Praed would amuse Georgie.

Downstairs, Simon took a glass of wine from his still-unbending host and coughed. "I suppose you've a right to resent the intrusion, Nathaniel. But Georgie insisted on checking up on Gabby."

"Insisted?" Nathaniel's eyebrows lifted incredulously as he took the scent of his wine.

"Insisted," Miles put in. "She's a DeVane," he added, as if this were sufficient explanation for all but the village idiot.

"You have my sympathies, Vanbrugh," Nathaniel said coolly. "And how long do you imagine it will take your wife to complete her… her checking up? An hour, maybe, two at the outside?"

"For God's sake, Praed!" Miles exploded. "You're not going to throw us out tonight, surely!"

"There's bound to be an inn in Lymington," Simon said stiffly. He stood up, placing his half-empty glass on the side table. "Forgive us for the intrusion. Perhaps you'd ask a servant to summon my wife and have the horses put to the carriage again."

Nathaniel's lips twitched and bright laughter sprang suddenly into his eyes. "If you leave in high dudgeon, Simon, that enfant terrible you foisted on me will probably string me up by my thumbs. You may be married to a DeVane, but I tell you, only those who hold their lives cheap would go in the ring with Gabrielle de Beaucaire."

There was a stunned silence as Nathaniel's visitors struggled with this abrupt volte-face. Then Simon's rigid features dissolved into their customary warm geniality.

"You bastard," he said, punching Nathaniel with some force on the shoulder. "You knew how much at a disadvantage we were, and you took shameless advantage of it."

"Habit," Nathaniel confessed with a half-smile. "I hadn't expected to be pleased to see you, but curiously, I find that I am."

Miles gave a guffaw of laughter. "Gabby's clearly a miracle worker."

"She has some small talent," Nathaniel agreed, refilling their glasses.

It occurred to him that this unexpected visit might well prove fortuitous. At some point, when he could separate the two men, he'd sit down with Simon and go over Gabrielle's qualifications for the service with him again. Now that he was no longer against the idea in principle, he'd be a little more searching in his questions.

Jake was full of curiosity when he tapped on Gabrielle's door just before six. He'd heard the arrival of the visitors, and Miss Primmer and Nurse had been discussing them while he had his supper. His godfather was here, but there was another lady too, something that intrigued Jake mightily.

He entered at Gabrielle's bidding and gazed wide-eyed with frank curiosity at the pretty woman sitting by the fire. She wore a driving dress of soft beige and the blouse beneath had high ruffles that brushed under her chin. She struck him as soft and curvy and smiling, and her hair gleamed gold in the firelight. Gabby wasn't soft and curvy and golden, he realized but with a rush of fierce loyalty he decided that she was much more beautiful than the other lady.

"Jake, come and meet Lady Vanbrugh." Gabby held out her hand to him and he stepped forward, bowing with jerky formality to her guest.

"This is Jake, Georgie," Gabby said, drawing him against her with an encircling arm. "Nathaniel likes to see him in the library before he goes to bed, so we usually go down together."

Georgie smiled at Jake. "I have a little boy too, but he's much smaller than you."

"What's his name?"

"Edward… we call him Ned."

"Oh… are you going to tell me a story tonight, Gabby?" Jake dismissed the unknown Ned in favor of his own pressing concerns.

"Perhaps not tonight," Gabrielle said. "Since Papa has visitors. And your godfather is here too. Let's go down to the library."

Jake hung back, chewing his lip, then said, "Papa doesn't let me go to the library when he has visitors."

"Oh, but this is your godfather," Gabrielle said. "And these visitors are my special friends, so I'm sure he'll want you to be introduced. Are you coming, Georgie? Or would you like to go to your own bed-chamber and dress for dinner?"

"Oh, I'm coming," Georgie said readily, rising to her feet.

Gabrielle chuckled. She hadn't expected anything different.

If Nathaniel was put out by the interruption, he gave no sign. Gabrielle seemed to have taken charge of the situation anyway, he reflected, watching as she presented Jake to Simon and eased the meeting of the shy child with his awkwardly hearty godparent. Miles had had little to do with his godson hitherto, and little experience of children in general, so his attempts to put Jake at his ease tended to create the opposite effect.

Despite Gabrielle's efforts, however, Jake showed little reluctance when Nathaniel sent him back to the nursery after fifteen minutes. He bade a formal good night with his stiff, jerky little bows to all except Gabby.

"Won't you tell me a story?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he approached her.

"Not tonight, love. I have to dress for dinner, but I'll come and kiss you when you're in bed and sing you one of my funny songs. Actually, there's one that Georgie and I used to sing together. Do you remember it, Georgie? The one about the man with the beard that the birds nested in?"

Nathaniel listened to the women's laughter, recognizing the intimacy of shared childhood. Simon shared it too, to a lesser extent, he realized. He certainly had an almost brotherly ease with Gabrielle. The three of them were trying to remember the words of the silly schoolroom songs they'd sung together, and their laughter was so infectious that even the timorous child was smiling, clinging to Gabrielle's skirts, watching the adults' faces with his round brown eyes.

A wash of loneliness surprised Nathaniel as he suddenly saw himself at Jake's age. A lonely little boy living on the periphery of adult lives. He couldn't remember being touched, not in the way Gabrielle was always touching Jake. He'd been touched by nursemaids in the general day-to-day business of caring for a child. His father had laid a hand on him only in punishment. He didn't think his mother had ever touched him.

"I hate to interrupt this merriment, but we should change for dinner," he said, rising ro his feet. "Jake, it's past time you were upstairs. Nurse will be looking for you." He hadn't meant to say anything like that. He'd wanted somehow to join the laughing group, to be acknowledged by them and to have a part in the union Gabrielle so obviously shared with his son. But he heard his voice, sharp and disapproving, speaking narrow, mean words.

The laughter left the child's eyes and he went with instant obedience to the door. Nathaniel felt a sudden ache beneath his breastbone, as if something had been twisted there. It wasn't physical, yet it felt as powerful as if it were. As the boy passed him, he put his hand out and ruffled his hair as he had done the other night. And as it had done then, the gesture startled them both.

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"I don't fully understand." Later hat night Simon paced the library, a perturbed frown disturbing his usually equable expression. "What is it that you suspect Gabrielle of?"

"Nothing at this point," Nathaniel said with more patience than usual. He was leaning against the mantelshelf, comprehension in the brown eyes as he regarded his guest's agitation. It was never comfortable to have one's judgment questioned, particularly when it related to a close friend.

"But I've a suspicious mind, Simon. I have to have in my business."

"Yes, I understand that," Simon said with a brusque gesture that set the amber liquid in his brandy goblet slopping against the crystal. "But I told you what information Gabrielle brought to us. I've explained her history… for God's sake, man, I've known her since she was a scrubby brat with pigtails!"

Nathaniel sighed. "Yes, I know that, Simon. But I have to be cautious. Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes." He raised an eyebrow. "The Trojan horse was a powerful weapon, my friend."

Simon stared, incredulous. "You think Gabrielle could be planted by the French? Don't be ridiculous!" He drained his glass in one gulp and thumped it on the table, reaching into his pocket for his snuffbox.

Nathaniel said nothing, watching as Simon took a hefty pinch of snuff and succumbed to a fit of sneezing as violent as his distress at Nathaniel's inquisition.

When the spasms had subsided, Nathaniel said evenly, "I don't suspect anything, Simon. I'm just being cautious. Her credentials are almost too perfect, her contacts are a spymaster's dream. I have to satisfy myself that Gabrielle is what she seems. Once I'm satisfied, I'll gladly employ her in the service."

Simon blew his nose vigorously. "You said she was undisciplined."

"So she is," Nathaniel agreed calmly. "But she's also resourceful and courageous, and I can keep my own rein on her if I decide to employ her."

Simon flung himself down in a deep wing chair by the fire. "So what do you want to know?"

"I just want to go through the whole story again from the beginning. Just bear with my questions."

Simon nodded with a sigh. "Verywell. But it does seem to me that living together in such… such close quarters ought to give you ample opportunity to form your own judgments."

Nathaniel's lips thinned. "I don't believe that's any of your business."

"Oh, don't you?" Simon demanded morosely. "According to Georgie, Lord DeVane would expect me to call you out for debauching his honorary daughter."

Nathaniel threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Is that what I've done, indeed? If you ask me, the boot is definitely on the other foot. It was my honor that was suborned by that shameless wild woman… and at your instigation, my friend."

Simon grinned reluctantly. "Well, I didn't suggest she seduce you, but I did imply that she'd have to employ unorthodox measures to gain your attention."

"She certainly did that! Now, can we get on with these questions?"

"Go ahead." Simon leaned over to refill his glass from the decanter on the side table and then sat back cradling the goblet between his hands. Of course Nathaniel was right. Every caution was essential, even where Gabrielle was concerned.

It was an exhaustive and exhausting session, but when the two men parted in the early hours of the morning, Nathaniel had failed to find any holes or even weak spots in Simon's narrative. It would appear that Gabrielle was everything she seemed to be.

He had one last test for Gabrelle. But first he needed to ensure her absence for an hour or two.

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"Oh, Gabby, I forgot to give you this letter. It arrived for you just before we left Vanbrugh Court." Georgie entered the breakfast parlor the next morning, flourishing an envelope. She dropped it beside Gabrielle's plate and smiled around the table.

"Good morning, everyone. I slept like a baby. I think the air in Hampshire must be more restful than in Kent." She leaned over to kiss her husband. "You were up betimes this morning."

"Some of us have been up for hours," Gabrielle said, picking up the letter. The envelope bore Talleyrand's elegant script. "Some of us have already had a two-hour ride."

"And thus feel we deserve our breakfast," Simon added, pinching his wife's cheek. "Unlike lazy ladies who don't bestir themselves until past mid-morning."

Georgie merely smiled at this good-natured raillery and turned to examine the chafing dishes on the sideboard.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, one booted ankle resting on his thigh, his hand circling a tankard of ale on the table. His eyes rested on Gabrielle, watching her face as she slit the envelope with her butter knife. The handwriting on the envelope was almost as familiar to him as his own.

Gabrielle had been expecting a letter from Talleyrand relatively early in her assignment, and it had been agreed initially that she would use the Vanbrughs' address as a poste restante. Once she'd established herself in the network, she would inform her godfather and they would use a more efficient channel.

Gabrielle wondered if Nathaniel recognized the handwriting. It was highly likely he'd seen examples of it in his work. Some of Talleyrand's correspondence would have surely fallen into English hands at some point.

"It's from Talleyrand," she said calmly, glancing across the table at Nathaniel. He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment and raised his tankard to his lips.

Gabrielle decided he had recognized the handwriting and she'd probably just passed another test.

"Quite an honor to have such a notable correspondent." Miles observed innocently, frowning with concentration as he filleted a kipper.

"Oh, I'm fully sensible of the honor," Gabrielle said with a tinge of irony that neither Simon nor Nathaniel could miss. "My godfather is a regular and most interesting correspondent."

"And a consummate politician," Miles said comfortably.

"Indubitably," Gabrielle agreed. "He's the cleverest man in Europe, not excluding the emperor. And his cleverness is exceeded only by his ambition. I defy anyone to untangle the personal motives behind his allegiances. If it suited him to abandon Napoleon, he would do so without a qualm."

"A pragmatic gentleman," Nathaniel commented with a shrug. "Lady Vanbrugh, may Ipass you the marmalade?"

"There's no need to be so formal, Nathaniel," Gabrielle said, unfolding the sheets of paper in leisurely-fashion.

"No, indeed not," Georgie agreed, slightly flustered because she still could not like Nathaniel Praed, despite the magic he so clearly weaved around Gabby.

"You do me too much honor, ma'am," Nathaniel said, confirming Georgie in her dislike.

"Pompous ass. Take no notice of him, Georgie." Gabrielle picked up a roll from the basket on the table in front of her and threw it across the table. It landed in Nathaniel's tankard, splattering ale over his shirt.

"Why you…!" He pushed back his chair, half rising to his feet. Gabrielle's chin lifted and she met his indignant glare with challenging eyes and her mocking, crooked smile.

"What am I?"

"Devil's spawn," he said with a reluctant grin, resuming his seat, dabbing at the mess on his shirt with his napkin.

Simon and Miles exchanged a look of total incredulity and Georgie stared in unabashed amazement at her cousin who, with a complacent smile, had turned to her letter.

It was clear at first glance that she was supposed to share its contents with the English spymaster. It was a cheerful, chatty letter describing the social scene at Warsaw, Napoleon's reception by the Poles, and the emperor's fascination with Marie Walewksa.

Presumably that was the nugget she was to pass on. It was a piece of information that would be of general interest to the English government, and at this point it was something known only to Napoleon's intimates. If Gabrielle passed on the information, it would add credence to her claims of intimate connections within the court surrounding the emperor.

"Well, it seems Napoleon has found himself another Josephine," she said, looking up, realizing that Nathaniel had been watching her carefully as she'd read the letter. What had he been watching for? Signs of evasion or calculation, perhaps. Well, he wouldn't see them. All the years with Guillaume had taught her to show on her face only what she chose.

"In Poland?" Nathaniel inquired casually.

"The wife of a Polish chancellor," she said. "I'll read the letter to you. It's quite entertaining."

It was the civilized letter of a civilized man, full of observations and impressions, descriptions that were pointed and witty, Nathaniel reflected. The significance of a liaison between Napoleon and the Polish noblewoman was not elaborated upon, but it would be obvious to any intelligent observer of the world's affairs.

It would be interesting to read Gabrielle's reply. That would tell him much more about the relationship between the diplomat and his goddaughter than this seemingly innocuous communication. Did she conceal her hostility from Talleyrand under a dutiful filial response? From what he knew of Gabrielle, he'd find that hard to believe. And yet as he'd already observed, the more he learned about her, the less he truly knew her.

"Interesting," he said noncommittally when she refolded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. "I wonder how Josephine will react."

"She's an extremely jealous woman," Gabrielle observed, pouring coffee into her cup. "For some reason she doesn't consider her own infidelities to be of the least importance compared with Napoleon's. She writes him outraged letters whenever rumors reach her of some possible liaison. He describes her as a tigress when she's jealous, but all she has to do is weep and he comes running again. He's very susceptible to women's tears."

"Then it's to be hoped Madame Walewska learns that rapidly," Simon commented. "Since I'm sure she has an ulterior motive in becoming his mistress."

"Power is a powerful aphrodisiac," Gabrielle said lightly. "Talleyrand told me that Napoleon is actually very sensitive about the smallness of his… his… private parts."

"Gabrielle!" Georgie protested, although her eyes shone with interest.

"Not a suitable topic for the breakfast table? Or is it the mixed company that troubles you?" her cousin inquired impishly.

"Both, I imagine," Nathaniel said, pushing back his chair. "Spare our blushes, you outrageous woman."

Gabrielle laughed. "Very well, I'll change the subject. What are we going to do today?"

"We should be on our way," Simon said.

"Oh, must you?" Gabrielle looked disappointed.

"Yes," Miles said firmly. "We've intruded sufficiently."

"If you leave within the hour, you could probably make it back to London in time for a late dinner," Nathaniel said readily.

Even Georgie recognized that Nathaniel this time was making fun of himself and joined in the laughter, but no one attempted to alter the plan, and an hour later Gabrielle waved the chaise away from the house.

"Are you tired of being alone with me?" Nathaniel inquired as they turned back into the hall.

"No." She shook her head. "Far from it. But that said, I imagine I'm a more sociable being than you."

"That wouldn't be difficult," he agreed with a wry smile. "I'm afraid I'm going to be very boring and shut myself up with some work."

Gabrielle shrugged. "I wouldn't mind going into town to do some shopping."

"I'll tell Milner to bring the brougham round from the stables."

"I'd rather take your curricle and your grays."

Nathaniel regarded her quizzically. "I don't wish to offend you, ma'am, but they'll be very fresh."

"I can handle them."

"Yes, I'm sure you can." He shook his head with a resigned chuckle. "Very well. But Milner had better go with you." He turned aside toward the library.

"Could I take Jake?"

The question arrested him with his hand on the library door. "He has lessons."

"A surprise holiday never did anyone any harm."

"You don't want a child hanging on to your skirts while you're shopping."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have suggested it," she pointed out.

To his surprise, Nathaniel heard himself saying, "If you really want to, I see no objection."

"Thank you," Gabrielle said with quiet satisfaction. One made progress little by little.

Nathaniel watched the departure of the curricle from the library window an hour later. Jake was bouncing on the gravel like an india rubber ball, apparently chattering nineteen to the dozen to the patient Milner and the smiling Gabrielle, who swung herself gracefully into the curricle and took up the reins. Milner lifted Jake onto the seat beside her and then jumped up behind.

Nathaniel watched critically as Gabrielle felt the grays' mouths with a delicate pull on the reins. They were very fresh, stamping the gravel, lifting their heads to the brisk wind blowing in from the river, their breath steaming in the cold air. He wondered uneasily if he'd been wise to allow her to drive them. She gave the order to the groom to release their heads, and the horses plunged forward.

Nathaniel drew breath sharply, then relaxed as he saw her draw on the reins, asserting her mastery, bringing the grays round on the gravel and trotting them sedately down the drive. Gabrielle was clearly a capital whip-as he'd expected.

He went upstairs to the Queen's Suite. He had a good two hours in hand to conduct his search.