Joanna Fulford - His Counterfeit Condesa

Unsure what to make of that she searched his expression for clues, but the rugged features gave nothing away.

The journey resumed uneventfully next morning and, over the next few days, they made good progress, whiling away the time in conversation and sometimes with cards. Sabrina also took the opportunity to learn as much as possible about the woman she was impersonating. Her companion supplied as much detail as he could. All the same, she could already see potential pitfalls, such as the fact that she had never been to the Languedoc. Falconbridge did not seem unduly unconcerned.

‘The Condesa must have been very young when the family left Toulouse,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely possible she wouldn’t recall very much anyway.’

‘That’s fortunate. There may be French officers present at this party.’

‘I imagine there will. Try to steer the conversation away from potentially dangerous topics.’

She smiled faintly. ‘If things look dangerous I’ll ask the officer to talk about himself. Then I won’t have to do more than nod and smile for the next hour or so.’

‘You think any man could speak for so long about himself?’

‘In my experience it’s usually a favourite topic of conversation; present company excepted, of course.’

The dulcet tone elicited a faint smile. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. I should hate to think that I was such a bore.’

‘Hardly that.’ Sabrina thought that bore was the last word she would use to describe him.

‘Another load off my mind,’ he replied. ‘Is your knowledge of men so extensive?’

With those words Jack Denton’s image resurfaced and with it a recollection of hurt and humiliation. She pushed it aside, forcing herself to remain collected. ‘How am I to take that?’

‘Given your unusual upbringing, you must have met many of my sex. Were they all such confoundedly dull dogs as your remark suggests?’

‘No, not all. Some were good company.’ She was minded to add a rider to that but refrained.

‘Indeed? And did your father allow you to keep such company?’

An indignant retort leapt to mind immediately. Just in time she caught the sardonic glint in his eye and realised he had been quizzing her again.

‘That was an outrageous suggestion.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was.’ He didn’t look or sound repentant. ‘I find myself curious, you see.’

‘About what?’

‘Given your bohemian lifestyle it cannot have been easy to meet eligible young men.’

‘I never thought of them in such a way,’ she replied. ‘Some were my father’s friends, others were officers whom I met in the course of events.’

‘But none for whom you felt a particular partiality?’

‘No,’ she lied.

‘You’re never going to tell me that they looked upon you with similar indifference.’

‘I really have no idea. You’d have to ask them.’ Another lie, she thought. Somehow it went against the grain to tell a falsehood to this man, but the truth was a nest of hornets and best left alone.

He continued to regard her steadily. ‘And yet you have been of marriageable age for some time.’

‘You make it sound as though I were quite on the shelf.’ The words were spoken without rancour.

‘I beg your pardon. It’s just that most young ladies I’ve ever met are on the lookout for a husband from the time of their coming out.’

‘I never had a coming out,’ she replied, ‘so perhaps that has coloured my view of the matter. In any case I was enjoying my life too much to want to relinquish it for marriage.’

‘You think that all enjoyment ends with marriage then?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t mean to imply that all marriages are dull, especially not where the couple marries for love. That must be agreeable, surely.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘Did you never wish to wed?’

There followed a brief hesitation. ‘I once fancied myself in love but, as it turned out, I was mistaken.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘No need,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I am now happily married to my career. Romantic entanglements are for other men.’

They lapsed into silence after this, each seeking refuge in private thought. Unable to tell what lay behind that impassive expression, Sabrina could only ponder his words. He had spoken lightly enough but she sensed that more lay beneath. Clearly he considered marriage an unnecessary encumbrance and perhaps in his line of work it really was. The thought caused an unexpected pang. Even in the short time she had known him he had made an impression, more so than any man of her acquaintance—apart from one. While she didn’t equate the two, the first had taught her a valuable lesson. Since then she had kept her male acquaintances at a courteous and professional distance. She intended to do the same now. Her father was the reason she had become embroiled in this affair. His freedom was what really mattered. She must not forget it.

As usual they stopped that evening at an inn and Falconbridge requested rooms and a private parlour in which to dine. The patrón was delighted to welcome such exalted guests and assured them that he could offer a most excellent parlour. However, he regretted that he only had one bedchamber available. Falconbridge cursed inwardly. He had always realised this was a possibility but had hoped that it wouldn’t arise. He glanced at Sabrina who was just then engaged in conversation with Jacinta. Mistaking that look entirely, the patrón hastened to reassure him that it was a large room.

‘A truly commodious chamber, señor. The lady will be most pleased.’

Falconbridge seriously doubted that. Unfortunately, with dusk coming on, further travel was out of the question. The road was dangerous after dark. He had no desire to run into any of the brigands who frequented the hills, or a French patrol if it came to that.

‘We’ll take it.’

‘Si, señor. You won’t be disappointed, I guarantee it.’

Just then disappointment was the last thing on Falconbridge’s mind, which was turning instead on Sabrina’s probable reaction. In spite of the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, a shared bedchamber was a step too far and, hitherto, separate accommodation had been obtained as a matter of course. Thus the proprieties had been observed. He could well understand the importance of that to any woman. Now though, matters were about to become deucedly awkward. Taking Sabrina aside he explained the situation briefly, watching her face, bracing himself for the explosion of wrath, which must surely follow.

‘I’m truly sorry about this,’ he said, ‘but it cannot be avoided. There isn’t another decent inn for twenty miles.’

Contrary to his expectation she didn’t fly into a passion or refuse to stay a moment longer, though she could not quite conceal the expression of alarm fast enough to escape his notice. He could not know how hard her heart was thumping.

‘We’ll have to manage as best we may,’ she replied.

Once again he owned to surprise and, privately, to relief. She was proving to be a much easier travelling companion than he had ever envisaged.

When inspected, the room was indeed quite spacious and, she noted with relief, it was clean. It was dominated by a large bed. A dresser and washstand occupied much of one wall. A low divan stood opposite. It was the first time she had been in a bedchamber with any man, other than her father. Major Falconbridge’s presence was different in every way from the gentle reassuring figure of her parent. Somehow he seemed to fill the space.