Louise Allen - Regency Surrender - Passion And Rebellion

Amethyst picked up a scarf and absentmindedly rolled it into a ball. Far from being annoyed with Monsieur Le Brun for taking over all the arrangements that had at one time seemed so important, she’d been grateful. Left to herself, she wasn’t sure she’d have managed to leave Paris at all. Because once she did, then it really was over.

A peremptory knock on the door heralded Monsieur Le Brun’s entrance. He never waited for permission to enter a room these days. Since confessing that he was a French aristocrat, he’d dropped any pretence at servility.

‘We must speak,’ he said sternly. ‘About my Fenella. And Miss Sophie.’

She sighed and waved to the chair opposite. As a gentleman, he had at least waited until she indicated he might sit, she would give him that much credit.

‘What do you wish to say?’

‘I know that you do not like me. That to start with you would have done all in your power to prevent me marrying her if you had not seen it would cause the rift of permanence between you. But I tell you this—’ he leaned forwards, glaring at her ‘—if you had tried to keep us apart, or given me to lose my employ with you, I would have followed you both back to England and stolen her away in marriage.’

Oh, but that hurt. Here was this man, prepared to follow his lady love across the ocean—well, the English Channel at least—because Fenella was the kind of woman who deserved to find love. She was a good, kind-hearted creature. Not a cold unfeminine shrew without an ounce of trust in her nature. Fenella had trusted Gaston. Given him her heart along with her body. And this was her reward. This determined, dogged devotion.

If she’d been able to trust Nathan, he wouldn’t have walked away from her. They might all be going back to England together and arranging a double wedding.

And so what if he was only after her for her money? Or trying to recapture a fleeting moment of their youth when they’d had hope and trust, and belief in goodness? Did that really matter? It wasn’t just her money he liked. It wasn’t the memory of a girl he’d talked to and danced with, and argued with and made love to, either. It was her, as she was now. He’d enjoyed every minute they’d spent together. She knew he had.

But she’d pushed him away. Once too often.

‘I know,’ continued Monsieur Le Brun belligerently, ‘so you have no need to say it, that she deserves a better man than me. That I cannot provide for her in the way I would wish. But I have hope that one day the estate of my family will be restored and that then she will come to live with me here, in France, as my countess.’

A lump formed in her chest as she contrasted his determination to win Fenella against all obstacles, with Nathan’s swift defection.

‘And why, exactly,’ she said, tossing the balled-up scarf into an open trunk, ‘do you feel the need to tell me all this?’

He gripped the arms of the chair, his jaw working.

‘She tells me that you plan to move to Southampton to be near her.’

‘What of it?’

‘Only this. I am a proud man, mademoiselle, as you are well aware. Fenella is to be my wife. Sophie will be my daughter. Mine is now the task of providing for them and ensuring their happiness. I give leave to inform you I shall not tolerate your interference in the way I run my household or permit you to do anything that will make either of them question where their loyalty must now lie.’

‘I have no intention of interfering,’ she replied coldly. ‘But have you given any thought to how lonely Fenella is going to be while you are away, pursuing your dream of getting your château back? She will have nobody to support her. No family, no friends in that area. I didn’t think you disliked me so much that you would seriously wish to deprive Fenella of the one friend she does have.’

His scowl deepened. ‘This is what she has told me, too.’ He thrust his bony fingers through his hair, then slapped his hand down on the chair arm. ‘That only you stood by her in her darkest hour. For that, mademoiselle...’ he swallowed, as if something painful lodged in his throat ‘...I have to thank you,’ he bit out through gritted teeth. ‘And I do not wish for her to be left lonely. But...’

Amethyst held up her hand. ‘I don’t like you any more than you like me. The only thing upon which we will ever agree is that Fenella deserves better of both of us. I propose, for her sake, that we come to some kind of...truce.’

‘A truce?’

‘Yes. I will agree to keep my distance when you are at home. But I will be purchasing a property near enough so that I can support Fenella while you are away.’

‘That sounds reasonable. Though she will not like it, I think, if you never visit while I am home. She will want us to become friends...’

‘Oh, I have thought of the perfect way to calm her fears on that score. And that is to offer you employment.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, unless you have a burning desire to carry on working as a courier to English tourists, I had thought you might prefer a permanent position within George Holdings. As my French agent. There are bound to be outlets for my wares wherever in France you need to travel in pursuit of your quest, so you can fit in my business around your own agenda. It will surely be better for you if you don’t have to dance attendance on demanding tourists all day long?’

‘It would, but...’

‘I know I haven’t been an easy person to work for, but I’ve been most impressed by your tireless energy and efficiency, not to mention your patience. Besides, Fenella loves you...’

‘I do not want you to give me work as a favour to my wife! We both know that I have had very little success in procuring for you the new outlets for your goods.’

‘On the contrary, you managed to secure two contracts, under almost impossible conditions.’ Whilst acting as tour guide, and sweeping Fenella off her feet. ‘I propose paying you a small basic wage and meeting your expenses while you are travelling in France. Plus a percentage of any profits my companies make through your efforts.’

‘You would really put me in a position of such trust?’

‘Without hesitation. You have plenty of sterling qualities. Not least of which is your devotion to Fenella.’

‘I...I suppose I could say the same of you,’ he said grudgingly. Then his mouth twisted into a wry grimace. ‘I think since I have seen what that pig of a man has done to you—both now and when you were just a girl—that you think you have cause to distrust men. And that is perhaps why you have treated me as though I am a worm. And also...you wish not to see your friend hurt, the way you have been hurt.’

‘Who says I have been hurt?’

He shook his head reprovingly. ‘Mademoiselle, ever since he came here to give you the congé, you have been a shadow of yourself. You do not eat. You do not speak. And most telling of all, you do not assert your will over mine.’

It was all true. There didn’t seem to be any point in anything. It was as if a grey pall hung over her now, which she couldn’t ever see lifting.

‘Do not,’ said Monsieur Le Brun in alarm, ‘be so upset. I did not mean to make you weep. Merde!’ He pulled out a handkerchief and thrust it at her. Only then did she realise that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

‘It is not your fault,’ she said through his handkerchief as she blew her nose.

‘Fenella will never forgive me if she learns I have made you cry. Please cease.’

‘I just told you, you have not made me cry. No man will make me cry. I won’t let any of you,’ she said defiantly, though tears still streamed down her cheeks.

‘Now go away,’ she said, burying her face in his handkerchief. ‘And leave me...alone.’