The Paris Affair Part 51

"They want to. They'll have to sort things out with the St. Gilleses." Suzanne looked down at Colin, who was gravely studying the piece of biscuit clutched in his fist. "I think they can reach an accommodation about acknowledging him as the heir as long as Juliette and St. Gilles understand no one is trying to take him away from them." She pressed her lips to the top of Colin's head. Colin took a bite of biscuit.

"And Bertrand?" Cordelia asked. "Will he come back to France?"

"I don't know," Suzanne said. "Though it will be difficult for him to hide now, even if he wants to."

"Poor Gabrielle Caruthers," Dorothee said.

"I don't know." Cordelia cast a glance at Livia, who was at a table by the window, drawing a picture. "At least they have honesty now. That's more than a lot of marriages."

Wilhelmine shot a look at her. "The events of the past days can't have been easy on your own marriage."

"No. But they were something we were going to have to go through sooner or later. I'd like to say we're the stronger for it. But I suppose time is the only real test of that."

Dorothee looked at Suzanne. "You're lucky, Suzanne. Married to the man you love without the baggage of the past."

Suzanne tightened her arms round Colin and managed a smile.

Before she was compelled to answer, the door opened and Valentin announced Prince Talleyrand.

Dorothee set down her coffee cup. "I didn't realize it was so late. Are we due at the Austrian emba.s.sy already?"

"No, I came early." Talleyrand waved her back to her chair. "I was hoping for a word with Madame Rannoch."

"Of course." Suzanne set down Colin, who ran over to Livia, and got to her feet. Given Prince Talleyrand's knowledge of Malcolm's family, it wasn't entirely surprising he would wish to speak with her. Or so she told herself as she took Talleyrand into Malcolm's study. In truth, her mouth was dry and the tension that had lain coiled within her ever since Fouche's threats pulled tighter.

"My thanks again for all you've done for Dorothee," Talleyrand said as she closed the door behind them.

"Doro's a good friend." Suzanne sank into one of the two crimson damask chairs in front of the desk.

Talleyrand sank into the opposite chair. Every motion was controlled, but he moved as though his bones ached. "I know Clam-Martinitz wants her to go to Vienna with him." He tilted his head back against the damask. "I expect she'll agree."

"I think she may," Suzanne said. "Though as her friend, I'm not sure that's the option that will make her happiest in the end."

His thin mouth curved in a smile. "You've very kind, Suzanne."

"I didn't say it to be kind."

"No, you wouldn't." He regarded her for a moment. "I asked to speak with you to tell you that you needn't fear any longer that Fouche will trouble you."

Suzanne's fingers closed on the muslin folds of her skirt. Even with Talleyrand, where she should have known to be prepared for anything, she hadn't been prepared for this. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did you imagine Fouche could know about your work while I did not? I'm hurt. Oh, I'll grant you O'Roarke was good at keeping your ident.i.ty secret. He went to rather extreme lengths and few have his talents as a spymaster. But it's difficult for an agent of your caliber to remain undetected."

Suzanne swallowed, a host of scenarios racing through her mind.

"Yes, I know," Talleyrand said. "The board has shifted and it's difficult to tell now if we're allies or enemies. I'll confess I have enough affection for Malcolm to have been not best pleased when I learned he'd been saddled with an enemy agent for a wife."

She jerked her hand free of her skirt. Her nail snagged on the muslin.

"But then in Vienna I had the leisure to observe the two of you together. Malcolm is not a man to heed my advice on the dangers of personal relationships. Losing you would spell disaster for him."

"Surely you of all people wouldn't make a decision based on such considerations." Suzanne was amazed she managed to keep her voice steady.

"Not entirely. There's also what you've done for Dorothee. And what I've observed of you myself."

Suzanne looked into his hooded blue eyes. "Those still don't sound like considerations that would weigh with you."

"No? Well, I must be permitted my idiosyncrasies. Suffice it to say, Fouche will not trouble you further."

"How-"

"My dear Suzanne, it must have occurred to you and Malcolm that Christian Laclos betrayed his cousin etienne to the authorities."

"You're saying Christian went to Fouche with the information?" It was what she had suspected.

Talleyrand's mouth curved. "I always thought it surprising the Laclos cousins and Rivere got as far as they did without Fouche knowing about it. It was only recently that I realized Fouche had known all along."

Suzanne stared into Talleyrand's cool gaze. "Are you saying that Christian Laclos was Fouche's agent from the first? That Fouche instigated the plot?"

"Nothing like a plot that threatened his family to make Bonaparte frightened. And a frightened Bonaparte made him easier for Fouche to control. You must have wondered what happened to the gold Dewhurst and Carfax sent with etienne."

"Fouche pocketed it?"

"How else would it have disappeared without trace?"

Suzanne spread her fingers in her lap, rearranging the pieces of information. "So Christian Laclos was Fouche's agent provocateur. And Fouche knew Rivere was giving information to the British."

"And like me found him a useful way to pa.s.s along misinformation. But with the Restoration Rivere could connect Fouche and Christian Laclos to entrapping etienne Laclos, whose father is a friend of the Comte d'Artois. Even Fouche treads on dangerous ground these days. He can't afford to give d'Artois an excuse to try to get rid of him."

"You're saying Fouche ordered Christian Laclos to get rid of Rivere?"

"I think Christian had his own reasons for wanting to get rid of Rivere. But at the very least, I think Fouche protected him."

"Which is why Fouche wanted Malcolm to stop the investigation. Ironic that Christian's death will end it in any case." Fouche's voice echoed in her head, threatening to use his hold over her indefinitely. Her fingers closed on her elbows.

Talleyrand eased his clubfoot straight and regarded the diamond buckle on his shoe. "I know Fouche is known for his wealth of information on people, but I would hardly have survived this long did I not have information of my own. As I said, you need not fear Fouche will trouble you in the future."

She held him with her gaze, wondering what on earth he had had to threaten Fouche with. "You also wouldn't have survived this long if you hadn't learned not to waste bargaining chips."

A smile curved Talleyrand's thin mouth. "My dear girl. I don't consider it wasted."

Cordelia pushed open the door of Harry's study. The late summer sun cast a golden wash over the room and burnished her husband's brown hair. Livia ran to give her father a hug and show him the picture she'd drawn at Suzanne's. Cordelia perched on the edge of Harry's desk and waited until Livia had darted off to show the picture to her nurse. "The St. Gilleses are safely in England."

"Yes, Malcolm sent word." Harry leaned back in his chair. "It happens so rarely, I'd almost forgot what a satisfying feeling it is when things work out."

"They'll have challenges to face." Cordelia stared at the rays of sunlight slanting through the window to dapple the desktop, then looked at her husband. "As will we all."

"We've faced a number already."

Cordelia studied his face. The sardonic curve of his mouth, the familiar creases round his eyes when he smiled, the way the smile lit the eyes themselves. So impossible to think now that he'd once been almost a stranger, that they'd been apart for five years. She picked up a pen from the desktop and twisted it between her fingers. "We'd be fools to think this is the end of it."

"No. We've both lived much too complicated pasts for them not to intrude. And we may not come through it as easily next time."

She set down the pen. "You don't sugarcoat things, do you, Harry?"

"There are no guarantees." He reached for her hand. "Only the will to make it work."

She leaned forwards and twined her fingers round his own.

Suzanne set Colin in his cradle. He'd fallen asleep in her lap after the Courland sisters, Talleyrand, and Cordelia and Livia left. She'd sat holding him in her arms for a long time, savoring the solid warmth of his body, the even rise and fall of his breathing, the soft brush of his hair beneath her fingers. The most genuine thing in her life, her anchor in this web of lies. She drew the yellow-flowered quilt, a gift from Malcolm's aunt, over Colin and stared for a moment at her son's initials, worked in one corner. She could scarcely believe the gift Talleyrand had given her. Yet she knew how precarious her life remained.

"I never get tired of watching him sleep." Malcolm's voice came from the doorway.

Suzanne turned to smile at her husband. "I told Doro and Willie and Cordy that Paul and Juliette and the children are safely in England."

Malcolm moved to her side and slid his arm round her. "Since that night Rivere told me Tania had a child, this is the first time I've known the child was safe." His lips brushed her hair. "I'll never forgive myself for failing Tania. Knowing Pierre is safe doesn't change that, but-It's a long time since I've done anything I could be unquestioningly proud of."

Suzanne pressed a kiss against his throat. She knew all too well that guilt couldn't be banished, but there were shadows gone from his eyes that had been there since Vienna. "Tatiana would be grateful to you. And I think she'd have done the same for Colin."

Malcolm's gaze went to the cradle. Colin was flopped on his back, one arm curled round his stuffed bear, the other flung up over his head. "I owe O'Roarke an incalculable debt."

Her throat closed. "I think he was glad to do it." That much, she thought, was the truth.

"When I was a child he was one of the few people I could depend on. I hadn't realized how much that was still the case." He rested his chin on her head. "I found myself envying him, acting on his principles, not serving a particular master."

Suzanne turned her face into her husband's cravat to stifle a laugh or a sob. "When are we leaving for England?"

"I didn't say I'd decided."

She tilted her head back and studied her husband's face. The changeable gray eyes, the flexible mouth, the determined lines of nose and cheekbones. "I don't always need words to read you, Malcolm. I don't think you'll be able to put up with Castlereagh and Wellington much longer."

He gave a bleak smile. "They've at least agreed to clear Bertrand Laclos."

"Do you think Bertrand will come back?"

Concern flickered in his gaze. "I hope so." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I hope he's learned that you can't run away from the past."

She swallowed. Hard. Then she touched his face, her fingers not quite steady. "No. All one can do is focus on the future. Wherever it may lead."

Rupert closed the door of his study and dropped down at the desk. Gabrielle was out with Stephen and the house felt quiet. Oddly, he felt easier with Gaby now he was no longer trying to make himself think of her as his wife. Instead he could see the friend of his childhood. It was something to be grateful for.

The afternoon heat had leached into the room. He unb.u.t.toned his coat and tugged at his cravat in a way that would horrify his valet. He'd had no word from Bertrand since Bertrand had driven out of the inn yard with the St. Gilles family. And it was Malcolm to whom Bertrand had sent word of their safe arrival in England, not him. Which made sense, Malcolm was the one who had engaged Bertrand's services. But that didn't take away the sting.

A month ago Rupert would have said he could simply be happy knowing Bertrand was alive and safe. But now he knew that was laughable. He felt torn in two.

He looked round at the stir of the door against the carpet, expecting the footman. His breath stopped. Bertrand stood in the doorway, the shadows from the pa.s.sage at his back, the light from the windows falling over his face. It was still hard to believe he was real and not a ghost.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

"It won't be easy," Bertrand said. "And we can't go back."

"No," Rupert said. It hurt to breathe. As though the wrong step could shatter his every hope for the future. "But we can find a way to move forwards."

Bertrand met his gaze and stepped towards him.

HISTORICAL NOTES.

Unlike Vienna Waltz and Imperial Scandal, in which I was specific about dates, with The Paris Affair I have used a more open time line so I could weave in a number of events in the late summer of 1815. For instance, Edmond Talleyrand's duel with Karl Clam-Martinitz and the Duke of Wellington's ball took place on 30 July. Harriet Granville and her husband were present, but Caroline and William Lamb had not yet arrived in Paris. Wellington's difficulties with Frances Webster's husband came to a head later in the month, and Wilhelmine's affair with Stewart also came to an end later than it does in the book. Fitzroy Somerset was in England recovering from his wounds at the time, but I have put him and his wife in Paris.

The Royalist plot in which etienne and Christian Laclos and Antoine Rivere were involved is fictional, but the British are known to have financed a number of Royalist plots. Fouche is also suspected of having employed agents provocateur.

Clam-Martinitz did wound Edmond Talleyrand in the face in their duel, but Edmond did not attempt to strike Clam-Martinitz in the back (my apologies to Edmond for this bit of authorial license). Dorothee attended Wellington's ball the night of the duel (Harriet Granville remarks on how she danced as though nothing had occurred), but she did not attempt to stop the duel and she did not get caught up in an anti-Bonapartist attack afterwards.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY.

Boigne, Adele d'Osmond, Comtesse de. Memoirs of the Comtesse de Boigne, vol. 1. New York: Helen Marx Books, 2003.

Cooper, Duff. Talleyrand. New York: Grove Press, 2001.

Creevey, Thomas. The Creevey Papers: A Selection from the Correspondence & Diaries of Thomas Creevey, M.P. Edited by Sir Herbert Maxwell. London: Murray, 1904.

Frazer, Augustus. The Letters of Colonel Sir Augustus Simon Frazer, K.C.B. London: Longman, Brown, Green, Longmans, & Roberts, 1859.

Granville, Harriet. Letters of Harriet Countess Granville 18101845, vol. 1. London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1894.

Gronow, Rees Howell. Reminiscences and Recollections of Captain Gronow, vol. 1. London: John C. Nimmo.

Jones, Proctor Patterson (editor). Napoleon: An Intimate Account of the Years of Supremacy. San Francisco: Proctor Jones Publishing Company, 1972.

Kincaid, John. Adventures in the Rifle Brigade. London: T. and W. Boone, Strand, 1830.

Longford, Elizabeth. Wellington: Pillar of State. New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1972.

McGuigan, Dorothy Gies. Metternich and the d.u.c.h.ess. New York: Doubleday & Company, 1946.

Mercer, Cavalie. Journal of the Waterloo Campaign. London: Greenhill Books, 1989.

A READING GROUP GUIDE.

THE PARIS AFFAIR.

Teresa Grant.