He retorted that the thought of dodging eligible daughters was alarming, and he was grateful that he had a wife to protect him. They’d both laughed. He loved the way they could laugh together. White Horse Manor was feeling very much like home.
The days of their idyll drifted together until a fortnight had passed. March had arrived and the day was lovely and sunny, early spring rather than winter, so they rode across the valley to visit the white horse. The shape was impossible to recognize close up, but Suzanne was intrigued by the crushed white chalk that filled and defined the ancient depressions.
They shared a pleasant picnic lunch on the hillside before heading for home. Their light mood faded when they entered the house and Simon found a letter franked by Lord Kirkland. He broke the wafer and read it, his brow furrowing.
“Bad news?” Suzanne asked.
“Not really, but the honeymoon is over. Kirkland says that the Comte de Chaurry, an influential émigré, is holding an entertainment in three days and a card of invitation will be waiting for us in London. So it’s time to return to the real world.” He glanced up at Suzanne. “Is de Chaurry one of the émigrés you met when you first came to London?”
She made a face. “Yes. He looked through me as if I was a scullery maid but he wasn’t actively insulting.”
Simon frowned. “Are you ready to face him and his snobbish friends?”
She smiled wryly. “With you beside me, I’m ready to face anyone.”
They were a team now. And if anyone insulted her, he’d break them in half.
Chapter 14
Suzanne did her best to suppress her nervousness as their carriage stopped before the de Chaurry mansion. “I’m glad Jenny will be returning from Dorset this week to start looking after me, but even without her, I’m better dressed than when I first arrived in London.” She stroked a hand over her emerald-green silk skirts.
“You look particularly beautiful tonight, and beauty is power,” Simon said seriously.
“And if beauty isn’t enough, I have those defensive moves you taught me.” She smiled wryly at him. “The ability to fight back lends confidence.”
“Indeed it does, but I hope that the evening won’t require you to break anyone’s fingers.” He helped her down from the carriage. “From now on, we speak French.”
“Oui, milord,” she said demurely as she took his arm and they ascended the steps to the heavily carved double doors.
Suzanne felt odd as she tried to think in French. Though it was her native language, in Constantinople she’d had almost no opportunity to use it and she’d been speaking English since she escaped captivity. At her request, she and Simon spoke English almost all the time because she’d wanted to become more fluent.
Constant practice had worked; though she wasn’t truly bilingual like Simon, her English had improved dramatically. Now, alas, she must once again play the role of a French noblewoman. She had become very good at playing roles, first as an obedient young countess, later as a submissive harem slave who had accepted her fate.
She was feeling a good deal less submissive since marrying Simon. Drawing on her years as an expensive and highly polished French countess, she raised her chin and held the arm of her warrior husband as they entered the house.
As soon as they stepped into the vestibule, they heard the sounds of music and laughter and voices chattering in French. She was instantly jarred into her old life, and remembered how trapped she’d felt as Jean-Louis’s wife. She’d been like a canary in a gilded cage, meant to be admired, not listened to.
“How are you managing?” Simon asked under his breath.
Simon, God bless him, paid attention to her. “Well enough, though it’s an odd feeling to be in a grand French household again.”
“Agreed. I haven’t been in French society for many years.” He smiled at her. “Luckily, we are both very adaptable.”
After Simon gave their names to a footman, they were escorted upstairs to the hosts, who were receiving guests. “Colonel and Madame Duval,” the footman announced.
“Welcome to my home,” the Comte de Chaurry said. He was silver haired and elegant, as was his very fashionable wife. “I’ve heard you are now the Comte de Chambron?”
“It seems presumptuous to claim the title when I’m not entirely sure,” Simon said as he took the other man’s hand for a brief handshake. “Several cousins stood between me and the title. France is still too unsettled for certainty.”
He drew Suzanne forward. “But there is no question that my wife is the Comtesse de Chambron, as she is the widow of the last verified comte.”
De Chaurry’s eyes narrowed as he registered that fact. His wife looked as if she’d bitten into a sour lemon when she was presented to Suzanne. In her turn, Suzanne looked ironically amused and was impeccably polite to her hostess.
De Chaurry began to introduce them around the room. Suzanne and Simon were studied thoroughly, but greetings were civil. Halfway around the room, a well-dressed woman who was chatting with friends turned and gave a gasp of shock. “Suzanne, my darling girl, can that really be you?”
Suzanne caught her breath as she recognized the attractive, dark-haired woman. “Madeline de Sevigny! It’s been so long!” The two women came together in an enthusiastic embrace. After they released each other, Suzanne turned to Simon. “Madeline and I were neighbors for several years, milord.”
“I heard that you died in a corsair attack along with your husband,” Madeline said as she stepped back to study Suzanne. “But you are blooming! And your husband also.” She turned to Simon, then blinked. “You are not Jean-Louis. He had brown eyes.”
