“Would you have a claim on the property since you’re the widow of who might have been the last legitimate owner?”
“Jean-Louis was not a man to explain legal issues to a mere female,” she said dryly. “But my guess is that the property would go to the nearest surviving male relative, along with the title. Quite possibly you.”
“I sincerely hope not! I have enough responsibilities in England.” He squeezed her hand. “But at least curiosity will be satisfied by tomorrow night.”
She smiled back at him. “Yes, and I’ll be able to relegate the château to the distant and unlamented past.”
Simon hoped that was the case. But the past could be a Pandora’s box, with unexpected complications like this hunt for his cousin, who may or may not be alive.
Never mind. Tonight, a good dinner and a good night’s sleep with his warm and winsome wife awaited him.
* * *
Suzanne was pleased with both the country inn dinner and a quiet night sleeping in Simon’s arms. She hoped that in a few days she would recover from the panic she’d felt the night before. Soon, she hoped, she’d be ready to try again.
The next day’s journey was about thirty miles, the same length as the day before. She held tightly to Simon’s hand as Maurice drove them along an unkempt road leading into Château Chambron. “We’re barely in France, I see. I never realized how close the estate is to the border with Belgium. Jean-Louis was very focused on Paris and on being French. He considered French-speaking Belgians to be second-class Frenchmen. I’m not sure if he ever visited Brussels.”
“Did he own any other properties besides the château?”
“There was a rather grand house in Paris, but I believe that was rented. Long gone now, I’m sure.”
She gazed out at the drive that led up to the château. It was lined with tall elms that met above the track like a forest tunnel. “This drive was better kept when I lived here. I suspect that the estate has seen better days.”
A herd of small deer bolted across the road and disappeared into the woods on the other side. She remembered those deer. From the size of the herd, they had prospered.
The carriage emerged from the tree-lined entrance road and for the first time she saw the château. She gasped with shock. “Dear God!”
The once magnificent palace was a burned-out wreck, the roof collapsed and the stone blackened with rain-washed soot. “I wonder what happened here?” Simon asked calmly, his clasp comforting on her icy fingers. “And when it happened. Not too recently, I think.”
The splendid formal gardens in front of the château were wildly overgrown. She’d loved the château’s many gardens; they’d been her favorite part of the estate. Her mouth dry, she said, “The left wing wasn’t too badly damaged. Someone could live there.”
“Perhaps.” Maurice pulled the carriage to a halt in the semicircular drive in front of the ruined front entrance. Simon climbed out, flipping down the step and helping Suzanne down. She took his arm and they walked along the overgrown path that led toward the left wing.
The heavy door that opened into the wing suddenly swung open and a young man stepped out, a rifle in his hands. His clothing was ragged and his furious eyes were wild. “Leave immediately if you value your lives!”
They stopped and Simon moved his hand to Suzanne’s waist so he could shove her out of the way if this madman decided to shoot. “We have no desire to hurt you,” he said mildly. “May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Philippe Duval, the Comte de Chambron,” the young man snarled. “This place is mine, and trespassers will beshot!”
Chapter 21
Suzanne caught her breath, stunned, as the hard metallic snap of firearms being cocked sounded behind her. Jackson and Maurice were training their guns on the young man, and Maurice barked, “Stand down!”
For a terrifying moment, violence thickened the air, ready to erupt into blood. Then a thin young woman darted out the door. Her pale blond hair fell over her shoulders and her gaze was frantic. “No, Philippe!”
She lunged at the rifle and dragged the barrel down, sunlight glinting on her wedding band. His weapon fired and the sting of black powder filled the air, but the bullet lodged harmlessly in the ground.
“I’m sorry, my love, I can do no more,” Philippe said in a raw whisper as he sagged against his wife, on the verge of collapse.
Ordering her heart to slow down, Suzanne studied the young man’s face. He appeared ill and half crazed, but his dark hair and chiseled features proclaimed that he might well be blood kin to Simon and Jean-Louis.
Deciding that the women should take over, Suzanne said in her most soothing voice, “There is no reason for violence, Monsieur le Comte. We are mere visitors and likely relatives of yours.”
The young man’s hand jerked on the rifle, though he didn’t seem to have the strength to lift it. “You won’t have Château Chambron!”
“We don’t want it.” Suzanne made a calming hand gesture toward Simon and the men on the carriage and walked toward Philippe and the young woman. “I am Suzanne, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Philippe looked baffled but automatically clasped her proffered hand. His own hand was burning hot, and this close Suzanne could see the signs of a dangerous fever. Speaking to the young woman, she said, “You are Madame le Comtesse de Chambron?”
