Something about her guilty look triggered his suspicions. Damnation, surely the chit wouldn’t be foolish enough to run away! His brows drew together, and he demanded curtly, “When did you last see her?”
“L-last night, my lord. She said she didn’t want to be disturbed this morning.”
The ever-calm Lord Radcliffe began to swear with startling fluency, then stood, towering over the frightened girl. “She has run away, and you have helped her.Where did she go?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” she said in a trembling voice.
The earl held her eyes with his and spoke softly, every word wielded like a weapon. “Anne Wilson, your father, your brothers, and your sister all work for me, as does your lover. He, I believe, is the sole support of an invalid mother and three younger children. I will ask you once more:Where is she?”
Annie started crying. She might have been a heroine if only her own welfare was involved, but the man in front of her had the power to beggar her entire family. How had he known about her and Will, cold stick of a man that he was? She had always thought him a good enough master who paid reasonable wages and never beat a servant, but now he terrified her. With a silent prayer for forgiveness, she quavered, “She’s gone to London, my lord.”
He nodded; it was the logical move. “Whom was she going to stay with?”
“I don’t know, my lord.” As his brow furrowed angrily, she said desperately, “As God as my witness, my lord, she wouldn’t tell me! Lady Christa was going to look for work. She asked me to find the names of registry offices.”
The earl looked at her anguished face and nodded in acceptance. “Whom did you ask for that information?”
“Mrs. Harris, my lord.”
“Send her in. If you wish to stay in this house, it will be as a parlor maid. Now, go, while I am still feeling merciful.”
Lord Radcliffe watched broodingly as she scuttled out of the room. Marie-Christine had often asked him to frank letters to émigré friends in London; he could remember most of the names and addresses if he tried, and Mrs. Harris could tell him what registry offices she had named. He rang for his valet. When that gentleman appeared, the earl said shortly, “Pack my clothes. We leave for London in an hour.” The valet bowed and left the room as quickly as possible. He had never seen his controlled, remote master with a face likethatbefore.
* * *
Suzanne de Savary had had a long day at the shop, followed by an overstimulating supper with her four children. It was not surprising that it took her several moments to recognize the figure at her door who managed to be both jaunty and disheveled at the same time. “Eh, Suzanne, I know I am déclassé, but surely you will not keep me on your doorstep?”
“Christa!” Suzanne shrieked before sweeping her into an embrace. When the children realized that their favorite cousin had arrived, pandemonium reigned for some time. The four children ranged in age from thirteen to six. Suzanne herself was a darkly handsome woman in her mid-thirties with the supremely stylish look of a certain kind of Frenchwoman. She was a first cousin of Christa’s mother and had known Christa all her life.
“We have just finished our evening meal, Christa, but there is bread and soup. You must be hungry.” Suzanne looked apologetic but Christa absolved her with a smile. Times were not easy for her cousin—this tiny flat above a draper’s shop was a far cry from the luxurious home she had known in Paris. Suzanne had fled to London three years before, when her husband was arrested. He was a Girondist who eventually went to the guillotine when his politics were declared too moderate.
“Some of your wonderful soup would be exactly right. And for these greedy urchins, I have some candied plums.” She stroked the spun-floss head of the smallest de Savary, Helene, as a ragged cheer went up. Even Suzanne looked pleased as Christa produced a packet acquired from a street vendor. Everyone in the de Savary household had a too-seldom-indulged sweet tooth.
A place was set at the table for Christa; if the amount of soup seemed meager, she made no complaint. While she ate, the children devoured the sticky plums and told her of their trials and triumphs since last they had met. After she had wiped up the last drop of soup with a piece of crusty bread, her cousin set a steaming pitcher on the table with a flourish.
“Oh, Suzanne!” Christa said as she inhaled reverently. “A proper pot of French coffee! For this I would havewalkedto London. These barbaric northerners have a way with tea, I admit, but their coffee . . .mon Dieu!”
Her cousin waved her hand grandly. “For you,ma petite, the best that Chateau de Savary has to offer.”
Another hour was spent in general conversation before the children’s heads began to nod. Only after they had been put to bed in the small back room did the two women start to talk seriously.
“Now, little cousin, you will tell me why you appear at my door, after dark, covered with mud, and without proper escort,” Suzanne said as she put the coffee on the stove to reheat; it was too precious to waste.
Christa sighed, feeling the weariness of her long day. “I am here to look for work. I know you have little space, but I hope I can stay a few nights while I visit the registry offices.”
Suzanne poured the last of the coffee into two mugs, then sat and eyed Christa thoughtfully while she sipped. Finally she said, “You are welcome to stay as long as you need, but you seemed to be very comfortably situated at Radcliffe Hall.” Her rising inflection made it more of a question.
“Charles’s uncle, the present Lord Radcliffe, tells me that I am destitute and that he wishes to marry me. I do not like the way he asks.” Christa shrugged. “So here I am.”
Suzanne studied her young cousin. It was hardly surprising the uncle was taken with the girl; her combination of blithe intelligence and delectable curves had won her many admirers. “I have never met this Lord Radcliffe, but he is said to be an honorable man as well as a very wealthy one. Did you not even consider his proposal?”
“No,” Christa said shortly. “I will marry for love or not at all.”
Suzanne raised her eyebrows. “You are sure? Love is all very well, but there is much to be said for wealth. It is a hard world for a woman alone.” Her eyes clouded as she was reminded of her own dilemma, then she continued, “What will you do?”
“I will find a position as a governess.” Christa leaned forward eagerly. “You know how Papa was about education! I know far more about history, literature, philosophy, and mathematics than most men who have been to university.” She grinned. “Myaccomplishmentsare not so good, but I am competent with music and drawing, and of course my French and my needlework.”
Suzanne looked dubious. “I do not doubt your learning, but you are young and have no experience.”
