“I will say nothing more about him,” I promised. “I have no wish to be ejected from town, with my daughter’s wedding approaching.”
“Yes, you cannot miss that,” Madame Paillard said. “Marrying a Devere will see her well cared for. They have more put by than most people know. They are worth far more than the aristocrats on the hill, but those are the times now.”
“I am glad to hear it,” I said. “I would not like Gabriella to live in poverty.”
“She certainly will not, as long as the Deveres behave themselves. They can sometimes be a bit arrogant, knowing not many will oppose them, though Fernand keeps them reined in well.”
“I think I have blundered with Fernand,” I confessed. “His friendliness toward me has vanished, but I made the mistake of mentioning Monsieur Potier.”
“He will come around,” Madame Paillard decreed. “Once he regains his temper and realizes you spoke from ignorance.”
Fernand’s reaction troubled me even more in light of Grenville’s revelation that Potier had never reached Paris. I had written an inquiry about Potier myself a few days ago, to a man who seemed to know everything about everyone, everywhere. Even if Denis had never heard of Potier, he had the resources to discover all information about him.
“Humble yourself to Fernand Devere,” Madame Paillard suggested. “If you wish to keep the peace. He likes to rule his own world.”
“I have noted that,” I said. “Those in the ironworks seem devoted to him.” I thought of Michel, who watched me so closely whenever I appeared.
“They are,” Madame Paillard agreed. “It is one reason why they’ve been so successful. That and selling their wares to everyone in Lyon.”
“As well as England and Stuttgart,” I added. “Fernand travels much.”
“He does.” Madame Paillard said the words quickly, as though she no longer wanted to speak of him. “You did not finish telling me what you thought of Lyon, Captain. I am always interested in an outsider’s opinion.”
“I like many things about it.” I realized she wanted to change the topic, and so I relayed how I enjoyed the markets and taking coffee and breakfast in Beaumont’s shop. I also admired the views from our villa, and the Roman ruins so casually strewn over the Fourvière hill.
“We are proud of our history,” Madame Paillard said when I’d finished. “We were a thriving civilization when Paris was only a barbarian settlement on a little island in the Seine.”
“London wasn’t even that,” I said. “According to my friend Grenville, who is an avid historian, even our native Celts did not live in London until the Romans came.”
The conversation turned to history, of which Madame Paillard knew much, and I knew a little. Colonel Moreau occasionally put in an opinion or pointed out a fact, but he was content to listen to his lady.
I recalled what he’d said to me when I’d asked why they hadn’t married. Our arrangement, it suits us. I could see that it did.
The pair were comfortable with each other, each putting in words when the other ran out of them. They exchanged fond looks when they did.
This house was decidedly Madame Paillard’s home, one she allowed Moreau to share with her when he was not in his own lodgings. She did not mention a husband, though a small painting of a man in military uniform, who was not Moreau, reposed on the mantelpiece. He could not be one of her sons, because the style of hair and uniform were ones from decades past.
In any case, Moreau was content for Madame Paillard to have her place, which he visited as he wished. They had closeness and their own lives at the same time.
I spent a pleasant afternoon in the cozy abode, finding myself glad for Moreau that he’d found such contentedness after the horrors of war. There had been far too much bleakness to go around.
When it was time to depart, I found myself reluctant to go. I was relaxed, filled with coffee and pastries, and wanted nothing more than to lean back and nap.
I bowed over Madame Paillard’s hand when she rose to say her farewells, thanked her for her hospitality, and let Moreau lead me to the door.
“I wonder that you were in a hurry to become an officer,” I told him as we paused on the house’s doorstep. “But not surprised you wished to return home.”
Moreau gave me a nod. “She had married the man arranged for her just before I left Lyon, which is why I so readily departed.”
“I congratulate you on your current happiness,” I said. “We all deserve such a thing.”
“As you say, Captain.” Moreau bowed to me, and I returned the bow with more respect. “Good afternoon.”
“Bonne journée,” I responded. I tipped my hat and stepped into the street, leaving Moreau to withdraw to the pleasantness within.
Brewster joined me as I neared the square, noticeably without the ledger. I trusted that he’d found a safe place for it, but I did not offend him by asking him where.
“I stepped into the downstairs of the lady’s house while you was learning things upstairs.” Brewster patted his belly. “I stayed in that kitchen any longer, I’d not have been able to fit out the door. Their cook is a dab hand.”
