Instead, she called out, “Coming.”
Taking a last glance in the small square looking glass resting on top of her chest of drawers, she found her reflection to be favorable. A silk gown in her favorite shade of vibrant green with delicate flowers embroidered on the skirt, it was one of the few evening gowns she’d brought from home.
A silver chain holding a jade pendant from her grand-mère lay against her chest. She accompanied this with silver ear-bobs she’d bought at the shop where Suzanne worked in the Palais-Royal.
In her hair, a silver comb held up carefully crafted curls at the back. The last time she’d got ready for an evening, she’d had her mother’s maid to help her and had worn emeralds and gold instead, but her grand-mère had done a spectacular job.
Grabbing a soft shawl, Serena descended to find Monsieur Branley in the sitting room with her grandparents, already drinking fine Renault wine.
And perhaps taking her chaperone duties too literally, Madame Fournier was seated on the divanbetweenher grandparents.
However, Serena’s gaze landed and remained on Monsieur Branley.
Setting his glass down, he rose to his feet when she entered, as did her grand-père.
“Mademoiselle Renault, you look well,” her escort said, and his gaze flickered up and down with particular appreciation.
Serena hadn’t imagined Malcolm Branley could look more handsome than he already did, but his present appearance nearly knocked her off her feet as assuredly as he had done physically the night they’d met.
Looking polished for the evening, he wore the black coat and cream breeches of a gentleman, with tall black boots and a proper hat, nothing like the cloth cap of a baker. And his thick brown hair was brushed back most becomingly.
The flickering warmth became a sizzling heat inside her, and she was thrilled at the thought of being in his arms for a dance. Or maybe two.
“Will you have some wine?” he asked, which struck her as amusing since it was her home and her grandparents’ wine, but she nodded all the same.
He turned to the table where the carafe and glasses were, but her grand-père was already pouring. When they all had a glass again, it was her sparkling-eyed grand-mère who made the toast.
“To a wonderful night for you young people.”
Her grand-père glowered. “To a peaceful, prosperous time for our kingdom.”
Serena was a surprised he had mentioned such a thing, since France was already being called an empire again. Her escort for the evening hesitated, but then he raised his glass to his lips with a nod of agreement.
“The wine is delicious. I can see why it is so popular at the cafés and restaurants of the Palais-Royal and at the Tuileries Palace.”
Her grand-père cleared his throat. “Sometimes, it is necessary to have the favor of the latter in order to be able to continue doing business with the former.”
“Of course,” Monsieur Branley agreed, and nothing more.
Serena wrinkled her nose. Her grand-père made it sound as though the Renaults were entirely mercenary and had no firm belief, as if it didn’t matter whether there was a Bourbon king or a self-appointed emperor as long as they could continue to sell their wine. She knew this wasn’t the case at all.
The two men stared at one another for a moment. Then her grand-mère said, “Your French is good, monsieur.”
“My vocabulary is, I suppose, although as your granddaughter has reminded me, my accent is not particularly fine. Something along the lines of a Spanish cow, I believe.”
“Mon Dieu!”her grand-mère exclaimed. “You didn’t?”
Serena’s cheeks turned pink at her reproachful look, as if she’d come downstairs and insulted their guest on the spot. Even Madame Fournier made a clucking sound. Yet her grand-père nodded in agreement, although he never tried to speak a word of English himself.
Serena could do nothing more than offer a smile of apology. She hadn’t meant to be rude at the time, only cautious.
“Obviously, monsieur, you do not live here permanently,” her grand-père said, giving Serena a meaningful nod.Don’t get too attached,he was reminding her.
That struck her as ironic considering she hoped with each of her mother’s letters that she would be invited home. Instead, it was always stories of how trying her teen-aged brothers were, even though Serena knew her mother was comforted by having them under foot to keep her busy.
What’s more, with Monsieur Branley in Paris, she felt perfectly satisfied to stay put for the time being.
Her escort paused again.Would he divulge more than he had before?
