“That is true. My permanent home is in Britain.”
“And you are here for work or for pleasure?” her grand-père persisted.
Rolling her eyes at Pépère’s interrogation, she decided to put a stop to it before she lost her chance to go to a fête at the Palais du Luxembourg. She would hate to have to return to her room and remove her finery.
“Regardless of whether Monsieur Branley is in France for work, tonight, it is supposed to be for fun,n’est-ce-pas?” She turned to him. “Shall we go?”
“I am honored to escort you, mademoiselle.”
Madame Fournier cleared her throat.
“And madame, as well,” he amended.
Soon, they were squeezed into afiacre, riding down the Rue du Louvre toward the Pont Neuf, taking the bridge over the Seine and down toward the old royal palace on the Rue de Vaugirard. While she’d strolled its beautiful gardens, Serena had never been inside the Palais du Luxembourg where the emperor had once lived before turning it into a building for the legislature.
Perhaps to show his solidarity with the common people and with the Parisian senate, Napoleon had decided to hold one of his celebrations there. On the same night, others would rejoice at the nearby Odéon theatre, while still more Parisians would be across the Seine at the Comédie-Française.
“It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” Madame Fournier was the first to speak when they came upon the well-lit pale, stone building.
Since the gardens were for daytime viewing, Serena had never been there at night and never seen how the old palace appeared with lanterns shining through the windows. The entire façade was shimmering.
“It does,” she agreed.
Monsieur Branley helped both of them down, and then as naturally as a gentleman at Mayfair, he took Serena’s hand, placing it in the crook of his arm, letting her chaperone fall into step behind. Her father would approve of his manners so far.
Once inside, they climbed the immense staircase, the Escalier d’Honneur, to the second floor. Everywhere were vases of fresh flowers from the surrounding countryside, giving the interior a splendid scent as rich and fragrant as the bouquet of a French perfume.
In the long hall where everyone had gathered, her gaze was instantly captured by the domed, painted ceilings, as fine as any artwork she’d ever seen. An enormous central chandelier glowed with enough candles to light the entire spacious chamber, although wall sconces were also lit, reflecting a room that was gilded from top to bottom.
“Gracious!” said Madame Fournier, her mouth open.
“Do you like to dance?” Monsieur Branley asked Serena, as musicians were already playing somewhere at the far end, beyond the crowd of guests.
“Very much,” she said. “Although I haven’t danced recently.”
“Nor I,” he agreed. “We shall enjoy recalling our steps together.”
Everything was very much like the private balls she’d attended in London. People in their finery stood around the edges of the room, the musicians were at one end, and the dancing was in the middle, beginning with a quadrille.
Leaving Madame Fournier by the floor-to-ceiling windows, Serena let Monsieur Branley sweep her onto the dance floor. In the middle of the crowd of other dancers, he gave her his winsome smile.
“Finally alone,” he quipped, referring to her chaperone.
She laughed, and at that moment, had to do a quick spin with another man before she returned to him. That would be the way of it all night, Serena feared, with only the briefest chance for anything more than a few words.
However, to her delight, the next dance was a waltz, not the quicksauteuse, either. It was a slow, romantic waltz, and Monsieur Branley did not turn her over to another partner. Since it was demanded by the dance, he held her closely without censure, even from her chaperone.
The warmth of his palm in the small of her back seemed a most intimate touch, and their clasped hands, even with gloves on, was thrilling. Letting him lead her through the exciting steps, Serena felt as if her slippered feet barely touched the polished floor.
He looked down at her. “I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity.”
“As am I,” she agreed, letting her gaze drift to his attractive lips which curved into a grin.
“You have an expressive face, mademoiselle. I can almost tell what thoughts are flittering behind your emerald eyes.”
Hopefully not,she thought. For her mind was taking her places she shouldn’t want to go. Not with him. Not alone.
She merely smiled back at him. And too soon, their waltz ended.
