“The Dowager Comtesse de Pontrevault.” Undoubtedly the majordomo had seen them, for he addressed the announcement to an invisible spot in the middle of the room. He bowed an elderly woman into the room and left after Diantha requested him to send up suitable refreshments.
They found themselves under the observation of a pair of twinkling eyes the color of a summer sky. “Ah, newlyweds. I recall my own days as a young bride.” The comtesse halted just inside the room, straight as a pillar in her fashionable ensemble. Although past sixty, her only concession to age was the walking stick she rested her joined hands on.
Kieran recovered first. “Madame, how kind of you.” He kissed the fine-boned hand held out to him and addressed her in slightly accented French. “It is an unexpected and welcome honor.”
“It is entirely my pleasure, Lord Rossburn. I trust your family is well?” The lines around her eyes and mouth crinkled as she smiled at him.
“So far as I know, madame. Much as I enjoy your lovely country, I look forward to returning home.” He gestured to Diantha. “May I present my wife?”
Her wide grin at the noblewoman earned a glare from her husband, which she ignored. “Madame, it is so very good to see you!” Her schooling served her well as she greeted the woman with flawless French.
“Dianthe, ma fille!”The comtesse rustled towardher in a cloud of organdy and bergamot perfume. “Why so formal, my dear?”
As they kissed one another’s cheeks and embraced, she could not resist smirking at her husband over the other woman’s shoulder. His dumbfounded expression gratified her excessively.
Their guest chatted on. “You cannot conceive my delight, Lord Rossburn, to hear that my granddaughter’s dear friend was engaged to marry so distinguished a man.” She patted Diantha’s cheek. “Roch will be devastated.”
“As your grandson is a dreadful flirt, madame, I imagine he will recover the next time he sees a pretty girl.” She gave Kieran a saccharine smile. “Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”
His cheeks darkened at her tone, though whether with chagrin or embarrassment, she could not tell. Before he could reply, she begged the older woman to take a chair and sat down on a sofa nearby. As they exchanged news of their families and gossip, Kieran took the seat next to her, crossing his legs and laying his arm across its back. Diantha sat up a bit straighter. The long fingers, near enough to just graze the fabric of her sleeve, distracted her from the other woman’s conversation.
A footman appeared bearing petits fours and small fruit tartlets on a round tray, along with glasses and a bottle of sherry. After everyone had been served, Kieran leaned forward.
“How long have you and Lady Rossburn known each other, madame?”
Diantha glanced at him, but his face betrayed only curiosity.
The comtesse beamed. “She and my only grand-daughter became friends when they attended the same school four years ago. When Sabine begged me to include her new friend in an invitation to visit me, I agreed.”
She reached over and patted Diantha’s knee. “I had no idea what to expect, but I have a soft spot for Sabine and braced myself for a wild American.”
“I think she expected me to show up dressed in animal skins.” Diantha chuckled.
“Instead a charming young lady got out of the carriage, with impeccable manners. Except for her penchant for swinging from trees.” She shook her head, tsking.
Kieran sat bolt upright, an unholy grin lighting his features. “What? Madame, you must tell me!”
Next to him, Diantha could not keep from laughing even as she protested. “No, I beg you! Not that story again!”
“Again? You mean all Paris knows about this—proclivity of my wife’s?” Kieran looked at her, trying to imagine his shy, slightly stodgy wife engaging in such outrageous behavior. She glanced over, merriment brimming in her face.
As their eyes met, something passed between them, almost like affection. Startled, he realized she had never completely relaxed in his company, even during their one night together. He wondered what would have happened between them if they had met like this, instead of in the stifling atmosphere surrounding her parents. Then the comtesse spoke and the moment slipped away.
“My son, the current comte, and I were strollingat the far end of our garden one afternoon—it is designed as a wilderness and abuts the Loire, I must invite you both to visit someday—and out of the blue we see Miss Quinn swinging out from a tree overhanging the river! I was never so stunned in my life.” She thumped her stick on the floor for emphasis.
“She had removed her jacket and looped it over a branch above her head, then used it to launch herself from one side of the trunk around to the other.” Wagging a bony finger, she regarded the younger woman with mock severity. “I wanted to give you the scold of your life!”
“And so you did,” Diantha replied drily. A second later, she giggled. “But you had to stop laughing first.”
“Wicked girl, you nearly gave me a fatal spasm! What if you had fallen in?” The comtesse shook her head even as another chuckle escaped her.
“Pooh! I was entirely safe.” Kieran watched in near amazement as she bantered with one of the bastions of Paris society. “I learned how to pick out sturdy branches when I was a girl.”
He could not resist joining in with a bit of raillery. “Come now, you don’t expect us to believe that. Even in America, I doubt that governesses routinely teach young ladies the varying strength of different trees.”
“Certainly not.” She sniffed disdainfully. “My brothers taught me at Cliff Heights. One tree hanging out over the Hudson was especially fun.”
He gaped at her. “Do you mean to tell me that you did that hanging a hundred feet above theriver?” She nodded. “Good God, it’s a wonder you weren’t killed.”
