“I find that the wine has tired me. Mr. Radnor, perhaps you will bring me to the carriage. Then you can return and finish this fine meal.” She gave Forestier a dazzling smile. “Your hospitality will long be remembered. It is one of the most wonderful experiences of my first visit to your city.”
Forestier looked sad to see her go. Kevin escorted her down to the main salon, then out to the carriages.
“He would have talked about nothing all night if I remained,” she said. “I am annoyed he will not discuss business in front of a woman, especially when it isherbusiness, but better if I retreat so progress can be made.”
He handed her into the carriage. “Tomorrow I will tell you what happened.”
“Not until late afternoon. I have some place I intend to go earlier.” She gave him a sharp glance. “I hope that you will come to an agreement with him tonight.”
* * *
Rosamund sat in the hired carriage she had asked the hotel to procure for her. The street looked to be a fine one, much like the streets in Mayfair. The homes appeared of similar size to those in that neighborhood too, only they had a different style. They had very steep roofs, for one thing. The long windows appeared similar to the kind the hotel had, ones that swung out to open instead of rising up.
The coachman had asked her twice already if all was well because she had remained in the carriage so long after it stopped. She kept watching a door on one of the houses, wishing it would open and Charles would step out. How much easier this would be if she could simply come upon him while he walked along.
It was not to be. She steeled her courage and rapped on the little window. The coachman climbed down and came to help her out. She took stock of her ensemble and made sure her bonnet was not askew. Stomach churning with excitement and trepidation, she walked to that door.
An old man opened it. She handed him her card and asked to see Charles Copley. She imagined Charles’s surprise when he saw the card, and not only because she had called. Charles would probably be astonished to see that she even had a card, let alone one with that street on it.
She waited for the rush of steps coming toward her and Charles bursting into this reception hall and his happy surprise in seeing her. She had seen this day in her mind many times, like a play unfolding on a stage. Now she was here, and she almost wept with her relief that the long wait was over.
Steps. Not rushing, but measured and slow. The older man reappeared. He gestured for her to follow him.
They walked through the house, past a dining room and a few other doors. In the back, the man took her outside. She found herself in a garden.
“There is a stone bench in the back,” he said. “If you could wait there.”
She strode the path to the back and found the bench. She sat and waited. She could not see the house well from here. After a few moments, she saw the crown of a dark head coming toward her. Slowly, the rest of that head came into view. The dark curls. The gray eyes. The face she adored.
Charles.
She smiled and her eyes misted. She did not bother to wipe them. There was no shame in happiness.
He smiled back. She just looked at him, allowing his presence to fill in her memories. His face had grown firmer. Harder. Well, five years made a difference in a young man. He’d only been eighteen when she last saw him. She probably looked very different too. His dark hair had been dressed as fashionably unruly, and his long frock coat showed the fitted sleeves and broad lapels popular in Paris. His eyes—She remembered them full of joy and impish humor. Now their pale color looked opaque and . . . older.
“Rosamund.”
It was only when he said her name that she realized he had been standing silently in front of her for some time.
“I expect you are surprised.” She had to battle the urge to dance over to him.
“Stunned. What are you doing here?”
A slight misgiving wormed its way into her excitement. “I am visiting Paris and decided to call. It has been so long since I saw you.”
He took a few steps towards her. “A very long time. I almost did not recognize you.”
“Surely I haven’t changed so much.”
“Not very much. Still lovely.” His gaze drifted down. “You have done well for yourself.”
“I have, much to my surprise.”
Again that long gaze, as if he calculated the cost of her ensemble. She could no longer ignore that he remained very reserved. Distant. Hardly delirious with joy.
He looked down, and she realized he held her card and was looking at the address.
“Is this your home now?”
