“That’s noble of you, my friend. But it’s hard for me to witness her pain. I’ll agree to keep this to myself because I think you might be right. My daughter is intensely loyal. Now, tell me what you can about this undertaking.”
“As you would be aware, the Convention has voted to execute the King. I am to be part of an operation to rescue the dauphin from the Temple. He won’t live to become King if we don’t. We have little time. It must never become common knowledge that England took any part in it.”
Anthony sighed. “My best wishes go with you, my friend. If you return safely, and I pray that you do, I intend to tell Henrietta the truth.”
Christian offered him his hand. “No need for that. If I return, I’ll tell her myself. I only pray she’ll still want to hear it.”
* * *
The audience clapped and cheered as Verity walked off stage. The theatre was full every night, and as usual, a crowd of gentlemen waited at her door. She sighed. She was exhausted and planned to flee London at the closing of the play. She hadn’t made up her mind yet where she would go. She’d been invited to the Prince of Wales party in Brighton.
If a fragile hope had burned in her breast, that she and Anthony could be together, it was shattered her first morning back in London. She’d been rushing to the theatre and stood in the street as her carriage arrived. A man approached her. “Mademoiselle Garnier, I do declare.”
The Marquess of Ramsbotham bowed. He smiled at her, but behind the smile, she caught a calculated look. This was not a coincidence. He’d been waiting to see her. She remembered how clever and ruthless he was. He had a good reason to want revenge. “Didn’t I say we were sure to meet again?”
“So you did, my lord.”
“You go to the theatre?” He took her arm in a proprietary manner and assisted her into the carriage. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed in beside her.
“I don’t believe I invited you to join me.” Verity tried to still her anger. She must handle this man skillfully.
“You intend to stay in London a while, mademoiselle?”
“Until the end of the Season.”
“Excellent. I plan a house party at my country estate in Surrey this coming weekend. Some of my guests are French émigrés. I’d should like you to join us.”
“I’m afraid—”
He gestured to silence her. “Surely, after what we have been to each other? Think on it if you will.” His ardent gaze searched her face settling on her mouth. “I would not want it known that our… meeting, was just a cold-hearted bargain.”
The underlying threat was clear.
He kissed her gloved fingers.
Verity pulled her hand away. So arrogant and sure of himself, she wished she had her pistol. “How did you find your chateau, my lord?”
His eyes grew hard. “Abandoned and in ruins.” He banged on the carriage roof with his cane.
The carriage pulled up. He turned with a hand on the door handle. “Au revoir, mademoiselle. I will await your answer.”
If she failed to go, he would involve her in a scandal, which Anthony might be drawn into. She moaned. Must she be forever dealing with men like Ramsbotham? She was too tired for it.
* * *
Before departing for the country, Anthony visited his bank and, on his way home, called into his club, Boodles in Pall Mall. He was warmly greeted by the Tories he found there, some drinking, discussing politics and gossip, some playing cards. Word had spread about he and Philippe’s escape from France, although the facts remained vague and they’d kept Henrietta and Verity out of it. Friends patted him on the back and expressed their pleasure at finding him safe and sound and back on English soil. In the library, he nursed a whiskey and talked to a friend, Sir Thomas Pendlebury, who filled Anthony in on the latest news from parliament, and England’s declaration of war with France.
The news although not surprising, sent a bolt of fear through him. Christian’s assignment had become doubly dangerous. He remained worried about Hetta, too, who was cast down and unlike herself.
Sir Thomas talked of the successes and failures of the émigré army, a coalition recently formed with Prussia, Austria, England, Russia, and Spain. If Philippe were fit, he’d join them he felt sure.
A man he’d seen here at the club strutted through the room like a peacock, dressed in an emerald green silk coat. “Who is he?”
“The Marquess of Ramsbotham,” Sir Thomas said sotto voce. “He talks of having invited friends to his country estate for a house party. No doubt one of his risqué affairs that one might call an orgy if one were so inclined. He is bragging that he has a star attraction. A French actress, Verity Garnier. Says they share some history.”
Anthony clamped down on his jaw. When he gained some semblance of calm, he placed a hand on Sir Thomas’ shoulder. “I beg you not to put that suggestion about concerning Mademoiselle Garnier.”
If Sir Thomas was surprised, he hid it well. “But of course.”
