What was Amélie’s story? She knew none of it. “Was that the choice you had to make?”
“Oui,” Amélie said again, looking directly at her once more. “Why I have said this is that once the choice is made to survive, there open up more choices. I do not say Lucy’s history is anything like my own story, but I know something of what I speak. I will share part of it with you if you would like.”
She nodded, throat too constricted for speech.
“I was born into afamille aristocratique. I have, as you see, become something very different, like so many who have survivedLa Terreur. My parents were sent the summer of my fourteenth year to the guillotine, betrayed by a family friend who accused them of antirevolutionary sentiment at a time when the truth had ceased to matter. As I was not yet grown, I was not given their fate to share. That false friend was enamored of my beauty, offering me protection for the price of my virtue. This became my first choice. Would I deny him and follow my parents into death, which some might argue was the only godly choice, or would I choose my life?”
The answer was self-evident.
“I nearly chose the first, but had I, who then would have remembered the lives of my parents? I could have found no way to avenge them if I too did not live. And so I became to this man his mistress, although I had for him no fondness at all. Followed, in fact, by hatred once I learned of his betrayal, but that I keptconcealed while I remained under his control. When he tired of me, I made then of myself a courtesan to other powerful men. I became a woman who could not be broken by any man. During the consulship of Napoléon, I became owner of L’Orchidée and so was of my own fate truly in command. My clientele has among its customers men in the upper tiers of many governments and the nobility of many countries. Men who are—sometimes—softened by drink and byles rapports sexueles. Of this a wise woman can make use.”
Clearly Amélie had forged herself into a grand player in the same world occupied by men like Nathaniel. It took her years, as she described it, some of those almost certainly bitter, to rise to the position she now commanded. But she had done so, first by surviving.
It was terrifying, put alongside Lucy’s story, yet it offered Isobel a modicum of hope. “Thank you. For telling me your story.”
“I do not say this is like Lucy’s story,” Amélie reiterated. “But some of the small choices which then become the big choices, they may be similar.” She leaned forward slightly. “You have chosen also to survive, although your situation is most different.”
What else was there for her to have done? She said as much: “Ihad no other choice.”
Amélie smiled. “Non, ma chère, you very much had a choice. You chose to continue when grief might have crippled you. And you have chosen to act, which decisions have brought you here to France, bravely to search for your sister, when you might have remained at home safely. And now, perhaps, you are choosing again to live for yourself in some small ways. Unexpected ones.” Lightly Amélie touched beside the faint bruise on her arm.
Small ways...Thatdid not feel small. Someday, far from here and a long time from now, she would need to consider it. But itwas not what mattered, not right now. Not with danger to herself, to Nathaniel, to Lucy?—
If Thérèse was Lucy, Lucy too wassurviving. She must think of that now, only of that. Aiding Nathaniel in making connections with Compton and Dubois regardless, but also—oh, merciful God above, shehoped—garnering the chance to bring Lucy home. It was more than she’d allowed herself to truly believe might happen, even as she’d made her plans, taken the packet from Dover, travelled from Calais to Paris, haunted Les Moineaux for a glimpse of Compton.
No matter what Amélie said, she could picture no other choice for herself. Backing out? No. No one would fault her, but she wouldn’t do it. If Thérèse was at Le Repaire tonight, she must be there too.
She had lived with so much. She could not live with regret, if she did not do all that she could.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose I have chosen to survive. I will continue to do so, God willing. And I will go to Le Repaire tonight.”
Amélie nodded. “I will send to Nathaniel a note telling him this is what you have decided, to go tonight to Le Repaire. And I will arrange a word for Chrysanthème as well. Afterwards we will choose for you another dress.” She smiled. “Our dresses, they may be disguises, and our bodies weapons when we choose,oui?”
Yes.
She was committed. This was her second choice.
The engagement tonight at Le Repaire exponentially increased the likelihood that harm might befall Isobel if she attended. It was also the best opportunity Nate had had thus far to infiltrate Compton’s and Dubois’s network.
It was also one of the more fraught situations in which he’d found himself in the course of his work, with so many unknowns and multiple dangerous individuals—and he was bringing a civilian into it. Not only a civilian, but the woman who had shared his bed the past two nights.
He’d lost objectivity, weighing risks against the possible gain of having Isobel present, after what had passed between them privately in his rooms.
Beaumont’s rooms, he acerbically amended himself. Although behind closed doors it had very much been Nate Blackmore.
He could analyze the situation rationally... but aye, he’d lost his objectivity when it came to decision-making. If he hadn’t become involved with Isobel, he would be assessing her presence solely on whether it was wise given Thérèse might be Lucy Muir. Dubois had strongly hinted he suspected that connection. In addition, it was clear Dubois mistrusted that he was who he represented himself as, as Beaumont, and might well be setting a trap in the form of tonight’s meeting.
What did Dubois gain, intentionally tipping his hand that way?
Would Isobel be able to keep it from her face if Thérèse was her sister? Certainly she would try, but when the entire reason she’d come to France was to seek out her sister, how could she not betray some emotion? And there was Miss Muir’s own reaction to consider. Isobel was at least prepared for the possibility. Her sister was not. Walking into a meeting with both women present—ifit was Miss Muir—was akin to bringing a burning spill into a room full of powder kegs. It was possible no spark would strike danger. Conversely, it might blow the entire operation to high heaven.
Had there been more time, had not the meeting been tonight, he could have learned more about Baron Cuvelier’s mistress, perhaps find a means of observing her. Unless her appearance wasgreatly altered in some way, he was confident he’d recognize Miss Muir. He’d studied her miniature, but moreover he’d been in Isobel’s close company for several days, whose eyes Lucy shared. Isobel’s presence was not explicitly required for the sake of determining if Thérèse was indeed Miss Muir. He could make excuses for Isobel’s absence tonight, although certainly it wouldn’t allay any of Dubois’s suspicions. Would likely increase them, in fact.
On the other hand, if Isobel wasnotthere, he was a stranger to Miss Muir. Even assuming he could somehow signal to her that he was not her foe, if the situation turned ugly tonight—a definite possibility—and it became the only opportunity to remove her, Miss Muir would have no reason whatsoever to trust him. Even with Isobel present, she might not, given who he was meant to be.
If Miss Muir had been unwillingly dropped into the middle of this mess, as opposed to working cooperatively with Compton, she was not only a British civilian but valuable to the Foreign Office. A cynical thought but also inarguable truth.
So many latent dangers tonight. They might well be walking into a trap. However, if their actions in thesalle écarlatehad convinced Dubois that he was truly the sort of man he claimed to be, that Isobel was what she claimed to be, not bringing her along might create new suspicions.
