Viscount Fortescue, for his part, was enchanted.
It turned out, he’d been undersecretary in Constantinople and knew Flora’s husband well.
It also turned out he was thirty-two, unmarried and boyishly handsome. Not magnificent like Simon. But fair and fine-featured, with deep blue eyes and a smile so sincere, Caroline didn’t wonder that he was successful as a diplomat.
They shared stories of Constantinople over dinner while the table at large talked of dogs and deer, grouse, and salmon fishing. Later over tea in the drawing room, they discovered further interests: books, opera, cards… Will was first-rate at whist and like Caroline, he spoke several languages. Although he didn’t care to hunt, he rode, and when he learned Caroline liked to ride as well, he insisted they go out the next morning.
Caroline hesitated. “I’m not sure… my duties__”
“Nonsense. Jane has enough staff to look after her children.” With a tactful authority, he made his wishes known to his hostess. Turning back to Caroline, a moment later, he winked. “There now. It’s taken care of. We ride tomorrow morning. I suspect, you could use a little holiday from the holidays.”
Caroline laughed. “It has been rather busy.”
“And different for you, I warrant,” he said, softly.
She smiled. “Perhaps, a little.”
“You should be the diplomat. I doubt you’ve spent your life chasing after little children.”
“The children are sweet and the earl and countess are pleasant in the extreme.” Her gaze was candid. “I’m not in a position to complain.”
“I understand.”
He looked at her with such kindness, she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry. It must be the holidays, she thought, tamping down her twinge of sadness. “How early a riser are you?” she asked, quickly, steering the conversation to safer ground.
“You need but state a time, and I’ll be ready.” “How amenable you are.” Her tone was light and playful and suddenly she remembered another man who was amenable, but in an entirely different way.
“One learns in the diplomatic service, although tonight, obligation is not an issue.” The viscount smiled. “I’m vastly smitten and more than willing.”
Chapter 19
While Caroline was finding Will a welcome change from those at Netherton Castle whose passions were for hunting alone, Simon was being ushered into the Parisian home of the Comte and Comtesse Louvois.
“I promise we won’t stay long, darling,” the Princesse de Mornay murmured, smiling up at him and squeezing his arm. “I simply have to make an appearance.”
In his usual intoxicated state-commonplace since leaving England-Simon barely listened.
“You know most everyone anyway,‘’ she added. ”We won’t stay for dinner.“ Releasing his arm, she unclasped her ermine cape and let a servant lift it from her shoulders.
Simon handed his hat and cape to a flunky and with the automatic politesse that operated no matter the level of alcohol in his blood, he turned to the princesse and offered her his arm.
The reception room they entered was filled with guests, bejeweled, well-dressed, their bloodlines representing the oldest families in France. Since the restoration, the ancient regime had returned to the exclusivity they preferred, which meant the more interesting salons were no longer held in the Faubourg St. Germain. The best attended parties were elsewhere, the criteria for admittance not bloodlines but quick wit. Simon hadn’t been to the Faubourg St. Germain since he’d come to Paris.
Inebriated or not, he knew whose home he was in and a portion of his consciousness was alert to the presence of their host as he followed Estelle on her conversational circuit of the room.
Not that he knew what he’d do when he met Louvois again.
Nor whether he even cared.
Estelle twined her fingers through Simon’s as they left a group of matrons seated on the perimeter of the room who immediately were abuzz with comments on the Duke of Hargreave’s charming address and good looks. “Just a few minutes more, darling, and we can leave. I have to make my bows to Althea and we’re free to go.” She surveyed the crowd. “I can’t believe she’s still dressing.”
As if on cue, a voice behind them exclaimed, “Darling Estelle! I’m so pleased you could come.”
When they turned, Simon came face to face with Louvois, and his new wife.
“What a lovely crush, Althea. But then your salons are always so delightful,” the princesse declared. “Have you met the Duke of Hargreave? Simon, this is my aunt, the Comtesse Louvois. You men are acquainted, I believe.”
“What a pleasure to meet you,” the comtesse murmured, surveying Simon with a practiced gaze.
The pleasure’s mine, La Comtesse.“ Simon bowed gracefully over her hand.
Aunt and niece exchanged quick glances of approval over Simon’s bowed head.
Louvois’s gaze was chill.
“We aren’t able to stay,” Estelle explained. “We’re expected at the theater.” She smiled at her aunt. “Not that we’d be missed in this crowd.”
“You can’t stay? Then you must come for dinner soon.” The comtesse gazed at Simon from under half-lowered lashes, open invitation in her eyes. “Will you be in Paris long?”
“I’m not sure.” His smile was one of politesse; Louvoise’s second wife wasn’t his style.
“Simon’s in his vagabond stage at the moment, aren’t you, darling?” Estelle patted Simon’s arm.
“Tired of English cunt, Hargreave?”
Shock and affront distorted the comtesse’s countenance. “Henri! That’s quite enough!”
“I heard you were the one tired of English cunt,” Simon drawled, gratified Louvois had thrown down the gauntlet; his coming here tonight suddenly had reason.
“One reaches a certain level of boredom, I suppose.”
“You left her destitute.”
Even Louvois’s wife who may not have understood the reason for the men’s antagonism, understood the tenor of Simon’s voice meant danger. “Henri, don’t you dare make a scene here.” The comtesse spoke with the authority of rank and personal wealth. “Take this elsewhere!”
“Simon, please…” Estelle tried to draw him away.
He shook off her hand. “Here or somewhere else, Louvois. I’m too drunk to give a damn.”
Louvois turned and walked away.
“Don’t wait for me,” Simon said, ignoring Estelle’s stricken expression.
The duke followed Louvois from the room. The men passed down the main staircase, then turned into a corridor leading to the back of the house. Reaching a door midway down the hallway, Louvois stopped and opened it.
Walking inside, he waited for Simon to enter.
A moment later, Simon stood facing him, the metallic click of the door latch loud in the silence of the room.
“You’re a long way from home,” Louvois murmured.
The duke glanced around the luxurious study. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
“When the legislature passes the law to restore estates, I’ll be doing even better.”
The two men facing each other were both tall, handsome men, but Louvois was older, his privileged life destroyed in his youth and it showed in the cynicism of his gaze.
Simon was immune to any subtleties of motive or desire, save his need for revenge. He rocked forward slightly on the balls of his feet. “Name your weapons, Louvois and we can be done with this.”
The Comte had no intention of fighting a duel with the headstrong young man. “You’re too drunk.”
“I’m never that drunk. Name your weapons.”
“Come, Hargreave,” Louvois murmured, a fastidious delicacy in his tone. “No woman is worth risking your life.”
“Who says I’d be risking my life?”
“I, for one,” the Comte replied calmly.
Simon’s gaze held the Comte’s for a moment. “I don’t recall you fighting in the last war-on either side.”