"She grew up in England," Simon explained. "When Talleyrand insisted she return to France, she was very unhappy. But he was in essence in loco parentis, and she really had no choice but to obey him. But she's always been clear where her true loyalties lie. They lie here."
Simon leaned forward and kicked a fallen log back into the grate. "After her husband's death, she became very depressed… listless. Her letters had none of the usual spark and vitality. Georgie was worried about her. She invited her to stay for a while and Gabby came to me with the suggestion that she use her position and contacts in France to work for England. She was very convincing." He shrugged lightly. "Her information was most convincing."
He looked across at his now-silent companion. "She's always had a political mind, unlike Georgie, who most of the time couldn't tell you the members of the cabinet. It doesn't interest her. But Gabbv's very different. Her upbringing, perhaps. Losing her parents to the Terror. Talleyrand's influence-whatever. But she knows a great deal. She can sift the wheat from the chaff when it comes to information. And she needs something to absorb her mind." He examined his friend shrewdly as he hammered the nail on the head. "You've been looking for an insider in Paris. Gabby's the best placed."
"I don't deny that." Nathaniel, as Simon knew, could never resist logic and fact. Even his prejudices gave way before such potent persuaders.
Simon sat back, crossing his ankles, his eyes narrowed as they assessed Nathaniel's reaction.
"It won't do." Nathaniel got to his feet again. "Even if she is what you say, I can't see a way to working with her. She's not disciplined and I'll not jeopardize my other people by taking on an unknown quantity."
"Very well." Simon inclined his head courteously. "The decision was always yours. We know you know your own business best."
"Oh, in this respect, Simon, believe me, I do."
There was something about the way Nathaniel said this that struck Simon as a little curious.
Nathaniel put down his glass. "I must change for dinner. I'll leave first thing in the morning, since my business here is done." The door closed behind him.
Andwhat of friendship? Simon thought sadly. Is that done too? Nathaniel saw everything these days in terms of business, and the dictates of friendship meant nothing to him. It hadn't always been the case. Like Miles Bennet, Simon Vanbrugh hoped for the day when the old Nathaniel would emerge from this cold, distant carapace. He'd had the faintest hope that Gabby might have some effect. Few people could come within her orbit and remain unaffected by her personality or her outlook on life. But it seemed he'd been indulging himself in wishful thinking.
Upstairs, Gabrielle embalmed her weary muscles in hot water before a blazing fire in her bedchamber and told Georgie the details of her day with Lord Praed.
Her cousin was too worldly to be shocked at the picture of two near strangers locked in an ardent embrace in a deserted orchard. She did, however, somewhat tentatively question Gabrielle's taste.
"I thought you didn't like him. You said his eyes were like stones at the bottom of a pond."
"So they are sometimes." Gabrielle raised one leg and soaped it languidly. "But they can also be warm and merry… and verypassionate," she added with deliberation, switching legs.
"And you're in the market for passion?" Georgie took a sip from her sherry glass, watching her friend closely.
"In the market and in the mood," Gabrielie said calmly. "I've played the grieving widow long enough."
"Gabby!" This did shock Georgie. "You were desolated after your husband's death."
"No, I wasn't," Gabrielle said. "Roland was a deeply unpleasant man who managed to hide it until our wedding night. When he died, I was not desolated in the least. It seemed to me I'd suffer a lot fewer bruises as his widow than as his wife."
"Oh." Georgie was silent, absorbing this new light on her cousin's past. "But your letters were so depressed… so listless."
Gabrielle sat up and picked up her own glass of sherry from the carpet beside the hip bath. Frowning slightly, she traced a pattern in the condensation on the glass. "I was depressed, not at Roland's death, but at the thought that I'd allowed myself to be treated as badly as he treated me. I'd misread him, fallen for the facade. I felt a fool… and worse." She sipped and put the glass down again. "It's humiliating to be ill-treated, Georgie. Not the kind of thing you want people to know about. You begin to think you deserved it in some way."
"Oh, Gabby, I wish you'd said something…" Georgie stumbled in inarticulate sympathy. Such situations were not uncommon, but that didn't make them any less horrifying.
Gabrielle looked up and gave her a reassuring smile. "It's over and done with, and I'm my old self now. And I find the prospect of a little dalliance with Lord Praed very enticing… or do I mean challenging?" Her damp shoulders rose in alight shrug. "Either way, I want to go into dinner with him, if you can arrange it."
Georgie laughed, only too glad to let go of the disturbing image of her strong and self-determining cousin suffering beneath the thumb of a violent husband. "Of course I can. But I must say, I don't see what you see in him."
"But you don't like rocky roads," her cousin pointed out. "Whereas I've always chosen them over the smooth path."
Andloving Guillaume was the rockiest road she could ever have chosen. Rocky, wonderful, desperate-no middle ground ever. He was either in her bed or facing death and danger somewhere. There was either love or fear. Nochance for the contentment of ordinary happiness, the possibility of boredom, no time to learn the irritating little habits as well as the glorious.
"That's true, I suppose." Georgie stood up. "Simon's avery smooth path. I'd better go down to the drawing room. Lady Alsop always appears well before the other guests and feels very slighted if I'm not there to look after her and see she's immediately ensconced by the fire, protected from the blaze by a screen, with a glass of ratafia beside her."
"I don't know why you let yourself be bullied by the old besom," Gabrielle said irreverently.
Georgie shook her head. "She's Simon's great-aunt. And anyway, I don't mind."
No, of course you don't, Gabrielle thought affectionately as the door closed on her friend. Georgie had the sweetest nature.
It was decidedly unpleasant to deceive her friends, Gabrielle reflected, but the cause was too important to let personal scruple get in the way. She'd had to produce some credible reason for her willingness to jump into a liaison when she was officially supposed to be a grieving widow. Georgie would tell Simon the real reason for Gabrielle's apparent depression and neither of them would question subsequent events.
Subsequent events. She stood up. dripping, and wrapped herself in the towel. First she had to maneuver herself into Nathaniel Praed's bed. Guillaume would understand, she knew. He'd approve of the reasons behind her actions; they belonged to the world of dark secrets that he'd made his own. But how would he feel about the other thing, about the sexual current between herself and the man who'd ordered his death? She thought he'd understand it. He was a man of such passions himself and he knew her own. But Gabrielle wished with all her heart that she felt only revulsion for Nathaniel Praed. To go willingly-no, not just willingly, eagerly and filled with excitement-to his bed was a betrayal of Guillaume, however pure the motives.
But Guillaume was dead. She was twenty-five and the years ahead stretched into a bleak wasteland.
She reached for the bellrope and rang for Maisie to help her dress.