2
Jackie continued to cling to Pol as she and her father spoke.
“You have been following me,” she accused him.
The Comte de Haricot du Charmont nodded. “Yes, petite , it is true. I have been trying to decide how to approach you and ta mere . And whether I should.” He shrugged. “Whether you needed me.”
“Need has nothing to do with it, Papa,” she told him, her voice sharp. “We want you. Or, at least, we want to know why you abandoned us for ten years.”
“Never abandoned, petite ,” he protested. “Not by my choice. Ah! You are so beautiful. So like your Maman . How is your Maman? I see you about with this young man, but she does not chaperone you? Is she ill?”
“We are betrothed, Papa,” Jackie told him. “Maman is well, but Pol and I do not need a chaperone to see the sights in an open carriage. It is not the eighteenth century, Papa.”
If Monsieur de Haricot had expected a tearful reunion, he was clearly to be disappointed. Jackie seemed more annoyed than excited. Of course, he had been missing for ten years, but he had popped up in time to save Jackie’s life. That alone was enough to incline Pol to forgive him—though Pol’s mercy was not what he needed.
Thomas Winderfield interrupted. “Excuse me, Miss de Haricot. I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to report Oscar Riese’s attempt to kill you and his death. Apart from that, Apollo, what do you want to do about the remaining servants? Do you want to keep them on to look after the house until you have a chance to talk to the solicitors?”
Pol hadn’t thought that far ahead, but Thomas’s idea was a good one. Most of the people who had helped to put out the fire were still standing around. Pol pitched his voice to carry and said, “I am Apollo Riese, the rightful Viscount Riese and owner of this house. How many of you are servants here?”
Several people raised their hands, and one stepped forward and said, “Matt Mitchell, my lord. Footman. You mean Lord Riese wasn’t the viscount?”
“That’s right,” Pol said, making an instant decision not to get into the details. “His parents, my aunt and uncle, lied to steal the viscountcy from me when I was a little boy. Oscar was never the viscount.”
“There are eight of us, my lord,” Mitchell said. “Me, another footman, two maids, two grooms, a gardener, and the boot boy. We’d like to stay, if it pleases you, my lord. But the thing is, the servants that left took most of the food, and we haven’t been paid our last quarter’s wages.”
Presumably the solicitor would advance Pol enough to pay the remaining servants, or at least to reimburse Pol after he’d given them most of the money he had left. “I’ll make sure you are paid and that you have food or money for food. For now, though, I need to write a note, then I need someone to take it to the magistrate. Which magistrate was it, Lord Andrew?”
The last light from the sun had faded from the clouds as they went into the house so Pol could write a note for the magistrate. Monsieur de Haricot wasn’t keen on waiting for the magistrate to arrive.
“It is not suitable for a lady to be questioned by this magistrate while wearing the garb of the boy,” he said. “I shall escort my daughter to her mother.”
Jackie squelched that idea. “I shall stay with Pol, Papa.”
Thomas pointed out, “The magistrate will wish to speak with the man who fired the shot that saved Miss de Haricot’s life, Monsieur .”
Monsieur de Haricot grimaced but didn’t argue.
In the event, however, the magistrate was happy to take the evidence of the witnesses that Oscar had intended murder and had been shot in defense of Miss de Haricot. Bill Whitely had been nowhere to be found, having presumably scarpered as soon as Oscar died. The magistrate would circulate his description, and perhaps the runners might pick him up.
There was nothing more to be done. Within fifteen minutes of the magistrate arriving, the constables were removing the body, and they were free to go. They walked back to Winshire House, Pol, Jackie, Thomas, and le Comte de Haricot du Charmont .
“Papa,” said Jackie, “you told the magistrate you were a winemaker, here in England to sell your wine.”
Pol had heard that, too, but certainly was not about to contradict his future father-in-law.
However, Monsieur de Haricot, “Yes, ma petite . It is quite true. It is part of the story I must tell you and your Maman.”
The explanation was postponed again, though, when they arrived back in front of Winshire House at the same time as a carriage escorted by Drew and his riders. Drew dismounted to open the carriage door and Amanda descended, to cast herself on Pol’s breast.
“Pol,” she sobbed. “Pol, everything is dreadful.”
“There, there,” Pol said. Not original, but the best he could manage at a moment’s notice.
“You don’t understand,” Amanda wailed. “Mother is dead, and my Season is ruined!”
*
Jackie was doing her best to help Pol comfort Amanda and could spare little attention for the meeting between Maman and Papa. She heard Maman screech Papa’s name, “Etienne!” Next came the sound of a slap, and Jackie glanced that way to see Maman’s hand leave Papa’s cheek as she fell into Papa’s arms, repeating, “Etienne!”
“My life is over,” Amanda insisted, and Jackie had no more time to think about her parents.
“She really is upset about her mother and her brother,” Pol told Jackie, after they had finally settled Amanda in her own guest room in the care of her maid, whom Drew had brought along when he decided to return Amanda to London.
Jackie thought that Amanda was more upset about what people were going to think about her than about the loss of her nearest but not particularly dearest. “People don’t need to know most of the details of what Louella and Oscar did, do they, Pol? For Amanda’s sake?”
“They are dead,” Pol commented. “Ruining their reputations will benefit no one.”
“Indeed, but it will actively damage Amanda.”
“Let us talk to their Graces. If anyone knows what Society might think, it is them.”
They returned to the family parlor, to find that Maman and Papa had retreated from the company to talk privately. But Drew and Thomas both awaited them, and so did Gran and the duke and duchess.
“How is Miss Riese?” the duchess asked.
“Understandably upset. Her maid knows what to do for her,” Pol said.
“We have assured her she will have a home with us,” Jackie said.
“Of course,” said the duchess. “Fortunately, her immediate family is dead, so there is no reason for their crimes to be made public. I think if she retires to the country and comes back into Society next Season, all should be well.”
“Eleanor,” the duke said. “She has just lost her mother and brother. I doubt she is thinking about her reputation.”
The duchess kissed her husband’s cheek. “You are such a nice man, James,” she told him. “Amanda, sadly, is not a nice young lady. But she is young, so there is hope.”
“How did her mother die?” Pol asked Drew.
“Mrs. Riese arrived to find the doors locked against her. We weren’t there at the time, but I heard the story from your butler when we arrived fifteen minutes later. Apparently, the local magistrate was at Lady Campion’s ball last night, and his first act on returning home was to advise the butler at Burnwood Hall to lock the door against the imposters. He was still there at Burnwood House when she arrived. She told him she had you as a prisoner, Apollo, but the carriage that supposedly held you did not arrive. Her coach driver said they had turned off to head north about half an hour earlier.”
“That would have been Pete Whitely. He was charged with keeping me prisoner but released me instead. He said that, since the carriage belonged to me, he’d like my permission to take his brothers home, and I agreed.”
Drew gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Mrs. Riese asked to retrieve some of her belongings, told Amanda to wait in the coach, and went upstairs. When I arrived and was told where she was, I went after her. She had taken poison and was dying. We sent for a doctor, but she was gone before he got there. I thought it best to bring Amanda back with me.”
“She gave up even without knowing that Oscar was dead,” Jackie commented.
“She had not only lost her title, her power, and her wealth,” said the duke, “but she also faced going to prison while her murders were investigated, with all the resulting publicity and the noose at the end of it. She must have seen no other way out.”
“Whereas Oscar was fighting to the end,” Jackie said. “Her Grace is correct. This way is better for Amanda. We can hope that she is not too set in her ways to change.”
“She was a sweet child,” Gran said, “But Louella and Oscar indulged her, ignored her, and bullied her by turns. Perhaps, now that I am well again, we can find the sweet child once more.”
“We shall try,” Pol promised.
It was the next day before Jackie heard her father’s story. Maman came down to breakfast on Papa’s arm, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining like stars, leaving little doubt that she and Papa had reconciled. “Your Papa did not abandon us of his own will, cherie ,” she assured Jackie. “He was impressed into the navy. Because he was French, he was not allowed ashore for several years, though he assured them he was a royalist, and they would not post his letters, either. Of course, after the first three months, a letter would not have reached us in any case, for we changed our name and moved, cherie .”
Because of Papa’s debts. And to further confuse those who might be looking for Papa’s wife and daughter, Maman had adopted the name Madame La Blanc, and Jackie had pretended to be her employee, and not her daughter.
Jackie narrowed her eyes at Papa, wondering if Papa was exaggerating or making a story up out of whole cloth, but he insisted it was all true. It was not until the war ended in 1814 that he was able to come looking for his lost wife and child. He couldn’t find them. Eventually, after the One Hundred Days of Napoleon’s return ended in Waterloo, he went to France.
“I expected my estate to be in ruins, or in the hands of parvenus, but—can you believe it? My grand-mère had kept it whole for us, and all through the wars, she had been making wine.” Papa kissed his fingers and thrust them upward as if releasing the kiss into the air. “And such wine! Ma petite , with Mémé in charge of the growing and the pressing, and me to market the wine, no great restaurante in Paris would be without its de Haricot du Charmont wines. Today, the clubs of London. Tomorrow, the world.”
“Ah, Etienne,” said Maman, fondly. “Always such a dreamer. And Jackie is just like you.”
*
With no other claimants to the viscountcy and eminent witnesses to Pol’s identity, the matter was rapidly resolved. The estate’s solicitors instructed the bank, and suddenly Pol was a wealthy man.
He bought Jackie a posy ring, set with diamonds and engraved “Only our love hath no decay,” which was a line from a poem of John Donne’s. He paid all the servants, restaffed the townhouse, and hired a house steward to preside over the establishment. “You and Monsieur may use it as your London home,” he said to Madame de Haricot du Charmont , who was planning to return to France with her husband after his and Jackie’s wedding.
He would have purchased Jackie a whole new wardrobe, except that the ladies insisted that they preferred to make it, “For there is no better modiste in England or France,” Jackie told him. Instead, they commanded that he go to a London tailor and buy a wardrobe of his own.
He also suggested hiring maids for Gran and Jackie, but both declared they would rather have a Tissingham girl and would wait until they arrived home. Jackie was a little nervous about how the villagers and tenants would take her elevation to viscountess, and thought bringing home a London maid would just make things worse.
By letter, Pol arranged for the banns to be called in the village church in Tissingham and set the date for the wedding two days after the third calling of the banns. He did not have the bodies of his aunt and cousin returned to Tissingham for interment. Instead, he and Drew attended a joint funeral for the pair at the village near Burnwood House, and they were buried without ceremony sometime in the dark between nine o’clock in the evening and midnight in accordance with the law, in a corner of the churchyard.
For Amanda’s sake, for Pol was convinced neither of the pair deserved even that last mercy.
Even the unceremonious interment bothered the vicar, since one was a suicide and the other had died while attempting murder, but Pol gave him a substantial donation to the steeple fund and reminded him that only God knew the human heart, and perhaps they had both repented at the last.
There were no more drugging kisses. Monsieur de Haricot du Charmont proved to be a much more diligent chaperone than Madame , and the best Pol and Jackie could manage was a fleeting touch of the hands or a quick peck on the cheek.
Except in public, for the duchess insisted that they must go into Society, so most of their remaining nights in London saw them at a ball, a musicale, a dinner, or the opera. Balls and the opera were Pol’s favorite activities. Balls had the downside that he had to watch Jackie dancing with others, but the upside that she saved all her waltzes for him, and for thirty blissful minutes at a time he could hold her in his arms.
As for the opera, when the gas lights were dimmed, they could hold hands under the cover of Jackie’s shawl without being detected. Every night, and especially on nights when they had danced or held hands, Pol went to bed yearning for more. But every night took them one step closer to their wedding.
At last, it was time to travel north to Tissingham, taking their leave of the duke and duchess and all their household, except for Drew and Thomas who were coming to witness the wedding.
Traveling in their own carriages rather than a hired post chaise was a vastly different travel experience. Not only were the carriages more comfortable, but the service at the inns they favored along the way was also exponentially improved—although that might have owed more to name-dropping than to their better class of transport. Pol made certain to mention to each innkeeper that the establishment had been recommended to him by the Duke of Winshire, which was true, but also vastly useful.
They arrived two days before the wedding. Since they had to drive through Tissingham, they stopped at the rectory, for the rector had written in response to Pol’s letter, assuring him that all would be organized as he wished, “However, my lord, so that all might be right and proper, I greatly desire that you and Miss de Haricot du Charmont might visit me in person to give me your consent to the marriage.”
“I shall go in the other carriage with your mother and father, Jackie dear,” said Gran, who had been taking her turn as chaperone. “Don’t take too long, my dears, or we shall have Jackie’s father running back to the village to check up on you.”
As it was, Pol could hear Monsieur ’s voice raised in protest as the other carriage drove away. Jackie chuckled. “Is it unfilial of me to be grateful he was not present during my years as a stable hand and sometime gambler?” she asked Pol.
They were not long at the rectory. The rector exclaimed over the discovery of Pol’s true status and the perfidy of his aunt and uncle, confirmed the time they were to be at the church on the day after next, and assured them that the village wished them both well.
That was confirmed when they stepped out of the rectory to find that word had spread and most of the villagers had gathered to welcome and congratulate them.
Pol’s mind had been lingering on his plans for the uninterrupted minutes in the carriage, and how much time he could add to the journey by asking the coachman to drive the ring road around Riese Hall before taking them home. After all, the horses had had a rest while he and Jackie were in the rectory, had they not?
Obviously, his yearning for a kiss and perhaps a little more would have to be put on hold. His beloved was already moving from person to person, greeting the villagers by name, smiling and shaking hands. What a magnificent viscountess she was going to be.
He followed her example and was gratified by how pleased everyone seemed to be with the news that he was the rightful viscount, and that he was marrying Jackie. “You could not have done better, my lord,” said the blacksmith. “We always knew Miss Haricot and her mother were quality, but no airs and graces, not like some.”
Clearly, Jackie need not have worries about the villagers’ attitudes to their seamstress becoming their landlady and the ranking lady of the district.
The innkeeper was there, assuring Pol of his full support. “No more card sharping,” Pol told him. “I’ll not have people cheated in an establishment where I am the landlord.”
“I’ll tell my boy, my lord. I never let him cheat any of the locals, my lord.”
“No cheating,” Pol repeated, before turning to the next person who wanted to congratulate him and assure him that they had always known Louella and Oscar for villains.
The Whitelys were out in force, with Mrs. Whitely but without her husband. Mrs. Whitely had two bruised eyes that must recently have been black and swollen, judging by the broad spread of fading green. She was limping, too, but Pol knew she would deny that Whitely was the cause of her injuries.
“I am sorry to see that you have been hurt, Mrs. Whitely,” he said, anyway. “May I be of help.”
“An accident with a door,” Mrs. Whitely said, predictably. Her eyes shifted to her eldest son.
His eyes hard, Pete Whitely said, “Papa has decided to travel. For his health. We do not expect him to return, my lord. But I trust the tenancy agreement holds good for Ma, me, and the boys?”
“I am pleased to have you as a tenant, Whitely,” Pol told him, shaking the man’s hand. In the next moment, he was stumbling backward. Pete had shoved him. No. First, there had been the crack of gun and the whine of a bullet.
And there went Pete, haring across the village green toward a horseman, who watched from the shadow of a stand of trees. “Bill, you idiot,” he was roaring. “Just wait till I get my hands on you!”
Bill didn’t take the invitation. He turned the horse, clapped his heels to it, and took off at a gallop.
Pete stopped in the middle of the green, shaking his fist at his departing brother.
Mrs. Whitely grabbed Pol’s hand. “You won’t throw us out, my lord, will you?”
“Your eldest son just saved my life, Mrs. Whitely. For the second time. I’ll not hold his brother’s crimes against him and his family,” Pol assured her.
Another voice had Pol’s heart sinking. “Jacqueline? Are you safe?” It was Monsieur de Haricot . They had lingered too long, and he had walked down to meet them.
Crickets! So much for a little kissing and cuddling in the carriage on the way home!
*