46. Chapter 46
Chapter 46
F abienne didn’t mind when Brayden opted to join her on her shopping trip to Pennsylvania Avenue. The shadow in her soul, the one whispering Henson won’t let her go no matter what, could use every bit of sunshine.
Brayden pointed out a shop here, a restaurant there, a musical hall across the street. She searched for her possible contact, but it was pointless with all the people hurrying to and fro. Surely, Henson’s man would find an opportunity to approach without Brayden noticing.
They’d passed another restaurant when a shout came from behind them. “City boy!”
Brayden stopped in his tracks, turned around, and searched the sidewalk. “Welby?”
“Will you look at that! I almost didn’t recognize you, looking all fancy!” A man stood not far away; a massive tower of muscle whose Sunday-best clothes looked ready to pop stitches. He had a dark, bushy beard, deep-set eyes, and leaned on a cane.
“Will you never let go of that nickname?” Brayden said with a cheerful smile. He walked up to him, and they shook hands and clapped each other on the back.
“You know I don’t like letting go of things.” Welby tapped the leg with his cane. “That’s why I’m still hanging on to this sorry excuse for a limb.”
Fabienne approached slowly, not wishing to intrude.
“I’m glad you’ve recovered,” Brayden said. “You hadn’t returned to the army?”
“Discharged. Honorably, mind you. The leg still causes some trouble in bad weather. And you know there’s nothing but bad weather down there.”
“How come you’re in Washington, then?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not polluting your town with my country manners. Still at the farm, just came here for some business. Thought the suit would make it obvious.” Welby chuckled. Then, noticing Fabienne, he continued on a more serious note, “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all.” Brayden looped his arm around Fabienne’s. “Fabienne, this is an old friend of mine from the regiment, Welby. Welby, my wife.”
“Mrs. Marshall.” Putting all his suave in it, Welby bowed over her hand. Despite his wild, mountain-man appearance, he gave off a sense of joviality.
“Mr. Welby, very pleased to meet you,” Fabienne said. “I’ve heard much about you from the letters.”
Looking at Brayden and again at her, Welby’s eyes sparkled. “Those wouldn’t be the letters to a certain Miss Beaumont, would they now?” He laughed. “Marshall, you cheeky bas—” He caught himself just in time.
“Bassoon?” Fabienne helpfully supplied.
“Haven’t been called that yet,” Brayden murmured.
“I’m happy for you.” Welby lightly slapped his friend on the shoulder. “She’s as lovely as you said she was.”
“He said that?” Fabienne stole a glance at Brayden. His letters were always polite and devoid of any suggestions. What had he been saying to his fellow soldiers in the months before she’d first disappointed him?
What would he say in a few days from now? The shadow rose, and she quickly brushed it away. Couldn’t she enjoy one last reprieve?
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Marshall. The stories I have to tell you! Of Mr. Moony Eyes here, bending over those letters, day by day. I hope he didn’t write poetry, did he?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Brayden objected.
“I can reassure you he didn’t,” Fabienne said. “At least not to me.”
“There was no moon-eyeing going on.”
“He couldn’t wait to get the ink and paper out,” Welby countered.
“Well, we were all happy to receive his letters,” Fabienne said. “I hope you showed the same courtesy to your family, Mr. Welby.”
“Welby isn’t much for letter writing. He could be forced to do so only when the letters from home would practically threaten with wanting an answer,” Brayden said.
“What was I supposed to write? ‘Dear Ma. Still muddy.’”
A man at a nearby storefront had stopped and stared directly at Fabienne. The whispers of her shadow drowned out the conversation. As she stared back, the man gave a subtle nod and entered the shop.
“I’ll let you discuss your business.” Her voice sounded far away. “I think I might want to see that shop.”
She approached in a dreamlike glide. A little bell announced her presence in the small, mostly empty space of the millinery.
Two people were examining a top hat. Various other headdresses filled the shelves. She made her way to a shelf, every nerve on alert. She nearly jumped when the man appeared, a standing display concealing his approach.
“Excuse me, madam. I believe you dropped this.” He handed her a small pouch and walked away before she could react.
Fabienne peeked inside the pouch. Two glass vials and a piece of paper—a full page of detailed instructions. Atop the page was a warning for this to be committed to memory and destroyed, and another instruction, underlined: It is imperative you do this tonight. Do not be late.
Another shopper approached. She hid the letter inside the pouch, stored it in her coat, and ran out of the shop.
Brayden and Welby were still enjoying their lively discussion. “Welby’s invited us to dinner tomorrow,” Brayden said.
“A humble affair,” Welby said, “but I think a better option than standing here for two hours. And you and I, we have much to talk about.” He gave her a devilish grin.
“Do you feel up to it?” Brayden asked.
She mustered up the faintest smile. “Why not?”
With the agreements made, Welby left to pursue his business.
“I hope he didn’t embarrass you,” Brayden said.
“Me? I thought he was after you.”
“Let’s leave those letters for now. I’m sure I’ll hear no end of it tomorrow.”
“I think it was rather adorable. And I loved them.”
Brayden looked at her pensively. “I don’t think you ever told me that before.”
There were a lot of things, good and bad, she hadn’t told him. At least she could make this one amend. “They were beautiful. And helpful to me at a difficult time.”
Brayden cleared his throat. “Yes, well, shall we get a move on? I have an idea. There are a few famous confectioners around. You should see the cakes and candy they put out. Ice cream. Sugar plums.” He suggestively raised an eyebrow. “French kisses?”
“I’d love some kisses.”
He didn’t take the bait, but a corner of his mouth drew up in a smile. “Where would you like to go first? There’s Gautier down the road, praised immensely. Demonet is further up the street, smaller, but beautiful.”
Brayden’s cheerful mood would be infectious to anyone—anyone who wasn’t carrying instructions for an assassination in their pocket. But she tried to be at her best. It was her last day as an innocent woman. “Pick whichever one you like.”