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“Nor am I sure what I believe.”
He arched a brow. “You don’t trust me?”
“Trust needs to be earned. And I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”
“Perhaps by the time we reach Venice you will.”
“And will I like you, as well?”
“Without question.” He grinned and rose to his feet. That would do for now. It was an excellent start. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you to your consideration of our journey.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze returned to the papers on the table. “I am determined to make certain nothing goes awry,” she said, and it struck Dante her words were more for herself than for him. Perhaps she was not as confident as she appeared.
“Please feel free to call on me at any time should you need my assistance in any way.”
“Your offer is most appreciated but I doubt your assistance will be necessary.”
“As you pointed out—one never knows what might be around the next corner.” He paused. Nothing in her dossier had indicated she was a well-seasoned traveler in spite of her current facade of competence, although admittedly that was not the kind of information he had requested. Still, something had struck him a few minutes ago that he had paid no attention. Perhaps the delightful Willie Bascombe was not as she appeared. “One more thing.” He leaned forward, braced his hands on the table and gazed into her eyes.
Her eyes widened but she did not shrink from his direct gaze. “And what might that be?”
“The map you are so dutifully studying.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “It’s upside down.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u33f4f0c1-27d4-556d-9e12-6991395af571)
THERE WAS NOTHING like maneuvering nine people through the complexities of claiming luggage upon arrival in Paris at the salle des bagages and the subsequent annoying inspection by customs agents to make a woman feel not merely efficient but supremely confident. It was not easy, especially as everyone rudely insisted on speaking in French. Perhaps language barriers were among the reasons why she and George had never traveled beyond England’s shores. Although it was more likely attributable to finances. No doubt they would have traveled someday—if only to escape their creditors.
Still, if asked, Willie would have said she did indeed speak French, more or less. Why, she had studied the language for years in school, as did everyone else she knew, and could say la plume de ma tante as well as anyone. But apparently when one was actually in France, one’s French was decidedly more less than more.
Regardless, with her Baedeker’s guide in one hand, her notebook in the other and the wherewithal to hire a small army of porters, Willie had managed to dispatch their group via three separate cabs to the Grand Hotel. Her charges had heeded Miss Granville’s advice on limiting the amount of their luggage given the brief length of time they would stay in any one place. They had also forgone the inclusion of ladies’ maids in their party, apparently standard guidance from the Lady Travelers Society. It made a great deal of sense in terms of expenditures and practicality. Every hotel they would stay in provided maids for their first-class guests. The Grand Hotel was no exception.
Upon their arrival nearly an hour ago, all the members of their party had been seen to their respective suites with assurances their every need would be met. Willie’s admiration of Miss Granville’s efficiency reluctantly notched upward. Who would have imagined Willie Bascombe would ever be impressed by efficiency? Apparently, Miss Granville, and her employer, were skilled in making the impossible possible. Willie had been aware, of course, of the Paris Exposition—why, everyone in the world was talking about the massive iron tower symbol of the fair—but she had never considered what that might mean to the availability of hotel rooms in the city. Indeed, she was fairly certain if she were not traveling under the auspices of Mr. Forge’s Lady Travelers Society, she would be hard pressed to find any available rooms at all let alone suites in the luxurious Grand Hotel.
They had arrived at an appropriate hour for a civilized dinner but everyone agreed—given that the proper tea service on the train from Calais had been surprisingly good in both quality and quantity—that no more than a light supper was required. Furthermore, they would all much rather spend their first night in Paris viewing the illumination of the Eiffel Tower.
Willie now awaited the others, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently on the highly polished floor of the opulent crystal, marble and gilded lobby and trying very hard to look serene and unconcerned instead of annoyed by their tardiness. They did have a schedule to maintain after all. Willie could not remember a point in her life before now when she was not perpetually late but if she could manage to appear promptly—so could everyone else. Apparently, a desire for punctuality went hand in hand with the acceptance of responsibility. Besides, as the idea for viewing the illumination had been embraced with wholehearted American enthusiasm, one did have to wonder where on earth everyone was. If they didn’t leave soon, they would miss the initial lighting, which was reportedly quite a spectacular moment.
At the very least, she expected Dante to arrive at the appointed time. It was difficult to continue to think of him as Mr. Montague even if she was not entirely ready to address him aloud by his first name. It would give the man all sorts of ideas she was not prepared to give him. At least not yet. Regardless, she could forgive him even if he decided to forgo the evening altogether. The poor man had had a rough go of it on their crossing of the channel. The faintest tinge of green had continued to color his complexion on the train from Calais and he’d been remarkably quiet, as well. No doubt if one was struck by mal de mer, the rocking motion of a train probably did not ease one’s discomfort. It was impossible not to feel sorry for him.
Besides, he deserved a certain measure of lenience. If Dante Montague was truly trying to earn her friendship, he was going about it in a clever way. He could have made more of an issue over the silly problem with the map. And really, how absurd was it that one could get to the age of thirty and never have had to study a map before? At least a map that wasn’t in the pages of a dreadfully dull book of geography or used to illustrate the history of some long-ago conflict, and she’d avoided those whenever possible. No, the man had simply pointed out her error, straightened the map and taken his leave, requiring no explanation from her whatsoever. It was rather gallant of him really, especially as she had no explanation that didn’t sound completely incompetent.
She spotted him crossing the lobby toward her and adopted a pleasant smile. It wasn’t the least bit difficult. After all, he obviously liked her and had admitted he wanted her to like him. It was at once flattering—what woman didn’t want a man to put forth some effort to gain her favor—and rather endearing. Still, she was not sure what to make of Dante Montague. She knew nothing about him other than he was good to his sister, which did speak well of him. The fact that he carried a valise implied he was a man of business or the law. Yet his manner was no different than most of the wealthy, spoiled bon vivants in her previous circle of friends. He was a dashing, likable man of some mystery and all the more intriguing for it.
“Lady Bascombe.” A broad smile stretched across his face as if he were genuinely pleased to see her, even if they had only parted a mere hour ago. “I cannot believe any woman can manage to look so refreshed after such a short respite.”
“How perfectly charming of you to say, Mr. Montague.” She returned his smile, surprised to note she was as pleased to see him as he appeared to see her. Obviously the man’s campaign was working. “One does try to be swift when one is engaged in travel and hoping to see all there is to see.”
One also tries to steal at least a moment in which to regain one’s strength. Willie had collapsed on her bed for a quarter hour and then an excellent maid had assisted her with her hair and dress. It had been a long time since she’d had such a busy day. Traveling was far more wearing than she’d expected.
“I doubt that we can possibly see all there is to see in Paris in the four days we’ve allotted to the city.”
“Goodness, no. There is a great deal of interest to see in Paris.” Her Baedeker claimed a stay of two to three weeks was barely sufficient to acquire a superficial taste of what Paris had to offer. “But we shall do the best we can with the time we have.” Good Lord, she sounded like a governess. She peered around him. “Do you think the others will be joining us soon? I would hate to miss the illumination.”
“About that.” He gestured at the exit. “We really should be going.”
“We cannot leave without the rest of our party. It would be extremely rude and quite unforgivable.” What on earth was he thinking? She crossed her arms over her chest. “The group decided going to the illumination was what everyone wished to do tonight. All were in agreement and adamant about it. I must say, it was most democratic.”
“The influence of the Americans no doubt.”
“It was not my idea nor is it on the schedule. However—” she drew her brows together “—now that it is on the schedule, we should adhere to it.”
“What was on the schedule? Before the illumination I mean,” he added.
“Nothing.” She huffed. “Since it was a long day of travel, it was thought best not to plan anything for tonight.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s not the least bit excellent.” It was all she could do to keep from stamping her foot in frustration. It did seem that if the group decided to do something—whether that was taking in a sight or anything else—members of said group should appear when they said they would. “It’s most annoying. Our entire itinerary has been well thought out.”
“Still, one might think a certain flexibility—”
“The schedule, Mr. Montague, was changed on the trip from Calais due to the wishes of all involved.” There was that governess again. Where did she come from? “Your sister and the others agreed that seeing the illumination of Mr. Eiffel’s tower would be a grand way to spend the first night of our travels. It was a most passionate discussion, although I believe you might have been napping at the time.”
“Probably.” He winced. “I do apologize. My last visit to Paris was more than a year ago and I have an awkward tendency to forget how...distressing crossing the channel can be. Sleep usually helps.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” She waved off his comment. “One can’t help being prone to mal de mer any more than one can help catching a cold in the winter or sneezing at the scent of spring flowers.”
“Spring flowers make you sneeze?”
“On occasion,” she said absently and glanced at the front desk. “Perhaps I should request a bellman be sent to their rooms to inquire after them. I really don’t understand why everyone isn’t here yet.”
“They aren’t here because they aren’t coming.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean? Why aren’t they coming? This was their idea.”
“If you will allow me to escort you to a cab—” again he offered his arm “—I will be happy to explain.”
“I’m still not sure we should go without them,” she said but took his arm nonetheless. “Are you certain they aren’t coming?”
“I am.” He steered her toward the door. “And they aren’t coming because apparently the original schedule was best.”
“Imagine my surprise,” she muttered. Very nearly every minute of their trip had been planned by Miss Granville who’d emphasized the importance of abiding by the schedule. She’d said a group of travelers cannot be allowed to wander freely without purpose. It was not the least bit efficient and certainly not the way to see everything said travelers wished to see. The end result of such a trip being dissatisfaction from all participants and the loss of future business. As well as anarchy and the possible end of the world, Willie had suggested. Miss Granville was not amused. “Miss Granville is excellent at schedules.”
A well-trained doorman stationed at the entry opened the doors a scant second before them and they stepped out onto the street, another doorman at once hailing a cab.
Willie paused in midstep. Since the earliest days of her childhood, she had considered twilight the most magical part of the day. The fleeting moments when glimpses of fairies could be caught flitting between flowers. It was silly really. She had grown far past such whimsy. Still, that brief interlude between the setting of the sun and the stars filling the sky had always felt special and filled with possibilities. Why, the very air itself was fraught with anticipation and magic.
And she was in Paris. She’d never imagined she would travel to Paris, at least not recently. When she was a girl, of course she had assumed she would someday visit places like Paris and Vienna and Rome. Certainly she’d had any number of friends who’d had grand tours of the capitals of Europe but then they hadn’t run off and married dashing handsome rogues at the beginning of their first season. Although one could say George was the very reason why she was here at all. Which was a point in favor of forgiving him but an extremely small point.
Regardless of the circumstances, she was at last in the celebrated capital of France. The center of art and fashion, of ancient edifices and bohemian adventure. The most extraordinary sense of anticipation swept through her and why not? There was much to look forward to. Streetlights were coming on. Carriages would soon be arriving at the Opera House adjoining the hotel. The evening was cool but not unpleasantly so. And there was a shockingly interesting man by her side. Magic was indeed in the air. While she would never have wished George dead, there might well be a great deal to be said in favor of widowhood.
If, of course, one had the finances to support widowhood in the manner to which one was accustomed, no matter how precariously funded that manner had been. She was not after all traveling on her own money at the moment. The Portinari was the means to change that. Or at least give her time to determine what her next step in life should be.
Dante helped her into the cab and gave the driver directions. The man was remarkably fluid in French and Willie caught little more than their destination—Champs de Mars, the promenade that stretched between the Tower and the main buildings of the exposition. The carriage started off.
“If we took another route we could see more of the city,” she said without thinking. She had indeed studied her maps.
“However, this is the most direct and most efficient way to the Champs de Mars. I assure you, Lady Bascombe, Paris has changed little since your last visit.” He paused. “When were you last here?”
It was a casual offhand question, idle chatter really. He couldn’t possibly know this was her first visit. “It always seems forever when one is away from Paris, Mr. Montague. And I disagree. Paris is constantly changing. Even sights that have been here always are new when one hasn’t seen them for a while. Why, that’s what makes Paris so exciting.”
He chuckled. “You have me there.”
“Yes, I know.” She couldn’t help the smug note in her voice, as if she had just made a hard-earned point in an evenly matched game.
Travel documents weren’t the only things Willie had studied in the last three weeks. Miss Granville had encouraged her to refresh her memory about the important landmarks of the places they would visit as it had probably been some time since Willie had been to Paris or Monte Carlo or Venice. The American was obviously much more perceptive than she let on. While Willie had assured her it was not necessary, she had nonetheless read and reread all her guidebooks as well as endless Lady Traveler Society pamphlets. After all, Willie was presumed to be a sophisticated, experienced traveler and should know what she was talking about. She had also perused a few articles about the Paris Exposition as they were scheduled to spend an entire day at the world’s fair, including an ascension to the top of the Eiffel Tower. It did seem there was a great deal to remember and Willie had never been good at that sort of thing. Studying was to be avoided in school. She was female after all and destined to marry well. Why on earth would she need to know silly facts about things she didn’t care about? It had made a great deal of sense at the time. Now, however, she could add it to a growing list of things she would have done differently in the first thirty years of her life.
“Now then, Mr. Montague, please explain,” Willie said when they were both settled in their respective seats in the open-top cab. “What did you mean by the original schedule was best?”
“It seems once my sister made herself comfortable in her room, she had no desire to leave. Apparently, Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Corby agreed. They decided it would be wise to have a quiet meal in their rooms and begin fresh tomorrow.”
“I can understand that but your niece as well as Geneva and the twins were quite eager to begin their conquest of Paris.” She addressed her words to Dante but couldn’t tear her gaze away from the city of Paris rolling by the carriage. It was exactly as she’d seen in pictures but no mere image could do justice to the broad boulevards and iron-accented, pale stone buildings.
“They listened to their mothers.” He grinned. “And there might have been bribery involved.”
“I see.” Relief and freedom washed over her as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Certainly they’d only been traveling for less than a day but it was surprisingly exhausting and she could see where it might possibly be, now and then, a little more difficult than expected. Although, aside from a few minutes when they were transferring from the boat to the train at Calais and Harriet had wandered off, all had gone remarkably well.
“I, however, did not wish to miss the illumination of the tallest structure man has ever built,” he said firmly. “We are living in a remarkable age, Lady Bascombe. There is much to be said for progress.”
“Indeed there is.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. It was all she could do to keep from bouncing in her seat. “I suspect it will be most impressive.” A fact from one of the articles she’d read conveniently presented itself. “But it’s not just lit by electricity, you know.”
“No?” His tone was serious but mild amusement shone in his eyes.
She ignored it. “It was entirely beyond the capabilities of, well, anyone to light it completely by means of electricity so most of the lighting is gas.” She tried not to smirk with triumph. It wasn’t easy.
“Except for the light projectors at the very top of the structure,” he said in an offhand manner. “The ones that are colored white, red and blue.”
What projectors? Willie couldn’t recall anything about colored electric lights. “Oh yes, I was about to mention that.”
“It should add an interesting touch to what is already a spectacular accomplishment.”
“The tower you mean?”
He nodded. “This year at least it might well be the most recognizable symbol of Paris. I am quite looking forward to seeing it.”
“Forgive me for pointing this out, but we’ve seen it ever since we stepped foot in Paris. One can’t help but see it. It looms over the entire city.”
“You’re right. I simply meant seeing it closer.”
“Yes, of course.” She summoned a bright smile. “I agree completely. And seeing it illuminated will be that much more impressive.”
“But then there are so many well-known sights in Paris.” He waved at the passing scenery. If Willie wasn’t mistaken, they were currently passing the Place de la Concorde, marked by an Egyptian obelisk in the center. Which meant the Tuileries Garden were on their left. “Which is your favorite, Lady Bascombe?”
“Notre Dame,” she said without hesitation. It was the first thing that popped into her head. In truth, she’d been so busy preparing to take on the role of experienced traveler, she’d paid no attention to those things she would like to see for herself. She couldn’t recall if the cathedral was on their schedule or not. Regardless, she would like to see it with her own eyes. And in spite of Miss Granville’s dire warnings, schedules could indeed change without mishap or calamity.
“Really?” He studied her curiously. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be an enthusiast of gothic architecture. Flying buttresses and gargoyles and the like.”
“Come now, Mr. Montague. Who can possibly resist the appeal of a well-executed flying buttress and a terrifying medieval gargoyle?”
“Who indeed?” He grinned. “Still, I assumed you were more progressive in nature. Looking toward the future, new inventions and—”
“It’s the story,” she blurted then sighed. “About the hunchback.”
“Monsieur Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre-Dame?”
She nodded. “I read it when I was a girl and to this day I cannot read it without weeping.” Even now the oddest lump formed in her throat. “It’s the saddest, most wonderful story I’ve ever read.”
“I understand why you think it sad,” he said slowly, “and I agree with you. And while it is certainly well written, why do you think it wonderful? There was torture, betrayal, wickedness, persecution of the innocent and evil. I’ve always thought it was dreadfully dire and gloomy.”
“It is that but ultimately it’s about love. Undying and endless and true. There is no better story than that.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You look surprised, Mr. Montague. Why?”
“I did not expect you to be quite such a—”
“Reader of classic literature?”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“Perhaps you thought I only read novels of adventure or romance?”
“That’s not—”
“Those offerings that are considered frivolous and not of serious literary merit?”
“Not at all. I simply meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant, Mr. Montague.” Willie wasn’t at all sure why she found this so annoying. In truth, she did indeed prefer more frivolous reading material. Novels and stories that were, well, fun and enjoyable rather than tedious as she considered so many classic works. “And perhaps we should add a discussion of The Hunchback—” which she should probably reread “—to our talk about the Divine Comedy—” which she should definitely read “—which I am most looking forward to.”
He stared.
“What is it now, Mr. Montague? Did you think a woman like myself, a woman you called legendary, based on nothing more than rumor and gossip, I might add, would not appreciate things like fine literature? That she wouldn’t have a brain in her head? Because I assure you I do.”
The cab drew to a halt at the Champs de Mars and he helped her out of the cab.
“Have I stunned you into silence, Mr. Montague?” A distinct touch of remorse stabbed her. Perhaps she was being just the tiniest bit too sensitive. But she’d had to use her mind since George’s death and, as she had no one to do it for her, she’d had to come up with a plan for her future survival. And she’d done a decent job of it. Admittedly, no one was more surprised than she to discover she was far more intelligent than anyone, including herself, had ever given her credit for. But then it had never been necessary before.
