Page 41 of To Love A Spy
“Good, for those who do not recall history are doomed to repeat it.”
A hint of wry humor? Or an oblique warning? With Lynsley it was not ever easy to discern his true meaning. “Seeing as I amreminded every day of what damage Rochambert is capable of,” she replied. “I am no more keen that you are to have him gain the upper hand.”
Chapter Ten
Rochambert’s tastes ran to the extravagant, noted Lynsley as he entered the mansion’s foyer. The fluted marble columns and checkered floor tiles still retained their Louis XIV polish. All around was an air of pomp. Of privilege. The gleam of the gilded moldings and ornate furniture seemed to wink in subtle mockery at the Revolution’s ideals of egalitarian principles.
A noble sentiment on paper, but in reality, some people appeared more equal than others. Napoleon clearly believed in rewarding those who served him well.
“An impressive place,non?” murmured Levalier.
“Quite,” replied the marquess. “Your friend must be a very important man here in Paris.”
“Let us just say he has the complete confidence of the Emperor, who values his services.”
“A trusted advisor is apparently worth his weight in gold to your leader,” observed Lynsley dryly.
Levalier chuckled. “I am glad to see that Americans have a sense of humor, monsieur. You are not at all likeles Anglaise, who are insufferably stiff and starchy.”
“They think that they rule the world,” he said with a straight face.
“Oui, but when Napoleon sits on the throne in Buckingham Palace they will be put in their place.”
“A nation of shopkeepers,” said Lynsley, repeating one of Napoleon’s famous tirades against England.
“Who lack any sense of style or taste.” Levalier plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing footman’s silver tray. “But enough talk of the enemy. Come, I have some friends I want you to meet.”
For the moment, Valencia kept to the company of the other ladies, using the trillings of trivial talk to survey the surrounding company. From across the room, she watched Lynsley move among the Ministry gentlemen, his conservative dark navy coat at odds with the flamboyant colors and exaggerated styling favored by the Frenchmen.
The longish sidewhiskers had altered the shape of his face, making all of his features appear elongated to a sharper edge. The marquess had also assumed a more rigid bearing. He looked taller, broader, and a good deal more arrogant than his usual self. Indeed, everything about his mannerisms appeared more aggressive.
Valencia found herself marveling at his skill to slip into a role. The changes were subtle yet extremely effective. The Marquess of Lynsley took pains to blend into the woodwork. Mr. Thomas Daggett did not.
A clandestine agent must be a chameleon. A master of deception, making it impossible to tell truth from lies . . .
Her attention was suddenly claimed by the approach of M. Mersault and a golden-haired gentleman whose scimitar smile cut a chill down her spine.
“Madame Daggett, allow me to present you to our host, Pierre Rochambert.”
“Thank you for including me and my husband in your soiree, Monsieur,” she murmured as Rochambert lifted her glove to his lips. “Your mansion is quite impressive. The furnishings are exquisite, and what a magnificent collection of art.”
“I consider myself a connoisseur of beauty, madame,” he replied. “So I am delighted to welcome you into my home.”
Forcing her insides to unclench, Valencia acknowledged the compliment with a light laugh.
“What do you do, Monsieur Rochambert?” she asked. “Besides collect exquisite art.”
The two men exchanged glances. “I help the Emperor eliminate niggling little problems of state that arise from time to time,” answered Rochambert.
“Pierre is being much too modest,” said Mersault. “He is an invaluable asset in the fight against tyranny.”
Valencia’s only reaction was a petulant purse of her lips. “La, I shall be very happy when this interminable war is over. You gentlemen seem to talk of nothing else.”
“You are quite right to chastise us, madame,” said Rochambert. “Ladies have no interest in bullets and blades.” His brow waggled. “Tell me, what does interest you?”
“Fashion,” she replied coyly. “And all of the things that adds to life’s pleasure.”
“What about flowers?” asked Mersault. “The former Empress created magnificent rose gardens at Malmaison. They are well worth a visit”
