Page 57 of A Noble Affair
Charles raised an eyebrow. “So you like horses, do you? Then, of course. Any time you want. I’ll tell the stable manager to expect you.” He glanced at Chastity then back at the boy. “You don’t mind that I’m taking your mother to the ball tonight?”
Thomas shook his head and slid off the couch to get something in his room. “Tommy, we have to go, darling,” his mom called after him. “Come back and give me a kiss, and then you can show your collection to Elizabeth.”
She hugged him and grabbed her black sequined clutch as she shrugged into the short coat that matched her dress. “Thank you,” she whispered again to her friend on their way out.
The afternoon was warm enough that her blazer would suffice. Charles pressed his key chain, and the BMW beeped on the street in front of them. “It’s not far,” he said, “but I didn’t want you to have to walk in dress shoes.” He opened the door for her, and they drove the short distance to the château—she, almost seized with nerves, and he, relaxed as they finally turned onto the pebble stone driveway.
“Stay here,” he commanded when she reached for the door handle. He got out of the car and walked around to the other side, opening her door and extending his hand. She tried to keep her composure and not tremble from nervousness as he pulled her to her feet.
There were a few other couples arriving at the same time. “There are eighty people invited to the dinner,” he told her. “The rest of the guests will arrive for the dancing afterwards.” He leaned towards her. “May I take your arm?”
Grateful for his steady presence, particularly when walking over the pebbles in high-heeled shoes, she attempted to find her voice. “You’ve even decorated the windows with lights. It’s beautiful.”
He opened the heavy door for her. “I’ve seated us with your friend Maude and her husband because I may have to leave you from time to time to take care of details. Now I understand why my parents were so exhausted after these things. Ah—I’ll have to introduce you to my mother too, I suppose. Don’t let her scare you.”
Chastity giggled and followed him into the downstairs apartment that was set with ten round tables, half of which were filled with guests, and more streaming in all the time. She spotted Maude and Michel with relief and gave them a small wave. Charles held her chair for her, said hello to her friends, then left to greet the mayor and some of the other people coming in.
“I didn’t know he knew who you were,” she whispered to Maude.
“I would say the same thing to you,” her friend retorted with a smile, “but I’ve been long convinced otherwise.” She added in an undertone, “We were only invited for the dinner part because of you, my dear.”
Charles had not been wrong when he said he would not be able to stay seated. In fact, he excused himself more often than she had expected, always with an apology and a warm smile that made Chastity’s heart skip a beat. She found she couldn’t relax.
When the dinner was over, he helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry, but my mother wants to meet you and I don’t think we can avoid it.” Charles pulled her hand through his arm, and the warmth of his proximity helped her stop trembling. “I promise not to leave you,” he said with a wink.
Chastity was suddenly facing a stately, dignified woman, to whom she addressed a “Bonsoir, Madame.”
“Bonsoir.” His mother looked her over critically. Her face was reserved, but not unkind. “You’re American, then. You seem to speak French well enough.”
“I went to the Lycée Français in Manhattan.”
“Ah. I have friends whose children went there. Do your parents work with the French consulate?”
Adelaide’s voice came from behind. “Maman, the mayor has been dying to say hello. May I bring you to him?” The dowager acquiesced with a regal, “Bonne soirée, mademoiselle.”
Chastity glanced at Charles, her eyes full of mirth. “Does she know my parents run a dry cleaning business?”
“I don’t believe she does.” Charles grinned and he caught her gaze. He made no move to go upstairs. The noise around them—the buzz of people talking, dishes clattering, scraping chairs—seemed to cease. He stood, immobile, his expression serious as his gaze went from her eyes to her lips. Her heart thudded.He’s going to kiss me.Then he blinked and the spell was over. He cleared his throat and gave an attempt at a smile. “The dancing will start soon. Let’s go up.”
Nobody was on the floor yet, but Chastity observed everyone and noticed Louis talking to Eloise Prynne. That was Pierce Burns to the right, who did not look happy. Dr. Okonkwo was there standing next to a French girl, and she couldn’t decide if they were together. Was that the viscount’s niece? The intern gave a small wave, and Chastity returned it.
Soon, the musicians had drawn some of the more intrepid couples in, and there were pairs swirling to the music. Chastity noted with private amusement that her students would only join in when it would be more conspicuous to stay on the sidelines than to be on the dance floor. Charles was talking to a gentleman on his left whom she recognized from the museum. While they talked, his arm stole around Chastity’s waist, and he pulled her into the conversation. “Jef, I don’t believe you’ve met Chastity.”
Eyes twinkling, his friend kissed her on both cheeks. “My pleasure.”
“Enchantée,” she returned, unable to resist a grin. She could see the long-standing camaraderie between the two men, and sensed his friend approved of her.
“I’ve known Jef since we were kids,” Charles explained. The two gentlemen resumed their conversation, but he did not remove his arm from her waist.
28
Cyril was ill-at-ease, waiting at the entrance to the tunnel. He hated being in the deserted school when it was not yet fully dark, but he had no choice. The drop would be at eleven o’clock. He was also annoyed with himself for being so claustrophobic he couldn’t do the job himself. That’s how he had gotten into trouble in the first place those twenty years ago. He should have just done it. He knew, even as he chastised himself, that he never could have. A childhood spent locked in a cellar with rats left him utterly incapable of setting foot in a closed, dark space.
He might have underestimated Jean. The man had not been surprised to see him when he exited the tunnel the other night. “Don’t bother killing me or you’ll never get the painting,” was all he had said when Cyril confronted him with a gun. “I’ve seen exactly where it is, and I know how to get it and when to get it. You won’t like it, but it has to be the same night you meet with your buyer.”
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like leaving things to the last minute, and he didn’t like the lack of control he had over this situation. If he didn’t deliver the painting this time around, things would end badly for him. It was no longer about his reputation; over the years he had become indebted to Vlad and no longer called all the shots. Now he worried that Jean had managed to find a different way out of the tunnel.
Jean,meanwhile, had reached his destination and had torn down the stone wall as quietly as he could. He climbed over it, and was now sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, just around the corner from where the gate was visible. The basement was absolutely quiet, though he could hear noises coming from upstairs, telling of the large crowds. The gardener—whose identity was revealed to Jean via a short blurb on page ten of the local newspaper simply by going missing—had not steered him wrong when he told him to attempt it this evening. He willfully relaxed his muscles and slowed his breathing as he waited.
