“I am so sorry, ma fille. I never would have thought he would. He seemed to love you so.”
Now Julienne lifted her head and met Mère’s gaze, grasping her hands. “It is not so noble a feeling, Maman. He…” The terrible truth slapped her just as Remi had done, bringing a flash of memory. Fran?ois, by no means innocent but certainly not deserving of his fate. His blue eyes, perhaps filled with mockery at their last meeting, but once held dear. Extinguished. Extinguished merely because Remi had glimpsed her. It was too terrible to grasp.
She shook her head. “He killed Fran?ois. Or perhaps had another do it, I do not know, but he said…he said he was a maggot who did not deserve to live, that he could not suffer him be between us—”
“Hush, child, calm down.” Her mother squeezed her fingers and glanced toward the door, though Julienne had not spoken above a whisper. Her brows furrowed. “You had not even met then.”
“I know. But he said he saw me in the garden and knew I was his. He is mad, Maman. He must be, to think…”
“Mad on power.” Drawing in a long breath, Mère squared her shoulders. “But why, Julienne, why did you have to do something so foolish as meet the comte? It would have been so easy to slip away while the duc was at his chateau, but now…”
She tried to press her lips down against the tears. “I know. I just…I had to see him. I…I love him.”
Mourning filled her mother’s eyes. “Julienne.”
“At the masquerade, we wandered through the gardens and talked for hours, and we…I…neither of us even knew who the other was. Yet all these months we have both been dreaming of finding each other again.”
Mère muttered a prayer. “And what did the duc do to him when he caught you?”
“Nothing. He threatened him and let him go.”
“That seems very unlike the duc, non?”
Julienne shrugged and called to mind the way Isaac had transformed before her eyes, from the gentle soul she loved into…well, apparently into the comte d’Ushant. “It seems the real comte is known for his conquests. He played the part, claiming our encounter was nothing to him. Remi believed it and apparently thought he would benefit from d’Ushant owing him a favor.”
“And you are sure that was the pretense?”
“Oui. Very sure.”
But to think of the danger they had both been in, and of how it had thrown their plans into chaos…Julienne squeezed her eyes shut, but she felt her mother’s hand smoothing her hair back. Heard her mother’s shaky breath. “Isaac Fairchild aside, we must get you away from the duc. It will not be easy now. His guards are more loyal than the king’s. But I will speak with your grandfather and with this Englishman you have such faith in, and we will find a way.”
Julienne opened her eyes again, though Mère’s image was blurry. “We will go to England? To my father?”
No tears could obscure the light of hope in her mother’s smile. “Oui. To your father. He is most anxious for us to come.”
Julienne laced her fingers through her mother’s and held on tight. “You still love him.”
Her smile went wistful. “I thought myself long since past such foolishness. But the moment I saw his script upon that page… Well, I cannot say what the future may bring for him and me, but he deserves to meet his daughter. We will go, ma fille. The very first moment we can arrange it, we will go.”
If only they knew when that would be. Julienne swallowed and glanced again toward the window. “I am sorry it is so difficult now. This is my fault.”
Her mother leaned close until their foreheads touched. “It is Remi’s fault, ultimately. You were only acting the part of a love-struck fool.” She pulled back again and gave her a crooked smile. “That embrace had better have been worth it.”
The smile that tickled Julienne’s lips just proved that even the darkest nights had a sprinkling of starlit hope. “Oh, it was, Maman. It was.”
Seven
You are imbéciles, all of you.” Jean-Paul then muttered something unintelligible, but no doubt just as insulting, under his breath as he repositioned his hat.
Fairchild wavered between a grin at his friend’s discomfort and a scowl at the fact that he feared him to be right. Five days they had watched, waited, and plotted. Five days of an unlikely alliance with the marquis de Valence, his daughter, and a handful of servants the marquis trusted implicitly.
Five days to pull his nerves so taut Fairchild imagined they would fray and snap at any moment. He glanced over his shoulder at the silver-haired marquis, whose face bore no emotion. But he felt it, clearly. All of them did. All of them loved her, otherwise they would never take such a risk for her happiness.