I shook my head. “If I reveal my true purpose, I might have to follow through with it. I’m not sure I’m ready for that much commitment.”
“And yet the rumors say you’re here looking for a wife.” She sipped at her drink. “Some people say that’s the ultimate commitment.”
“I think you are not one of them.”
She blinked. “You seem to know a great deal about me.”
“I make it my business to be informed about the mothers of the daughters who interest me,” I said. “Cécile has a lovely voice. I was entranced from the moment I first heard it.”
The glass in her hand shattered.
She stared at the blood dripping down her fingers, seemingly as astonished as I was. In an instant, we were surrounded by the other men, Bouchard taking hold of her wrist and pulling her fingers open. The rest of the glass toppled to the ground with a muffled little clink.
“What happened?” he demanded, examining the cut.
“The heat from the fire,” she said. “It must have made the glass shatter.”
Which was absolute nonsense. I’d intended to lure her in by mentioning Cécile, but I’d gotten much more than I’d bargained for. Anger? Fear? I found her difficult to read, so I wasn’t precisely sure. But what I did know for certain was that she wanted me nowhere near her daughter.
“This should be seen to by a physician; it may need to be stitched,” he said, holding her palm out for me to see. I nodded in agreement, though I knew nothing about judging the severity of a human injury.
“Nonsense.” She retrieved a handkerchief and wrapped up her hand. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll need another glass.” She waved away the onlookers, and then set her replacement beverage on top of the mantel. “Cécile has been quite reticent about revealing the details of where she was during the months of her absence.”
“And you thought in seeking me out that I might divulge some of those details?”
“What sort of mother would I be if I didn’t take an interest in my daughter’s comings and goings. And disappearances.”
“An absent one, I suppose,” I said with a smile, not sure why I was provoking her when my aim was to win her over. “But that is neither here nor there. I’m afraid I’ll not reveal Cécile’s secrets. If you wish answers, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”
Her jaw tightened. “What of your intentions toward her? Will you divulge those?”
“You’re forward.”
“She’s young and naive. I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“Ah.” I handed my empty glass to a passing servant. “Well, rest assured, Madame de Troyes, I’d sooner harm myself than your daughter. Nothing would please me more than to see her onstage unencumbered by such trivial concerns as finances.”
“You wish to offer her patronage?” Her eyes narrowed. “In exchange for what?”
“Is not the pleasure of seeing her perform payment enough?”
She snorted softly. “Don’t patronize me. You could have that for the price of a ticket.”
“Her company, then.”
“You’re in the practice of paying for your… company? Or is Cécile to be first in a line of many?”
“No,” I said, my voice chilly. I did not like this woman. The expression in her eyes was flat and calculating. None of her questions were driven by a desire to protect Cécile, but rather to determine whether the longevity of my interest was worth the investment. “But I am in the practice of using what means are at my disposal to make those I care for happy.”
“I see.”
Nothing would be gained from prolonging this conversation. I needed to leave, but any excuse would look like an attempt to flee her scrutiny.
I was rescued by an approaching servant, his face dismayed.
Coming close to my arm, he said, “Monsieur, I’m afraid there has been an incident.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Of what sort?”
He grimaced. “I’m afraid your manservant has overindulged and passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor. What would you have us do with him?”
I closed my eyes, my expression pained. “How terribly embarrassing.” To Genevieve, I said, “I hope your injury does not trouble you long, Madame. Perhaps we will cross paths again soon.” I hesitated before adding, “My proposal would benefit you as well. Please think on it.”
I followed the servant into the kitchen, where Chris was indeed lying snoring, in the middle of the floor. “Don’t know what got into him. He was fine, then all of sudden he set to drinking as though this hour might be his last.”
I scowled and nudged Chris with my foot, but he would not rouse. “Two of you get him up.”
They took him round the back while I retrieved my hat and cloak, then the four of us went out to where a cab waited, the tired-looking horse standing patiently in the snow.
“Put him in the back.”
“It’s extra if he vomits,” the driver declared.