“And what was her conclusion?”
“To be frank, she found him so much like her dead mother that she was overcome with emotion. It had been her intention to ask him a series of probing questions about his past, but she was so distraught that she found she could not. I had to take her away.”
“Is that why you went back to see Pelletan again on Thursday night?”
He expected her to deny it, but she was too clever for that. And he realized she’d probably guessed from the beginning what his questions were leading up to, and why.
She tilted her head to one side, her gaze intent on his face. “How did you know?”
“You were recognized.”
“Ah.”
When she remained silent, he said, “You told me you spent the day in prayer with Marie-Thérèse. Why not tell the truth?”
“It seemed best at the time. Now I realize it was a mistake. Forgive me.”
“Am I to understand that for the first time in eighteen years you deserted the Princess on the anniversary of her father’s death?”
She shook her head. “No. I fear there are times when Marie-Thérèse’s grief simply becomes too much for her. When she reaches that point, she is impossible to calm and can make herself ill. In such situations, sleep becomes the only reasonable recourse.”
In other words, Lady Giselle had dosed the hysterical Princess with laudanum.
Now she sat with her fingers laced together in her lap, her features composed in an expression of calm beatitude that would have done justice to St. Louis himself. She said, “Marie-Thérèse had asked me to return and see Pelletan—to ask the questions she herself had been unable to broach. And so I did.”
“What did you discover?”
“Very little, actually. He became quite angry when he realized why I was there and refused to discuss the subject any further. So we left.”
“We?”
A faint note of exasperation crept into her voice. “You don’t seriously think I would undertake such a visit alone, do you? My mother’s cousin, the Chevalier d’Armitz, was kind enough to accompany me.” Again, that charming tilt of the head as her pretty forehead crinkled with a show of confusion. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because you and your cousin were amongst the last people to see Damion Pelletan alive. What was he doing when you left the inn?”
She shrugged. “The last I saw, he was standing on the footpath outside the inn, staring up at the night sky. As I said, the conversation visibly disturbed him. He may have been trying to compose himself before returning inside.”
“Did you see anyone else while you were there?”
“We spoke to a servant in the coffee room, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t recall noticing anyone else.”
“What about your cousin, the Chevalier d’Armitz? He might have noticed someone. Would it be possible for me to speak to him?”
“I’m sorry, but I believe he is away from London at the moment.”
“A pity,” said Sebastian.
“Yes. It is, isn’t it?”
“Tell me about him.”
She smiled and gave a little shrug. “What is there to tell?”
“Has he been in England long?”
“Most of his life.”
“He’s young?”
“In his twenties, yes.” She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. Sebastian had outstayed his welcome, and she was not hesitant to let him know it. She rose to her feet. “And now I fear you must excuse me, my lord. We plan to return to Hartwell House in the morning, and Marie-Thérèse has expressed an interest in making one last expedition to Bond Street.”
Sebastian rose with her, his hat in one hand. “Best hurry, then,” he said. “It looks as if it is liable to come on to rain.”
“Hopefully not until after midnight,” she said, smiling sadly. “I’ve a private service at the chapel to attend this evening.”
He studied her delicate, fine-featured face. She was a beautiful woman, still young enough to bear children and well dowered enough to attract suitors, had she wanted them. Instead, she had devoted her life to the support of a fragile, damaged princess regarded by the indulgent as haughty and high-strung, and by the less charitable as half-mad.
Aloud, he said, “Why have you stayed with Marie-Thérèse all these years?”
“Because she needs me,” Lady Giselle said simply. “When she was released from prison eighteen years ago, I promised I would stay with her until the Bourbons are restored to their rightful place on the throne of France. I am a woman of my word.”
“And if there never is a Bourbon restoration?”
She looked at him with the clear, steady conviction of a Joan of Arc, or the kind of officials who once burned witches at the stake. “There will be. It is God’s will.”