Page 32 of The Count’s Charade

Grace stilled, afraid to lose the contact of his lips upon her own, the certainty rising in the back of her mind that Henri would surely take them away before she had a chance to savour this enchanted moment. They mouthed hers softly, a pressure that increased the melting within. Grace willed herself to die so that she need never face reality again.

But it was too late. The contact broke, and Henri was moving away. Grace had forgotten how it had happened, knew this was the only time it would. An impossible dream, made possible by her weakness.

Shame coursed through her, and she pulled sharply back. Her fingers came up to brush across the imprint of his kiss. Words jerked from her mouth, unthought and futile.

“I beg your pardon! I should not have — it is my fault. It was foolish of me. Pray have no fear. I will not think of it again.”

Henri was frowning deeply, the hand that had held her supporting him on the table. He had not moved back, and the look in his eyes froze her. She tried again.

“You did not mean it, I know. It was just to comfort me. My fault, Henri. It should not have happened. I had no intention of — of —”

She broke off, aware she was babbling. Henri was on the move, turning towards the door. He spoke as he went, gruffness in his tone.

“There is no blame, Grâce. Not for you. It is better that I return to bed now.”

At the door, he halted, turning. His eyes were sombre, but he smiled faintly. Grace thought there was effort in it.

“Let tomorrow bring that which it desires, I have no regret. To know you, Grâce, it has been a privilege.”

She saw him turn again, and longed to call him back. But the words refused to be uttered. That she had hurt him was all too obvious. How to mend it was beyond her. She had never been kissed in her life before, but instinct told her what sort of a kiss it had been. It had nothing to do with passion. Bleak at heart, she listened to his footsteps climbing slowly up the stairs.

CHAPTER SIX

The morning brought Mab, released from her duties at the Bear, and big with news that could only serve to increase Grace’s disquiet. She was thankful Reuben was upstairs, holding Henri too involved in his toilette to think of coming down to breakfast. The last thing she needed was for this to reach his ears.

“Everyone knows as how them Frenchies were here yesterday, along of Mr Wooferton. You should hear how they’re all saying they guessed the wounded feller were a Frenchie all along, as if there weren’t no clue to it when them others started questioning folks hereabouts. Easy to be wise after the event, and aren’t they just? Never heard so many tales as they’ve managed to make up amongst them.”

Grace eyed her with misgiving, perceiving signs of genuine distress under Mab’s habitual complaining manner. “What sort of tales?”

A flush stained her old nurse’s cheeks. “Such as I’d not sully your ears with, Miss Grace, if I didn’t think it my duty.”

“Go on.”

But Mab was not to be persuaded to get to the point without roundaboutation, which did not make Grace the least bit easier in her mind. “It’s as well I married Mr Lamport, despite his ailing at just the wrong moment, for it’s the speediest route by which news travels, either from ours to Mr Wooferton’s or in the other direction.”

Grace was well aware gossip travelled fastest via those who laboured in Rainham but lived over East Hall way. They picked up talk in the Black Horse in the daylight hours, and brought it back to the Bear in the evening, and vice versa. Likewise, the errand boys, who travelled between the villages throughout the day, dropping in at one or other hostelry to refresh themselves. It came as no surprise that accounts of what had transpired the day before were already doing the rounds, doubtless with embellishments. A sense of deep foreboding entered Grace’s breast.

“What is being said, Mab?”

A glum look settled in the old nurse’s features. “There’s a deal of argufying as to what them Frenchies want with him, and more on what Mr Wooferton should do about them. I was minded to ask them why they didn’t go to Sir James and tell him his business, if they knew so much.”

“Mab, will you please tell me what is troubling you?”

They were seated at the table, Jemima having brought in Grace’s tea just as Mab arrived. A second cup was immediately requested, which the nurse had consented to drink, though not without expressing disapproval of Grace’s free and easy ways. Grace could only be thankful her old nurse had not remarked her unnecessary change to the green calico gown, prompted by a foolish conceit after last night that she hardly cared to think about.

Grace watched the nurse raise the cup to her lips and swallow down some of the hot tea, as if she needed a restorative before she could bring herself to discharge what was in her mind. Then she set down the cup, letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s got about as you stopped Mr Mayberry and Mr Wooferton from taking yon Frenchie into custody. And them nodcocks as say it seem to think they know why.”

“Well, why?”

Mab’s tone resumed its usual belligerence. “It couldn’t be as the fellow ain’t fit to be moved, oh no, though you’d think anyone with a brain in his head would suppose it. But, no. It’s just as I foretold how it would be from the outset, Miss Grace.”

Grace’s perturbation intensified as the nurse lowered her voice.

“They’re saying as it ain’t natural for a single lady to wish to keep a gennelman in her house for a whole week, not unless they’d some sort of understanding. Not that they blame you, Miss Grace. If he weren’t French, some of them would be that pleased, far as I can tell. Think it’s what you deserve and you had ought to have a man to look after you, which I ain’t in disagreement with. Others hold you choosing a foreigner to be a disgrace, though they were all for fixing the wedding day in spite of it. Only by what I heard, there ain’t one of them as supposes you ain’t cheated parson’s mousetrap. Or if you haven’t, it won’t be long before you do.”

“In other words,” said Grace, “they think Henri and I are already lovers.”