“Good morning,” he said, upon entering the dining room and bowing to his aunt and her guest.
While Emilie looked tired, Avers was pleased to see some of the shock from yesterday’s encounter was no longer present in her face.
“Well—hurry up and sit down, John. We are already eating,” said Lady Goring imperiously.
He took his seat and ordered coffee from the waiting servant.
Lady Goring’s eyes followed the servant out of the room, and when they were alone again she spoke. “We have already been discussing a suitable story to explain Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s visit. I think it would do nicely if she was an orphan from a genteel family outside of Paris—a long-time friend of mine or something—and she has come to stay with me out of charity.”
Avers resisted the urge to role his eyes at his relative managing to make herself the hero of this story.
“I sent you, John, to escort her from the Continent so she might make her entrance to London Society under my wing.” Lady Goring nodded her head in satisfaction. “That will nicely wrap up your absence from England and Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s appearance in London.”
“Your machinations are formidable, dear aunt.”
Emilie’s hands were hugging a cup of steaming tea, lifting to sip it every now and then, while listening to the others. At Avers’ words he saw a slight curve appear on her lips.
If Lady Goring noticed her nephew’s sarcasm she was not perturbed by it. “The fact that Mademoiselle Cadeaux has already been staying at the French consul’s residence in London and attended Lord and Lady Peregrine’s ball is a minor inconvenience—but not insurmountable.”
His gaze had been lingering on Mademoiselle Cadeaux, tracing every line and curve of her face, wishing they were alone in this room so he might kiss her. At his aunt’s words he looked sharply at her.
“And just how do you know those details, dear aunt?”
“I told her,” Emilie interjected, placing her teacup back down on the table. “She needed to know all the details to spin a suitable tale to protect me. I am so thankful for her help.”
Her sincere words caused Lady Goring to smile, raising her chin, preening at the complimentary words.
“It is the least I can do, my child, after your ordeal.”
Avers’ mouth dropped open in astonishment. He had never seen his aunt take so quickly to someone and it was clear that she liked Emilie very much indeed if she was so affected by her praise.
“But we must go over your story entirely to ensure my proposed tale is watertight.” Lady Goring proceeded to ferret out holes in the tale she was to spread by interrogating both of them. She came up with suitable solutions for any discrepancies and after quarter of an hour, ceased her questioning and considered all the information for several minutes before speaking again. “We must thank God that Lord and Lady Peregrine chose a masquerade for their ball. It will provide sufficient concealment of your identity to refute anyone who tries to counter our story. Good! Now all that is left to do is to send out my informants to spread the story abroad.” Lady Goring rose from her chair, having managed to finish her breakfast during her devising, and rang the bell.
Avers got up impulsively and strode over to his aunt, embracing her before she could protest.
“Thank you, aunt,” he said quietly at her ear, before releasing her as quickly as he had hugged her.
The older woman, for once, was lost for words. Her thin lips were parted in surprise and there was a softness in her eyes Avers had not seen before.
The expression only lasted a minute. After this, his aunt shook herself, smoothed her skirts and turned to the door just as the servant entered.
Over the next few days Lady Goring’s network of spies did an admirable job of spreading the new story of Emilie’s appearance in London. Perhaps for the first time they performed a virtuous act by relaying the false story around the backstairs and drawing rooms of London until no one was in any doubt who Mademoiselle Emilie Cadeaux was.
Those who had seen Emilie’s face at the French consul’s residence before Lord and Lady Peregrine’s masquerade, such as the diplomat himself, had no interest in exposing her true story. The infamous tale of a French spy caught in London was now abroad. The last thing anyone with sense would wish to do was inadvertently connect themselves with the Marquis de Dartois by identifying Emilie.
And so, her true origins were sufficiently protected, and for once, Avers was thankful for his aunt’s vociferous gossiping.
In fact, the story of a poor friend from France was so much believed that by the following Thursday, Avers was able to take Emilie for a walk in Hyde Park, with one of his aunt’s maids in tow for the sake of propriety.
The day had dawned fine, a gentle breeze clearing the skies and banishing any last vestiges of the dark happenings on St Saviour’s dock four days since.
“I see my cousin Sophia’s dresses fit you well,” said Avers as they walked sedately down the main boulevard of the park.
There were many others taking advantage of the change in the weather. Some tipped their hats to Avers and Emilie. Others simply smiled.
“Yes,” replied Emilie. “I’ve thanked your aunt for them. If it wasn’t for your cousin’s old dresses I would still be in the same clothes from…”
“I have already sent to Paris for the remainder of your things,” said Avers, easily covering over the break in her speech. “We may not be able to retrieve your items from the consul’s residence here in London, but at least you might have your other things. It will be easier for you to feel settled while you decide what to do if you have your own possessions around you.”
She did not reply, but gave a slight bob of her head in understanding. He wished so very much to cup her cheek and coax her to look at him. To tell her that everything would be all right.
“Your petit diable is enjoying his stroll,” Avers said instead, as Lutin made a lunge for a pigeon that had been pecking at the ground close by.
“I think he’s felt cooped up,” Emilie replied, and then added quickly, “Though your aunt has been very good about him, letting him on the sofas, and feeding him all manner of treats.”
Her tone had turned to one of loving affection, and a joyful smile hovered over her lips as she watched her petite companion trotting here and there on the end of his lead.
“I instructed her cook to bake liver biscuits for the little sprite.”
Emilie glanced across at him, surprised gratitude in her eyes. “You did? I thanked your aunt for her thoughtfulness.”
Avers laughed. “And I expect she accepted the compliment without demure. Devil take her—she is a slippery one, that aunt of mine.”
“I should not say it, for she has been very kind to me,” Emilie said, looking behind them to check that the maid was out of earshot, and then whispering conspiratorially to Avers. “But she is the greatest gossip I have ever known. I find it hard to comprehend just how much information she has on every individual of consequence in Society. Even the servants.”
Avers laughed without restraint, having to stop his stroll and clap a hand to his thigh. “Has it taken you four days to realise that?” he asked, wiping his eyes, a broad grin on his face.
“Non,” Emilie replied, shrugging. “Only one. But I have not had the opportunity to tell you until now.” She began chuckling, the sound so sweet and refreshing that it made Avers’ heart ache. He pressed a hand over hers which rested on his arm, his smile becoming more tender as he looked down at her.
