Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [178]
21
UNTIMELY RESURRECTION
My mind was still on bankers when our coach pulled up to the Duke’s rented residence on the Rue St. Anne. It was a large, handsome house, with a long, curving drive lined with poplar trees, and extensive grounds. A wealthy man, the Duke.
“Do you suppose it was the loan Charles got from Manzetti that he’s investing with St. Germain?” I asked.
“It must be,” Jamie replied. He pulled on the pigskin gloves suitable for a formal call, grimacing slightly as he smoothed the tight leather over the stiff fourth finger of his right hand. “The money his father thinks he’s spending to maintain himself in Paris.”
“So Charles really is trying to raise money for an army,” I said, feeling a reluctant admiration for Charles Stuart. The coach came to a halt, and the footman hopped down to open the door.
“Well, he’s trying to raise money, at least,” Jamie corrected, handing me out of the coach. “For all I ken, he wants it to elope with Louise de La Tour and his bastard.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Not from what Master Raymond told me yesterday. Besides, Louise says she hasn’t seen him since she and Jules…well…”
Jamie snorted briefly. “At least she’s got some sense of honor, then.”
“I don’t know whether that’s it,” I observed, taking his arm as we climbed the steps to the door. “She said Charles was so furious at her for sleeping with her husband that he stormed off, and she hasn’t seen him since. He writes her passionate letters from time to time, swearing to come and take her and the child away with him as soon as he comes into his rightful place in the world, but she won’t let him come to see her; she’s too afraid of Jules finding out the truth.”
Jamie made a disapproving Scottish noise.
“God, is there any man safe from cuckoldry?”
I touched his arm lightly. “Likely some more than others.”
“Ye think so?” he said, but smiled down at me.
The door swung open to reveal a short, tubby butler, with a bald head, a spotless uniform, and immense dignity.
“Milord,” he said, bowing to Jamie, “and milady. You are expected. Please come in.”
* * *
The Duke was charm itself as he received us in the main drawing room.
“Nonsense, nonsense,” he said, dismissing Jamie’s apologies for the contretemps of the dinner party. “Damned excitable fellows, the French. Make an ungodly fuss over everything. Now, do let us look over all these fascinating propositions, shall we? And perhaps your good lady would like to…um, amuse herself with a perusal of…eh?” He waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the wall, leaving it open to question whether I might amuse myself by looking at the several large paintings, the well-furnished bookshelf, or the several glass cases in which the Duke’s collection of snuffboxes resided.
“Thank you,” I murmured, with a charming smile, and wandered over to the wall, pretending to be absorbed in a large Boucher, featuring the backview of an amply endowed nude woman seated on a rock in the wilderness. If this was a reflection of current tastes in female anatomy, it was no wonder that Jamie appeared to think so highly of my bottom.
“Ha,” I said. “What price foundation garments, eh?”
“Eh?” Jamie and the Duke, startled, looked up from the portfolio of investment papers that formed the ostensible reason for our visit.
“Never mind me,” I said, waving a gracious hand. “Just enjoying the art.”
“I’m deeply gratified, ma’am,” said the Duke politely, and at once reimmersed himself in the papers, as Jamie began the tedious and painstaking real business of the visit—the inconspicuous extraction of such information as the Duke might be willing to part with regarding his own sympathies—or otherwise—toward the Stuart cause.
I had my own agenda for this visit, as well. As the men became more immersed in their discussions, I edged my way toward the door, pretending to look through the well-furnished shelves. As soon as the coast looked clear, I meant to slip out into the hallway and try