Minuet by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

uproar this would cause, and lauded her patriotism.
    “It will set them to thinking, to take this revolution seriously, and back the government in the war effort,” he agreed, not thinking what he was saying, but only bathing in the joy of having at least one of his family back with him.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Lord Harlock put off all appointments and dined at home alone with his daughter. After dinner, he did not take brandy, or even port, but went with her to the saloon to hear more details of life in France. They had not long been sitting together when the knocker sounded, and Lord Degan was admitted, again wearing a plain dark outfit and an expression not so far from a frown.
    He bowed to Lady Céleste, but made it known that his call was upon the father, who had asked him to come. Sally was sorry to see that this dull person ran tame in her father’s house, but his conversation on this occasion was all with Lord Harlock. He sat listening and nodding his head while hearing of the lack of success in making any immediate arrangement to rescue Marie and Edward. He gained a little favor with the lady when he said, “Official arrangements would take forever. What you must do is get together a private raiding party, John. Hire a couple of clever émigrés and send them over. Lady Céleste can give us the rundown on how precautions stand in France and at the asylum in particular. That is your best bet. Indeed, your only chance, if their money will not last longer than the end of the month. It doesn’t give you much time. Shall I look into it for you?”
    “I’m speaking to Fox tomorrow.”
    There was another knock on the door, and soon Monsieur Henri Mérigot was being admitted. Degan didn’t remember him as being quite so handsome, or tall, or well formed. He was a six-foot Adonis with black hair and eyes, the gallant, easy manners of the French gentleman, and no doubt their total lack of morals as well. He wore a maroon velvet jacket, and at his neck a spotless fall of white Mechlin lace cascaded, highlighted with a ruby of medium size. His delicate hands were as white as a lady’s, and as sinuous and strong as a masseur’s.
    He made a graceful bow to the gentlemen, but was soon dashing to Lady Céleste to embrace her with both arms, holding her tightly against him, while he muttered French endearments in her ear. “ Ma mie” and “ma chérie” were heard with impatience by Degan, who looked with exasperation to Lord Harlock to put an end to this spectacle. Harlock only looked embarrassed.
    “French, you know,” was his explanation. To Degan there was a clearer explanation. The two were lovers. How could it possibly have come about, when Céleste had been in France the past ten years? Mérigot, though... had not he been in France too for part of that time?
    He asked Harlock this, but was told Mérigot had been in London for seven years. Céleste would have been only twelve, thirteen at the most, when he left France. The French were all unprincipled, of course, and unnaturally precocious, but surely a girl of twelve years had not been carrying on an affair. She was certainly doing so now, and in front of her father and a third party. Degan arose abruptly and went to them. “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of your relative’s acquaintance, Lady Céleste ,” he said.
    She performed the introduction, then, still holding onto Henri’s hand, she led him to a sofa a little apart from the others and entered into close discussion with him, in French. Degan returned to her father, and while he talked to the older man, he regarded the other. It was hard to keep his eyes off the pair in the corner. They were both outstandingly handsome, and in the same manner, which he supposed vaguely was the French manner—lively, with hands moving about freely, eyes flashing, smiles bright and gay, the air frequently rippling with merry bursts of laughter. And they kept touching each other. This bothered him more than the