Minuet by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

rest, to see Sally’s fingers actually stroking the man’s cheek. Once the jackanapes had the impertinence to grab the fingers and kiss them. One would think they were in a boudoir. Such carryings-on ought to have been restricted to one, in Degan’s view.
    “What exactly is the relationship between those two?” he asked Harlock.
    “He is related on her mother’s side. A close relationship— I don’t know exactly. First cousins, I believe.”
    This relationship, while close, was not too close to allow of marriage between them, and Degan asked bluntly if this was a probable thing.
    “Good God no! They are friends. More like brother and sister than lovers. Henri stayed with Marie and them in Paris for a couple of years. Three years, actually. He came here in ‘84 to visit us at the Hall, and went back to Paris with Marie and the children. His family sent him to England before the Revolution, when they saw it coming.”
    “It looks like a match to me,” Degan said. Marriage was the proper course for her, and he wondered that he should have taken such an unaccountable aversion to the first likely suitor who came along.
    “No, it is out of the question.”
    “Mérigot is penniless, I take it?”
    “Next to it. Anything his family had to give him was lost, in the Revolution. He is from a noble family, a younger son. There will be no match there.”
    “But the blood is good? Céleste is well dowered,” Degan said, forcing himself to state the obvious, though it went sorely against the grain.
    “It is not romance with them,” Harlock said positively, then beckoned her to come closer. Mérigot too arose and went along with her.
    “What plans have you to rescue Lady Harlock and Édouard?” Mérigot asked at once, and this was gone into again.
    “I would be very happy to join any group that goes to make a rescue,” he said at once. Sally smiled warmly at him in approval.
    “I told Papa you would volunteer,” she said.
    “Too young,” Harlock said, rather stiffly. “Not familiar with the territory—seven years since you’ve been there, Mérigot.”
    “I was there once since I left, sir.”
    Degan jerked to attention at this speech, the last little mystery in the romance cleared up neatly.
    “Minou says she can tell me exactly how to reach the Maison Belhomme. My knowledge of French would be an asset in the enterprise, and there is no one in England closer to Lady Harlock than myself. Outside of you and Minou, I mean,” he added hastily as this statement met with a kindling glance.
    “Lady Harlock is my wife and my responsibility, sir,” Harlock said angrily. “You may depend on me to rescue her.”
    “She also means a great deal to me,” Mérigot said, less angrily but equally firmly. That proud face, unafraid, struck Degan suddenly as the face of more than a French fribble of fashion. It was a man, a determined man. Doubtlessly one in love with Minou, who hoped to win her favor by this daring deed.
    “I realize that. I shall keep you informed as to what I mean to do. Well, I suppose we shall be seeing a good deal of you now that Sally is here.” There was no joy in the speech, but more resignation than Degan expected.
    “Yes, you will see a good deal of me,” Mérigot said with a soft smile at Sally.
    Degan stirred restively in his chair and quickly changed the topic. “I expect your cousin has been telling you about her experiences in escaping,” he said.
    “All about them, and I disapprove of your joining a gypsy caravan and dancing for pennies, Minou,” he said, wagging a finger playfully at Sally.
    This was a new revelation to Degan. He glowered in silent rage for thirty seconds, then could contain his wrath no longer. “The less said about that sort of thing in public, the better,” he said repressively.
    “Ah, but we are not in public, monsieur,” Sally reminded him. “I have no secrets from Henri and Papa, and as you appear to be something of a member of our family, I shall have