the girl home, and get you to London,â Whitney said. âWhen youâre there you can ask to do something else. Maybe this peace will last, and you wonât have to do anything more.â
âAnd maybe the newly self-proclaimed First Consul for Life Napoleon Bonaparte will retire and cede France to our king after kissing our beautiful prince on both cheeks and wishing him long life,â Maxwell said, staring into the blazing hearth.âThen we can build a bridge to Paris and live as one nation, happily ever after.â
âSome people think that may be.â
âSome people,â Maxwell said, âthink the moon is made of cheese. Iâll have that brandy now, thank you. Then Iâll scan these reports. You can go over them too and see if Iâve missed anything. I donât think our missing lover is a spy. Nor do I think heâs anything but wise to be shut of this lady. But I promised to look, and Iâm a man of my word. And who knows? He may be Bonaparte in disguise.â
His friend rose and went to a sideboard to pour another goblet of golden liquor. âYou think the peace is temporary?â
âI think it may be over by the time I finish reading these papers. I know Napoleon wants to rule the world, and I donât care to be under his thumb or his foot. Although, come to think on, I wouldnât have to be. Because one of the first things heâd do would be to detach my head and those of my family and friends, as the Revolution did for my motherâs relatives. He has an aversion to the nobility, remember? Iâd take tea with three thousand dizzy dowagers to prevent that.â
Maxwell accepted a goblet of liquor from his friend and sighed. âThank you. But whatever else I do, I must find out what Carstairsâs granddaughterâs suitor was doing, if only because I hate loose ends. And then even if I have to give up the case because thereâs no end to it, Iâll go to London. Youâll follow I suppose.â
âI should be honored to,â his friend said, sitting down again.
âAs well you should be,â Maxwell agreed, settling down to read his papers.
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âThat is quite the loveliest gown Iâve seen you wear in a long while,â Lady Carstairs said, gazing at her granddaughter.
Pippaâs gown was a long-sleeved column of saffron-colored silk, embellished with tiny gold rosettes. Yellow roses had been woven into her gilded hair, and a simple golden locket lay at her white throat.
âAnd yet all weâre doing is meeting the marquis for dinner,â her grandmother mused.
Pippaâs fair skin showed pink at her momentary discomfort. Then she shrugged. âItâs April, it may soon be too warm to wear it.â
âThere is that,â her grandmother said cheerfully. âAnd certainly the marquis will find it beautiful. Then perhaps he wonât be so snappish with you. Do you think heâs come up with Noelâs whereabouts?â
âI donât know, Grandmamma. Itâs been three days since we met with him. Thatâs why weâre going to dinner with him this evening.â
âHe might just want to see us again,â Lady Carstairs said brightly. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, and preened. âHe may seem cold to you but thereâs no question he likes me. I may have aged a bit but I still attract the gentlemen.â She positioned her diamond necklace so that it lay perfectly on the very rounded breast of her blue gown and smiled. There was no self-mockery in her comment or her smile.
Pippa bit her lip. There was no question that her grandmotherâs conversation was growing strange. But then, she thought guiltily, it may have been so for months now. She hadnât noticed. First Noel had taken up all of her time, and then sheâd been absorbed in the mystery of Noelâs leaving. This was the first time sheâd passed in the sole
Learning to Kill: Stories