“Monday.”
“So soon? Have you recovered sufficiently from what transpired the other night . . . ?”
“I am not dwelling on it. There were things said, however, that I have been wondering about. Not said by Philip, but by others. About . . . our benefactor. Perhaps you can explain them. If they aren’t part of secrets, I mean.”
Minerva’s face lost most of its expression, except for a firm, somewhat distant smile. “If I can in good conscience explain, I will try. He fell off a parapet at his country home. It was declared an accident.”
“Yet some in the family don’t think it was. Lady Dolores, for example.”
“No. Some don’t.”
“Do they believe someone done him in?”
“Some do.”
Rosamund swallowed hard. “Do some think I did that? What with the legacy, I had—”
“No one has cause to speculate about you. You were in Richmond, so you can pay all of the gossip no mind at all.” Minerva smiled, as if that settled that. “Now, I will take my leave so you can finish whatever you need to do here. When you pack for this journey, remember to take along your best garments. You may want to attend the opera or theater, or dine in one of the special establishments there.”
Rosamund led the way down and saw Minerva off. Then she returned to the shop to help Mrs. Ingram. Her conversation with Minerva kept going through her mind whenever she rested for a few minutes. Her new friend had ended their chat firmly, before any more questions about the late duke’s death could be asked.
Chapter Twelve
“Ooo. C’est tres belle.” Margarite smoothed her palm down the silk fabric of the pale, lilac dinner dress.
Rosamund had no idea what had been said by this young maid provided by the hotel.
“It . . . is beautiful,” Margarite said in halting, careful English.
She spoke the way Rosamund assumed she herself sounded when she was trying to speak French.
Margarite continued to unpack the trunks. It would probably take some time. Never having traveled abroad before, and with Minerva’s advice in mind, she ended up bringing all her new garments and a good number of her old ones.
Rosamund returned to the bedchamber. Although not large, she thought it luxurious. The long windows gave it good light, and the elegant high ceiling, with all its plaster decoration, created opulence.
Then again, perhaps she liked it so much because of the sitting room attached to it. Even better, the sitting room had a little terrace that overlooked a big park across the street.
She stepped out on that terrace to take in the view. People strolled much as they did in London’s parks.
“Those are the Tuileries Gardens. It is where one goes to see and be seen.”
She turned to see Kevin Radnor emerging from a chamber onto another terrace beside hers. She had not realized his quarters were next to her own. After he spoke with the hotel staff, she had been escorted by a formal gentleman to her door, while Kevin disappeared.
Now she pointed to his long windows. “Do you have an apartment too?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need one.”
“Nor do I.”
“There may be evenings when you want to dine alone. The French are very liberal, and their restaurants are unsurpassed, but even they do not expect a woman to be seated alone. This way you can call for a meal in your suite but won’t have to eat in the bedchamber.”
“How thoughtful of you, to consider that. I heard you in discussion with the gentleman downstairs but had no idea you were arranging this for me.”
“One of us needed that extra chamber. If we require privacy, that is. Better you have it.”
“Require privacy?” Her heart quickened a bit, in a combination of alarm touched by—excitement. The latter made no sense, but she could not deny its existence.
She had not forgotten his parting words when she left his family’s house in London. Even as she rushed to prepare for this journey, it had remained in the back of her mind. When a man all but declared his intention to seduce a woman, that woman would be an idiot to ignore it. To then make a journey in that man’s company was probably foolhardy. Even dangerous.
When that man was handsome and appealing, it was probably normal to experience these peculiar reactions to him. On their journey here, he often became absorbed in his thoughts. She could not resist examining him then, wondering if he had said those words to tease her, or in revenge for her rejection. On several occasions, however, that gaze had turned on her without mercy, as if he guessed what she contemplated and deliberately sought to fluster her.
She had remained on her guard the entire way to Dover as a result. His presence across from her in the carriage could not be ignored. She kept waiting for something inappropriate to occur. The truth was, the anticipation had titillated her without Mr. Radnor doing anything at all untoward.
A fine thing that was. Stupid and embarrassing. Whenever it happened, she had summoned Charles’s image and concentrated on it. She had carried him in her mind on the packet, especially when Mr. Radnor on occasion stood by her side while they watched the sea from the deck. There was only one short spell, while they rode from the coast to Paris, when she sensed that an actual seduction was being contemplated by him.
Kevin had asked, while he arranged for transport, whether she wanted her own carriage. Being practical, it had seemed a stupid waste of money not to share one.
Within the first hour she had realized why it was not proper for women to travel alone with men. Even the most spacious carriage grew intimate over time. The space within might have accommodated shorter people better, but she was taller than most and his height meant his legs were always there, close to hers, intruding. In fact, after she had
