Free The Blue Diamond by Joan Smith

change her story now, with a buyer on the hook. He hardly knew where to turn. As the hour of Bagration’s festival drew near, he had done nothing but think and worry. He was surprised to see the Krugers and the Countess von Rossner at Russian Headquarters, their more usual haunt being in the other half of the palais. But everyone liked an occasional change of scene. The daughter, he noticed, had acquired a new beau. A French fellow it was—not one of the top dogs, but attached to Talleyrand’s delegation in some manner. He might well have been chosen by the young lady for his appearance, that certainly cast the Count Rechberg in the shade. One of those debonair Frenchies the fellow was, all airs and graces.
    Herr Kruger, not finding a plain Monsieur Chabon a suitable replacement for a count of excellent expectations, was looking elsewhere. “There is the English melord who called on us the other day, I believe. Lord Moncrief, a very eligible parti ,” he mentioned to the Countess, who raised her lorgnette and examined him through her sharp, rheumy eyes.
    “Handsome!” she allowed, as her glance swept him from head to toe. “An excellent old English family too, Peter. We would not relish losing Maria to England, but there, she spent some years in the country, and would not feel quite a stranger amongst the breed. But it was not romance he had in mind when he called on her, I think? Maria mentioned that ruby star thing your little Mademoiselle sold. Business it was, n’est-ce-pas ?”
    “I believe he took some pleasure from the business. He stood up with her that same evening.”
    “The saucy piece went after him to make Anton jealous. I saw the whole. He is unattached so far as I know, and might be hinted into a state of admiration, if it is done carefully. I shall attend to it myself.”
    The Countess’s sledgehammer tactics in pursuit of a beau were by all means to be avoided. “I shall attend to it, mon chou .” he told her, giving her rouged and sagging cheeks an amiable tug, while he suppressed a grimace at the infatuated smile she returned him. Really she was the ugliest female God had ever devised. She might have been formed to reveal the meaning of the word ugly. Hermione, he conceded grudgingly, was a marvelous companion. She was wise and witty, and seldom out of sorts. He would as soon spend an evening in her company as anyone’s. They had been friends for decades, and shared the same friends and acquaintances, likes and dislikes—up to a point the same social history. He wished she could be his sister, but wife! The very thought of being required to make love to her sent his glands into a state of shock. Why must it always be the old and ugly women who possessed the wealth? God, he thought, had a very wide streak of mischief in his makeup.
    “Lord Moncrief,” he said, advancing towards the young gentleman with a genial smile in place. “A delightful evening the Princess has arranged for us, is it not? We too seldom see you. It is this foolish business of our two charming neighbors in the Palais Palm cutting society down the middle and claiming a half each that is responsible.”
    Moncrief turned with interest towards the speaker. He could not recall Kruger’s having ever said more than a dozen words to him before. He was of course curious as to what was behind the present move. He bowed, and extended his hand. “I was to call on you the other day, Sir, but as you were out, your daughter was kind enough to see me. Perhaps she told you what business took me?”
    Kruger had six dozen times regretted having let his apartment to the young French girl, who turned out to be not all that he expected when she first came begging, with her big bedroom eyes suggesting all sorts of things that never transpired. Or so he had interpreted her solicitations. He had to confess himself an optimist with regard to women. He frequently misread their words, gestures, and suffered the consequential embarrassment.