Free Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) by Mary Nichols Page A

watching her with a delighted smile on his face and eyes twinkling.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Lucie. I thought at first she might be your wife, but then I thought no, because she would not leave us to dine alone. A servant, perhaps. Are you allowed servants in France these days? Your friend, Pierre, did not seem to think so. Perhaps she is a relative …’ She prattled on, not giving him time to answer. ‘She is very pretty.’
    Not nearly as beautiful as you, my dear, he thought, watching the animated face of his guest and wishing there was some way he could stop time, freeze it so that she need never change, but stay always bright and cheerful, never to know cold and hunger and brutality. ‘Yes, Lucie is pretty. And good, which is more important.’
    ‘She is your lover, then?’
    He laughed and poured wine in her glass. ‘She was what English people might call a serf in the old days, tied to her
seigneur
, but since the Revolution she is free to work for whom she likes, which is good in theory but does not always work in practice.’
    ‘Are you her
seigneur
?’
    ‘No. She chooses to work for me. I pay her wages to keep this house clean and cook for me when I am here. Does that satisfy you?’
    ‘She doesn’t wear that hateful red cap.’
    ‘If she went into Paris, she would. As you must.’
    ‘Do you have a wife?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Oh.’ She digested this piece of information and wondered what difference it made. None, she told herself sternly, none at all. He was going to take her into Paris and reunite her with James and then she need see him no more. She gave him a brittle smile. ‘Where is she? In England?’
    Her face was so expressive, the violet eyes seemed to mirror her soul and he understood her thoughts almost as if she had spoken them aloud. It gave him a
frisson
of pleasure which vanished when he thought of Gabrielle, leaving him bitter and morose. ‘She is in France.’
    ‘In Paris?’
    He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
    ‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘I have been very selfish, haven’t I, burdening you with my troubles and accusing you, when all you must be thinking of is going to your wife? I have delayed you and crossed you at every turn, it is no wonder you are so down in spirits.’
    ‘I am not down in spirits, far from it,’ he said, deciding not to correct her misconception. He had never found it easy to talk of Gabrielle and the last thing he wanted was Kitty’s sympathy. ‘I have no reason to believe she is not safe.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘We will talk of other things.’
    ‘Very well. This food is delicious, which just goes to show that France is not in such bad straits as you would have us believe.’
    ‘It does nothing of the sort, it shows only that money can still buy a few luxuries if you know where to find them.’
    ‘How much money?’ she asked, thinking of her dwindling resources.
    ‘A great deal, I am afraid.’
    ‘Oh. Then how does James go on?’
    ‘He earns his bread and wine, just as we all do.’
    ‘You, too?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Better you do not ask.’
    ‘Could I?’
    ‘Could you what?’
    ‘Earn my bread and wine. Edward gave me as much as he could, but it will not last very long with the prices so high here. I must find a way of earning my keep.’
    ‘What can you do?’
    ‘I could teach English. Or sew.’
    ‘Hardly skills in great demand in France at the moment,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Have you ever done any play-acting?’
    ‘Of course not. Uncle William would never have allowed it.’
    ‘Not even charades?’
    ‘We did sometimes play charades at Christmas when Mama and Papa were alive. My stepmama does not care for the pastime. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Because, tomorrow, I want you to act my wife for all you are worth.
    ‘Your wife! But how can I? You are already married.’
    ‘Jack Chiltern is married, I give you. But I am not Jack Chiltern, I am Jacques Faucon and my papers state that I am married.’
    ‘Oh, I see,’