Free Yvonne Goes to York by M. C. Beaton

Trim box-hedges separated the beds in an Elizabethan pattern of shapes: clubs, hearts, and diamonds.
    Yvonne turned and saw him and smiled and he caught his breath. ‘It is very safe here,’ she said simply. ‘My grandmother has a house in Brittany, near the coast, with a walled garden. This reminds me of childhood and security.’
    Something stirred in him. She looked so delicate and fragile and yet so gallant that he wanted to present herwith the security she craved. She moved on down one of the paths and he fell into step beside her. ‘Tell me,’ said Yvonne, ‘of this scandal about our Mees … Miss Pym. You appeared to know all about it.’
    ‘Miss Pym is evidently the friend of a dry-as-dust retired diplomat.’ Oh, how Hannah’s heart would have ached could she have heard him describe the love of her life in such terms. ‘Some jealous cat put it about that Miss Pym was this Sir George Clarence’s mistress. I knew of the tale when I first met Miss Pym on the stage-coach, but one has only to look at her to know, to realize what rubbish the story is. But Lady Trant had the right of it in that it is believed the story originated with her own footman. Her Benjamin looked stricken enough at the breakfast table.’
    ‘So what will happen now? What will this Sir George do?’
    ‘If he has tender feelings for Miss Pym – which I doubt – he may propose marriage. If not, then, old diplomat that he is, he will no doubt find some excellent way to scotch the rumour. But what of your troubles, Miss Grenier? What happens after I have conveyed you safely to York?’
    Yvonne smiled slightly. ‘You may say goodbye to me and my troubles. My father will arrange all.’
    His glance glinted at her. Was she being devious and very, very clever? There was always a power struggle in any political scene. If her father was still regarded as one of the original heroes of the Revolution, Petit might have been telling the truth in that Monsieur Grenier meant to return to France. In that case, he might provea formidable rival and Petit’s plan could indeed be to get rid of him. His clever daughter could be using himself and Miss Pym as cover until she got to York so that she and her father could escape to France unscathed and there help to perpetuate that monstrous regime of terror. She was not like any female he had ever known. He knew where he was with English misses, who barely used any finesse in their pursuit of him. There was something mysterious about Yvonne and yet he dearly wanted to believe her innocent. A peacock cried harshly from outside the garden like a warning from a harsher,more brutal world.
    ‘I should return and see how Miss Pym fares,’ said Yvonne. ‘Can it be that she loves this Sir George?’
    ‘Hardly.’ The marquis laughed, as if the very idea of such as Miss Pym in love were totally ridiculous.
    ‘Age is no barrier against love,’ said Yvonne quietly. ‘That you should understand, milord, being perhaps nearer to Miss Pym’s age than my own.’
    ‘You are right.’ He was suddenly annoyed. ‘I am beyond the age of puppy love.’
    ‘Then that you should convey to the two young ladies of this house,’ said Yvonne tartly. ‘It would save them wasting their time.’
    ‘I did not mean I would not marry,’ he said.
    ‘So you would marry without love?’
    ‘I think mutual rank, fortune, and a certain amiability are better foundations for marriage than love.’
    ‘It is possible, I think, to have all those things and love as well.’
    ‘You being an expert on the subject.’
    ‘Me being an expert on the subject,’ she agreed.
    ‘How so?’
    ‘I was affianced at the age of sixteen to a Monsieur Paul Chariot. We were very much in love.’ Yvonne sighed and the marquis found himself becoming curious. ‘What happened?’ he asked in a carefully neutral voice.
    ‘ Eh bien , with Papa turning against the Revolution and using most of our fortune to help people escape, marriage was no longer