The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(42)

Though Charlotte spent several hours each day with her, Lucette had most of her time free to close her eyes and work inside her Memory Chamber. She had quite a bit of new information to add to the ledger—not least of which was Anise’s sudden departure from Blanclair. She’d simply been there one evening and gone the next morning, leaving Lucette in the hands of a younger—and much more nervous—girl from the kitchens. Charlotte had assured Lucette she’d share her own maid with her for dressing and hair, but that was the least of her worries. In her mind, Lucette turned the ledger page to a previous entry and added Anise to the list of Blanclair maids who had left in the last five years without giving more than cursory notice.

The personal information gathered at the tavern about the family was written on a separate ledger page. Then there was the item she had avoided thinking about too closely since coming back to herself: the man with the mustache and long scar to whom Julien had been talking with such fierce concentration that night that he had not seen her straightaway.

Julien…a stranger…a meeting at the Nightingale Inn…this was the kind of information Walsingham wanted. He would want a description of the man, the details of the time and place, and then probably he would have other agents who could track down his identity. You are not the only asset, Dr. Dee had consoled her. It is not on your word alone that any man will be condemned.

She didn’t find that so reassuring now. For Julien LeClerc, despite her efforts at disinterest, was not just any man. And in the end she trusted herself before she trusted Walsingham.

It had been the twenty-fourth of June when she fell ill—it was the twenty-eighth, a Tuesday of fitful sunshine that peeked in and out from behind high, fast-moving wisps of cloud, that Lucette finally dressed in a lightweight gown of green and white stripes and warily left her chamber.

It was Felix, as Charlotte had predicted, who met her first. The boy had apparently set up camp in a small antechamber at the end of her corridor, with books and papers, where he’d been studying. He had the company of his two little cousins, Charlotte’s daughters, who had all their mother’s confidence and greeted Lucette as though they had always known her. Indeed, the younger, just two years old, came straight to Lucette demanding to be picked up. Somewhat awkwardly, Lucette complied. The weight of such a small girl was a little surprising, and she didn’t know what to do with her once she was up.

Which was how Julien found her, perplexed and overwhelmed by three young voices all speaking rapid-fire and colloquial French, overlapping one another on apparently three completely different subjects.

“Like casting a Christian to the lions, isn’t it?” he observed, plucking the child out of Lucette’s arms and tossing her once in the air. He caught her, to a delighted shriek, then set her down. “Leave the English lady be,” he commanded. “You don’t want her to sicken again and retreat behind closed doors.”

Felix instantly obeyed, shushing the girls and corralling them back to a game. “Thank you, Felix,” Lucette said, and was rewarded with a blinding smile.

Since it was either remain awkwardly with the children or walk downstairs with Julien, she chose the latter. It was Julien who spoke first, while she was still wondering how to broach the subject of their uncomfortable encounter at the inn. “You have smitten that poor boy until he can’t see straight. I’m afraid you’ve ruined him for life. He’ll never find another woman as entrancing as you.”

“Like you’ve never found a woman more entrancing than my mother?”

He barked a laugh. “You’re never going to forgive me that, are you? I promise, Lucie, I have not remained unattached simply because Lady Exeter is unavailable.”

“Why have you remained unattached?” This was not at all the conversation they should be having.

“I’ve been busy.”

That was as good an opening as any. “Busy with what? Meeting questionable men in questionable places for a no doubt questionable purpose?”

“A lot less questionable than your own presence in such a place,” Julien retorted, and there was a grimness to his tone that reminded Lucette of his size. Somehow, he had directed her to a part of the chateau from which nothing could be heard, and she wondered fleetingly if she should have secreted the dagger about her before leaving her chamber.

“If I said I was following you, would you believe me?” She didn’t think there was much point pretending any longer. At least not about the undeniable things. Her purpose could always be obscured, if not her actions.

“I might, but you weren’t. I saw the look in your eyes when you realized I was there. The look of a hart about to be slaughtered. Not only did you not follow me, you had no plans to be discovered. I’ve had a lot of time to wonder why.”

“And your conclusions?”

“First option, that you are a libertine in search of experiences—and men—you cannot hope to meet under the watchful eyes of your parents and the English queen. I do think there is a stubbornly adventurous streak to you.”

Damn it, why could he make her blush so easily? “And another option?”

“That you’re not in France for the scenery—or the company. At least, not in the way you want us to think. How close am I to the truth?”

“As close as I am to guessing that your purpose in meeting with that shady man in the inn had to do with clandestine activities of your own.”