Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(56)
Friends only, never lovers. Whether Josette had been Will’s lover, Alec didn’t know. Will was loud about visiting brothels or taking mistresses for the fun of it, but any relationship important to him he kept secret.
Alec had no idea of Josette’s nationality. Her first name was French, her last English, but she called herself Mrs. Oswald, so her maiden name could be of another origin entirely. Or Josette might not have had a husband at all and had simply appended the “Mrs.” to her name to give herself respectability, especially after she’d had a child. She spoke French fluently, but her English had a decided London cant. She also spoke Dutch, Russian, and various dialects of German.
When Alec had met Josette, he’d been a lad of eighteen who’d run away to Amsterdam and then France to learn painting. She’d been young herself, a great beauty, but already with a five-year-old child.
Now Josette was near to thirty and running to plumpness, but she still had the beauty in her round face and glossy black hair that all those artists had tried to capture, on canvas and off. Josette had evaded them all.
She met them in the cramped hall of a house in a lane south of the Strand, the noisome smell of the river seeping to them. Sounds above and in other rooms told Alec her boarding house was full—Josette always pulled in good business.
“I see you decided to risk my hospitality after all,” she said as she closed the front door. She looked over Celia in her now-rumpled costume, then Alec in his Highland regimental uniform. “Padruig isn’t staying, is he? Only, he frightens my cook—on purpose, the dratted man.”
“No, he’s off to tell Gair he’ll have to wait longer for his payment,” Alec said. “We’re staying in London a bit.”
“I see that. You must be the poor thing he married.” Josette took in Celia with her shrewd dark eyes. “You’ll be wanting a change of clothing, I’ll wager. Lord Alec sent for them, and they’re upstairs in your bedchamber. You’ll want to sort through them—you know how men are. Never pack the right things. My daughter will help you. Glenna!” She called up the stairs. “Come down and assist her ladyship. Before the second coming, please.”
“Aye, I heard ya.”
Down the stairs came a girl with coltish arms and legs, as tall as her mother now. Glenna, the mite who’d been five years old when Alec had painted in the Netherlands, was now a sunny-faced girl of fifteen, already a beauty like her mother.
Glenna curtsied before Celia with respect. “This way, my lady. Mum’s fixed a chamber all nice for ya. I’ll take your hat—can’t have it squashed, can we?”
So chattering, she led Celia up the stairs, slowing her exuberant stride so Celia wouldn’t fall behind. Celia glanced once at Alec, who gave her a nod, then she gathered her skirts and skimmed up the stairs after Glenna.
“Mum’s been worried all day whether you’d come or not,” Glenna said as they went. “Lord Alec couldn’t decide whether to stash you here or rush you to Paris. Paris is ever so much nicer, but it’s a long journey, with soldiers all over the countryside in France, Mum says.”
Her voice faded as she and Celia left the landing, cut off by the closing of a door.
Alec let out his breath. “Thank you, Josette. This is kind of you.”
Josette folded her arms over her plain brown bodice, a fichu like the ones Celia wore concealing her bosom. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. I’m worried sick about Willie. You haven’t found him yet?”
“No,” Alec said glumly. “I have places to look, but no, no sign of him.”
He thought of the grim, cold house in the country, and knew he’d be back there, risking his life to find who, if anyone, was in it.
Josette flushed and looked away, her eyes moist, but when she turned back, she’d composed herself. “Did you marry that pretty thing to help in the search? Daughter of the Duke of Crenshaw, eh? Is the marriage even valid?”
Her expression was disapproving. Josette, who’d have done anything to keep her daughter fed, including stealing secrets from a king to hand them to Will, now frowned at Alec, certain he was using Celia and would discard her when finished.
“I married her to take her away from bloody people happy to make use of her,” Alec growled. “I tried to send her to m’ family, but she wouldn’t go.”
Josette nodded. “Wise of her. I’ve met the might of your family, and it’s enough to make even a strong woman flee into the night. Give her time to grow accustomed to you.”
“I don’t think all the time in the world will do that. The Mackenzies are overbearing bastards. Ye’ve not heard a word from him?”
“No.” Josette lost her smile, fear in her eyes. “Not a dicky bird.”
Alec had no idea what Will was to Josette, or she to him. Will left his lovers with ease, and they either remained on good terms or chased him off waving their fists.
But perhaps Josette had been different. She certainly wasn’t the same sort of woman Will usually took up with.
Alec gentled his tone. “We’ll find him.”
The tears that dropped to Josette’s cheeks glistened in the light of a single candle on the hall table. “They’ve probably already killed him. Declaring he was Charles Stuart might have kept him alive until he was taken to a garrison, but once someone in charge knew he wasn’t anywhere close to being Prince Charlie, I’ve no doubt they bayoneted him there and then.”