To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(26)

And the man stepped aside to reveal a vision. An elderly lady stood there, her back ramrod straight, her snowy white hair pulled into a severe knot at the crown of her head, her piercing blue eyes already narrowed in disapproval. Reynaud hadn’t seen her in seven years, and for a moment he feared he would lose his self-possession. He knew tears—awful unmanly tears—were near the surface.

Then she spoke. “Tiens! Such an ’orrible growth of ’air upon your face, nephew! I am quite repulsed. Is this, then, what gentlemen in the Colonies wear? I do not believe it; no, I do not!”

He went to her and took her hands, kissing her tenderly on the cheek despite her mutter of disgust. “I am glad to see you, Tante Cristelle.”

“Tcha! I do not think you can see at all with this ’air.” She reached a blue-veined hand to brush the hair falling into his face. Her touch, unlike her words, was gentle. Then her hand dropped. “And who is this child here? Have you lost so much of civilization that you closet yourself alone with a female in a respectable house?”

Reynaud turned, amused, to see that Miss Corning had jumped up from her chair and was eyeing Tante Cristelle warily. “This is a cousin of mine, Miss Beatrice Corning. Miss Corning, my aunt, Miss Cristelle Molyneux.”

Miss Corning curtsied as Tante Cristelle employed her looking glass and said, “I do not remember a cousin called Corning in my sister’s family.”

“I’m Lord Blanchard’s niece,” Miss Corning said.

Tante Cristelle’s eyes darkened. “C’est ridicule! My nephew doesn’t have a niece, only a nephew, and he not yet ten years of age.”

Reynaud cleared his throat, feeling like laughing for the first time since he’d set foot on English soil. “She means the present Earl of Blanchard, Tante.”

The old lady sniffed. “The pretender to the title. I see.”

Miss Corning looked cautious. “Um… perhaps I can bring up some tea?”

Reynaud would’ve preferred coffee or brandy, but since Miss Corning seemed to be fixated on tea, he merely nodded. She glided from the room, and he watched her go.

“That one is very pretty,” Tante Cristelle observed. “Not beautiful, but she ’as an air of grace about her.”

“Indeed.” Reynaud looked at his aunt. “You mentioned my sister. Is she well?”

“You don’t know?” Her brows snapped together in disapproval. “Did you not ask?”

“I have asked,” Reynaud replied as he ushered her to a chair. “But no one knows her as well as you do, Tante.”

“Humph,” said Tante Cristelle as she primly lowered herself to a chair. “Then I will tell you. You know your sister was widowed shortly after your… disappearance.”

Reynaud nodded. “So Miss Corning has told me.” He’d gone to look out the window again. London hadn’t changed much since his absence, but everything else had.

Everything.

“Bon,” Tante Cristelle said. “Then last year she married a rustic, a man from the Colony of New England. His name is Samuel Hartley.”

“That I’d heard as well,” he replied.

Strange to think that Emeline was now married to a man Reynaud had known in the army—a Colonial. Once again he felt that nauseating sense that his world was in motion, past and present conflicting, warring for his soul.

Tante Cristelle continued. “She ’as taken herself to live with her husband far, far overseas in the city of Boston. I do not know if such an action was wise on her part, but you know your sister. She can be quite the stubborn mule when she wishes.”

“And my nephew, Daniel?”

“Petite Daniel is fine and strong. Naturally his mother took him to live with her in America.”

Reynaud contemplated that. Ironic that he was now farther from his sister than he’d been before he’d sailed for England. Would he have delayed his return had he known she was in New England? He wasn’t sure. The need to regain his former life—his lands and title—had driven him for seven long years. Had in fact kept him alive and sane during the endless days and nights of his captivity. Nothing, not even the love for a sister, could keep him from his goal.

“Where have you been, Reynaud?” Tante Cristelle asked softly.

He shook his head, closing his eyes. How could he tell her, this gently bred aristocrat, what had been done to him?

After a moment he heard her sigh. “Bien. There is no need to speak of it if you do not wish.”

At that, he turned around. Tante Cristelle was watching him patiently. She was the elder sister of his late mother. Both women had grown up in Paris and had immigrated to England on his mother’s marriage. Tante Cristelle was in her seventh decade, but her snapping blue eyes were sharp, her mind one of the clearest he’d ever known.

“I intend to get my title back, Tante,” he said.

She nodded once. “Naturalement.”

“I have petitioned parliament to form a special committee to hear my case. When it is convened, I will have to appear before the committee in Westminster and plead my case. The current earl will present his side at the same time.”

Tante sniffed. “This usurper will not let go of his stolen title so easily, eh?”

“No,” Reynaud said grimly. “He’ll hold it for as long as he can, I’m sure. And he may ask to retain the title on the grounds that I’m mad.”