The Heroic Baron Read online

  Then nothing. The talks surrounding the possible armistice had brought fighting to a halt, as well as the exodus from the sumptuous lifestyle of Paris. There was no fighting, officers were going nowhere. Just as Cecile wished her idyll with Alain would last indefinitely, she had wished the armistice would succeed and that there’d be no more battles. Then she wouldn’t have to look for work. General Motrineau would not be summoned from the city. Now, it appeared that hostilities would resume shortly.

  At a dinner in mid-August most of the talk at the table held an underlying current of excitement as officers spoke of departing soon. Some had already begun the task of packing up their households. The future Cecile did not want to face was imminent. At the thought of facing unemployment, a cold knot took up residence in her stomach. She supposed she could always throw herself on Alain’s mercy if need be, but their relationship was complicated enough without the added element of pity.

  In the next instant, Cecile felt the knot unclench. General Motrineau raised his wineglass. “A toast, to all of you going to seek victory in the name of our emperor! I give you good luck and Godspeed! May we meet around this table next winter, celebrating the conquests of France!”

  The men all drank. Glasses were set down and a man near the general spoke. “We haven’t heard of your plans, General. Where do you think you’ll be assigned?”

  The general leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I’ll be here. I’ve received word that there is battle to be waged in the city.”

  “An enemy from within!” the man said, aghast at the prospect of such a traitor. Similar exclamations journeyed around the table.

  The general motioned them all to silence. “It has come to our attention that for the past several months, a secret society called Les Chevaliers de la Foi has grown more active. They have bannieres not only in Paris but throughout France. We do not know how militarily disposed they are, but we do know that they have an exacting organizational structure. Their outer circles masquerade as charitable groups; it is how they do their recruiting and woo people to their cause. Their inner circles are very secretive and that is where the plotting against the empire takes place. They have been silent this summer, waiting for the outcome of the armistice, but we have reason to believe they were quite active last winter when it seemed possible the emperor would not recover from the Russian campaign.”

  The general spread his hands on the cloth. “A secret society alone is of little consequence to the emperor; it is the other part of the scenario that is of concern. There is an individual or group, whom we have dubbed L’Un, who has taken to helping families escape from the city who we believe might be connected to potential members of Les Chevalier’s inner circles. Such a concerted effort to protect family members suggests that they may be making ready for a serious strike at the empire. It is my duty to not only break the society but to catch the miscreant who thinks he can challenge the empire with such insubordination.” The general’s fervor in the form of his fist meeting the table caused the crystal to jump.

  There was a clamor of questions. “General, how long has this been going on?”

  “Since March, as best we can tell. Perhaps in the ex citement of mobilizing the troops for the spring campaigns, this traitor thought to slip past our attention.” The general speculated.

  Cecile glanced at Alain. Of all the men at the table, he seemed overly quiet. Unlike the others, he was not beside himself with questions or disbelief that someone would dare such a feat under Napoleon’s nose. She’d gleaned that the Polish troops were unquestioningly loyal to Napoleon. She would have expected a more explosive response from one of the renowned Lancer captains.

  She was surprised to see Alain take his leave of the general shortly after the general invited the men to join him for cards. Alain declined and politely departed without even a glance in her direction. The general had instructed her earlier that he’d not need her once they adjourned for cards, so Cecile quickly packed away her violin and made a swift departure, not stopping to change into her own clothes. Something had disturbed Alain greatly at dinner. He’d been quiet and had had little to offer a conversation that he should have found second nature. No doubt a captain of a squadron was used to receiving orders and packing up or of others doing the same. The surprise could not have been the various orders the men received to report to the front.

  Cecile caught sight of Alain further down the street and she followed as rapidly as she could. Still, she could not get within hailing distance. She continued to follow. She saw him turn onto the Faubourg, and then go through a gate in a vined wall that fenced off a house from the street. Cautiously, Cecile pushed open the gate which had remained unlocked. She knew the kind of house that would be behind the wall. It was the kind of house she dreamed of having: three stories tall with shutters on all the windows and lights burning within against the gathering summer darkness.

  Voices drifted out to her as she neared the door. She didn’t need to sneak, she reminded herself. This was Alain’s house, and she was Alain’s friend. She couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, then she realized creeping closer wouldn’t help. The voices weren’t speaking French. Alain’s was among them, speaking something other than French. It sounded like English, which made so sense at all to Cecile. She could make out none of the words except the startling reference that had her flying back to the gate and out into the street. L’ Un.

  Blocks away and certain she had not been detected or followed from Alain’s, Cecile stopped to catch her breath. She tried to tame her rioting thoughts. Why would Alain be speaking English? Why would he be discussing L’Un with others who spoke English? Suppositions began to form in her mind and the incongruity she couldn’t name several weeks ago, became clear. She had collided with Alain in March. But he had not appeared at General Motrineau’s house for supper until April. His appearance had coincided with the disappearance of the Panchettes. She found it odd that as an officer, Alain had not immediately been invited to the General’s home for a welcome dinner until April when he’d have been in town for nearly a month.

  She thought about the insinuations at the table that night regarding L’Un. He was believed to have found his way into the inner social circles of Napoleon’s Paris. Alain certainly had done so. She recalled thinking how amazing it was that Alain had risen so quickly in the general’s favor, finding himself a guest at the table any night he cared to lay a claim to an invitation. Lately, he’d been dining there nightly. Was it possible that Alain was L’Un? That he was not a Polish noble’s son? The thought was wild and heady, yet sobering. If Alain was not a Polish Lancer captain with a compassionate heart for the poor, then who was he? If what she knew of him was not the truth, then she didn’t know him at all. The man she’d spun her romantic fantasies around was nothing more than a fantasy himself. She had fallen in love with a fiction of a man.

  Alain paced the back bedroom of the rented residence, pushing his hand through his hair in agitation. The game had escalated without his awareness of it. He had not guessed that there was even a hint of an evacuation effort. He’d been careful to disguise the boat and to obtain French sailing papers so the harbormaster at Calais would not grow suspicious. He’d been careful not to be seen with any of the parties leaving his house. Cranston too could not determine when the breach of security could have occurred.

  Of course, Alain knew the security breach was entirely his fault. He’d been so absorbed in his pursuit of Cecile that he hadn’t assessed the situation growing in Paris. Alain stopped in front of the window and stared down at the small overgrown garden. If he’d been alert, he would have realized Bonaparte was desperate. The Grande Armee had been rebuilt over the winter in Paris but it had not regained the strength it had known before the Russian campaign. In March, the German Nationalists had risen up against Napoleon’s supporters in Germany. Napoleon and his generals feared a repeat of the disaster in Russia. Any sign of rebellion at home or abroad must be put down. Les Cheva
liers de Foi must have sensed the desperation and began hatching their plans, but they had not been careful enough to avoid detection. The faintest whisper of a plot had been enough to alert Napoleon’s infrastructure.

  Such a minor threat would have been negligible if it had come on the tails of several military victories, but against the defeats of the winter, the threat was no longer possible to ignore. Alain should have realized the politics behind it. An intelligent junior clerk or aide-de-camp looking for quick promotion would have detected the commonality all the families had in common. The only stroke of luck was that no one had detected the connection between the Panchettes and Pierre Ramboulet. Alain hoped that bit of luck would hold. The Panchettes had left early enough that they might escape notice altogether. If not, it was not a difficult trail to him. He was new in town. He had shown up at the time the disappearances began. He had asked to borrow Pierre Ramboulet to help him with his correspondence. Too many coincidences to be overlooked, especially if coupled with the random comments made by Major Von Hausman about how he was nothing like the man Von Hausman had heard rumor of.

  Oh yes, the game had become dangerous indeed. He did not think General Motrineau would take kindly to discovering he’d harbored a traitor under his roof. He would have to leave soon. It was small consolation that he’d have to leave soon anyway. If the armistice failed, as it looked like it would do, fighting would resume and he’d be expected to rejoin his Lancer unit. Either way, his life in Paris was quickly coming to a head.

  The thought would have been more welcome if it hadn’t been for Cecile. He was eager to get back to Hythe and see the progress on the resort. The season had officially ended in London, August 12, three days ago. His investors would be visiting Hythe to see the resort taking shape. It would be awkward if he wasn’t there. He couldn’t expect Daniel to manage them on his own.

  The summer moon rose above the trees, golden and warm in the dark sky. Alain scolded himself for spending so much time contemplating the situation when the decision to be made was obvious. There were no viable arguments for staying. He would tell Cranston to pack only their clothes and anything that would give away their English presence. The boat was at Calais. They’d leave the next evening. If Ramboulet refused to go, then he was on his own. Those concerns were easily resolved. More difficult, was what to do about Cecile.

  He’d see Cecile tomorrow as planned and ask her and Etienne to come with him. Alain leaned heavily on the window sill and expelled a deep breath. What would Cecile’s reaction be to the truth? Would she be able to understand that he was still fundamentally the same man who’d spent the last weeks with her? He just didn’t wear a Lancer’s uniform. Cecile had no love for the supporters of Bonaparte’s regime or soldiers. It had been a token of their growing relationship that she’d been able to put aside her dislike for his uniform. That realization gave his courage a boost. Still, coming with him would be a commitment. She’d be leaving behind her homeland and all that she knew, even her language. To his best knowledge, Cecile might recognize English but she did not understand it. If she agreed to come with him, she and her brother would be entirely his responsibility.

  The thought of taking care of Cecile brought a smile to his face. He would love to dress her in fine gowns, finer than the ones she wore at the general’s house. She would be an asset to Hythe with her compassion towards others. He would take great pleasure in having her preside over his table and his house. There was only one way he knew of to have a woman like Cecile and that was to marry her. Oddly enough, that was exactly what he wanted to do.

  Alain’s heart leaped joyously with the realization. He had been foolish not to recognize it earlier. It would not be enough to have Cecile nearby in a cottage in Hythe, to simply see her in passing by chance on High Street or at St. Leonard’s. It would be torture to travel to London and leave her behind. He wanted her by his side, sharing the daily living of their lives as they had done here in Paris.

  Daniel might say such actions were overly hasty on his part. He had not danced with Cecile or done any of the things a suitor ought to do if he were in London. He had not courted her in any of the ways he’d courted Alicia. He’d never taken Cecile for a drive in an open-air carriage, or on a picnic or out riding. He didn’t even know if Cecile rode. She probably didn’t-an ironic situation for such a neck-or-nothing rider as himself. He’d known Alicia two years before proposing. He’d known Cecile for a few short months. Alain raised his head, struck by a staggering thought. He and Alicia had played the courting game, found each other to their liking, and Alain had taken things to their logical conclusion. He’d proposed to Alicia out of duty. The thought of refusing his suit would never have entered Alicia’s mind. Duty demanded that she accept. This was entirely different. He was proposing to Cecile out of love and that would be the only grounds on which she would accept. Alain wondered if she loved him enough to say yes. The rest of his life depended on it.

  A light summer breeze blew against Cecile’s cheek as she lounged on the picnic blanket Alain had spread beneath a tree. Close by, young boys played with toy ships in the park’s boat pond. She watched them idly, drinking in the little pleasures of the day. It had been years since she’d indulged in an afternoon picnic and lazed around afterwards on a blanket. Never had she done so with a gentleman, like she did today. She moved her gaze from the boys sailing their boats to the man on the blanket beside her.

  Alain lay stretched out, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his hands tucked behind his head. His eyes were closed and he looked utterly at peace in his rest. Looking at him now, it was easy to discard the anxieties of the night, to forget what she’d overheard in his garden. Resting as he was now, it was impossible to believe Alain was other than an officer from a titled family. Aristocracy and athletic grace were mixed in the lines of his reposed body. Only nobility could rest so completely in the middle of the day without a care in the world.

  She was somewhat surprised that such tranquil repose came to Alain so easily. When he’d arrived that afternoon, he’d seemed agitated, distracted, as if there was something on his mind. It had seemed odd that Alain had not invited Etienne to join them. He must have understood the broad hints Etienne dropped and he must have known how much Etienne would love a day at the Tuileries.

  Alain stirred and popped open one mossy eye with a grin. “You must think me a lazy man, to lay here napping while you pick up our meal” Alain propped himself on one elbow. “Are you tired of sitting? We could take a walk. I have something I wanted to talk over with you”

  He said it too casually, Cecile thought, rising to her feet and shaking out her skirt. What could it be that he wanted to talk over with her? Would he ask her to be his mistress? To move to Poland with him when he was recalled? Whatever it was, it was going to alter their relationship. His news would probably do more than alter the relationship, it would most likely end it. Cecile fussed with the picnic basket trying to hide her nervousness, thinking of ways to forestall what came next.

  Alain took her hand and tucked it through his arm. “Leave those things; they can wait. I find that I am running out of time.”

  The cryptic comment sealed Cecile’s attention. She spoke frankly. “I have felt all afternoon that you’ve had something on your mind. Perhaps you should have told me before we picknicked? Then we could have relaxed.”

  “I wanted to make sure that you had a lovely afternoon. I wasn’t certain you would come on the outing if I told you my news first”

  Cecile felt a knot growing in her stomach. Her instincts had been right. So much for the lovely food he’d fed her: fresh bread, expensive cheeses, summer fruits and a light red wine. Perhaps they had been part of the bribe he was preparing to offer her.

  They walked a bit in silence until they were well away from the usual crowd of others who thought to walk in the park. Alain began to tell her terrible truths, and the fairy tales she’d harbored throughout the summer came to an abrupt close.

  “Cecile, I�
�m not a French soldier.”

  “Of course you’re not. You’re Polish,” Cecile said desperate to save her fantasies.

  “Please, you must not interrupt,” Alain cautioned. “I am not Polish, nor am I a solider of any type in Napoleon’s army. Captain Stanislawksi is a fiction, at least he is now. He died in a tavern brawl, and I took his papers”

  He wasn’t a noble-born Pole. There would be no more dreams of being whisked away to a life of minor nobility and ease. But they’d just been dreams. Impossible dreams at that. “Then who are you?”

  “I am an English baron. My name is Alain Hartsfield. I am the Baron Wickham.”

  Her first reaction was concern for him. It was dangerous for an Englishman in Paris these days. Her second reaction was anger. He had lied to her, assumed a false identity and let her believe in it. Checking her anger, Cecile asked, “Why are you telling me this? Surely you know how perilous it is for you to be here.”

  “I am telling you this because I am L’Un, the one the general talked about at dinner last night. I must leave soon if I am to escape”

  “What do you stand to gain with your confession?” Cecile cast an appraising glance at Alain, watching his face for any sign of manipulation. Whatever he wanted of her, it would come next.

  Alain stopped walking and turned to face her, his green eyes intent upon her. “I’m telling you these things because I want you and Etienne to come with me. I want to take you to England with me tonight. I’m sorry there isn’t more time to think this through, but I can wait no longer without seriously jeopardizing my safety”

  “What would I do in England? I don’t speak English.”

  “You’d be my wife, Cecile. I am not simply asking you to come away with me and take a chance in a foreign land, I am asking you to come away with me and be my wife.”