Reynard had never given her flowery compliments. His compliments were more in the nature of a softening in his eyes when he looked at her, a warm glow of approval at something she’d said or done or a delighted laugh when she’d said something funny or witty. As for the way he showed open respect for her painting skills—even being willing to learn from her—in her experience, that made him a rarity among men. She’d valued that much more than any flowery compliment.
And so often he’d exchanged a glance with her, a silent invitation, sharing their reaction to the same thing, such as Monsieur Gaudet’s enthusiasm for his pig. Or he’d raised a sardonic eyebrow in her direction, and she’d just known what he was thinking and sometimes struggled not to laugh aloud. It was rare that she met people with the same sense of humor, and that instant sense of connection with Reynard had been part of why she’d fallen for him so hard and so quickly.
But it wasn’t possible to fall in love in just a week, she told herself a dozen times a day. It just wasn’t, no matter how she felt.
Besides, there were plenty of reasons why he shouldn’t—didn’t!—appeal to her at all. Probably he’d been playing a game all along and she was the silly girl who’d thought it was real. Well, she knew now that it was not to be. She would be in England soon, and her new life—her real life—would start.
And she’d be so busy she wouldn’t even think about a man called Reynard.
She was taking Marie with her, much to Marie’s surprise. “Me, mademoiselle? Go to England with you? But I speak no English.”
“You’ll pick it up,” Zoë told her. “I’ll help you, and we’ll speak in French all the time anyway.”
Marie wasn’t sure. “The other servants will look down on me,” she said unhappily.
“Oh no they won’t,” Zoë told her firmly. “If anyone is unkind, I’ll deal with them. But I expect they’ll look up to you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the ladies tried to steal you.”
Marie looked horrified. “Steal me? But why?”
Zoë grinned. “A real French maid is something of a status symbol in England. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t let anyone take you.”
Marie’s brow remained furrowed. “I am not sure, mademoiselle.”
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. If you want to stay in Paris, Lady Thornton and I will find you a good position with someone we know and trust, and—”
“Leave me alone in Paris, mademoiselle? No, no and no! After you and milady have been so kind? No!” She took a deep breath. “Very well, I will go to this England. It will be another adventure, yes?”
“Yes. For both of us.”
Chapter Nine
Zoë leaned on the rail of the ship, gazing through the mist, breathing deeply of the cool, moist salty air.
There they were at last, the White Cliffs of Dover.
Last time, when she’d left England for the first time, on her way to a new life in Paris with Gerald and Lucy, she’d never really looked at them. She’d been looking forward, not gazing back.
Now, as England loomed ever closer, her feelings were very mixed. Living in Paris, she’d never really been homesick, perhaps because she’d never really had a home. With Maman she’d moved from one rented room to another, all in the same general area. Then, after her death, there was the orphanage, and that had certainly never felt anything like a home. Even in these last few years with Lucy and Gerald, she’d known that she was their guest, though they treated her more like family.
And though Clarissa and old Lady Scattergood had welcomed her—embraced her, really—she’d never considered Lady Scattergood’s house her home. Despite their warmthand generosity toward her, she’d always felt, deep down, that she was there on sufferance—that any day she might have to leave.
Now, gazing through the faint mist at those white cliffs, she felt quite apprehensive. What would this new life bring? Would anyone recognize her as Izzy’s half sister? Reveal her—reveal both of them—as Sir Bartleby Studley’s bastards. She shivered. It was a daunting prospect.
She really didn’t want to be a society lady, would much rather live the life of a vagabond artist traveling in a painted wagon with a charming rogue by her side, but that wasn’t possible now that she knew the truth about him.
Though, if she’d never been found by Clarissa, would she have joined Reynard? No, of course not, if only because she’d never have had the opportunity to go to France and meet him. But if she had…She just might have thrown in her lot with him. No, not might,would.
But that was not to be thought of. Fate—and Lucy—had trained her to become a lady, and they all—her sisters, Lucy and Lady Scattergood—were so excited by the prospect, they couldn’t wait to launch her. And Lucy had spent nearly three years training her until she looked, sounded and acted like the perfect aristocratic lady. She just hoped she didn’t let them down.
“Ah, the first sight of home,” said Gerald, coming up to join her on the rail. “The sight of those white cliffs never fails to move me.”
“How is Lucy?” Lucy had felt queasy the moment she set foot on the ship. Luckily Gerald had booked a stateroom and she’d managed to sleep for most of the voyage.
He smiled. “She’ll be all right the moment she sets foot on dry land. She’s never been a good sailor. I’ll go and tell her now. She’ll be glad to see the cliffs and know we’re almost home.”
Zoë took a deep breath. Yes. Home.
Marie came up beside her at the rail and eyed the mistyoutline of the cliffs. “They are more gray than white.” As she spoke, a light drizzly rain began. She eyed it disparagingly. “I have heard this England is always wet and cold, and now I see it is true. Come inside, mademoiselle, out of the rain.”
