that was when it hit Amethyst.
‘Fenella, I think you have had rather too much to drink.’
Fenella blinked. Her eyes widened. ‘Do you really think so?’ She peered down at her glass. ‘Surely not. I have only been sipping at my wine, and, look—the glass is still half-full...’
What she clearly hadn’t noticed was the way the waiters kept topping up the glass. And taking away the empty bottles and bringing fresh ones.
‘Nevertheless, it is time to go home, Monsieur Le Brun, wouldn’t you say?’
It said a great deal for the amount of wine Fenella had inadvertently consumed that it took both her and Monsieur Le Brun to get her into her coat and through the door. Then, when the fresh air hit her, she swayed on her feet. Monsieur Le Brun proved to have remarkably swift reflexes, because he caught her arm, tactfully supporting her before she could embarrass herself. Just to be on the safe side, Amethyst took her other arm, and between them they steered her through the crowds milling about the central courtyard of the Palais Royale.
But she was almost certain she heard him chuckle.
‘This is not funny,’ she snapped as they ushered her through the archway that led into the street that would take them home.
‘She isn’t used to dining out like this. Or having waiters going round topping up her glass. And as for that wine...well, it was downright deceitful. It tasted so fruity and pleasant...more like cordial than anything with alcohol in it.’
‘It was not the wine. It is Paris,’ said Monsieur Le Brun with an insouciant shrug. ‘It has the effect most surprising on many people. So we must make sure, as her friends, that we take especially good care of her from now on.’
Her friends? Monsieur Le Brun considered himself Fenella’s friend? And what was worse, he was putting himself on a level with her, as though they were...a team, or something.
Well, that would not do. It would not do at all.
And just as soon as she could think of the right words to do so, she was going to put Monsieur Le Brun firmly in his place.
But not until they’d got Fenella safely home.
Chapter Three
‘I have let you down,’ moaned Fenella.
‘Nonsense,’ Amethyst murmured soothingly. It had actually been rather cheering to see her friend was not a complete paragon of all the virtues.
‘It is just...foreign travel,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps, as Monsieur Le Brun says, the excitement of being in Paris...’
Fenella rolled on to her side and buried her face in the pillow.
‘There is no excuse for what I did...’
‘You just had a little too much to drink and became rather more talkative than usual, that is all.’
‘But my judgement...’ Fenella protested, albeit in a very quiet voice.
‘Well, it is not a mistake you will make again,’ said Amethyst bracingly, ‘if this is how ill you become after partaking too freely. You wince whenever you try to open your eyes. Let me make you more comfortable.’
‘I shall never feel comfortable again,’ she whimpered as Amethyst crossed the room and drew the curtains, plunging the room into darkness.
‘How am I ever going to face Sophie? Oh, my little girl. When she finds out...’
‘Why should she find out? I am certainly not going to tell her anything more than that her mama needs to stay in bed this morning, because she is a little unwell. Heavens, she has had to have enough days in bed while we’ve been travelling to assume that the rigours of the journey have just caught up with you.’
‘But to lie to my own child...’
‘You won’t have to lie. Just not admit to the truth.’
Amethyst strode back to her friend’s side and smoothed her hair back from her flushed face. It was an indication of just how ill Fenella really felt that she flinched back from her touch.
‘I promised to take her out to see the sights of the city today. She will be so disappointed.’
‘No, she won’t, for I shall take her myself. You look as though you need to go back to sleep. Don’t even think about stirring from this room until after you have had your luncheon, either. Which I shall order the staff to have brought to your room.’
Fenella caught her hand and kissed it. ‘You are too good to me. Too kind. I don’t deserve your understanding...’
‘Fustian! It is about time you stopped being so perfect. I like you the better for it. Makes me feel less of a failure, if you must know.’ Usually, she felt like a hardheaded, prickly, confrontational excuse for a woman in comparison to the perfect manners of her elegant and utterly feminine companion.
Amethyst was wealthy, courtesy of her aunt, and she had a good head for business, but she didn’t make friends easily and simply could not imagine ever getting married. If a man made up to her, it was because of her wealth, not anything intrinsically attractive about her. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she’d been too young and vulnerable to withstand the experience. It had scarred her. Wounded her. She’d felt a staggering amount of empathy for those beggars they’d seen so many of, lying by the roadsides of every French town they’d travelled through, for a vital part of her had been ruthlessly amputated in battle and she would never be quite whole again.
Not that it mattered, according to Aunt Georgie. Lots of people led perfectly good lives in spite of what other people thought of as handicaps. So what if she could never trust a man again? Neither did her aunt.
‘Useless pack of self-serving, scrounging scum, if you ask me,’ she’d sniffed disparagingly, when she whisked Amethyst from the village on what was supposed to have been a therapeutic trip round the Lakes. ‘Don’t understand why any sensible woman would wish to shackle herself to one. And I’m beginning to think you are capable of being sensible, if only you will get over this habit of thinking you need a man in your life. All any of them do is interfere and ruin everything.’
After what she’d been through, she’d been inclined to agree.
Fenella moaned again, drawing her attention back to the present, and then she flung the back of one hand over her eyes.
Amethyst pursed her lips. She sympathised with Fenella for having a sore head. She sympathised with her feeling embarrassed at having to be helped home. But...
‘Good heavens, Fenella, anyone who is not used to drinking might have made the same error. It is not the end of the world.’ And there was absolutely no need for all these theatrics.
‘I know what you’re doing. You are worrying about what people will say. But nothing is ever solved by worrying about what other people think of you. Especially not the sort of people who would love nothing better than to condemn you. They’re mostly cowards, you know. Too scared to take life by the scruff of the neck and live it. Instead, they prefer to sit about gossiping in a vain attempt to liven up the boredom of
