My brother-in-law was a charming man, courageous and noble, not unlike your Major Ross in many ways; whereas Henri Carre, although possessing all the outward trappings of a gentleman, was a callous, manipulative blackguard who cared for nothing and no one except himself.’
Josephine’s eyes, dimmed by bitter regrets, focused on a spot somewhere on the wall opposite. ‘Young and foolish, I was beguiled by a handsome face and the silver tongue of an inveterate gamester. And not a very skilled one at that! It did not take me very long to realise the mistake I had made, but I was too proud to return to my family. When he had gambled away my dowry and our home, I had little choice but to accompany him out to the Peninsula, where I swiftly discovered just how vile and contemptible he could be, when he forced me to retrieve his IOUs from his friends and fellow officers in a way that only a woman can.’
Utterly appalled, Katherine was as powerless to prevent the gasp that rose in her throat from passing her lips as she was to conceal the heartfelt sympathy which sprang into her eyes. Yet surprisingly Josephine raised one hand in a dismissive gesture and, more amazingly still, even managed to smile.
‘I do not deserve your pity, ma chère. I was too proud to return to seek assistance from my family and admit the mistake I had made. And my pride cost me my self-respect. Nevertheless, it also taught me something too. I know the depths to which men can plummet. But I have also been blessed to experience how honourable and chivalrous some quite exceptional men can be.’
The self-deprecating smile which had clung to her lips suddenly became very tender, as did her whole expression. ‘When my husband was killed at Badajoz, it was not a Frenchman who came to my aid, but an English captain.’
Katherine gazed at her companion in dawning wonder, clearly remembering at least part of the conversation she had had with her cousin on that wet February day. So it was true! She had been foolish ever to doubt it.
‘Yes, petite,’ Josephine confirmed, expertly judging her companion’s expression. ‘It was your Major Ross who saved my life, who spared me the humiliation of being violated by several of Wellington’s troops, little realising at the time that suffering painful humiliations was nothing new to me. His noble act very nearly cost him his own life. I remained in the British camp and nursed him back to health.’ There was a suspicion of tears in the dark brown eyes as they lowered and focused on the contents of her glass. ‘He demanded nothing from me during the time I remained with him. He gave me money so that I might return home and even went so far as to escort me as close as he dared to the French lines.’
She paused for a moment to sample the contents of her glass. ‘My return to France was not altogether happy. On reaching Paris I discovered that my mother had died just a few weeks before. I didn’t choose to live with my brother and his wife, who I had always considered a shrew, and I refused to be an added burden to my dear sister, whose husband had died at Talavera. So I came here to Normandy to take care of an ailing maiden aunt. She had little money, but she did leave me this house which, after my experiences in Spain, I was more than capable of putting to good use.’
Half an hour earlier Katherine would have found such a bold admission deplorable, but this was no longer the case. Now she could understand perfectly, and felt ashamed of herself for having been so naively judgmental as to stigmatise the woman sitting beside her as nothing more than an immoral trollop.
She didn’t believe she could feel more conscience-stricken, but she was wrong. Her sense of shame spiralled when Josephine unexpectedly announced, ‘Although I would never betray my country, I do not forget my friends. When I first settled here in Normandy I did write a letter to Daniel, which eventually reached him. He paid me an unexpected visit last year, in the summer, before finally returning home. Naturally, after Napoleon’s abdication, we assumed the conflict between our two countries had finally come to an end. Sadly, this increasingly seems not to be the case. But I told Daniel once that if ever he should be in need of my help in the future, he had only to contact me.’
Slender fingers reached out to give Katherine’s hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘He brought you here, petite, because he knew you would be safe. And for no other reason.’
As the door opened and a servant entered, bearing a tray, Madame Carre rose to her feet. ‘That, I think, should satisfy your curiosity about me. And now, while we eat our dinner, you must satisfy my curiosity and tell me all about yourself.’
Chapter Ten
It wasn’t until later that night, as she sat once again before the dressing-table mirror, absently pulling the brush through her hair, that Katherine began to appreciate for perhaps the very first time the effect her experiences in France were having on her: changing her attitude to a great extent; forcing her finally to face the fact that, when eventually she did arrive back in England, she simply couldn’t pick up the threads and continue that humdrum existence she had been leading in recent months, if she wished to bring even a modicum of contentment back into her life.
She might have been prompted by the purest of motives to agree to this venture. Yet she couldn’t deny that she had seized upon the opportunity offered to sever those ties placed upon her by Bath society and its petty restrictions. What eluded her completely was why she had lacked the courage, the self-confidence to do so long before now.
Oh yes, when her aunt had been alive there had been some excuse for remaining in that once very fashionable watering place. Sharp-tongued and frequently contrary her great-aunt Augusta had undoubtedly been, but from the very first she had proved to be excellent company, and they had rubbed along together wonderfully well. Since the elderly lady’s demise the previous year, however, the atmosphere in the Camden Street house had been for the most part sombre, alleviated only by those battles of will in which she and Bridie occasionally indulged.
Katherine shook her head, at a complete loss to understand why she had allowed herself to live such a repetitive, boring existence all these months, where all she had seemed to do was make and receive calls from the same circle of people. What on earth had happened to the spirited girl who had ridden at that next-to-nothing pace across the Irish countryside with her father, whose days had been filled from dawn till dusk with excitement and laughter? Oh, she was still there somewhere, hidden beneath that mantle of good manners and respectability which she had been forced to don in order to be accepted into the fringes of the polite world. How she longed to toss the restricting covering aside and just be herself again!
But had she not succeeded in doing precisely that in recent days? a tiny voice queried. Had she not, in fact, begun to reveal glimpses of that occasionally volatile and intrepid Anglo-Irish girl some time before embarking on this trip to France?
The second question, filtering through her mind hard on the heels of the first, induced Katherine to pause in her task of brushing her hair and to stare intently at her reflection, seeing not her own image in the glass but a scene in a crowded salon where she had confronted a tall, broad-shouldered ex-army Major, whose Rifleman-green uniform had set him quite apart from every other gentleman in the room. Dear God in heaven! Was it possible that she had him to thank for helping her to break through that repressive shroud of ladylike respectability? Or had Major Daniel Ross alone been responsible, without her having been aware of it, for slowly peeling away those layers of conformity and reserve to reveal increasing glimpses of the Katherine Fairchild O’Malley of yore?
A knock on the door interrupted these disquieting reflections. Assuming it must be the housekeeper returning her freshly laundered garments ready for the morning, Katherine didn’t hesitate to bid enter, and was mildly disconcerted to discover none other than the subject of her former disturbing thoughts purposefully entering, with a pile of clothes held firmly in his large, shapely hands.
The niggling resentment
