Page 46

46

HENRY brEAKS THE NEWS

L éon was like sleeping beauty emerging from a one-hundred-year slumber, his prince waiting adoringly for the first glimpse of those serene eyes, for the first kiss of the new night.

He woke softly, he was dressed silkily, and Léon handed every care and concern he’d ever had across to Henry, who threw the lot straight out the window.

Henry pulled Léon’s hair half up, and he strongly considered powdering it, but Léon drew the line there.

He found all the preparations too ridiculous to be true, but he went along with the rest of them, because why on earth not?

It made Henry happy.

And what other week would he ever spend playing dress up with a beautiful man in a rich person’s house?

When they finally descended from their room, it was to the smell of coffee and the razor-sharp glares of both Souveraine and Catherine.

émile said, “You look stupid, Léon.”

Léon racked out a laugh in hearty agreement.

“This is what Henri says rich people wear to parties in Paris. Have you ever seen anything more ludicrous?”

Henry had chosen blue for Léon.

Head to toe teal blue with pearlescent thread glowing in swoops and bunching around beads and buttons like Léon had never once seen before.

His waistcoat was short, the tail long, the pants high, and he felt a complete fool.

But Henry, by his side in the same cut of coat, only maroon, assured him he was the very pinnacle of fashion.

Silk laces were irreproachable, he said, and those yellow stockings?

What could be better?

Catherine eased Léon with, “You’re very handsome. Very, very handsome. But I was thinking, perhaps you could help with dinner rather than dress up?—”

“Oh, but we’re going out for dinner,” Henry interrupted.

“You’re what?” She looked around the dark and sparse room, as though Henry must have missed the barricades.

“No, you’re not.”

“I forgot to mention,” said Henry, adjusting a frothily absurd cuff, “we’ve been invited out. I sent a few letters?—”

“A few letters?” she repeated, the chandelier in the ceiling giving a little shake.

Léon and Souveraine locked eyes first on it, then on each other.

“It was one, last I checked. One ‘urgent’ letter.”

But Henry trotted down the stairs and brought hands to his sister’s shoulders.

“Shhh. It’s just a small gathering.”

“We don’t go to ‘small gatherings’,” she enunciated furiously, a cup vibrating itself off the edge of a table, being caught in émile’s fingers.

“We don’t tell people where we are, or wasn’t I clear about that?”

“There will be food,” he said softly, taking her hand up.

“Not just cheese and scones. Good food.”

“We’re hiding out. We’re hiding out, then we’re to leave as soon as you two are rested.” She directed this last at Souveraine, who gave a sharp nod of agreement, even as a portrait behind her tilted abruptly.

“Yes, of course,” said Henry, in that deep and calm voice Léon loved so.

“But until then, we need to eat, do we not?”

Raising her chin a little haughtily, just like her brother might, “We’ve made do.”

But now there was a distinctly sly sparkle in Henry’s eye.

“Guess who’s going?”

Catherine was instantly entranced, and everything in the room stilled.

“Who?”

Faux casual to the point of humorous, “Only Mary Wollstonecraft.”

“Mary’s going?” Catherine cried.

No one, not even Léon, noticed the hot flush that rose to Souveraine’s cheek.

“Who’s Mary?”

Henry, of course, ignored her, saying to Catherine, “She’s been staying just across the river this whole time. That’s who the invitation’s come from. Not that it’s her party, but she’d love us both to come. Unless you’re really very sure we can’t possibly?—”

“No! No, I… Well… I think just one night…” With a bright pink hue deep about her face, “I must dress.” She ran full pelt up the stairs, got to the top, then thrust herself against the banister so violently she almost fell to her death.

“Souvie! I need you!”

“I don’t think you do,” Souveraine called up sharply.

A long and pathetic whine, “Soooooouuuuuuvvvvviiieeeeee! Come fix my hair!”

“You can fix your own hair, Cathy. And apparently I have other things to do this evening, anyway.” This last was said with an edge of bitterness and a decided waver to her voice that cut directly into Léon’s heart.

He ran down the stairs to her, Henry’s squinting eyes following the pair of them as he took her hands.

“Oh, but you’re coming. Tell me you’ll come.”

“I’m not! Léon, have you gone mad? I can’t go to a party. In Paris! Like that!” She emphasised his strange outfit with everything in her.

“But of course you can.” He melded both her hands warmly with his own.

“Come, I’ll be right by your side all night long.”

“Maybe not ‘all’ night,” Henry interjected.

Léon talked over him.

“I won’t leave you once. We’ll have the best time.”

“But… émile,” she argued.

“émile’s coming, aren’t you?” said Léon.

émile’s mind remained as one-track as ever.

“Can I ride Destroyer?”

“You can sit up top with me.” Henry set a scowl on Souveraine.

“With me and Léon. Ladies in the carriage.”

“If you insist, Henry!” Catherine called down.

“Now, hurry up, Souveraine. I’m sure mother has a nice dress for you somewhere. She’s really quite young and has an enormous bosom just like yours.”

With all the dignity becoming a sensible woman who desperately wants to sink into the ground in embarrassment, Souveraine broke from the comfort of Léon, and trudged up the stairs.