Pursued in Paris (Rakes on the Run) by Baily Sydney Jane

Author:Baily, Sydney Jane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cat Whisker Press
Published: 2021-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

True to his word, Serena received an invitation from Malcolm. Under her grand-mère’s watchful eye, she opened it. Not exactly a billet-doux, nevertheless, it made her heart race.

“An assembly at the Louvre,” Adèle said, reading over her shoulder. “To celebrate Monsieur David’s painting of the emperor. I suppose that will be acceptable. And it’s a masquerade, too. Très amusant!”

In fact, Malcolm couldn’t have chosen better since her grand-mère loved the museum and thought an artist’s talent was a gift from God. Although it was a day-time reception, showcasing pieces the emperor had obtained from conquered countries and brought to Paris, everyone would be in festive finery.

Malcolm had chosen the masquerade for obvious reasons, and Serena practically laughed out loud at her good fortune — another chance to be with the fascinating Englishman who made her insides quiver. And with Madame Fournier, no doubt.

Her grand-père, however, wasn’t so easily persuaded.

“You are a clever girl, but you take too many chances,” Pépère said, having not stopped scowling since she’d confessed to the events in the catacombs.

“But the Louvre, Henri,” her grand-mère intervened. “It is safe.”

“The masquerades at Carnival weren’t exactly tame,” Pépère said.

Serena had heard stories of how wild Carnival was especially the last of the six “fat” days, les jours gras. She couldn’t imagine her grandparents engaging in the revelry of the night before Ash Wednesday, when the anonymity of masks gave license for all types of wickedness. Banned for a short while after the Revolution, Serena had Bonaparte to thank for allowing masquerades once again at the turn of the century.

“But this isn’t Carnival,” Mémère scoffed. “Just a daytime party with masks. She is young, Henri. Let her have fun before she returns to stuffy Britain.”

“Hm,” he said.

Serena took that as a good sign. Not exactly a blessing, but an indication she would be allowed to go.

Wearing a gown of mostly white silk with little purple flowers around the bodice and at the bottom of the skirt, she draped a lavender-colored, soft Kashmir shawl over her shoulders. Although not as expensive as the imported kind, since it was from French goats rather than Indian goats, still the shawl was one of her favorite pieces.

When topped with a white lace cap trailing purple and green ribbons and a lavender silk mask, she felt perfectly in the pink of fashion.

When Monsieur Branley came to fetch her, he entered their parlor wearing the full black cloak of the traditional Venetian domino costume. And again, her grand-père gave him a serious stare.

“Be very careful with my granddaughter,” Henri said.

“Yes, monsieur,” Malcolm answered seriously.

When he swept the simple cape over his shoulder so he could easily take her arm, Serena noted his regular clothing underneath, a pale gray jacket with cream-colored breeches and black boots.

“And a mask, monsieur? her grand-mère asked.

“It’s on the seat of the carriage,” he promised.

Madame Fournier rose from the divan. Unlike Serena and Malcolm, she wore a full costume. Serena watched Malcolm’s expression of surprise, quickly tamed to one of utter neutrality.

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