Dangerous to Know by TASHA ALEXANDER Page B

had in months, I was full of happy hope. Cécile had gone ahead with her plan to stay on a few more days, leaving Colin and me to set off on our own the next morning, aboard an early train.
    â€œI can’t say I feel keenly the loss of Capet,” my husband said, snuggling close to me. “I do adore you on trains. Pity we don’t have more privacy.”
    This brought to mind delicious memories of the time we’d spent on the Orient Express en route to Constantinople. “You do still owe me a proper honeymoon. Where shall we go? Egypt?”
    â€œI’m thinking somewhere mundane and tedious, a place where intrigue cannot possibly find us.”
    â€œSounds dreadful,” I said, glowing. “Won’t we be beside ourselves with boredom?”
    â€œI have a number of ways in mind to keep you occupied.”
    â€œDo you?” I asked, scooting even closer to him. “Can we leave now? Please?”
    â€œAs soon as I’ve sorted out what Gaudet needs from me.”
    After the train arrived at the small station in Yvetot, the market town closest to his mother’s house, we directed our waiting carriage to head for the Markhams’ château so that we might redeliver Monet’s painting to them. George beamed with pleasure when he saw us approach.
    â€œYou’ve caught us outside again. Madeline didn’t want to squander weather this lovely,” he said, striding across the lawn with his wife to greet us. “We know it can’t last with those clouds on the horizon. Dare I hope Monet accepted my offer? The parcel you’re carrying fills me with hope.”
    â€œNo haggling necessary,” Colin said, handing it to him.
    â€œYou’re absolute geniuses,” George said. “Will you come inside and help me hang it?”
    â€œMust we right away, George?” Madeline asked. “It’s too beautiful to be inside.”
    â€œYou can stay out if you’d like, darling. I’ve a hankering for a decent cigar. Hargreaves, indulge with me? We can leave the ladies to whatever it is ladies do.”
    â€œI’d be loath to turn down such an attractive offer,” Colin said. “If, Emily, you’ll forgive me for abandoning you?”
    â€œWe’re happy to see you go,” Madeline said, her face shining. “Ladies need time for gossip as much as men do, and I can’t stand the smell of tobacco.”
    I’d never supported the segregation of the sexes (it seemed, in my experience, the ladies always got the short end of the interesting conversation), and the thought of a decent cigar was more than a little tempting, but I had a feeling George would balk at giving me one. Resigned, I looped my arm through hers and we set off along the gravel path. The lushness of Normandy was a delight. As green as Ireland and rich with flowers in every bright shade: blue and vibrant purple, magenta and gold, orange and white. They grew wild on the sides of roads and paths, tamed only in carefully tended gardens. The formality of the Markhams’ grounds was a stark contrast to Monet’s, but both were stunning.
    Thunder rolled far in the distance, but the sky remained bright. “I don’t think we’ll be driven indoors yet,” Madeline said. “Do you mind if we keep walking? I do love it here, but admit to finding myself lonely sometimes. George is all I have, especially now that my mother’s not herself, and his work keeps him busy much of the time.”
    â€œArt?”
    â€œAt the moment, that’s what he’s fixated on. Collecting, primarily, at least for the moment. He’s always finding what he thinks will be his life’s great passion, but it rarely lasts more than a few months, maybe a year.”
    â€œFocus can be a difficult thing,” I said.
    â€œI did think he’d stick with medicine. He was so happy with it for a while—years, not months. But that, too, lost its