The Counterfeit Mistress by Madeline Hunter Page B

visited. She was still much of a child herself then, and she went to play with them. When I went into the garden, I heard her. No longer did she speak like a Parisienne, but with an accent most provincial. I recognized it as a voice from the west. I had family who lived in Nantes, and she spoke like them.”
    She locked her gaze on his meaningfully. He missed whatever significance she gave to this discovery. He never thought Marielle had come to London from Paris.
    She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. “Milord, she does not claim to come from the
west
, but from the
south
. The comte lived in Provence, and Marielle says she lived nearby. That at least is not true, I think.”
    And if one detail were untrue, how much else?
    â€œDo you know her well? Have you seen her among us?” Madame Peltier asked.
    â€œI have only seen her among English people.” Mostly he had seen her as a lone figure in the distance. Of course recently he had been face-to-face with her, and very close. Too damned close.
    Madame Peltier lowered her eyelids and gazed down in thought. “You are not the first to wonder. Not even the first to ask me about her. Your government has shown interest before. You, however, are the first who did not threaten me before you asked your question. And the first to come with a letter of introduction, as a sign of respect.”
    â€œDid you tell the others what you told me?”
    â€œI only answered their questions. They did not ask about her speech, or ask for my opinions.”
    â€œI am glad you decided to receive me. I have learned something new from you it seems.” Damned if he knew what to do with it, though.
    He rose to take his leave. She stood too, but paced over to the window overlooking the street. Abruptly she turned.
    â€œWould you like to see her among her own? There is a gathering right now to welcome some new arrivals. She may be there. She likes to learn if they brought things to sell. She gives them to that auction house and takes a piece for her efforts. Our little Marielle is most shrewd in going between the English and us.”
    â€œIt would be useful to see her being shrewd, but I would not like to intrude.”
    â€œThere are often English friends at such assemblies, so introductions can be made that might be of use. You can escort me.”
    â€œIf I escort you, will there not be talk?”
    She laughed musically. “How gallant of you to worry for me. There is always some talk. What else do we have to do, but talk and wait and pray, and talk some more?”

Chapter 7
    M arielle avoided the quizzing by Madame Toupin as long as she could. She engaged the others sitting nearby in conversation. Before the hour was out she knew the identities of all of the new arrivals, and from where they had hailed.
    One man in particular held a special interest to her. A native of La Rochelle, he had visited his home before slipping away. La Rochelle was not Savenay, where Lamberte wielded power, but both were in the west.
    She contemplated how to escape Madame Toupin so she could pull that man aside. Deciding to be direct, she began rising from the bench, excusing herself. Unfortunately that brought Madame’s attention on her.
    â€œMy dear, you must not go so soon. We have not had time to talk.”
    â€œOf course, Madame.” She sat again, but turned her head in the direction away from Madame. Dominique stood right behind her, and moved close when she gestured. Dominique bent low to hear her whisper. “Monsieur Marion, over there with the green waistcoat. Ask him to meet me in the garden in half an hour.”
    Dominique nodded and eased away. Marielle collected her wits and turned to face Madame.
    â€œI was so sad, hearing about your uncle. It makes me grieve even now, all these years later,” Madame said, patting her hand.
    â€œWe all have much to grieve, Madame. I thank you for remembering him in your prayers.”
    â€œI expect the