To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,36
someone we may be investigating?” Hal asked in an even softer voice, the words barely audible even to her own ears.
“We have no idea if he is involved yet,” her husband replied, his lips just above her ear. “Approve of whom and what you will, we only need information.”
“Ah, sweet nothings between hearts bound together,” Jean said from the top of the stairs, looking back at them with a warm smile. “Early days of marriage are très sucré, are they not?”
Hal glanced up at John, biting back a laugh, only to find him doing the same. She looked back at her cousin with a smile. “Indeed, cousin.”
Jean chuckled and gestured for them to enter the room ahead of him and Victoire.
The drawing room was expansive, simply adorned as the rest of the house, and full of people without being a crush. The fashions Hal observed in the ladies were middling in their finery, placing Hal’s ensemble in line with them, though the additional adornments in her hair, placed at the insistence of her maid, were more excessive than the rest. One could not have everything, she supposed.
“Baron de Rouvroy,” an elegant woman in palest blue greeted with a warm smile, a hint of rouge on her cheeks.
Jean stepped forward and took her hand, kissing the glove quickly. “Madame Savatier. Thank you for the kind invitation. I pray you will excuse my using English, ma cousine and her husband, Monsieur Pratt, are English.” He gestured to them.
Madam Savatier offered them both a bright smile, though she raised a brow. “And you have no confidence in your French?” she asked with only a hint of her natural accent.
Hal curtseyed in greeting. “J’ai confiance en mon français, madame, mais pas assez de compétence.”
“And I have no confidence at all, I’m afraid,” Pratt sighed, putting even more of an emphasis on his English accent than usual. “All the more reason to let my wife speak for us both.”
Madam Savatier giggled and shook her head. “Non, it is no trouble to speak in your native tongue, Monsieur Pratt. Welcome to our home. It is a pleasure to have you.”
“And a pleasure to be here,” Hal replied, finding Madame Savatier relatively without airs and instantly liking her. “We were surprised and delighted to have the invitation.”
“I would expect so,” Madame Savatier laughed. “My husband will insist upon inviting any new acquaintances to our home for further engagement. Sometimes it leads to nothing, but other times we gain marvelous new friends!” She laughed, then looked among the group and returned her attention to Jean. “Your son is not with you?”
“Alas, madame,” Jean replied sadly, “he has a prior engagement this evening. He sends his regards and his regrets.”
Madame Savatier dipped her chin in a nod. “All is forgiven, of course.” She gestured to the room in invitation. “Please enjoy yourselves. I shall come along bientôt to introduce you to some new friends, Madame Pratt.”
Hal managed a smile, though she hoped that it would not be too soon. Unless Madam Savatier was going to introduce her to Leclerc, she had other things to see to.
“Merci,” she replied all the same.
Pratt led her away and they shared a look with Jean and Victoire.
“Go on, mes enfants,” he insisted in a teasing, fatherly tone. “Do not wait for me to take you about. I intend to spend this evening with my wife.” He kissed her hand as though to prove it.
“Better and better,” Pratt muttered as they walked away. He exhaled and gave Hal a look. “Ready?”
She nodded at him, her heart skipping with anticipation. “Ready.”
“If we need the other,” he suddenly said, his eyes growing dark, “what shall we do?”
Hal thought quickly. “I’ll fiddle with my necklace, you your cravat. As you hate it anyway, it will not be at all surprising.”
Pratt glowered at the offending linen darkly. “It’s more voluminous than your skirts.”
“Very pretty, though.” She winked and tugged him in the direction of some other guests.
The very first question after introductions were made was all too perfect, in Hal’s estimation. “And what brings you to Paris, Madame Pratt? The fashions?”
Hal smiled at the tall man who had asked. “My family, monsieur. I had never met my cousin, Baron de Rouvroy, and I wished to rekindle the connection my mother abandoned.”
“Abandoned?” one of the ladies repeated, struggling to say the word in English. “How?”
“She chose to follow her heart and married my father,” Hal continued, “for which I am obviously grateful, but she severed anything French from her