A snort matched the look of wariness in his friend’s eyes. “Oui, they convened it. And the commoners declared themselves a National Assembly. There is rumor that they intend to remain assembled until they have drafted a constitution.”
Fairchild opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Not when he caught sight of the field of soldiers drilling. Nay, then his throat went altogether dry. He had seen such formations often enough, though usually the men he regarded bore the scarlet jackets of his own regiment. “Why so many soldiers?”
Jean-Paul chuckled. “The king may have given in to the demands of the Third Estate, but he is no fool. The military has been arriving both here and in Paris, I am told.”
Though the masses of enemy soldiers inspired another drumroll of nerves, Fairchild drew in a deep breath and sent heavenward a deep prayer. He realized the mustering might actually be a blessing. With so much turmoil surrounding the court, no one would pay any heed to him. No one would pause to wonder why he sought out a certain madame and her daughter.
And indeed, no one looked twice at him as he followed Jean-Paul to the massive stable complex. He grinned at the same boy who had taken care of his mount upon his last visit, tossed him a coin, and followed his friend back out.
“Un moment.” With his gaze fastened on a few gaily clad young ladies in the distance, Jean-Paul hastened away. Fairchild leaned against the building and watched the young man weave his charm. Bowing, fawning over ivory hands, speaking words Fairchild had no hope of hearing from here—and which he suspected would only make him fight a roll of the eye were he nearer.
One of the ladies huffed and lifted her chin, but Jean-Paul only grinned and motioned toward Fairchild. Whatever he said seemed to appease the girl, for she smiled and made reply. A few moments later Jean-Paul strode his way again, satisfaction gleaming in his eye.
“Come, mon ami. To the Grotte des Bains d’Apollon. They say your ladies made mention of heading that way this morning.”
Nay. Fairchild pushed off the wall, careful to keep his features calm. Surely the young ladies were mistaken. Of all the acres of gardens, of all the acres of palace, why, why would the countess and her daughter be in the grotto? The very one he had wandered to that night while the masquerade reeled on inside? The very one where his ice-eyed lady had strolled with him, her fingers woven through his?
Jean-Paul turned toward the nearest garden path. With little choice but to follow, Fairchild drew in a long breath. She is Yours, Father in heaven. You know her name, as I never will. You love her as I can only imagine doing. She is Yours. And so I give her, again, to You. Help me put her from my mind. Help me focus, instead, on the earl’s family. Help me to find them, dear Lord above.
The paths through the gardens were a veritable maze of crisscrosses and odd angles, making him grateful for the guide. It had been quite by accident he had ended up at the legendary statue of Apollo and the nymphs three months ago, and he doubted he would have been able to find his way there again without a few wrong turns.
At last the grotto came into view, its stones carefully placed to look natural and chaotic. They formed a cave where the main statue resided, as if it were the very one in which Apollo took his repose after bringing the sun into the sky. To the sides stood the lesser sculptures of his horses being tended, and before it stretched a small pond with grasses and flowers to give it a primordial look. All within the protective shield of an English-style thicket.
Fairchild’s fingers flexed, as if expecting to find smaller ones held within them. Rather than the rustle of the grasses, his ears strained to hear that of ice-blue silk.
He shook it off and sent his gaze around the grotto, seeking flesh-and-blood ladies instead of the apparition of memory. There, on a bench amid the trees, he found two. He nodded their direction. “It is they?”
Jean-Paul squinted and tilted his chin up. Then he bobbed his head, sending his plume waving. “I believe so, oui. Though I cannot introduce you, as I am not acquainted with them.”
“No need to worry, mon ami. I will handle this part on my own.”
“In that case, I will seek you out later. In fact, I will go now to be sure they assign you the same apartment you had last time.” That was why he and Jean-Paul got on so well—the Frenchman knew when to smile and take his leave.
Their entrance into the vicinity hadn’t disturbed the ladies a bit. No doubt they were well accustomed to the passing by of other nobles out for a promenade, which suited Fairchild fine. He took a moment to study them, to try to discover by mere observation if they could be the women he sought.