The memories came flooding back, bringing a wave of pain so intense that Katherine might have fallen had not Jacques grasped her frail shoulders in support. When the faintness passed, she realized the coachman was speaking to her in rapid French. She shook her head, not understanding. "Je ne vous comprends pas," she managed to say in the language she had not spoken for years.
Jacques switched to heavily accented English, surprise momentarily making him voluble. "To find you here! I could not believe my eyes when I saw you! It is fate, non? You work here, then? You are in the employ of Mademoiselle Carringdon? Me, I have met her."
Katherine nodded once or twice, letting Jacques talk on while she recovered from the shock of seeing him again. He grinned at her, gesticulating with his hands. "Mon Dieu, it has been many years, madame. We have grown much gray on the head since that time. But it makes my heart glad to find that you are well. You go away so suddenly from France. But you are yet Madame Briggs? You have not remarried?"
She shook her head, not having the strength to explain that she had resumed her maiden name upon returning to her homeland and was now known as Katherine Hewitt.
Jacques didn't question her answer, but tapped his broad chest with his fist. "Me, I never marry," he said proudly. Then his tone changed so suddenly that Katherine flinched. "But what of la petite mademoiselle, Suzanne Durham?"
His contempt for Suzanne was apparent, for his face darkened and his lip curled when he said her name. Katherine closed her eyes. What should she say? Jacques blamed Suzanne for the death of the Comte de Valdois, as many did. But it had all happened so long ago. There would be no point in protesting that the girl had been innocent, useless to explain why she and Suzanne had fled France for the safety of England. Better to leave the past buried, Katherine thought with a shudder. "Suzanne Durham died several years ago," she whispered at last.
Jacques nodded solemnly. Then his brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. "Peut-etre . . . that is why I think I see Mademoiselle Carringdon before. She has the red hair also, the same as Madame Lisette."
Katherine's age-lined face paled once more. "I expect it is merely coincidence," she said hurriedly before Jacques could follow his line of thought. "Tell me, what are you doing here in England?"
Jacques seemed surprised by her question. "Surely you did not think I would desert Monsieur Dominic?" It was Katherine's turn to look puzzled. "Monsieur Dominic," Jacques said patiently. "The comte's son. Do you not remember him? He was but a boy then, but his life was in danger. It was not safe for the aristos, you understand? So I come with him to England, soon after you disappear. He has grown to be a fine man. The comte would have been proud of his son. Now he has the English title and I am his coachman."
"His coachman," Katherine repeated, her voice faint.
"Mais oui. Ah, Lord Stanton comes now," Jacques said as his tall, dark-haired employer descended the front steps. "Pardon, but I must leave you. It was good to see you again, madame—although I think I have brought you unpleasant memories. But the past is the past," he added with a Gallic shrug. "Au revoir. Perhaps we will see each other again, non?"
He left Katherine standing by the tilbury and resumed his place in the box. When Dominic had climbed into the coach, Jacques whipped up the bays and skillfully maneuvered the vehicle around the turn and down the gravel drive.
Katherine stared blindly after the disappearing coach, her face chalk white, her arthritic fingers convulsively gripping her walking cane. The man who had brought Brie home the previous day was the son of the Comte de Valdois, the son of a man she had once feared and hated!
Katherine could not remember making her way to her bedroom, but she found herself huddling in front of the fire, as if its warmth could drive away the chill that had invaded her aged limbs. She was still trembling with the shock of her discovery. Philippe Serrault's son was now Lord Stanton—the same Lord Stanton who had shown such a marked interest in Brie recently.
Katherine stared into the flames, seeing only the ghostly images in her mind. Why had she not felt any premonitions of danger? She had heard the neighborhood gossip about Stanton, but his surname had never been mentioned. Even so, she should have seen the strong resemblance he bore to the comte. Did he even know of the connection between his late father and Brie's family? Perhaps not. He had been a mere boy when the nightmare had ended with the deaths of two people. But now it seemed that history was repeating itself. . . . Indeed, that explained why Brie had been acting so strangely of late. She had been bewitched by the fatal Serrault charm.
Giving a moan, Katherine buried her face in her hands. Surely the fates could not be so cruel. "My poor Lisette," she whispered in anguish. "My poor sweet innocent. I warned you, but you paid no heed. And now your granddaughter . . . with his son. I won't let him hurt her, Lisette. I could not save you, but I will save Brie. She will not suffer your fate. Somehow, I will see to it."
The following week was an extremely trying one for Brie. Never before had she felt such a strong urge to escape her home. Caroline's secretive smiles irritated her, while Katherine's dire warnings of the evils of London nearly drove her to distraction.
The change in Katherine was puzzling. Overnight, she seemed to have aged ten years, a look of pain replacing the usual sadness in her eyes. She had astonished Brie by adamantly refusing to take part in the preparations for the trip to London. But even though Brie could tell something was troubling her elderly companion, no amount of cajoling could make Katherine disclose what it was.
"Why this sudden dislike of London, then?" Brie finally asked in exasperation. "A month ago you were insisting that I not miss the season, and now you want me to cancel the trip after I promised to accompany Caroline. There must be a reason." When Katherine refused to answer, Brie stubbornly declared she would go, with or without her companion.
For Dominic was in London, and Brie discovered that his absence only intensified the longing she felt for him. How absurd it was to pine after a man, she thought crossly. And yet, how pleasant to recall the wonderful moments they had shared. Her emotions continually oscillated between despair and excitement. She found herself constantly wondering what Dominic was doing, experiencing a stab of jealousy whenever she pictured him in another woman's arms, and a flash of fear whenever she remembered that someone had been trying to kill him.
She was worried about Katherine's strange behavior, though. Wanting to discuss the matter, Brie went in search of John Simms. She found him at one of the small paddocks, watching Firefly and the new little filly.
John looked up as she approached. "Nothing wrong with that one," he said critically, pointing to the frolicking youngster.
Brie smiled, grateful that John at least hadn't changed. He was still the same quiet-spoken, thoroughly reliable man she had always looked up to like a father. She stood beside him for a time, observing the horses in companionable silence.
"John," she said at length, "do you have any idea what is troubling Katherine? She's upset about something, but I can't get her to talk about it. She just keeps repeating that I shouldn't go to London. Why, I can't imagine, for she has always said I spend too much time buried in the country."
He was silent for so long that Brie thought he might not have heard her. Glancing at him, though, she realized he was considering the question carefully. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Brie, I'm not certain, but I expect she's worried about losing you."
"Losing me? Whatever do you mean?"
John squinted up at the sun, looking embarrassed. "Katie's getting on in years. It would be hard on her if you were to go away."
"But she's coming with me. And it won't be forever. A month at most."
"I'm not talking about your trip to London." He cleared his throat again. "What I mean to say is that a lady is expected to be with her husband, and when you are married—"
"Married! And just who am I supposed to marry?"