A Wife Worth Investing In

‘I thought they were. Perhaps they were a little bit, for a time. Or perhaps I’m just fooling myself. You’ve guessed what happened, haven’t you? I don’t suppose it’s difficult. Anyone but me would have seen it coming. That’s what Estelle said.’

‘You were living your dream,’ Owen said. ‘That stayed with me, your sheer determination, the way you embraced it all, the way you defied convention to do so. Living life to the full, that’s what you said you were doing.’

‘Did I? That was what Mama used to say. She was rather more successful at it than me.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, it turned out that Pascal didn’t covet me at all, only my money. From the first, when Monsieur Salois—he is the Duke of Brockmore’s chef—recommended me to his kitchens at Eloise’s behest, Pascal knew I was rich. He was so—so—I couldn’t quite believe that I was actually there, in La Grande Taverne, working for Pascal Solignac. Not only working for him, but—he singled me out. He admired my work. He admired me—he seemed as fascinated by me as I was by him. Even at the time, I thought, why would a man so famous, so charismatic, with all of Paris at his feet would fall in love with me. I was enormously flattered, and I suppose it went to my head. I should have known better.’

‘Miss Brannagh, you do yourself an enormous injustice. If anyone had Paris at their feet, I’d have thought it would have been you.’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘Only because I gave you that impression, because when we met, I was still deluded enough to think that I was what I imagined myself to be. Living life to the full,’ she said sardonically. ‘I don’t have what it takes to make a success of that. I should have known better. I was simply basking in Pascal’s reflected glory.’

‘I think you underestimate yourself. When I saw you...’

‘As I said, when you saw me, I was deluded. We shared a common dream, Pascal and I, but only one of us would achieve it, and the other one would pay dearly. You can guess which was which. We spent hours after service talking of our restaurant, planning the menus. Pascal felt his genius was wasted, having to conform to the dictates of La Grande Taverne’s owner. Only in our own place would he be free to unleash his true artistry. And I would be there at his side, Paris’s best and most inventive sous-chef. That is what we agreed. That is what he promised me.’

‘But when he had your money, his promises proved to be empty?’

She shuddered. ‘The premises were purchased in his name. As a foreigner, I could not own property. As a woman I was apparently not permitted a bank account in France. I don’t even know how much of what he told me was true, I never thought to check. I trusted him implicitly. The new restaurant opened in June this year. What should have been the best night of my life turned into the worst. I had always admired Pascal’s burning ambition but it hid a ruthless streak, as I found out to my cost. He didn’t even wait until the staff had gone home. When the doors closed and the opening-night party began, he took me to one side and told me that he didn’t need me any more. I had served my purpose, and he cast me off like a dirty dish rag.’

She curled her lip. ‘I had been incredibly naïve not to realise that all he had ever wanted from me was my money, but I didn’t take it lying down. I didn’t fight for his affections, though I thought my heart broken, but I fought for what was mine. It was futile. Pascal can do no wrong in Paris’s eyes, and he wields a great deal of influence. No one would believe the word of a deluded, scorned Englishwoman, against Paris’s new culinary king. He made sure of that.’

Her eyes sparked with anger. ‘According to Pascal, he took me in as a favour to Monsieur Salois and tolerated me for far too long because as everyone knows, who has ever met Pascal, he is such a soft-hearted fool, beguiled by a pretty face and a well-turned ankle! Also according to Pascal, he covered up my many mistakes in the kitchen, and took me into his bed because I made it so difficult for him to refuse. The fact that it was my bed in my apartment—but that too, he claimed was my idea. Then when my inflated opinion of my own abilities caused me to demand that I had a place in his new venture, he had no option but to disillusion me. And to ensure that every other restaurant in Paris was similarly disillusioned.

‘So there you have it, my full, sorry and pathetic tale. I tried, heaven knows I have tried to secure gainful employment in another kitchen since. But no one would take me on, and the only offers I received were of a—a very different nature. Paris is a wonderful city when you are happy, when you feel that nothing is impossible, that the future is bright. But when your dreams are shattered, when you dare not look into the future for fear of what you might see, then Paris feels like living in a nightmare. I could hardly bring myself to stay in that apartment when he moved out, but I had nowhere else to go. Now the lease has run out, and I am quite penniless. If I started as a kitchen maid, perhaps I could scramble my way back up, but not in Paris. I love that city so much, but it is tarnished for ever for me now.’

Though her eyes were over-bright, she had not shed a single tear in the telling of this appalling tale. Owen would have given a great deal to throttle Solignac’s scrawny, arrogant neck, but Miss Brannagh was determined to take the blame for the man’s ruthless ambition and callous, abominable treatment of her. In fact she seemed to think she deserved it. Not content with stealing her money and her heart, Solignac had also stripped Miss Brannagh of her self-confidence. ‘And was he right,’ Owen asked tentatively, ‘about your culinary ability—or lack of it?’

Her shoulders slumped. ‘That is the hardest thing of all for me—he’s made me question just that. All I’ve ever wanted to do is to cook, and it’s the only thing I’ve ever thought I was good at. I was astounded by how well I did under Pascal’s tutelage, but I truly believed it was because I was learning fast, that my promotions were all merited. When he told me that I hadn’t earned any of it, that he wouldn’t ever have promoted me beyond peeling potatoes—I don’t know, Mr Harrington, perhaps I was out of my depth. Perhaps I am simply a competent domestic cook. I’d like to think not. I’d like to think that I can cook to a professional standard, but all I know for certain is that I still want to cook.’

‘Bravo, Miss Brannagh, you are bowed but unbroken,’ Owen said, though he was furious, for it was clearly far from the truth. As he suspected, Solignac had knocked the stuffing out of her.

‘I thought I was broken. I hope that I can put myself back together.’

‘I am very glad to hear that. You have taken some appalling and undeserved knocks, but your spirit has not been completely extinguished.’

‘We’ll see. I’m absolutely determined to try again, which is why I’m here. I got myself into this mess and I am determined to get myself out of it without falling back on my family.’ She paused to take a visible breath. ‘When I met you in Paris, you told me that you were the toast of society.’

‘Once upon a time, but I’m afraid I no longer go out in society, Miss Brannagh, and I’m not quite sure—’

‘You still have contacts, influence?’ she interrupted. ‘You see, I need a job, Mr Harrington. I need work. If I have to start at the bottom I will, though I would prefer—but I know I am not in a position to make demands. Only a request. Does anyone of your acquaintance need a cook?’

‘You want me to find you a position in domestic service?’ he exclaimed, astounded.

‘I would be for ever in your debt if you could.’

Undoubtedly he could. His influence was such that he could find her a position in any of the best households in London, if he chose to exert it. ‘Why not ask your sister for a recommendation? The Countess of Fearnoch...’

‘No! No, no, no. It’s not that I can’t, Mr Harrington, it’s that I won’t. I won’t be pitied. Eloise would never say I told you so, but it would be worse than that, she’d blame herself for letting me go abroad in the first place. She was very shocked, when she and her husband came to Paris back in April last year, and discovered—I’m still not sure how—my affaire with Pascal. She did not tell me that I was making a mistake in investing the money she had given me in the restaurant, she promised both Estelle and I that we could spend our settlement as we pleased, but I could see she was very concerned. I tried to persuade her she need not worry, but she obviously did, for she sent Estelle to talk sense into me at the end of last year. My twin had no compunction in making her feelings known. We parted on very bad terms.’

‘And Estelle would say I told you so, if you went to her now?’

‘Probably, and she’d have every right to, but she’d reserve her vitriol for Pascal. It may be perverse of me, but I don’t relish the idea of being seen as a witless victim. It was my decision to go to Paris, a gamble that didn’t pay off. Pascal exploited my passion and ambition, but I—oh, I was easily duped, let’s face it. He told me what I wanted to hear.’

For the first time, a tear escaped her eye, though she wiped it hurriedly away. ‘I can’t get in touch with Estelle. She’ll be furious with me for keeping her in ignorance, but she’d drop everything and come running regardless, if she knew I was in such dire straits, and I don’t want her to do that. I’ve never been at odds with her like this before. We have been out of touch ever since our arguement. I miss her so desperately, but I can’t—I absolutely cannot make up with her until I’ve redeemed myself. Do you think you can assist me to do that?’

‘Mr Harrington?’

Owen blinked. Judging by the concern on her face he’d had one of his episodes, where his mind froze and went blank. But for how long?

‘Mr Harrington, are you in pain?’

Not too long, by the sounds of it, or she’d have rung for help. ‘I’ve been sitting still for too long, that’s all,’ he said brusquely, removing his leg cautiously from the footstool. Pins and needles made it numb. He had no option but to wait until they passed before standing up. ‘You were saying?’

‘Are you sure you are—can I get you anything?’

‘No, I thank you,’ he said, hauling himself upright. ‘I need to think about what you have told me.’

‘Oh. Yes. Indeed.’ Miss Brannagh got to her feet. ‘I expect I’ll stay at the posting house tonight, until I can make other arrangements. You could send a note to me there, if you think of a suitable position.’

She held out her hand, and he took it in his gloved one. Though he had lost some of the feeling in his fingers, her touch still sent a jolt through him, conjuring the fleeting memory of the last time they had held hands like this, and the way time had seemed to stop. He looked down at her work-roughened hands, the tiny healed cuts, the result of constant chopping, the outline of old blisters from cooking on a hot stove. A permanent reminder, as his scars were, in a very different way, of her broken dreams. He no longer dreamed, but if he could help Miss Phoebe Brannagh to pick up the pieces of her life, then he would have rescued something, for her if not for him. It was scant consolation but it was better than nothing.

The kernel of an idea began to form in his mind. It was an outrageous idea. No, he couldn’t possibly—or could he? ‘You can’t stay in a posting house. I’ll have Bremner organise a hotel for you.’

‘Mr Harrington, I’m afraid I don’t have the funds...’

‘You can pay me back.’

‘I can’t possibly...’

‘What you need is a good dinner and a night’s rest in a comfortable bed,’ Owen said firmly, ringing the bell to summon his butler. ‘You’ll wake up refreshed, and much more prepared to face whatever the day may bring. I will brook no argument.’

‘Very well, if you insist, but I will refund you as soon as I can.’

‘Fine. Now, I’m going to hand you over to Bremner. Eat well, Miss Brannagh, and sleep well. I will send my carriage for you in the morning.’

She smiled tremulously. ‘I don’t know how to thank you. You are very kind.’

Not kind, determined, Owen thought, and already feeling a hundred times better than when he’d woken up this morning. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, releasing her hand as Bremner appeared, his man listening with well-disguised surprise to his clipped instructions.

The door closed on the pair of them, and Owen dropped heavily into the nearest chair. It was only just noon but the day, which usually stretched like a vast empty desert in front of him, seemed too short. He had a great deal of thinking to do.

Chapter Three (#u015bbdf1-a901-5d70-8aef-ced787f29c38)

Confounding her expectations, Phoebe slept soundly in the hotel’s huge, extremely comfortable bed. It was delightful to be able to stretch out her limbs, find a cool spot when she was too hot, without worrying she would disturb anyone. Anyone being Pascal, a light and fitful sleeper who thought that beds were primarily intended for lovemaking.

She couldn’t really remember exactly when and why Pascal had come to move into her apartment. She dimly recalled him mentioning a dispute with his landlady, who wished to charge him for laundering sheets. He had refused to pay, and as a consequence found himself homeless. Why waste time looking for new lodgings which could be more usefully be spent in the kitchen, he’d said, especially as Phoebe’s rented apartment was so large it was wasted on just her. Since there was no landlady on the premises to object to their scandalous domestic arrangements, and as the other occupants of the building kept themselves to themselves, Phoebe had come to view their living together as perfectly acceptable. Until Estelle found out.