The Beautiful (ARC) Read online

  Sounds of mirth mingled with their exaggerated disgust.

  Girlish laughter lilted into the plaster ceiling. Catherine eyed

  Celine suspiciously, but returned to her judgmental corner

  without a word.

  Once more Celine was spared on the steps of the gallows.

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  j

  Less than an hour later, a knock resounded at the door.

  Catherine answered as if she’d been waiting for it all along,

  her blue-grey skirts a soft swish against the polished stone

  floor. The young woman waiting on the other side inclined her

  head of mousy brown hair regretfully. “Miss Rousseau?” she

  said to Celine. “Apologies for disturbing your class, but there is a gentleman waiting for you and Miss Montrose in the lemon

  grove leading to the vestibule.”

  Celine steeled her nerves while following the bonneted girl

  outside. On a bench near a row of carefully tended tomato

  vines sat Pippa in a lavender day dress, her gaze hollow, dark

  shadows looming beneath her eyes. Like Celine, it was obvious

  she had not slept well. When Pippa saw they had come to col-

  lect her, she offered them the smallest of smiles. The sight of

  it soothed Celine, though it troubled her that Pippa had been

  placed—once more—in a precarious situation.

  If only Pippa hadn’t volunteered to accompany Celine last

  night.

  If only Celine hadn’t been so insistent.

  If only the Mother Superior hadn’t sent Anabel to spy on

  them.

  If only.

  Celine’s heartbeat thundered in her chest as she prepared to

  face the young police detective in earnest. To give the perfor-

  mance of her life.

  When they rounded the final bend—their escort leaving

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  them to their fates—Celine was shocked to discover it was not Detective Michael Grimaldi waiting beneath the canopy of

  citrus-scented leaves.

  It was Arjun.

  He stood in the shade of a lemon tree, a navy bowler hat in

  hand, his monocle perched atop his right eye. He appeared en-

  grossed in conversation with the gardener, a hunched gentle-

  man whose tanned and wrinkled skin had aged him beyond

  his years, giving him the appearance of a wizard, replete with a

  long, wispy beard. The gardener offered Arjun a cutting of some

  sort, its vibrant green stem and tiny fronds wrapped in a length

  of dampened linen. Bending from the waist, Arjun reached to

  touch the top of the gardener’s foot, as if in gratitude. Then he took the cutting before turning to Celine and Pippa and offering them the most disingenuous of smiles.

  Not to be outdone, Celine responded in kind. “Forgive me,”

  she began, “but I’m somewhat confused. Might I inquire as

  to—”

  “It’s coriander,” Arjun interrupted. “An herb often used in

  East Indian cuisine. I missed its scent, and William generously

  offered me a cutting for my garden.”

  Celine blinked twice. “That was kind of him.”

  “And not at all the question you meant to ask.” Arjun grinned.

  “Bastien requested that I come here today. I advise him on

  legal matters, and he did not want you or Miss Montrose to be

  questioned by the police without someone advocating on your

  behalf.”

  Understanding settled on Celine. In addition to being Bastien’s

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  lackey—delivering blows to poor fools in rancid alleyways—

  Arjun was also the lawyer mentioned in passing last night. Bitter amusement warmed through Celine’s body. She was not surprised to know Bastien kept among his closest acquaintances an

  attorney, undoubtedly at all hours of day and night.

  “Then . . . you’re a barrister?” Pippa asked, a breeze playing

  with the ends of the blond curls framing her heart-shaped face.

  “Of a sort,” Arjun replied without missing a beat. “I know the

  law inside and out, even if I’m not permitted to practice it.”

  A quizzical expression passed across Pippa’s features. “I don’t

  understand.”

  “More’s the pity.” Another punishing grin took shape on his

  face. “My skin is not the right color, Miss Montrose, nor is my

  parentage. Surely you of all people understand that.”

  “Excuse me?” She blinked, consternation clouding her gaze.

  “Based on your accent, I’d wager you’re from Yorkshire. A

  proper English girl, through and through.”

  Color flooded Pippa’s cheeks. “Yes, I’m from Yorkshire.”

  “Then you’re no doubt well aware that a scrapper from East

  India would never be permitted to work as a barrister in any

  circle of significance.” Tucking his bowler hat beneath his arm,

  Arjun stored the coriander cutting inside the breast pocket of

  his grey frock coat. “That’s by design, in case you didn’t know.”

  He laughed to himself.

  “Not all of us believe in such notions,” Pippa said softly.

  “That may be true,” he said, “but all of you definitely benefit

  from it.”

  Pippa paled as she struggled to respond.

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  Knowing full well this conversation was not going in her friend’s favor, Celine interjected with a small curtsy. “Thank

  you very much for going to such trouble on our behalf, mon-

  sieur . . .” She waited for Arjun to offer his surname.

  “Desai.” He looked away from Pippa and cleared his throat.

  “But please feel free to call me Arjun, as I do think we’re past

  those kinds of formalities.” His hazel eyes twinkled.

  “I appreciate you coming here today to advocate on our be-

  half, but I’m afraid we lack the means to pay you.” Celine fought the urge to squirm under his steady gaze. “And I would not

  want to take advantage of your valuable time.”

  He snorted. “It appears we both dislike being indebted to

  others. And though my time is indeed valuable, you needn’t

  concern yourself with payment. Bastien will handle all the

  expenses.”

  The sheer arrogance. Of both men. Celine’s gaze narrowed.

  Pippa glanced at her sidelong, wearing a look of supreme

  unease.

  “And why would he do that?” Celine pressed.

  Arjun tilted his head from side to side, considering. “I

  couldn’t speculate as to his reasons. A wise young woman

  once told me we are only privy to our own thoughts.” A half

  grin curled up his face as he reminded Celine of her words

  from last night.

  Celine could feel her lips starting to pout. She kept quiet, let-

  ting her eyes answer for her.

  “Brava, Miss Rousseau,” Arjun commented. “I’d advise you

  to maintain that indignation throughout the course of today’s

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  inquiry.” He took a step closer to Pippa, narrowing the gap between them in on
e fell swoop. “Keep silent unless you are

  absolutely certain the next words you speak are beyond re-

  proach. Make the quiet your friend. Bask in it.”

  It was Celine’s turn to snort. “Simple enough. You’re merely

  asking us to behave as the ladies we’ve been raised to be.”

  “I’d wager that to be an easier task for some than for others.”

  Celine bit her tongue, refusing to let him incite her.

  Pippa frowned. “There’s no need for you to make such slights,

  sir,” she said. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

  “The truth is often unbecoming. But that does not make it

  unwarranted.”

  “In your opinion.” Pippa raised her elfin chin, prepared to do

  battle.

  Celine did not want Pippa to fall prey to Arjun’s provoca-

  tions, so she decided it was best to change the subject. “You

  still haven’t answered my earlier question, Monsieur Desai.

  Why would Monsieur Saint Germain take on the expense of

  providing us with legal representation?”

  “I told you last night, Miss Rousseau,” he replied. “Bastien is

  merely doing what he does best. Don’t see it as anything else.

  He would have done as much for anyone in need of assistance,

  as he’s done for countless other young ladies in the city.”

  “How magnanimous of him,” Celine countered in a cool tone.

  A smile ghosted across Arjun’s lips. “Trust that he is most

  concerned with putting a swift end to anything that might neg-

  atively affect his family’s businesses.”

  Well. Celine sniffed, her indignation mounting. It bothered

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  her immensely that Bastien had taken it upon himself to make decisions for them, without even consulting them first. Not

  to mention that if her suspicions were correct—if Bastien did

  indeed have something to do with Anabel’s untimely death, as

  the yellow ribbon in his pocket suggested—he was in essence

  pouring drinks for them from a poisoned well.

  Moreover, Celine hated the idea of owing him anything.

  She could refuse. But that would be foolish and prideful.

  The benefit of having a legal mind present for the events to

  come should outweigh her concerns for what the far future

  might bring.

  Arjun dusted the brim of his bowler hat. “I believe the detec-

  tive is waiting for us inside the Mother Superior’s office,” he

  said. “If you would care to take advantage of the boon being

  offered you, please lead the way. But if you’d rather be damned

  fools, I’ll bid you both good day.”

  Celine bristled further. At least she would not be guilty of

  selfishness or arrogance in this instance. “Pippa,” she said,

  turning toward her friend, “what do you think we should do?”

  Pippa glanced from Arjun to Celine and back again, her

  expression thoughtful. “Even though we have nothing to

  hide, I do think it would better to have a barrister with us,

  don’t you?”

  “I agree.” Celine nodded. “We thank you for your assistance

  in this matter, Monsieur Desai. Please convey our appreciation

  to . . . your employer.”

  For I certainly won’t, Celine finished in her head.

  Dark amusement glimmered in Arjun’s gaze. “Shall we?” he

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  said to Pippa and Celine, indicating they should lead the way inside.

  Neither of them dared to step forward. Arjun’s thick brows

  tufted together as he turned toward Pippa. “Don’t worry your-

  self too much, Miss Montrose,” he said softly. “You have noth-

  ing to hide. To quote Launcelot, the truth will out.”

  Pippa nodded. Then she proceeded through the lemon grove,

  her posture rigid, her chin held high.

  Steeling herself, Celine inhaled deeply before following her

  friend, hoping against hope that Shakespeare—in this in-

  stance—would be proved utterly wrong.

  Her truth must remain in darkness. No matter the cost.

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  The Performance of Her Life

  i

  In the light of day, Detective Michael Grimaldi did not seem

  quite as intimidating as he had the night before. Nor did he

  appear quite so professorial. He almost looked . . . handsome.

  Unfortunately this shift in countenance did little to ease the

  tension building in Celine’s body.

  She adjusted her seat on the creaky wooden chair positioned

  before the Mother Superior’s desk. Then she smoothed the over-

  skirt on the drabbest dress she owned. The color of dirty dish-

  water, this particular gown had been relegated to the times Celine had fiddled with fabric dyes in the atelier. Her ears still burned from how Detective Grimaldi had coolly rebuked her for using

  feminine wiles to sway him to her side. Today her attire had been chosen to make the point that Celine cared not a whit whether

  the sneering, self-important young detective found her attractive.

  The most beautiful young woman he’s ever met, my foot.

  Celine seethed to herself.

  Then she heaved a great sigh.

  Her temper could not get the better of her today, as it nearly

  had last night.

  From the opposite side of the Mother Superior’s desk,

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  Michael Grimaldi observed her in studious silence before considering Pippa, who was seated between Celine and Arjun.

  Celine’s palms turned clammy when Detective Grimaldi

  leveled an icy look at Arjun, who crossed an ankle over a knee

  before removing a small leather notebook and laying it on the

  desk alongside a graphite pencil.

  The immense wooden cross on the wall before Celine seemed

  to loom larger with each passing moment. Jesus Himself

  appeared to lock his tortured gaze on hers and say, “I suffered

  like this for your salvation?”

  Celine looked away.

  It was important she keep her wits about her. That she not lose

  sight of Arjun’s earlier directive. If she remained demure and silent, then perhaps Michael Grimaldi would leave them all alone.

  But if worse came to worst, Celine knew of a way to turn his

  attentions elsewhere.

  The location of a missing yellow hair ribbon, to be specific.

  Detective Grimaldi cleared his throat. “Thank you for agreeing

  to meet with me, Miss Rousseau and Miss Montrose,” he intoned.

  “Of course,” Pippa murmured. “We wish to help in any way.”

  Celine canted her head. Cut her gaze. Refrained from sharing

  her thoughts, though she was certain her expression spoke vol-

  umes. To Pippa’s left, Arjun grinned, then produced a slender

  blade to begin sharpening the point of his graphite pencil.

  The snick, snick, snick of metal against wood was as comforting as it was infuriating.

  “Were you able to rest at all, Miss Rousseau?” Detective

  Grimaldi asked Celine directly.

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  She inhaled through her nose. “It’s kind of you to ask after me, Detective Grimaldi. I slept as well as can be expected.”

  Placing his tweed fore-and-aft cap on the desk, the detective

  leaned back in his wooden chair. “Then I suppose you did not

  sleep well at all.”

  “I’m not certain how to respond to that, sir. Are you mak-

  ing an indirect inquiry as to whether I slept as a guilty person

  would? If so, you must know . . . it won’t work.”

  The snick of the knife against the pencil ceased midstroke.

  Michael Grimaldi arched a brow. “You share your thoughts

  quite candidly, Miss Rousseau.”

  Celine considered baring her teeth in a fierce smile. The cursed

  wretch was deliberately trying to provoke her. Again. She

  smoothed her skirt, locking her attention on a faint green stain

  along its hem. “I suppose you’d prefer if I kept my thoughts to

  myself.”

  “No. I appreciate your candor. I hope you continue sharing it

  with me.”

  In response, Celine said nothing.

  Utterly unruffled, Detective Grimaldi turned to Pippa. “A

  good night’s rest is something I value highly. As the first of

  five children, it was a luxury we could ill afford when I was a

  boy. How many siblings do you have, Miss Montrose?”

  Pippa startled at his question. “How do you know I have

  siblings?”

  “A simple deduction. The inner sleeve of your dress is worn

  through. The color is no longer fashionable, though it was made

  for a young woman not too long ago, suggesting it didn’t belong

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  to your mother.” He peered at her intently. “Stands to reason you’re not an only child.”

  Outrage caught in Celine’s throat the instant Pippa’s face

  flushed crimson. Celine opened her mouth to rebuke the de-

  tective, but caught herself, looking to Arjun for guidance.

  Their attorney finished sharpening his pencil. He rested his

  monocle atop his right eye and cracked open his small, leather-

  bound notebook. Without a word, he started writing in it, the

  scratch of graphite to paper the whole of his contribution to

  their inquiry.

  Infuriating man, Celine thought.

  “The dress was given to me by my cousin,” Pippa replied, her

  voice clear. Guileless. “And I’m also the eldest in my family.”

  “Of how many?” Detective Grimaldi asked as if they were