The Woman from Paris(6)

“Hello, I’m Tom,” he said, extending his hand. His eyes twinkled at her flirtatiously. “I’ve been wondering who you are.”

She smiled, grateful for his friendliness. “I’m Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied.

“American,” he said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Canadian, actually.”

“Ah, Canadian.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I like Canadians, actually.”

She laughed at the languid way he dragged his vowels. “That’s lucky.”

“Hello, Tom,” interrupted Julius. The two men shook hands. “Lovely service,” he said.

“Yes, it really was, very lovely,” Phaedra agreed. Tom didn’t think he had ever seen such startlingly beautiful eyes. They were a clear gray-blue, almost turquoise, framed by thick lashes and set wide apart, giving her face a charming innocence.

“So how did you know my father?” he asked.

Phaedra glanced anxiously at Julius. “Well . . .” she began.

Just as she was about to answer, David appeared, and her words caught in her throat. “Ah, there you are, Tom,” said David, but his eyes fell on Phaedra, and he smiled casually, as if he had chanced upon bumping into her. “I’m David,” he said. His gaze lingered at last, drinking in her beauty as if it were ambrosia.

“Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied, putting out her hand. He took it, enjoying for an extended moment the warmth of her skin.

“Hello, David,” interrupted Julius, and reluctantly David let go of her hand. “Where’s Lady Frampton?”

“Oh, hello, Julius. I didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I am here,” said Julius testily; he was very sensitive about being five feet seven and three-quarter inches short. “I need to speak to her. You’re tall, David. See if you can spot her from your lofty height.”

David looked down at Julius’s shiny bald head and red, sweating brow, and thought how Dickensian he looked in his black suit and tie. “She’s not in here. Perhaps she’s in the hall.”

“Then let’s go and find her. I want her to meet Phaedra.”

Tom and David both wished Julius would go and find their mother on his own, but the portly lawyer put his arm around Phaedra’s waist and escorted her out into the hall. Curious and furious, the two brothers followed after.

They finally found Antoinette in the library with her elder sister, Rosamunde. Wineglasses in hand, they were standing by George’s desk, talking in low voices. “Ah, you’ve found me hiding,” said Antoinette, composing herself. It was clear that she had been crying again.

“We came in here for a little peace. It’s very busy out there,” Rosamunde explained in her deep, strident voice, hoping they’d take the hint and go away.

Antoinette saw the stranger in their midst and stiffened. “Hello,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “Have we met before?”

“No, we haven’t,” Phaedra replied.

“Phaedra Chancellor,” David cut in, dazed by the force of her allure.

“Oh.” Antoinette smiled politely. “And how . . .” She frowned, not wanting to be rude.

Julius seized the moment. “My dear Lady Frampton, I wasn’t sure that this was the right time to introduce you. But I know that Lord Frampton was very keen that you should meet. In fact, he was planning it when . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I know this is what he’d want.”

“I don’t understand.” Antoinette looked bewildered. “How is Miss Chancellor connected to my husband?”

Phaedra looked to Julius for guidance. He nodded discreetly. She took a breath, knowing instinctively that her answer would be neither expected, nor welcomed. But she thought of her beloved George and plunged in.

“I’m his daughter,” she said, fighting the impulse to flee. “George was my father.”





2


Antoinette stared in horror at the strange blond girl who stood before her, claiming to be her stepdaughter. Her first thought was how young she looked, possibly younger than David, which would mean that George had been unfaithful early on in their marriage. She wrung her hands anxiously but was too shocked to cry.

“I really don’t think this is the time or place—” Rosamunde began, taking off her glasses, but Antoinette stopped her.

“How old are you, Phaedra?” she asked.

“I’m thirty-one,” the girl replied, dropping her eyes. She didn’t look much older than twenty-one.

“I need to sit down.” Antoinette grabbed her sister’s hand. The relief that George hadn’t been unfaithful was overwhelming.