Seduced by a Legend

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The carriage gave a rough jolt, jerking young Ignatius from his slumber. His drowsy head rolled on a neck that many had told him recalled to mind the elegant grace of a swan. Fingering back the curtain, with one eye shut, he gazed upon his first sight of the town that the locals merely adverted to as le Fleuve. His other peeper dithered over opening, awakening with the rapidity of a fluttering butterfly wing. Finally, he managed to pry both eyes open. What he saw brought a smile to his lips, an expression that quickly faded. Alas, owing to initial impressions of the land hereabout, his father’s voice resounded in his recollections.

“From what I’ve heard of the place, you’ll feel at home. You were always one for indolence, and Ville sur le Fleuve is a place of dreamers, those that build gay castles in the sky.”

Ignatius had to admit he liked the sound of that. Gay castles were fine by him. The small market town lay at the head of a river, bringing many by sea and land who wished to trade. If the locals had become complacent, it was because their fortune hardly needed seeking.

The door to the carriage opened, the footman encouraging the passengers to disembark with a sweeping gesture. Ignatius, stepping down, addressed one of the men transferring luggage and other belongings from the carriage roof to the ground, asking in the local dialect, “Good sirs, would you be so kind as to instruct me?”

The two men stopped what they were doing, looking at each other with equally perplexed expressions. Taking their silence for acquiescence, Ignatius continued, “I was endeavouring to enquire if this fine establishment would be able to stow my portmanteau, be it solely on a temporary fashion of perhaps a few hours at most. Or, if my trunk is not able to remain in the good care of amiable gentlemen such as yourselves, if there be somewhere directly nearby where you could guide me, I would be most grateful.”

The men exchanged fleeting looks and then both straightened, one making more of a show of it, tipping back his cap, tucking his thumbs into his braces, and regarding Ignatius with a diligent eye. “To set facts straight, you wish to stow that there crate—” the man lifted his chin in the direction of the leather trunk, “—for a few hours?”

His mental agility enabled Ignatius to understand the accent, and he quickly worked out what the man had said. “That I do,” Ignatius confirmed. He had removed his hat and clutched it in both hands, holding it in front of his chest over his heart, in what was surely a universal expression of sincerity. He took his gaze off the men to turn his head toward the sky. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and beamed his smile at the heavens. Opening his eyes and lowering his gaze, Ignatius gave his attention back to the men. “My journey was a little hurried, and I did not know if I would be able to arrive today or on the morrow. Therefore, I have to notify my employer that I am here. In addition, I would like to take a short while to perambulate in order to acquaint myself with your fair town.”

“He wishes to perambulate,” the first man said, tugging his braces as he leaned back toward the second fellow. He rolled the word out, making it rumble and stretch.

“Is that right?” the second man shot back.

Frowning, unsure whether these two were dim-witted in some way, Ignatius explained that yes, that was correct.

“You wish to amble, saunter, walk around this here, our town?”

“Yes.” Ignatius put a little emphasis into the word.

“And you want us to store this here trunk for you whilst you do so?”

“If it is possible.”

The man sniffed, then wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve; the gesture made Ignatius blink in astonishment.

“It be possible, though it will cost you.”

“H-how much?”

The man looked him up and down, then turned and mumbled something to his partner. He named a price higher than Ignatius thought fair but not as dear as he suspected they wanted to charge. He was aware he could be a little too innocent for his own good at times, but he had finally realised that this was one of those occasions where these men were sorely tempted to play him for a fool. Naïve he could be, but he was no fool.

“You will keep it safely stored?”

“Naturally.”

“Then I agree, though I’ll pay half now and half when I return with my employer.”

“And if you don’t return?”

Ignatius glanced at his trunk. “Then I would lose my possessions.”

The man sniffed again, and Ignatius braced for yet another exhibition of a lack of kerchief. “We’ll keep it for you, but only today. We close at dusk. If you’ve not collected it by then, I’ll consider the trunk and anything therein as fair payment.”

Seeing the value of the trunk alone was probably worth more than this man likely made in a month, Ignatius did not see it as fair at all, but he was determined to return and hence settle in his new abode long before dusk. He could foresee no problems. He accepted the terms and paid the currency.

“Who’s your employer?” the man asked after he had bitten the coin, making Ignatius wince. Who would put such a filthy thing as coinage in their mouth?

“Monsieur Gregoire Delacroix,” Ignatius responded. “I am here to tutor his daughter, Mademoiselle Desiree Delacroix.” He jumped as the man swore under his breath. The two men exchanged disgruntled glances. “Is there a problem?”

“No. None.”

The reply sounded straightforward, but as Ignatius wandered off, he was unsure whether to believe them. He resisted the temptation to ask for general directions. He would ask someone else in the village where he might locate the honourable gentleman who would be paying his salary for the foreseeable future.

The town seemed pleasant enough, and it appeared Ignatius had arrived on market day. Many people traded at stalls, though there were a few stores. The cackle of hens came from a box on the ground, the snort of a small pig from another. These noises sounded less strange than the local language but he was already well-versed in the lingo and that was partly his purpose here. He eyed a small bushel of apples but resisted the temptation. The street was so busy it soon became impassable in places, slow going at the least in others. Ignatius swapped the dried mud of the road for the wooden walkway. This took him closer to the stores and other establishments.

He was surprised to note such a moderate town had more than one tavern. He frowned a little when he noted the number of men tipping back a tankard so early in the day—not that Ignatius was a man of drink in any case. Alas, his disapproval must have shown on his face, for a long leg unfolded and stretched out to rest by the ankle on the porch railing, thereby blocking his passage.

Blinking in puzzlement, Ignatius turned his attention to the stranger. He blinked again when dark formidable eyes returned his stare from beneath a hardy brow and a shock of black hair.

“A stranger, and an odd-looking one at that,” the man said, when Ignatius had been thinking the same thing about him. At least, he had never set eyes on such broad shoulders before now.

“I’m new to town, sir,” Ignatius confirmed. He cast a glance around the rambunctious assemblage, seeing that this man hung with a motley crew of manly specimens. There were four of them, five including the large man, and they gave the impression of being a gang.

“Indeed.” That rich, warm voice rang out. The booming quality shook Ignatius’s frame as though a bell tolled within him reverberating all the way down to his toes. “And what can we do for you?”

The question came so unexpectedly that for a moment Ignatius quite forgot to answer. He stared at the other man and dark twinkling eyes gazed back. He was not sure what he could see in them, but that gaze was a peculiar mix of emotions. For an instant, Ignatius perceived himself to be transparent, as though this man stared into his very soul, yet as for the man himself, he was impenetrable. Ignatius had thought he had the chap’s worth figured out the moment the brute had placed his legs into his path, but now he felt misguided. Someone coughed, bringing him back to reality.

“My name is Ignatius Swain,” he told the men. They laughed, but then a round of name giving ensued, and Ignatius learned that the bulky being still impeding his proceeding was one Jacques Bouchard, although one fellow referred to him as saucisson. Sausage?

“A soubriquet,” Jacques said, laughing.

So it was a nickname. Still failing to understand, Ignatius merely nodded. Having made their acquaintance, he said, “I am seeking one Gregoire Delacroix.”

“And why would that be?” one of the men asked.

“I really don’t see what business that is of yours, but if you must know, I am to tutor his daughter.”

At once Jacques was on his feet. His seat skittered back as though it could not move far enough away from him. Ignatius was aware his eyes widened, as his gaze drifted up…and up, and…being as he was quite tall himself, even that distance told him how tall Jacques was, but it was not just height that made the man redoubtable. To call Jacques Bouchard broad-shouldered was inadequate. Now that the man stood more in the light, Ignatius could see his face was uncommonly handsome, but the curl to his lips distracted from this pleasantness. This bear of a man leaned over him so that Ignatius found he was leaning back and arching his spine a little.

Refusing to be so intimidated, Ignatius stood up straight. That meant his face moved closer to Jacques’s and the man had to straighten also or there would be but a breath between them. Surprise passed over Jacques’s expression, swiftly replaced by something less enjoyable. This man continued to stare at Ignatius, a cast of animosity burning in those dark eyes. Then Jacques’s gaze flicked up and down as well as side to side as though taking in Ignatius’s measure. Turning his head, Jacques stared at his men, his lips stretching to a grin, although the gesture looked a little sneering for Ignatius’s taste. The men laughed, perhaps dutifully, perhaps a little nervously. Jacques stepped back.

“Shortest way for those on foot is carry on through town. You’ll come to the crossroads in the woods. Take the first fork to the right. When you reach the open bridge, look up the hill. That’s an open bridge you’re looking for, mind, not the covered one. You’ll see the house from there. You’ll see it before then, but that’s the best view.”

Although unsure why Jacques was suddenly being so helpful, Ignatius nodded. “Thank you for the information. If I see you about town I hope it will be to look upon a friendly face?”

“Oh, you’ll see me around, all right,” Jacques said. He made no mention of friendliness. Puzzled, Ignatius continued onward.

Venturing farther along the main street, Ignatius contemplated the strange incident for all of two minutes. He was the newcomer, and he had heard many stories of how it took some strangers many years to settle into small communities. Although he could be here for the next two to three years tutoring the Lady Desiree, he had no plans to settle here and that was likely too short a time for any of the locals to accept him in more than a courteous fashion. Alas, he would probably have to get used to such treatment.

Out of the village, the sound of bustle soon fell away. He had walked for a distance of two miles on a steady incline. At the top, he looked back to the village. The small segment of land stood in a tranquil valley, surrounded by forest against a mountainous backdrop. From this position, he could even see all the way down Main Street to the docks where ships sat harboured.

It crossed his mind that in time these forests might disappear beneath the swing of axes and the town would change its name, its current dignity forgotten, gone forever. For now, the scene was quite beautiful.

Lulled with the vision, Ignatius set his mind to wondering how many of the trees he would be able to identify within the forest that lay hereabout. He imagined many hours spent collecting flora and fauna in his time when he was not tutoring and envisioned many summer evenings exploring the groves. Winter evenings he hoped to spend in front of a roaring fire, a good book to hand after a hearty meal. A bird sang out, answered by another, their melody making him consider other things he might seek to identify as well. His future held such immediate promise.

Realising he was dreaming the day away, and he had yet to meet his employer let alone make arrangements to collect his trunk and have it sent to whatever accommodations Delacroix had set in place for him, Ignatius shook off the feeling of enchantment and, turning his back on the secluded valley, looked up the hill. There, prominently displayed in the distance, existed an impressive building that he surmised was the home of the man he sought. He continued on his journey, entering a small overhang of trees, temporarily losing sight of the house. So lost in thought was he that it took a moment for him to realise that he could hear something that sounded like music.

Stopping to listen, he registered the sound was not a composition, but that of whispers dying away to silence so that he became unsure of having heard anything at all. The air beneath the trees lacked warmth, and suddenly Ignatius felt quite alone and lost, almost as though he might never find his way out of these trees, which was quite ridiculous when one considered that the orbit of this grove was very small indeed. Before he had left his hometown, a good friend of his had clapped him on the back and told him to write with tales of ghosts as well as gossip, for his friend had said every region had its haunting stories and family dirt to dig. Ignatius, disinclined to one of these frivolities though often enticed by the other, had nevertheless laughed off the matter. Now, in the gloom of this small wood, even in the early hours of the afternoon when the sun shone at its highest, he regretted his laughter.

Picking up his pace and hurrying along the worn path, he soon broke out of the confining trees into glorious sunshine. At once feeling foolish, he chuckled. He made his way up the hill, crossing the infinitesimal bridge that Jacques Bouchard must have been referring to—noting he was right about the view—and ascertained that any visitor could be seen arriving far before they completed the ascent. The front door already stood open and a large, jolly-looking man awaited him.

“Professor Swain, I do believe.” The voice was as jovial as the blooming cheeks of a whisky-imbiber.

“Indeed, sir.” Ignatius held out his hand only because the other already did so. They shook. “I take it I am addressing the master of the house?”

“You are indeed. But please, call me Gregoire. We do not hold with too many formalities in such a quiet and often isolated part of the world.”

Ignatius gazed back down the valley. From here, not only could he see the town and the port, but the river that led to the sea. He could not help wonder what the view would have been like had he approached Ville sur le Fleuve aboard a ship. However, unable to find passage directly on such short notice, he had completed his journey by carriage. From this distance and owing to the way the sun shone, the water sparkled almost purely white and gold.

“Secluded perhaps, sir, but isolated? Surely all the traders that pass through make it far from solitary.”

Did he detect hesitation on Delacroix’s part?

“You have to appreciate that we do not have so many ships in these waters come winter.”

“Even so, surely the traders who come by land…”

“Ah,” Delacroix placed a hand on Ignatius’s shoulder, directing him toward the house. “There are not so many of them and not so many in winter. Shorter days, you see.”

He was not at all sure he did see, but for the moment, he dismissed it. Secluded or isolated, this was a thriving community. Gregoire himself appeared the picture of health, a little overweight perhaps and with a ruddy complexion, but clearly contented. His smile seemed one of genuine happiness.

Allowing the good man to lead him the short distance to the front door, Ignatius took a last opportunity to gaze about his person. The land here was decidedly fertile. He could see fields of abundant crops to the left of the main estate.

“Over yonder where you see that great tree is where the brook begins. We have natural spring water coming down through the mountains ‘round, not that I drink much of the stuff myself but my daughter is very fond of it. Wine is our local drink of choice, although I like a drop of something stronger.”

Ignatius nodded dutifully.

“The water source is good for the crops, of course.” Gregoire paused and stared at a flock of small birds that swooped in the distance. Ignatius could not decide if the man’s expression was one of disapproval or not, but then Ignatius knew nothing about farming, and for all he knew the birds were nothing but a nuisance to the landowner.

“My daughter rather likes to encourage the birds. That’s the only thing about my sweet Desiree. I wish she wouldn’t become attached to the animals so. This is a working farm. I have told her time and again the animals are here for a purpose. Honestly, if she had her way we would never have a fat goose for Christmas, and the chickens and pigs would be running about in and out of the house.”

“She is female,” Ignatius suggested gently. Gregoire looked at him and they laughed together.

“A tender-hearted one at that. I hope that you will make an excellent tutor, my good man. You come highly recommended.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Gregoire, please.”

Ignatius nodded, but he was more intent on looking at the house, which he had realised during his walk up the hill was a grander affair than he had imagined. Had he charged a decent salary? Maybe, if his wage came with other provisions. Well, they hadn’t exactly had time to discuss the details. When he’d heard of the position and received the offer, he’d little time to consider. In fear of losing out, he had accepted readily. If he needed to pay for room and board, it would eat into his salary, and this man could clearly afford a little extra. Ignatius wasn’t inclined to greed, just fair play. Upon entering the house, Ignatius struggled not to gape.

Although his reputation meant that he had tutored in some of the most excellent households, the abode of someone who described himself as a gentleman farmer exceeded Ignatius’s expectations. The property consisted of three floors set around a central staircase, with windows almost as tall as Ignatius. He noted the shutters for closing out the worst of weather currently flung open and fastened back to allow for excellent light.

“Do you fish?” Gregoire asked.

“No, sir.”

“Pity. But maybe I could teach you. Exceptional fishing hereabouts.”

A slap on the back ensued, one that almost forced Ignatius across the hall’s marble floor. Gregoire appeared not to notice. Gazing around, Ignatius blinked at the signature pieces set into this area. There were portraits and a great clock, small statuettes on sturdy hand-carved sideboards, a few stuffed animal heads and shotguns as well as fishing equipment prominently displayed.

“The hall usually gets used as much of the rest of the ground floor when we have a celebration.” Gregoire waved a hand at numerous chairs and benches that took up any remaining space.

Mansion. The thought struck Ignatius as far from eloquent, but this was no “farmhouse” as had been indicated in his letter of proposed employment. It crossed his mind that such a rich man’s daughter would make a good prospect for a wife, but even if he were not a lowly tutor, he did not anticipate marriage in his future. He could only hope that Gregoire realised the same and had the sense to protect his one and only daughter from undesirables.

“If you will excuse me and await me here—” Gregoire led him into a room off the main hall, “—I will fetch my daughter.”

Bowing a little, Ignatius entered the room as Gregoire departed. The windows on this side of the house overlooked another excellent view. Paintings interspersed the dark wood panelling, only this time mostly illustrating rural pictorials, and a grand piano took up the centre of the deep red rug. Setting aside his hat, Ignatius glanced around and then, sitting down, stretched out his long, slim fingers. He played a few bars and began softly to sing the words to the tune. A long time had passed since he had played such a fine apparatus and the sleepy atmosphere of the day soon lulled him. He forgot the time. He forgot where he was. He took no note of how long he had been playing.

The sound of clapping broke into his performance.

“Bravo. Bravo,” Gregoire exclaimed from the doorway, still applauding. Ignatius at once stood, bowing.

“Forgive me. It has been a while since I last had opportunity to play and this is such a splendid instrument.”

“I personally would not wish to play on any instrument if it were not a fine one.”

The lilting voice made Ignatius turn his head. Any man of flesh and blood would have widened his gaze at the vision that befell him. A slip of a lass stepped forward, one more womanly than he’d imagined for a young girl of her years.

As Gregoire had already explained in his introductory letter, to anyone setting eyes on her it might appear odd that she would require a tutor at such an age, but although she could marry with his permission, he did not desire her to wed for another year or two. He expected many suitors would try to win her over in the course of the next two years, and he, Gregoire, would be keeping a watchful eye and doing a little detecting on all of them. During this period of inspection where he would weed out the unsuitable, he did not wish his daughter to waste her time in frivolities. He wished her to continue her education. Determined she learn English, Gregoire had decided upon recommendation that Ignatius Swain was the perfect personage to take care of this. He had also decided that Desiree have a young male tutor in order to educate her more to conversing with men other than her relatives.

The moment he saw her, Ignatius doubted any man cared for what words emerged from her lips. He doubted men cared for her to speak at all. Even he was too busy staring at the golden halo of her hair, the ripeness of those lips, and the bloom in the slight flush of her creamy cheeks. Her blue eyes gleamed rather than sparkled, but from what he did not dare to guess—pure devilment perhaps. The wide neckline of her dress and the gold chain she wore around her neck led down, tucked between the cleft of round and ripe breasts, drawing his attention to those selfsame physical embellishments.

Not wishing to be caught starring at her breasts and having the gesture misinterpreted, Ignatius dragged his gaze swiftly up to her eyes. Her gaze, however, was not directed at his face but a rather lower region. Just as well he felt no stirrings, or else he might have been embarrassed indeed. He now began to wonder if her reference to playing fine instruments contained more than one meaning, but dismissed the idea as his own apprehension.

“You shall have to serenade us, Ignatius, when we next gather our friends under this roof in merriment.” Gregoire’s raucous voice drew his attention back to Desiree’s father.

“Forgive me, but no.”

“Nonsense. Why, I insist.”

Ignatius opened his mouth to protest, but Desiree broke in. “As do I.”

She took a few paces into the room. “Father, you have yet to introduce us.”

“That I have. How neglectful of me. Ignatius Swain, this is my daughter, Desiree. Desiree, welcome your new tutor.”

Desiree took hold of the long skirts of her dress and dropped into a deep curtsy. She stayed down just a little too long and looked up from under her brow to meet his gaze. If he had been any other man, Ignatius would have had a fine view down the front of her dress. As it was, he did his best to stare only at the top of her head. If he had been any other man…

Ignatius coughed, discreetly clearing his throat.

Desiree rose and offered him her hand. Taking lightly hold of her fingers, Ignatius bent over them before straightening.

“So you will sing for us at our next gathering?”

She asked sweetly enough, but Ignatius believed he detected something sour.

“I am sure my lady has a much prettier voice.” He tried to wriggle out of the suggestion.

“With tones to silence all the birds in these here parts,” a booming voice broke in.

Turning his head a little to gaze past Desiree, Ignatius saw Jacques standing in the doorway. The man held the doors open on either side, his bulk eclipsing the light streaming in behind him. Good God. He quite filled up the entrance.

“Ah, Jacques, my good man. Allow me to introduce you.” Gregoire held out a hand as though he would slip an arm around Jacques’s waist. Ignatius was thinking of doing the same thing if only to discover whether his arm would reach from one hip to the other. Jacques moved into the room, but for Gregoire that was clearly enough. He lowered his arm and beamed at Desiree, as Jacques turned to her.

“My lady,” he said, sweeping her hand into his. Her fingers at once transformed in appearance, lay against his palm like sticks stripped of bark by squirrels—pale, lifeless looking things.

Ignatius blinked, trying to shake the image, not least of all because such a delicate hand should not appear so inanimate, and yet her fingers lay unresponsive in the man’s huge paw. Even when Jacques bent over and kissed them, she made no indication that he was in the vicinity, let alone touching her. To Ignatius’s surprise, Jacques looked up from under his brow, his gaze not aimed at Desiree, but directly at him.

“This is Ignatius Swain. Desiree’s new tutor. And this is…”

“Jacques Bouchard.” Ignatius inclined his head, meeting that gaze and then turning away with polite indifference.

“Oh, so you know each other?” For the first time since Jacques’s arrival, Desiree sounded interested and spoke forcefully, silencing her father.

“We met in town,” Ignatius explained. “I required directions.”

“And I was happy to guide a stranger.”

“I’m sure you were,” Desiree said softly.

Ignatius could not account for the apparent sarcasm. He was too distracted to pay it attention. Jacques was certainly distracting.

“Jacques is quite the man in these here parts,” Gregoire said with a father’s pride quite out of place and proportion to the situation.

“Quite the hero,” Desiree added, her gaze darting slyly to the side.

Jacques appeared amused with her. He had yet to release her hand. At once, Desiree’s head turned toward him. She glowered. Ignatius required a moment to realise that Jacques was squeezing her fingers. How tightly he pressed was difficult to guess. Her father standing behind her was privy to none of the exchange. Ignatius began to feel that he should speak up in the good lady’s defence when she pulled her hand free.

Gregoire slapped Jacques on the back. “I should say so. You’ll not spend much time in the village without hearing of this fellow’s strength and endeavours.”

“Please, sir. You flatter me.” Jacques sounded gallant, though with false modesty if ever such a phrase was heard.

“Hardly, and if I do it’s not enough. Why, not a person in a fifty mile radius hasn’t heard the name of Jacques os de jambon,” Gregoire insisted.

“Jacques Hambone?” Ignatius asked before he could think to stop himself.

“A nickname,” Jacques flung in his direction.

Another one?

“Indeed,” Ignatius muttered, unsure what to think. Gregoire was soliloquising again.

“Not a better fighter, not as strong a man, and no better horseman in these parts.”

Ignatius resisted asking if Jacques rode the horses or “rode” them as in the misuse of a s****l nature. He looked the sort…except for the eyes. The eyes shone with too much intelligence.

“Please, Father.” Desiree sounded impatient.

“My dear, there’s naught wrong with mentioning a man’s virtues.”

“What about the virtues that are lacking?”

“What? Oh, well, yes. There is a time and place to list those too, but what is a man without a few lesser qualities? The perfect man or woman does not exist, and therefore we can forgive a fellow a little frolicking to let off steam, can we not?” Gregoire nudged Jacques as though they were cohorts.

Now Ignatius felt tempted to ask what type of frolics in Gregoire’s opinion was worth giving Jacques absolution.

“A well-humoured man and a man with humour is as hard to come across as a man with honour these days.” Now Gregoire sounded nostalgic.

Ah. So now he had the hang of the situation. Jacques fancied himself a suitor for the fair Desiree, and as far as Gregoire was concerned, Jacques stood well in the running. Perhaps the old man had already made up his mind. Ignatius tried to imagine Desiree plump with a babe in arms and two at her knee serving Jacques dinner, then the brute going out in the evening to the nearest tavern. He would be the sort to return later that night to lift her skirts and petticoats and Desiree, legs akimbo, would be thinking of how long it would be before a fourth tot were on the way. Of course, the image was misleading, for Desiree would expect to have her servants. Even so, Jacques was a brute to her delicate refinement. His member was undoubtedly the like to rip her asunder on their wedding night…or perhaps not. Bulk in body did not mean bulk in all aspects of physique. No way to tell. Ignatius swallowed, his gaze lingering on the ivories of the piano. He could not imagine this delicate young woman satisfying such an animal.

The reason for Jacques’s following him here was clear. He towered over Desiree, staking his claim to her. That Jacques would even consider Ignatius as a rival made the professor feel slightly flattered for all the good such pleasant stirrings would do him.

“Before compliments go to Jacques’s head—” Desiree’s voice rang out as clearly pitched as a bell, “—there is one stronger in these parts.”

“Dear child, let’s not bother with such nonsense. Stop teasing Jacques.” Her father’s voice sounded perturbed but not seriously so.

“I wasn’t aware I was teasing him. I fully expected him to defend himself.”

“Against a legend?” Jacques sounded entertained by the notion. “If it pleases my lady, should I ever come face to face with such a fable, I will do so.”

“To come face to face with this particular myth would be rather difficult, don’t you think?” Gregoire’s patience thinned as did his lips, but before he could interject, Jacques laughed heartedly.

“My dear Delacroix, you have a marvellous daughter, full of wit and imagination.”

“Too much imagination in a woman leads to fevers,” Gregoire muttered. “And too much wit in a woman leads a man to headaches.”

“Only if the man is unable to best her,” Jacques responded.

Although Gregoire guffawed, colour rushed into Desiree’s cheeks. “You sound as if you are discussing horses once more. I think it would do some men of this town good to come across this apparition.”

“Which apparition would this be?” Ignatius could contain his curiosity no longer.

Gregoire waved a hand dismissively. “Just a local yarn. Most provinces have them. A ghost story, nothing more. Some say the spirit of man who once lived in the region. They say the fair paramour of his heart did not reciprocate his love and so he killed himself. You know how it is. These stories always tell of some poor fellow whose restless soul haunts the land in search of something or other, perhaps revenge or fulfilment.”

“If people do not believe it, then why do they shut their doors of a night?” Desiree seemed unnaturally insistent. At first, it crossed Ignatius’s mind that she was trying to scare him but now, returning her stare, he began to suspect that she was testing him.

“Sensible people close up their doors without the need of some ghost story to warn them there are things in the night,” her father scolded mildly. “Which reminds me, Professor Swain. We must get you settled.”

“Thank you, yes.”

“Where are your belongings?”

Glad to have Gregoire bring up the matter, Ignatius said, “I’ve left them with the men who run the carriage service.”

“Idiot.”

Ignatius blinked, turning his head toward Desiree. He could not be certain what she’d said. He could not even be certain that she had spoken, yet he was convinced. She had said it on a breath, but she had definitely called him an i***t. Jacques sniggered.

Gregoire was already groaning, which concealed both their reactions. “This is my fault,” he positively wailed. “I should have made better arrangements.”

“Did you tell them where you were going?” Desiree interrupted. “Did you tell them you were here to see my father?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Ignatius replied cautiously, wondering if perhaps he should not have.

“That is something then. My father,” she said, glancing at him, “is sorry to alarm you, but they are not always the most reliable of men.”

“Utter thieves if you do not watch them, but they know I do not take kindly to such roguish behaviour and the local magistrate is a family friend. I will have your luggage collected forthwith,” Gregoire assured him. “You have a…”

“Portmanteau,” Ignatius told him. “A leather trunk. Just the one item but it is large and heavy.”

“No problem.”

“And will I be staying…?” Ignatius allowed his gaze to traverse the room.

“No. Most certainly not. Of course not!” For the first time, Gregoire sounded annoyed. “Of course I will not have another man who is not a relative or servant under the same roof as my daughter.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Jacques broke in. “I would have thought a tutor on the same level as a servant.”

That dark gaze shot toward Ignatius, eyes twinkling. Ignatius stared back. For all his naivety, he recognised the insult, for there were parts of this country where the populace respected a man of learning as much as they held the local minister or governor in esteem, and he had believed this area to be one of them. Conversely, in some parts of the world, people viewed his position as little better than a servant, and apparently, that was how Jacques perceived him. Although Ignatius’s generosity meant that he viewed no man as lowly, clearly Jacques saw him as something he might step upon. Gregoire took the man’s comment to mean something other.

“Of course. Yes, forgive me, Swain. Well, we will see. We’ll see. For now there’s a small place set aside for you.”

“I am sure it will be most comfortable.” Ignatius accepted gallantly. He tried to ignore Jacques’s triumphant stare as Gregoire left the room, leaving Ignatius no option but to hurry after him, while Jacques remained with the lovely Desiree.