Page 146 of The Boxing Baroness

“He was not faithful to her?” she guessed.

“Yes. The first time with one of her ladies-in-waiting. And after that?” She shrugged. “Who knows. But she could not forgive him for it. And when he was away, she saw her chance for revenge. He was in a rage when he found out—some people thought he would divorce her. He was angry and hurt when he came to me. He said—” Her cheeks pinkened. “He said foolish things. I think, for that one night, that he believed he had truly made a mistake when he ended our engagement.”

She chewed her lip, fiddling with the tea strainer. “We became lovers—” She looked up and met Marianne’s gaze. “It was the first and only time. Afterward—well, he left Paris without any word to me.”

She took a sip of tea that had surely gone cold and then looked up at Marianne with a sweet smile. “And then nine months later, you came.”

“And your husband—he was—”

Désirée clucked her tongue. “Yes, that was not good timing. Bernadotte was still away from home. There would have been no way to explain.”

“You must have been frightened.”

“I was terrified. But Sandrine—she had been with me since I was a girl. It was her idea to say I was convalescing in the country.” Her eyes were vague with memories. “After you came, I wanted to keep you near, but I had promised Sandrine that she could claim you as her own. And everyone knew she was barren. Her husband had left her—abandoned her when she could not give him children. So, she took you away to start a new life. I knew it was for the best.”

“And my . . . f-father, does he know about me?”

“Of course, I told him. In fact, he is the one who gave you your name.”

Something strange—not unpleasant—twisted inside her at that information. “He did?”

“Yes.” Désirée smiled. “Marianne is the heroine of the Revolution—of course you know that. A strong and noble name.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

It was Désirée who broke it. “Brown told me that a duke travels with you?”

“Yes, that is true,” she said, not especially wishing to talk about Sin with a stranger. “As for the king, er, ex-king, it is possible he still might tell your husband—or the Swedish government—about my existence,” she felt compelled to warn her.

Désirée chuckled. “He has no letter or miniatures?”

“The letter is gone and I have the miniatures.”

“Then he has nothing and nobody will believe anything he says.”

“But your husband might think—”

“Charles already knows about you.”

Marianne goggled. “He does?”

“Oh, yes.” She gave a girlish gurgle of laughter. “You have no idea of the foolish intrigue that goes on in court circles—it is dreadful. Why do you think I delay my return to Sweden?”

Marianne had wondered about that but hadn’t wanted to ask.

“Even in Paris there are spies in my house. That is how Charles learned about you—long ago. And, of course, he has people keeping an eye on Gustav. As pitiful as he is, he was once the King of Sweden and this current political environment is ripe for his sort of mischief. It was Charles who saw to the hiring of your Miss Brown, and it was she who discovered the link between Gustav and that baron.”

Jo, again!

“Who is she?” Marianne asked.

“I don’t know, dear.” She smiled nervously. “At first, when I spoke to her, Miss Brown offered to, er, eliminate Gustav and Strickland. That was the word she used.”

Marianne’s jaw sagged and the older woman nodded.

“When I said that I did not feel comfortable with such a thing, she suggested that she go to London to investigate. She said that plan was probably better as it was the only way to—how did she put it? Oh yes, remove the weed and all the roots.”

Marianne shivered.