Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

soup—an herby tomato concoction that was delicious. All that walking and worrying had given me an appetite. The princesses both tucked in well too, obviously enjoying every morsel. We talked, in French for the sake of Princess Theodora, about things we had in common, my family, the Prince of Wales—they had heard rumors of Mrs. Simpson and wanted to know if they were true.
    “He has just gone back to England, summoned by his father,” I said. “And she is still here, so hopefully that’s a good sign.”
    “Let us hope so,” Princess Theodora said, shaking her many chins. “It would kill his father if the son does not do the right thing.”
    The maid now waited on us at table, pouring wine into our glasses and serving us cold chicken in a cream sauce. I tried to protest the wine, but my protests were dismissed.
    “So good for the digestion,” Princess Marie said. “We would not be alive today without our wine, would we, ma chère ?” Princess Theodora nodded, already munching a great hunk of bread.
    We worked our way through the chicken salad. It was only when the desserts were put in front of us—delicate floating islands with strands of crystallized sugar all over them—that I dared to ask, “Highness, you said you are acquainted with all the great families of Europe—”
    “Not any longer,” she replied. “We do not entertain anymore, nor are we often invited out, so I am woefully behind on my gossip.”
    “But you know of the Marquis de Ronchard?” I asked.
    “Of course. I knew his dear mama well,” she said. A soft, wistful look came over her face. “We were girls together. We were introduced into society about the same time.”
    “And what can you tell me about him?”
    “It was such a tragedy. His poor mother never recovered.”
    “What was such a tragedy?”
    “His death,” she said. “He died so young.”
    “He died? The Marquis de Ronchard died?”
    “It was years ago now.” She wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin. “And yet I still feel the sorrow. I was close to his mama, you know.”
    “How did he die?” I could hardly make the words come out.
    “In the great influenza epidemic. They were out on their estates in the West Indies. They had gone there to escape the war and when his father was killed in the fighting they stayed on because France was not an agreeable place to be for a long while after the war. Then the epidemic reached even far-flung corners of the world and the young man succumbed. The influenza, it targeted the young, you know. The young and healthy. They were the ones stricken.”
    “So he died in the epidemic. Did his younger brother inherit the title, or a cousin?”
    She shook her head. “The title died with him. He was an only child and soon after his death we received word that his mother had died also. Of grief, if you want my opinion. She worshipped that boy. And now they are both buried in a foreign field, so far from home. Life is full of such tragedies, is it not?”
    Theodora nodded vigorously but didn’t stop munching on her dessert. Coffee was served. As soon as possible I made my excuses of an urgent appointment and took my leave.
    “You will come again soon?” Princess Marie asked expectantly as she clutched my hand between her bony fingers. “Such a treat for both of us.”
    I promised I would return and made my way down the broad curved staircase. As I came out the front door, blinking in the strong sunlight, someone came running up the steps toward me. I looked up into the face of Darcy.

 
    Chapter 32
     
    January 28, 1933
In Nice. But really not very nice.
     
    It was all I could do not to fling myself into his arms.
    “Georgie?” His face showed concern. “Is everything all right? What are you doing here? Did you come to find me?”
    “I didn’t know you were staying here,” I said.
    “Oh, yes, we’ve been here a couple of weeks. They’ll probably stay on another couple but I have to leave soon.”
    “I see.” The desire to hug him faded. “Darcy, I want you to do something for me. The Marquis de Ronchard—you warned me against him. Was it just because you thought he had a bad reputation with women or did you suspect something more?”
    He was still frowning. “Let’s just say that certain people wanted me to check up on him. He may not be what he seems, Georgie.”
    “I know. He’s not.” The words burst out. “Darcy, he’s not a marquis. I suspect he’s a clever thief who stole the queen’s