parents had been besotted with one another and his earliest memories were full of their laughter and affectionate conversation. His mother, beautiful in her young widowhood, had mourned her husband for years, refusing handsome offers of marriage from several eligible gentlemen until they finally accepted that the Baron had been her one and only love.
Kit wasn't about to settle for anything less, and he wouldn't mind missing a few parties. “Very well then, Milady, I shall take up your token and face down the dragons of the Seine. If you'll pardon me, I had better write a few letters and express my regrets to Aunt Helen."
And after all, what could be so dangerous about buying wine in France?
* * * *
"Ahoy, Coz!"
Kit blinked in surprise as the shoreboat carried him alongside the merchant brig Susanna . Squinting up at the figure outlined against a bright sky, he recognized his cousin Philip, who would eventually inherit the ship as well as the business. He waved in return as the oarsmen held steady, then passed them a tip and scrambled up to the wooden stair that had been let down alongside the curving hull.
"Good to see I'll have company on this trip!” Philip was as exuberant as usual, and every bit as cheery. He seemed even broader than Kit remembered him, in a greatcoat with several layers of cape across the shoulders, and the beaver hat atop his fair hair made him loom over Kit's respectable five-foot-ten. “What—you didn't know?"
"Not a word.” Kit had to raise his voice to be heard above the First Mate's shouted orders. “But I couldn't be happier. What brings you out?"
Philip glanced around and shook his head. “My father thinks it's time I took a more active role in the business. But there's no point shouting. Let's go to my cabin and have a bite to eat."
A few minutes later, seated at a folding table in the small but well-appointed owner's cabin, Philip poured them each a warming glass of sherry and leaned forward, a conspiratorial look on his handsome face. “You know my father's done business with Monfort's for an age."
"So I reminded my mother,” Kit said. “Did me no good. What of it?"
"You know the situation in Paris,” Philip said.
"Going from mad to worse."
Philip nodded. “Well, Monfort sent his family—wife, children, grandchildren—off to Bordeaux some months ago. Wanted to get them out of the city, he told the authorities—he owns a vineyard there, lots of work preparing for winter, it seemed reasonable enough. But the old fox had other plans. His son got the whole crew on a boat to England, then came to my father, asked him to help Monfort himself pull up stakes before they realize he's left no hostages to fortune."
"He'll be coming back with us, then? Fine—my mother can deliver any complaints in person!"
"We hope he'll be along. It may require a bit of finesse ... Les citoyens don't appreciate their compatriots attempting to escape the paradise they've created."
Kit sighed. “Can't we leave that sort of thing to the Scarlet Pimpernel? Or is he just a myth, after all?"
"Oh, he's real enough,” Philip said. “But with the press of aristos looking for safe passage, I can't think he'd bother with a mere wine-merchant. And in all truth I don't believe anyone will notice. Monfort's kept as clear of politics as possible, and he's made sure the Committee gets all the best vintages—at their estates outside the city, which means he has a pass to get in and out of Paris. He'll come aboard Susanna to supervise the packing, we raise sail—by the time the numbers are sorted out, we shall be back within the wooden walls.” He nodded out the window at those “walls", His Majesty's warships riding at anchor in Portsmouth Harbor. “Captain Bedlington says an old shipmate of his is on channel patrol. He'll see we aren't bothered. In any event, one wine merchant more or less isn't worth starting a war with England."
"Something will be, though,” Kit said grimly. “It could be
Kit wasn't about to settle for anything less, and he wouldn't mind missing a few parties. “Very well then, Milady, I shall take up your token and face down the dragons of the Seine. If you'll pardon me, I had better write a few letters and express my regrets to Aunt Helen."
And after all, what could be so dangerous about buying wine in France?
* * * *
"Ahoy, Coz!"
Kit blinked in surprise as the shoreboat carried him alongside the merchant brig Susanna . Squinting up at the figure outlined against a bright sky, he recognized his cousin Philip, who would eventually inherit the ship as well as the business. He waved in return as the oarsmen held steady, then passed them a tip and scrambled up to the wooden stair that had been let down alongside the curving hull.
"Good to see I'll have company on this trip!” Philip was as exuberant as usual, and every bit as cheery. He seemed even broader than Kit remembered him, in a greatcoat with several layers of cape across the shoulders, and the beaver hat atop his fair hair made him loom over Kit's respectable five-foot-ten. “What—you didn't know?"
"Not a word.” Kit had to raise his voice to be heard above the First Mate's shouted orders. “But I couldn't be happier. What brings you out?"
Philip glanced around and shook his head. “My father thinks it's time I took a more active role in the business. But there's no point shouting. Let's go to my cabin and have a bite to eat."
A few minutes later, seated at a folding table in the small but well-appointed owner's cabin, Philip poured them each a warming glass of sherry and leaned forward, a conspiratorial look on his handsome face. “You know my father's done business with Monfort's for an age."
"So I reminded my mother,” Kit said. “Did me no good. What of it?"
"You know the situation in Paris,” Philip said.
"Going from mad to worse."
Philip nodded. “Well, Monfort sent his family—wife, children, grandchildren—off to Bordeaux some months ago. Wanted to get them out of the city, he told the authorities—he owns a vineyard there, lots of work preparing for winter, it seemed reasonable enough. But the old fox had other plans. His son got the whole crew on a boat to England, then came to my father, asked him to help Monfort himself pull up stakes before they realize he's left no hostages to fortune."
"He'll be coming back with us, then? Fine—my mother can deliver any complaints in person!"
"We hope he'll be along. It may require a bit of finesse ... Les citoyens don't appreciate their compatriots attempting to escape the paradise they've created."
Kit sighed. “Can't we leave that sort of thing to the Scarlet Pimpernel? Or is he just a myth, after all?"
"Oh, he's real enough,” Philip said. “But with the press of aristos looking for safe passage, I can't think he'd bother with a mere wine-merchant. And in all truth I don't believe anyone will notice. Monfort's kept as clear of politics as possible, and he's made sure the Committee gets all the best vintages—at their estates outside the city, which means he has a pass to get in and out of Paris. He'll come aboard Susanna to supervise the packing, we raise sail—by the time the numbers are sorted out, we shall be back within the wooden walls.” He nodded out the window at those “walls", His Majesty's warships riding at anchor in Portsmouth Harbor. “Captain Bedlington says an old shipmate of his is on channel patrol. He'll see we aren't bothered. In any event, one wine merchant more or less isn't worth starting a war with England."
"Something will be, though,” Kit said grimly. “It could be
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