Chapter 20
"Bonsoir, Monsieur, Madame. Bienvenue Hôtel Parisienne."
"Bonsoir. Je m'appelle Tiffany Cheldon," she had no idea how to continue.
Sébastien then spoke to the young receptionist, explaining that they were looking for someone.
"Gerard Stuart William James Cheldon, Duke of Salisbury," and ignoring the receptionist's raised eyebrows, she anxiously supplied, "Mon père. Has he come? Have you seen him?"
"Ah yes. I remember now. You're the pretty lady who arrived this afternoon with your family, am I not correct? With the young man too." Sébastien gave her a fleeting look of puzzlement at that. "Hmmm. Yes, your father was here, and not very long ago too. He left with his wife, your mother, I think, in a great hurry with luggage and everything. Even his valet. The young man came after your father left. Strange," the receptionist chuckled, "He seemed to be rushing too. Everybody seems to be in a hurry these days."
But Tiffany wasn't listening anymore. She was thoroughly lost, stranded in a foreign place with no money, and no maid, and nowhere to go, and not an extra scrap of clothing. All her luggage had been packed in with her mother's. What if she starved on the streets? What if she was raped? What if she would never see her family ever again? What if…
"Tiffany, don't look like that!" Sébastien's hand shook her shoulder lightly, "We'll continue looking, we'll think of something." He led her out into the chilly street.
She allowed herself to be led, as if in a trance. How could they have not noticed she was missing? How could they had left her behind? She remembered how she had angered her father and humiliated her mother and Lawrence earlier in the night. Yet, she couldn't feel the acid guilt that ate away at her. When there's no hope, there's no use for emotion.
Walking beside her, Sébastien too, was in deep thought. Where could her parents have gone? He tried envisioning himself back at the château. What would he have done if he were a father? But he found it didn't make sense. Surely any father would make sure his child were safe by his side before leaving, even—no, especially—in a life-threatening situation!
The city church bells rang a mournful series of chords, twelve times. Mon Dieu! It was already midnight. "Tiffany, it's late. We shouldn't be out on the streets any longer. Let's go home." And he placed his hands on Tiffany's waist and hoisted her onto the horse before he saddled up behind her himself.
It was funny how his hands on her waist made her freeze up for a moment, even through her numbness. As he steered the elegant white stallion through the streets of the city, Tiffany experienced a cocktail of relief and worry. She would be comfortable and safe at his residence, at least from thieves and rapists. She shuddered at the thought. Then she questioned herself if she was really safe from rapists. She would be living alone with a practical stranger! Finally, she reasoned that at least she would have a better chance of survival with Sébastien, who surely wasn't like that. Right?
Satisfied with her justification, and thoroughly worn out from the events of the day, Tiffany sighed and struggled to keep her eyelids up. She fell asleep leaning against Sébastien, with his arms wrapping around her to grip the reins. He tightened his grip on the leather straps of the reins and snapped his back as straight as a pencil, exerting every inch of self control to keep from pressing a small kiss on Tiffany's temple.
All Tiffany remembered after that was Sébastien carrying her in a warm firelight, laying her gently down on a soft spread of cotton, then covering her with a thick, warm quilt, and finally whispering "Bonne nuit, Tiffany. Sleep well."