Her gaze traveled up to my hat—bought on sale at Debenhams—and then down to my legs and feet, respectably clad in lisle stockings and my best brogues. “Babs, I do wish . . .”
The chuff chuff of an approaching train made me jump, my heart racing now at the prospect of actually stepping onto the train and beginning my journey. The scent of Diana’s perfume wafted up from the scarf, comforting me, allowing me a modicum of confidence. Despite my sister’s shorter stature, she’d never lacked confidence and now, more than ever before, I needed that.
As the train chugged into the station, I turned to Diana. “Do you still think I’m being reckless?”
Diana pressed her lips together. “Most definitely.” Then her mouth softened into a smile. “But I also think that recklessness might be the thing we need sometimes to see our lives anew.” She put a hand on each of my shoulders then leaned in to kiss each cheek. “Godspeed, dear sister. And do write at least once. It will be nice to be living vicariously through your life for a change.” She briefly raised her elegant eyebrows, then smiled reassuringly. “Remember you’re wearing a Hermès scarf, and hopefully no one will notice your luggage. Or your shoes.”
I remembered her words as my taxi pulled up in front of the Place Vend?me entrance to the Ritz, the white awnings and brass lighting fixtures reflecting the bright sun, making it appear as if those passing through the hallowed doors had somehow been anointed. My door was opened by a white-gloved valet and I realized his deep blue uniform with the gold edging was perhaps more fashionable than my tweed traveling suit. I hesitated for a moment, almost believing that if I cowered long enough in the taxi, the valet would forget all about me and I could simply find a side entrance in which to enter without any fuss.
“Madame?” A white-gloved hand stretched toward me.
Remembering Diana’s scarf, I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his and allowed him to help me from the taxi. “Bonjour.”
His eyes flickered imperceptibly. “Bonjour, madame. You are English?” he asked in English with only the hint of an accent.
“Yes,” I said with surprise. “How did you know?”
His eyes flickered again as his smile broadened. “Just a guess, madame. This way, please.” He was still looking for my luggage when I finished paying the taxi driver. Or, more accurately, staring at my valise as if it might bite. It was more than past its prime. It had once belonged to my mother and she’d used it as a schoolgirl. I’d brought it on my very brief wedding trip with Kit to the Peak District, and on our overnight trips to visit the children once they’d gone away to school. It was functional and served its purpose and I’d never once considered the need to replace it. Until now.
I was about to suggest I carry it so as not to sully his white gloves when I was distracted by a couple of women walking past us into the awning-covered arched entrance. They were both slender with short, shiny hair, white sunglasses, and long, bare legs that appeared longer because of the shockingly short hemlines of their dresses. Men’s heads turned, yet the two women appeared unaware of the attention as they walked up the red-carpeted steps and disappeared inside. I glanced down at the thick hem of my skirt hitting my legs midcalf and felt those same men looking at me but not for the same reason.
I took a step back, ready to return to the safety of Langford Hall, and found myself facing the Place Vend?me. A tall column dominated the center of the square, and I recalled my brother Charles, who’d read history at Oxford and had thought everyone as fascinated with the past as he’d been, saying it had been fabricated by more than a thousand melted cannons captured by Napoleon’s troops at Austerlitz. A statue of the emperor himself stood at the top, dressed as a Roman emperor, naturally.
The valet coughed politely, but I couldn’t remove my gaze from the little man at the top of the column. There was something about his pose, or perhaps it was his legendary hubris, that gave me an odd burst of confidence. If a diminutive Corsican could conquer most of the world’s armies, then surely I could step into the Paris Ritz with my tweeds and brogues. And Diana’s scarf.
“Madame?” the valet repeated, his hand indicating the entrance.
I managed a smile, then followed in the footsteps of the two young women, feeling a lot like how I imagined Marie Antoinette must have felt on her way to the guillotine. I paused in the threshold, the scent of flowers wafting over me, allowing myself a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine outside. I stood blinking like the village idiot, unable to move forward as two opposing thoughts collided in my head simultaneously.