“Sir.” Marcus returned Paine’s polite bow, but was then overcome with emotion. He rushed to him with an extended hand. “Allow me to express my thanks for all you have done to bring liberty to America. Your words were the greatest comfort to me, during the war.”
“I have done nothing, except cast a light on self-evident truths,” Paine replied, taking Marcus’s hand in his own. Somewhat to Marcus’s surprise, it was a perfectly ordinary handshake. He had long suspected Paine was a Freemason like the rest of them. “Marcus de Clermont, you say? I believe you knew Dr. Franklin.”
“Marcus and Dr. Franklin spent many happy hours experimenting together,” Lafayette said, ushering Paine to a chair. “His death was a blow to all who believe in freedom, not least to his friends who could sorely use his advice in these troubled times.”
News of Franklin’s death reached Marcus a few days after he and Marat returned to France. His friend had died of pleurisy, the infection causing an abscess that had made it impossible to breathe. Marcus had always imagined Franklin would live forever, so powerful was his personality.
“A great loss indeed. And what would you ask Dr. Franklin, if he were here?” Paine inquired gently of Lafayette, taking a cup of tea with thanks.
Lafayette pondered the question, struggling over his answer, while he fiddled with the teapot and strainer. He preferred coffee, and was not as familiar with the equipment as he should be. Marcus, who had been trained in the proper handling of it by his mother, rescued the marquis from certain disaster and poured his own cup of tea.
“The marquis is troubled by Monsieur Marat,” Marcus explained as he poured. “Jean-Paul does not like insincerity, and feels that the Bastille celebration is frivolous.”
“Insincere! How dare he?” Lafayette cried, putting his cup down on its saucer with a clatter. “I can be accused of many failings, Doc, but not my devotion to liberty.”
“Then you have nothing to fear,” Paine said, blowing on his tea to cool it so that he could take a sip. “I have heard that Marat opposes all attempts at reconciliation between those who support his views, and those who are more moderate.”
“Marat is a menace,” Lafayette said. “I do not trust him.”
“Perhaps that is why he does not trust you,” Paine replied.
Another servant interrupted them, murmuring in his master’s ear.
“Madame de Clermont has come,” Lafayette announced, face wreathed in smiles. “How wonderful. She will not want tea. Fetch wine for her, at once. Madame will be exhausted, having come all the way from Auteuil.”
Marcus had not seen his grandmother since he returned from London, and did not know what to expect from the encounter given how many of her invitations he had refused in order to please Veronique. He stood, nervous, as Ysabeau de Clermont sailed into the room, ribbons and ruffles fluttering. Her primrose dress was striped with white and adorned with sprigs of blue forget-me-nots. Her hair was lightly powdered, which made her green eyes and the touch of color in her cheeks more evident. And the tilt of her broad-brimmed hat was decidedly playful—not to mention flattering.
“Madame!” Lafayette went to Ysabeau, bowing and then kissing her familiarly on each cheek. “You have brought the summer gardens inside with you. What a happy surprise that you came today. Marcus and I are talking with Monsieur Paine about the fete. Will you join us?”
“Marquis.” Ysabeau beamed at him. “I could not resist calling on you, when Adrienne said you were home alone. I have just come from the H?tel de Noailles. How the children have grown. Anastasie is more like her mother every day. And Georges—what a rascal he is.”
“Hello, Grand-mère.” Marcus sounded as awkward as he felt. He tried to cover his nerves by taking her hand and kissing it. He had missed her more than he had realized.
“Marcus.” Ysabeau’s tone was cool, as if a stiff breeze had blown across the Seine. Happily, no one but Marcus noticed. She turned to Paine. “Mr. Paine. Welcome back. How is your leg? Does it still swell in the mornings?”
“It is much better, madame,” Paine replied. “And how is our dear comte?”
“Busy with his affairs, as usual,” Ysabeau said. “As you know, he takes a keen interest in how America fares during its youth.” She slid a glance in Marcus’s direction.
“You must thank him for sending me a copy of Mr. Burke’s letter to Monsieur Depont,” Paine replied.