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“Keep
     going through the salons, you will pass through four of
     them, and then a corridor to the right. It ends at the
     breakfast room.”
    “Wow,” said Jo. “How many housekeepers
     are there to keep this place clean?”
    “Quite a few,” said the man with a smile.
     “At Château Gagnon, there is much work to be
     done, and much of it needs repeating each day.”
    Jo walked into the first salon. It looked like something
     out of a museum, or a movie set. The walls were covered
     with paintings–huge full-length portraits, small
     landscapes, all sizes and subjects in between. The room was
     so jammed up with furniture that it was not easy to pass
     through. Little gilt chairs with velvet cushions. Settees
     with more velvet cushions.
    The entire ceiling was a painting, with groups of cherubs
     flying about, and there in the corner, a wolf was looming
     in the background. His face was just beginning to snarl,
     his teeth glinting. Jo knew that artwork from whatever age
     this had been painted in was usually religious–did
     that wolf represent the Devil or something like that? She
     didn’t remember in her art history classes ever
     seeing wolves and cherubs together.
    Which made her curious, but not so curious that she was
     willing to wait any longer for her coffee. She would have
     to come back and look more closely another time.
    The breakfast room was full of guests. An English couple at
     one table, the woman looking like a perfect example of an
     English rose, all blonde-streaked chestnut hair and
     rosy-cheeked and healthy. At another table, an older woman
     alone who drank her coffee from a bowl and nibbled on dry
     toast while reading a paperback. Two young men–very
     outdoorsy, looking like they were about to go on a
     hike– that Jo could instantly tell were American, by
     their clothes and accents. Sitting at the long table in the
     middle of the room was a family of six, the children
     laughing and poking each other, the mother looking tired,
     and the father with an expression that said he would prefer
     to be shot in the head than continue with one more minute
     of family vacation.
    Jo sat at an empty table for two and looked around to see
     what the protocol was. Were there servers? Was there
     anything to eat besides toast? How soon could she get to
     the stable? And, somewhat pressingly, where was David?

    David had not yet gone to bed, and was making final
     arrangements for the day with Angélique before
     disappearing to his chambers.
    She had not gotten enough sleep but had compensated by
     putting on some makeup and wearing nicer clothes than
     usual. Her skirt hugged her ass, and her eyes, rimmed with
     eyeliner, were more intense, their green color more
     arresting than ever.
    “It’s going to be difficult,”
     Angélique was saying. “I think she’s
     going to want you to guide her, to tell her what you want
     done with the horses, your expectations and everything. She
     may even expect you to ride with her.”
    “Well,” David said, his hands on his hips,
     “you know very well I cannot do that. I cannot even
     go to the barn. You know what happens when I have
     tried.” He spoke with a flash of anger, but his
     expression was sad and a little mopey, like that of a
     disappointed child.
    “I know, David. I still have nightmares of the sounds
     the horses made. You absolutely terrified them.”
    “It breaks my heart,” said David. “They
     are just so sensitive. I want…” He put his
     hand over his eyes. “Anyway,” he continued
     briskly, “The American is here to do what I wish I
     could do but cannot. Please get her started this morning as
     soon as you can–the show trials are coming up and I
     very much do not want the Château humiliated. All you
     must do is give instructions to Thierry and he will take
     care of her and the stable.”
    “Yes sir,” said Angélique.
    “No need for
sir
,” said David,
     smiling. He reached his hand up to her neck and