Taken aback by his brazen confidence she turned to see his soft and sincere expression. Perhaps she had discounted him too soon. Admittedly she was enjoying talking to him and he seemed to be kind and a gentleman. Maybe she needed to throw aside her childish notion of finding a passionate love like she had felt with Auguste. After all, that had ended in her heartbreak and she would never see him again.
“Well? What do you say?” Charlie asked while his brown eyes studied her face.
Isabelle took a deep breath and smiled back at him. “It’s a date,” she said matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you swing by my aunt’s tomorrow, around noon.”
Charlie’s smile turned into a full-blown grin and he nodded his head in agreement. “Well then, Mademoiselle Isabelle, I shall see you tomorrow at noon. I’ll bring the wine. I’m skipping the glasses since I’m pretty sure you’ll be most comfortable swigging from the bottle.”
Tossing her head back in laughter, she let him help her to her feet. Maybe this was just what she needed. She was done waiting for a love like she had found with Auguste. It was time to grow up and give a good man like Charlie a chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“ISABELLE!” HER AUNT Brigitte called up the stairs. “You have a visitor!”
Isabelle swallowed hard and lifted her chin. She had a date with Charlie Cosgrove today. It was time to put aside her childish notions of true love and give someone like Charlie a chance. He had been polite and even a little charming the night before. He was the kind of man little girls dreamed of marrying, and now she had to convince herself she was one of those girls.
She pushed the last pin into her hair, creating a fountain of perfectly twirled curls framing her face. Aunt Brigitte had picked out a lovely green dress, and she’d cringed at the sight of it. It was the same shade of green she had worn with Auguste, the night in the cabin. The one he had... she shook her head. No more thoughts of Auguste. It was her favorite color, and she wouldn’t let him take one more thing from her.
Isabelle marched down the stairs, her new agenda fresh in her mind. When she rounded the corner, she saw Charlie standing in the parlor. He was, of course, dressed from head to toe in the finest fashions. His black coat and pants were elegantly crafted, and his bright white shirt was freshly pressed.
“Well, aren’t you a sight on this fine morning, Isabelle.” His charming smile stretched across his face.
“Good morning, Charlie,” she said, dipping her head.
“So, I will take you for a walk in the park today. It’s a lovely day and I think the fresh air would do you well. Afterward, we will order a croissant and coffee at the bakery down the road.”
Will? The impertinent man had planned out their day without any input from her. Isabelle tried to hide her look of annoyance. She hated when people made decisions for her without so much as asking her opinion. Unlike many women, she had one and didn’t appreciate being treated like she didn’t have a brain her head.
“That sounds lovely, Charlie!” her aunt said, intervening after noting the long silence coming from her niece.
Isabelle smiled and nodded, trying to open her mind and not start this date off with a sour attitude.
“Now, you two have a wonderful time. When you get back, we need to discuss heading south to my apartment in the countryside just north of Lyon. I thought about it all night and talk of the war pushing even closer has me unnerved and getting another day or two farther south will help me feel safer. Charlie has also kindly offered to put us up in Cannes with your sister, far from danger.”
“It would be my honor to host two such beautiful ladies,” Charlie crooned, and Aunt Brigitte smiled.
“Such a gentleman, Charlie. Now if you can just use that charm on her father and convince him to leave the horses and his farm and join us, I’ll consider you a true asset.”
“I will give it my best shot!”
“Good. Now you two go have fun!”
“Come along, Isabelle,” Charlie said, offering his arm for her. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to have an open mind about Charlie and slipped her arm through his.
Together they walked across the cobblestone street into the fragrant garden on the other side. Isabelle tried to ignore the white bench, but it pulled her gaze when they passed by. A car buzzed behind them and Charlie turned around to examine it.
“Not bad, but we have better cars. Actually, we have five now. We were one of the first families to own them, did you know that? How many cars does your family have? Or are you still stuck in the horse and buggy days? I noticed you pulled up to my party in one.” An arrogant snort punctuated the sentence and drew her hackles.
“We have none, actually. My father doesn’t like new technology and being a horse lover, he prefers to use them as our main mode of transportation.” She did her best to hide her resentment at his condescending comment.
“Well, hopefully he’ll catch up with the times soon.”
She smiled and nodded, biting her tongue to near bleeding, while they walked through the beautifully manicured sprawling city garden. Charlie led her down the brick path to the gurgling fountain with the stone soldier perched atop his horse. It was exquisite, and she’d come over here often just to stare at it.
“I’m surprised they have such a small fountain for the official city fountain, aren’t you? We have several of these around our property in Dublin just as accent fountains. Our main fountain is three times this size. And much nicer.”
Isabelle tried to keep from rolling her eyes. He had seemed somewhat charming the night before, but she was quickly realizing his true personality was just as she’d originally assumed. Rich, pompous, and arrogant. Her mind kept wandering off, wishing she was laughing with Auguste, relaxed and happy in her own skin. The invasion of his memory infuriated her almost as much as Charlie’s knock against her favorite fountain. She felt her tolerance slipping away.
“So, for my life, I plan on taking over several of my family’s companies. We have so many to choose from; father said I just need to pick what suits me best. Then I will live primarily in London, visiting our homes in France and Austria periodically. I plan on having three children: two boys and one girl, of course.”
Isabelle smiled and nodded, which seemed to be all she could do at this point. He had his whole life mapped out right down to the desired gender of his children and was just looking for a cookie-cutter woman to put in it to follow his every move. After twenty minutes of listening to him drone on about himself, he hadn’t asked her a single thing about her interests or her life. Her heart sank when she realized that as heartbroken and discouraged as she was after her affair with Auguste, she couldn’t go back. She had tasted love; passionate, burning, irrational love, and now nothing less would do.
“Charlie, I am so very sorry, but I am suddenly not feeling very well. Is it possible you could escort me back to my aunt’s? I feel I need to lie down.”
Charlie spun to face her. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Isabelle. Is there something I can do?”
It was the first time today that she had seen a flicker of the same man she had seen outside the party last night.
“It’s not surprising, though. There is a reason they say women are the weaker sex, just so prone to illness and fatigue. It’s a good thing you have men to look out for you. Not to worry, I’ll take care of you.” His pretentious smile nearly caused her to smack him upside the head with her clutch. She forced her lips upward and turned toward home, struggling to keep from running all the way back.
Charlie led her to the doorstep and took her hand in his. He looked up at her as he kissed the back of it. “I wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow morning. Perhaps you would be feeling better and we could pick up where we left off. Alas, I will just have to call on you when I return if you and your aunt decide not to join us at our home in the south. But I hope you will. The invitation stands. I look forward to seeing you again.”
Isabelle thanked him and ducked into the house.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the door.
“It went that well, huh?”
When she opened her eyes, she saw her aunt watching her from the parlor.
“Yes. That well,” she answered, rolling her eyes as she crossed the room, collapsing next to her with a huff.
“So, who is he Isabelle?” Aunt Brigitte asked, then lifted her tea cup to her lips.
“Charlie Cosgrove, remember?” Isabelle answered, a bit confused, as she began to pour herself some tea.
“Not him. The man you are in love with.”
Her gasp caused her hand to shake, and she spilled some of the hot tea onto the table. Clearing her throat, she dabbed it with the embroidered cloth from the tea tray.
“Well I guess that answers that. So, do tell me, darling niece, who is this man who has won your heart? It’s been written on your face since you arrived here.”
Trying to ignore the question, she continued dabbing at the tea even though it was already cleaned up.
“Go on. You can tell me anything, darling. Anything.”
Isabelle hadn’t even told her sister about Auguste. When she opened her mouth to say something, tears started pouring down her face and the words she intended to say came out as sobs.
“There, there child. Just let it out. Tell me all about your great love and your heartbreak.” Aunt Brigitte pulled Isabelle into her arms and stroked her back.
After several minutes of crying Isabelle finally pulled herself together and began to tell her aunt the story of her and Auguste. Aunt Brigitte listened intently as Isabelle talked of the first time she’d seen him on the bench, him rescuing her from the carriage, the horse race, the dancing, a second rescue from the soldier, the cabin, the stolen kisses in the barn and finally... the letter. Aunt Brigitte grew silent as Isabelle began crying again, recounting the letter, which she had memorized word for word and had tucked away upstairs in a box. Aunt Brigitte’s eyes filled with tears at the words from the letter Pierre had written.
“So, I left and now I’m here. I can’t stop thinking about him, but I never want to see him again.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. It sounds like an impossible situation for you both. Perhaps you need to give him a chance to explain himself?”
Isabelle shook her head. “What is there to explain? He’s a German spy, and he knew all along I was Pierre’s fiancée, and he hid it from me! He killed him, Aunt Brigitte!” Her tears began again.
“Well, darling, do you think maybe he is telling the truth? Maybe he didn’t know what to do? It’s not like the atrocities of war are an everyday occurrence, and I can’t imagine having to give a girl her dead fiancé’s letter after falling in love with her. Try to empathize with Auguste’s personal torment.”
Isabelle shook her head fiercely. “He lied to me! That’s all that matters! I can never trust him again. I just hope that by the time I return he’s gone, and I can move on with my life,” she said between sobs.
“Just know, child, true love doesn’t usually come around twice. Pierre was a wonderful, sweet boy and he would have made a great husband. But the love you have with Auguste is special. Some of us go our whole lives without finding it. I had it once, and I threw it away. It’s a mistake that haunts me to this day. I know you can’t see that through your anger, but if there’s even a chance he might be telling the truth, then it’s worth hearing him out. And if not, even though it hurts now, just be grateful you got to taste true love. It is a rare and special fruit reserved for only a few. Those precious memories, once the pain is gone, will fuel you through many difficult days. At least they have for me.”
Isabelle nodded at her wise aunt’s words. Someday, long down the road, she hoped she could look back with fondness on the summer she had spent with Auguste. Right now, however, she couldn’t do anything but cry. Telling her aunt about it had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders and she threw her arms around Brigitte’s neck, thanking her for listening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AUGUSTE SPENT THE NIGHT and next day pacing in the tiny barbed-wire enclosure. He had a plan but what he didn’t have was a prediction about what Colonel Schumacher’s reaction to seeing him would be. It was entirely possible his stern superior would shoot him on the spot for failing the mission. But a tiny sliver of hope remained. The years they had spent together, the bond they had created, might mean a modicum of mercy. He’d spent the night concocting a believable story as to his whereabouts and his reason for not returning. Colonel Schumacher knew Auguste was trained to hide if need be, so his fabrication was plausible, but he had to say it just right.
Auguste heard a dozen horses galloping up in the distance. It was the colonel. It had to be. Taking a deep breath, he glanced once more at Jean-Luc. His friend had spent the night shaking on the ground and Auguste knew he needed to get him out of here before he lost his mind. While Auguste had spent the last year in warm inns and a cushy cabin far from the horrors of war, the last year had taken a toll on Jean-Luc. His gaunt face and the deep lines around his eyes, transcribed the horrors he’d seen. Already thin and defeated, he wouldn’t last much longer. His fight for life dwindled by the hour.
As they approached, soldiers scrambled to their feet one by one, hands flying up in salute of the incoming rider. Straightening his back and standing up tall, Auguste watched a magnificent black stallion approaching with a giant of a man perched on his back. There was only one man he’d met who could cut such an imposing figure even at this distance. Auguste stood still, his stance wide, his chest puffed, and his hands locked behind his back. As the horse drew closer, the distinctive features of the colonel became clearer. His brow protruded almost as far as his visor. Those eyes were even blacker now than Auguste had remembered. That mustache was still perfectly formed. Even out here on the battlefield he still managed to stay perfectly clean and groomed.
The horse skidded to a halt and spun itself in wild circles. The colonel stared down at him and Auguste held the man’s penetrating gaze. Though he was trained to read people, at this moment the imposing colonel was a closed book. Would Auguste be shot on the spot or forgiven for his failure? The colonel held his stare as he slid down from his horse. A soldier grabbed the reins and trotted away with the fiery stallion. He walked closer to the barbed wire, his eyes moving up and down over Auguste, reminding him of the first day they had met.
“Lieutenant Klaus. I didn’t believe it when I got word last night you were here and requesting to see me.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you. Unfortunately, there was no getting out of this predicament without a lot of bloodshed. Seeing as there are a hundred soldiers here, I thought you would be upset with me if I cut them all down on my way out. Better to have you intervene and spare their lives.”
Auguste held his gaze and waited for his sentence. Life or death. Suddenly, the colonel threw his head back and his whole body shook with a deep rumbling laughter.
“Auguste, my son! I thought you were dead! I see not only are you not dead, but you have been reborn with a sense of humor!”
Swallowing his relief, he returned the smile.
“This man could have killed you all! You should be thanking him for forcing you to come and get me.” Colonel Schumacher laughed, elbowing the dark soldier from last night. Auguste watched the soldier’s face twist in contempt, no doubt his hope that this was a trick and Auguste would be killed on the spot faded when he saw the colonel’s reaction.
“Release him,” the colonel growled.
“Sir, I don’t...” the dark soldier started to protest.
Colonel Schumacher’s eyes turned black with rage as he spun around and grabbed the him by the throat, lifting him with ease into the air.
“You speak when I tell you to speak. You do what I tell you to do. You question me again and it will be you in that cage. Am I making myself clear?”
“Sir.” He tried to choke the words out while the colonel gripped his throat. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now. Release him.”
The dark soldier scrambled to his feet and unwrapped the barbed wire from the fence post.
“Come, Klaus. Come. Let’s get you cleaned up. You look like hell.” He laughed and slung his arm around Auguste’s shoulder. “Fetch him a uniform and get us a tent ready!” Soldiers burst forward, scurrying about to appease him.
“Traitor,” he heard Jean-Luc whisper behind him, a response he was prepared for yet still tore at his heart. The ruse was necessary to save him, he reminded himself. Remaining in character, he refused to look at his friend, lifting his chin and marching out the opened gate. The colonel led him into a makeshift tent and soldiers hurried in with fresh water, wine and a German uniform for Auguste.
“Draw him a bath,” he ordered. They jumped at his words and filled pots with water, sticking them over the flames, trying to bring as many to bath temperature as quickly as possible.
“Klaus, Klaus, Klaus. You have some explaining to do, son. Where have you been? What happened? I heard you were compromised and have been awaiting your return.”
Auguste looked up at the colonel as he handed him a glass of wine.
“Sir, the agent that was sent to activate me was captured, tortured and revealed the code phrase. When a man arrived and gave me the phrase, it turned out to be a trap. I gave him my correct response and the French soldiers called me out on being a traitor and told me this was a French soldier disguised as the German spy. I, of course, managed to get away.”
The colonel chuckled, the pride he felt over Auguste radiating in his eyes.
“I was injured and compromised so I had to go into hiding for several months. I took up work on a farm as a Frenchman and was working my way back up north, to you. I saw a soldier captured who was present at my discovery of being a German spy. I thought, perhaps, if I released him I could convince him I had switched sides and he could get me back into the good graces of the French Army. When I was captured along with him I tried my best not to blow my cover. I had hoped to break us out and return to the French Army and pick up where I left off, feeding you the information I’d promised. However, the threats from the soldiers meant I had to kill them all, blow my cover or die as a French soldier. I chose to blow my cover. I’m sorry, Sir.”
A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Page 22
