Dream images faded in the light of day and didn’t linger like phantoms to haunt one’s every waking moment. She had kissed the chevalier. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she fanned her face with her hand.
“Hot today, isn’t it?” she said, noticing the farmer’s wife whose wary gaze suggested she might not appreciate a woman blocking the front of her narrow stall, rummaging through her vegetables yet purchasing nothing.
“Aye, that it is,” the woman agreed, rolling her eyes as she returned several tomatoes to their rightful basket.
Alexandra’s errant thoughts refused to be tamed, and she brought her fingertips to her tingling lips, reliving those few heady moments. His lips had been soft and gentle as he kissed her with little more than a touching of his mouth to hers, his hand cupping her cheek. But that mere touch had turned her bones to pudding.
“Alexandra!” called a familiar voice.
Alex looked up with a start at the sound of her name. She realized she had been staring at the tomatoes again, the farmer’s wife eyeing her with genuine concern on her weathered face. Alex gave her an apologetic smile before turning to see who had called to her.
Only two people in the world called her Alexandra, and for a moment, she hoped Mont Trignon had decided to do some shopping this morning. But just as her brain registered the absurdity of the notion, she caught sight of Nathanial’s plain face and broad hat.
“Hello, Nathanial,” Alex said, trying to sound happy to see him as he trotted up to walk beside her. “How are you this fine morning?”
In an odd way, his presence pleased her. Her reaction to him negated any immodest thoughts-so much so that he had the effect of a balm on her inflamed senses.
As he fell into step beside her, she could not help but compare her body’s lack of response to Nathanial to the dizzying effect of the mere memory of Mont Trignon’s fleeting kiss.
Yet, she had never kissed Nathanial. Perhaps if she had, she would be dreaming of his lips on hers even now.
As they strolled side-by-side, she cast him a sidelong glance, trying to imagine kissing him. His lips were thin beneath flared nostrils, and two spots of color shone on his flushed cheeks and traveled down his neck to run beneath the pointed collar of his dung-colored cotton shirt.
In all the time they had known each other, Nathanial had never initiated any intimate contact, and she found it hard to imagine him doing so now. She found it just as difficult to imagine herself wanting him to.
Finding no pleasure in thoughts of kissing Nathanial, she turned away, but not because of any intention to reject him as a potential suitor.
As disconcerting as she found her response to Mont Trignon, she understood and appreciated her regard for Nathanial. He cared for her, if in a somewhat dispassionate way. Solid and dependable, if she chose him, he would take care of her, just as he would anything else he considered his own. To be considered a possession left a sour taste in her mouth, but if he held a genuine fondness for her, did it matter so much? Did she need love too?
Shame at her greediness weighed on her heart. Perhaps, if she tried harder, she would learn to love him, and that would be enough for the both of them.
Nathanial cleared his throat with such vehemence that Alex jumped.
“I am in a bit of a state, Alexandra,” he said between clenched teeth. “I heartily disapprove of thine association with those…those…n’er-do-wells. It will come to no good.”
Only a few inches taller than her, he could still look down his nose when he wished to assert himself. His breathing came in short, sharp puffs as though he had worked himself into quite the lather before speaking.
Alex could do no more than stare at him, as she had never seen him this vexed. In truth, she found this new side of him disconcerting, and she had no idea what to say, so she did the only thing that occurred to her. She resumed walking, half-hoping Nathanial would just disappear.
Instead, he stomped after her.
Like manna from heaven, she spotted a stall piled high with the onions she needed for the stew.
While she picked through the pungent, yellow globes looking for the sweetest-smelling ones, Nathanial stood, stiff as a fence post, by her side. His eyes scanned the crowd, his scowl evidence they did not meet with his approval any more than she did.
She selected several onions, paid the farmer and added them to her basket. It creaked under their added weight, and she winced as the woven reeds dug into her forearm. When she tried to ease her discomfort by transferring the basket to her hand, slivers pierced the cotton of her mitts, and her fingers grew numb.
“Are thou listening to me, Alexandra?”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, Nathanial, I am listening.” She transferred the basket back to her arm, giving him a placating smile even as she shook her stinging hand to try to hasten the flow of blood back to her fingertips.
“Well then, I think thou should assign thy portion of the tavern over to thine accursed brother even before we are married.”
Alexandra ignored the numbness that traveled up her arm and turned her full attention to Nathanial.
Reid didn’t care one bit about the tavern as far as she could tell. He let her have the complete running of it and only nominally shared in the profits. He asked for just enough to keep his presses running and no more.
But more to the point, Turner’s Tavern was her father’s legacy. The tavern, her father’s book collection and a couple of granite gravestones in the church cemetery were all that remained to remind the world her beloved parents had existed. Well, that and Alex and Reid, her parents’ living legacy.
Loyal customers all remembered her parents, and not an evening went by without one of them sharing a fond reminiscence. The tavern kept them alive in her heart, if not in her life.
Her entire world revolved around her tavern. She would not give it up. She could not. She steeled her resolve. The time had come to confront Nathaniel’s assumptions.
“Yes, about that, Nathanial—”
He ignored her as he continued. “It is completely unbecoming for the wife of someone of my stature or at least my potential stature in the community, to associate with that sort.” He straightened his spine even more and squared his shoulders as though he were imagining the great man he would become. “Thou will be proud to be my wife, I assure thee.”
Alex stared at Nathanial. She didn’t give a whit about her husband’s stature. Character mattered above all else, and frankly, her good opinion of Nathanial’s character had eroded this morning.
She needed to slow things down a bit and interject some common sense into this question of marriage. If passion did not enter into her decision, then she should be allowed to look at it from a practical perspective.
“Nathanial, I am not even a Quaker. Are you sure a marriage between us would be permitted?”
“We will need to prepare thee to be accepted into the circle of friends. The tavern is only just the first step. We will also have to do something about thy manner of dress.”
“My dress?” Alex looked down at her rough homespun gown of blue cotton. Frowning, she touched one of the many faded and threadbare spots. Serviceable for work and for market day, pride had been the furthest thought from her mind when she chose the gown this morning.
“Yes. Thy dress should be plain, and that blue does not suit our ways. And thy…” he waved his hand in the general direction of her neck. “Thou should not be showing thy bosom to all in such a manner.”
Alex brought her hand to her neck as though to cover herself. The swell of her breasts pressed against her forearm, but she had pinned the neckline of her gown so not even a hint of a curve showed above the fabric. The faded white cotton neckerchief arranged and tied across her chest hid most of what remained. How could Nathanial think the dress indecent?
“Ahh, Monsieur Brown and Mademoiselle Turner, how are you this morning?”
Appalled at Nathanial’s accusations of impropriety where none existed, it took Alex a moment to surface fro
m her stupor.
She executed a small curtsy as Mont Trignon strode forward to join them but kept her head down to cover the flush of her cheeks. If Nathanial only knew about the real improprieties that had transpired last night, he would say nothing about her manner of dress.
“Mr. Mont Trignon,” Nathanial said, not bothering with a bow or even a nod of his head.
Alex cringed as Nathanial butchered the chevalier’s name even worse than she did. And “mister” didn’t begin to suit the tall, elegant man bowing before them. She let her gaze travel from the tips of his gilt and silver-wire buckles to his flowing gold hair tied back in his customary tail.
For his trip to the market, he had chosen close-fitting buff breeches, blue velvet frock coat, crisp linen shirt, and a cravat tied with impeccable precision. Despite the rain-soaked ground, he looked immaculate, right down to his snow-white stockings. An impractical choice of attire for market day, he looked more handsome than ever, and her heart thrilled at the site of him.
She snuck a peek at Nathanial. The only time they had met, Mont Trignon had saved his hide from the tar, but she knew Nathanial might not think he owed a debt of gratitude. If anything, he would need to save face with this stranger who had seen him humbled.
Nathanial’s face had grown ruddier, and his eyes looked as though they might pop from his head. She prayed the chevalier wouldn’t mention last evening.
As he straightened, Mont Trignon graced them with a charming smile, and relief flooded through Alex. His gaze did not linger on her, nor did his smile hint at anything untoward between them.
But even as relief surged through her, a pang of disappointment hit her as well. Her disorientation had been profound, even from the memory of his kiss. With him standing only a few feet away, the sensation of his lips on hers, the way he had tasted, his spicy scent, all came rushing back to her, making her wish for something supportive to hold on to.
She glanced around, finding only Nathanial’s thick arm within reach. That would never do.
For his part, Mont Trignon appeared self-possessed, as though nothing had happened between them. Is that how he saw it? To a man like him, perhaps her kiss paled in comparison to those he had shared with other women. If memory served, she had been too shocked to kiss him back. Would she if the opportunity arose again?
Alex squirmed at the thought, transferring the basket from one arm to the other.
“Ah, may I carry that for you, Mademoiselle?” Mont Trignon asked, his gaze landing on the heavy basket Alex had slung over her arm.
Without waiting for a reply, he grasped the handle and took it from her.
“Thank you,” Alex said, rubbing the tingles from her forearm and hoping Nathanial would not regard Mont Trignon’s act of kindness as a threat to his claim on her.
Mont Trignon must have had a similar concern, and he gave Nathanial a small, speculative glance.
But the anger in Nathanial’s pale eyes faded as he sized up the chevalier in a slow, speculative way, much like one would assess a new mare.
“Mont Trignon, I am actually glad thou art here.” He fixed Alex with a disapproving gaze. “I was explaining to Alexandra the impropriety that a future wife of mine, of someone of my stature in the community, should own a tavern. What say thee?”
“Hmmm,” Mont Trignon murmured from behind Nathanial.
Alex bit her lip to stifle a giggle at the wide-eyed plea for assistance Mont Trignon gave her over the top of Nathanial’s broad hat.
“Well, I certainly agree it would be an honor for any woman to be the wife of someone of your stature.” Had it not been for the solemn tone of his voice, the words would have been mocking. “Tell me, is it against the dictates of the Quakers that you should own a tavern?”
“No, of course not. Many of my brethren own such establishments. But Alexandra is a woman.”
“That she is,” Mont Trignon agreed, winking at Alex.
Thankfully, Nathanial had turned his head and didn’t see.
The skin under Alex’s neckerchief blazed, and she turned to peruse a stall brimming with mounds of crisp-smelling beans and peas, lest either man notice her response.
“Yes, and she flaunts it for all to see,” Nathanial added, with a lift of his chin.
“She does?” Mont Trignon asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yes, just look at the way she is dressed,” Nathanial said, with a pointed glance at her bosom, making Alex want to cover herself.
“Hmmm,” Mont Trignon said, as he let his gaze slide over Alex. “I can certainly see how that gown on such a beautiful woman might cause a man’s blood to stir.”
Alex cringed and contemplated crawling under the stall.
“Although, it is quite possible that Alexandra chooses her clothing to hide her natural beauty,” Mont Trignon suggested. “To blend in, so to speak.”
Mont Trignon’s gaze searched her face, and Alex couldn’t help but recall the peach gown she had worn to the Lancasters’ assembly. But of course, the chevalier wouldn’t know about that gown as he had not been in attendance.
As for her normal mode of dress, it suited her needs. It wouldn’t do to spend the profits of the tavern on dresses and petticoats that would be ruined from spilt beer by night’s end.
“I think perhaps you might change your mind about your intended’s appearance if you could see her in the Parisian fashions. I assure you, you would not object so much to her attire now.”
“I am sorry, sir, for asking for thy counsel,” Nathanial said, his jaw pointed toward the sky. “I forgot for a moment that thou come from a people that revel in debauchery. I am afraid it will not do to associate with thee. Come along, Alexandra.”
Nathanial spun on his heel and strode toward the entrance of the market. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Alexandra followed him.
Revel in debauchery? Mont Trignon mouthed the words, but he wore an amused smile and not the look of a man who had just been insulted.
Mont Trignon turned to Alex who remained rooted to the spot. “How long do you think it will take him to notice that you have not followed him like an obedient dog?”
Alex laughed and forgave Mont Trignon for enjoying his repartee with Nathanial, even if it caused her some discomfort.
“I am sorry, Mademoiselle, for any problems I may have caused. For in truth, I did not know what to say, but I could not agree with your young man’s opinions.”
“That’s all right,” Alex said. Then after a pregnant pause, she added, “And just as I informed you last night, he’s not my young man.”
Mont Trignon dipped his head in acknowledgement but said nothing.
Disappointment blanketed her. What had she expected? An offer of another kiss? An expression of delight at her availability? Nonsense. Last night had been a sweet gesture on his part and nothing more.
She decided to ask the question that had formed in the early morning hours just before sleep claimed her. She hoped he would not consider it the foolish talk of a naive girl.
“Did you once tell me chevalier is the French equivalent of ‘knight’?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle, that is perhaps the closest translation.” He turned his face toward her as they ambled through the market.
“Do you follow the same code that a knight does?” she asked.
“Do you mean the code of chivalry from the days of old?”
They stopped walking in unison and stood facing each other, while throngs of people milled about them. As she held his dark-eyed gaze with her own, the figures were like no more than spirits.
“Yes.” Alex ducked her head and looked at the muddy hem of her petticoats to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks.
“I do,” Mont Trignon said. “It was the French who actually introduced the chivalric code to the English. The word chivalry and the word chevalier have the same origin.”
His words poured from his lips, and Alex might have said he sounded nervous. She smiled at the ridiculous notion.
&
nbsp; “Then I can’t help but feel, perhaps, that you were my champion today,” she said, taking her full basket from his hand.
Mont Trignon, for once, didn’t have a ready reply.
“I must be going,” Alex said, but her eyes remained locked with his, and her feet rooted to the spot where she stood.
The noises of the marketplace melted into nothingness.
“Au revoir, Mademoiselle,” Mont Trignon replied, his voice barely a whisper, his melodic accent strumming her senses.
“Oh reverwa,” Alex tried to respond in kind, breaking the spell that bound them.
Mont Trignon laughed.
“Sorry, I will have to work on that one too. Will I see you again?” she asked, emboldened by the warmth of shared humor.
“That is what au revoir means, Mademoiselle,” Mont Trignon said. “It sets the expectation between friends that they will see each other again soon.”
“Well then, chevalier, until next time,” she said, before turning toward a set of iron gates plastered with tattered advertising bills and public notices. Once she passed beyond the grillwork, she would leave behind her childish fantasies about the chevalier and return to the mundane realities of her life.
Only when she reached it, did she realize she had not purchased the last item on her list. She contemplated turning around to see if he still watched her. If he didn’t, perhaps she could sneak back and make a hasty purchase before being on her way. But if he did, she would ruin the moment of magic.
Alas, the tavern stew would have to do without beans just this once.
Chapter Seven
“Angelina, I don’t understand why you insist I accompany you.” Alex tried to catch her breath as she struggled to keep up with Angelina’s longer strides on the brick walk.
“Hurry up, Alex!” Angelina linked her arm through Alex’s and, with a firm set of her delicate jaw, dragged her forward. “If we’re late for tea, the blame will be yours, not mine!”
Alex had heard the same words more than once in the last hour. She blew at a stray wisp of hair that fell onto her forehead from beneath her cap. She would have tucked it away if Angelina didn’t have one arm in a vise-like grip and if she weren’t using her other hand to keep her skirts from tangling about her feet.
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