by Dee, Bonnie
“Of course you can. I am not often around children, so I wasn’t sure.”
Candace watched the girl close the privy door behind her and sighed in relief. Her addition to this family outing had given Vivienne ideas. It was no good for the child, nor for quashing her own silly daydreams. From now on, she must maintain strictly a business friendship with Alain. The sooner he and his endearing daughter returned to their homeland, the better, she thought sadly.
Chapter Ten
Why did Vivienne have to plant fantasies of marrying Candace in his mind? Now that thought had taken root, Alain could not rid himself of it. As he squired the pair around the fair, he pictured them as a family. Other people seeing them together probably thought it was true, and, oh, how nice it would be to have Candace in his life. But he could not rid himself of Geneviève for fear of losing Vivienne to her. He’d not cared enough to fight his wife until now. It would be unacceptable to cast Candace as his mistress, even if she were willing. Such an arrangement would be detestable. Before he could exchange vows with Candace, he must sever his tie to Geneviève.
And even if he were an unencumbered single man, there was the tiny matter of living in two different countries. He and Vivienne would soon return home. Candace had a business to run, here in London. Besides which, she was probably not in love with him anyway.
But if she was…
“This fudge is too sweet. The texture is gritty and the taste of chocolate buried under all the sugar,” Candace pronounced after tasting several varieties of the fudge.
How could one not love a woman who knew chocolate so intimately? Alain sighed.
“I agree.” Vivienne finished the piece she held. “But I should have another to make sure.”
“Enough, boulette. You will make yourself ill. Perhaps we should share a meat pie before returning to the train depot,” Alain suggested. “Something of substance.”
“With no rabbit in it,” his daughter reminded him. “Or cow, sheep, or pig.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to concede on that point for it seems only lamb is available.”
When faced with a steaming hot pie, Vivienne stopped protesting and devoured the flaky crust and thick stew.
The crowd on the fairgrounds dwindled as the dinner hour approached. Likely it would pick up once bright lights drew young lovers to the amusements. By then, Alain would be in London putting Vivienne to bed. He couldn’t help but wish for the freedom to spend time alone with Candace like any couple on an evening out. They would hold hands as they strolled, laugh together, and find a secluded spot in the shadows to kiss. But such a liaison was impossible, and of course, being a father meant more to him than an unencumbered bachelor life.
With their stomachs full and steps growing weary, the trio walked toward the station, arriving in time to catch the last train of the day. The sway of the compartment rocked Vivienne to sleep, giving Alain the private time with Candace that he craved.
“Thank you so much for inviting me along today. It was so much fun.” She smiled at him. “I believe one could sell superior candy at fairs if one didn’t mind traveling the circuit.”
“Unfortunately, I imagine country folk would find the price exorbitant.”
“I wish I could make my truffles affordable for all. The average person does not understand what goes into production to justify the cost.”
Alain nodded, but he did not really wish to discuss business. His gaze kept drifting from her eyes to the delectable mouth he wanted to kiss so badly. He averted his eyes from temptation, looking down at his daughter instead.
“I am sorry if Vivienne made you uncomfortable today with her comment about you making a good mother. I did not realize she thought about such things.”
“There is no need for an apology. I’m flattered she has taken to me. I enjoy Vivienne very much.” She smoothed her skirts and stared at her lap. “Her father is equally agreeable. I am so very pleased we will be doing business. I shall enjoy working with you.” Her tone suggested something more.
Alain ached for that something more. He cursed the invisible restraints that kept them apart. He desperately wanted to tell her how charming, smart, lovely, lively and perfect he found her. She awoke in him a feeling akin to coming home after years of lonely travel.
Instead, he replied neutrally, “I believe our mutual interests will be served by this arrangement. However, as soon as the first shipment of Moreau chocolates arrives, I must return to France. I fear my manager lacks the initiative to increase production. I’m afraid I must hire someone more motivated.”
“I don’t envy you. That would be most unpleasant.” The playful warmth in her tone changed to professional politeness.
They rode the rest of the way into the city in silence. Vivienne was too groggy to walk to the cab stand so Alain carried her while Candace transported the small bag of purchases made at the fair. The weight of his daughter’s body slumped against him, her arms wrapped around his neck, served to remind Alain that Vivienne was of prime importance to him, and any romance must be a distant second.
When the cab stopped at Candace’s shop, Alain walked her to the door. She looked up at him with those alluring brown eyes, and every impulse in him yearned to lean in for a good night kiss.
“Good evening, Miss Sweet. I appreciated your company today, as did Vivienne.”
She nodded. “Thank you for inviting me. It was a memorable day which I shall treasure. Goodnight, Mr. Moreau.”
Their return to a proper form of address for colleagues declared everything left unsaid. There would be no more outings in their future, nor personal confidences shared. This glorious day had been an anomaly which would not be repeated.
The door closed behind her. Alain trudged to the cab, feeling as exhausted as if he’d walked all the way to Crumbyvale and back. The heaviness dragging down his body was not from the day’s exercise, but from the weight upon his spirit. The only curative for it would be to return to France, as far away from Candace Sweet as possible.
Out of sight, out of mind as the saying went.
When the cab reached the boarding house, he roused Vivienne. “Wake up, chérie. Will you walk up the stairs, so your poor old father doesn’t have to carry you?”
“No! I’m sleeping.” Her eyes remained closed, but she stood up and let him help her out of the cab. It was early enough that their landlady had not locked the door for the night. Upon entrance, the usual buzz of conversation came from the sitting room where guests gathered after supper. Alain would have walked past, if French words had not caught his attention.
One voice was Madame Bernard’s. The other…
“Geneviève,” he whispered. A lightning bolt struck him and paralyzed his legs for a moment. Once, long ago, he had prayed for her return. Now she was as welcome as a demon from hell. How? Why?
He broke from his stupor to steer Vivienne toward the stairs. He did not want her with him when he confronted her mother.
“Nounou is in the parlor. I must kiss her goodnight.” She broke free of him, and Alain had no choice but to follow her into the overly warm, crowded parlor where Geneviève held court.
He almost did not recognize the stylishly dressed woman telling an anecdote that held the boarders spellbound. His wife was not the same village girl he had married. It wasn’t only her modish gown and hat, the sparkling jewelry adorning ears, throat and hand, or the kohl lining her sapphire eyes. Geneviève had always believed herself a princess, and now she carried herself like the queen she had aspired to be. Her every gesture commanded attention.
The only person who did not appear awestruck was Madame Bernard. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pressed tight, and arms folded as if she could barely restrain herself from attacking the foreigner in their midst. When Vivienne entered the room, Madame held out her arms and called her over, as if Geneviève were a harpy who might snatch up the child and carry her off. Not far from the truth, Alain feared.
With a trill of laughter echoed by her audience, Geneviève en
ded her story and rose from her seat to greet Alain. “Mon mari bien-aimé!” she exclaimed. “How I have missed you and my darling daughter.”
The spinster sisters, who occupied rooms on the second level, emitted an “Ahhh” at the family reunion.
Beloved husband indeed. She spoke as if he and Vivienne were gloves she had accidentally mislaid. “Why are you here?” he demanded.
His bluntness earned disapproving clicks of the tongue from the spinsters. “I say now. That’s a cold welcome,” said the elderly gentleman whose room was on the ground floor.
Geneviève halted in approaching Alain. She would not wish her husband to reject her embrace in front of an adoring audience. Instead, she turned her attention to Vivienne. “Ma chérie, how you have grown! Come to me. Do you not recognize your maman?”
Vivienne remained sheltered in Madame Bernard’s embrace as she studied the strange woman claiming to be her mother. “You do not have golden hair. Or a crown and ermine robes.”
Geneviève laughed but her eyes contained not a twinkle of amusement. “I am not queen, my sweet, but your own dearest mother returned to you. Come now. Give me a kiss.”
Alain’s deepest impulse was to warn Vivienne to stay away, but he could only watch as his child walked into her mother’s arms and politely kissed her cheek.
More emotional exclamations came from those assembled. Why must there be witnesses to this exchange which ought to have been private? Because Geneviève wanted it that way, of course. Alain’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Soon enough he would have his wife alone so they might have an honest conversation without pretense of a happy reunion.
Vivienne searched her mother’s face. “You are not the way I remember, but you are still beautiful.”
Of course she could not remember anything about a mother who had left her when she was but a babe just shy of two years of age, but Vivienne had obviously invented a memory which she clung to.
“And you are as pretty as a princess, my darling,” Geneviève replied. “I am sorry I have been away so long, but we will soon become very close.”
“How did you find us here?” Alain asked.
Geneviève turned to face him. “Monsieur Renfro received my telegram. Apparently he is collecting your correspondence until your return. He notified me of your business and temporary address in London. I changed my steamship ticket immediately, et voilà, here I am.”
“Here you are.” Alain agreed, looking around at the boarders and their landlord Mrs. Teague. There were observing this family drama as raptly as if it were a stage performance. “If it is not too much of an inconvenience, may I ask to use the parlor so my wife and I might speak alone?”
“Oh yes.”
“Of course.”
“Naturally you want your privacy.”
The onlookers broke and scattered like Vivienne’s pigeons startled into flight.
Alain continued. “Madame Bernard, it has been a very long day for Vivienne. Would you put her to bed please?”
“Please no, Papa. I want to see more of Maman first.”
“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. She is not going anywhere, other than her own hotel room.” When Vivienne began to whine, he spoke more sharply than he normally would. “No argument. Good night.”
Madame Bernard moved to usher Vivienne away from this fraught situation. But first, Geneviève hugged the child and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Good night, my darling.” As Bernard led the sulking Vivienne away, Geneviève grimaced and wiped sticky caramel from her sleeve with a fine lace handkerchief.
At last the room was empty for the two of them. Geneviève offered him the glacial stare he recalled all too well. “Honestly, could you not have allowed me two minutes with my daughter?”
“Not tonight, and not until I know your intentions in arriving here without forewarning.”
“I asked Renfro not to mention my visit because I wanted to surprise you.”
“You managed that,” he said dryly. “What is your purpose here?” Perhaps her journey was not the portent of evil he feared. Maybe she’d come to legally end their marriage at last. Her stunning smile reminded him why his young, foolish heart had fallen for her.
“I simply wanted to see my daughter, and, of course, to express my sympathy on the death of your dear father.”
Over a year too late. Alain frowned. “Perhaps you’ve run out of resources in America and need money. Is that it?”
Geneviève pushed out her lower lip in a pout so similar to Vivienne’s it hurt. “Do I appear as if I am in financial trouble? Why would you think so little of me? I have succeeded marvelously in New York. My paramour is the great Mr. Harry R. Grayson, a very successful financier. We share a beautiful home on Park Avenue and a lovely cottage in Newport for the summer. I assure you I am doing quite well.”
“So you have come here for—what?”
“I told you, to see Vivienne. She has grown so much. In another few years she will be at finishing school and I will have missed most of her childhood. I would like to take her to New York for a visit. A girl should be with her mother during these tender years.”
A ball of white-hot fury seared his gut. He dare not open his mouth for fear he would shout.
“For the winter at least. And of course, she must see New York in spring. It is truly a marvelous sight. I would take her to Newport to spend the summer at the seashore, and perhaps she might return to you the following fall.”
A year apart from him? Over his dead body. He gritted his teeth. “Why are you actually doing this? What do you hope to gain?”
“Recently, regrets have awakened in me. Harry gives me everything I desire, but what I want most right now is my daughter.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
A note of sincerity nearly convinced him she spoke the truth. Geneviève had always been a creature of impulse and passion. At this moment, she probably meant what she said. A day or week or months from now, when the newness of playing the role of mother wore off, she might send the child home to France with her trusting heart broken. Vivienne needed stability and constant love, not a temporary wistful feeling that would soon extinguish.
She continued, “I don’t care about the Church’s views as I once did, so I will agree to a divorce rather than an annulment. In return, you must allow Vivienne to visit me.”
“That will never happen,” he said flatly.
Removing the handkerchief from bone-dry eyes, Geneviève glared at him. “Then let us see how a prestigious legal team does against your simple country lawyer. My dear Harry never fathered a child and feels having one in his golden years would be pleasant, so he is prepared to fully support me. I shall have the divorce and Vivienne too.”
He felt he’d walked into the sticky strands of a spider’s web. Geneviève planned to entice her lover the elderly Harry Grayson into matrimony using Vivienne as a carrot. Within a few years she would likely become an extremely wealthy widow. But first she needed to prompt Grayson into that legal arrangement. What better means than a small child to fulfill his wish for a loving family gathered around his deathbed?
Alain curbed his fury lest he say something to make the upcoming battle worse. There might be a more sugar-coated way to achieve his goal. “I am very tired, Geneviève. Have you a hotel room reserved? If so, I suggest you return to it. We will resume this conversation when we’ve both had time to consider the matter.”
“Vivienne will expect to see me tomorrow.” She tucked away her handkerchief and regarded him coolly.
“I will arrange for a mid-day luncheon at a tea house. Afterward, she’ll probably want to show you her pigeons in the park. I will remain at a distance so you might talk together.”
“You won’t try to interfere?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“As you say, Vivienne is your daughter too. It is time you got to know one another.” It took every effort to admit that, but it would be unfair of him to deny Vivienne access to her mother completely.<
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But there was no way in hell he intended to allow Geneviève to take their child across an ocean to live with a man he knew nothing about. He would fight to the death to keep her.
Chapter Eleven
“Have you settled on your wedding gown?” Rose asked the soon-to-be bride, Hattie.
Their hostess poured another cup of tea all around before replying. “I have styled a very smart toque to wear with a three piece lilac ensemble; a peplum jacket with matching skirt and white blouse with ruffled cravat. Very tailored and modern.”
“Sounds like any nice day dress you might wear,” Rose complained “I had pictured you in an ivory satin gown with cascading lace.”
“Since I’ve presented myself as a widow, a pastel color is more appropriate. Besides, you know I am not the sort for much embellishment. On the hats I sell, yes, but not in my own attire. The ensemble I’ve chosen is perfect for me. When you and Will wed, I fully expect you to wear exactly the sort of gown you’ve described. It will look stunning on you.” Hattie glanced toward Candace for support. “Don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes. You’ll be a vision, Rose.” Candace set down her teacup and attempted to enthusiastically join in the discussion.
Rose cocked her head to study Candace. “You’re off today. Are you fretting over this agreement with Moreau? I believe it is a grand idea to help launch your store, and the illustrations for postal cards and posters you showed us will help market the union.”
Why did she have to use the word union, which only served to remind Candace that a business one was all she would ever have with Alain. The terse note he’d sent the day following their outing reminded her of that. He’d promised to stop by when she received the first delivery from his factory, but in the meantime, would be busy with other matters.
Of course, she hadn’t imagined he’d be with her every day. She didn’t care for the dismissive tone of the note—as if she had been demanding too much of his time. He was the one who’d invited her to the fair. It wasn’t as if she had begged to tag along.
