After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  “Please be seated,” the Duchess said.

  Christelle was terrified as she sat down. This was not at all how she had envisioned this happening. The woman studied her for some time and shook her head with what appeared to be disbelief.

  “May I see the certificate?”

  Christelle was shaking when she tried to fumble in her pocket for the document. She took a deep breath to calm herself before handing it to the Duchess. Christelle noticed the other woman’s hands were trembling and she bit her lower lip while she studied the certificate.

  “I must tell your father. How am I to tell him this?” she asked without looking at her.

  Christelle could only imagine how this woman must hate her. “I am very sorry. I had not meant to hurt anyone. I did not know what else to do or where to go. And when I discovered I had a father here…I did not fully consider.” Christelle knew she was rambling and her voice was thick with emotion.

  The Duchess sighed loudly. “I do not blame you. I believe I would have done the same. Only, I do not know how your father will react. The circumstances with your mother were…difficult.”

  “Would it be best for me to leave? I do not wish to cause either of you pain.”

  The Duchess’s eyes began to fill with tears. She reached forward and took Christelle’s hand. “Non. We will deal with this. It is a great shock, to be sure, but your father will love you just as he loves his other children.”

  “I have siblings? I have always wished for siblings. Will you allow me to see them?”

  The Duchess looked at her with sympathy in her eyes. “I think you must meet your father, first. I shall consider how to go about it. Do you wish to remain here until I can decide what to do? Or should I arrange for you to stay with my mother?”

  “I think I would prefer to be here for now. Madame has been very kind, and I enjoy designing gowns.”

  “I look forward to seeing them soon. My name is Beaujolais. You may call me that if you wish. Until later, Christelle.” The Duchess stood and left without looking back.

  “I do not know what to do!” Beaujolais exclaimed to her mother as she paced the floor. “She looks just like him—and my own Rosalind. I could no more deny she is Benedict’s child, than the sun rising in the east!” Her hands went up in exasperation.

  “At least she does not look like Lillian,” Lady Ashbury said sympathetically.

  “Will I never be rid of that viper?” Beaujolais looked out of the mullioned window, but there were no answers to be found in the fountain or amongst the shrubs in the garden.

  “Beaujolais, it is not the child’s fault,” her mother gently chastised.

  “Of course it is not. I did not mean it that way. But Lillian deliberately kept the child from him—the poor girl, and poor Benedict. I do not wish to tell him. He will be angry!” She put her hand to her brow and closed her eyes. “I have no idea of the best way to do this.”

  “She appears to be nothing like Lillian, though time will tell. Monique said she thinks her mother died in an accident, but she did know Lillian had been a courtesan and seemed to be quite opposed to adopting the same profession.”

  “What has this girl had to see? Perhaps we should get to know her better before we expose the children to her,” Beaujolais said thoughtfully.

  “I can write an enquiry to Harriot’s School, though Monique said the headmistress sent the highest recommendation with her.”

  “Lillian has been dead for six years now. One would hope her influence was minimized.”

  “And that she takes after her father,” Beaujolais added.

  “Indeed.”

  “How am I to tell him, Maman? And the entire family are to meet at Yardley in a fortnight.”

  “I think you should take her there,” Lady Ashbury said without hesitation.

  Beaujolais turned sharply to look at her mother. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You cannot leave the daughter of a duke working at a modiste’s! It will not be long until it is all over Town.”

  “Mon Dieu! She is the daughter of a duke! And of age!” It suddenly struck Beaujolais.

  “It is best to take her to the country. She and Yardley need time to know one another away from prying eyes, and you can prepare her for Society.”

  “I do not know if I can do this, Maman.”

  “You can because you have to, chérie. You are a strong woman. Look at Margaux. She loves Seamus, Catriona and Maili as her own.”

  “But…Lillian!” No further explanation was needed. “And how will she feel when she finds out it was I who killed her mother?”

  “It will be difficult. In time, she will need to know. You must try to welcome her and forget who her mother was. She is also Benedict’s, and that is what matters.”

  Beaujolais nodded, though tears were spilling down her cheeks. Lady Ashbury stood and walked to her daughter to embrace her. Sometimes, it was simply best to cry.

  “My father is a duke,” Christelle whispered aloud to herself after the Duchess had left. She paced across the sitting room carpet and pulled at her sleeves. “My father is a duke. This is much worse than I imagined. What if he does not want me? The Duchess is afraid to tell him. Is he a mean man? Would I be better to leave?”

  Christelle wished she had someone she could trust to talk to. She immediately thought of Dr. Craig, but she did not have a day off until Wednesday. She was so confused she desperately needed some time alone, but forced herself to go downstairs to the shop to complete her work.

  Madame came into the workroom after she had dealt with her clients for the day. Christelle had one last sketch to finish before her work was complete. The other girls had departed an hour ago, but she had missed several hours today.

  “How do you feel?” Madame asked.

  “I feel very confused. I had not imagined my father would be a duke, nor why my maman never told me of him. And, the Duchess seemed very hurt. I do not wish to ruin their lives.”

  “Christelle, chérie. Lillian caused much difficulty for them, you must understand that. It does not mean you cannot know your father. He will want to know about you. I think he will be very shocked, if indeed he does not know of your existence. But in time he will accept you.”

  Christelle wrinkled her face. “It is not what I wanted to happen.”

  “What did you want?”

  “It is difficult to say. I had thought to discover who he is and learn about him first.”

  “You are suspicious?” Madame asked with raised eyebrows.

  “I suppose I am. My maman did not have good judgement about men.”

  Madame clicked her tongue. “It is sad you should have known such things as a child.”

  “I think she thought I would not realize. But I did. I could not help but hear things.”

  “Oui,” Madame agreed sympathetically.

  “Madame? May I ask to change my afternoon off? I wish to speak to someone.”

  “I think you will not be here long, Christelle. Your time is your own.”

  “Am I being let go?” She could not mask the pain in her voice. Where would she go?

  “Non. But your father will not wish you to be here in the future. It is not seemly for the daughter of a duke to work. You are your own mistress, but may stay here as long as you need to for now.”

  “I wish to be here! It does not matter who my father is!”

  “If only it were so simple. I think you will need some of these designs for yourself,” Madame said as she looked over Christelle’s shoulder at the sketch. “A lavender or light blue would suit you quite well, non? It will not do for you to have only one gown.”

  “But I have my maman’s toilettes.”

  “You shall not wear those, Christelle. Let Lillian’s memory be put to rest with your new family. You carry the good of her inside you, but those dresses will only remind them of the hurt she caused.”

  Christelle shot to her feet and ran out of the back door. She needed some air. She knew her mother had done
some immoral things, but they were behaving as if she had been a murderess or something equally horrid! Could she do this if she were to be forced never to acknowledge her mother's existence? But where could she go?

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Christelle looked up to see Joseph standing before her.

  “I-I think so. I have just had some news.”

  “Do you need me to send a note to Dr. Craig?” he asked with a concerned look.

  She would very much like to see him, but did not wish to disturb him. He was a busy physician.

  “I do not wish to bother him. I will see him on Wednesday,” she said unconvincingly, even to her own ears.

  Joseph leaned in closer and whispered, “He said if you were ever in trouble to send for him immediately.”

  “I am not in trouble, precisely, but I am in a fix which I need advice about.”

  “I will send him a note, but I will tell him it is not urgent. Will that do? He comes by every morning at seven o'clock sharp.”

  “Every morning?” she asked in wonder.

  He gave her a big smile. “Every morning.”

  “Then please tell him I would like to see him soon.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Merci, Joseph.”

  He tipped his hat to her and she walked down the street and up again for some fresh air, wavering back and forth over what was best to do. It would be nice to know more about her father, the Duke, but she needed to be careful who she asked.

  Chapter 9

  Only one more day until he could see her again, Seamus thought, as he finished the consultation with his last patient for the day. His diary had become increasingly busy over the past week, and filled with some notable clientele. He packed up his bag and pulled his greatcoat and hat from the hook on the wall.

  “Have a good evening, Mr. Melton.”

  The secretary looked up from his desk. “Wait, Dr. Craig, I have a message for you.”

  “Oh?” Seamus immediately thought of Mr. Baker. Mr. Melton looked down at his notes.

  “Someone named Joseph would like you to call in on your way home. He says it is not urgent, but important.”

  Was something wrong with Christelle?

  “Thank you, Mr. Melton,” Seamus called as he began to hurry from the office. He hailed a hack and instructed the driver to go to Madame Monique’s.

  He alighted as soon as the vehicle rolled to a halt, and went first to see Joseph.

  “There you are, then,” Joseph said when Seamus walked into the shop.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “I saw her looking troubled this afternoon, I did. So I asked if she needed you. I could tell she was wanting to say yes, but was not wishing to bother you.”

  “She did not say what was wrong?” Seamus frowned.

  “No, she said she was in a… fix and needed advice.” Joseph replied as if he was trying to remember her words exactly. “Then she said she would like me to send word to you, after all.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Joseph.”

  Seamus had no idea at all what could be wrong, but he went next door and wielded the knocker on the back entrance to Madame Monique’s shop.

  “Ah, Dr. Craig. You are here to see Christelle, I presume?” Madame Monique asked when she opened the door to him.

  “Yes, if I may,” he replied.

  “One moment. She has just gone upstairs for the evening. If you will wait here.”

  Seamus worried about what could be wrong while he stood in the back room to the shop. ‘In a fix’ could mean any number of things. Supposing she did not want to stay here? What would he do then?

  “Dr. Craig.” Christelle greeted him with a look of relief on her face. “Thank you for coming so soon.”

  “Of course. Shall we take a walk?”

  “Yes, it would be best.”

  He held open the door for her and they turned to walk down Oxford Street towards Hyde Park. They did not speak as they negotiated traffic and crowds, delaying until they had crossed onto the lawn. Seamus waited for her to begin her story when she was comfortable. He had learned early on in his practice to mostly listen and people would tell you when they were ready.

  “I have discovered my father,” she finally said. “Well, I met his wife by accident.”

  Seamus looked at her face. She was struggling to speak about it.

  “That sounds quite uncomfortable.”

  “She was not pleased,” Christelle agreed.

  “How did she know you?” he asked, not masking the astonishment in his voice.

  “Apparently I share a great deal of likeness to my father. Madame Monique had recognized me as well.”

  “He is a member of Society, then? Only the ton frequent her shop.”

  “Oui. His wife did not think he would be pleased. She thought I was his bastard.”

  “Your mother was married to him?”

  “And divorced after I was born. I do not think he knows of my existence.”

  Or ignored it. Seamus kept the ungracious thought to himself. He hoped it was not the case.

  “Is it not a good thing you have discovered him so soon? I had wondered how long it might take you to find him.”

  They walked down a pathway towards a small lake before she answered.

  “I have not even had a chance to look. It was coincidence.” A gaggle of geese walked over towards them, honking loudly.

  “Do you have arrangements to meet him?” he asked as he steered them away from the birds.

  “Non, and I am not sure I should,” she said quietly.

  “Have you changed your mind?” he asked, glancing at her face.

  They walked a few paces in silence. “I had not considered… he has a family. He is a prominent member of Society. I…” Her voice cracked and she could not finish her thought.

  “Christelle,” he whispered and led her to a secluded area behind a copse of black mulberry trees. He had not expected this. “You must at least tell him. At least you are a legitimate child. It would be more difficult if you were not, but both of you deserve the chance to know one another.”

  She kept her head down and did not look up at him. What should he do? He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he did not wish to presume— until, that is, he heard a muffled cry and she leaned into him. He pulled her into his chest and could feel her trembling, and knew he had done the right thing. But what should he advise her to do?

  He heard her inhale in rapid succession and knew she was fighting for composure. He never wanted to let her go. It felt so right to hold her.

  “What if he did abandon me? What if he does not wish to know me? I think it would be unbearable.” Her eyes were looking up at him, so innocent, so vulnerable. Yet all Seamus could think of was kissing her tear-stained face. She did not show any sign of moving away.

  “You will always wonder about him if you do not at least meet him,” he said, struggling to give her coherent advice when she was so close.

  “What is the best way to find out about a person? I cannot walk up to strangers and ask what they think of him,” she asked.

  “I know very little myself. I could ask my grandparents, I suppose,” Seamus said, though he could feel his face being drawn down towards hers. “You could try the daily newspapers, or ask Madame Monique. I imagine the modiste is a breeding ground for gossip.”

  “That is true,” Christelle said breathlessly.

  Was she feeling what he was? Or was she terrified of him? Her pupils were dark and wide, and her cheeks were flushed, which would indicate vasodilation. Pleasure, not fear. Before he could finish assessing her like any ordinary patient, she reached up and placed a kiss on his lips. Have mercy, he pleaded silently. Her sweet, innocent lips tasted of honey and mint. It was heady stuff, indeed. If only he could bottle the feeling and prescribe such for his patients.

  When she finally pulled back, she was still looking at him so trustingly. What had he done?

  “I should not.
..” he began. She placed her fingers over his lips.

  “I kissed you. Do not apologize, or I will be angry. If you do not return my feelings, then I understand, but do not be the stuffy English gentleman about what was genuinely given.”

  He wanted to laugh at her choice of words and pull her back to show her how he truly felt. But he suspected she had too many emotions to deal with at the moment and could not think clearly about him. In all likelihood, she would have kissed anyone at that moment. But it was promising, nevertheless.

  “Will you help me return to France if I decide it is best?”

  “I promise to help you if you agree to meet your father first and give him a chance.” And if Seamus could not talk her into staying with him.

  “Thank you, for coming. I did not feel I should say these things to Madame.”

  “I am glad you trust me with your confidence.”

  “I do trust you. You did not take advantage of me when you could have done. I know you are a good man.”

  He hoped her trust in him was well placed. Now he realized he certainly should not have allowed the kiss to happen.

  “I should return home. Will I still see you on Wednesday?”

  He held out his arm to escort her back, and she took it and clung to him. It felt right, and he wanted her to stay there forever.

  “You shall see me every Wednesday if you wish. Well, except for when I go to a house party in two weeks’ time. My family will be visiting my aunt.”

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked, looking up at him with an adorable little crease on her forehead. He reached down and smoothed it out.

  “Not long. I have patients to see here. It is not always convenient being a gentleman who works.”

  “I am thankful for selfish reasons. I do not wish you to be gone long,” she said with the hint of a pout on her lips.

  “Will you send word through Joseph if you are to leave? I would not wish your father to whisk you away and leave me in the dark. Will you at least say goodbye?”

  “Non. I will never say goodbye to you.”

  Seamus hoped that was true. He was beginning to think this little lady might be the one he could spend the rest of his life with, if she were agreeable. Her birth did not matter overmuch to him, but it would certainly be easier if she were from the same class, regardless of her time as a seamstress. He left her at the modiste's entrance and felt cold and empty inside when she had closed the door. Perhaps he could ask his grandmère if she could accompany them to Yardley for the family holiday.