“I’d rather not.”
“I strongly urge that you comply.”
Isabelle arched a brow. “Is that a threat?”
The doctor looked genuinely horrified. “Of course not. It is only that there are people waiting who must not be disappointed.”
Awkwardly Isabelle rose to her feet. “I should hate to disappoint my sister.”
An odd look passed across the woman’s face, but she said nothing.
“This way, ladies.” The cabin steward motioned them toward the door.
Isabelle followed the doctor down the metal steps to the tarmac where, to her surprise, Eric awaited them.
His expression was duly serious—the perfect expression for a man about to meet his kidnapped sister-in-law—but she did note with satisfaction that his eyes were drawn repeatedly to her enormous belly. She wondered how it was she had ever believed herself in love with him.
“Darling girl.” He made to kiss her cheeks, but she stepped away. “I wish the circumstances could be different.”
“As do I. It is sad to see a grown man performing his wife’s less pleasant chores.”
He looked at the doctor who shook her head. “There are things you do not know.”
“And there are things about which I do not care any longer. Juliana has accomplished her goal. My trust fund reverts back to her, and my life has been disrupted. She has proved herself superior in every way. Now I would like to return home.”
“Darling girl, this is your home.”
She was growing wearing of that sentiment. “You do not believe that any more than I do, Eric.”
“Darling girl, you must listen to me. Something has happened—something dreadful.”
She’d never heard that tone in his voice before or seen that particular look in his eyes. She waited, her hands moving reassuringly across the expanse of her belly, refusing to help him in any way.
“It’s Juliana,” he said, blue eyes welling with tears. “She has taken her own life.”
Chapter
Nineteen
Eric talked about Juliana’s depression after Allegra’s birth, about how much her sister had desired a son, but Isabelle’s mind was numb. His words simply had no meaning. As they drove up the mountainside to the castle, she saw her sister as a little girl, her blond pigtails like spun gold in the Alpine sunlight. The young Juliana always rose with the first light to pick flowers from the garden or to walk the path to the stables. She’d lived a charmed life, one of ease and privilege, safe within the walls of the castle with their father happy to wipe away her tears.
Isabelle had envied her with all her heart. How strange, how heartbreakingly sad, that Juliana lay dead by her own hand while Isabelle knew a joy unlike any she’d imagined possible in this lifetime.
“... the funeral will be late this afternoon,” Eric said, patting her hand. “Once that is past, the news will be made public.”
“Where is—I mean, I would like to...”
He shook his head. “It is best that you remember her as she was.”
Isabelle wished she felt something more than a bittersweet regret that things had not been different between herself and Juliana. “I’d very much like to see the children.” The only true innocents in the entire tragic situation.
“They are with my mother in Paris. When Allegra was born, it quickly became obvious that Juliana was not—” He stopped and regrouped his thoughts. “I am sure you’ll have an opportunity to see them before long.” He made to pat her hand again, but she moved away. His wry smile told her the gesture did not go unnoticed. “I see that you will be adding to the family very soon.”
“That fact should have been considered before dragging me onto the plane.”
“We did provide a doctor for you, darling girl. The last thing we wanted was to endanger your health in any way. You must believe that. We simply found it imperative to bring you here as quickly as possible.”
“Did you think me so heartless that I would not attend my sister’s funeral if at all possible?”
“I apologize for any discomfort or apprehension we might have caused you, darling girl. We erred on the side of caution.”
“Kidnapping someone is hardly erring on the side of caution.”
Eric seemed genuinely surprised. “Kidnapping?” His features hardened into something approximating a frown. “A damn mishandling of the situation. You were to have been informed that it was a family situation right from the start.” He reached for her hand and kissed it before she could react. “We wanted only to have you with us in our sorrow. Never would I do anything to cause you a moment’s unease.”
That from the man who had slept with her while he was busy impregnating her sister. It was all Isabelle could do to keep from laughing out loud.
They reached the castle at last. Eric parked the Daimler under the porte cochere, then turned off the ignition. She reached for the door handle, but he raced around to the passenger’s side before she got the door open. The castle was draped in the black bunting of mourning, as it had been for her father little more than a year ago. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.
“Where is Yves?” she asked as Eric led the way into the drawing room. Yves always greeted visitors at the door. “It’s terribly quiet in here.”
“This may be Yves’s morning off. We are running on a skeleton staff this week, darling girl. There has been a certain reluctance to serve since Juliana’s unfortunate demise.”
A chill ran up Isabelle’s spine despite the warming sun. “The curse of Perreault.”
“It has acquired a certain validity in the past year.”
For the first time, she understood what Maxine meant when she talked of feeling the brush of evil. The castle felt different, as if there had been a fundamental yet invisible change that rendered it alien to her.
* * *
As the hours passed, Daniel found it progressively harder to pretend he wasn’t thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic Ocean with nowhere to go but down.
“You okay?” Matty asked.
“Yeah.”
“Rough trip.”
Daniel met his father’s eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“The plane’s been bucking like a damn bronco.”
“Thanks for the update, Pop.”
Matty leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. “Your mother and I were talking on the plane up from Florida. Damned if we can figure out where you got this flying phobia. The rest of us took to it like ducks to water.”
“It’s fear of heights, Pop. The flying part is secondary.”
“Where’d it come from is what I want to know.”
“Why don’t we get Interpol to run a background check for you?” He knew his old man was trying to keep his mind off what lay ahead. He appreciated it but couldn’t get into lightweight banter the way he usually could. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. He cleared his throat. “I owe you one, Pop. If you hadn’t—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Dumb luck,” said Matty, puffing nervously on his cigar. “If Joe wasn’t such a blabbermouth, we might not’ve found her. Let’s just hope they’re going to Perreault.”
“They’re going to Perreault. Malraux will try to use Isabelle the way he used her sister.”
“I still say let Interpol handle it. They know what they’re doing.”
“Yeah,” said Daniel, “but they’re not in love with her.”
Matty looked at him. “So you finally realized it. I was wondering how long it was going to take you.”
“Too goddamn long.” He’d sell everything he owned and start again at the beginning just for the chance to tell her.
* * *
She had expected to be put in her old suite, but Eric led her to the opposite wing of the castle where he showed her to a room on the first floor. It was small, decently appointed, but isolated from any hope of companionship.
“I would prefer my old apartment,” she sa
id, running her finger across the slightly dusty top of the nightstand.
“So sorry, darling girl, but there’s a spot of trouble in that wing. The old plumbing has had its day.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to ignore the prickle of apprehension moving up her spine. “I’ll be leaving right after the funeral.” She looked at him. “When will it be?”
“Four p.m.”
She rubbed the small of her back. “I do not know what I’ll do for clothing. This is not the proper attire.”
“Do not worry, darling girl. All will be taken care of.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Sleep. We can discuss everything when you wake up.”
He closed the door after him, leaving Isabelle alone. A basket of fruit rested on a tabletop. She helped herself to an apple, but found it was mealy after spending the winter in the cellar. The castle was quiet, much too quiet for this hour of the morning. She stood by the window, looking down at the gardens below. The hedges were untended, new growth leaping upward in random patterns that were nothing like the crisp, geometric designs Isabelle remembered. The stone pathways her father had walked on his rambles with the dogs were barely visible through the encroaching weeds. And the rose bushes Isabelle had loved as a child were gone, ripped out and planted over with azaleas.
She felt as if she’d been dropped into some alternate universe where the normal landmarks had been changed just enough to lend an air of unreality.
From the vicinity of the kennels came the yipping of her father’s beloved Corgis. Bertrand had been adamantly opposed to kenneling dogs. “They’re social creatures,” he had said with great indignation. “Not meant to be locked away in a cubicle.” It had always struck Isabelle as odd that he had done exactly that with his younger daughter on the day he sent her off to her first boarding school.
It was obvious Juliana had had no difficulty banishing the Corgis to the canine dungeons. Poor things, thought Isabelle. They probably had no idea why they had been cast aside, any more than she had understood why she was no longer good enough to live in the castle with her family.
Memories were everywhere. Her beautiful mother. Her thoughtless father. Juliana and the two little girls she’d left behind. Why did you do it, Juli? How could you leave them alone? It wasn’t that long ago that she had been left without a mother, and her heart went out to the nieces she had never met. She yearned to hold them close, to give them—even for a moment—a mother’s love. Perhaps it was a good thing they were in Paris with Celine. Isabelle was unsure if she could resist the temptation to spirit them away to America where they could grow up surrounded by love.
She moved her hands across her belly. “I’ll never leave you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you.”
And so would Daniel. She’d never met anyone like him. Sharp. Opinionated. Strong and loyal and more wonderful than any man had a right to be. He’d grown up surrounded by all the love and security a child could want, and Isabelle knew that together they would provide the same for their baby.
What a shame it was that their child would never know the country of its mother’s birth. Perreault was part of her, no matter how she tried to deny it. Being here again brought it all back to her. The hopes and dreams she’d nurtured. The plans she’d made for her own future. How she wished she could banish the curse of Perreault and turn the principality into the wonderful country it could be.
But it wasn’t her place. The throne would go to year-old Victoria, and Isabelle had no doubt that Honore and Eric would be making the decisions on her behalf. If only there were a way to stop time, to somehow ensure that Victoria and Allegra would know more happiness than she and Juliana had.
Suddenly the room seemed too small, too stiflingly hot to stay there another second. Turning away from the window, she glanced about for a telephone, but there was none to be found. She needed to hear Daniel’s voice, to let him know she would be on her way home again before the day was over.
She opened the door slowly, then peered up and down the corridor. Not a soul in sight. Not a sound. “Goose,” she said out loud. What difference did it make if the hallway was clogged with servants? She wasn’t a prisoner here.
A back muscle spasmed, and she paused a moment in the doorway and waited for it to pass. The corridor was long and narrow and dimly lit. She was unfamiliar with this wing of the castle. In the past it had been used for servants and less important guests. It occurred to her that a person could disappear in this deserted wing and never be heard from again—certainly not the kind of thought a woman in her last month of pregnancy relished.
“At last,” she murmured, seeing the spill of light up ahead.
She was just about to step into the huge rotunda when she heard footsteps behind her. Spinning around, she found herself face to face with Yves. Dear God, what had happened to him since the last time she was there? Although it hardly seemed possible, his gaunt frame was even more so, and his dour expression had become downright tragic. Juliana’s death must have hit him terribly hard, she thought, glad in a way that someone found it in his heart to care.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, executing a swift bow. “You must leave this place.”
She stared at him. The man had always been proper to the point of being obsequious. His dislike of her had been veiled in the painfully correct behavior of one born to serve.
He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into an empty room, closing the door behind them. Her heart beat so wildly that she feared for her child. “There is danger everywhere, mademoiselle. I have heard them talking. Leave now!” His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.
“Good Lord, Yves, have you been drinking?” Poor man. He was so griefstricken that he’d sought solace in the bottle.
He tightened his grip on her wrist, and frantically she wondered how she would manage to kick him when she had not seen her feet in months. “The Princess Juliana—God rest her soul—was murdered.”
Certainly his words were those of a madman. “You are mistaken. She took her own life, Yves.”
He shook his head, his eyes wild with fury. “She was murdered, mademoiselle. She had discovered too much. She knew that your son—”
Isabelle raised her hand. She didn’t need the ramblings of a drunken servant, especially not one who had never liked her. “That is quite enough, Yves. As you can no doubt see, my child has not yet been born.”
“You carry a son.”
“I carry a child,” she corrected him, feeling once again the icy wings of fear against her face. “Whether it is a son or a daughter I do not know.” The man was mad. There could be no other explanation.
“They know,” said Yves as she struggled to break free. “Why else would they have brought you here?”
She stomped down hard on his instep. He cried out, releasing her from his grasp. Moving as quickly as she could, she darted from the airless room and hurried into the center hallway.
“Dear girl!” A familiar voice called out. “I have been looking for you.”
She stopped, then turned to see Honore Malraux swiftly making his way toward her.
“Isabelle!” He was at her side in an instant. He gripped her by the shoulders and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. “Mon dieu, my darling child, what has happened?”
“What on earth has been going on here? I believe that Yves has lost his mind.”
Honore’s face registered no surprise at her statement. “I am so sorry you had to see him that way. He has been having a difficult time of late.”
“I never knew Yves was a drinker.”
“Ah, the things men will turn to in an hour of need. They are myriad, my dear, and deadly.” He stepped back to look at her. “More beautiful than ever. You are your mother come back to life.”
She took a deep breath as a wave of dizziness came over her.
“Darling child!” Honore propped her up with his arm. “You are unwell?”
“It is so stuffy in here,” she s
aid. “I don’t remember the castle being so dreadfully stuffy. I cannot bear this place another second.”
“One moment,” said Honore, leading her to a gilt chair. “I shall be right back.”
He returned minutes later with a cold glass of spring water which she gratefully drank. He placed the crystal goblet down on the floor, then helped her to her feet.
“Come,” said Honore, taking her by the arm. “This is all too much for you. You need time to assimilate the changes.”
“I should like to use the telephone first. Maxine must be frantic with worry.”
“No,” he said smoothly, “first you must regain your composure. You sound distraught, my dear. You would not want to cause Maxine undue concern, would you?”
“Disappearing off the streets of Manhattan might have caused her a bit of worry, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I am appalled at how dreadfully this situation has been handled. Maxine has no call for alarm. She and I had a long chat while you were en route. All is well. I am concerned that my staff did not tell you that.”
They stepped outside into the sparkling sunshine of a Perreault morning. The smell of pine—the rush of the wind—so many memories. I’m never coming back—not as long as I live.
“How did Maxine take the news of Juliana’s death?”
“As one would expect,” Honore said, guiding her carefully across a footbridge. “With enormous sorrow.”
“Will she be here for the funeral?”
Honore shook his head. “I did not think it advisable.”
“Did Maxine understand?”
“She is a wise woman.”
She refrained from asking questions about Daniel. Both men had campaigned for the right to build in Perreault. Hard feelings between them would not be surprising.
She heard the sound of footsteps running close by and the heavy thunk of a car door being slammed shut. Loud voices, arguing in French, echoed in the stillness and were punctuated by the growl of an engine.
Honore seemed oblivious to it all. “Eric told me you were concerned about your lack of wardrobe for the services this afternoon.”
The Princess and the Billionaire (Billionaire Lovers - Book #2) Page 26
