“Your paintings always fetch a good price.” Henri walked over to the table to study the watercolor Alexandre had before him. “This is the Meadow of the Fairies,” he said in surprise. “You once said that was the one place you'd never paint.”
A memory of the day he had kissed Tess beneath the plane tree flashed through his mind. “I know.”
“It was too magical to capture on canvas, you said. Yet, you've painted it twice now. First Tess's portrait, and now this.”
Alexandre turned away, not wanting to talk about the painting, not wanting to think about why he was painting it. He couldn't keep the events of that day out of his mind, and the meadow had been beckoning him to paint it again ever since. “I know what I said,” he muttered and began cleaning his brushes. “I changed my mind. Deem it an artistic whim.”
“Very well. Speaking of your art, I received another invitation for you to do an exhibition at the Royal Academy in London. I wish you would consider it.”
“I have no desire to go to London.”
“What about Paris, then? I have also received invitations from several of the galleries there, asking you to exhibit paintings. The English would pay more, but Paris is closer to home.”
“I am finished with exhibitions. I don't show my work like wares in a shop window any longer.”
“It isn't the exhibitions that bother you,” Henri pointed out, “and we both know it. Leaving here, even for a short time, is what makes you refuse.”
“Whatever my reasons,” Alexandre said, “I have no intention of discussing them.”
Henri raised his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I don't understand this attitude of yours. Why not go to London or Paris? What could possibly be holding you here?”
“I am here because I choose to be here.”
“You're here because this place is filled with reminders of Anne-Marie. You won't leave, because if you left, you might start to forget what happened. You might begin to forgive yourself and that—”
Alexandre slammed the jar containing his brushes on the table, hard enough that the paint-tinted water spilled over the edge, pooling on the table. “I have refused, and that is the end of it, Henri. Leave it be.”
The two men faced each other across the table, their gazes locked, each determined to make the other see and accept his point of view.
A soft cough from the stairs caused both men to turn in that direction. Tess stood there, a tray in her hands. “Pardon me,” she apologized. “I thought the two of you might wish for some morning coffee.”
Alexandre watched her for a moment, wondering how much she had heard, but her face told him nothing. Her expression was impassive as she brought the tray over to the table. When he glanced over the tray, he noticed that along with the silver coffee pot, milk, and sugar, she had brought up a plate of blackberry tarts.
She turned away, giving both men a smile over her shoulder as she started for the door. “You two may resume your argument now.”
She had barely vanished before Henri began to laugh. “I can see she wasn't concerned about whether or not I was hungry. Jeanette would have told her I don’t care for blackberries. But,” he added, looking at Alexandre, “I don't suppose she made them for me.”
Alexandre picked up one of the flaky morsels. “Well, she is my housekeeper.”
“After you've finished eating all the tarts on the tray—and I know you will eat them all—why don't we go down and do some fencing? I am sorely in need of practice with you. I lost to a left-handed opponent only a week ago.”
Alexandre grinned. “So you want to defeat me and soothe your wounded pride?”
“That’s rather what I’m hoping.”
“It will never happen,” he promised, taking a bite of tart. “Not in a thousand years“
***
After taking the tray for the men up to the studio, Tess returned to the kitchen. The two women had breakfast together, then Tess showed Jeanette the nursery. Leading her into the wardrobe room adjoining her bedchamber, she said, “It's very small, I know, but it will have to do for now.”
Jeanette nodded, but she did not reply, for her attention was fixed on the cradle that sat in one corner. Stepping forward, she leaned down and studied it for a moment. “Where did you find this?”
“Alexandre gave it to me for the baby. He didn't say anything about it. I just found it in here one day.” Tess turned to her. “It was meant for his own baby, wasn't it? What happened?”
Jeanette met her eyes. “The baby died.”
“So did his wife. Isn't that right?”
Jeanette nodded and turned to walk out of the room, but Tess reached out and touched her shoulder. “Please tell me.”
“Has Alexandre told you anything about his wife?”
“Yes.” Tess gave a sigh and let her hand fall to her side. “He told me that he killed her.”
Jeanette expelled her breath in a sharp sigh. “He didn't do anything of the sort, but I don't think I’m the one to ask about it. If Alexandre wanted you to know, he would tell you himself.”
Tess nodded reluctantly, but she asked, “Could you at least tell me something about his wife? Who was she? What was she like?”
“Anne-Marie was my sister.”
“What?”
“We’d known Alexandre and Henri all our lives. When Alexandre was twenty-one, he wanted to go to Italy to paint, but my father would not allow Anne-Marie to marry him because she was only sixteen and he thought her too young. They eloped and went to Italy together. They did not return until six years later, when Napoleon fell.”
“She was very beautiful,” Tess said. When Jeanette shot her a questioning glance, she added, “I saw the portrait Alexandre did of her.”
“She was beautiful, yes. And also full of life...” She paused and a pained expression crossed her face. “I loved my sister, but I had no illusions about her character. She was a capricious girl, passionate but subject to violent changes of mood. She and Alexandre had a...tempestuous marriage. It was not always a happy one.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was carrying a child when she died. The child died as well. Afterward, Alexandre dismissed all the servants, closed the winery, and began living the life of a recluse. That was three years ago.”
“He didn't kill her.” Tess cast Jeanette an almost defiant look. “Alexandre could never do such a thing. But, somehow, he blames himself for what happened. Is it because she died having his baby?”
“It's more complicated than that, I'm afraid.” Jeanette glanced once more at the cradle and said, “I don't have the right to tell you anything more. As I said, if Alexandre wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself.”
“Alexandre loved her very much, didn't he?”
“Always.”
Such a definitive answer made Tess’s heart sink, and when Jeanette left the nursery, she lingered behind a moment, and though she had resolved just the night before not to engage in wishful thinking, she stared at the cradle and did a little of it anyway.
***
When Tess finally left her room and descended the stairs, she noticed Jeanette standing on the first landing, staring down into the hall below. She heard a noisy clatter going on below and the sound of shouting male voices. Pausing by the other woman, she looked down over the bannister and saw Alexandre in the center of the wide hall, a foil in his hand, and he was using the weapon to force Henri to parry and retreat. Though both men wore masks, Alexandre’s larger frame and longer hair gave him away, even before he spoke.
“Your back is nearly against the wall,” Alexandre informed his brother, taking another lunge and forcing him another step backward. “Would you like to yield now?”
“Never,” Henri shouted back, striking out for Alexandre's exposed flank with a lunge of his own.
Alexandre parried that thrust and lunged again. Tess watched him as he continued to force his brother to retreat, and though she could see at once his skill and speed, she had
little time to admire them, for with a feint and a quick thrust, Alexandre forced Henri back against the wall, his foil touching his brother’s chest.
“I yield, I yield!” Henri laughed and lowered his weapon and reaching back to pull off his mask. “Damn you left-handed fencers. You always have the advantage.”
Alexandre also lowered his foil and removed his own mask. Shaking back his hair, he gave his opponent a triumphant grin. “You were right, Henri. You are definitely in need of practice.”
“Does this mean we'll be invited to visit more often?” Jeanette asked from the stairs, her voice teasing.
Alexandre glanced up at the two women. His gaze moved from his sister-in-law to Tess and lingered there. “Perhaps,” he allowed, with a nod. “Perhaps.”
Chapter Fifteen
During the next several days, while Alexandre gave Henri the opportunity to practice his fencing, Tess and Jeanette spent much of their time making plans for the baby and becoming better acquainted. Though they talked about many things, the subject of Anne-Marie was not mentioned again, much to Jeanette’s relief. Her sister was a subject she still found painful to discuss, not only because her death had been such a tragedy for all of them, but also because Alexandre was still blaming himself for it.
If only he could move past the guilt he carried, Jeanette thought, staring out the kitchen window as she waited for the morning tea to steep. If only he could resume his life, find love again.
At that moment, Tess entered the courtyard, and Jeanette felt a glimmer of hope, for Tess was the first fracture in Alexandre’s seemingly impenetrable armor, and that was a very good sign.
And it was plain as day that Tess was in love with him, though Jeanette suspected Alexandre himself was oblivious to the fact. Men, she thought in some exasperation, never see these things.
She watched as Tess, returning from her morning chores, crossed the courtyard, carrying a milk pail in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other. Halfway across the courtyard, she paused and set down the basket to pick up something from the ground. She thrust it into her apron, and it wasn’t until she entered the kitchen that Jeanette saw what it was.
“Lost another one, has he?” Jeanette asked with a smile, gesturing to the ribbon that was sticking out of Tess’s apron pocket.
The eyes of the two women met in understanding. “He's always losing them,” Tess said, smiling. “When he becomes frustrated or worried or angry, he rakes his hand through his hair and his ribbon comes loose. He never seems to notice.”
“Why Alexandre refuses to have his hair properly cut, I cannot understand.”
“I don’t think he cares much one way or the other.”
“I know.” Jeanette gave an unhappy sigh. “That indifference is part of what worries me.” Realizing she might perhaps be open herself to the topic of her sister again, Jeanette reached for the tea pot. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tess set the milk and eggs on the counter, and pulled the ribbon from her pocket. “I find these all the time, but I never say anything. I just press them and return them to the drawer where they belong.”
Jeanette watched as Tess looked down at the ribbon, rubbing the silk between her fingers, listening as Tess added in a soft voice, “I don't mind.”
Yes, Jeanette thought, noting the tender expression on her face and the loving nuance of her voice. It’s plain as day.
But Alexandre, she knew, sought to avoid intimacy at any cost, and she knew it was quite possible Tess’s love would never be returned.
Late the following day, however, Alexandre himself gave her reason to hope. She had decided it was time to make good on her promise to help with the making of baby clothes and while Tess was taking an afternoon nap, Jeanette took sewing basket into the courtyard to enjoy the sunshine as she worked.
She was absorbed in fitting a tiny shirt sleeve into an armhole, and didn't hear the sound of footsteps, looking up only when a shadow fell across her, and she looked up to find Alexandre standing before her.
“Good afternoon.” She gestured to empty place beside her on the stone bench. “Have you finished your fencing practice with Henri?”
He nodded and sat down, but he said nothing. He simply watched her as she pinned fabric together, and he was silent so long that she finally paused in her task. “I don't suppose you'd like to stop staring and help?” she teased.
He did not return her smile. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
His voice was so grave, she set aside her sewing at once to give him her full attention. “Yes?”
“I asked you to come here to deliver Tess's baby, and I'm very grateful that you came, but I have another favor to ask of you.”
“Anything. You know that.”
He reached out and ran his hand along the edge of the sewing basket. “I want you to find some servants for me.”
“Really?” Jeanette stared at him, her hopes rising.
He reached into the basket, fingering a piece of soft white flannel. His brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “Tess works too hard.”
She heard the worry in his voice. “I've tried to tell her not to do so much.”
“I know. I, too, have told her, but she doesn't listen. She became my housekeeper in exchange for room and board, and she feels she is obligated to earn her keep. For the sake of her pride, I have allowed it, but that cannot continue.”
“I agree.” Jeanette knew that Alexandre would be uncomfortable with having local people in the house, and even if he were willing to do so for Tess’s sake, she didn’t know if she could find many willing to come, for she was fully aware of the hideous rumors that surrounded her brother-in-law. She thought the matter over for a few moments, then she gave an exclamation. “Paul and Leonie would be perfect.”
Alexandre shot her an inquiring glance, and she went on, “There is a couple—Paul and Leonie Renault. He is a footman in our household and she a housemaid, and as so often happens, they fell in love, and decided to marry. Since it’s customary not to have servants who are married, they had thought to leave our service, but Henri was much too soft-hearted to let them go for that reason.”
“Henri?” he asked, giving her a teasing glance.
“Well, I must confess, I'm rather the same way. But now they have a baby, and it shall be impossible for us to keep them. Some of the other servants resent what they perceive as favoritism, and besides, we can’t have all our servants marrying and having babies. We haven’t the room to house them all! But your situation here is different. You have plenty of room, and any additional servants you hire will know coming in that a married couple with a child is already in place. I will write to them and see if they would be willing to come here. I assume you’d want them straightaway?”
“Yes.” He rose to his feet. “I don't want Tess taking any risks with her health. She's too close to having the baby.”
Jeanette smiled as he back as he walked away, for she knew this was a momentous step forward for her reclusive brother-in-law. More than that, it was a miracle.
***
Nigel stared at the innkeeper with distaste, careful to remain at least half a dozen strides away. The man reeked of garlic and rancid grease and bad wine. The inn, located on the road from Paris to Lyon, was dark and empty and smelled as bad as the man who owned it.
Nigel held a perfumed lace handkerchief to his nose for a moment, breathing deeply, then tucked the handkerchief back in the pocket of his cream silk waistcoat. “You're certain?”
The man nodded, glancing once again at the painted miniature in his hand. “Mais oui. She was here. Two days, perhaps three, she stayed here, but that was months ago.”
“If it was months ago, how do you remember her so well?” Martin Trevalyn stepped closer to the man, unmindful of the smell, and retrieved the miniature.
“She was dressed like a man. Tout de même, she did not fool me.” He gave a coarse laugh and shrugged. “But what will you? My wife, she watc
hes me like a hawk. Ah, les femmes...” He sighed at the temptations of the flesh that had been denied him.
Nigel also stepped forward, furious at the man's implication, but Trevalyn placed a hand on his arm. “He’s not worth the trouble of a fight, my lord,” the lawyer murmured, and though Nigel let out an angry hiss between his teeth, he knew Trevalyn was right.
“Well, man, did she say where she was going?” he asked.
“Non. She did not say.”
Nigel tossed a handful of coins at the innkeeper's feet, and the two men departed, leaving the innkeeper to scramble for the coins rolling across the greasy floor.
***
“Splendid idea. The girl works much too hard.” Henri nodded with approval, holding up his glass to down the last swallow of brandy. “I'm glad you've finally come to your senses about servants.” He started to take another sip, realized the glass was empty, and declared, “I'd like another.”
He held out his glass, and his brother poured, but only a few drops trickled from the bottle. Alexandre lifted it to the lamplight, frowning at the lack of brandy within. “It's empty.”
Henri sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table between them. “Another one? How many is that?”
“Two, I think.”
Henri sighed again. “Well, there has to be more here somewhere.”
“I'll see what I can find.” Alexandre rose to his feet, and the unsteadiness he felt told him he’d rather underestimated the quantity of brandy they’d consumed. He crossed to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the library to the cabinet, and let out a triumphant, if rather loud, exclamation. “Ah, more brandy.”
“Knew you'd find some,” Henri said with the complacence of a truly drunken man. He held aloft his glass. “Pour. Try not to miss this time.”
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