“It is, yes.”
“But you would not have rendered aid otherwise?”
He stopped midswing, a tightness taking over his countenance. Surprise, maybe, that she’d judged him so.
“I would hope a gentleman would render aid to a lady wherever it should be needed, mademoiselle, regardless of her station. But yes, on that night, Fan was your savior far more than I. She and her brother, Gabin, overheard the plan making threats against the estate. The rhetoric of those who would rise up against their masters. When Gabin’s efforts at stifling the uprising failed, they turned to me. By the time I’d received notice of an impending attack, we hadn’t the ability to let the castle of its party guests. We believed it a greater risk to leave them roaming the woods. But though she delivered my note, I would have you hold Fan and her brother blameless in what’s happened. This is not their doing.”
“Somehow I knew that already, but I am grateful for the truth. And I do hold them blameless. As I do you. It is my opinion that you did all you could to prevent this atrocity. And thank Providence there was no loss of life. Castles can be rebuilt far more easily than broken lives.”
“Very true.”
“But now that it’s over, I don’t know . . . what you mean to do with me. Unless Philippe returns or until I am transferred back into my father’s care, I haven’t anyone else to turn to.” She drew in a deep breath and raised her chin a notch. “So I should like to hear your intentions.”
He hesitated in the rhythm of chopping, meeting her gaze. “My intentions are to keep you safe, and keep you well. The rest I leave to your father and fiancé. I sent a missive to Paris straight-away, the night of the fire. They would be aware of what’s occurred by now.”
“I see. And a reply?”
“None yet. Regardless, I made the decision to shelter you here until you are well enough for a coach journey. But even then, I hesitate to put a time to your departure. There is risk with travel by road even on a good day. But now that Paris is in upheaval, I couldn’t allow you to go back until we know it is safe to do so.”
“And your vineyard is not in upheaval?”
Robert turned his attention to studying the mingling of trees around them. Rays of sunlight cut down through the trees, dancing through the bower overhead and waving about on the ground at their feet.
“The sun should do you some good.”
Not seeing the connection in the abrupt change of subject, Aveline sent a sidelong glance to the thicket of trees past the ridge. “Yes . . . it is why I came outside this morning. In part, anyway.”
“What I mean is that you should spend more time outside. As much as possible. I don’t mean to cause injury, mademoiselle, but your skin is—”
“An abhorrence.” Aveline swallowed hard. “I can imagine.”
Though she had yet to see her own reflection, it was not difficult to guess how he might behold her. It did no good to hold illusions; burns scarred. Left traces. And judging by the pain that lingered as her skin fought to heal, Aveline couldn’t suppress the monstrous images her mind invented.
His gaze met hers, unwavering.
“You misunderstand. It is a detriment.” Robert spoke gently and took a half step forward. “But only to your safety. Your skin is porcelain. Ladies of la noblesse alone can claim such. Here, the women labor under the sun and their skin shows the hours spent in the vineyard. And your hands—I’d wager they’ve not seen work. Forgive me, but those who toil in the arbors will take notice of that immediately. If you’re discovered it will put you at risk. And though we will try as long as we may, we cannot keep you hidden away in this cottage forever. If we want to see you reunited with your family, we must allow you to hide while blending in until such time as we can arrange it.”
“You mean to make me work the land?”
“No. Certainly not. I would not ask that you truly labor like the rest—only give the impression of it if your presence at the cottage is found out.”
Aveline scanned the small clearing around the cottage.
He’d split reams of wood—half a wall high already—and had stacked them against the stone wall with great care. Linens had been strung up on a cord of twine tied between the trees. Women’s work, no doubt. Most likely by Fanetta’s toil. But he tended the land same as a servant and showed no conceit in it.
That merited notice.
“And if I should want to work?”
He shook his head, not giving her an inch. “It’s not safe.”
“Why is that?”
“Mademoiselle, I hesitate to add to the misery of your circumstances by being forthright—”
“No. It’s alright. I prefer it, as a matter of fact.” Aveline drew into herself, wrapping her arms around her middle—with care, of course, for the pain in hasty movements.
Robert watched her, twisting his hand around the ax handle, like he battled with how to soften whatever blow he had to deliver.
“Please, monsieur. I am not as fragile as my injuries would lead you to believe.”
“Alright.” A pause, deep inhale, and leveled gaze later, he added, “They are still looking for you.”
“They . . . you mean the men who waged war on your family’s home?”
“Yes. They came to the vineyard first. Demanded entry here that very night. Fan hid you in the woods until it was safe. And we circulated the talk that you’d fled with your mother. Taken the north road back to Paris. They watch it now, searching every peddler’s wagon that happens through. But as we still don’t know exactly who was in the revolt, I cannot allow you to be put at risk in working alongside them long enough to find out.”
Aveline paused, nodding, seeing the value in his argument.
Much like her father’s intense opinions, she guessed. But then, this man was not familiar with her tenacious nature. Paris would not assure her safety; that Aveline accepted now. Yet she couldn’t see how this threat was any worse. Stone walls could be stormed and estates felled in the city just as easily as they could in the countryside. The Bastille had proved that.
Fear would only end if she was willing to stand up to it.
“And . . . if I should still wish to work with them?”
“Why would you desire to work?”
“You labor here, do you not? Your family rank is above mine. If I’m to be elevated to the wife of the future Duc et Vivay, shouldn’t I work as my future brother-in-law does? This will, after all, become my land too. Would it not do that alliance good to work in the sun, arm in arm, with the people who support us, and understand why their plight drove them to see no recourse but to fell the castle of the very family who sustains them?”
His posture stiffened, and his brow tipped up in a swift wave of shock. “You would hold the men behind flaming torches blameless too?”
“Not blameless, no. But I would pay them the compliment of seeking to understand the impasse of life here at this country estate. Are they well cared for?”
“They are.”
“And what of taxation?”
Robert shifted his stance, the pause evident. “We tax them no more than the law requires.”
“I see. And perhaps therein lies our problem. Is it not customary to tax the people’s use of another man’s land? The right to live and even die in their own country? Perhaps Fanetta’s brother is taxed for the use of your winepress, to produce the very wine that is received in the king’s salon at Versailles. You may wish to see if the people you trust are truly your allies. Or allow me to work alongside them and learn it for you.”
Aveline paused, trying not to consider how her appearance might have been altered. Maybe by a wide margin. All vanity aside, she would use whatever bargaining ground they had.
“I wasn’t presented at the ball. Not formally. The only ones to have seen my face and know who I am were a select few in service, and like Fan, I’d wager they are loyal to your family. So where is the risk if no one will recognize me?”
Something twinkled in his eyes. A
musement, perhaps? “Forgive me, mademoiselle, but your opinions are near to revolutionary.”
“So I have been told on occasion.” She walked over to the line, running her hand along the seam of a sheet. Dry. They could come down and her bed changed with them. “May I see to these?”
“You may. As long as you are well enough to do so.”
A sense of purpose washed over her. A small one, but purpose nonetheless. One that had nothing to do with former affectations of a Paris peeress, and everything to do with answering the call of the secret questions in her heart.
She tugged at the sheet, easing it free while careful through twinges of pain, and gathered the fabric in her arms before it touched the ground.
“I am well, sir. Thank you. So well, in fact, that you may expect me to finish this work before you complete yours.” Aveline turned, found the slow build of a smile evident upon his face, and returned the civility with a faint one of her own. “And I will be out here at sunup tomorrow, whether the Duc et Vivay’s son is awake yet or not.”
ELEVEN
PRESENT DAY
LES TROIS-MOUTIERS
LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE
The view owned a c’est bon-worthy description, just like in every Provençal movie Ellie had ever seen.
French doors and a private balcony presided over a span of vineyards and an abundant landscape of trees beyond. The doors had been left open, a breeze toying with white gauze curtains. Powder-blue walls and windows stretched from floor to high ceiling. A fireplace with elegant carved moldings and an oversized hearth lent the room its classic, French château feel.
Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, absently combing her fingers through her hair.
It was a perfect room. Too perfect. In an estate house basking in the heart of wine country. Nestled in hills, all laden with a coming harvest. And her grandmother’s castle—it was out there, quiet in its slumber, waiting to be discovered.
For the first time, in spite of the beauty around her, the solace pricked Ellie with the full impact of what she’d done. It had been far too easy to whisk away—run from her impending troubles. She’d given herself two weeks. Maybe three. But Laine’s e-mails and the time ticking away on the clock would determine how long she had to delve into Grandma Vi’s story.
Only two weeks. And did she expect her life to change in that time?
“Well, I’m here, Grandma. Secrets or not, I made it. So what in the world do I do now?” she whispered aloud, even exhaled, feeling the weight of nearly everything in her life coming down on her in the moment.
The sound of a boot rapping on the door startled her. Ellie shot up and turned, flattening waves behind her ear with a quick hand.
Quinn stood in the doorway, a suitcase in each hand. “Where would you like these?”
“Um . . . on the floor by the armoire is fine, thanks.”
“Right.” He stepped in and set the luggage down as she’d asked. “Towels are in the cupboard. En suite is through that door. The meal for guests is at half day—but in the dinin’ hall, the one facin’ the front drive.”
“Oh yes. Thank you.” She’d seen it. And received his veiled meaning also that the kitchen and breakfast room she’d wandered into earlier were reserved for family only.
“Your room key.” He handed it to her, tending his head in a respectful nod, and moved as if to leave without another word.
“Thank you.”
Say something . . . anything.
If Ellie didn’t at least ask him about seeing the castle, develop some rapport right then, it may prove difficult to crack the veneer of hospitality later on. That was, if he possessed it at all.
She edged a step forward. “I’m sorry about that down there . . . your grandfather? I didn’t know. He’s . . .”
Quinn stopped in the doorway, turned, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Blind. Or near enough to it anyway.”
“What I mean to say is I didn’t know. And I didn’t set out to cause any trouble. I’m sorry if I did.”
She meant it. To see the old man was struggling—it cast new light on her stay. Finding answers to the questions surrounding the castle ruins had been paramount on her mind. But seeing anyone in a similar situation as she was with Grandma Vi sparked a sudden sense of empathy she couldn’t ignore.
Thinking of how he’d taken time to fold a newspaper in his hands, she asked, “You read the paper to him?”
He nodded. “Every mornin’. He can still see some, light and shadow. Shapes. Enough to know where to walk without bumpin’ into things. But no longer type set on a newspaper. And certainly not a laptop screen. Those two ladies in the kitchen take pity on him and do his biddin’ to rent out rooms in our estate house. It won’t get better, unfortunately.” Quinn tipped his shoulders in a light shrug. “Fightin’ the world—it’s his way. He lives by the old rule of life here in the Loire—somethin’ his Irish grandson would know nothin’ about. So when I said rigid, what I really meant to say was stubborn as a hundred-year-old goat, and that’s being kind. He’s near enough in age and constitution to make it an accurate description. It’s not an argument with you.”
She smiled. Good. Apology accepted. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I interrupt a family breakfast.”
“I see you managed to sneak away from my grandmother and great-aunt before they heaped a third plate in front of ya.”
“And here I thought the French didn’t have more than a café au lait and croissant for breakfast. It’s been an education. Bread. Pastries and fruit. No cheese though. Something called brioche Suisse. And even bacon?”
“Ah yes. The rashers. My grandmother orders those special now that there’s an Irishman in the house.”
“That, and for the American tourist it seems. I’ll never need to eat again.”
“Oh, you think you won’t but ya will. And in just a couple of hours, if they have anythin’ to say about it.” Quinn checked his wristwatch and edged back toward the hall, as if time called him to walk away. “My advice—find a clever hidin’ place to stay out of sight during midday. But that tip’s free. Best o’ luck then.”
“Well, I was actually wondering . . .” Ellie stopped him again, feeling unsure this time.
Maybe it was the room.
Maybe the color of his eyes. Or his openness about what had occurred in the kitchen. Whatever it was, something hooked in her midsection and added the slight flutter of butterfly wings to the mix.
“. . . if you could take me on a tour of the grounds this morning? I’d like to get started on my research right away.”
“Research.” Quinn leveled his eyes in a slight squint, as if the word meant she owed him more. “You here for work then?”
She nodded. “Of a sort. That’s why I paid for a tour guide. I need someone to show me the grounds. The vineyards . . . the roads in and out of town . . . especially any castle ruins or rock walls in the vicinity. I’m looking for something specific, and for lack of better words, I’ll know it when I see it. So that means I’ll need to see everything.”
“You don’t say.”
If Ellie showed him enthusiasm, a hardworking spirit, maybe he’d see value in the fact that she wasn’t just there to pass the time tasting wine and visiting tourist shops. She was there to work. For answers. Surely he’d soften up a bit when she told him what she really sought. Locals always wanted to talk about the history of their land. He’d be no different.
“Yes. So if you can just show me around, I’m sure . . .”
“It’s not a good time. I have business to attend to.”
“You mean business out there?” She tilted her head toward the window. “In the vineyard?”
“It is the reignin’ enterprise around here. And I’m still learnin’ the ropes.”
Ellie sat in an upholstered chair by the hearth and swiped the boots she’d discarded nearby. “Good. Then I’ll go with you”—she pulled a boot up one leg—“and we can stop off on the way back.” She slipped
into the other boot and stood, ready to go.
He shook his head. Apparently, she’d lost him.
“Stop off where?”
Ellie pointed to the view through the open doors: a thicket of woods, with the tips of white stone turrets jutting out against the highest leaves. “There.”
Quinn shot his glance to the same view from the balcony but didn’t make a move to really look at what she was referring to. Maybe that meant he didn’t need to. He knew exactly what she wanted to see. It seemed a story he’d heard before. Had heard and, for whatever reason, didn’t appear to warm to at all.
“Don’t be tellin’ me that’s why you’re here.”
“In part. Yes. I came to see the castle,” she stated flatly, and folded her arms across her chest. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, I hate to disappoint, but that’s not goin’ to be possible.”
“Why on earth not?”
“It’s closed to the public. I may be new around here myself, but even I know it’s been that way for decades. And forgive me, but one American’s stubbornness isn’t likely to change that. Ya probably should have Googled a bit more about it before you set out.”
“If you think calling me stubborn will dissuade me, you’re on the wrong side of that argument. I take it as a compliment. And this is France’s valley of the kings, isn’t it? Tourists come here for that purpose—to see castles and châteaus, to taste some of the best wines in the world. Even a castle in ruins would garner some interest in a setting like this, right? Surely there’s an owner I can speak to? At least try to persuade them to just let me look for five minutes. Or at the very least, I could speak to your grandfather about it, with you to translate. You can’t tell me I came all this way and now it’s just . . . not possible.”
Quinn waited.
He was patient but also . . . annoyed? One could have heard a pin drop for how quiet he’d remained through her explanation. And though he was a good eight or so inches taller than her petite frame and probably thought he was a load tougher, Ellie stood her ground before him.
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