THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART

by Cathcart, Sharon E. ;Courtney, James

  After our lovemaking, Claire insisted on making our supper; the simple fare was delicious. Then, I read to her for a while and she fell asleep on the chaise. I brought the quilt from the foot of the bed and covered her with it.

  I am amazed to find myself the object of a woman’s desire, nay, her ardor. I am beyond delighted that she accepted my proposal when she could so easily have gainsaid my advances. Just thinking about her passionate lovemaking stirs my body with desire.

  For now, though, I am content to watch her sleep.

  * * * * *

  I awoke the next morning in the bedroom, where I distinctly did not recall going! I subsequently learned that Erik had carried me in from the parlor and tucked me in before retiring himself. My husband was already up and about, and came into the room when he heard me stirring. I donned a warm wrapper and was brushing my hair when he sat down on the bed with the newspaper in his hand.

  “My love, I’ve been reading Le Matin,” he began.

  “You bought Le Matin here?” I interrupted, surprised that a Paris paper was available in the small village.

  “Yes, I did. Please, look at this article.” He held out the paper, folded open to a specific story, and I took it.

  As I read the article, I gaped in astonishment. The story concerned Giraud’s murder, which had been ruled as death by misadventure and the inquest closed since no real cause of death could be determined. I had known Erik’s weapon was effective, but had no idea up until then just how skilled he was in its use. I could not suppress a shiver. I was further amazed that my name was mentioned insofar as I had disappeared. However, the description Francois had given of me was so significantly divorced from reality that no one would ever identify me by it.

  “Tall, with golden hair?” I laughed. “I am neither of those things.”

  Erik was more solemn.

  “It could mean any number of things, but I suspect Dupin and Richard have paid your cousin handsomely to remain silent on the matter. Those two fools cannot afford any further scandal attached to their opera house. This does not, however, mean that your cousin will not attempt to find you himself. I’m very concerned that this might be the case.”

  I sat down next to him on the bed. “Well, what do you mean to do then?”

  “Right now? I intend to enjoy the remainder of our honeymoon. When we return to Paris, we will decide together what to do. Shall we break our fast, my love?”

  He stood and walked out of the room.

  For a man determined to enjoy the remainder of our honeymoon, Erik was in a very black funk indeed. He barely spoke as I made tea and toast, and we ate our first breakfast as man and wife in uncomfortable silence.

  I cleared the dishes from the table and washed them before returning to the bedroom to complete my toilette for the day. When I entered the water closet, I found that Erik had put in a dirt box for Pierre so that the cat would not have to go outside. Said cat was happily curled up on the bed asleep.

  After a quick wash-up using hot water from the tea kettle mixed with cold water from the sink pump, I dressed in a simple dark skirt and blouse and pinned my hair up. I was pinning the straw bonnet in place when Erik came into the bedroom.

  “I’m going into town to do the day’s marketing,” I said. “Do you wish to accompany me.”

  “No,” he replied quietly. “Go on without me.” He sat down on the bed with his back to me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just go, Claire.”

  I had no idea what I’d done to cause offense and, in fact, could think of nothing untoward that had occurred. This made me somewhat irate, to say the least.

  “Very well then, Monsieur. You are welcome to sit here in the house for the remainder of the day. I, on the other hand, will be out and about getting to know the shopkeepers in town.”

  With that, I gathered my reticule and marketing basket and stalked out of the house.

  CHAPTER 23

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  I am, as the Bard would say, Fortune’s fool.

  How can I tell her? I am learning just how much I do not know about human interactions. I don’t know how to tell Claire that I am worried about her safety without somehow insulting her independence. And yet, I have obviously done exactly that. My own foolish pride stopped me from following her to the door and calling after her: begging her to wait and offering to accompany her. How can I right the wrong I have done by saying nothing?

  There is still time for me to catch up to her. I will join her after all.

  * * * * *

  I was close to tears as I made my way into town. My hands trembled and I was sure I did not present a very pleasant picture to the local villagers doing their marketing. I fought back the tears and planned what I would purchase: some carrots, petit pois, a chicken, some chicken stock. More bread and perhaps a pot of jam or honey. Fish for Pierre.

  I also felt a trifle lightheaded and too warm, both of which I put down to not enough breakfast and too much anger.

  I was momentarily sidetracked by a bookseller’s window. My mind harkened back to the night before, with Erik reading to me in the parlor. I loved everything about him, but his mellifluous voice was one of the things I adored the most.

  I stepped into the bookseller’s, inhaling the peculiar smell of old paper and glue that seemed to permeate such establishments. The elderly, bespectacled gentleman proprietor nodded a greeting to me and I browsed the shelves. I found a chair, where I sat down when I had another bout of lightheadedness, which made paging through the books very convenient. I chose a couple of novels and a small volume of poems and paid for my selection. My purchases were wrapped in brown paper by the gentleman, who bade me return and wished me good day. I would, if nothing else, look forward to reading my new acquisitions.

  I crossed over to the greengrocer’s to select my carrots and peas, and it was then I noticed my husband at the flower stand. As always, the beauty of his unmarred left side took my breath away. What a rakehell he would have been but for an accident of birth, I thought. The flower girl was obviously charmed and intrigued by him. His porcelain mask leant an air of mystery to him and, with his flawless manners and elegant bearing, he might have been a nobleman.

  Erik looked up the street and caught my eye, hurrying toward me with a beautiful nosegay of roses.

  “Claire,” he said, “I am so sorry.”

  “For what?” I asked. “Clearly I am the one who has caused offense somehow.”

  “No, my god, no,” he whispered, his eyes closed. When he opened them, they shone with emotion. “I am worried about you. After all we have seen, I fear that your cousin will find you and do you harm; I could not live through losing you.”

  I stood there as though moonstruck, the vegetables forgotten.

  “Do you really think such a thing might occur?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, don’t let’s think about it for now. Like you, I want to enjoy the rest of our time in the country. Now, won’t you help me by going to the charcuterie for a chicken and some stock?”

  He lifted my hand to his mouth and brushed my knuckles with his lips. “Anything you want.”

  Erik met me on the sidewalk with the package from the butchers’ and added it to my basket full of vegetables, jam and sundries. We stopped at the fishmongers’ for Pierre and, when the last item was packed into the basket, Erik carried it as we walked back to the cottage.

  “I wish you had just told me this morning,” I said. “I can’t tell what you are thinking, you know.”

  As Erik unlatched the door, I made him promise that he would always tell me when he was worried about something.

  I felt quite tired from my exertions, which was surprising. I went into the bedroom to loosen my stays a bit, as I felt even warmer than before. La grippe had gone around my Place des Vosges neighborhood, and I suspected I had a slight touch of it. What a splendid way to spend a honeymoon, I groaned inwardly.

  “Erik,” I called
, “could you come into the boudoir?”

  Something in my tone must have told him that I did not have passion in mind, because when Erik entered the room, his look was one of concern. Finding me in skirt and stays, the back loosened, did not help.

  “What is it?”

  “In all of the finery you purchased for me, is there a flannel night rail? I don’t recall seeing one. I feel rather poorly ...”

  His face solemn, Erik felt my forehead. “You’ve a fever.”

  Erik ransacked the clothespress and turned up beautiful lawn and silk nightwear but nothing warm. He opened his own drawers and pulled out a linen shirt and the loose silk trousers he favored for nightwear.

  “Put these on,” he insisted. “I’ll go into town and get you a flannel night rail myself if you want, but first we need to get you out of those clothes and into bed.” He smiled then. “God help me, this may be the first time I’ve wanted you in bed without thoughts of lovemaking.”

  “And this may be the first time since I’ve known you in which such thoughts are absent from my own wicked head,” I laughed drily as I sat down on the bed to remove my shoes and stockings.

  “No, let me.” Erik removed my shoes, stockings and garters efficiently and then bade me stand up so that he could untie the waist of my skirt and remove my corset. The sheer lawn chemise was unbuttoned and dropped to the floor and Erik helped me into his elegant linen shirt, which hung to my knees. The silk trousers were, of course, too long and the waist large on me; fortunately, they had a drawstring that could be tightened.

  “You look charming,” he said as I looked down at the absurd costume whilst tugging the pins out of my hair.

  “Please, Claire, just let me.”

  Erik sat me down on the bed again and took the remaining pins out of my hair. He brushed it efficiently, braided it into a loose plait, helped me under the covers and fluffed the pillows.

  “I believe I saw some books in that basket; I’ll be back in a moment to read to you.”

  When he returned, Erik had not only a book but a large glass of water.

  “Sip from this,” he said. “Don’t try to drink too quickly.”

  Pierre hopped up on the bed to curl up next to me, purring loudly as Erik pulled up the chair from the vanity up next to me. The little heart-backed chair hardly seemed as though it would accommodate Erik’s frame, but somehow he managed. Even now, I noticed that he seated himself with his left side facing toward me. Through my fever’s fog, I wondered how long it would take him to understand that I cared for more than his looks.

  Erik perused the titles I had chosen.

  “Hmmm. Balzac’s ‘Passion in the Desert’ seems a little much just at this time,” he mused. “Perhaps a few selections from the Bard’s ‘Sonnets’ instead.”

  He read aloud to me, his beautiful voice lulling me into a state of relaxation and, eventually, sleep.

  I was awakened later by a metallic crash, and a curse from the other room.

  “Damn you, you accursed cat! Continue in this way and you’ll be made into violin strings!”

  I got out of bed and went into the kitchen to see what was the matter.

  CHAPTER 24

  I found Erik shooing Pierre away as he cut up the chicken we’d bought earlier in the day. Pierre had jumped up on the draining board and knocked down the roasting pan lid. Erik looked so annoyed that I could not restrain a giggle.

  “Ah! You’re awake,” he said. “I hope chicken roasted with potatoes and carrots will be adequate. I’ve also included some rosemary and lavender from the garden.”

  I must have goggled as I sat down at the small table.

  “Yes, my dear, I do know how to prepare dishes other than eggs,” he continued. “However, I ordinarily do so without the assistance of a cat.”

  Pierre jumped up into my lap and Erik was then able to finish his cookery and put the pan into the oven.

  After he washed his hands, Erik came over and touched my forehead.

  “Still feverish. I suspect a touch of la grippe.”

  I nodded in agreement; I felt miserable.

  “Here,” he said, pouring some hot liquid from a pot into a mug for me. “It’s an infusion of white tea and lavender. The lavender will help bring down your fever, and also help you to sleep.”

  I sipped obediently at the steaming liquid and was surprised to find it quite tasty.

  “Where did you learn about this?” I asked.

  “In Persia.”

  The subject was clearly closed, because Erik walked out of the kitchen and into the parlor, only to return with a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

  “I hope this will meet your needs,” he said as he put it into my lap. “While you slept, I had plenty of time to go into town.”

  “Really? How long have I been asleep?”

  Erik examined his pocket watch. “Some three hours.”

  I untied the string around the parcel and opened it to find a soft flannel night rail, printed with lavender flowers and pintucked at the bodice.

  “There were some with lace, but the quality was poor and it was itchy,” Erik said quietly as he took the chair opposite me. “I thought you would like this one.”

  I realized that he was unsure of how this plain gift would be received, but I was touched by his thoughtfulness.

  “Thank you so much, my love. You do look out for me.” I reached across the table and caressed his hand. He smiled then, obviously reassured.

  “We have nearly an hour before supper will be ready,” he said. “Why don’t you change out of my clothes and into your night gown, and then come into the parlor.”

  I went into the bedroom and did as he asked. The gown was a little long, but that meant I’d be able to tuck my feet underneath. I undid my braid, brushed my hair out, and tied it loosely at my neck with a length of lavender ribbon. The soft cotton flannel was warm and comforting against my skin.

  When I came into the parlor, I found that Erik had built a fire there and laid featherbeds on the chaise.

  “Please relax here,” he said. “I’ll see to your needs.”

  The steaming mug of lavender tea was on a table next to the chaise, and I drank the draught greedily.

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  I have always been blessed with good health, save for the circulation problem that plagues me with cold hands in winter. Claire, fortunately, is a hale and hearty soul, for I know that people die of la grippe. If my travels brought me nothing else, I have learned enough herb lore to know what will help her. Fortunately, many of the things I need are right in Zareh’s garden.

  She looks surprisingly pretty in the night gown I bought for her in town, the lavender lighting her blue eyes. A simple thing, and yet precisely what was needed. The happiness in her eyes, so bright in a face pale with fever, was worth the agony of going into town alone and enduring the stares at my mask.

  I kept her wrapped in blankets before the fire, for I know that the fever is her body’s way of trying to warm itself. I plied her with the lavender tea, which she fortunately enjoys. I brought her a plate with a small serving of chicken and vegetables, encouraging her to eat something although she had little appetite. Now, she is asleep on the chaise longue, her tabby cat curled in the crook of her knees.

  I find myself angry at her illness, of all things. Not angry at Claire for falling ill, but at the illness itself. We should be celebrating our honeymoon together ... with all that is implied there. Yet, this illness has taken that time from us both. I will make it up to her, I vow it.

  CHAPTER 25

  I woke the next morning to Erik’s gentle kiss on my forehead. He was kneeling, barefaced, next to the chaise. When I caressed his ravaged cheek, it was rough with stubble. His clothes were disheveled; he had obviously remained awake all night.

  “Good morning, my love,” I whispered.

  “Good morning,” he smiled. “Your fever has decreased somewhat; you feel cooler to the touch. I want you to remain quiet tod
ay, and continue drinking the lavender tea.”

  I nodded my assent, even as I put my arms around his neck and drew him to me. I kissed him gently.

  “I promise to be a very good patient, Monsieur le Docteur. I’ll drink the tea until it comes out my ears if it will please you. But you, my darling Erik, are the greatest tonic I know. You didn’t need to stay up with me.”

  “And what if you had needed something in the night?” he asked. “I needed to be there for you.”

  I sat up on the chaise and pushed the featherbeds away. I stood up, but felt lightheaded and sat back down. Erik was on his feet immediately.

  “Just tell me what you need and I’ll bring it to you, Claire.”

  I laughed a little then.

  “I do not think you can bring the water closet, my love.”

  “Ah. No ... but I can help you to it.”

  I stood again and took his arm, and he walked me to the necessary room. I felt silly, but had to admit to myself that I was rather weak and that the assistance was appreciated. I glanced at myself in the mirror; my face was wan, my eyes ringed in dark circles. I shook my head in disgust at my reflection and then allowed Erik to help me back to the parlor.

  “I look dreadful,” I sighed as I sank onto the chaise.

  “Then we are indeed a pair,” Erik said drily, rubbing his chin. I could hear the stubble rasp against his hand.

  “I would love a bath,” I sighed. “I do wish we had your caldarium right now.”

  Erik sat down next to me and caressed my cheek, tilting my chin up toward him.

  “Claire, you are beautiful in my eyes now, and always.” He kissed me again and then smiled. “I have some very happy memories of that caldarium thanks to you.”

  I stroked his cheek again, and he leaned into my palm to kiss the inside of my wrist. I shivered with pleasure, as he knew I would. I leaned against his chest and sighed with contentment and happiness.