The Chateau by the River

by Chloé Duval

  “Hmm, not a bad idea.”

  “Not bad! Come on, it’s a perfect solution! But you’d have to be thorough in your choice. You’d need someone devoted, who loves history and heritage, and who cares about serving your best interests and the castle’s. Someone determined, unafraid to stand their ground if they need to. Someone independent enough to make decisions without calling you all the time.”

  A knowing smile stretched his lips.

  “Someone like you, in short.”

  “Really?” I feigned surprise. “You’re absolutely right! You need someone like me! A pity I’m going back to the States soon, huh?”

  Silence greeted my words; then, gently, Éric said: “Yes, it’s a pity.”

  For a few seconds, his gaze caught mine, heavy with something different, something new. My heart suddenly started beating faster while time seemed to stop.

  “Alexandra—” Éric began.

  “Is everything to your satisfaction, ladies and gentlemen?”

  The waiter’s question shattered the dangerous bubble that was rising around us.

  I turned to him.

  “Perfect, thank you,” I hurriedly replied.

  Éric returned his attention to his plate as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

  The waiter left, visibly satisfied.

  The rest of the meal was a little off. In appearance, nothing had changed, yet the air was subtly different. I teased him and he provoked me, but something had shifted. It was as though I had abruptly become very aware of him, of his movements, of his gaze. As though there were a new link between us, born of the secrets we had shared.

  We left the restaurant at midnight. Éric had insisted on paying as thanks for lending him my car.

  When we reached the hotel, the night warden informed us that the elevator was out of order and the repairmen would come the next day.

  “I hope we’re not on the last floor,” Éric remarked.

  “Not quite,” I grimaced, “but we are on the fifth.”

  Climbing four flights of stairs on crutches was going to be no bed of roses. I was tired just thinking of it.

  “Only one solution, then,” Éric declared.

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  “I’ll carry you.”

  And he scooped me up the way he had the day before. Before I could protest, he had already started climbing the steps.

  “I could have managed, you know,” I told him, trying to ignore my traitorous heartbeat that seemed to double with every step.

  “I know.”

  But he didn’t set me down before we reached our rooms, right next to each other.

  “Her Royal Highness’s bedchamber. If her Royal Highness would…”

  “Thank you, milord. You are too kind.”

  “At your service, Your Royal Highness.”

  We smiled at each other, and for a fraction of a second time seemed to stand still. Eyes locked together, shining in the semidarkness of the corridor, he was so close I felt his breath. My heart was going wild inside my chest.

  “Thank you, Alexandra,” he murmured.

  “Thank you, you paid the restaurant.”

  “No, thank you for being here. For believing. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  I lost all control over my heart rate while a swarm of butterflies invaded my stomach.

  A smile identical to Éric’s made its way unbidden over my face.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Good night, Alexandra.”

  “Good night, milord.”

  He smiled again, and the butterflies somersaulted.

  “Good night, princess.”

  Once the door had clicked shut behind me, I leaned against it, a silly smile on my face. I hadn’t felt so alive, so light in ages. I wanted to laugh. To dance.

  I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, rewinding the movie of the evening. Éric’s smile. His eyes. The moments we had shared, the secrets we had told each other. All the things we hadn’t spoken of.

  That I hadn’t spoken of.

  And my eyes suddenly flew open as two disturbing realities collided with my horrified mind.

  First, I was attracted to Éric. Way, way too attracted.

  And second…

  I hid my face in my hands, wracked with new guilt.

  I had deliberately failed to mention Spencer.

  Chapter 20

  Gabrielle

  Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers

  December 1899

  “I often wonder what our lives would have been if my mother had not fallen down the stairs that day,” Thomas confided that evening when Gabrielle joined him as usual in the library.

  Gazing into the fireplace, she considered her reply. Ever since he had opened up to her, Thomas seemed lighter, less withdrawn, less somber even. As though talking to Gabrielle had torn down the last walls around his soul. Nothing could make her happier than to be the one he had chosen to confide in. In the time they had left together, she would do her best to help him overcome his past and find his smile once and for all. She promised herself as much.

  “I do not think you should ask yourself that kind of question,” she said kindly. “Nothing good will come of it, and it will only make you suffer more. You can’t go back. All you can do is turn the page and move forward, toward the future.”

  “I know.”

  “You should concentrate on the good things in life.” A teasing smile made its way across her lips. “You could…I don’t know.… Focus on improving your snowball-throwing skills. You really are a very poor shot.”

  To her great surprise, Thomas burst out laughing. And it seemed to her it was the brightest sound in the world.

  * * * *

  They had played in the snow that afternoon. And it had been unforgettable.

  Gabrielle had carefully concealed what she had in mind and had convinced Thomas to follow her back outside with Duchesse. And while he looked at the dog frolicking in the snow, she had taken a few discreet steps back and crouched down to fashion a handful of white powder into a ball with her gloved hands.

  And without warning, she had hurled it at Thomas’s back.

  He’d whipped around, surprised. Smiling widely, Gabrielle had waved then thrown her second snowball straight at his face.

  It marked the beginning of an epic war that ranged all over the grounds, to Duchesse’s great delight as she jumped around them and barked harder than Gabrielle shouted.

  And for the first time since she had known him, Gabrielle had heard Thomas laugh—a clear, carefree sound. Suddenly he no longer was Mr. D’Arcy, the broken man, but Thomas, a happy, teasing man.

  Gabrielle and Thomas had played for over an hour like children, heedless of their wet clothes, uncaring for propriety or decorum.

  They had ended the battle exhausted, lying in the snow, faces turned to the sky and hand in hand, blissful smiles upon their frozen lips, eyes sparkling.

  At first, Gabrielle’s intent had been to give Thomas some happy memories, memories he could carry in his heart and that would bear him through future hardships. But as they lay next to each other, she realized that she had also created some for herself. And in her heart, she knew that no matter what happened, she would always cherish the memory of this afternoon when Thomas had laughed.

  * * * *

  “You must work on it, Mr. D’Arcy,” Gabrielle said, smiling. “It is unacceptable—how will you ever teach your children to throw snowballs if you are unable to hit a target three feet away?”

  Thomas gave her a strange look, and shyly asked, “Do you truly believe I could have a family one day?”

  “I am convinced of it.” A stone seemed to settle over her heart at the thought. “Across the ocean, in America, you will find a woman who will love you more than
anything in the world and you will love her just as much. You will build a big, loving family together. Because you deserve one, Thomas.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment, face expressionless, a kind of affection in his eyes that Gabrielle felt right down to her soul. For half a second, she thought he was about to speak and she hoped that he would ask her to be that woman. To be his wife. She would have said yes. Of course she would have said yes. She probably would not even have let him finish asking before she accepted eagerly.

  But he averted his gaze, seeming to change his mind.

  “You know, a few years ago I tried to track down my father’s family.”

  “Did you find them?” Gabrielle couldn’t quite hide her disappointment at the change of topics.

  “Yes.”

  He confided that he had needed time to gather the courage for such a task. He had hesitated, unsure of his welcome. He was a child of sin, an unwanted, disfigured monster. Yet his curiosity had been too strong. He had wanted to know. Needed to. He had done his research and found where his father was from. Before he could change his mind, he had traveled to the small town where Mrs. Andrews, his father’s mother—his grandmother—lived. But upon seeing her face when she had opened the door, he had abandoned the idea of revealing himself and had merely introduced himself as the son of a friend of Frederick Andrews, come to deliver late condolences. And he had left.

  “I could tell from the look in her eyes that my scar, my size scared her,” he explained. “She was a frail, lonely old woman made unhappy by her only son’s death. I couldn’t bring myself to impose upon her.”

  Listening to his confession, Gabrielle felt her own heart break for him.

  “Did you ever think…” She hesitated, fearful of rubbing salt into the wound. “Perhaps… If she had known you were her grandson, she would have embraced you?”

  “I do not believe so. She was afraid of me.”

  “Did she say so?”

  “She did not need to. I could read it in her eyes.”

  Gabrielle chose her words with care.

  “What happened to you was horrible, and I do not know how you lived through the combined pain of all these tragedies. But…Thomas…what happened in the past must not hinder you from living today. Or loving.”

  Thomas stared at her in bemusement, and she went on.

  “Not every person is like your…like Victor de Saint-Armand, or your adolescent bully. They are not all waiting to reject, abandon or betray you. You must learn to trust again. Otherwise… In a way, you are letting them win. If I were you, I would return to see your grandmother and tell her the truth. I am sure she will accept you.”

  “Do you really believe so?”

  “Of course I do! You are her own flesh and blood. Of course she will love you. You are a wonderful man, Thomas. You are not the monster you imagine. You have a scar, it’s true, and? You are more than that. You are a man who survived his past and built himself into who he is. You are worth a hundred of those who hurt you. Accept it once and for all—you deserve to be happy. And you deserve to be loved.”

  She fell silent, short of breath, and bit her tongue. Her outburst had not been planned. The words had escaped from her before she could hold them back.

  “I am sorry,” she hurried to add. “I should not have said that. It is none of my concern.…”

  Gabrielle knew her speech had troubled Thomas, even hurt him a little. She could see it in his face. Yet she did not regret her words. There were some truths that needed to be said. And she wasn’t done. Looking him straight in the eye, she solemnly inquired, “May I ask you something?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Promise me that you will no longer hesitate to open up to others. That you will live your life head held high and ready to be happy, the way you did this afternoon. Do you regret trusting me?”

  He hesitated. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then promise me you will heed my advice,” she insisted. “I have faith in you. If you give me your word, I know you will keep it.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “I promise.”

  * * * *

  The next day, Gabrielle was in the library again. Pen in hand, an open book in front of her, she was daydreaming, remembering rolling around in the snow with Thomas. She was jarred back to reality by the deep voice of Arnaud Colin, Mr. Choiseul’s photographer.

  “Dear God, you scared the living daylights out of me!” she exclaimed, startled, clutching at her heart.

  Discreetly, she peered around to check that the odious auctioneer was not in the room. She inwardly sighed in relief when he failed to appear.

  “My apologies, Mademoiselle Villeneuve. I thought you had heard me.”

  “You know, when I am focused on a book, the world could fall to pieces and I would never even notice,” she replied.

  It was true, though she hadn’t quite been focusing on a book when he had startled her.

  “I feel the same way when I am photographing,” Mr. Colin agreed, gesturing to his camera.

  It was different from the one he had used the day before to take pictures of the castle, Gabrielle noticed. That had been a bulky black box on a tripod, twice as big as her head. This one was much smaller, a black leather rectangular case with a lens on the front. She had never seen the like.

  “So?” he repeated. “Would you let me photograph you?”

  “You…you want to photograph me?” she parroted, surprised. “But why? There are several thousand more interesting subjects in this room!”

  An enigmatic smile flickered across the photographer’s face.

  “Let’s say it’s a matter of personal preference. People…are what make a photograph interesting, in my opinion. They breathe life into it. Otherwise all pictures are just still life. And I have always found that life was a thousand times more interesting.”

  Gabrielle’s eyebrows rose. It was the most she had heard him say since he had come to the castle.

  “I see. Well, after such a speech, I can only accept. What should I do?”

  “Be yourself, and everything will be just fine.”

  “I think I’ll grab a book, then; I’ll be more at ease.”

  “As you wish.”

  She selected a book and lowered herself into the love seat by the fire, waiting for the photographer to finish setting up his camera.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, glancing up. “You need to stay still until I give you the all clear, otherwise the picture will be blurry.”

  Gabrielle nodded, opening the book to a random page and pretending to read. A few seconds later she heard familiar footsteps in the gallery of portraits and the door swung open. Disregarding Mr. Colin’s instructions utterly, Gabrielle looked up and saw Thomas on the threshold.

  Their gazes met and suddenly, the world vanished. A smile bloomed upon her lips while her heart began to race. Somewhere close by, she heard the shutter of the camera go off.

  She soon realized, however, that something was wrong. Thomas’s gaze was grim and he was unsmiling, staring at her with new intensity, as though he wanted to carve her face into his memory. Gabrielle’s smile vanished as dread rose within her.

  The sound of a throat clearing reminded her that they were not alone. But she could not tear her eyes off Thomas—nor he off her.

  Mr. Colin seemed to feel the shift in atmosphere and rose to his feet, stating that he had the picture he wanted and that he would take his leave.

  “Thank you, Mr. Colin,” Thomas said. “Could you wait for me in my study? I have a request for you.”

  “Of course, sir. Should I call Mr. Choiseul? He is in the armor gallery.”

  “No, just you.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  He nodded to Gabrielle and left. Thomas turned to her.

  “What is it?” she immediately
asked, moving closer to him.

  “I must return to England.”

  The words hit her like a blow.

  She could feel her knees and hands begin to shake.

  No-no-no-no-no-no-no! He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not so soon.

  She wasn’t ready to leave him, to say goodbye to him.

  “But…,” she stuttered. “You will come back, won’t you? You won’t leave for America without coming back here first? Without…without saying goodbye?”

  His smile was humorless.

  “I will come back, I promise you.”

  Her hand rose to her chest as though to calm her wildly beating heart, and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  “How long will you be away?”

  What if he only returned after several weeks, long after she and her father had left? What if this was the last time she saw him? What if…

  “I do not know yet.”

  Gabrielle’s knees almost gave way under her, but she somehow managed to regain control over herself.

  “When will you leave?”

  “Today.”

  Oh Lord! She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain in her chest.

  “Gabrielle?”

  She opened her eyes and met Thomas’s hesitant, worried gaze.

  “Could you… Would you promise me something yourself?”

  “Anything,” she breathed.

  She meant it. She would have said yes to anything, even leaving for England with him.

  “Will you wait for me? I mean… Will you wait for my return before you depart for Angers?”

  “I will wait for you as long as necessary,” she replied without a moment’s pause, without even thinking of what such a promise implied.

  The door swung open again, admitting her father. Gabrielle tried to collect herself.

  “Mr. Villeneuve,” Thomas greeted him. “I am glad to see you up and about. You seem in better health.”

  “Much improved, sir. Thank you for your kindness. And thank you for everything you have done for my daughter and me. I am in your debt.”

  “Your health is restored, that is all the thanks I need.”