The Chateau by the River

by Chloé Duval

  “You won’t be the only one. Bruno, Maxime and Benjamin will be with you.”

  Bruno? The mayor? What did he have to do with this? And who were Maxime and Benjamin? Obviously I lacked the necessary elements to understand all of this conversation, but one thing was clear—it would be better for my health and my sanity if I did not go to this ball.

  I wasn’t sure I’d survive Éric in a kilt.

  “Oh goody,” Éric drawled with his usual sarcasm. “Everything’s so much better all of a sudden.”

  “You could at least be grateful I didn’t go with Mrs. Grenier’s idea. She wanted to auction off an evening and a night with each of you.”

  WHAT?

  Éric’s reaction mirrored mine.

  “What? She’s crazy!” he protested. “Out of the question!”

  “She’s not that crazy, you know. We could have collected a lot of money that way. You’re the most attractive man within thirty kilometers and you own a castle. You’re the local Darcy; every woman talks about you and they just about swoon when you go by. Find one that wouldn’t want you under those circumstances!”

  “I can name at least one,” Éric muttered.

  I felt myself turn red.

  Just about then, a small furball rubbed itself against my ankles and I started with a gasp, betraying my presence.

  The kitten had already scampered when Marine called out to me.

  “Alex! You’ve come at the right moment. Come help me convince my stubborn cousin that he will be sexy as hell in a kilt.”

  Sure! No problem, my pleasure! Easy as pie!

  My eyes met Éric’s, bright blue and shining with something unidentifiable. An invisible hand closed over my heart, sending a shock wave rippling all over my body.

  God…

  It was worse every time I saw him.

  I took a step back and tore my gaze away from him. His eyes seemed to see right through me. It was way too dangerous.

  “I’m sorry, I…I have to go,” I stammered. “I—my friend Beatrice—I have to call her. Right now. Sorry.”

  And I beat a hasty retreat—though not quick enough to avoid hearing Marine ask in a puzzled voice, “What’s wrong with her? She’s been weird for the past few days.”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Éric snapped back.

  The hand around my heart crushed it to bits, and I fled to my room, short of breath.

  * * * *

  I stayed there for several hours, music blaring in my headphones to avoid hearing anything from the inn below. I hoped that Kings of Leon, my favorite band, would help me forget all about him.

  It didn’t, of course. I went through my entire playlist without being able to erase Éric’s parting jab from my mind. But I still managed to focus enough to do a first draft of the proposal I would send to my boss, Elizabeth.

  The plan was so simple and obvious it was a wonder I hadn’t thought of it before.

  On the one hand, my company wanted to buy or rent a vineyard in France. On the other hand, I had access to a plot of land. Sure, it was a little smaller than the criteria required and it had no known history of production, or maybe no history at all…but it came with a real castle attached, and that was a hefty argument in its favor.

  This wasn’t going to be easy, I was aware of that, and I was going to have to bring out the big guns if I wanted my proposal to be taken seriously, but it was worth a try. Unless I was mistaken, our research hadn’t yet moved on to the decision stage, and the choice had to be approved by the board of directors as well as by operations management and our new international operations management. I still had time to submit a proposal, but only just. I had to work fast.

  Alone in my room, I spent the rest of the day working, tallying the advantages of my plan for the company and finding counterarguments for each negative aspect. The area was small? We’d produce exclusive vintages we could sell for a hefty price. The castle was broken down? What better way to gain the collaboration of all local parties than to help restore a local piece of history?

  I reviewed every detail carefully, estimating the surface area from the plans, lining up my arguments in a way that would have made Spencer proud.

  Several hours later, the only things missing were pictures from the castle and the estate, and I would be just about ready.

  I had the weekend to add in the details I might have forgotten and fine-tune my arguments.

  And, incidentally, convince Éric it was a wonderful idea.

  Something told me he might not be that easy to convince, but I was hoping that just this once, he would listen to my arguments and agree with me. I wasn’t asking him to sell his castle—only to rent part of the grounds to a handful of Americans so they might produce some wine there.

  Chapter 26

  Gabrielle

  Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers

  December 1899

  Gabrielle set the stylus on the record and, once again, the first notes of The Blue Danube rang out. Slipping her hand into Thomas’s, she spun to the gentle melody. They danced with their eyes on each other, wordlessly, as though the world around them no longer existed.

  Mesmerized by his gaze, Gabrielle did not realize they were the only ones to waltz, nor did she see Céleste’s loving look or the conniving wink she exchanged with Arnaud. In that instant, Gabrielle’s world came down to Thomas, and she was not aware of everyone leaving the ballroom, Maurice and Hélène through one door and Céleste, Arnaud, Guillaume and Agnès through the other.

  When the music stopped, Thomas bowed to her and, with exquisite gallantry, kissed her hand without ever taking his eyes off hers. He did not kiss the top of her hand, as propriety and every etiquette book would have it, but rather her palm. She could feel the press of his lips and their warmth though her satin glove. It was a caress so intimate, so personal and gentle that it sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Turn around,” Thomas murmured softly.

  Heart beating, Gabrielle obeyed and took in the empty room, realizing only then that they were alone and that Thomas had led her to the balcony. She had seen nothing, noticed nothing, neither their companions departing nor the sudden cold.

  Blinking as though emerging from a long sleep, she contemplated the view.

  Perched on the fifth floor of the southern wing, the balcony overlooked the vast park behind the castle. Crystalline snow stretched out as far as the eye could see, flecked with half-buried trees.

  Gabrielle looked up to the ink-black sky. Little by little, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, thousands of tiny stars appeared, twinkling against the sky like so many minuscule diamonds hanging from the canopy of heaven. Behind her, the full moon bathed the landscape in radiant, surreal light. She felt as though she were in a fantastic, magical world.

  “I have never been on this balcony before,” she breathed, turning to Thomas. “The view is magnificent.”

  “It is,” Thomas agreed, his eyes on her.

  She felt her cheeks turn crimson while an irrepressible smile bloomed on her lips. To collect herself—and maybe a little to impress Thomas—she stepped closer to the balustrade and recited in her very best English:

  “Oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love and I’ll no longer be a Capulet!”

  “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” Thomas replied.

  He leaned onto the balustrade next to her, his back to the view but his eyes never leaving hers.

  Gabrielle glanced at him from under her lashes, smiling slightly.

  “I was not aware you knew Romeo and Juliet by heart!” she teased him.

  “I saw the play a few years ago in London with my aunt and uncle,” he explained. “A little tragic for my taste, but my aunt insisted and so I accompanied them.”

 
His mouth quirked up into the half smile she loved so well, the one that always made her stomach behave so strangely.

  “I was not aware you spoke English,” he continued.

  “I can read it, but speaking it is another matter entirely. I can make myself understood well enough, though my accent is dreadful.”

  “Your accent is absolutely charming.”

  Gabrielle reddened, flattered. A handful of butterflies flitted around the inside of her chest.

  “My father felt I should be able to at least understand his correspondence with other bookstores in England and Germany,” she explained.

  “You speak German too?”

  “A little.”

  “You are so full of surprises,” Thomas murmured, admiration clear in his voice.

  The butterflies swooped. Gabrielle glanced down then up again.

  The wind unfurled around them, rustling through the branches of the trees, billowing under Gabrielle’s petticoats, stroking her bare neck. The icy breeze against her skin, still warm from the dance, made her shiver. The cold was biting, but she did not feel it. Only Thomas’s shoulder against hers was real as he turned and gazed at the view at her side. His presence was both troubling and reassuring.

  For how long? a little voice in Gabrielle’s head questioned.

  No. Enough. She would not dwell on her sadness or melancholy, or their upcoming parting, she suddenly decided. Tomorrow could wait. For now, she was here and so was he, and that was all that mattered. She refused to spoil these precious moments with thoughts of the future.

  Carpe diem, Gabrielle. Carpe diem.

  There would time enough to think of tomorrow when it came.

  She tilted her head back, offering her face up to the wind, sky and stars.

  “Look,” she exclaimed as a white blaze trailed through the sky, there and gone in the blink of an eye. “A shooting star!”

  She smiled as a sense of peace, a conviction that all would be well, rose up within her.

  Thank you, Maman, she thought, closing her eyes. And she made a wish.

  “Did you see it?” she asked Thomas, still gazing up, searching for another.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you make a wish?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he repeated. “I do not believe in such things. Shooting stars, fate, God… I do not wish to believe in them.”

  “Why is that?”

  But even as she asked, Gabrielle regretted her question. She knew the answer. And she did not wish to remind him of the pain. Not tonight.

  She bit at her lip. One day, she would learn to think before asking questions. Or before speaking. She was far too prone to saying whatever flitted through her mind.

  His gaze faraway, Thomas replied just what she feared he would.

  “Because it would mean that somewhere out there, there is a being that decided that my mother would be unhappy all her life and would meet a tragic ending. And I cannot bear the thought. I would rather blame the man she married than believe it was her fate to suffer so.”

  His hands had clenched on the balustrade, the knuckles white. Unthinkingly, wishing only to comfort him, Gabrielle reached out and closed her hand over his. It was only when Thomas laced their fingers together that she realized what she had done. She could feel his heat radiate into her even through her glove. Their eyes met and clung, and for a second she forgot what she wished to say. She looked up toward the sky without tugging her hand free.

  “As for me,” she said, untangling the thread of her thoughts, “I wish to believe that my mother is among these stars. And that whenever one of them falls, it is her way of telling me ‘I am here, and I watch over you.’”

  She broke off as Thomas’s thumb automatically stroked the inside of her palm. A small touch, but one that set her entire body ablaze. For a moment she closed her eyes, unable to think.

  “I am sure your mother is up there too,” she went on, careful to conceal her turmoil. “And so is your father. The man she loved, I mean. I am positive that they found each other beyond death and they now dwell together in happiness. And from the sky, they watch over you and they are proud of the man you have become.”

  A faint but unmistakable smile stretched Thomas’s lips.

  “I do not know why, but tonight I wish to believe you. Tonight, I would believe that wherever she is, my mother is happy and at peace.”

  “She is. I am convinced of it.”

  Silence fell as Thomas gazed out at the horizon.

  “I may not have wished upon a star,” he began, “but I decided something while I was in England. Does that count?”

  “Of course! What did you decide?”

  “I will follow your advice. Upon leaving for America I will be turning over a new leaf, starting from scratch. I will build my life anew with new people. People I trust.”

  Gabrielle could almost hear the pop of the bubble bursting, washing away all the spell of the moment, leaving only cold, loneliness and harsh reality.

  The reality she had tried so hard to forget.

  He was leaving.

  In her stomach, the butterflies turned to stone.

  “Thomas, that is wonderful!” she cried with an enthusiasm she did not feel. “I am so glad for you. You deserve to be happy.”

  “I do not know if I deserve it, but I decided you were right and I should make a fresh start.”

  She nodded feebly, lowering her gaze.

  How ironic! Until now, it had been her heart’s desire. For him to be able to start over and be happy. Until a few weeks ago, she only wanted his happiness, and she had been content to be the one to help him shed his past. Truly, she had been honored.

  And then he had kissed her, and as unexpected and unplanned as it had been…it had changed everything. For her, at least.

  Now she was no longer content with standing in the shadows. She wanted more. She wanted everything.

  But she did not wish to impose. She did not want to guilt him into anything or force him to bring her along if he had not planned to. If his plans did not include her.

  “When are you leaving?” she asked, a knot in her stomach.

  “As soon as possible. I… There is something I must do first, but I hope to leave in early February.”

  So soon…

  A gust of icy wind buffeted her, and she shivered again. She pulled back her hand and rubbed her arms. She felt empty, all of a sudden. Lonely. Sad. So very sad.

  Wordlessly, Thomas removed his jacket and, as he had done before, draped it over her shoulders, his arm lingering a little longer than necessary. Gabrielle had to gather all her strength of will not to nestle against him, to remind herself that she had to let him go. That she was not his destiny.

  “I have decided something too,” she declared impulsively. “I will make something of my life. I have had enough of waiting for something to happen and give it meaning. I will do it. I will make my mark somewhere. I want to count. I do not know how yet, but I will.”

  She abruptly needed to have projects, something to fill her life…after. Once he was gone. To avoid going insane. To have something to cling to.

  How strange that the world can change so fast. A single person, a single meeting, a single glance…and everything has changed.

  “You count, Gabrielle,” Thomas said gently. “You are important.”

  She laughed briefly.

  “I meant for someone other than my father.”

  She bit her tongue the moment the last word left her mouth. She felt pathetic, fishing for a confession. Hoping so hard to hear Thomas protest and tell her that she counted for him.

  For a long moment, Thomas gazed at her in silence. She could see a thousand and one emotions in his eyes. A strange feeling rose up within her. Her heart sank into her feet—and lower
still when Thomas sighed, hesitant.

  Suddenly she knew.

  He was bidding her farewell. There and then. The dance, the balcony, the stars…all of this was his way of saying goodbye. And speaking of his decision was the ideal introduction.

  Oh Lord…

  She could almost hear her heart shatter.

  “Gabrielle—” Thomas began, then broke off.

  Gabrielle’s eyes clung to his.

  Tell me I count for you, she begged. Tell me you will not forget me when you are far from here.

  Yet despite her fervent plea, her prayer remained unanswered. Her fairy tale was breaking apart tonight. Perhaps her fairy godmother had abandoned her. Or perhaps, despite what her mother had so often told her as a child, she did not truly have one, and she was fated to a lifetime of disappointments.

  “I went to see my grandmother when I was in England,” Thomas abruptly said.

  “Did you?”

  These were not the words she had hoped for, but neither were they the ones she had feared. If this conversation could make the specter of their parting recede for a moment, she would welcome it gladly.

  “That was why I could not write to you,” he went on. “I spent the week with her.”

  “I understand.”

  “I told her everything. Who I was, how her son and my mother had met, what had happened next.…”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Nothing. She put her arms around me and told me she was sorry. Then she thanked me. She wept. I think—I think that for a moment, I gave her son back to her.”

  “Thomas, that’s wonderful!” Gabrielle cried out sincerely. “How did you feel?”

  “Well. Very well. Relieved. As though a burden had finally been lifted from my shoulders.”

  She smiled. She had always known that it would be a good thing both for Thomas and for his grandmother if he told her the truth.

  “We spoke at length. I told her…about America, about what I would do there. She had many questions; she wanted to know everything.”

  Gabrielle’s heart clenched so tightly it felt painful.