by Chloé Duval
“He—he was here, then?”
“Yes, he was here when the fire started,” Guillaume confirmed.
Dozens of questions flashed through Gabrielle’s mind. Why hadn’t he told her he was back? Why hadn’t he stopped in Angers as promised? Why hadn’t he been the one to inform them of the fire?
There could be any number of answers to those questions, but for now, all that mattered was that she saw Thomas and held him in her arms so she could be certain he was unharmed.
Everything else could wait.
“Where is he? Is he here with you?”
“No.”
“Where, then? I need to see him.”
“I think you should speak with Hélène.”
Gabrielle’s panic increased, overflowing, and icy sweat trickled down her back.
“Why? Where is he? What happened? Please, Guillaume! Tell me what happened! Please!” she begged, terrified. “I have to see him!”
Something flickered in Guillaume’s gaze, a hesitation, a shadow of uncertainty that stole across his cold demeanor.
“So you didn’t—you mean—oh, hell!”
“What? Guillaume? WHAT IS GOING ON?”
He shook his head.
“I’m taking you to Céleste.”
Guillaume and Gabrielle joined Maurice in the coach still waiting by the castle gate. Guillaume climbed up beside the driver and directed him to Céleste’s house. Gabrielle’s entire body was taut with tension, her heart pounding, questions racing through her mind. Why would Guillaume not tell them what had happened? What was it Hélène should be the one to say?
The coach had barely reached the house before she leapt out of it, running to the door with Maurice and Guillaume on her heels. As though she had felt their presence, Céleste opened just as she was about to knock. Gabrielle threw herself into her arms.
“Céleste!” she cried.
“Gabrielle! Maurice! Here you are at last! I was starting to think you hadn’t received our telegram!”
“What telegram?” Gabrielle asked. “We didn’t receive any!”
“You didn’t get our telegram?”
“No! The only thing that came in the mail was a letter from the notary! Céleste, where is Thomas?”
The cook considered her for an instant. “Come in, get out of the cold.”
Lord… What had happened here?
They had barely stepped over the threshold when Duchesse and her puppies yipped at them in welcome. Gabrielle crouched to pet them, relieved to see that they were unharmed.
“May I see Hélène?” Maurice asked at once.
“Of course! She is waiting for you! Come, follow me. Shoo!” she added for the dogs’ benefit. “You can jump all over them later. Let them through.”
Gabrielle wanted to insist, to ask again where Thomas was, but she did not have the heart to refuse her father the peace of mind he so sorely needed. She swallowed her questions and dread and trailed after him and Céleste, Guillaume behind her and the dogs darting around her legs. Hélène was in a small bedroom at the back of the house, lying on the bed with her ankle and both hands bandaged.
Gasping her name, Maurice rushed to her side and embraced her so tightly it seemed he would break her bones. Gabrielle saw a tear roll down his cheek.
“Hélène,” he breathed, “I was so afraid. I thought I had lost you. I thought—”
He did not finish, but merely held her tighter still. Hélène returned his embrace gingerly, relief written all over her face.
“I thought you no longer wanted me. You did not come, so I thought—given the situation—”
Maurice pulled back and cupped Hélène’s face, gazing into her eyes.
“What situation?” There was emotion in his voice the likes of which Gabrielle had rarely heard. “We came as soon as we heard. I was worried to death.”
Gabrielle crept closer and hugged the housekeeper with one arm, putting the other around her father.
“I am so glad to see you in good health,” she murmured.
“I am all right,” she replied with a sweet smile. “Merely a few burns and a bad sprain.”
“Are you in pain?” Maurice asked in concern, stroking her face.
Hélène shook her head, eyes bright with emotion.
“It is bearable. It could have been worse. No serious harm was done.”
Gabrielle couldn’t wait a second longer.
“What about Thomas? Guillaume told me he was there when the fire started?”
Guillaume stood in a corner of the room, gazing down at the floor.
“He was, but he is fine too. He was unharmed.”
“Where is he?”
Deathly silence greeted her question. Céleste and Hélène exchanged embarrassed glances.
“What is it?” Gabrielle insisted. “What are you hiding from me? Why these somber faces? Where is Thomas? Tell me where he is!”
Her dread was so overwhelming her voice rose to an octave it had never reached before. Céleste reached out and folded her hands around hers.
“Gabrielle, we understand. We will always love you, no matter what.”
“Why do you say that?”
Hélène spoke up.
“You are allowed to change your mind. I have to say I was not expecting it, but you are perfectly entitled to.”
Gabrielle was utterly lost. Her heart struggled as though to break free from her chest, her head spun, she had trouble breathing and she wanted someone to explain, and to do it right now.
“What in the heavens do you mean?” she cried, panicked.
“Gabrielle,” Céleste said softly, “Mr. D’Arcy told us you had changed your mind. That you had someone else in your life and the wedding had been called off.”
“What? But I didn’t—the wedding wasn’t—why would he—?”
She broke off, unable to continue.
Maurice straightened and put an arm around her shoulders, as confused as she was. He shot a puzzled glance Hélène’s way.
“It is what he said when he returned from England,” the housekeeper explained, frowning, as perplexed as they were. “That you had changed your mind.”
Hélène’s words were like a bucketful of cold water. It felt as though the ground had opened beneath her feet, plunging her into a gaping, bottomless pit.
“I don’t think she knows,” Guillaume said behind her.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t know?” Céleste frowned.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Gabrielle declared. “I haven’t changed my mind. This has to be a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” Céleste parroted, wide-eyed.
“What in the devil has happened here?” Maurice barked.
Gabrielle felt panic wash over her. She was going insane with dread.
“Where is he?” she asked for what seemed like the thousandth time in less than an hour. “I will speak with him. I—just tell me where he is, for heaven’s sake!”
Céleste and Hélène glanced at each other in embarrassment again.
“You mean you have not changed your mind?” Hélène queried. “You have not decided to marry another man?”
“No!” Gabrielle howled in desperation. “Of course not! I want no man but him. I love him! I do not want to marry anyone else! I want to marry him!”
As she spoke, she saw Hélène’s and Céleste’s eyes grow wider and wider and ever more horrified.
“Tell me where he is!”
Silence grew, stretched, heavy, foreboding, unbearable, silence no one dared breach. Gabrielle felt fear rise up in her. Why didn’t they answer? Why did no one answer her simple question?
She felt sick, nauseous, her very soul full of dread. Her hands shook, her heart quivered and she no longer knew whether she should shriek, weep or
beg for someone to put an end to her torment and tell her where Thomas was.
“I—I am sorry, Gabrielle,” Hélène whispered at last. “He is in La Rochelle. His ship sails tomorrow at dawn—for New York.”
Chapter 33
Alexandra
Chandeniers-sur-Vienne
Present day
“What—what are you doing here?” I stammered, pulling back.
Spencer raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly.
“It’s nice to see you too, honey,” he teased, and kissed me again.
“Yeah, no, me too—but I didn’t expect—how?”
“I missed you and you seemed out of sorts in your last message, so I jumped into the first plane. And here I am!”
“But that was yesterday!”
“Yeah. First plane, like I said. I was really worried. Is everything okay?” His gaze searched mine.
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” I replied automatically.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
He drew me back into his arms. Still astounded, I let him and laid my forehead upon his shoulder.
He’d dropped everything. Just like that. For me. He’d never taken off time from work like this. Especially not in the middle of a case. In five years, this was the first time he did anything so crazy and spontaneous.
And it had to be now. Just when I had decided I wanted to move on from that part of my life. Of our life.
Was this a sign that I was making a mistake? That I should give us another chance?
My heart pounded in my chest, and my mind whirred. I didn’t know what to think.
“I have another surprise for you,” he murmured into my ear.
Lord…what was happening?
“I’m taking you to Venice for a few days.”
“Venice?”
Oh, no…it had to be Venice. I had always dreamed of going there, I’d planned a romantic trip on dozens of occasions, only to have to cancel it at the last minute because of his job.
“Yep!” he confirmed cheerfully. “I negotiated a few extra vacation days for you with Elizabeth. We fly out tomorrow!”
Whaaaat?
“You called my boss to ask for an extension on my vacation?”
I didn’t know whether to find that extremely intrusive or incredibly romantic.
“Yeah, and she said yes!”
It was official, I was in the Twilight Zone. I was going to wake up any minute in my room back at the inn and realize I had dreamed up the entire evening.
There was simply no other explanation.
Spencer was still smiling at me, obviously very pleased with his surprise—and I could only stare in bafflement.
“Happy?” he asked, as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas Day.
“Yeah, of course, I—I’m ecstatic.”
He beamed.
“What did you want to talk about? I saw your message right before I got here.”
“I—I—” I stuttered, at a complete loss.
I didn’t know what to say. Two seconds earlier I’d decided on something at last, and I’d thought my decision was final, and now everything was up in the air again, every certainty overthrown.
“Is everything all right, Alex?” a harsh voice bit out from behind me.
Éric.
Oh. Hell. Éric! He’d seen—
I turned to him.
“Yes, everything’s all right. Everything’s fine.”
“And just who are you?” he asked Spencer.
“Her fiancé,” he replied in heavily accented French. “Can’t you tell?”
I closed my eyes, biting down a frustrated sigh.
This wasn’t how I had meant to bring up my future ex-fiancé.
“Éric,” I pleaded as I opened my eyes, hoping I could still fix this.
“Her fiancé, huh.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess that explains a lot.”
I could hear the blame, the pain, the implied betrayal underneath the words.
“And you are?” Spencer asked in his best lawyer voice, firm and full of authority.
Éric considered him.
“No one. I’m no one.” He turned to me. “Goodbye, Alex. I hope you have a nice life. Forget about the castle. We won’t need you.”
And he spun on his heel, the one to run away for once.
My heart had shattered a little further with every word.
“Éric!” I pulled away from Spencer to follow him. “Éric, let me explain!”
“There’s nothing to explain. I understand everything now.” His pace quickened, and I started to run. I could hear Spencer trailing behind me.
“Alex, what’s going on?” Spencer asked.
“Éric!” I yelled.
To no avail. He didn’t stop.
It was classic comedy—Éric striding away, kilt whipping at his calves, me galloping behind, my short legs pumping as I begged him to listen and Spencer bringing up the rear, frowning in puzzlement as we all switched from one language to another.
If I hadn’t been at the center of it, and if it hadn’t been the flimsy house of cards that was my life crumbling around me, I probably would’ve laughed.
Right now I felt more like crying.
“Éric—”
“Alex!”
“Éric, will you slow down? We need to talk!”
“I thought I was the one you wanted to talk with, Alex!” Spencer protested.
Fed up with chasing me, Spencer seized my arm and forced me to a stop. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on! What is happening? Who is this guy?”
My usually unflappable fiancé was staring at me, at a complete loss, expecting an answer he very much deserved. I closed my eyes, breathed out and opened them again.
At the end of the street, Éric shoved his helmet onto his head and straddled his bike. I watched, powerless, as he kicked the engine into gear and fled through the night, tearing away part of me with him.
I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.
I turned back to face Spencer, who was still waiting for a reply and steadily losing patience.
“Spencer, I think—I think we need to talk.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
“Just—just let me make a phone call first, okay?”
Spencer hesitated, then nodded.
“There’s a bench by the waterwheel a little way down the river,” I indicated, pointing to a street that would lead him toward the water. “Can you wait there, please? I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay.”
He looked at me for a few seconds longer, then turned and walked away.
I dialed Éric’s number, knowing he wouldn’t be able to reply on his bike but still wanting to try. The voicemail kicked in before it even rang. I left a message asking for him to call me back, even if I knew he wouldn’t. I returned to the square and found Marine. She’d done her best to cover up Éric’s dramatic exit from the stage.
“Alex, what was all that about? Where’s Éric?”
“He left on his motorbike, I don’t know where to. He’s not answering his phone.”
“What happened?”
“My fiancé decided to surprise me and just showed up,” I confessed. “And—Éric saw him kiss me.”
Marine didn’t say anything, but I could tell from the look on her face she had understood perfectly.
“Damn,” I swore. “I have to find him and explain, Marine. He told me to forget about the castle! I refuse to forget anything, either the castle or him!”
“Don’t worry! He was angry. Give him some time to cool down and then you can explain. I think you ought to address the situation with your fiancé first. Éric’s not going anywhere. He just needs some time by himself to think things through.”
&
nbsp; I didn’t want to leave him alone. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to explain. Needed to tell him how I felt. Needed to see in his face that I hadn’t lost him for good.
Needed to see him. Right now.
But I nodded and, sighing, agreed with Marine.
“You’re right. I have to speak with Spencer.”
“That’s the best thing you can do right now. I promise I’ll let you know if Éric calls me.”
“Thank you, Marine.”
As she went back to helm the party Éric’s departure had more or less wrecked, I turned around to join Spencer.
* * * *
I took my time. I needed to think, to find my center and calm down—enough to have a reasonable, sensible conversation with him. I owed him that much.
I halted as I reached the Vienne and watched him for a moment before I let him know I was there. He sat up straight, as he always did, but the way his shoulders were bunched tight told me he was tense. I couldn’t hold back a wave of guilt.
I slowly walked up to the bench and sat beside him. For a few minutes neither of us spoke.
I could hear the music from the party in the distance, slightly muffled. I tilted my head back and examined the starry, moonless sky, trying to figure out where to start.
It was strange. I’d never had any problems talking with him before. It was one of the things I liked about him. How easy it was for us to discuss things.
When had we stopped talking to each other? Listening to each other?
“It seems like a lot happened during your stay,” Spencer said at last, staring straight ahead.
“Yes,” I replied.
Silence.
He turned to me.
“Who was that guy?” he asked, with his usual calm and self-control.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen him lose his cool. He was unflappable in all circumstances.
Almost all circumstances.
“Éric Lagnel,” I answered. “He owns the castle my ancestor lived in. I found—”
“Did something happen with him?” he interrupted.
I sighed.
“No. Well…he—we—we kissed.”
“Oh.”
For one long moment, Spencer stared hard at me, taking in my confession. Then he sighed.
“Okay. I can live with that. I forgive you.”
