JENNA GREW RESTLESS and regretted her refusal of something to read. She remembered seeing a stack of books on one of the tables in the bedroom and decided to look for something to hold her interest. She crossed the terrace and went inside—and found herself in the wrong room.
A long table sat at right angles to the window, and the wall opposite was covered with open shelves holding rows of books. They looked old, and Jenna’s professional instincts drew her across the room to examine them. One row was red, another green, but there were no titles on their bindings, only consecutive years from 1960 to the present.
Ledgers of some sort, she thought with disappointment.
As she was turning to leave, her eye was caught by a slender volume lying on one of the shelves. The label was yellowed with age, the black ink faded to purple but still legible:
Beaumont Foret, 1880. Census and Vital Records
Jenna’s heart filled with excitement. Not every parish document had been destroyed, and here was the proof of it. Inside there might be something that touched her own past.
Carefully opening the cover, she glanced at the first page. The entries weren’t alphabetical, and she went down them scanning for her family name.
Amboise, Louis (farmer); wife—Isabelle, 7 children Amboise, Charles (farmer)—unmarried
Deschamps, Marthe (widow)—no issue
Langlois, Rupert (silversmith); wife—Clotilde Amboise, 2 children
Brun, Henri (farmer); wife—Marie Amboise, 6 children Hubert, François (weaver)—unmarried, 1 natural child Hubert, Amelie (weaver)—unmarried
“I see that you have changed your mind about wanting something to read,” a voice said coldly.
She looked up to see Philippe framed in the open terrace doorway, his face severe. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
“I was looking for the bedroom, and entered this room by mistake,” she said quickly, “but I realize I can’t offer any acceptable excuse for examining what is, after all, a private document—only my deepest apology for abusing your hospitality.”
The frown was still there as he came forward. “You would find it dull reading,” he said. “This is the estate room, and the book is nothing but an inventory.”
“It’s a census record,” she confessed, “and I was looking for my family’s name in it.”
“I’m afraid your hopes must be disappointed.” He lifted it from the shelf and turned it over. The back cover was gone, the other pages a fragile, soot-blackened mass. “I found this earlier today, after we spoke. It is the only record to survive the church fire. I suppose I should dispose of it.”
He touched his finger to the last page, and pieces of it flaked away like black snow.
“No!” Jenna’s hand shot out to clasp his wrist. She could feel his pulse beating strong and steady beneath her fingers. “Please! You mustn’t destroy it. It can be preserved with proper care.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My profession is restoring damaged manuscripts.”
“Ah. I then can appreciate your concern, mademoiselle.” Philippe looked down at his tanned wrist, still ringed by her slender fingers. “If you will unhand me, I’ll do my best to set the ledger down without causing further damage.”
She let go of his wrist at once, feeling awkward and rude. ‘I’d be happy to try and stabilize the ledger for you. As a way of expressing my gratitude to you.”
He put the book down, and when he turned back to her, his charming smile was back. “There is no need to do so.”
“There is every need. I can’t forget that you saved my life,” she said.
“You must not put yourself out, mademoiselle.”
Philippe watched the frustration flicker over her face. “However,” he continued, “you might be in a position to render me a great service. There are some other old documents that were damaged in the fire and that could be of immense importance to me. If you would render your opinion on how they should be treated and if they are salvageable, I would be deeply in your debt.”
This is a gift from the gods, Jenna thought. Who knew what treasures she might uncover? “I’d be very happy to look at them.”
“Excellent. But now you must rest. Come, I’ll guide you back to your bedchamber.”
He escorted her out into the corridor. The walls of the hallway were paneled in carved pearwood and hung with vibrant tapestries and paintings. She thought she glimpsed a Fragonard in a dim alcove, a Chagall through an open door. Jenna wondered what other treasures the château held.
He led her to the second door down. “Here we are. I’m sure you’ll be happy to be reunited with your garment bag and a few of your other belongings.”
She looked up at him swiftly. “My car’s been found?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God!”
“Unfortunately,” he went on, “it is buried beneath a rockslide and damaged beyond repair.”
Jenna bit her lower lip. “Thank God for insurance.”
“And that you were not in the vehicle when it plunged over the ledge.” Philippe took her hand and kissed it. “Now that your mind is relieved, I suggest you rest until dinner. You must be very tired after being up so long for the first time.”
“A little,” she admitted.
“If you feel up to it when you’ve rested, will you dine with me tonight?”
Jenna smiled. “Yes, thank you—now that I have something a little dressier to put on than this gown and robe.”
“You look charming. Like a film star from Hollywood’s Golden Age.”
She felt herself blushing, something she couldn’t remember doing in years, over a simple compliment. She changed the subject.
“I need to make some phone calls to arrange matters, and I’ve lost my cell phone.”
“We have no land lines in Beaumont Foret, and I’ve never bothered to get a cell phone,” he said.
“Really?” Jenna raised her eyebrows. “That seems strange in this day and age.”
“To you, perhaps, mademoiselle.” He smiled. “We are content with the old ways here, for the most part. Life in Fontine, especially here in Beaumont Foret, moves at a leisurely pace, compared to the outside world. Business within the valley is conducted face-to-face and with a handshake; business beyond is done mostly by letter.”
“Then I could call from the inn in Haute Beaumont,” she said, “if you’d arrange for me to be driven there. There was a phone outside the dining room.”
His smile faded at the edges. “I regret that I did not make the situation clear, mademoiselle. The rockslide that destroyed your vehicle, mademoiselle, also closed the old road from the château. I’ve set some men to the task of building a way around it, but it will take some time to do.”
“Are you saying we’re completely cut off?”
“No, there is another way out at the far end, which comes out ten miles from Haute Beaumont; unfortunately it is rugged and only negotiable on horseback.”
Jenna listened to his calm explanation, her mind working furiously beneath her calm surface. He was relaxed and casual, yet everything he said confirmed her growing suspicions. Something was more than a little odd about this place.
“Rest now. We will discuss this later in detail.”
“Very well.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Until this evening, then.”
She closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, feeling light-headed. She tried to fool herself into believing that the mental image of the rental car buried beneath a rockslide was the cause of it.
No, she admitted finally. It was the look in his eyes when he smiled and touched my cheek.
She took a deep, steadying breath. Philippe Beaumont was a very handsome, charming, and virile man. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him. And judging from the way he had looked at her just then, the attraction was mutual.
That could work for or against her.
Her face set in determined lines. Either way, it wouldn’t stop her from pursuing her real purpose in coming to Beaumont Foret. But, she admitted to herself, I might find out that I’m on a fool’s errand.
Her purse was on the table beside the bed, and she looked inside it for her cell phone. She couldn’t recall if she’d put it back inside its pocket, or left it on the car’s console. Jenna sighed. Either way, it was gone.
As she slipped off her robe, she heard something fall softly to the floor at her feet. Jenna looked but didn’t see anything at first because the long hem of her nightgown hid it from view. She moved and her foot came down on it squarely, grinding it beneath her slippered heel.
“Oh! The rose!”
She stooped down to retrieve the flower, expecting to find a mass of crushed leaves and bruised petals. But the rose wasn’t ruined after all. Her fingers brushed the blossom. Despite the trauma, it looked and felt as fresh and perfect as if it had just been plucked.
Beaumont Foret, she thought, really is a very strange place.