Mon coeur, chéri, le cadeau que tu m’offres est sans prix.
—Bariant
Dearest Heart, the gift thou givest is beyond price.
Septembre 1749
Arles
“Oh, Gigi, aren’t you excited?” Maryse asked as she put the finishing touches on the younger girl’s honey blonde hair.
Geneviève, sitting at Maryse’s dressing table, nervously regarded her mentor. Although she’d been at Madame Dijol’s nearly two months, she still felt abandoned in a world she was only just beginning to comprehend. Maryse had been so kind to her, the only friend she’d made in this strange new place. The other girls seemed so much older and they were all quite busy with their customers and with each other. Occasionally they took time out to make a joke at Geneviève’s expense, but other than that, they paid little attention to the newest member of their little family.
“No, I’m…I’m a little frightened.” She hated to admit it.
Maryse studied the girl’s reflection as a fleeting memory of her own first night flickered across her face. She recovered quickly and forced a smile. Unfortunately, a woman’s first experience with a man was ofttimes best forgotten—especially if her virginity was put on the block. The highest bidder rarely made the most considerate lover, virgin or not, a sad fact of life that all women in her profession quickly learned. But this life offered certain advantages and Maryse had no wish to frighten Geneviève. Somehow, the girl would get through the night and tomorrow things would be different. She directed an encouraging smile at the innocent face in the mirror.
“Nonsense, ma petite! Tonight you become a woman. What could possibly be more wonderful?”
“Maryse, I can’t, I’m not ready.” Geneviève looked up, tears starting to fill her beautiful blue eyes.
“Now, stop that!” Maryse scolded. “It’s one of the most important nights of your life and you’re behaving like a child!” Maryse relented, bending down and putting her arms around the girl who was perched like a frightened bird on the edge of the little damask covered stool.
“You mustn’t worry, really. Tonight your life begins,” she whispered.
“If only I’d been a boy, my father never would have left me here,” Geneviève said sadly, staring down at her blue satin slippers.
Annoyed, Maryse stood up, her hands on her hips. “Oh yes, that would be nice. Then you could spend every day of your life grubbing in the fields, until you married and had a hungry family of your own to feed!” Far better for this child to wish for a gentle lover, Maryse thought, than to wish herself back to the hard, grinding life of a peasant. She pulled Geneviève to her feet and began to help her slip her arms into the pale blue silk casaquin that matched her eyes perfectly.
“What your father has done is given you a chance for a decent life. He wanted something better for you, Gigi, than a hut full of squalling brats, half of whom would probably be dead before they learned to walk. Now you’ll be able to have children when you’re ready for them, and when you can afford to educate them.”
“Maryse!” Geneviève looked shocked. “What you are saying is against the laws of the Church.”
Maryse was surprised. Was the child really so naive?
“Bah! Those fat priests never watched a baby starve to death. If they’re so concerned, let them bear the children.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.
Geneviève looked even more nervous. Maryse was exasperated. The discussion was going nowhere. She had to take a different approach or Geneviève would be too frightened to please her patron, and in their business a girl needed all the recommendations she could get.
“You must cheer up! Look at me. In three days I’ll become the wife of Monsieur Chabannier, the baker. What better life could I ask for?”
“Are you truly happy, Maryse?” the girl asked, anxious to be convinced.
“Of course. How could I not be happy? And you will be happy, too. This room will be yours when I’m gone, and you’ll have a host of gentlemen who will be very good to you, and who’ll give you much more attention than most women ever enjoy. And, there will be special friends as well.” Her voice faltered for just a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Just wait and see.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Entrez,” Maryse called, not even looking in that direction. When she finally glanced in the mirror, she saw Richard standing in the doorway.
“Richard!” she cried, as she flew across the room to him, jumping up to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly.
Richard was reluctant to release her. He’d come to say goodbye, and while he truly wished Maryse every happiness in her upcoming marriage, he also realized how much he’d miss her. Their time together over the past three years had meant a great deal to him.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” he said softly, as he set her back on her feet, marveling once again at the perfect curve of her lips. Somehow, his memory of her beautiful mouth always paled in comparison to the reality.
Maryse suddenly found herself unable to meet his eyes.
“Yes, I’m to be married in three days. I didn’t expect you back before the wedding.”
“I hope it wasn’t wrong of me to come.” He tried to catch her eye, to read some truth there, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“No, of course not. I’m very happy to see you,” she said quickly. She looked up at him, puzzled. It took her a moment to realize what had changed.
“Richard! Your hair!”
He smiled, running his hand through the now short curls and looking a little guilty.
“Should I have worn a wig?”
“Oh, stop!” She’d never known him to wear a wig and doubted she’d ever see him in one. He hated them.
“My dear Maryse, sometimes the less hair aboard ship, the better. Especially if the ship is infested with vermin!”
Maryse made a face and Richard couldn’t help but laugh.
“I promise,” he said, raising his right hand in a convincing oath. “We left them all in Tunis!”
As she smiled at him, Richard realized that there was something else in Maryse’s eyes, something beyond the good-natured joking.
“Now come, there’s someone I want you to meet,” she said brightly. Maryse took his hand and led him across the room to Geneviève.
“Geneviève, this is Monsieur Magniet, an old friend.”
“Mademoiselle,” Richard said as he took the girl’s hand and kissed it.
Geneviève felt herself blush. She automatically dropped into a curtsy as she’d been taught.
“Monsieur,” she said softly. She didn’t know why she felt so intimidated by his very presence. He was so tall, and so very handsome, even with his strange short hair.
Charmant, Maryse thought as she watched the girl with Richard. There was no doubt Geneviève would attract a very wealthy patron tonight, and if the girl was lucky, he might be kind, as well.
“Well, ma petite, they’ll be waiting for you downstairs. Just remember what I said.” She took Geneviève by the arm and walked her to the door.
Impulsively, the girl turned to hug Maryse. “Thank you…for everything, and forgive me for being so foolish.”
When the door closed behind her, Maryse turned back to Richard.
“Is she new? I don’t remember seeing her before,” he asked.
“She came to us two months ago. Tonight will be her first with a man.”
Richard frowned. “She’s very pretty, but isn’t she a little young?”
Maryse laughed. “She’s thirteen, a year older than I was.”
Richard immediately thought of Christina, who had turned thirteen that past spring. Though he was increasingly aware of the potential, he had not yet been able to think of her as a woman.
Maryse suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Maryse, are you sure you don’t mind that I’ve come?”
She was surprised to find herself on the verge of tears. She withdrew her hand, determined to get her emotions under control, knowing she never would as long as she felt the gentle pressure of his skin against hers.
“I’m very pleased to see you.” Even as she said the words, she turned away. “I really didn’t think you’d be back before the wedding.” She reached up and pulled the woven bell cord that hung beside the door. “You will stay for supper, won’t you?”
“If you like.” Richard watched her, unable to understand the reason for the change that had come over her since Geneviève left them.
Odile knocked just a few minutes later and Maryse asked her to bring them something to eat. Then she proceeded to make a great show of straightening up the room, serving him some wine and just generally doing her best to keep her distance.
Richard sat at the small table and watched her, sipping the wine and answering her questions about the voyage, about Cybelle’s party and about Christina. He knew she was avoiding any sort of meaningful conversation, but he couldn’t understand why—or for that matter, what—could have caused the warm greeting she’d given him to chill so quickly.
Finally, when Maryse ran out of things to say, she began pacing back and forth across the room. As she passed by the table, he caught her wrist. When she didn’t resist, he gently pulled her onto his lap.
“Maryse, I am here because you asked me to stay. If you want me to go, you have only to say so,” he said gently. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Your upcoming marriage may make seeing me difficult, but there’s no reason for you to feel this uncomfortable.”
“I know.” She looked down again at the finely embroidered handkerchief she was nervously twisting in her lap. She was confused by her emotions—so very happy he’d come, but knowing that it was only to say goodbye was breaking her heart.
Richard touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I came here to bring you a gift, and to assure myself that you’re happy in your choice of husbands.”
Maryse knew his concern was genuine. Perhaps that was what was making it all so very difficult.
“Saai Jai,” she whispered. It was her nickname for him and pronouncing it somehow comforted her. “Forgive me. I’ve missed you.”
Richard kissed her fingers and then took her hand and placed it around his neck before he kissed her. Maryse slowly abandoned herself to the kiss, even though she knew it might be their last. For all her pretense to the contrary, that thought filled her with sadness.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door as Odile arrived with their supper and Maryse nervously jumped to her feet. The older woman’s face lit up when she saw Richard. Over the past three years he had slowly managed to charm his way into her good graces.
“Monsieur, how good to see you,” she said, genuinely pleased.
“And you, Odile. Tell me, how are your niece and her new son doing?”
Odile beamed, blossoming in the light of his concern. “Oh, very well, Monsieur, and they are most grateful for your generous gift.”
“Well, I wish them the best.”
“Thank you, Monsieur.” Odile curtseyed, and though she would rather have stayed to talk with Richard, she was very sure that these two would have a great deal to say to each other. She left them alone.
As the door closed behind Odile, the gulf between Richard and Maryse widened once again, making the conversation over their meal awkward and leaving serious doubts in Richard’s mind as to whether or not Maryse was indeed happy about her impending marriage. Try as he might, he could not get past the superficial topics she continued to offer.
When they finished their food, Richard pulled a small embroidered silk pouch from his pocket, and reaching across the table to catch hold of her wrist, placed it in her hand. Their eyes met. She smiled sadly and he released her. Slowly, she poured the contents of the pouch into her palm. The delicate double strands of pearls slid over her skin, catching on her fingers.
For a moment she just stared at them and then, quite suddenly, she burst into tears. It was so thoughtful, so like him to give her something she’d treasure for the rest of her life, something that would always remind her of his best wishes for her happiness.
Richard pulled her to her feet and held her tightly. This was the last thing he wanted. He’d hoped his gift would please her, that it would be something special for her to wear on her wedding day.
“I’ve yet to see a woman react unfavorably to pearls, so I assume something else is upsetting you.” His gentle humor failed to bring a smile. “Please talk to me, Maryse,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s making you so unhappy.”
“You must forgive me,” she said brightly, smiling as she attempted to brush the tears from her cheeks. “They say all brides are emotional, and I think if I’m any example, they must be right.”
Richard pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, one of the many Christina had made for him, and offered it to Maryse in place of her own sodden one. He took the glistening strands of pearls from her hand and fastened them around her neck, then turned her to face the mirror, forcing her to confront her image. The pale pearls shimmered against her dark skin in the soft light of the room.
“You see? Nothing to cry about. They’re beautiful, and so are you.” He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the fragrance of her perfume. The reflection of Maryse’s impossibly pretty lips smiled back at him. “Now, why don’t you get us some brandy?”
Richard pulled his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the time as Maryse poured the amber liquid into their glasses. He lifted his glass to her in a toast.
“To many happy years, Maryse, and a warm and loving family of your own.”
Richard’s eyes were filled with questions, but Maryse’s eyes, now dry, answered none of them.
“Well, it’s late, I should be going.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, but Maryse’s lips met his. He was surprised but kissed her thoroughly.
“Richard, stay with me tonight.” Maryse was a little surprised at herself, but she couldn’t bear to have him leave. Not yet.
“Do you think that wise, under the circumstances?” he asked gently, afraid that what she was asking would later be something she’d regret.
“You know how important you’ve been to me these last three years. I’d very much appreciate a chance to say goodbye.”
He took her face in his hands, searching for the truth behind her request. The look in her eyes gave him the distinct feeling he knew what it was.
“Maryse, are you sure this is what you want?”
She nodded quickly, feeling her heart skip a beat as she realized he would stay.
Their lovemaking was bittersweet. Richard knew the situation between them was impossible—and he knew that she knew it. He decided to do his best to distract her, realizing he was no more anxious to face the truth than she was.
“Maryse, how does a woman feel when she’s in love?” He offered the question lightly, hoping to change the mood.
“You’re teasing me,” she said, as she snuggled closer to him.
“On the contrary. If you’d share this ancient secret with me, I’d be very grateful. Afterall, what man has not wished to understand a woman in love?” He gestured expansively with his free arm. “Of course, since no one seems to have mastered it in all these centuries, I don’t hold much hope. Nevertheless, you are about to be married and should have something to tell me on that subject.”
Maryse said nothing and Richard found himself regretting his choice of subjects.
“What is wrong, Maryse?” he asked softly.
Maryse had no intention of opening herself up that discussion.
“Perhaps you should first tell me: how do you love Christina?”
Richard couldn’t help but laugh, though he knew she was serious. “My love for Christina is not something that I do, it simply is. She’s not quite thirteen, so I haven’t loved her as a man loves a woman, but I assure you, I do love her.”
Maryse sighed impatiently. Richard tried again.
“I’ve loved her since the first day I saw her, when she was only a baby. I never actually ‘fell in love’ with her. She’s part of me, Maryse, I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Richard, you’re not telling me how you feel about her.”
He paused, forcing himself to take a moment to reflect. It wasn’t something he’d ever felt a need to articulate.
“I feel concerned about her. I want to protect her and care for her and most of all to make her happy. She’s my life. I can’t imagine an existence without her. Now, you tell me: how is it with a woman?”
Maryse rolled away from him and lay staring at the ceiling.
“When a woman falls in love, she is a fool.”
The words and the chilly tone in which she pronounced them were betrayed by the tear that slid down the side of her face.
“Maryse, if you’re unhappy in this marriage, you must tell me.”
She said nothing.
“You know the reason I’ve provided you with an income these last three years is so you would have a choice. There is absolutely no reason for you to rush into a union that won’t make you happy.”
Maryse lay there, thinking how grateful she was for everything that Richard had done for her. He was the only real friend she’d ever had. The money he’d given her had provided her with a dowry and had indeed allowed her to see only such men at Madame Dijol’s as she chose. Without Richard’s financial support, she never would have been able to find a prospective husband as wealthy as Monsieur Chabannier. And now, instead of showing her gratitude, she was causing him unnecessary worry.
“No, I’m not unhappy. Truly. Everything is perfect. Monsieur Chabannier is very kind and I fancy I shall like being the wife of such a successful man.”
Richard looked at her skeptically, but she only laughed and moved back against him, kissing him on the cheek.
“You see? What I’ve said is true. A woman in love is a fool—my behavior proves it. Now smile for me and forgive me for being so emotional.” When her efforts to reassure him seemed to have little effect, she went on. “I am in love, you know.” Even as she said them, the words stuck in her throat.
She quickly tried to turn away but he caught her chin and turned her back to him.
“I do know,” he said softly. Then he kissed her gently, but his mouth lingered on hers, letting her know that he did understand and how very sorry he was that there was nothing he could do about it.
She snuggled down against him, relaxing at last. “Richard, don’t ever lose your tenderness,” she said softly.
“What?”
“You have a unique tenderness, a way of making a woman feel very special. It’s a gift, one you mustn’t misuse. Don’t ever lose it.”
“Any gift I have, has come from you.”
She lifted her head to kiss him and this time when their lips met he felt her desperation.
Then, suddenly, there was a dull thud, as though a chair had overturned, followed by muffled curses. The sounds seemed to come from across the hall. Richard pulled away from Maryse to listen.
“It’s late. They drink too much,” she whispered against his cheek.
He smiled and turned to kiss her again, but this time there was yelling, a scream and the sound of breaking glass. Richard was out of bed like a shot, quickly pulling on his breeches and rushing into the hall. Maryse wasn’t far behind him.
The sounds of a struggle, a woman pleading, blows and more overturned furniture were coming from the room directly across from Maryse’s. Richard went to the door and tried the handle but it was locked. He pounded on the ornately painted panel, but the disturbance within continued.
“Go away, I don’t need any help,” came the drunken reply.
“Mademoiselle? Are you all right?” Richard had no intention of leaving things as they were until he could determine if the young lady was safe.
There was no answer, but the hallway was beginning to fill with curious women and their patrons in various stages of undress.
“Monsieur, open the door…” Richard insisted patiently.
All that could be heard from the other side of the door were loud whispers followed by blows and screams. Richard put his shoulder to the door and then threw his weight against it, easily breaking the lock.
There was no light in the room except for the guttering candles in the branched candelabra on the table beside the bed. Richard saw a man, his shirt half off, bending over a woman crouching on the floor. He grabbed at the man’s shoulder to pull him back, but as he turned to take a drunken swing, Richard recognized him.
“Guy?” Surprised, he easily caught Guy’s arm and blocked the blow.
Guy was very drunk and it took a moment for the recognition to sink into his alcohol-muddled brain. He shook his head in an effort to clear it, and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“Richard?” he said, stumbling against his friend.
Richard held Guy upright and looked over to the girl. It was Geneviève. The front of her casaquin was ripped and the remains of her delicate corselet hung from her waist. There was a welt on her cheek and a bruise along her collarbone and her lovely blond hair was a mess, half of it hanging down around her tiny breasts. She was obviously terrified.
Richard pushed Guy into one of the chairs and went to help Geneviève to her feet.
“Mademoiselle, are you hurt?”
Geneviève just stared at him, then slowly began to shake her head and to pull at her tattered clothing in an effort to cover herself. Richard put his arm around her and helped her to the door where Maryse was waiting. As they passed, Guy grabbed for her, but Richard caught his arm. When Guy saw the look in Richard’s eyes, he released her.
Richard closed the door behind the two women.
“How can you let her go?” Guy wailed. “She cost me a fortune and I haven’t even had her yet.”
Richard was disgusted and it took all the control he could muster to keep from dealing Guy a blow that might easily put him out for the rest of the night.
“How can you possibly expect to make love to a woman if you frighten her like that?” Richard said, shaking his head in exasperation.
Guy stared at him, amazed by Richard’s naiveté. “I—she’s stupid—doesn’t have the first idea how to behave with a man.”
Richard laughed derisively and saw a wave of anger flash in Guy’s unfocused eyes.
“Forgive me, my friend, but if you wanted an experienced woman, whatever possessed you to spend your money on that girl? Experienced virgins are a rare commodity.”
Guy was not at all soothed.
“Come, why not call it a night?” Richard reached out to put a hand on Guy’s shoulder, but Guy pulled away, staggering to his feet in an effort to confront Richard eye to eye, no small task considering the fact that he was a good deal shorter.
“No! Who do you think you are, taking her away from me?” She was so beautiful, so innocent. He’d only wanted to talk to her, to tell her…but then, she’d touched him.
Richard’s patience had totally evaporated.“You have no right to hurt these women, no matter what you paid for them!”
Guy sneered. “Oh? Is that so? Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do! There are women here…”
“Then choose one of them and leave that child alone!”
Guy could see Richard wasn’t interested in listening to him. And what did Richard know, anyway? A pampered rich boy who’d always had only nice things—nice tutor, nice family, nice life. What did he know about the things that weren’t so nice?
There was a soft knock at the door. It was Maryse.
“Has he calmed down?” she whispered. “Claire is willing to finish the night with him.”
For a moment, Richard was undecided. He hated to leave anyone alone with Guy. He leaned against the edge of the door, staring at the floor.
“Do you still want a woman?” he asked without turning.
Guy laughed, but there was deep-seated anger beneath the harsh sound. “Of course I want a woman. I’m a man, aren’t I?”
Richard shook his head and opened the door, wide enough to admit Claire, a tall, voluptuous woman whose heavily hennaed hair did little to disguise her age. Richard caught her arm as she entered. She looked up and saw the concern in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, chéri,” she said, briefly taking his chin in her hand. “Monsieur Jonvaux and I are old friends.” Her hand rested lightly against his bare shoulder as she turned to Guy. “Aren’t we?”
Guy finally focused on her and his muddled brain made the connection.
“Not that one…I won’t have her. She’s deformed!”
Claire laughed loudly. She looked back at Richard and this time he saw the sadness behind her broad smile.
Her hand trailed slowly down, over the hard muscles of his chest to the unbuttoned waist of his breeches. Lord, why don’t the Fates ever send me one like this? She sighed, then turned and sauntered over to Guy, confidently sliding her arm around his waist. Slowly, she pulled the tie on her robe and opened it, displaying herself seductively to Richard.
“You tell me, chéri, am I deformed?”
Before Richard could respond, Guy grabbed Claire’s hair and pulled her head back, exposing a long rough scar that ran from just under her ear to her collarbone.
“You see?” he screamed. “Disgusting!” He roughly pushed her away. She was marked. He’d marked her himself. Everyone knew what she was, and if she tried to tell what she knew, no one would believe her.
Claire laughed again. She noted the way Guy was looking at Richard and suddenly she understood what had made Guy so angry that he’d felt compelled to attack her with the dagger. It wasn’t what she was but rather what she wasn’t. In her business she had seen it a hundred times and thought nothing of it. But Guy had nearly cost her her life. So foolish. So unnecessary.
“But Monsieur, you said that scar would be something to remember you by, and so it is.” She moved closer to him and parted his shirt, rubbing her breasts against his skin. “And I do remember,” she whispered.
For a moment Guy did nothing, then he pulled her against him and kissed her hard.
One hand behind her back, Claire motioned to Richard to leave. She knew that Guy had already forgotten the girl. In a matter of minutes, she was confident he would be sound asleep.
Reluctantly, Richard returned to Maryse’s room, not completely convinced that Claire would be able to control Guy. Maryse had her arms around Geneviève, who was still crying. Her attempts to comfort the girl had been largely unsuccessful and her eyes begged Richard for assistance.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, putting a hand on Geneviève’s head and brushing back some of her disheveled curls.
She looked up at him and began to cry even harder. Richard unwound her arms from Maryse’s waist and enfolded her in his own.
“Get her some brandy.”
While Maryse fetched the decanter, Richard continued to hold the sobbing Geneviève, gently stroking her hair.
“Geneviève,” he said softly. “You must tell me, are you hurt?”
She shook her head but remained as she was, her cheek pressed against his bare chest, comforted by his embrace.
“Here, Gigi, this will help you.” Maryse offered the brandy. Who in the world had allowed Geneviève to go with that man? He had an unpleasant reputation among the girls, but he had money and she knew that, in the end, Geneviève had gone to the highest bidder.
Geneviève drained the glass Maryse offered, but remained clinging to Richard. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head, studying the side of her cheek. The red mark along the bone was showing every sign of darkening into a sizeable bruise.
“I think we’d better put a cold cloth on that.” He gently eased her away from him so that he could look at the marks on her collarbone.
Geneviève felt herself blush as his hands moved over her breasts and shoulders, gently probing the spots where Guy had struck her. She winced at the pain, but allowed him to continue until he was satisfied that the damage was superficial. Richard clenched his teeth in anger, barely able to suppress the urge to go back across the hall and give Guy a more suitable opponent than this poor child who had tried so hard to play the part of a woman.
Maryse helped Geneviève out of the remnants of her corselet and her casaquin and into something from her own closet, then sat her down in front of the mirror and began to repair her coiffure. As Geneviève sat holding the cloth to her cheek, the brandy began to have an effect and she seemed to relax a little. Richard poured brandy for himself and Maryse. When he passed the glass to Maryse, Geneviève reached out and touched his arm.
“Monsieur, you’re a man…” Her red-rimmed eyes begged for an answer. “Can you tell me what I did wrong?”
“I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But he was so angry with me, and I don’t know why.” Her eyes began to fill with tears again.
“Geneviève,” Richard said sternly, as he took her by the shoulders and forced her to confront her reflection. “Look at yourself. You are a very beautiful young woman, and there is no reason for any man to treat you like that. Monsieur Jonvaux simply had too much to drink. I would, however, advise you to avoid him in the future.”
Richard stepped back, giving Maryse the opportunity to finish repairing Geneviève’s hair.
“Now, isn’t that better?” Maryse said as she added a final touch of powder to cover the bruise on the girl’s cheek.
“Yes, thank you.”
“All right then, you had best get yourself back downstairs, before the night is over.” She brought one of her own fringed silk shawls from the bed and offered it to the girl.
Geneviève looked up at Maryse, horrified. “No…please! I can’t!”
“Come now, Gigi, you must. Tonight’s the night,” Maryse said firmly. “By tomorrow you must be an experienced woman.”
“Maryse—no—please! It’s very late and all the men are drunk. I can’t, not again! Please!” Geneviève was terrified at the prospect of being pawed by yet another drunken patron who would pinch and probe her body as though he were selecting a ripe melon. When she saw she would get no support from Maryse, she turned to Richard. “Monsieur, please!”
Richard looked from the stricken girl to Maryse. Much to his surprise, Maryse began to smile.
“She could stay with us,” Maryse offered, the tone of her voice making her meaning clear. “Afterall, she’s been paid for.”
“Money isn’t the issue here,” Richard said pointedly, expecting Maryse to understand that he had no wish to get involved with Geneviève, especially to the degree she was suggesting. He had no interest in girls that young.
Maryse went to him, carefully placing her hand on his chest. She knew he wasn’t pleased with the turn the evening had taken, not to mention the prospect of taking a virgin to his bed. She doubted that he’d ever had one, but perhaps he should. And she couldn’t hope to find a kinder lover for Geneviève.
“Saai Jai,” she whispered, “She deserves to know your tenderness, especially tonight. Think of it as a gift.”
Richard sighed, knowing as he looked at Maryse’s beautiful lips, that he could deny her nothing.
“But she’s only a child,” he protested lamely.
Geneviève stood up and went to him, snuggling up to him on the opposite side.
“I assure you, Monsieur, I am no child.”
Maryse and Richard looked at each other and laughed, remembering that first night when he had confidently assured her of the very same thing.
The next afternoon, when Maryse’s door opened, the door across the hall opened as well, but only a crack. Richard stepped out into the hall with Geneviève and Maryse, both of them with their arms around him. They were all in high spirits though Richard would have been the first to admit that he was exhausted.
Having Geneviève with them for the rest of the night had somehow seemed to cheer Maryse, and Richard was now satisfied that she was ready to go through with her marriage to the baker. He reached up to caress her cheek for the last time, his other arm still around Geneviève.
“Be happy, Maryse,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her. “And you…” he said, looking at Geneviève.
“Yes?” she said innocently even as she slid her hand suggestively down the front of his breeches.
He caught hold of her wrist and brought her fingers to his lips. “You, behave yourself.”
They all laughed and Richard disentangled himself from them. He kissed them both quickly and left. The women stood arm in arm, and watched him go.
Silently, the door across the hall closed.
He was not surprised when Guy failed to meet him that afternoon, and finally, at five o’clock, Richard left for home alone. It was a two hour ride, one he would rather have made with a companion, but it did give him some time to think about Guy.
Richard was still angry about the events of the past night and disgusted by Guy’s behavior. He’d never seen that facet of his friend’s personality, and he’d be the first to admit it had come as a very unpleasant surprise. He would have liked to pass it off as a singular event, attributable to alcohol, but then there was Claire. If Guy had given her that horrible scar, how could Richard imagine he really knew Guy? He was determined to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.
But it was not to be. Guy returned to Beauvu the next afternoon. When he asked to speak to Richard privately, he merely apologized for his behavior, and refused to say anything more. When Richard brought up Guy’s previous request to discuss whatever had upset him at the party, Guy dismissed it as unimportant.
Christina had only nine more days with Richard that summer before she returned to her school in Venice. She spent Christmas at Beauvu and Richard was there with her for eleven days before he returned to the ships. To her, it seemed so little.
Her winter was a busy one, for that year the Conservatorio performed in Naples, Venice and Florence, each program requiring a solo of Christina. And while she enjoyed the attention she received for her beautiful voice, she longed for Richard, but was forced to content herself with his letters.
The following summer, Richard made a point to spend the first two months with Christina, but by the end of the first week of August, he was off again.
Guy had found himself a young lady and was dividing his time between that new romantic interest and working with his father in Arles. Christina saw little of him. Her brother, Marco, was seeing quite a bit of Lise Rouffet and, of course, taking care of his own share of the family business. He did his best to spend some time with his sister, but it was little enough and Christina was lonely.
It seemed that her girlfriends could talk of nothing but the eligible young men that summer and which one they hoped to dance with at the next party. It bored Christina. She knew whom she loved and whom she was going to marry, and it seemed to her that time was passing much too slowly. She didn’t understand why she and Richard couldn’t marry and get on with their lives. Growing up took entirely too much time to suit her.
Finally, she went to stay a few weeks with Cybelle and her new son, Mathieu, but even there, she seemed at loose ends. Christina enjoyed the baby, but he only made her long for a family of her own. Half of her life was missing, as it always was when she was separated from Richard.