Rien au Paradis, rien sur la Terre, peut me l’arracher;
Puisque c’est l’amour, qui nous a attachés.
—Sauvalle
Nothing in Heaven or Earth can take her from me
For we two are bound by Love.
Juillet 1752
Arles
Richard hadn’t expected to find himself in Arles again until December, but his sister Cybelle’s request that he help her engage a tutor for her children, meshed with an opportunity to help an old friend, and brought him back to Provence in the middle of July. And now he was looking forward to surprising Christina, for he’d said nothing of his impending visit in his letters and had asked his sister not to mention it.
The Marquis’ carriage met them in Arles the day after their ship docked. He would have preferred to ride, but Lauro hadn’t been on a horse in some time and Richard had no wish to reintroduce a saddlesore young man to Cybelle.
Laurenzo Paulo Floriani was a childhood friend, his father a silk merchant in Rome. He’d handled the books and recordkeeping for the business and, being fluent in four languages, conversant in four more, he had assisted his father in negotiations. But his father’s business had suffered serious losses over the past few years and Lauro was forced to seek some sort of position to provide himself a living.
Richard heard of the family’s misfortune through his warehouseman in Naples and had immediately gone to Rome on the pretext of conducting some business in person. He called on the Florianis and made passing mention that he was looking for a tutor for his niece and nephew. Happily, Lauro had been interested.
A year older than Richard, Lauro was tall and slender and fair, with piercing blue eyes and a ready smile. As boys, they’d traveled together for a year and their friendship had endured, though they’d seen little of each other over the past few years. Lauro suspected Richard had come to Rome specifically to offer him the position, but he was so pleased at the prospect that he could only be grateful.
Lauro had not seen Cybelle since she was fourteen and his memories of the beautiful but seemingly cheerless young lady were now—as their inevitable meeting drew near—giving him cause for concern. Was his haste to accept Richard’s offer going to force him into an uncomfortable situation in a family where he wouldn’t be happy?
“Richard, I admit this opportunity seemed heaven sent so I’ve been afraid to question any aspect of it. But tell me, old friend, how is your sister?”
Richard, idly straightening the lace at his cuffs, started to reply, but when he saw Lauro’s serious expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” Lauro found Richard’s laughter even more worrisome.
“Forgive me, but with that look on your face, it was obvious your inquiry more specifically concerns my sister’s disposition.”
“And?”
“And, I can assure you that she’s changed a great deal.”
Richard couldn’t resist teasing Lauro. It seemed the memory of a younger—and certainly formidable—Cybelle might still give this otherwise self-assured and confident young man pause, even after so many years.
“Put your mind at ease, Lauro. I’m happy to report that love and marriage have worked a miracle in my dear sister. And believe me, it was as much a surprise to me as it will be to you.”
It was Lauro’s turn to laugh, this time with relief. “And when is marriage going to work a similar miracle on you?”
“By the end of next year, I hope. I confess I’m getting a bit impatient. I’ve spent a great deal of time lately reminding myself that Christina is worth waiting for.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. I haven’t heard her sing in several years, but that voice! Like an angel’s. Do you remember when she sang that solo at the opera in Naples?”
How could Richard forget? The entire audience, usually noisy and unruly until the much touted stars of the evening appeared, had been struck dumb by the purity of Christina’s clear soprano—a magical night, one he would remember for a very long time.
“Well, perhaps we can persuade her to sing for you tonight.” But Richard had a question of his own. “I’ve been waiting for a child to grow up. What’s kept you a bachelor this long?”
Lauro smiled, a little sadly Richard thought.
“I don’t know. There was someone once but now…I suppose I haven’t found anyone else I can care about that way, and with the business situation what it is, I haven’t much to offer.”
“I suspect Cybelle will be just full of suggestions.” Richard smiled. “You know how women love matchmaking and my dear sister is no exception. Who knows, maybe what you’ve needed all along is a French girl!”
Lauro laughed. “Perhaps,” he said skeptically, “though I might remind you that your own fair bride-to-be is Italian.”
They arrived at the Marquis’ château late that afternoon. The sunlight slanting through the perfectly spaced trees that lined the drive gave a reassuring feeling of order to the immaculately groomed grounds of the huge estate. Cybelle was lucky to have made such a good marriage and doubly fortunate to be so happy in the match, Richard thought. Lauro was obviously impressed by the elegance of the house and its surroundings and Richard smiled, glad he’d said little about the extent of the Marquis’ wealth. Best to let Lauro evaluate the situation for himself.
Richard left Lauro to get reacquainted with Cybelle and went out to the garden to find Christina. Not seeing her among the roses or near the reflecting pool, he started into the huge maze.
He and Christina had discovered the quickest route to the center on a visit shortly after Cybelle’s marriage and they both enjoyed the privacy offered by the towering hedges that allowed them to imagine themselves the only inhabitants of a fragrant green and peaceful world.
He had made but two turns toward the center when he heard Christina’s voice. She was singing the soprano half of an old Vivaldi duet and humming the contralto parts that had been written for the man. Richard just stopped and stood for a moment, listening. Lauro was right—the voice of an angel.
When she finished the next section, Richard joined in and sang in a deep clear voice, albeit two octaves lower than the notes originally intended for a castrato to give voice to. Though he had no real talent for singing, he and Christina often sang together for the pure pleasure of it.
At first Christina thought she’d imagined Richard’s reply to her song, but a moment later she knew it must be him. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, gathered her skirts and flew along the narrow path in a decidedly unladylike manner.
Richard could hear her coming closer, aware she was running by the sound of her voice as she continued the song. He stopped and waited at one of the turns and a few seconds later she rounded it and ran right into him.
He reached out to catch her. She pushed away from him just long enough to regain her balance and then threw her arms around his neck.
Laughing, Richard hugged her tightly, but she didn’t release her hold on him. He sensed the tension in her whole body and knew immediately that something was wrong.
“Chrissa? What is it?” he asked as he took a firm hold on her arms and unwound them from his neck.
Reluctantly, she found her footing again. She knew he’d seen the tears.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She tried her best to smile. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just surprised to see you.”
“And since when does an unexpected visit bring tears to those beautiful green eyes of yours?” he asked.
Christina knew it would do no good to lie to him. She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly.
“Richard, please take me with you when you go back to Arles. I want to go home.”
This was unlike Christina. “Come,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her back toward the center of the maze. “I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
In the very center of the maze was a little knot garden with a fountain surrounded by marble benches where Christina had spent a great deal of time over the past two weeks because it afforded her a chance to avoid Cybelle’s lectures.
“Chrissa…?”
With a determined shake of her head, she lifted her chin and looked him right in the eye. “Very well, then. Have you ever been with a whore?” When she saw his surprise, she lost her nerve and looked away, biting her lip.
“What?”
Something in his voice made her suspicious and she hated herself for it. “I asked if you’ve ever been with a whore.” This time she spoke softly, her voice trembling. She couldn’t look at him.
“And exactly who is it you call whore, Chrissa?” Richard was determined to find who had been planting these thoughts in such surprisingly fertile ground.
Christina was beginning to wish she’d never asked the question. She began to pluck nervously at the tucked ribbons on the front of her skirts.
“I ask you again, who is it you call whore?”
“Oh, Richard, I don’t know. Cybelle says there are women who sell themselves to men.”
“To what purpose?” he said abruptly.
Christina looked up in confusion.
“To what purpose do these ‘whores’ sell themselves to men?” He pressed her to answer. He seriously doubted that Christina knew exactly what she was talking about.
She blushed furiously. “They sell themselves to men for doing what is done between husband and wife.” There, she’d said it. Why was he making her say these things?
“And why do you suppose they might sell the use of their bodies to men?”
“For pleasure?” she ventured unsteadily. She hadn’t really thought about it. It was whispered among the girls at her school that this thing between men and women was pleasurable, and truly it felt wonderful whenever Richard held her or kissed her, but Christina couldn’t imagine anyone else touching her.
The transparency of her expression made it easy for Richard to read her thoughts and he waited until he was sure that she, herself, questioned the answer she’d given.
“Chrissa,” he said, framing her face with his hands. “You are one of the sweetest, kindest people on this earth. It’s not like you to be so uncharitable toward someone less fortunate. Please believe me when I tell you that you misjudge these women.”
Tears filled her eyes and she leaned against him.
“Do you think that other women don’t share your feelings? That they don’t want to be loved, too? Count your blessings, Chrissa. Your father didn’t sell you to a brothel at the age of nine or ten, or even younger, just so you could be sold again to the highest bidder.”
Christina pushed away from him. Fathers selling their children?
“But why?”
“Usually for food, for bread to feed others who are hungry. But I’m sure there are as many reasons as there are people. The daughter of a Siamese princess ended up in a brothel just by virtue of the fact she was unwanted at Court.”
Christina saw the distant look in Richard’s eyes, though it passed in an instant.
“Did you know her?”
“I knew her.”
“And did you love her?” The words were out before she could call them back and they hung in the silence between them for a long time before he answered.
“I was kind to her, Chrissa. Would you have me be otherwise?” He lay his fingers gently against her cheek, then carefully brushed the stray hairs away from her face.
Christina watched him, realizing there was a lot she didn’t know about the man she loved. It frightened her a little.
“Sweetheart, I’ve never loved anyone but you. Is it really so easy to doubt me?”
Christina looked down and shook her head. He did love her, she knew that. And she loved him. And at that moment she knew for certain that no one and no thing would ever come between them.
When she looked up, he kissed her.
Raymond was away from the château on business and so the four of them had a pleasant, intimate dinner in the library. Christina, Richard and Lauro laughed over old stories and shared memories. Cybelle was either unwilling or unable to join in, though it didn’t seem to inhibit the others. Christina agreed to sing for them after the meal, but Richard excused himself first, asking to speak with Cybelle alone.
Cybelle had a good idea what he wanted to say and she was ready for him. But as she watched him usher the others out of the room, she could only think how devastatingly handsome he’d become. It was perhaps the first time she’d really seen him as a man rather than as her little brother, and she was astonished at his air of self-possession. And he has yet to celebrate his twenty-second birthday. It’s no wonder that poor, innocent Christina is so blinded by love that she can’t see the truth!
Richard turned to face his sister, but his view of his sibling was not nearly so flattering as hers of him. He saw the hard lines around her mouth and the frown that creased the smooth skin of her forehead. This was not the happy woman who had assured him of her husband’s love just four years ago.
“Cybelle, I want to talk to you about these things you’ve been saying to Christina.”
Cybelle just looked at him, defiantly.
“Have you nothing to say?” Richard was exasperated. “I don’t understand why you felt the need to speak of these things to a girl who’s little more than a child.”
Cybelle’s laugh was harsh. “Oh, I suppose next you’ll tell me that you’ve never had a ‘child’ her age, or one even younger.”
Richard glared at her. She was pressing his patience to the limits. “I can assure you, Sister Dear,” he said deliberately, “that I have never ‘had,’ as you seem to insist on putting it, a girl who has spent the better part of her life in a convent conservatorio. When I do, she will be my wife.”
“And then what?” Cybelle said immediately, closing the distance between them as the words hissed between her teeth. “What becomes of her when you tire of her?”
Richard stared at his sister, her face a mask of rage. He took her firmly by the shoulders, barely able to resist the urge to give a good shake and at the same time wishing he could offer her some sort of comfort.
“Cybi, my celibacy or the lack of it is not the real issue here. What’s wrong? It’s obvious that you’re unhappy about something, but do you really want to make Christina as miserable as you seem to be?”
“She should be warned,” she said firmly. But the concern in Richard’s eyes made her turn away.
He released her. “All right,” Richard said patiently. “What exactly is it she should be warned about?”
“She needs to know the truth.”
“Cybelle, what truth?” he asked a bit too loudly. He took a moment to control his flaring temper. “The truth is that I love her, that I’ve always loved her and that in another year or so we’ll be married. I’ve waited years for her. Do you seriously doubt my feelings?”
“Oh, no,” she said bitterly. “Not now.” She turned and placed her hands on the cool marble mantel, her fingers running over the deeply carved scrollwork. “But what happens when she’s produced a child for you and you tire of her? When she’s no longer young, what then?” She glared at him over her shoulder.
So that was it. Richard laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
“Cybi, I’m sorry. Is there nothing you can do? Do you want me to speak to Raymond?”
“And what would you say?” she asked, her eyes full of tears. “‘Excuse me Monsieur le Marquis, but could you possibly leave those twelve year old girls alone and pay your wife some bit of attention?’”
“Perhaps,” he said, turning her around so that he could take her in his arms. She seemed surprisingly small and vulnerable. “And I might add, ‘because she’s the mother of your children and she loves you.’”
Cybelle knew she had but to ask and Richard would speak to Raymond. But it was too late. All her love for her husband had been crushed by his neglect since the birth of her last child. There was nothing left for her now and she hated what the horrible emptiness was doing to her.
“I’m afraid it’s too late. He hasn’t come near me in more than two years. We hardly ever see each other, though he does manage to make time for the children.”
Richard looked at his sister. She was only twenty-five, beautiful, still desirable as a woman.
“Cybi, this bitterness will destroy your family and everyone close to you. Surely you don’t want that? Perhaps you should consider taking a lover.”
In the Marquis’ social circle, such things were quite common when a couple’s relationship cooled or if there had never been love between them. But those were not the words his sister wanted to hear.
“Oh, that’s a fine solution,” she said sarcastically. “Would you have me become a whore, then?”
“I would have you be loved, Cybelle.”
Just then the doors opened and Christina and Lauro came in, full of good humor. When Christina looked at Richard and Cybelle, she realized they had arrived at an inopportune moment and her laughter died.
Lauro sought to fill the awkward silence. “Please you two, can’t you talk later? Christina has promised us a song and I, for one, am anxious to hear it.”
Christina took Richard’s arm. There was an apologetic look in her eyes, but he smiled and pressed her fingers against his sleeve.
“You’re right, Lauro, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to neglect you. Shall we go?” Richard’s eyes begged Cybelle to let the matter drop, if only for tonight.
As Richard and Christina started toward the doors, Lauro made a little bow and offered Cybelle his arm.
“Signora?”
Just four months later, Richard found himself far from the peaceful countryside of Provence, his ship having made port at Tunis. The crew hurried through the narrow crowded streets, a boisterous group of men celebrating the end of three long weeks aboard ship. They easily made their way through the throng of robed and veiled humanity to the door of a brightly lit cabaret that bore the name La Voile Rouge.
“Here we are, Richard. You’re in for a real treat!” the burly bosun whispered in his ear as they pushed the younger man through the door ahead of them.
Richard laughed, taking their teasing in stride, but once inside, he separated himself from the group.
“Get yourselves something to drink. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“God save us! Not another letter?” said the quartermaster in mock dismay as he and the rest of the men disappeared into the teeming main room.
Richard smiled to himself as he made his way to a quiet table. He ordered wine and asked for writing materials. He knew very few of the men could write and that all their teasing was merely an effort to make him feel comfortable. It had taken him a long time to prove that he was more than just the owner’s son. And it amused him that even after so many years—and no matter which crew he sailed with—they always seemed to presume his innocence in matters which they perceived as debauchery.
Richard shook his head and began writing.
12 Novembre 1752
Tunis
Beloved Christina,
This of needs must be brief as we have a ship leaving for Arles in just a few hours that will carry this to you.
Sweetheart, I fear that my news will not make you happy. The weather has delayed us and it now appears there’s little chance I’ll be returning to Beauvu in time for the Holidays.
Chrissa, do you really have any idea how much I miss you? These past four months seemed endless and I have so been looking forward to spending this Christmas with you. I know you must have made plans, and I’m so sorry to disappoint you. In truth, My Love, I admit I’ve left you alone too much, but we will very soon reap the benefits of these separations.
Be patient, Christina, for I love you as I’ve always loved you—completely.
Take very good care of yourself, My Heart. I’ll return to you in a few short weeks.
Pour L’éternité, R
PS/ I’m sending along these earrings with the hope that they’ll afford just a little smile. Wear them and think of me, Chrissa, and before you know it, I’ll be home.
Richard plucked a delicate pair of earrings, small opalescent faience scarabs on slender gold wires from his pocket, smiling as he imagined Christina overcoming her initial reaction to his news as she tried them on, her pretty pout of disappointment turning to a reluctant smile as she admired her reflection.
He placed the earrings in the letter, folding it carefully and slipping it into a flat leather pouch. Then he got up and went to the door of the tavern and gestured to a small Berber boy who waited outside. He handed the child the packet and a coin, along with instructions to deliver it to the departing ship. A moment later the boy disappeared into the darkness of the narrow street.
“Richard!”
Hearing his name, he turned back to the main room. Over the heads of the crowd, he could see the tall bosun motioning to him. He shouldered his way through the throng to the busy center of the cabaret. It was filled with the smell of Turkish tobacco and the twanging sound of the strange Eastern music, which did its best to compete with the voices of the men for dominance in the murky room. His eyes searched for his shipmates.
“Where have you been?” the bosun called as he pushed his way toward Richard. “We have a little something for you!”
The big man put his arm around Richard, guiding him to the large table where the crew was seated. Only a few of the men seemed to notice that he’d joined them, for their attention was riveted on the gleaming, sinuous form of a dancing girl, performing not ten feet away. Her plump body moved with the music, swaying slowly, unimaginable muscles rippling the dark flesh of her belly, and a moment later a fluttering shimmy jiggling the coins at her throat and hips. The men were entranced.
The bosun pushed Richard down into a chair and handed him a brimming mug just as the girl finished her performance. Then the man raised his arm, signaling to someone behind Richard. A moment later Dario was at the table, dragging another one of the dancing girls behind him.
The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen but she was a beauty. Her dusky bare arms were covered with bracelets and a heavy necklace of gold coins shimmered between her full breasts.
“We picked this one just for you,” the bosun said, laughing.
When the girl saw Richard, her demeanor changed completely. A dazzling smile lit her face and the look of anger in her eyes changed instantly to one of seduction. Dario pushed her forward and she fell enthusiastically into Richard’s lap.
“Oh, Monsieur, je vous aime!” she whispered as her slender arms slowly wound their way around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.
Richard laughed.
The tedious posing was boring Christina, but the knowledge that her gift for Richard was nearly completed kept her motionless on the small and extremely uncomfortable velvet chair. She was confident that he’d be pleased with the miniature portrait intended as his Christmas gift.
Giulio, the houseman, moved into her line of vision, remaining just outside the room. He was holding a small leather packet in his hand.
“Signorina?”
Grateful for the diversion, she went to meet him in the hallway.
“This just arrived for you.”
She was delighted, knowing it must be from Richard. Ignoring the dramatic sigh of impatience from the artist, she returned to the chair and removed the letter. As she unfolded it, the earrings fell into her lap. She scooped them up, hardly looking at them as she began to read.
Disappointment clouded her face and tears sprang to her eyes. Richard wouldn’t be home for Christmas! She’d made so many plans for the holiday season! Her father had allowed her to order four new dresses and she’d spent hours happily imagining what it would be like to attend the round of festive parties on Richard’s arm. Now, for the second year in a row, they would be separated.
“Mademoiselle, do you wish me to paint you with this expression on your face?” the artist asked in exasperation.
She looked up, blinking back the tears, and tried to smile as her fingers tightened around the earrings.
Richard returned to Beauvu on the twenty-third day of January.
The burial took place the next morning, a bright sunny day, crisp and clear and cold. A few spruces spread their branches among the bare trees at the family cemetery, diffusing the desolate mood of the winter landscape. When the brief ceremony was finished, the small group of mourners began to make their way along the gravel path that led back to the house.
“It’s a shame about the accident,” Christina said quietly as she joined Richard and her brother. “I still don’t understand what happened.”
“He fell on the stairs at the warehouse. Guy was with him, but he couldn’t stop the fall.” Marco repeated the words mechanically, hardy able to believe them himself. He was shocked, as they all were, by the death of Marcel Jonvaux.
Richard said nothing. It was incomprehensible that Marcel was dead. How could the man have fallen in a place he was so familiar with, and such a fall prove fatal? He was equally baffled by Guy’s cold behavior when he called to offer his condolences. He was uneasy, realizing Guy would now be running Marcel’s portion of the business. From what Marco and Christina had told him, Guy had been more erratic than ever over the past year and Richard didn’t envy Antonio’s new position as Guy’s partner.
When he reached the broad promenade below the terrace, Grégoire stopped and waited for the three of them.
“Christina,” he said casually, “might I have a word with you?”
“Of course, will you excuse us?” she said, turning to Richard and Marco.
Grégoire gestured her ahead of him and they went up the steps, walking together along the terrace. When they reached the end they stopped and stood looking out on the garden, barren now but for the carefully tended evergreens.
Christina waited.
Taking a deep breath, Grégoire began. “Christina, I’ve reached a point in my life where I must make a choice.” He hesitated.
“Go on,” she said with a smile.
He looked out across the garden as he continued. “I’m faced with either joining the Church and continuing my studies at Montmajour with Robert or marrying and starting a practice of my own.”
Christina, like most of Grégoire’s friends and family, had always assumed he’d join the Church. She was delighted that he was apparently considering an alternative.
“Does this mean you have someone in mind?”
He said nothing for a moment, then smiled, shaking his head, suspecting he was making a mistake and knowing there was no going back.
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh, Grégré!” she said, grabbing his arm, excited by the prospect of him marrying. Her thoughts were immediately filled with the idea of a sister-in-law. She and Richard, Grégoire and his wife, Marco and Lise. She would have two sisters. “That’s wonderful! Have you asked her yet?”
He looked at her, taking in the expectancy lighting her lovely face.
“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I’m not sure I should.”
“Oh, but you must!” Christina insisted. “Really, you must.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well then…Christina, will you consider me as a husband?”
Christina was taken completely by surprise. “Grégré!” Startled, she dropped his hand. “Oh…I…”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
She saw the disappointment in his eyes, and recovered quickly, taking his hand again as she stepped closer to him.
“Grégré, you know I love you—but as a brother,” she said softly. “Richard is the only one for me. He always has been.” Her eyes started to fill with tears as she gazed into his. “I’m truly sorry.”
Grégoire put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Come now. The Church is where I belong. I’ve always known it.” He smiled, for just a moment wondering if he’d made the offer where he knew it would be refused, just to convince himself that he’d made an effort to choose a different path.
He bent and kissed her on the forehead. “My brother is a very lucky young man,” he said, then turned her back toward the house and offered her his arm.
Richard came out to meet them, obviously having overheard Grégoire’s last words. “If you are referring to Christina,” he said smiling, “I certainly am.” He looked from Christina to Grégoire, curious as to the reason for their obvious discomfort.
“Well, Robert is anxious to show me that copy of Diderot’s new Encyclopédie so I’ll see the two of you later.” Grégoire handed Christina over to his brother and disappeared into the house.
Christina asked Richard to walk with her.
“What was that all about?”
“Grégré asked me to marry him,” she answered simply.
“And?” Richard prompted.
She was embarrassed. Why was it suddenly so difficult to talk to Richard?
“I told him that there was only one man I could ever marry.”
In the music room, Guy stood watching them through the window. Behind him, Antonio leaned against the marble mantle, shaking his head, unable to make any sense of the younger man’s ultimatum.
It had been a difficult year. Marcel seemed to have lost interest in the partnership, allowing Guy to make an increasing number of important business decisions. Antonio, feeling the strain of each new demand Guy had presented like a challenge, one after the other, had spoken to Marcel but nothing had changed. And now his good friend was dead.
“I do not understand why you’re doing this!” Antonio said angrily.
Guy scowled as he turned back to face him. “It’s simple. Now that my father is dead, his half of the business is mine. You are now in partnership with me and I want Christina.”
“But she’s been promised to Richard since they were children. You know that.” He was doing his best to make Guy understand that this new demand made no sense. “Why do you want a wife who doesn’t want you?”
“What Christina wants or doesn’t want is not my concern,” he said coldly focusing his attention on the couple outside the window. Then he smiled and turned back to Antonio. “Signore, in case you’ve forgotten, you are in a very precarious financial position at the moment. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the loss of that shipment has over-taxed your resources. Either you see that spoiled daughter of yours accepts me or I will call the notes due and your family will be ruined.”
With the grain shortage and the revolts it caused, business had been very difficult since the fall. Antonio was indeed having financial problems and Guy knew it. Antonio stared at Guy, and seeing the cold determination in the younger man’s eyes, knew he was beaten.
“You leave me little choice, but at least court her. Give her a chance to choose you.”
“Very well,” Guy said with a cynical smile. “Richard is sailing in three weeks and will be gone at least four months. Either she accepts me of her own free will before he returns, or you make it plain to her that she has no choice in the matter.”
Guy offered his hand. When Antonio turned away in disgust, Guy laughed.
Christina leaned against Richard, gazing out over the bare garden to the grey-green curve of the river.
“Chrissa, is something else bothering you?”
“You know about father losing that shipment?”
Why Antonio had chosen to consign a shipment to another company’s ships was beyond Richard. Both ship and cargo had disappeared without a trace.
“The material for my wedding dress was in that shipment.”
Richard tried to keep a straight face. With the huge warehouse in Arles filled with silks of every description, he found it hard to imagine that Christina could be disturbed by the loss of one bolt of cloth.
“Sweetheart, fabric is something that both your family and mine have more than enough of.”
Christina looked at him, surprised that he didn’t understand the seriousness of her loss. “This was not just any fabric. It was very special.”
“I’m sure it was. Do you want me to pick out something for you?”
“Of course not,” she said indignantly. “The groom can’t be picking out the bride’s dress, now can he?”
“Well, suit yourself,” Richard laughed. “But I think you’d better find something before too much longer. By the time I get back, you may be wanting to have something to give the seamstress.”
Christina smiled and pulled her cape more tightly around herself. She was hoping they’d be married before Christmas. Still, the prospect of Richard leaving her alone again was not a happy one.
“I’ll be back by the time you return to Beauvu for the summer.” He smiled as her lovely lips puckered into a determined pout. “Come now,” he said, teasing her. “If you don’t have a smile for me, I may forget to bring you a present.”
Christina’s sigh of resignation made it clear to Richard that their last separation had affected her more deeply than he’d thought. Yet, he was so close to completing the plans that would allow him to be away from the business for a full year. He intended for them to spend the first year of their marriage traveling. There was so much he wanted to show her, so much he wanted to share with her.
“Beloved, you must be patient with me. I have many plans for us and our time is so near. I need these last few months, Chrissa.”
She managed a half-hearted smile as they stepped into the hall, but her thoughts were on the long lonely days ahead.