Je t’ai perdu, Mon Amour, pour les raisons que j’ignore.
M’as-tu donc renoncée, la femme qui à toi seul, s’est consacrée?
—La Roche
I’ve lost you, My Love, yet I know not why.
Hast thou forsaken me, the woman who loved only you?
Juin 1753
Beauvu
Christina stared blankly at the wall of shelves in the mausoleum, empty but for one casket, as another was slipped into place beside it. She was hardly aware of the words Grégoire spoke to the small group assembled there, and might as well have been alone in the small cemetery at Beauvu where her darling brother was being laid to rest beside their mother.
She was incapable of understanding the events of the past four days. She’d gone from the incomprehensible announcement that she was to wed Guy, to Richard’s assurances that she would marry him and only him, to the joy of their lovemaking, and from that to the horror of Marco’s murder. Now, the only thing her wounded heart was sure of was that Richard was not beside her. Now, when she needed him most, he’d left her alone.
Christina knew Richard had gone the same day Marco’s body was discovered. Grégoire had explained that Richard was forced to leave because her brother had been killed with his dagger. But she knew that Richard hadn’t killed Marco. It was impossible. He had spent the night in the stable with her. Where is he? Why did he leave without a word? Why didn’t he take me with him?
The others moved away, but Christina remained where she was, staring at Marco’s casket as the iron grill was closed and locked.
“Christina?” Grégoire spoke softly.
She looked up at him, searching for something that would explain why the events of the last few days had so shattered her life.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Richard?” was all she could say.
Before Grégoire could respond, Guy was at her side, taking her arm and turning her away.
“Thank you, Father, but I’ll help her.” Guy’s terse words left no room for objections.
With a last pitying look at Christina, Grégoire joined the line of mourners returning to the château.
Guy smiled as he watched the priest go. He was so close now, so close to completing the plans he had so patiently made for himself…and for Christina. He put his arm firmly around her shoulders.
“Christina, perhaps this is not the time to bring this up,” he said, “but I’ve talked with your father and we both agree it would be best if you and I were married as soon as possible.”
Christina stopped and looked at him. What?
“Yes, I know it seems sudden,” he said in a soothing tone as he started her walking again. “But in light of all that’s happened, I’m sure you realize why we both feel it so important for you to have someone you can depend on, someone who’ll take care of you.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Someone who loves you, Christina.”
She was hearing the words, but they had very little meaning. Christina was beyond caring what might become of her. Where is Richard?
“So,” Guy continued smoothly, “we’ll be married next Saturday. I’ve talked with Robert and he’s agreed to perform the ceremony.”
They walked on in silence.
Robert had been unsure about the hastily proposed marriage when Guy asked him to conduct the ceremony. Later, after the funeral, he insisted on having Grégoire speak to Christina alone. Having bid the last of the mourners farewell, Grégoire found her sitting motionless beside the window, staring out at the carriages in the drive.
“Christina?”
She looked up, her eyes swollen and red.
“Guy has told Robert the two of you wish to marry next week. Naturally, Robert and I are both concerned and he asked that I speak with you.” When she said nothing, he hesitated. “Christina, is this true?” Grégoire was even more skeptical than Robert regarding this uncomfortably sudden change of plans.
Christina smoothed the delicate lace edge of the handkerchief in her lap.
Grégoire could not believe she was really contemplating marriage to anyone but Richard. Robert had mentioned the note Richard left for Christina, but neither he nor his brother knew what was in it. Grégoire found it difficult to imagine that Richard, who loved Christina so very much, would have abandoned her. Yet, since that afternoon, she had been very different. Grégoire remembered how terribly angry Richard had been that morning.
“Christina, believe me, I hate to press you under the circumstances, but both Robert and I need your assurance that you are truly willing to become Guy’s wife.”
Christina heard what he was saying. She wished she could talk to him, tell him how confused and miserable she was. But what can Grégoire do? Afterall, he doesn’t know what happened between us. And what difference does it make, now? Richard is gone.
In desperation, Grégoire went down on one knee beside her, taking her surprisingly cold hands in his.
“Where is Richard?” she asked.
And what could he say? If his brother wanted her to know where he was, he would have told her. It was not his place to question his brother’s decision.
“He had to go, you know that. Father was afraid he would have to stand trial for Marco’s murder. He insisted that Richard leave. Do you understand?”
She looked away.
“Christina, you know I want to help. Please, talk to me.”
“And what would you have me say?” She looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then stared out the window once again. “There seems little else left to me.”
Though it broke Grégoire’s heart, she’d made it quite clear there was nothing more for them to discuss.
Guy and Christina were married in the great cathedral of St. Trophime in Arles. Robert performed the ceremony reluctantly before a small group of friends. Grégoire was there, too, standing with Christina, for Antonio had stayed at home, attributing his absence to his continuing grief over the loss of his son. Nor could Louis bring himself to attend, so unhappy was he at the thought of Christina wedding anyone but Richard.
Until that very day, Louis had believed that when things returned to normal, Richard would send for Christina. They could have been married and lived very happily, he was sure, in Bonifacio. Oh, it would have been nothing like life at Beauvu, but they would have been quite comfortable. Louis could not make himself believe that Christina would choose a more extravagant lifestyle with Guy over life on Corsica with Richard.
Something had gone terribly wrong. All Louis’ hopes and dreams for the future of the Magniet family had suddenly evaporated.
After the brief ceremony, as Christina and Guy made their way down the cathedral steps to the waiting carriage, she cast a backward glance at Robert and Grégoire. It was all Grégoire could do to keep from going after her. He felt as though he had set her adrift on an uncharted and very dangerous sea.
Robert felt the same, and offered a silent prayer for Christina’s happiness. It was not the first.
Nor would it be the last.
Guy noticed the dampness in his bride’s eyes as he helped her into the carriage. He smiled, unable to hide his excitement. They were finally wed. She was his, and before long he would know all the tenderness and love she’d shown Richard.
The conversation between the newlyweds at supper that night was decidedly one-sided. Guy punctuated Christina’s silence with a disconnected monologue, mostly to do with business and his plans for them to travel together in the fall.
Christina paid little attention, unable to concentrate as she picked at the food on her plate. She knew what Guy would be expecting of her. She couldn’t help thinking about what was to come, and when she did—when she allowed herself to think about Guy’s hands on her body—she felt like screaming. How could she possibly allow anyone to touch her but Richard? She was Richard’s wife, at least in God’s eyes.
So, the evening passed. Agnes, Guy’s housekeeper, helped Christina get ready for bed. Now, she sat at her dressing table, mechanically brushing her long hair. She smiled sadly as she studied her reflection and the pretty nightgown she’d so looked forward to wearing on her wedding night. She had done all the delicate embroidery herself, knowing how much Richard would appreciate the row of little pink roses that edged the neckline and the hem.
She looked around the room, uncomfortably aware that she was in a strange house. This wasn’t Richard’s room, it was Guy’s house. And she realized she didn’t know whether this was Guy’s room or the one that was to be her own.
She could see he’d made an effort to make her feel at home by bringing some of her things from her father’s house. And he’d told her that in the months to come she could buy new things, but Christina felt cold. She had more to worry about tonight than being surrounded by familiar furniture.
Guy’s house was only a a short distance from the house she’d grown up in, and the sounds outside her window were comforting in their familiarity. She tried think of that as she pulled the brush rhythmically through her hair. She closed her eyes and a faint smile trembled on her lips, but it was quickly followed by the sting of tears as she remembered how Richard had loved to brush her hair, even when she was little. She sighed, staring at her reflection and the locket at her throat—the locket Richard had given her just nine days ago. It all seemed so far away.
Richard.
She looked down at her hands. On the left, a plain gold ring, Guy’s ring. On her right she wore the pretty little heart-shaped garnet Richard had sent to her. But there had been no message with it. Marie had given it to her, saying one of the servants brought it. Now, it was all that was left.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door open. In the mirror she saw her husband. She quickly brushed away the tear and attempted to smile. She would get through this. She would.
She watched him cross the room. He stood behind her, staring at her reflection. When he said nothing, she looked away and nervously continued to brush her hair, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest.
Slowly, Guy bent down to kiss her, inhaling the wonderful smell of her perfume, but she turned her head, offering him only her cheek. Guy kissed her dryly and stood up, his disappointment obvious.
“You look lovely, Christina,” he said, carefully controlling his voice lest he frighten her. He was determined the night would go well. He’d imagined every possible detail a thousand times.
When she continued brushing her hair, Guy began to undress. He removed his waistcoat and solitaire and then, unwinding the lace at his throat, pulled his shirt free.
Christina glanced at his reflection and realized he was still staring at her. A moment later, his hand closed over hers. He uncurled her fingers from the silver handle of her brush and slowly laid it on the table.
Guy jerked her to her feet. He hadn’t meant to, really, but she was so much lighter than he’d expected. Mastering his impatience, he slowly pressed her against him.
Christina wouldn’t look up. She couldn’t. She was terrified. She felt an involuntary shudder. Her eyes were riveted on her fingers where they lay against his chest, his skin nearly as white as her own. Something was wrong.
Guy lifted her chin and kissed her gently.
Christina closed her eyes and tried with all her heart to pretend that the lips on hers were Richard’s, but there was no warmth in that mouth, no gentleness in the hands that held her so tightly.
Guy pulled back, still holding her firmly.
“Come now, you can do better than that, I know you can.” He spoke softly, trying to encourage her to relax. But his excitement was slowly turning to anger as his plans began to go awry. Why isn’t she looking at me as she looked at Richard that night?
He kissed her again, and when she didn’t respond he pressed harder, his lips forcing hers apart.
Christina tasted blood. The pain brought her back to her senses.
“Stop it. You’re hurting me!” She pushed against him to free herself.
But the sensation of her hands on his skin excited him even more, and her strength as she resisted him brought, unbidden, memories of Richard’s dark hands against white skin.
Guy pinned her arms behind her, his grip like iron. He glared at her until he saw the fear in her eyes. Suddenly, he released her. What’s happening? This is not what I want! Not tonight. Not with Christina. Guy knew how it could be with her. He had seen it for himself. He stared at her, then turned away, obviously upset as he ran his hand through his loose hair.
He went to the window and closed first the shutters and then the window itself, taking a moment to remind himself that Christina was not like the others. He knew that. And though she had given herself to Richard willingly, he knew Richard had seduced her. Oh, he’d done it very smoothly, to be sure, taking advantage of an innocent young girl’s trust. He was smooth with all of them, and sincere. Guy knew that, too.
But Richard hadn’t been sincere with him. When he’d needed him the most, Richard had chosen instead to spend his time with a whore. And not just his own whore, but Guy’s whore, as well. Guy had seen with his own eyes how Richard had turned that whimpering child into a wanton slut in the space of a few short hours.
Well, he was a man, too, and he had the same power…more. He knew things Richard had never imagined. And he knew what he could make of Christina. But first, it was time for Christina to trust him. Afterall, he was her husband.
Christina watched Guy. She begin to couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind as he stood staring at the closed window. She found his silence frightening. She had to do something.
“Guy, please…this is difficult for me. I’ll try to be a good wife to you, but…”
He turned on her, and the look in his eyes frightened her even more.
“But what? But I’m not Richard? But you don’t love me? At least not the way you loved him?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, more roughly than he meant to.
She seemed so insubstantial, so frail—it made him angry and he shook her. He was the one she should love now. All the tenderness and love he had seen that night belonged to him now. She was his. Didn’t she understand that?
“Well, let me tell you something…” He took a deep breath. “Richard’s gone. Do you hear me? Gone!” He spoke precisely, as if his words would make everything clear. “He murdered your brother and he left, and the sooner you get used to the idea, the better off you’ll be!”
“No! It’s not true!” she cried, struggling to pull away from him.
Guy slapped her hard across the face. What is the matter with her? All his fantasies of her tender acquiescence were dissolving right before his eyes. He had to make her understand.
Christina froze, paralyzed with fear. Never in her life had anyone even spoken harshly to her, much less struck her.
“But it’s true!” Guy insisted. “He never loved you, you little fool!” Suddenly, Guy felt sorry for the poor misguided little girl he held in his arms. He pressed her cheek to his. “I know you thought he loved you, but Richard is that way with all of them,” he said softly. “He is, Christina, I’ve seen him. He just wanted you the way we all want you. Even his brother, for all his priest’s robes and piety wants you.” He held her at arm’s length.
“Don’t you realize how beautiful you are?” Seeing the stricken look on her face, Guy laughed. “Christina, don’t you understand? I’m the one who loves you. Me! And now, at last, you’re mine! Christina, you must love me, now. You must!”
He reached up to touch her hair, running his fingers through the silky strands just as he’d seen Richard do that night. But she was still staring at him, terrified, and his fingers began to tighten on her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat, her pulse pounding along the side of her neck. Then he noticed the locket.
“No!” Christina sobbed as he tore the delicate chain from her throat.
He looked at the locket, remembering the expression on Richard’s face as he’d fastened it around her neck. Guy’s fingers closed into a fist and he shook it in her face.
“Do you think I don’t know where you got this?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he dropped the locket on the floor and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. He knew, then, that he must take everything from her that might remind her of Richard—for her own good, of course.
He looked at her intently, as though trying to see her soul. Then he slowly ran his fingers down her throat and stopped at the swell of her breasts. She was so beautiful. Does she remember how it felt that night, with Richard? Didn’t she want that now, even as he wanted it? Still holding her by the hair, he ran his mouth over the side of her face, his breath hot against her skin as his fingers squeezed her breast.
“I was there, Christina. I saw it. All of it!” he whispered, his lips against her ear as he pressed his body against hers. “Don’t you remember how it was? We can have that now, Christina.” He breath was coming more quickly. “You’re my wife. It’s what I want for us. And I can give you much more. So much more.” Then he pulled back and looked at her, his excitement growing as he saw the terror on her face. He closed his eyes, remembering…
Guy felt his body beginning to respond as he thought of Richard’s dark hands sliding slowly over Christina’s ivory skin. He’d thought of little else since that night.
“Now, my dear, let’s see a little bit of what my friend Richard pretended to be so terribly fond of,” he said slowly.
Suddenly, he grabbed the front of her gown, and ripped it away from her body. The thin cotton easily gave way. He was still holding her tightly by the hair as he reached down and finished tearing it to the hem.
“Guy…Please…Don’t….” Christina whimpered, barely able to move.
He stood a moment, staring at her body. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. He loosened the buttons at his waist as he buried his face between her breasts.
When he let go of her hair, Christina tried to get away, but he caught her wrist, pulling her toward the bed, unable and unwilling to wait any longer. He knew that when she felt him inside her, she’d realize what he could give her. That would change everything.
But still she struggled, and he had to pin her arms behind her, holding her wrists with one hand. For some reason, she wouldn’t stop fighting him and he had to hit her again. What is the matter with her?
He pushed her down across the bed and fell on her, biting at her throat and her breasts, no longer caring whether or not she was ready to appreciate what he was offering.
Christina squirmed and kicked, trying to roll away from him, but he pinned her there beside him, forcing her shoulder down into the mattress and throwing his leg across her so that she could barely move.
She was no match for Guy’s strength. He hurt her as he probed and pinched her flesh and when he thrust his hand between her legs, she cried out.
“Now, now, my dear, I thought Richard had broken you in for me. It’s so much better for a woman the second time, you know.” He closed his eyes, reminding himself that Richard had been there before him. That thought excited him even more and he knew that he couldn’t contain himself much longer.
Then he was on top of her, holding her down with the weight of his body as his cruel fingers dug into her buttocks. She screamed when he entered her. Christina, unable to understand how this could be happening, finally gave up the struggle and lay still. In a few short moments he was finished with her.
“You have a lot to learn about pleasing a man, Christina,” Guy said as he stood and rearranged his clothes. He smiled down at her, benevolently. “But I can teach you. I want to teach you.” Then, he picked up his waistcoat from the floor and was gone.
Dazed, Christina struggled to her feet, her gown hanging in tatters from her shoulders. She fell to her knees and began to search for the tiny silver locket. When she found it, she clasped it to her breasts, sobbing.
Christina slept until late the next afternoon, pleading a headache and asking Agnes not to disturb her. She knew the severe looking woman was displeased with her, but she was beyond caring. She only wanted to sleep, to distance herself from reality, to lose herself in dreams—dreams, where she could be safe and her world could somehow be as she’d always known it, not the distorted thing it had become over the past ten days.
And the dreams did give her comfort, for she dreamt of Richard: the two of them together in the garden, beside the river, in the maze at Cybelle’s, under a glorious blue sky at Les Baux. This was what she dreamed of, the happiness and security of Richard’s love. But finally the dreams grew dark and she was in the mausoleum, hearing over and over again the scrape of wood against stone as Marco’s casket slid into the niche in the wall, and turmig to look for Richard, who was no longer beside her.
Christina awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. For a moment nothing looked familiar. The bed hangings were a beautiful pale blue watered silk but they were strange to her. And then she remembered. She stifled the sound of terror that rose in her throat.
“Madame? Are you awake?”
Before Christina could answer, Agnes pulled aside the bed curtains. Christina immediately threw up her hands in an effort to avoid both the glare of the bright afternoon sunlight and Agnes’s disapproving gaze.
But the older woman saw the bruises on Christina’s face. She turned away and continued to tidy up some of the things from the dressing table that had been scattered the night before.
Marie, Christina’s maid, had married Guy’s manservant, André, three days before her own wedding and Guy had given the couple two weeks for a wedding trip to visit Marie’s parents. Christina was distinctly uncomfortable having Guy’s humorless housekeeper playing the part of lady’s maid.
“Would you like something to eat?” Agnes asked, her tone even.
It was a moment before Christina could answer, but she did her best to sound confident. “Yes, some broth, I think.”
“Very well,” Agnes said as she turned to go.
“And Agnes…”
“Yes?”
“Please tell my husband I do not feel well enough to join him for supper.”
“Monsieur Jonvaux has gone out, Madame. He instructed me to tell you not to expect him this evening.”
“Oh?” Christina was surprised, but recovered quickly. “I see. Thank you.”
As the door closed behind the housekeeper, Christina wondered what Guy’s message meant. Where had he gone? And just because he wouldn’t be home to take supper with her, didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect to pass that night in her bed.
But Christina did not see her husband that night or the next. On the third day, she received a huge bouquet of yellow roses from him and a message that they would be entertaining two other couples at supper.
She quickly handed the note back to Agnes.
“Impossible,” she insisted quietly as she turned and went to the window, looking down on the courtyard.
“Madame?”
“I said, impossible. I do not want to entertain his friends tonight.”
The words were definite, but Agnes heard the tremor in Christina’s voice. She hesitated, not knowing if it would be wise to interfere.
“Madame, please forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but I’ve been in this house for twenty years and I find it is best not to cross Monsieur Jonvaux.”
“What?” Christina turned on her, angry, and at the same time frightened.
Agnes looked her right in the eye, knowing that if she could persuade her new mistress to go along with her master’s request, it would be better for all concerned.
“I am saying that perhaps you’ve noticed your husband has a temper he’s not always able to control.” She looked pointedly at the now fading bruises on Christina’s face and along her collarbone.
Instinctively, Christina’s hand went to her throat.
“I don’t want to frighten you, but I assure you that Monsieur Jonvaux can be very charming when he wants to be, which is when things are going according to his wishes. You seem to be aware of what happens when they don’t.”
Maryse sat contentedly beside her husband, her small hand clasped in his very large one. Christien Chabannier, the baker, was a bear of a man in appearance only. He was, by nature, thoughtful and considerate and though her husband was more than twice her age, Maryse had been extremely happy in her marriage. As the carriage rattled along the cobbled street she looked up at him and smiled.
Christien squeezed her hand, for the thousandth time thinking himself the most fortunate of men. Fate had brought him the most exquisite and delicate of women to be his wife and she, in turn, had given him a healthy, intelligent son and a beautiful little daughter. Though she’d come to him from a brothel, he and his wife had agreed never to speak of the life she led before they were married, and therefor he never gave it a thought. The whispers of those who’d never had the opportunity to know her did not trouble him. Christien Chabannier only thanked God for his blessings.
“So husband, who is this silk merchant we’re having dinner with tonight?”
“Monsieur Jonvaux, the son. The father died in that accident at the beginning of the year, do you remember? A fall, I believe. A pity, he was a good man. As for the son, well, there is talk, but he has been associated with the Baron of Beauvu for some time and I thought it might be wise to see exactly what this business venture is all about. And he’s newly married, so perhaps this young wife of his will be able to curb his excesses.” He looked at her and winked. “The right woman can change a man’s life, you know.”
Maryse smiled but said nothing. She could only wonder what poor woman had the extreme misfortune to have become the wife of Guy Jonvaux.
Christina sat at her dressing table, looking at her reflection and deciding that she had done an adequate job of covering the bruises on her face. But the sizeable discoloration along her collarbone and the deep scratch beside it refused to succumb to the powder.
She opened the box that held the necklace Guy had given her two years before at Christmas. She’d never worn it. She hoped it might please him, but the glittering blue stones felt cold against her skin and carried with them a host of memories. Richard.
“Madame?”
Christina looked up to see Agnes standing behind her.
“Perhaps this would be appropriate?” she suggested as she placed a delicate lace fichu around Christina’s shoulders.
Christina arranged the folds of lace until they covered the bruise. With relief, she tied the ends and pinned them securely with a small circlet of gold that had been her mother’s. Then she picked up the acrostic bracelet Richard had given her. She looked at the glittering stones.
Beryl, she thought, means “happiness in store.” But where had her happiness gone? Where was Richard and why had he gone without her? It was a question she’d asked herself a thousand times—a question no one, including his brothers, seemed willing to answer.
Her fingers slid over the links of the bracelet, finally stopping on the diamond. It was the only stone for which she couldn’t remember the meaning.
“May I help you with that?” Agnes asked impatiently. “Monsieur is waiting.”
Guy paced back and forth across the marble floor of the entry. Had he forgotten anything? Was there any detail he had overlooked? It was imperative that the evening be flawless. He needed these men. He needed their money if he was to go ahead with his plans. Suddenly, he sensed Christina’s presence and looked up.
Under her husband’s unrelenting gaze, she began to tremble and grabbed at the smooth marble banister for support. He smiled and nodded, but Christina didn’t find it reassuring. Only when the houseman came to ask a question, and Guy turned away from her, was she able to force her quaking legs to carry her down the stairs.
Guy turned and took her hand. Very slowly he raised her fingers to his lips. She was shaking and she knew he could feel it.
“Christina, I’ve missed you. You look lovely.” He looked her over. No marks and she was wearing the sapphire necklace. Perfect. He smiled and continued to hold her fingers.
Christina couldn’t speak, she knew her voice would betray her fear.
“You’re trembling, my dear. Nervous about our guests?” he asked solicitously. He gave her hand a squeeze and released her. “You mustn’t worry. You’ll be a perfect hostess. This is a very important evening, you know. I’m hoping to persuade these gentlemen to invest in a business venture I have in mind.” He smiled benignly.
Christina didn’t know what to do. Guy was behaving as though nothing had happened, yet she was still afraid of him. How on earth was she ever going to get through the evening pretending to be a happy new bride? She did her best to smile.
Gérard Layglon followed the houseman across the courtyard, which was filled with a profusion of flowering plants, their blossoms lending a heady fragrance to the warm evening air. He was oblivious to his wife’s continuous stream of instructions, her never-ending litany of what he must and must not do. He was not looking forward to spending the evening in the company of this particular young man and his new wife, much less his own.
It was true he was in a position now that would allow him to consider a modest investment in some sort of business venture, but he didn’t trust Jonvaux. The father had been much admired in the business community of Arles, but the son was still an unknown quantity, one to be treated with the utmost caution if any of the rumors were to be believed. Truly, Gérard Layglon was mainly attending for the express purpose of appeasing his wife.
“…and remember, this may very well be the opportunity of a lifetime,” Estelle went on, unconcerned that her husband was paying little attention. She was determined to make something of him, one way or the other, and tonight could be the beginning of a change in their fortunes.
As far as Estelle was concerned, she had married beneath her station. True, her family, as grain merchants, had achieved their wealth over a rather short period of time, only to lose it all in the first terrible shortage of 1738. But when she was growing up, she’d had the best of everything—dresses, parties, and a host of suitors who didn’t seem to mind very much that she wasn’t quite as pretty as some of the other girls. But then the crops had failed and within the space of a year her family had lost its townhouse and moved back to her grandfather’s farm where the eligible young men of Arles no longer came to call.
Finally, her father was able to arrange a match for her with Gérard, an accountant, and Estelle had jumped at the chance to move back to the city, though she was forced to live on a much more modest scale than she’d enjoyed in her youth. No matter. She was determined to make something of their life and to elevate them to a level where she could expect to find a suitable husband for her daughter. She still had a few years yet and this evening might well prove to be the door to the future she’d dreamed of since she was young.
When her husband introduced her to Monsieur Jonvaux, she found him unbelievably handsome and incredibly charming, though he didn’t seem to remember they’d been introduced several times in the past.
And his wife, well, Estelle remembered her. She was the one who was to have married the Baron’s youngest son. Estelle smiled, wondering how Christina felt about having the prospect of the title of Baroness de Beauvu pulled out from under her so suddenly. But she had to admit, the girl seemed to have recovered quickly and immediately made another good match for herself. True, she may not have a title, but she certainly wanted for nothing if her home was any indication. Estelle momentarily abandoned her speculations and concentrated on Guy, doing everything she could think of to ingratiate herself.
Minutes later the Chabanniers arrived. Guy greeted Christien warmly and gave Maryse a courtly bow as he kissed her hand. She didn’t seem to recognize him, but he knew who she was. He smiled. Richard’s whore had apparently made a good marriage for herself.
But Maryse did recognize him. The mere touch of his hand made her skin crawl and she couldn’t help but remember him as he was that night at Madame Dijol’s, the night he’d terrorized Geneviève—the last night she had spent with Richard. That was nothing to be thinking of on this night and Maryse turned her attention to Christina as they were introduced. She was struck by Christina’s beauty and she found herself hoping that perhaps Guy had changed and would treat his young wife kindly.
For her part, Christina did her best to receive her guests graciously. Monsieur Layglon was a mousy little man who seemed quite put upon by his wife. She recognized the Layglon woman as being an acquaintance of Cybelle’s with a reputation of being a bit of a gossip, if she remembered correctly. She thought Monsieur Chabannier quite charming, seemingly a sincere man. But Christina found his wife, not too very much older than herself, to be kind and very beautiful. She took an immediate liking to Maryse and wondered if perhaps they might become friends.
The meal went smoothly, much to Christina’s surprise. But more than anything else, she was impressed with Guy’s behavior. He was more animated, more sincere and engaging than she could ever remember. To be fair, it was quite possible that he’d always been more gracious than she’d given him credit for, but her benevolent thoughts evaporated when she remembered how he’d behaved on their wedding night.
When the meal was over and the gentlemen retired to the library to discuss business, Christina took the ladies into the salon. She felt a strange sense of relief as she closed the doors. It was all she could do to keep from locking them.
Maryse saw Christina start to turn the key in the double doors and her heart went out to her. How long could anyone so delicate survive being married to Guy?
Estelle immediately settled herself on the sofa, carefully arranging her skirts around her so that she could display the hand-painted silk to best advantage. It also allowed her to take up most of the sofa for herself, forcing Maryse to choose one of the chairs. Estelle had no intention of sitting next to that woman. Everyone knew where she came from, except, apparently, their hostess. She was appalled to see Madame Jonvaux conversing with Maryse as though the whore were her equal.
Estelle accepted Christina’s offer of a sherry and took a moment to decide on a line of conversation that would take her hostess’s attention away from Maryse and put it where it belonged—on her. And what better topic for a new bride than her marriage?
“So please tell me, Madame Jonvaux, how do you find married life?” she asked, brightly.
“It’s only been three days.” Christina pulled the elegantly cut stopper from the decanter as she answered. “It’s much too soon to say how I find it since I’ve not yet had time to know exactly what married life entails.”
“Ah, well, marriage to a good man is our raison d’être, is it not?” When Christina didn’t answer, Estelle forged ahead bravely. “You and your husband have known each other for some time, I believe?”
“Yes, we grew up together.”
Christina poured the sherry into beautifully cut little glasses, not paying a great deal of attention to what Estelle was saying, but Estelle continued to talk, trying to fill every moment with the sound of her own voice.
“It’s so nice when you can really know the man you marry. And you two make such a lovely couple. You know, I always thought your brother and Lise were so perfect for each other. I assumed they’d marry, but then I always assumed you’d marry the Baron’s son.” Estelle immediately realized her mistake. “Oh, forgive me, of course you couldn’t possibly have done so after he murdered your poor brother.”
The color drained from Christina’s cheeks and she dropped the glass of sherry she was handing to Maryse.
“Monsieur Magniet did not kill my brother, Madame,” she said shakily as she bent to retrieve the unbroken glass from the thick carpet.
As Christina leaned down, Maryse saw the bruises that had been hidden beneath the lace of her fichu. At the same time, Estelle’s words penetrated her consciousness and she realized Christina must be the Christina Richard had loved. The poor child! How had the love of Richard’s life ended up wed to someone else, especially to a man as wicked as Guy? She immediately spoke up in Christina’s defense.
“Madame Layglon, need I remind you that Madame Jonvaux’s brother has not yet been dead two weeks? Would it not be more fitting to respect her grief and find another, more suitable topic of conversation?”
“Oh, of course,” Estelle said quickly. “It’s only that I admired your brother so. Such a handsome young man.”
Christina looked at Maryse with gratitude, then realized the sherry had gone all over the front of Maryse’s skirts.
“Oh, your dress. I’m so sorry!”
The stricken look on Christina’s face was totally out of proportion to the amount of sherry that had found its way onto Maryse’s gown.
“It’s all right,” Maryse said, taking Christina by the arm. “Please don’t worry. It’s so much easier to remove from silk than red wine.”
As the women talked, Maryse skillfully turned the conversation to the subject of children, giving Estelle the forum she sought. She spoke at some length about her daughter and the hopes and aspirations she had for the girl. Though Christina was much more interested in what Maryse had to say about her children, she had little opportunity, as Estelle monopolized each related topic.
Nonetheless, Christina was grateful for Maryse’s comforting presence. She knew she’d never have been able to endure an evening alone with Estelle. In the midst of these thoughts of gratitude, Estelle suddenly returned her attention to Christina.
“Ah, Madame Jonvaux, you must forgive us. But one of these days you will understand that all of a mother’s thoughts are for her children. How many are you hoping to have?”
Christina looked up, flustered by the question. It forced her to consider that, now, Guy would be the father of any children she might have. While she’d always dreamed of having a large family with Richard, the thought of bearing Guy’s children caused an uncomfortable chill.
“Why as many as the good Lord chooses to bless me with, Madame,” she answered sweetly.
“You say your daughter is twelve?” Maryse asked, once again deflecting Estelle. She knew Estelle disliked her, but the woman was unable to resist any enticement to talk about herself and quickly pounced on the conversational bone Maryse cast her way.
“Yes, that’s right. And though she’s young yet, it’s never too soon to start thinking about making a good marriage for her. There are several eligible young men. Of course, I can only pray that they’ll remain single until she’s of an age. It’s very difficult to arrange things these days. And it’s so important that she be matched with someone of good position.”
“Do you not wish her to marry a man she loves, Madame?” Maryse smiled. “It’s surely the greatest gift and one I would want for my own children.”
“Love?” Estelle sneered, completely out of patience with Maryse’s pretty speech and unable to contrain her feelings any longer. “Are you trying to impress Madame Jonvaux? If it weren’t for that fat husband of yours being so besotted with your looks, you’d still be on your back in that filthy whore-house, so don’t try to give yourself airs around me. I know where you came from and it certainly wasn’t with a title attached to your name!”
Christina, horrified at this outburst, started to stand up, but Maryse laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“Why Madame Layglon, I can only say that you have been sadly misinformed. First, it is true I spent a number of years at Madame Dijol’s brothel, but I assure you it is considered the finest establishment of its kind in the region, not at all the ‘filthy whorehouse’ you describe. Secondly, let me assure you that I did not spend all of my time there, as you so tactfully put it, ‘on my back.’ Many men came there to relax and find a peaceful haven away from their unsympathetic wives, and while some of the comfort offered them was of a…shall I say, ‘physical’ nature, who can blame them for preferring the company of women skilled in the ways of love?”
Estelle Layglon was fuming. Who did this whore think she was, to speak to her in such a manner? She opened her mouth to answer, but Maryse continued.
“No, let me finish. You seem compelled to comment on my husband’s size. It’s true, he is a large man, but to be perfectly candid, I have to say I much prefer a man of strength and some size, if you take my meaning, Madame. As to my lack of a title, which seems to be of some importance to you, I can assure you I do have one of sorts. Actually, you may think of me as a princess, if you like, for my grandfather is the King of Siam. Yours, as I recall, was a potato farmer.”
Maryse smiled sweetly at her adversary, who was beside herself with rage. Estelle stood up, pointing an accusing finger at Maryse.
“Madame,” she said to Christina, her voice shaking in anger, “how can you have this woman in your home, knowing who and what she is? It’s an outrage!”
Christina stood to intervene, even as she tried to absorb what Maryse had said.
“Madame, you’re both here at my husband’s invitation. Please sit down and calm yourself. There is no reason to behave this way.”
Before Estelle could answer, the double doors to the salon opened and the men came in, laughing and talking among themselves.
Guy looked at Estelle and then at Christina.
“Christina, is everything all right?” There was a note of warning in his voice. He would never forgive her if she upset his plans.
“Oh, yes, of course. We were just discussing Madame Chabannier’s and Madame Layglon’s children. Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you for your kind invitation, Madame, but it grows late and I think we will be going,” Christien said as he took Maryse’s hand.
“And we, as well,” said Gérard Layglon.
The three couples waited in the entry hall as the servants appeared with the guests’ wraps. Guy and Christina bade them goodnight and stood in the doorway, watching as they walked out across the courtyard.
Guy took Christina’s hand, pressing her fingers to his lips.
“I can’t thank you enough, Christina. You were wonderful and the evening was a success. You have no idea how pleased I am.”
Christina look away, unable to meet his eyes.
“I’m glad it went well,” she said. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’m very tired. I’d like to go to bed.”
“But of course, my dear,” Guy said, solicitously. “I’ll be up a little later.”
Those words filled her with dread.
When Christina entered her room, Agnes was turning down the bed. She was the last person Christina wanted to see at that particular moment.
“That will be all, Agnes,” she said, her voice betraying her nervousness.
“Do you wish me to help you undress, Madame?”
“No, thank you.”
Christina waited patiently until Agnes left the room. Then she went to the mirror and removed the fichu from her shoulders, leaning into the glass to better see the bruises along her collarbone. They were still very noticeable. She knew Maryse had seen them and vaguely wondered what she thought.
She smiled. She liked Maryse and wondered if they would see each other again. She would very much like to have a friend, another married woman to share her thoughts with, to spend time with while her husband was occupied with his work. She knew she’d no longer see much of her unmarried friends. They were busy with the social diversions that would bring them together with suitable young men so they, too, could be married.
Christina sat down on the little chair facing the mirror. She stared at her reflection with open curiosity. What was wrong with the person she saw there? She was pretty—she’d been told that from the time she was small. And she had always thought herself a good person, at least she’d always tried to be kind and considerate. Why had she been forced out of her father’s house? Why had he bartered her away like just another bolt of silk? If she must be separated from Richard, she would have wished to stay at home and care for her father.
Tears filled her eyes. Where is Richard? Why did he leave? She looked at her reflection again, realizing Guy would know she’d been crying.
She got up and hurriedly poured some water into the basin, dipping a cloth into it and pressing the cool liquid against her eyes. She recovered quickly and began to unfasten her dress. But as her fingers fumbled with the tiny hooks, she remembered Guy was coming. She felt a chill and immediately reclosed the panel.
She stood frozen in the moment. Very soon she would have to face him. And when he came, would tonight be a repetition of their last encounter? How could she dare to hope it might be otherwise?
She looked down at the front of her dress. Well, she thought, if he insisted on forcing himself on her again, he would have to rip the clothes from her body. Though she knew her strength was no match for his, she was determined she would not willingly submit to such brutal behavior.
Her resolve faltered when she heard the soft knock at her bedroom door.
Guy heard the tremor in her voice as she bade him enter. She turned, obviously frightened, and knocked her brush from the dressing table. Guy smiled slightly and retrieved it from the carpet. As he took another step toward her, she retreated.
He saw the fear in her eyes. Nevertheless, he went to her dressing table and carefully set the brush beside its matching comb. Christina said nothing. Slowly he turned to her and took her by the shoulders, careful to be gentle with her. Still, she flinched at his touch and he frowned.
“My poor little bride, have I really frightened you so badly?” He touched the bruises on her cheek, carefully, then kissed her there, his lips barely brushing her skin. His hand moved down to the other, darker mark on her collarbone but she pulled away from him.
Guy smiled sadly. His fingers ran down her arms and clasped her hands.
“Will you ever be able to forgive me for what happened between us?”
Christina just looked at him.
Suddenly, he let her go and turned away, his hands on his hips. Almost instantly he turned back.
“Damnit, Christina, you just don’t understand how much I love you!” He glared at her. Why was she being so unreasonable?
For a moment her form seemed to shimmer and reflect another person, with lighter hair, a different dress, a different room. Guy remembered the day he’d unburdened himself to the mayor’s daughter. He had loved her and trusted her, but when he’d finally explained about the pain and how much it hurt, she hadn’t given him the love and compassion he’d expected. Horrified by what he’d told her, she fled the room. He never saw her again.
And now Christina, his wife, the woman who had the capacity for the love and tenderness he longed for—hadn’t he seen that for himself?—stood staring at him as if he were mad. He wanted to tell her everything and to bathe himself in the warmth and comfort he knew she could offer.
Did he dare? No, this wasn’t the time. Later when she came to love him…later when she would understand…
Mastering his emotions, he took her hands. “Please believe me when I tell you I’m sorry for the way I misused you.”
Christina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This man,who’d hurt her so badly, now sounded for all the world sincerely apologetic. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something—anything.
Guy put his arm around her shoulder. “Come now, Sweetheart. We can be very good together, I know we can. But you must give me a chance.”
She looked up at him helplessly, having no idea how to respond.
Guy smiled, just a little, just enough to be encouraging. He touched a finger gently to her chin and turned her head so that he could kiss her lightly on both cheeks.
“Sleep well, my dear.”
And then he was gone. Christina stood staring at the door as it closed behind him. Was it true? Was truly he sorry about what had happened? Was it possible she might somehow find some measure of contentment in their misbegotten alliance?
The next night, after supper, Guy handed Christina an envelope with her name written across the front in a delicate flowing script. It had already been opened.
“Go on, read it.” He smiled benignly.
Christina unfolded the ivory vellum. It was from Maryse, thanking her and inviting her to call on Monday afternoon. Again she looked at Guy. Why had he opened her letter? What did he want her to do?
“I assume you wish to accept?”
“Yes. Do you have any objections?” she asked carefully.
“Oh, no. On the contrary, my dear, I had hoped that you and Madame Chabannier might become friends. I badly want her husband to invest in my business venture and I will certainly appreciate anything you can do to encourage him.”
And so Christina accepted Maryse’s invitation, not to further her husband’s business ambitions, but because she very badly wanted a friend.