Est-ce que j’ose croire que le bonheur est enfin à moi?
—Mathon
Dare I believe that happiness is mine at last?
Novembre 1759
Venice
Stefano’s coach was delayed by a bitterly cold rainstorm that muddied the roads and slowed their progress. Stefano, himself, was damp and muddy, on several occasions having added his strength to that of the other men in order to free the mired wheels. Consequently, he was not in a particularly good mood when they arrived in Venice, nearly three hours late. It was after seven when he caught the ferry, crossed the lagoon and entered the heart of the city. It was cold and windy. Most of the clouds had blown away and a nearly full moon touched those that remained with an eerie silver light, which did nothing to lighten his mood.
He went first to the factory, which he found locked up tight for the night, and then on to Guy’s house on the Calle Fuiberra behind the Piazza San Marco. Stefano had spent little time thinking about returning to the city of his birth. His major concern was the reception he would be receiving at the Jonvaux house.
It was Guy who’d answered his letter, so apparently Guy was the one most anxious to see him again. Of course, with Guy it was always hard to tell. Perhaps he’d been invited to join them simply so he could punish Stefano for fathering Christina’s child. It was possible, but he chose to believe it unlikely. He was confident his strong resemblance to Richard would guarantee his safety. Whatever the outcome, Stefano had decided he was willing to risk anything to see his child.
Christina. He hadn’t realized how completely she trusted him, and how precious her trust was. Her total surrender that night in Aix had taken him by surprise. No one had ever trusted him that way—totally. No one. And since they’d parted, Stefano had convinced himself that her pregnancy should have been the beginning for the two of them, not the end.
With these thoughts swirling around in his head, and no small amount of trepidation, he lifted the heavy knocker on the gate to the courtyard of Guy’s house. After a short delay the gate was opened by Guy’s servant, André.
“Why Monsieur Ferro! How good to see you again! Monsieur Jonvaux said we should be expecting you sometime soon. Come in, please. And let me take your bags.”
Stefano followed André across the courtyard and into the house. He’d never liked Guy’s body servant. He knew André was jealous of his influence over Guy and he quite simply didn’t trust the man. But André had been with Guy for years and Stefano had never been able to convince Guy to get rid of him. Stefano considered Marie, Christina’s personal maid, stupid and therefore harmless, though he suspected that André manipulated her easily and she was consequently of some danger to Christina. He was confident the day would come when they would be replaced by people he could influence.
André set Stefano’s bags down and proceeded to help him with his very damp overcoat. Guy, wondering why André had not returned to the dining room, excused himself from the table. When he reached the entry hall Stefano’s back was to him. When he turned, Guy was startled. Richard! But of course it wasn’t. It was Stefano. But how very like Richard, he thought. How very like him! Oh, he’d quite forgotten!
“So, the prodigal returns!” How had he ever allowed Stefano to leave?
“Guy!” Stefano immediately embraced him. He’d determined the best approach would be one of openness and innocence until he could tell which way the winds of Guy’s emotions were blowing.
“So,” Guy said, looking genuinely pleased as he took in the overall prosperous air of his friend. “Have you eaten? We just sat down to supper.”
“No, I haven’t, but I’m afraid I need to change.” Stefano gestured to indicate his mud spattered boots clothes.
“I’ll have André prepare a bath, but come, have something to eat.”
Stefano followed Guy into the dining room. She was sitting with her back to him and Stefano felt a tremor of anticipation. He knew Guy was watching him, but he didn’t care. He moved up behind her, gently putting his hands on her shoulders as he bent to kiss the nape of her neck.
“Christina. It’s good to see you,” he said softly.
Guy let out a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you dear, but I’m afraid my wife stayed behind in Arles. Allow me to present Signorina Sansone—Maria, to her friends.”
Guy’s smile was unnecessarily suggestive. Stefano had no doubt about the reason for her being there. Nonetheless, he took her fingers to his lips as she turned to smile at him.
“Forgive me, Signorina,” he said courteously. She was terribly young. Sixteen at the most, and not nearly as pretty as Christina.
“And the child?” Stefano said coldly. “Is the child with your wife?” Two could play this little game, and the sooner he reminded Guy of it, the better.
“Child?” For a moment Guy was nonplussed. Then he realized it was the urge to see the child that had brought Stefano back to him. There was a vicious glint in his eye when he answered.
“But of course, you don’t know. I’m afraid my wife lost her baby. She had a bad fall. We thought at first that she was going to be all right but…well, I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be.” He pulled out a chair for Stefano. “But enough old news. Come, have a seat. You see, here’s your soup.”
Stefano sat down and allowed himself to be served, though he’d quite lost his appetite.
Later that night, as he relaxed in the tub, Stefano pondered the wisdom of his decision to return to Guy. He was confident he could regain Guy’s affection. But what of Christina? Was she now resigned to being his wife, so much so that Guy left her behind with no concerns she might disappear?
His thoughts were interrupted when Guy entered the room clad only in a silk dressing gown and carrying two glasses of brandy. He offered one to Stefano and took the small chair between the tub and the fire. Guy smiled, obviously pleased with what he saw as his eyes roamed hungrily over Stefano’s body.
Stefano responded with a smile of his own, one meant to be especially winning as he proposed a toast.
“To old friends,” he said, leaning over to touch his glass to Guy’s.
“That’s nice,” Guy said, raising his glass to his lips.
There was silence between them for a while. Stefano did his best to appear completely relaxed. There were too many unanswered questions, questions he wasn’t prepared to ask, just yet. But he decided it might be safe to approach the subject of Christina again.
“Guy, is Christina all right?”
“Yes. She’s fine from all reports.”
“You left her in Arles?”
“She’s at the abbey. She became difficult and it seemed prudent.”
Guy watched Stefano closely, but his expression remained unchanged. His head rested against the high back of the tub, his eyes closed, looking perfectly relaxed.
“She had a rather hard time of it after she lost the baby, but then she settled down and became quite reasonable. I admit I was looking forward to having her here with me for the winter, but…well it didn’t work out that way.”
“I’m sorry,” Stefano said carefully. “I would have enjoyed seeing her again.” His eyes remained closed.
“I’m sure you would. And the baby, too, no doubt.” Guy’s tone was sarcastic. He took another sip of brandy and waited for Stefano’s reaction.
“I admit I was curious,” Stefano said, glancing over at Guy. “You don’t begrudge me that, do you?”
“It makes little difference, now.” Guy paused for a moment then fixed Stefano with a piercing stare. “I never should have let her send you away. I admit it made me very angry at the time. That decision was mine to make, not Christina’s.”
“I know. I never should have gone. But…well, what’s done is done.”
“What’s important is that you’ve come back.”
“Yes.”
Guy seemed to relax and Stefano decided his responses had been accepted.
“So, that cryptic allusion to ‘a departed friend’ in your letter?” Guy asked, his tone disinterested.
“Oh, yes. I thought you might want to hear about that. I was staying with a woman in Marseilles.”
“A woman?”
“Nothing serious, just passing the time…I ran into him on my way to a card game.”
“Him?” Is it possible? Had Stefano met Richard in Marseilles?
“Why, my twin!” Stefano laughed. “You would have been amazed. I know I was. He was wearing a beard, but I swear to you, if he shaved, you wouldn’t have been able to tell us apart.”
“And did you speak with him?”
“Oh, yes. We had a drink together. He’s a sailor, from Venice originally. Bonelli was the name.”
For a moment Guy said nothing. Wasn’t Bonelli the name of the whore Richard planned to marry?
“A sailor, you say?”
“Yes. He said he was on his way to Spain. The woman I was with expressed an interest in contacting him again.” Stefano smiled thinking of Sabine. “She had an appetite that wasn’t always easy to satisfy.”
“And why did you think this might interest me?” How much does he know? Guy tried to maintain a tone of indifference.
Stefano set his empty glass on the floor beside the tub and stood up. Guy picked up the towel, but didn’t hand it to him.
Stefano smiled. “I’m familiar with your appetites, too, remember?” He just stood there, not two feet from Guy, giving him a chance to admire the flesh Stefano knew he still hungered for. “I know how much you cared for Richard. I just thought you might like to know there seems to be yet another man molded in his image.”
“I see.” Guy finally handed Stefano the towel, his eyes roamng hungrily over his body.
“You must admit, a ‘twin’ might suggest some interesting alternatives.” Stefano smiled suggestively as he slowly dried himself, each movement carefully calculated to remind Guy of what he had to offer.
“True,” Guy said as Stefano stepped out of the tub. “But just now, I think I’d like you to convince me that you really have missed me.”
Stefano tossed the towel aside and pulled Guy to his feet, gazing into his eyes with abject sincerity.
“Haven’t you missed me, too?” he whispered.
Guy’s eyes closed as his lips parted. Richard had returned to him.
Later, while Guy slept, Stefano lay awake staring at the ludicrous portrait of Christina that was hanging over the fireplace in Guy’s room. Even in the dim light, he could see the seductive expression, so unlike the woman he remembered. The artist had depicted her as wanton, reclining on a couch covered in rumpled silk and beckoning the viewer to join her there. The likeness was remarkable, but Stefano couldn’t bring himself to believe that the Christina he knew could have posed for it. More likely the artist had done the face from life and the body from description. Unless Christina had changed. Was it possible? But then Guy had said he left her behind because she was being “difficult.” The woman in the painting didn’t look difficult at all.
Robert loved the conservatory. The glass structure attached to the herbarium was a little indulgence he’d allowed himself. It had been completed about the same time the new chapterhouse was finished, and in the end had proved to be a very practical addition. He spent many mornings there puttering with the plants that were the basis of his medicines. He cultivated useful herbs year round, and cut back considerably on what had to be purchased elsewhere. Now that the weather had turned cold, every one of his sixty-one years was making itself felt and he valued the time he was able to spend in the glass-enclosed area that dependably caught the warmth of the morning sun.
On that particular morning, he was thinking of Richard and Christina. The change in her since she’d told Richard her terrible secret had been nothing short of remarkable. The color returned to her cheeks, her hair began to shine and she’d put on a little weight. The overall effect was one of radiance, a beauty only hinted at in the girl she’d been.
Robert realized some time ago that he couldn’t keep the lovers apart. Despite the warnings of the wages of sin and other dire threats of punishment his religion was so full of, Robert could only think of Richard and Christina as husband and wife. And he knew they felt the same way. There was nothing that could convince him that their love was a sin. What they shared—what they had shared their whole lives—was extremely rare and he could only believe it a gift from God. He prayed daily that they would be able to leave Arles safely and live out the rest of their lives together in peace and the happiness they both deserved.
Dom Louis appeared and put an end to his musings with a request for something to settle his stomach. That such a man should have digestive problems was no surprise to Robert. They were conversing quietly when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Richard standing at a discreet distance, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his brown robe, presenting the perfect picture of an obedient monk.
“Ah, Dom Genelli. I will be with you in a moment,” Robert said, looking past Dom Louis to his brother.
He handed the priest a small bundle of dried leaves in hopes of distracting him. Dom Louis had been eyeing Richard suspiciously. Robert was beginning to feel that the sour-faced monk was paying Richard far more attention of late than was necessary, and he did his best to separate them whenever he could.
“Just make a tea of it and take it morning and evening. I’m sure it will offer some relief,” Robert said, ushering the man to the doorway.
“Thank you.” Dom Louis bowed solicitously.
As he left the conservatory, Dom Louis stared pointedly at his silent Brother, but the younger man bowed as he passed, avoiding his gaze.
“Well, what can I do for you so early in the morning?” Robert was amused by the look on Richard’s face, confident he knew why he’d come.
“It’s Christina. She’s feeling ill again.” Richard began to pace up and down among wooden tables and benches, all of them covered with plants. “Perhaps some raspberry leaves, spearmint…anything else you can suggest.”
“She has no fever? No other complaints?”
Richard looked questioningly at his brother. “No…she seems fine. She’s only troubled in the mornings.”
Shaking his head, Robert began to chuckle. “This has been going on for two weeks.”
“Yes…what is it? Why are you laughing?” There was an edge of annoyance in Richard’s voice. He certainly didn’t find anything amusing about the idea of Christina being ill.
“Didn’t I teach you anything?” Robert smiled. “I suspect congratulations are in order.”
“What are you talking about?” Richard said, at the same time throwing his hands in the air in a frustrated attempt to punctuate his whispered words.
“I suspect that you’re about to become a father.”
“WHAT!?”
Robert pretended to be preoccupied with the thought. “I suppose that will make me an uncle…of sorts…” he said, placing a finger on his chin and rolling his eyes heavenward, as if making an effort to unravel an impossibly complicated relationship.
Richard was suddenly serious. “But she’s said nothing.”
The older man laid a consoling hand on his shoulder, his smile now one of sympathy.
“You must remember she lost a child earlier this year. Perhaps she just wants to be sure.”
Richard sat down heavily on one of the stone benches and looked up, his eyes beseeching Robert. “It’s barely been three months. Is there a chance the child could be Guy’s?”
Taken aback by the question, Robert stared at his brother.
“Richard, you surprise me. Would it matter?”
“No…no, of course not. I was thinking of Christina.”
“Then you’ll have to ask her. She’s the only one who knows.” Robert began gathering the ingredients intended to dispel Christina’s nausea.
Richard went to her room after Terce and brewed a cup of the fragrant tea. She was still in bed, but when the tea was ready, she got up and joined him at the hearth. He handed her the cup and she sat down in his lap, gazing into the fire.
“Better?” he asked, gently stroking her hair.
She nodded and snuggled down against him. His lips brushed her forehead as his arms tightened around her. They sat for a long time, in silence, content just to be together.
“Robert seems enchanted with the idea of becoming an uncle again,” he said matter-of-factly, as he gently ran his hand over her belly. He found it hard to believe she was pregnant. He thought she’d put on a little weight, but she’d been so thin when she arrived at the abbey that he merely assumed she was regaining her health.
Christina looked at him and then put her head back on his shoulder.
“Do you have a pregnant wife somewhere you’ve neglected to mention?”
Richard felt a brief twinge of guilt as he thought of Arabella. He thanked the Lord that he hadn’t had a child with her in their years together. He knew he never would have been able to leave her if there’d been a child. Then what would have become of Christina?
“No…” he said slowly, “but do I have a pregnant lover?”
Christina, suddenly serious, pulled away from him, got up and went to the window. She opened one of the shutters and looked down at the bare trees beyond the wall.
“How would you feel about that?”
He went to her, standing behind her, pulling her hair back over her shoulders. “I’d be very happy, if she were happy.”
“She’s very happy,” she said, smiling.
He kissed her warmly and held her, silently praying that if the child was Guy’s, it wouldn’t force her away from him again. He took her face in his hands. Now it was his turn to be serious.
“Chrissa…I must know. Is there a chance that the child is Guy’s?”
Hurt, Christina pushed away from him, turning her back on him as she looked out the window again. “Is it really so important?”
“Not unless it changes the way you feel about us. You know I could only love any child of yours, Chrissa, no matter who its father is.”
“The child is yours, Richard.” There were tears in her eyes when she turned back to him. “After I lost the baby, Guy only used me in the manner he used Stefano.”
He pulled her back against him, holding her tightly as he willed away thoughts of what she’d suffered.
It was only two weeks until Christmas, and knowing that Christina was pregnant made Richard even more anxious for them to leave the abbey. If he had his way, they would be safe on Corsica before the new year. But Robert had warned him it wouldn’t be wise for Christina to travel until after the middle of January, providing she experienced no difficulties in the coming weeks. The actual cause of her earlier miscarriage was still unknown, and though both Robert and Richard believed it was due to the beatings Guy had given her, there was no way to be sure. It was best to be cautious.
And so, even though it would be another month until they could leave, Richard found himself faced with the necessity of writing to Arabella. He agonized over it many a night as Christina slept peacefully in his arms. He wished he could see Bella, wished he could be there with her when he told her that he would be bringing Christina back to Corsica. It was so unfair. After so many years, just when she had finally agreed to become his wife, he had been torn from her by Christina’s desperate situation.
Writing that letter to Arabella was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Ah, Madame Chabannier, welcome!” Monsieur Rouverault bowed deeply as Maryse entered his exclusive little shop just across from the great arena. She was a good client and he always enjoyed serving her. “How may I help you?”
Maryse took a chair in front of the long mahogany table and pulled a broken string of pearls from her bag.
“I’m afraid I’ve broken these. Could you restring them for me?”
Monsieur Rouverault took them from her and examined them closely. Exceptionally fine pearls, well matched, good color. He recognized the work on the clasp. It was his own. He turned the clasp over and examined the delicate filigree pattern with his glass. Ah! The very strand he had made for the young son of the Baron of Beauvu so many years ago. Interesting.
“They’re very lovely.”
“Thank you. They were a gift from a special friend. I’m very fond of them.”
“Of course, Madame. I will be happy to repair them for you. May I show you anything else today?” Maryse liked his work and he could usually interest her in something.
“Well, a bracelet, perhaps? I was thinking of breaking up the garnet necklace and making it into a necklace for Janine and a bracelet for myself. What do you think?”
“Ah! Just a moment.” He went into the back of the shop and returned with a velvet-lined tray covered with bracelets. “Do any of these designs appeal to you?”
Maryse fingered the various pieces, none eliciting much interest.
“I was thinking of something more delicate, more unusual. I would like my daughter to have the larger stones and I could use the smaller ones for myself.”
“I see.” Monsieur Rouverault thought a moment. “Oh, I’ve just finished a rather unusual piece. Let me show it to you.”
He returned this time with something carefully wrapped in heavy paper. Maryse couldn’t help but notice the name on the paper was that of the venerable Abbot of Montmajour. Monsieur Rouverault opened the box and handed the bracelet to Maryse.
It was beautiful. A circle of blue enameled flowers, each set with a stone.
“These are rubies, of course, but your garnets would be lovely in a similar design.”
Maryse continued to examine the bracelet. Then she saw the inscription. “To my Beloved Christina—My Heart, My Soul, My Life. Richard.” It took her a moment to recover.
“Yes. I like this very much. Maybe with pink flowers and the garnets?” The package was addressed to Robert. Richard was his brother. Could there be more than one Christina in this little triangle?
“Yes, pink. But you weren’t thinking of this as a Christmas gift?”
“Oh, no. You must be very busy just now.”
“We are. We are. But if you will allow me to send someone to pick up the necklace, I could have both pieces for you before the end of January.”
“Wonderful.” Maryse rose to leave, but hesitated. “Monsieur, I couldn’t help but notice that packet was addressed to the Abbot at Montmajour. I have an appointment with him myself this afternoon. Would you like me to deliver it for you?”
“I would be most grateful, Madame. We are so busy.” He rewrapped the bracelet and handed it to her. “I am in your debt, Madame,” he said, bowing as he opened the door and ushered her out.
On her way to the abbey, Maryse found she couldn’t stop thinking about the inscription on the bracelet. It had to be Christina. The chances of Robert ordering an expensive gift like that for another Richard and another Christina were just too fantastic. But what on earth did it mean? If Robert was still conveying gifts to Christina on his brother’s behalf, he must know that an inscription such as the one on that bracelet was dangerous. Guy would never allow his wife to accept such a present. Well, she would ask Robert.
She was courteously escorted to Robert’s office by one of the young monks and greeted by Dom Louis. She’d never been fond of Robert’s secretary. She thought the man pompous and ill-tempered. Though he’d always gone out of his way to treat her courteously, she found his manner condescending.
“Is that something for my Lord Abbot?” he asked, looking pointedly at the package she held.
“Yes,” she said, handing it to him. “I believe he’s expecting me.”
“Of course,” Dom Louis answered, bowing as he gestured her toward the doors to the inner room..
“Madame, how good to see you!” Robert rose from his desk and came to greet her. “Please, sit down.”
Maryse made a very substantial annual donation to the abbey and he always enjoyed their conversations. He knew of his brother’s relationship with her, but it didn’t color his opinion. She was a fine woman and he had a great deal of respect for her and the life she’d made for herself.
“It seems it’s that time of year again, My Lord. It also seems that each year passes more quickly than the last.” She pulled a letter from her purse that directed her bank to provide a large sum to the abbey, which would be distributed to the poor over the holidays. She handed it to him and he read it over quickly.
“Madame! You are too generous!”
“Some of my investments have done very well this year. I only wish to share my good fortune.” Maryse smiled. She liked Robert. Though she held the clergy, for the most part, in contempt, Robert was certainly an exception. What he had done with the abbey and for the poor of the surrounding area was nothing short of remarkable. She was happy to do what she could to assist him in his work.
For a while they discussed Robert’s plans for the coming year with regards to the various charitable projects he hoped to implement.
Finally, Maryse felt comfortable enough to ask.“My Lord, please forgive me if my question seems indelicate but…”
“Yes?”
“I was at my jeweler’s today—Monsieur Rouverault. We were discussing bracelets…” She hesitated. Robert’s expression gave Maryse no clue as to whether or not she should go on.
“Please, continue.”
“He showed me a bracelet that you had ordered, by way of suggesting a design, you understand. I saw the inscription and I must ask…”
“I see.” Robert chose his words carefully. “I can’t discuss that with you, but please believe me when I say I understand your curiosity.”
“Forgive me, My Lord, but it’s more than curiosity.” Maryse went on to describe her last encounter with Christina at the dressmaker’s and Christina’s pleas for Maryse to help her. She told him how Guy had destroyed their friendship and how she was determined to be of service to Christina in any way she could.
“If it will ease your mind, I can tell you that Christina is well.”
“Then you are aware of the way she has been treated by her husband?”
“Somewhat, yes.”
Maryse could see Robert had no intention of telling her anything. She had expressed the depth of her concern. What more she could do? She stood up to leave.
“I’m sorry if my questions made you uncomfortable,” she said, smiling at him apologetically.
“Not at all.” He walked her to the door.
“I just wanted to say that if there is anything, anything at all I can do for Christina…or for your brother…I owe him a great deal, you know.”
“Thank you, Madame. I shall remember that.”
As she stepped through the doorway she turned back to him. “By the way. That item I asked you about. I delivered it myself. I gave it to your secretary.”
“Oh. Wonderful. Thank you very much.” Robert moved to Dom Louis’s desk where he saw the package.
When Maryse turned to go, she nearly bumped into Richard.
“Excuse me, Brother.” She looked up into his eyes, smiling. It took a moment for her to realize it was him—the beard—but she would never forget those eyes.
Richard was every bit as surprised as she was, but he quickly looked away and nodded respectfully. Robert, astonished by the entire confrontation quickly stepped in to save the moment.
“Madame Chabannier, allow me to present Dom Genelli. He’s visiting us from Italy and is currently under a vow of silence. He’s been doing some wonderful translation work for us, some Greek material. We’re very happy he’s joined us.”
“Dom Genelli.” She saw the warning in Richard’s eyes and did her best to cover her surprise. She turned back to Robert. “Remember, if there’s anything at all I can do.”
“Bless you, Madame. We’re very grateful for your help.”
When she’d gone, Robert took the package from Dom Louis and motioned Richard into his office. The package seemed loosely wrapped, but Robert wasn’t overly concerned. He was still trying to recover from the chance meeting he’d just observed.
“What in the world was Maryse doing here?” Richard asked, his voice soft as he joined Robert at his desk.
“She brings us a donation every year at this time. She’s still very grateful for the help you gave her husband during the grain shortage. It made him a wealthy man, you know. She is very generous with us.”
Richard was still trying to fathom the fact that he had just been face-to-face with his former lover, not to mention the involuntary response to the sight of her beautiful mouth that he’d just experienced. Certainly not very monk-like.
“Am I mistaken or did she recognize you?”
“She did. Do you think we have anything to worry about?”
“No, not at all. You know, she and Christina became friends shortly after Christina married Guy.”
“What?”
“Something Guy arranged.”
“To torment them both, no doubt,” Richard said bitterly.
“It would seem so. When he told Christina about your relationship, she broke it off. But they met again just before Christina came to the abbey. She asked Maryse to help her.”
“And?”
“Maryse couldn’t find her. She thinks Christina is in Venice with Guy.”
“You didn’t tell her otherwise?”
“No, of course not. But she saw the bracelet, Richard. She read the inscription.”
Richard looked at Robert. How could this have happened?
“I didn’t tell her anything,” Robert went on. “But she said quite clearly that she would do anything she could for either of you.”
How like Maryse. Richard wished he could thank her, could let her know how much he appreciated her concern, but he knew any contact at this point could be dangerous. He had to be very careful until he and Christina could safely leave Arles.
He remembered the reason he’d come to Robert’s office and he pulled some folded pages from his sleeve.
“Could you send this on to Arabella for me?”
Robert took the letter. He knew that whatever the contents, it must have been difficult for Richard to write. He started to ask, but his brother’s expression stopped him. Richard was right, it was none of his business.
“Of course. I have some herbal information I was just getting ready to send off to her along with some seeds. And I’ll seal it, just to be sure.” He had no reason to think anyone was watching his letters to Arabella, but they had to be cautious.
When Richard had gone, Robert gazed out the window at the bare trees in orchard below. Poor Arabella. She was a good woman. And a practical one. She would survive Richard’s news, whatever it might be.
When Arabella finished washing the supper dishes, she joined Alfredo in the morning room where he sat contentedly smoking his pipe. The warmth of the blazing fire was welcome, it had been cold and rainy for two days. Before sitting down, she picked up Robert’s packet, which had arrived that morning. His letters were always a treat and she had saved this one to share with Alfredo. She was not expecting any particular news of Richard. She assumed that would come in a separate letter, as it had when Robert had written cryptically: “That which you sent has arrived safely and in good order. I will let you know as things develop. The climate here is still rather mild and I think it will do well,” to let her know that Richard had arrived safely.
She expected to hear from Richard as soon as the situation with Christina was settled, one way or the other. So the packet she held in her hand was like all the others she received from Robert once a month, full of information about plants and medicines and often containing seeds, as well.
As she took a chair beside the old man, he got to his feet with some difficulty to fix her a cup of tea.
“I can get that, Alfredo,” she said, knowing it would do no good. Despite his age—more than twice her own—and the swollen joints she knew caused him constant pain, he insisted on treating her with an unnecessary amount of courtesy.
“Ah Signora, surely it is the least I can do after you fixed me this wonderful meal.”
“You know you say that every night.”
“And with good reason, for every night you fix me a wonderful meal.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, Alfredo, what am I to do with you?”
“Why anything you like, Bellina,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything you like.” He winked at her as he handed her the steaming cup and settled himself back into the comfortable chair.
“Shame on you! Thoughts like that can get you in trouble,” she teased.
“Thoughts like that keep me young!” Alfredo insisted.
Arabella opened Robert’s packet and spilled the small packages of seeds out onto her lap. As she unfolded the pages, a smaller but very thick envelope landed on top of the seeds. Her name was in Robert’s hand and the seal was his. She opened it and recognized Richard’s distinctive script. It was the letter she’d longed for and at the same time dreaded receiving, sure that she knew what it would say. For a moment she just stared at it. Involuntarily, her hands went to her swollen belly.
“Signora? What is it?” Alfredo saw her expression. “Not the bambino?”
“No. It’s not the baby.” She put her hand on his arm to reassure him. “This letter, it’s from Richard.”
“So, you finally told him about the baby?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Oh, Signora…”
“Alfredo, I’ve told you, I must be sure.”
“Signora, even I am sure you’re expecting a baby.”
“Yes, I know.” Arabella sighed. How could she explain to Alfredo that she wanted to be sure that Richard was returning to her before she told him she was carrying his child? If he decided to stay with Christina, how could she burden him with that knowledge? She knew what it would do to him.
“Signora,” Alfredo said gently as he laid his hand over hers. “You must listen to me. I know what you fear. If the Signore does not return, you don’t want to tell him, do you?”
Arabella could only shake her head.
“But don’t you see?” he went on. “You are making a mistake. A man deserves to know that he has a child, especially a man who will one day be the Baron of Beauvu.”
“But if he doesn’t return—the child will be illegitimate.”
“Bah!” Alfredo said, brushing the thought aside with the wave of his hand. “It means nothing, nothing! The child will be his firstborn, yes?”
“Yes.” Arabella believed Richard when he said that he had no children, illegitimate or otherwise.
“The firstborn has a special place in a man’s heart no matter which side of the sheets it arrives on.”
“But…”
“And,” he continued, shaking his twisted finger at her, “and more important, the child deserves the benefit of his father’s fortune, which in this case, I assure you, is considerable.”
“I couldn’t…”
“Nonsense! The child is entitled to an education, and a fortune in his own right. You don’t want him to live in poverty, do you?”
Arabella was silent. Alfredo was right. Their child deserved to live free from the terrible existence she had known before she met Richard.
“Bellissima,” Alfredo said, putting his finger gently under her chin and lifting her face until she looked him right in the eyes. “You know that the Signore would want to know, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Arabella did her best to smile.
“He’s a good man. We both know that. We both know what it would do to him if he learned that child had grown up in difficulty because he was never told the child existed.”
“You’re right. But Alfredo, I’m not young anymore. I just want to be sure. So many things can happen.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. “Would you like me to leave so you can read that alone?” he asked, gesturing toward the still unread pages in her hand.
“No, stay, please…” With trembling fingers she lifted the pages and began to read.
14 Décembre
My Dearest Bella,
I have spent a full seven days trying to write this letter and still I know I haven’t got it right. I would give anything to be there with you now, to look into your eyes as I tell you these things so that you know that I, too, am suffering, even as I cause you pain.
Arabella stopped reading and put the letter down. It was as she knew it would be. He was not coming back to her. She glanced over at Alfredo, who stared into the fire and puffed on his pipe, allowing her as much privacy as possible. She picked up the letter again.
Dear Heart, what can I say to you? First, I thank God every day that you insisted I come back. Christina has been horribly abused by the man she married and if I had not returned to help her, I’d have been damned forever, and rightfully so, for abandoning her to such misery while I remained content with you.
Bella, Christina is expecting a child—my child. But the problem remains: Will the pain I cause you by bringing her to Corsica be every bit as great as what she has already suffered? I don’t know. I don’t understand why I can only help her by hurting you.
That last day you made me promise that if Christina wanted to come, I would bring her there. But how can I? Can you honestly tell me that you want the two of us there at the cottage? Don’t let your answer be influenced by any fear that I will ask you to leave. I won’t take you away from your children. And I offer you several choices—you may have the cottage and an income and remain there as long as you wish. You can build another house wherever you like and I’ll see that the children go with you. If having Christina and me in such close proximity is too much for you to bear, I can move the business to Propriano. If there is another solution that appeals to you, just tell me what it is. I only want you to be as happy as you can be in these circumstances.
I wish I could be there. I can always read the truth in your eyes. I would know immediately how much I’m hurting you. I suppose I think if I were there, I could make you understand that this is the only thing I can do. But how can that be? I don’t understand it myself.
Help me Bella. Tell me what you would have me do. But most of all, forgive me.
Richard
PS/ The two packages in the drawer with my handkerchiefs are for you. I’d hoped to give them to you at Christmas, but we won’t be able to leave here until the middle of January. I’d so looked forward to us reading the book together. Who knows? Perhaps we will.
Arabella put the pages back in her lap and stared into the fire as the tears ran down her cheeks. She wasn’t surprised. She knew that Richard had always loved Christina. He had tried with her; he had done everything possible to convince her that he loved her and wanted her for his wife. And she knew that he did love her, but not in the same way he loved Christina. He was tied to Christina heart and soul, while he’d merely been content with her. She’d hoped it would be enough for him, and she truly believed it would have been if Christina had not come back into his life.
Poor Richard. She knew he’d suffered over the letter. She knew he hated hurting her. Now, she only had to ask herself one question: what did she want? She smiled. There was really only one thing she wanted. There was really only one thing to do.
Alfredo saw her tears and reached for her hand.
The holidays at the abbey passed quickly for all who lived within its great walls. There were services, processions, and gifts of food and clothing, which were distributed to the poor. Before they knew it, the festivities were over and they settled in to await the end of the year.
On the afternoon before the eve of the new year, Robert called Richard to his office. When his brother arrived Robert handed him a letter, indicating he should read the postscript at the bottom of the page. Richard immediately recognized Arabella’s hand.
PS/ If you would be so kind as to convey a message to my friends there in Arles, I would be most grateful. I want them to know that I have married and have settled into a very contented life here at the cottage with my husband. I should be very happy if they could come to stay with us, for I cannot say how I long to see them. They should have no fear of inconveniencing us, for there is plenty of room, and I want to do anything I can to make them comfortable. There is no way I can properly express my gratitude to your brother who has changed my life and given me nothing but happiness for the last seven years and every prospect of continuing good fortune for the future.
May God bless you.
Richard read it over twice.“Married?” he said, looking up at Robert. It had certainly taken them both by surprise. Was it possible that Bella had married someone just to make it easier for him to go back to the cottage?
“So she says. I think she’s being overly cautious, but I suggested she be careful if she wrote anything concerning you.”
“But who?”
“I have no idea. I can write to Father Matarese or we can inquire through Gérrard, but it will take time.” He studied his brother a moment, realizing the news had hit him hard. “Richard, are you planning to take Christina to Bonifacio?”
“Yes.” He looked at Robert, wondering what it was that he wasn’t saying.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Wise?” Richard smiled, sadly. “I doubt it. But I asked Bella to make a choice and she has.”
“What about Christina? Have you told her about Arabella?”
“I’ve told her that there was someone. I didn’t tell her that ‘someone’ was my housekeeper. There’s no reason for her to know anything else.”
Robert shook his head. “What about you? Can you do this?”
Richard stood up and reluctantly handed the letter back to Robert. “I don’t know. But apparently it’s what Bella wants and the least I can do for her is try. I owe her that much.”
When Dom Louis conducted the last Mass before the New Year, he noticed that Christina was wearing the bracelet the Oriental whore had delivered. Why was the man responsible for his cousin’s death, a man who was himself recently married, sending a gift to a married woman, which bore a very personal inscription?