Edmée hugged Jennifer and leaned back to smile into her eyes. “You’ve filled out a little. It looks wonderful on you.” She turned to Nathan, who looked handsome in his black suit. “Doesn’t she, Nathan? If I gained three ounces, I’d look like a sow.”
Nathan shook his head and smiled at Chane. “She lies about everything. I don’t know what to do with her.”
They rode the elevator down, with Edmée chattering the whole time. It clunked to a halt on the ground floor, and Chane fastened Jennifer’s coat against the cold wind and helped her into the carriage, sitting near her without quite touching her.
Seated across from them, Edmée appeared too engrossed in teasing her husband to notice anything amiss with the other couple. “Kiss me,” she whispered to Nate.
“Behave yourself, you greedy wench, we’re not alone in here,” he said, glancing apologetically at Jennifer.
“Don’t be silly, Nate. They’re married. They don’t care what we do.” Edmée leaned close to him and parted her pretty lips for his kiss.
Nate leaned down and kissed his wife. When he withdrew, Edmée sighed expressively. “I love your kisses. And I love the opera, too.”
“I think I’m getting a headache,” Nate teased.
“You’ve never had a headache in your life. You’re going to have an ache, though, if you’re not careful,” Edmée whispered teasingly.
Their playfulness only emphasized Chane’s stony silence beside Jennifer. On impulse, Jennifer reached over, slipped her hand into his, and slanted a look up at him to see what he was going to do about it. Chane flashed her a look of warning, which clearly told her that she would answer for any liberties she took. Ignoring him and continuing to hold his warm hand with her cold one, Jennifer realized just how desperately she had needed his touch.
After a time, he reached up with his other hand and tugged at his cravat as if it had suddenly become too tight.
Too soon, the coach glided to a halt on the gaslit, tiled concourse of the Metropolitan Opera House. Chane retrieved his hand. Nathan straightened in his seat. Even Edmée tried to look more ladylike.
Their carriage rolled slowly now, one in a long line of sleek, elegant coaches creeping forward to deposit bejeweled ladies and top-hatted gentlemen at the foot of the impressive flight of steps leading up to the colonnaded doors of the Met.
This was a special gala performance, the first American presentation of Carmen, acclaimed the best of Bizet’s operas.
The interior of the opera house was built in the traditional horseshoe fashion. The stage was wide and draped with heavy gold curtains. Flanking it on both sides were five levels of boxes that encircled the interior of the horseshoe. From the stage, Jennifer knew the five tiers of ornately carved and draped boxes looked like balconies on a tenement, except nothing in the diamond glitter and satin gleam of their occupants reminded one of poverty.
Their box, on the second level directly opposite the stage, sported a small bronze plaque with the word KINCAID engraved in Gothic script. He or someone in his family had acquired one of the choicest locations in the house.
Chane and Nate stood at the back of the box and talked about the railroad. Edmée wanted to introduce Jennifer to all her friends, but Jennifer declined, having no desire or energy for calling on anyone or for receiving callers. Edmée left without her, while Jennifer sat in grateful silence and gazed out at the stage and the floor below.
A familiar haze floated above the enormous chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The gallery was noisy and restless. Local dandies strutted up and down the lower aisles, preening like peacocks. Some posed with arms held stiffly behind them, their top hats shining. At last the symphony stopped tuning instruments and played a few chords. The people scurried toward their seats.
She envisioned the singers backstage applying the last touches of makeup, adjusting costumes, exchanging quips with one another, and waiting tensely for the lights to dim and the curtain to rise. A sudden wave of homesickness for the ballet rose up within her.
“Will you be going to Colorado yourself?” Nate asked Chane.
“Yes, the superintendent I hired didn’t work out.”
“When are you leaving?”
“A few days yet.”
Jennifer felt as if a hand had closed around her heart and was squeezing. He was leaving. And without her.
In deep pain, she fought back the tears that burned in her throat. The orchestra played the first bars of Carmen’s theme song. With a murmured apology, Edmée seated herself between Jennifer and Nate. The music of the overture wove a spell, and Jennifer gratefully let herself be drawn out of her own pain and into the safety of the drama unrolling before her.
“It’s so authentically Spanish, isn’t it?” Edmée whispered to Jennifer. “I was afraid, when I heard what they intended, that it would be merely Spain à la française again. The story is quite earthy and exciting. I love all the blood and passion. Too bad we can’t smell it as well. And Don José, he is magnifique, eh?”
Edmée kept up a running commentary. “That Célestine Galli-Marié is a fancy little piece of fluff, isn’t she?”
“Sings beautifully,” Chane added.
The curtain dropped on the first act to rousing applause. “Georges Bizet has a hit at last! I knew he could do something really fine,” Edmée said, applauding enthusiastically.
“I’ll get the champagne,” Nate said. Chane followed him out of the box and strode toward the bar.
Edmée turned and smiled. “So…” She paused and seemed to change her tack. “I’ve never been one to beat about the bush…Something is wrong between you and Chane, isn’t it?”
Jennifer nodded.
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“I guess so.” Haltingly, she told Edmée what had happened. Edmée paled and gripped Jennifer’s hand in sympathy as Jennifer poured out her story, stopping frequently to grope for words to describe what had happened. Jennifer was grateful for Edmée’s loving support. She realized it could have gone another way, and she could have made Chane and his friends furious with her.
“So how is it between you now?” Edmée asked.
“Now…he hates me and is going off to the wilderness so he won’t have to see me again.”
“Don’t let him.”
“How can I stop him?”
“You are still his wife. Demand to go with him.”
“What will that do for me?”
“It will keep you in his life. He is incredibly stubborn, and probably incredibly wounded by what has happened. You see, this is his second wound in the same place. There was another woman, several years ago, who did almost the same thing to him. He expelled her from his life with uncommon dispatch. So, it is doubly important that you do not give him a chance to do the same to you.”
Edmée took Jennifer’s hand. “Go with him wherever he goes. Or you will lose him.”
“I used to think that was what I wanted. But now…oh, God, Edmée. I’ve made a terrible mess of things.”
“Life is messy, my dear. Speaking of messes, would you like to go to the powder room?” she asked, patting at her hair.
They waited in the customary long line, and returned to the box to find Chane and Nathan sipping champagne. A bottle and two glasses sat on the small table at the back of the box.
Nate stood up to pour for the ladies. “We thought you’d been kidnapped by a band of wife snatchers.”
Edmée laughed. “Paid by whom? You didn’t bring that much cash with you.”
“Touché,” he said, handing each of them a glass. “Champagne for the two loveliest young bravas in the audience.”
They drank a toast to friendship. Nathan started to make another, but Edmée interrupted. “Nate, did you bring my chocolates?”
“You didn’t say anything about chocolates.”
“Nate, you know I love chocolates at the opera.” She turned to Jennifer. “He knows I have to have my chocolates. Please excuse us. We’ll be right back.”
Their departure left Jennifer facing Chane. The easy camaraderie she’d had with Edmée disappeared. Chane looked pale and tense. The same light that paled his cheeks also darkened his eyes, making them impenetrable, unreadable.
He was going away in a few days. That thought tormented her. Jennifer’s hand trembled. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she turned to put her glass down.
“Would you like to sit down?” His voice was polite, noncommittal.
“Yes, thank you.” Her legs had begun to shake as well.
Seated, his broad shoulder brushed hers. All her awareness seemed to pool at that point. She felt her soul pressing against his shoulder.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Yes,” he lied. “Have you seen this before?”
“I danced a version of Carmen in Paris five years ago as an understudy to Arianna Monteverdi.”
Chane rested his left hand on his knee. Jennifer longed to touch him. Black breeches hugged his strong legs. An inch of white cuff extended beyond the black cloth of his sleeve. Seeing the easy strength in his lean hands reminded her of the way they felt on her body. She glanced up at his profile, which looked completely unforgiving. Under her gaze he tugged at his cravat and pushed his chin out a little. She averted her gaze, turned slightly away from him.
House lights dimmed and the curtain rose. Edmée and Nathan swept back into the box.
“Chocolates, anyone?”
The curtain rose. Carmen’s verismo style gripped the audience again, and Jennifer tried hard to get caught up in it. Near the end, the music reached a crescendo. Edmée shuddered beside Jennifer and gripped her hand. “Don’t you love these earthy, savage arias?”
Jennifer squeezed Edmée’s warm hand. Chane appeared unaffected by anything on stage or off. Jennifer felt light-headed from the effort to appear normal. At last the final curtain descended. Thunderous applause filled the theater. The prima donna and the tenor came forward to take their bows. A large bouquet was presented to Carmen, a red rose to Don José. The applause rose again. The other soloists joined the stars, and finally the entire cast. Again and again they all bowed. Even the conductor was called up for a bow. Disheveled and smiling, he motioned the symphony to stand.
At last it was time to leave. Jennifer hung back, so heartsick she could not stand it. Being so near Chane was more torture than she had realized possible. Now, the thought of going home to separate rooms, separate beds, was unbearable. She wondered when he was leaving.
Thankfully, Edmée entertained Chane and Nathan with a charming monologue about her emotions during the opera. Jennifer walked to the railing to watch the audience below slowly fill the two center aisles. Crumpled programs, empty chocolate boxes, and paper wrappers littered the floor. Tears flushed into her eyes. She swayed.
“Oh, God! She’s falling!” Edmée screamed.
Jennifer tried to right herself. A rough hand grabbed her right arm and pulled her away from the railing.
Edmée gasped. Chane’s eyes were furious as he searched her face. His hand gripped her arm painfully.
“Sorry. I felt faint.” She tried to pull her arm out of his steely grip.
Tears could no longer be held back. They blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. Edmée stepped forward and whacked Chane with her fan. “Chane, for heaven’s sake. Do your husbandly duty. She’s crying. Can’t you see?”
Chane scowled down at Jennie. Edmée tugged on his arm. “Hold her! What on earth is a husband good for if he doesn’t hold his wife when she needs him!”
Reluctantly, Chane clamped his jaws and did as he was bid. His hand cupped her head and held her stiffly and dutifully to his chest. The heavy thud of his heart and the warmth of his strong, lean body overwhelmed Jennifer. She started to sob.
Edmée pulled Nathan out into the corridor and closed the curtains, leaving them alone in the box.
Jennifer couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t know if it was about Bettina’s death, a delayed reaction to losing the baby, the tension of being out in public with a man who hated her, having to take the comfort he offered so begrudgingly or needing it so desperately. In the middle of it all, she wondered what he was thinking as he stoically endured her bout of crying.
Chane was beyond thinking. Jennie’s shoulders shook and her hot tears soaked through to his skin and ignited a flame of compassion deep within him. Once, a long time ago, he had seen a man’s leg being cut off. That same flame had ignited then—it had been almost unbearable. It was the same, now. He hated her, but he didn’t want her in pain. Torn by conflicting needs, he held his wife’s slender, trembling form, and felt her small, hard breasts press against his chest where his own heart pounded painfully hard. He was confused and angry and disgusted with himself.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said aloud.
“What?” she murmured.
“Nothing you can do will change how I feel.”
“I know,” she said, new tears welling in her eyes.
The familiar fragrance of her Gillyflower perfume filled his nostrils and made him dizzy. In spite of his resolve, he wiped her tears, lifted her damp face, and kissed her cold, wet lips.
Touching her had been a mistake. Holding her trembling body as if it were any ordinary body was something only a fool would attempt. But kissing her…kissing her wet mouth, feeling it open and draw in breath from him, open wider and cling, was crazier than anything he had ever done.
Jennie strained upward into his arms. Her silky hair brushed his face and her lips moved against his with a hunger to match his own. Part of him surrendered to that need, but another part of him flashed a picture of Jennie naked in Van Buren’s arms.
Chane opened his eyes and firmly disengaged himself from his wife’s clinging arms.
“Noooo,” she whimpered softly.
“Yes.”
His tone caused her to open her eyes, and what she saw told her that he was back in command.
“It’s time to go,” he growled.
Woodenly, she walked to the back of the box where her coat hung on a peg. He helped her into it, put on his own overcoat and top hat, and led her through the thinning crowd and out into the cold night air.
Icy gusts of wind whipped around her ankles. Chane gave her his arm and led her down the many steps, angling toward where his carriage inched forward in the long line of carriages filing past to pick up their occupants.
Nathan and Edmée were waiting at the curb. Edmée reached out and squeezed Jennifer’s hand. Jennifer knew she wanted to ask how it had gone, but there was no opportunity to tell her, and she could probably guess from their expressions.
At last the carriage reached them. It was cold inside, but at least they didn’t have to contend with the icy wind. Jennifer pulled the lap robe up around her and sank back in the plush seat.
Edmée seemed dreamy and distracted. Nathan put his arm around her and snuggled her close to him. She pulled his head close and whispered, “You have to talk to Chane.”
“About what?”
“Shhh! About Jennifer.”
“Why?”
“Later,” she said, beginning to hum a strain from the opera.
The carriage finally pulled out of the slow-moving cavalcade and headed back toward the Bricewood. Snow swirled against the windowpanes.
The carriage hit a pothole in the pavement and sent Jennifer slamming into Chane. He caught her arm to steady her. His shadowy face, so close above hers, made her dizzy. She reached up and touched his lips, stroked the deep smile lines beside his mouth, and slipped around to caress the short, crisp hairs on his sturdy neck.
“Hold me,” she whispered.
“This isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he warned her softly, but she kissed the side of his mouth, and he dragged in a ragged breath and put his arm around her. She snuggled close to him. They rode in silence until the carriage rolled to a stop under the shelter of the Bricewood’s carriage entry.
She was in a transport of bliss that he had actually continued to hold her. He helped her out of the carriage, up the step to the tiled entry, and between the pine trees that sheltered the private elevator.
At the penthouse Edmée smiled dreamily at Jennifer and Chane and led Nathan toward the bedroom they shared.
Jennifer longed to take Chane’s hand and lead him to the bedroom they had shared so briefly, but after Nate and Edmée disappeared into their room, Chane led her back out into the hall and to her own suite.
“Would you like to come in…for a moment?”
Chane’s jaws clamped in consternation. “What I want is for this night never to have happened.”
“We need to talk,” she said, searching his face.
“It would be better if we didn’t,” he said grimly, “but maybe we need to say certain things one time, just to get them out in the open.”
That had an ominous sound to it. He stepped inside and closed the door after him. A fire burned in her room, making it comfortable enough to take off her coat.
Chane kept his on. A signal he wouldn’t be staying.
“I’m through, Jennie. What happened can’t be fixed. But maybe I owe you something even if I can’t forget or forgive what happened with Van Buren.”
“You owe me nothing, but we have something special together. Tonight was no accident.”
“Tonight was…proof of my stupidity.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “Jennie,” he began again, “I would like to excuse what you did with Van Buren, but I can’t.”
She gazed into the fire. Her profile was as beautiful as ever, but he could not stop now. “I won’t say this to you again, but for your own good, remember it, because I mean it. Even if I believed that you didn’t set out to betray me, which I don’t, I wouldn’t commit myself to a woman who could let that happen to her, even by accident.”
Jennifer blinked back tears.
Chane cleared his throat. “For any number of reasons. It goes too deep in me, it’s too basic to my nature. A betrayal of that magnitude can’t be excused or ignored. Maybe by some men, but not by me.” His voice had become harsh. “But I still care what happens to you.”
No longer able to contain her tears, Jennifer put her head in her hands to hide her face from Chane.
Seeing her this way, chastened, humble, and yet still the beautiful, talented, and charming creature she was and would always be, even if she lived to be a hundred, he finally faced the full extent of his problem. From the moment he’d seen her, he had craved her presence, her happiness, and finally her love. Even when he’d tried to ignore her existence, he had found himself hanging on Steve’s every word about her, rereading Tom Wilcox’s dull reports just to see her name, daydreaming about her until he had almost lost his mind.
“Part of me,” he said slowly, “the part I can’t seem to control, even by an effort of will, still wants you. I can’t reconcile that with how I feel about betrayal, but I also can’t seem to change it. I’ve tried, but tonight…well, you can see for yourself how well I handled myself.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“I guess it means that I need to come to some agreement that will allow us to normalize our relationship. We can’t go on like this.”
She bowed her head, seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, and then sighed. “I wish I hadn’t betrayed you, but I did. I’m sorry. I’m so horribly sorry that I feel sick from my toes to my eyebrows, but that won’t change what happened. So tell me how it has to be. Toss me out of your house. I’ll stay out this time,” she said quietly.
“Don’t you understand anything I’ve said to you?” he asked fiercely. “If I could toss you out, you’d be out.”
Jennifer turned away in confusion.
“Jennie…Jennie,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
“What?”
“I don’t trust you!”
“I didn’t do anything so horrible. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t—”
“Stop it!”
“I love you,” she cried. “I want to be your wife.”
Chane shook his head. “Trust is more important than love. It’s the basis of love, Jennie. Without trust there can be no love.”
“You don’t trust me, so it’s over,” she said softly.
The words tore his heart. “We have something,” he said. “Maybe we don’t have trust, and maybe I’m too damaged to ever love you again, but I still care.”
“It’s over,” she said, shaking her head. Despair filled her eyes.
Chane knew the exact second she accepted the end of their marriage, and when she gave up, something in him changed sides. “Maybe,” he said, “we could try again, but there would have to be conditions.”
“Like what?”
“Like I won’t sleep with you.”
“Don’t you want to?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m not an animal. I can’t carry on a relationship with a woman I don’t trust.”
“You didn’t know me well enough to trust me the night of the fire, and you almost made love to me then.”
“It may have been premature, but I did trust you.”
“Do your parents act like this?”
“My mother and father have been true to one another since the day they fell in love,” he said firmly.
“How do you know that?”
“Don’t use my parents to justify your sordid actions.” He turned away as if he were going to leave.
Jennifer reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. My own parents had a number of casual affairs. I never realized how unusual their behavior was.”
Chane turned, frowning. “You knew they had affairs?”
“My mother told me. My father…once he even invited his paramour on holiday with us. She went with us to France for the season. She even became a friend of mine…”
Chane grunted in disgust.
Jennifer shrugged. “At times I have wished for a more perfect family, but not since my parents died. Either death has made them seem more perfect than they were, or it has made me more accepting.”
Chane felt dazed with the glimpse he’d had of her life prior to meeting him. He had only himself to blame for falling in love with a woman as incomprehensible as Jennie. Latitia had warned him about her family. He should have listened.
“I made a mistake,” she pleaded. “I didn’t realize what was happening. But I give you my solemn promise I will never, ever allow myself to be tricked again…So, where do we go from here?” she asked.
“I’m going to Colorado. And you’re going back to work. Maybe in a few months, when we meet again…who knows…”
“Does this include anything on your part?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like…fidelity.”
“Infidelity has never been one of my problems, Jennie.”
“What do you call your relationship with Latitia?”
“She is an old friend.”
“What if I want to go with you?”
“I don’t recommend it. It’s going to be a long, miserable trek down the rails.”
“Fortunately for you,” she said grudgingly, “I’m still a ballerina.”
Chane tried, but he couldn’t hide his relief. He nodded his thanks and left.
Jennifer watched the door close behind him and felt the tiredness and despair wash through her. Until tonight she’d still had hope. Now she fully understood the depth of his stubbornness. He would not relent. He would put up with her, but she would never see the love she needed in his eyes again.
It was over. But he had agreed to let her share his life, as an unwanted piece of baggage. If she wanted that role. Somehow that concession hurt more than his wanting her completely out of his life.
Grief and loss overwhelmed her. She walked to the sofa, put her head down, and cried.