Beloved (12 page)

Richard turned to face his sister, but his view of his sibling was not nearly so flattering as hers of him. He saw the hard lines around her mouth and the frown that creased the smooth skin of her forehead. This was not the happy woman who had assured him of her husband’s love just four years ago.

“Cybelle, I want to talk to you about these things you’ve been saying to Christina.”

Cybelle just looked at him, defiantly.

“Have you nothing to say?” Richard was exasperated. “I don’t understand why you felt the need to speak of these things to a girl who’s little more than a child.”

Cybelle’s laugh was harsh. “Oh, I suppose next you’ll tell me that you’ve never had a ‘child’ her age, or one even younger.”

Richard glared at her. She was pressing his patience to the limits. “I can assure you, Sister Dear,” he said deliberately, “that I have never ‘had,’ as you seem to insist on putting it, a girl who has spent the better part of her life in a convent conservatorio. When I do, she will be my wife.”

“And then what?” Cybelle said immediately, closing the distance between them as the words hissed between her teeth. “What becomes of her when you tire of her?”

Richard stared at his sister, her face a mask of rage. He took her firmly by the shoulders, barely able to resist the urge to give a good shake and at the same time wishing he could offer her some sort of comfort.

“Cybi, my celibacy or the lack of it is not the real issue here. What’s wrong? It’s obvious that you’re unhappy about something, but do you really want to make Christina as miserable as you seem to be?”

“She should be warned,” she said firmly. But the concern in Richard’s eyes made her turn away.

He released her. “All right,” Richard said patiently. “What exactly is it she should be warned about?”

“She needs to know the truth.”

“Cybelle, what truth?” he asked a bit too loudly. He took a moment to control his flaring temper. “The truth is that I love her, that I’ve always loved her and that in another year or so we’ll be married. I’ve waited years for her. Do you seriously doubt my feelings?”

“Oh, no,” she said bitterly. “Not now.” She turned and placed her hands on the cool marble mantel, her fingers running over the deeply carved scrollwork. “But what happens when she’s produced a child for you and you tire of her? When she’s no longer young, what then?” She glared at him over her shoulder.

So that was it. Richard laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

“Cybi, I’m sorry. Is there nothing you can do? Do you want me to speak to Raymond?”

“And what would you say?” she asked, her eyes full of tears. “‘Excuse me Monsieur le Marquis
,
but could you possibly leave those twelve year old girls alone and pay your wife some bit of attention?’”

“Perhaps,” he said, turning her around so that he could take her in his arms. She seemed surprisingly small and vulnerable. “And I might add, ‘because she’s the mother of your children and she loves you.’”

Cybelle knew she had but to ask and Richard would speak to Raymond. But it was too late. All her love for her husband had been crushed by his neglect since the birth of her last child. There was nothing left for her now and she hated what the horrible emptiness was doing to her.

“I’m afraid it’s too late. He hasn’t come near me in more than two years. We hardly ever see each other, though he does manage to make time for the children.”

Richard looked at his sister. She was only twenty-five, beautiful, still desirable as a woman.

“Cybi, this bitterness will destroy your family and everyone close to you. Surely you don’t want that? Perhaps you should consider taking a lover.”

In the Marquis’ social circle, such things were quite common when a couple’s relationship cooled or if there had never been love between them. But those were not the words his sister wanted to hear.

“Oh, that’s a fine solution,” she said sarcastically. “Would you have
me
become a whore, then?”

“I would have you be loved, Cybelle.”

Just then the doors opened and Christina and Lauro came in, full of good humor. When Christina looked at Richard and Cybelle, she realized they had arrived at an inopportune moment and her laughter died.

Lauro sought to fill the awkward silence. “Please you two, can’t you talk later? Christina has promised us a song and I, for one, am anxious to hear it.”

Christina took Richard’s arm. There was an apologetic look in her eyes, but he smiled and pressed her fingers against his sleeve.

“You’re right, Lauro, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to neglect you. Shall we go?” Richard’s eyes begged Cybelle to let the matter drop, if only for tonight.

As Richard and Christina started toward the doors, Lauro made a little bow and offered Cybelle his arm.

“
Signora?
”

Just four months later, Richard found himself far from the peaceful countryside of Provence, his ship having made port at Tunis. The crew hurried through the narrow crowded streets, a boisterous group of men celebrating the end of three long weeks aboard ship. They easily made their way through the throng of robed and veiled humanity to the door of a brightly lit cabaret that bore the name
La Voile Rouge.

“Here we are, Richard. You’re in for a real treat!” the burly bosun whispered in his ear as they pushed the younger man through the door ahead of them.

Richard laughed, taking their teasing in stride, but once inside, he separated himself from the group.

“Get yourselves something to drink. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“God save us! Not another letter?” said the quartermaster in mock dismay as he and the rest of the men disappeared into the teeming main room.

Richard smiled to himself as he made his way to a quiet table. He ordered wine and asked for writing materials. He knew very few of the men could write and that all their teasing was merely an effort to make him feel comfortable. It had taken him a long time to prove that he was more than just the owner’s son. And it amused him that even after so many years—and no matter which crew he sailed with—they always seemed to presume his innocence in matters which they perceived as debauchery.

Richard shook his head and began writing.

12 Novembre 1752

Tunis

Beloved Christina,

This of needs must be brief as we have a ship leaving for Arles in just a few hours that will carry this to you.

Sweetheart, I fear that my news will not make you happy. The weather has delayed us and it now appears there’s little chance I’ll be returning to Beauvu in time for the Holidays.

Chrissa, do you really have any idea how much I miss you? These past four months seemed endless and I have so been looking forward to spending this Christmas with you. I know you must have made plans, and I’m so sorry to disappoint you. In truth, My Love, I admit I’ve left you alone too much, but we will very soon reap the benefits of these separations.

Be patient, Christina, for I love you as I’ve always loved you—completely.

Take very good care of yourself, My Heart. I’ll return to you in a few short weeks.

Pour L’éternité,
R

PS/ I’m sending along these earrings with the hope that they’ll afford just a little smile. Wear them and think of me, Chrissa, and before you know it, I’ll be home.

Richard plucked a delicate pair of earrings, small opalescent faience scarabs on slender gold wires from his pocket, smiling as he imagined Christina overcoming her initial reaction to his news as she tried them on, her pretty pout of disappointment turning to a reluctant smile as she admired her reflection.

He placed the earrings in the letter, folding it carefully and slipping it into a flat leather pouch. Then he got up and went to the door of the tavern and gestured to a small Berber boy who waited outside. He handed the child the packet and a coin, along with instructions to deliver it to the departing ship. A moment later the boy disappeared into the darkness of the narrow street.

“Richard!”

Hearing his name, he turned back to the main room. Over the heads of the crowd, he could see the tall bosun motioning to him. He shouldered his way through the throng to the busy center of the cabaret. It was filled with the smell of Turkish tobacco and the twanging sound of the strange Eastern music, which did its best to compete with the voices of the men for dominance in the murky room. His eyes searched for his shipmates.

“Where have you been?” the bosun called as he pushed his way toward Richard. “We have a little something for you!”

The big man put his arm around Richard, guiding him to the large table where the crew was seated. Only a few of the men seemed to notice that he’d joined them, for their attention was riveted on the gleaming, sinuous form of a dancing girl, performing not ten feet away. Her plump body moved with the music, swaying slowly, unimaginable muscles rippling the dark flesh of her belly, and a moment later a fluttering shimmy jiggling the coins at her throat and hips. The men were entranced.

The bosun pushed Richard down into a chair and handed him a brimming mug just as the girl finished her performance. Then the man raised his arm, signaling to someone behind Richard. A moment later Dario was at the table, dragging another one of the dancing girls behind him.

The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen but she was a beauty. Her dusky bare arms were covered with bracelets and a heavy necklace of gold coins shimmered between her full breasts.

“We picked this one just for you,” the bosun said, laughing.

When the girl saw Richard, her demeanor changed completely. A dazzling smile lit her face and the look of anger in her eyes changed instantly to one of seduction. Dario pushed her forward and she fell enthusiastically into Richard’s lap.

“
Oh,
Monsieur
, je vous aime!
” she whispered as her slender arms slowly wound their way around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.

Richard laughed.

The tedious posing was boring Christina, but the knowledge that her gift for Richard was nearly completed kept her motionless on the small and extremely uncomfortable velvet chair. She was confident that he’d be pleased with the miniature portrait intended as his Christmas gift.

Giulio, the houseman, moved into her line of vision, remaining just outside the room. He was holding a small leather packet in his hand.

“
Signorina
?”

Grateful for the diversion, she went to meet him in the hallway.

“This just arrived for you.”

She was delighted, knowing it must be from Richard. Ignoring the dramatic sigh of impatience from the artist, she returned to the chair and removed the letter. As she unfolded it, the earrings fell into her lap. She scooped them up, hardly looking at them as she began to read.

Disappointment clouded her face and tears sprang to her eyes. Richard wouldn’t be home for Christmas! She’d made so many plans for the holiday season! Her father had allowed her to order four new dresses and she’d spent hours happily imagining what it would be like to attend the round of festive parties on Richard’s arm. Now, for the second year in a row, they would be separated.

“Mademoiselle
,
do you wish me to paint you with this expression on your face?” the artist asked in exasperation.

She looked up, blinking back the tears, and tried to smile as her fingers tightened around the earrings.

Richard returned to Beauvu on the twenty-third day of January.

The burial took place the next morning, a bright sunny day, crisp and clear and cold. A few spruces spread their branches among the bare trees at the family cemetery, diffusing the desolate mood of the winter landscape. When the brief ceremony was finished, the small group of mourners began to make their way along the gravel path that led back to the house.

“It’s a shame about the accident,” Christina said quietly as she joined Richard and her brother. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

“He fell on the stairs at the warehouse. Guy was with him, but he couldn’t stop the fall.” Marco repeated the words mechanically, hardy able to believe them himself. He was shocked, as they all were, by the death of Marcel Jonvaux.

Richard said nothing. It was incomprehensible that Marcel was dead. How could the man have fallen in a place he was so familiar with, and such a fall prove fatal? He was equally baffled by Guy’s cold behavior when he called to offer his condolences. He was uneasy, realizing Guy would now be running Marcel’s portion of the business. From what Marco and Christina had told him, Guy had been more erratic than ever over the past year and Richard didn’t envy Antonio’s new position as Guy’s partner.

When he reached the broad promenade below the terrace, Grégoire stopped and waited for the three of them.

“Christina,” he said casually, “might I have a word with you?”

“Of course, will you excuse us?” she said, turning to Richard and Marco.

Grégoire gestured her ahead of him and they went up the steps, walking together along the terrace. When they reached the end they stopped and stood looking out on the garden, barren now but for the carefully tended evergreens.

Christina waited.

Taking a deep breath, Grégoire began. “Christina, I’ve reached a point in my life where I must make a choice.” He hesitated.

“Go on,” she said with a smile.

He looked out across the garden as he continued. “I’m faced with either joining the Church and continuing my studies at Montmajour with Robert or marrying and starting a practice of my own.”

Christina, like most of Grégoire’s friends and family, had always assumed he’d join the Church. She was delighted that he was apparently considering an alternative.

“Does this mean you have someone in mind?”

He said nothing for a moment, then smiled, shaking his head, suspecting he was making a mistake and knowing there was no going back.

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh, Grégré!” she said, grabbing his arm, excited by the prospect of him marrying. Her thoughts were immediately filled with the idea of a sister-in-law. She and Richard, Grégoire and his wife, Marco and Lise. She would have two sisters. “That’s wonderful! Have you asked her yet?”