Prelude to Heaven (19 page)

“Pray do not worry about it.” The other woman moved to the other side of the bed and before Tess could protest that a guest should not do a housekeeper’s job, she had tucked in the sheet on her side. “And you must call me Jeanette,” she added, looking over at Tess with an amused expression. “After all, you and Alexandre are already familiar enough for Christian names. I see no reason for us to stand on ceremony.”

She flushed. “Madame—Jeanette, you mustn’t think that he and I...that we are...” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment, for ladies did not talk of indelicate matters.

“I don’t think that,” the other woman assured her, appreciating the vital point without her having to say it. “Alexandre has already explained that.”

“He has?”

“Yes. I’m sure you are offended by the presumption. I should be, in your place, but Alexandre felt it was vital that we know. And we are his only family. He was adopted as a boy by my husband’s father after his parents were killed during the Revolution.”

“He told me about his parents,” Tess answered and turned to reach for another sheet.
He also told me he killed his wife. Is that true
? The question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she did not ask it. Instead, she snapped the sheet open over the bed with a flick of her wrists. “What did he tell you about me?”

The sound of footsteps in the corridor interrupted any reply Jeanette might have made, and the two women fell silent, making up the bed as Alexandre and Henri brought in the trunks. Only after they had departed, did Jeanette respond to her question.

“Alexandre told us how he found you ill in his garden, that you are alone, with no family willing to assist you in your present circumstances, and that he has hired you to be his housekeeper.” She closed the door and turning, leaned her back against it, looking at Tess with concern. “I hope it does not distress you that he told us, my dear, but he felt it was necessary so that we do not draw the wrong conclusions.”

“As you no doubt would have,” Tess murmured, shifting her weight, painfully aware that her face must be pink as a peony. “After all, my condition is hardly one that can be hidden. I cannot blame him for wanting you to know he is not the one responsible for it.”

“You mustn’t be ashamed, you know,” Jeanette told her. “It's the man who should be ashamed, refusing to accept his responsibilities, forcing you to go off on your own. And your own family not being willing to protect you? It’s appalling.”

Alexandre had no idea how far from the truth his conclusions about her situation were. “That doesn't really matter now, though, does it?”

“No, it doesn't. What matters now is your welfare and that of the child. That's why I'm here.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Jeanette pressed her palms together and her fingers to her lips, and she didn’t speak for a long moment. “Alexandre asked me to come here,” she finally said, lowering her hands, “because he felt that you needed another woman with you. My mother was a midwife, you see, and I have done midwifery in the past. I have also borne four children of my own. He thought I might be able to help. And I think—” She broke off, meeting Tess’s eyes. “I think he felt you needed a friend.”

Tess stared at the woman she had met for the first time only a few hours before and didn't know what to say. It had been so long since she'd had a friend, a female companion with whom to share confidences, and that was something she sorely missed. The temptation to pour out her troubles to another woman danced on the edge of her mind like an oasis in the desert, but she knew it was a mirage. She had to carry the burden of her secret alone all the way to her grave. Still, though sharing confidences was out of the question, she liked this woman and saw no reason they should not become friends. “I’d like that,” she said, smiling.

Jeanette smiled back at her. “Excellent! Let's unpack these things and go down for dinner. I'm certain that Henri has already persuaded Alexandre to concoct a delightful meal for us. He's a wonderful chef, you know.”

Tess made a wry face. “Yes, I know. I am supposed to be the cook, but he's much better at the job than I am.”

“I wouldn't worry about that.” Jeanette rose to her feet and gave Tess a mischievous wink. “After all, a man should be good for something.”

***

After the evening meal, which was as excellent as Jeanette had predicted, Tess and Jeanette departed from the dining room, leaving Alexandre and Henri to their bottle of very old cognac, but it wasn’t long before the men joined them in the drawing room.

Henri moved to sit beside his wife, but before he could do so, his attention was caught by something on the floor behind the sofa. “
Mon Dieu
!” he exclaimed, leaning forward to peer over the sofa’s back to stare at the floor behind it. “You have a cat!”

“What?” Jeanette turned her head to follow her husband’s gaze, and both of them watched in astonishment as Augustus meandered out from behind the sofa and walked over to Alexandre's chair, where he began rubbing his head against the man's leg.

“But you hate cats,” Jeanette murmured, staring. “How have you come to acquire one?”

Alexandre shot her a rueful glance. “I did not have a choice.” He set his glass on the table beside his chair and reached down to lift Augustus into his lap. “This animal has developed an incomprehensible affection for me. He follows me everywhere.”

“It’s true,” Tess added. “Augustus is a stray I found in the barn, and although I am the one who adopted him—probably saving him from the foxes by doing so—he isn’t the least bit grateful to me for it. Alexandre is the one he adores, as you can see.”

Jeanette and Henri watched as Alexandre gazed down at the cat on his lap with an expression that bordered on affection.

“Wonders never cease,” Jeanette murmured. “Alexandre with a cat.”

“Not only a cat,” Henri told his wife. “I noticed a donkey in the stable when I put away the horses. Seems a pathetic creature. I hope you didn't pay much for her.”

“Far too much, Henri,” he answered. “It was robbery.”

Tess laughed at that. “The donkey I found in the vineyard. Its former master had abused it shamefully, and Alexandre let me keep her. Her name is Betsy. We also have a goose. Mathilda.”

“Quite a menagerie,” Henri murmured and grinned at the other man. “I do believe you're becoming a farmer,
mon cher
.”

“Not until Tess brings home a stray cow and a few sheep,” Alexandre answered. “But enough about my housekeeper’s love of stray animals. Tell me about the children. How are they?”

As Henri and Jeanette gave Alexandre news of their children, it didn’t escape Tess’s notice how avidly he listened to the latest stories about his nephew and nieces.

“So, Heloise has finally discovered that boys are more important than climbing trees?” He sipped his cognac and glanced at Henri. “You should take care. Soon she'll be wanting to marry.”

His brother groaned. “I don't wish to think of it. Only fourteen, and she's already a beauty. Half the fathers in Marseilles have approached me this summer on behalf of their sons.”

“And what of Georges?” Alexandre asked. “Will he go into the business with you?”

Henri shrugged. “He has little interest in being a wine merchant. But he's young yet. Who can tell?”

“Alexandre, you must come to Marseilles soon.” Jeanette set down her teacup and leaned forward. “Mercedes is out of short coats and wearing dresses now. She’s becoming quite the little lady. And you haven't ever seen Chantal, who is nearly three.”

Tess was looking Alexandre, and she caught the flicker of yearning in his expression. He lowered his head at once to stare in seeming fascination at his glass of cognac, but she knew what she’d seen in his face had not been her imagination. More than ever before, she sensed how much he loved children and what an excellent father he would be.

If only he were the father of my child.

The thought flashed through her mind before she could stop it, and she stood up abruptly, forcing it out again. “Pardon me for a moment,” she said and as she went upstairs to fetch her sewing basket, she reminded herself that engaging in such wishful thinking was futile and would only cause her heartbreak in the end. Besides, she thought as she pulled out the garment she was making for the baby, Alexandre had given her so much already. She tried to be content with that.

***

“Well?”

Henri paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt and looked at his wife. “Well what?”

Jeanette turned from the dressing table where she was brushing her hair. “What do you think of all this?”

He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. “I don't know what to think.”

“Henri, there are hooks in the wardrobe on which to hang your shirts,” she pointed out. “One housekeeper can’t manage everything by herself, especially one in her condition.”

“It’s rather odd, to say the least. I'm surprised he allowed her to stay. I couldn't believe it when he told us she'd been here three months.”

“I know. When Anne-Marie died and he dismissed all the servants, I was certain it wouldn't last. I thought he'd eventually resume a normal life. But after three years, Henri, I had begun to give up hope.”

Henri paused, his trousers half-unbuttoned. “You did? But whenever we've talked about it, you've always been the one to reassure me he’d be all right.”

Jeanette set down the brush and walked over to the bed. Pulling back the counterpane, she slid between the sheets and continued, “It wasn’t until after your last visit here, when you told me how distant he seemed, that I truly began to worry. But when he wrote and asked us to come, I never expected anything like this.”

“Neither did I.” Henri put his clothes in the wardrobe, then walked naked to the opposite side of the bed.

Jeanette took a moment to admire her husband's splendid physique before her thoughts returned to Tess. She said, “I do feel for her, Henri. Abandoned, forced to travel across France the way she did, alone and pregnant.”

“Whoever the man is, he ought to be shot.” Henri slid into the bed beside his wife. With a yawn, he added, “She has courage, I give her that. And she's quite pretty, too.”

He ducked when she hit him with the pillow.

“I don't think it's a pity,” Jeanette said, settling her pillow behind her head. “I think it's wonderful.”

“What?” Henri turned his head to stare at her. “You think what happened to that poor woman is wonderful?”

“Not that. Of course, she's been through a great deal. But I think it's wonderful that fate led her here. It could be the best possible thing for Alexandre.”

“How so?”

She was silent a moment, staring at the ceiling. “Why do you suppose he's letting her stay?”

“He feels sorry for the girl, obviously.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s more than that. I think his self-imposed solitude has finally become unbearable. He’s lonely. I don't think he realized how much so until Tess came.”

“Don't you think you're being a bit too romantic?”

Jeanette shook her head. “No, I don't. He painted her portrait. Did you see it?”

“I saw it. But he's painted portraits of many women. He didn't fall in love with any of them. Once this girl has her baby, he'll send her on her way and go back to the solitary life he's been leading for three years now.”

“You're wrong.” She turned on to her side. Leaning her weight on her elbow and resting her cheek in her hand, she asked, “Do you want to know what else I think?”

Henri sighed. “Does it matter? I'm sure you'll tell me anyway.”

She ignored that. “I think he's trying to atone for what happened to Anne-Marie. You know he feels he's to blame for what happened. He'll let Tess and her baby stay as long as they want. I think he feels responsible for them.”

He turned toward her. “Perhaps. But now I'll tell you what I think.”

“What?”

He leaned closer. “I think it's time you stopped talking about Alexandre and his housekeeper and used your lips for something far more important.”

Jeanette was happy to oblige.

***

Alexandre looked up from the watercolor he was working on as Henri entered the studio. “You're awake early. After your journey, I thought you'd sleep late this morning.”

“I wanted to, but Jeanette wouldn't allow it. She was eager to begin helping Tess make preparations for the baby, and she insisted that I rise as well. She seemed to think I should come up here and keep you company.”

“I'm glad she did. I have paintings for you to take to Marseilles with you when you return home, and I wanted you to have a look at them. I hope they fetch a good price.”

“Your paintings always fetch a good price.” Henri walked over to the table to study the watercolor Alexandre had before him. “This is the Meadow of the Fairies,” he said in surprise. “You once said that was the one place you'd never paint.”

A memory of the day he had kissed Tess beneath the plane tree flashed through his mind. “I know.”

“It was too magical to capture on canvas, you said. Yet, you've painted it twice now. First Tess's portrait, and now this.”

Alexandre turned away, not wanting to talk about the painting, not wanting to think about why he was painting it. He couldn't keep the events of that day out of his mind, and the meadow had been beckoning him to paint it again ever since. “I know what I said,” he muttered and began cleaning his brushes. “I changed my mind. Deem it an artistic whim.”

“Very well. Speaking of your art, I received another invitation for you to do an exhibition at the Royal Academy in London. I wish you would consider it.”

“I have no desire to go to London.”

“What about Paris, then? I have also received invitations from several of the galleries there, asking you to exhibit paintings. The English would pay more, but Paris is closer to home.”

“I am finished with exhibitions. I don't show my work like wares in a shop window any longer.”

“It isn't the exhibitions that bother you,” Henri pointed out, “and we both know it. Leaving here, even for a short time, is what makes you refuse.”