Beloved (23 page)

“Signore, I don’t know what to say. I would be so grateful.”

Richard walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“There’s something I want you to understand. I’m asking you to keep my house, not share my bed. What happened last night will not happen again.”

“Are you married,
Signore?
” she asked, though she knew the answer. When she’d cleaned his room that morning, she’d found Robert’s letter. She did not read French well, but could translate most of the brief message.

“No,” he said, releasing her. “I’m not married. But neither am I looking for a mistress.”

“I understand,
Signore
. I would be honored to work for you.” She dipped into a respectful curtsy.

“Good. Can you finish up here today? I could take you up to the house in the morning.”

“
Si,
Signore
.
” She curtsied again, wondering what she had done to deserve such a miracle.

Arabella would never know how big a part the scent of bergamot had played in what had happened to her in the last twelve hours.

Richard set up an open account for Arabella with Gérrard at the warehouse. He made arrangements for Alfredo, the old caretaker, and his grandson, Tomas, to move back into the servants’ quarters at the cottage. He gave Arabella Robert’s old room and saw that she was reasonably settled in her new circumstances.

Three days later, Richard sailed.

Guy waited for his carriage on the steps in front of Madame Dijol’s. He paced back and forth impatiently, taking no notice of the liveried footmen who stood at the door. Over the last two days all the troubles he’d discarded in favor of debauchery had raised themselves from the pool of alcohol in which he’d attempted to drown them and proceeded to remind him they must be dealt with.

He hadn’t been surprised when that mouse of a man, Layglon, had been too timid to invest in his enterprise, but when the fat pig of a baker refused to participate, he’d flown into a rage. Christina had spent an inordinate amount of time with the whore, and he’d encouraged her, thinking it would insure his success.

At home things had been going well. Christina seemed happy and he felt sure he was making progress at securing a place for himself in her affections.

His driver arrived and he settled himself gingerly in consideration of his aching muscles and his pounding head. He smiled sardonically, admitting to himself that the last two days’ entertainment had surely cost him a pretty penny but the time spent in the company of people whose names and faces he could no longer remember had done little to distract him from his worries. Certainly nothing had been resolved and it was imperative he find a solution. He’d already signed the papers to purchase the factory in Venice, so sure had he been of Chabannier’s participation.

Guy needed a great deal of money and he needed it soon.

Christina settled into her life with Guy and now, three months into her marriage, she found that she was beginning to enjoy being the mistress of her own house.

With Maryse’s help—and Guy’s permission—she had even begun to redo some of the rooms, to give them the warmth and beauty they so badly needed. The house was a little larger than her father’s and she found herself caught up in all the plans entailed in making it her own. Guy didn’t seem to object and had, in fact, encouraged her.

She still missed Richard terribly, but she found that if she kept herself busy, there was little enough time left in which to recall her loss, except of course at night when sleep brought with it dreams…and tears. And though in the silent moments of the night she ached for Richard, she was beginning to make peace with her situation.

She came down the stairs after changing clothes in anticipation of spending the afternoon with Maryse. When she reached the entry hall, Guy came through the front door.

He looked worn and tired, but when he saw her, he smiled. “Christina, are you going out, my dear?”

The stale smell of alcohol and cigars soured his breath and Christina tried to hide her distaste. “I was just on my way to Madame Chabannier’s.”

Guy looked at her for a moment, then turned abruptly and went into the library. “You won’t be seeing her any more,” Guy said as he threw himself down into the chair, his back to the door.

“What?” Christina followed him into the room.

He looked up at her as though he’d forgotten what he’d just said. He remembered—
Chabannier
. The baker was no longer a part of his plans.

“I said, you won’t be seeing her anymore.”

“But why ever not?”

“Her husband is not investing. You no longer need to spend time with her.”

So that was it. Christina went to him, standing behind the chair and placing her hands on his shoulders sympathetically. Poor Guy. She knew he’d spent a great deal of time on his project.

“I’m sorry your plans didn’t work out, but my friendship with Madame Chabannier has nothing to do with your business ventures.”

Guy took her hands and drew her fingers to his lips, kissing them. He closed his eyes. She was so sweet, so good. Even though he was still suffering the effects of the past two days, his breathing quickened as he responded to the touch of her skin.

“Christina…” His voice was just above a whisper. He pressed his head against the back of the chair and looked up at her. “I just can’t have you associating with a woman like that.”

“But why?”

Guy suddenly wanted to be closer to her, to feel her against him and look into those wonderful eyes of hers. He stood up, but when he took a step toward her, she backed away. He stopped.

“She came from a brothel,” he said patiently. “And I don’t want you associating with a whore.” He took another step toward his wife. Again she backed away. He felt his rising passion begin to turn to anger.
What is the matter with her? Wasn’t that plain enough?
He tried to master his emotions. He just wanted to hold her.

“Guy, I know about her background. That was a long time ago and I don’t see what difference it makes now.”

“Don’t you understand? I’m trying to protect you. It’s my duty as your husband. I’m sure that if you were really aware of her background, you wouldn’t be so anxious to call her your friend.”

“But I do know,” Christina insisted.

“Indeed?”

“She grew up in a brothel. She was…” Christina faltered. Could she say it? “She was…just what you said. A whore.” Was that what he wanted her to say?

“She told you that?” He looked at her suspiciously.

Christina nodded. She was unable to understand what difference any of this could make to Guy. If the entire city of Arles had chosen to ignore Maryse’s background and treat her as a respected member of the community, why was this suddenly upsetting him?

He reached out for her and pulled her against him before she could resist.

“Poor Christina. So innocent,” he said into the softness of her hair. “Did your new found friend also tell you that she was Richard’s whore?”

Christina tried to push away, but he held her tightly.

“Oh, but it’s quite true, my dear. I believe he even made a considerable contribution to her income for the better part of three years.”

Christina pulled away from him and this time he let her go. When he saw the shocked look on her face, he smiled.

“And she must have been quite fond of him because he spent the night with her just three days before her wedding.”

“Why are you saying these things?”

“Because…” he said patiently, “you need to learn that you can’t trust just anyone. You must be very careful who you choose for a friend.”

Christina, unable to believe him, but equally unable to understand why he would want to tell her such a lie, fled the room.

“If you don’t believe me,” he called after her, “why not ask her yourself?” Guy poured himself a drink. He’d just thought of a solution to his business problem. Perhaps it was time to apply a little more pressure to his father-in-law.

Christina flung herself from her carriage before the footman could reach her, and rang the bell herself. When the doors opened for her, she rushed across the courtyard and up the steps. Maryse opened the door just as she arrived.

“Is it true?” she asked breathlessly.

Maryse was confused by Christina’s tears and the desperation in her voice.

“Christina, what is it? Is what true?”

“Was Richard your lover?”

Maryse’s expression of dismay told Christina all she needed to know. She whirled and fled down the steps and back across the courtyard to her carriage.

“Christina, please, you don’t understand…” Maryse followed her, but by the time she reached the street, the carriage had gone.

The weather was extremely good that fall, and when Richard’s ship docked at Bonifacio again in December, it was over a week ahead of schedule.

Richard bade the crew goodbye and went to talk with Gérrard at the warehouse.

“Monsieur de Magniet! You have returned to us early!”

“Only by a week, but we were very fortunate.” Richard laid the manifests on the desk. “So tell me, how are things at the cottage?”

Gérrard shook his head.

“What is it? Has there been a problem?” For the first time since his departure, Richard was concerned. He really hadn’t given Arabella much preparation for managing the cottage.

“No, no,” Gérrard said quickly. “There has been no problem. It is just that Signora Bonelli…”

“Yes?” Lord, had he made a mistake in hiring Arabella?

Gérrard laughed at the worried expression on Richard’s face. “The woman astounds me! She gets by on so little. I must admit I was a bit skeptical of your choice.” He looked sheepishly at Richard. “There was talk, Monsieur. The woman was…”

“I know what she was, Gérrard. My concern is with what she’s become. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem.” Gérrard realized he was giving Richard the wrong impression and hurried to correct it. “She seems an excellent manager and Alfredo reports that the three of them have gotten along splendidly. He’s very impressed.” Gérrard laughed again. “I also understand she’s a skillful cook, so you can see why Alfredo and his grandson are so happy with your choice.”

Richard laughed, relieved. “Good. I’m going up. I’ll go over these with you in the morning.”

“As you wish. Welcome home, Monsieur
.
”

“Thank you.”

Richard took the steep zigzagging stone stairs that led up the hillside just beyond the warehouse, enjoying the climb to the foot of the imposing Citadel. The weather was crisp, but the breeze was warmed by the afternoon sun and Richard found himself feeling as though he’d come home.

When he entered the courtyard at the cottage, he was surprised to find a small boy, about four years old, playing in the dirt with a crudely carved wooden boat.

“Well, hello there,” Richard said, squatting down beside the child.

The little boy brushed his light brown hair out of his face and looked at Richard. Then he stood up, and with a last glance back over his shoulder, ran around the side of the house. Richard picked up the abandoned boat and followed.

Arabella was standing in the kitchen yard with a huge pot of steaming laundry, stirring it with one hand while the other balanced a dark-haired little girl on her hip who looked to be about two years old. The little boy ran to her, hiding behind her skirts, peeking out as Richard approached.

“Bella?”

Arabella spun around, a horrified look on her face. “Signore!” She dropped the wooden paddle into the pot, and quickly set the little girl on her feet.

“You’re early! I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you for another week!” Nervously, she wiped her hands on her apron.

“I can see that,” Richard said, smiling.

“Signore, please, forgive me. These are my children, but I swear to you that they’re only with me during the day, and only when you’re gone.”

“Bella…”

“On my life, I swear, I didn’t think you’d mind. My sister keeps them for me, you see, and I really thought that it would be all right to have them with me here, during the day…”

Arabella was frantic. She shouldn’t have had the children there, but she missed them so, and it didn’t hurt anything. She prayed she hadn’t made him angry. If she had to go back to the inn…She closed her eyes, muttering a brief prayer as she tried to stop the tears.

Just then, Alfredo came around the end of the solar wall.

“Signore! Welcome home.” The old man rested his shovel against the stone and came to take Richard’s bag. Then he noticed the expression on Arabella’s face, and realized what had happened.

“Signore
,
it is my fault. I told the Signora it would be all right with you if she had the children with her during the day. Forgive me. Was it a mistake?”

“No, of course not.” Richard knelt down and motioned to the little girl who had released her mother’s skirt and taken a step toward him.

“Come,” he said gently.

She watched him for a moment, then, apparently deciding it was safe, went to him. Richard scooped her up in the crook of his arm and stood up.

“Well, a beautiful young lady like you must have a name.”

The little girl nodded, her fingers in her mouth.

“Will you tell me?”

She studied him a moment and then, deciding he was trustworthy, leaned close to his ear and whispered something.

“Luisa? What a pretty name. Do you want to know my name?”

Fingers back in her mouth, she nodded again. Richard whispered into her ear this time, and she laughed, clapping her tiny hands together in delight. She leaned close to his ear again, and this time it was Richard’s turn to laugh.

“I think you’re right,” he said to her, confidentially. “It seems this young lady objects to my ‘fragrance’ so I’d best bathe before supper. Bella, please join me for the meal this evening.” He passed Luisa to her mother and went into the house.

Arabella, at a total loss, curtsied. “
Si
, Signore.”

Both Alfredo and Arabella stood staring after him.

When supper was ready, Arabella called Richard, but when she returned to the morning room with the tray of their food, he wasn’t there. She served the meal and sat down to wait.