Days of Winter (37 page)

“You have my sacred word, Madame.”

“Thank you. …And now I must go before the others find I am missing, and soon you will have to get the children ready.”

The two women looked at each other for a long moment. Then, without another word, Madame turned and went out of the room. Jeanette shut the door. She stood, leaning against it. …Oh, Papa, I need you so. …

That night, when the children had been put to bed and were sleeping, Jeanette sat under the weeping willow on the round bench beneath it. What in God’s name should she do? She needed to talk to somebody, but who …? And suddenly, Jean-Paul was standing in front of her, silhouetted against the star-studded night.

“Why in the world are you sitting alone out here?” he said, sitting down beside her.

She thought her heart would stop … it was the first time they’d ever been alone together … and finally she was able to get out a rather feeble, “Thinking, just thinking …”

“About what? Would you like to share some of your weighty thoughts with me …?”

“As a matter of fact, I would, but I believe some things are best left unsaid. …”

“Well, then, much to my regret, I expect I will have to leave—”

But before he could even turn to go, her defenses came down, the pressure simply overwhelmed her, and she blurted out to him what she’d been thinking over and over to herself—“I love them, I love them so much and now to have to leave them, the most precious things in my life. I feel as though they’re my own and I’d hoped I could stay with them for years, be part of their life and they be part of mine. …Oh, I know it’s terribly selfish of me but some things you just can’t accept and be so calm and ladylike. …”

He looked at her closely, surprised by this outburst from the normally restrained Jeanette, so proper and polite. Of course, at first he hadn’t a clue what she meant, but then it became clear she was talking about herself and the children, but why she should be talking about leaving them he couldn’t imagine.

Very carefully, gently, he put her head on his shoulder, and she didn’t resist. She was beyond resisting, welcoming the relief and the support she so desperately needed.

“My dear girl,” he said, “I’ve not the slightest idea why you think you must leave, but I can assure you—”

“No, you can’t assure me, monsieur, and I can’t explain, not to you, not to anyone, but I assure you, I must leave—”

“My dear, I assure you that you can tell me anything … and it will be as though it were never said.”

She took her head from his shoulder and looked at him. His expression was entirely serious, and she gave in to what she had been wanting to do right along. “Do you truly promise …? Because I don’t want to hurt anyone, I don’t want—”

“I promise. You can trust me, I’ve never gone back on my word. I hope you’ll believe that. Now, what is it that’s so terrible?”

“I believe whatever you tell me. …Well—Your mother came to the cottage today, and … and told me that Etienne is in love with me … but I can’t marry him, even though I truly admire and respect him. I don’t love him, and to stay here now that I know would be impossible … too awkward … too risky for him, and for me too if he should ever discover that I knew his feelings. I don’t think I’m strong enough to play such a game.
Before
I knew his feelings it was different, but now that I do, well … I can’t stay.” And when she began to cry again, Jean-Paul, gentleman that he was, decided there was nothing to do but take her in his arms and kiss her. And confused and frightened of her own feelings for him, she finally broke away, shook her head and ran to her room, where she sprawled across her bed and cried as she hadn’t cried since her father died.

After several moments, without looking up, she felt his presence, and then realized he had followed her and was bending over her, here, in her bedroom.

“My darling, you’re not alone … I’m here and I’ll help you.” He lifted her face.

“But, monsieur, how can you possibly help me?”

“The first step,” he told her, his face all seriousness, “is to prevail on you to call me Jean-Paul.”

She couldn’t … if she did, he’d know immediately how she felt about him. …

“Please,” he persisted, “at least try … ‘Jean-Paul,’ it’s really not so difficult if you put your mind to it. …”

She looked at him, and slowly said what she’d wanted a million times before to say, though not with the feeling, which she still held back, “Jean-Paul …”

“You see, it hardly hurt at all, I trust … and now we need to work out a plan, the first and most important part of which is to make it possible for you to stay here—”

“But I told you, I can’t possibly do that.”

“Yes, of course you can, and you will. And do you know why? Because you love your charges and are devoted to their well-being. And because you love being in this fine house … and because, my dear Mademoiselle Jeanette, it is not only the children who need and want you, it is also me, surprising as this may be to you … and I wonder if it can be a total surprise. You are a very much needed part of my life as well … my life that I have no doubt you’ve noticed is not exactly filled with marital bliss. My life, dear Jeanette, that I hope you’ll have the generosity to agree is entitled to a little happiness too. …”

Stunned, despite his suspicions to the contrary, she could only manage, “You want
me
…? But I had no idea, truly. …”

“Then I have been either too discreet or not artful enough in conveying my feelings. In any case, I meant every word I said. You must stay, this is your home, and I … I am a man who loves you, Jeanette, and that, believe it or not, is the first time I have ever said those words to a woman and meant them.”

In her confused state of pleasure and guilt, she didn’t examine what this said for his undoubtedly similar protestations to his wife before marriage, or for his credibility for the future. Who was she to examine with detached or even minimal logic the unexpected realization of a dream she hardly had dared entertain in privacy. And now, here it was in reality, this incredible man telling her that he loved her, meaning it. …“But what about Etienne,” she said. “How can I stay, knowing how he feels, and now you …”

“Etienne isn’t important—”

She winced. “Please, don’t say that. Etienne is very important—”

“No, not now … now it is you and I who are of overriding importance. I wonder if you understand what I’ve been saying to you. …Jeanette, I love you. …”

Which, if something short of the truth, was not entirely a lie. He was and had been for some time more than a little attracted to this exquisite young creature. The notion of taking her to bed had powerfully aroused him. …After all, this was no country girl from Lyon. This one he wanted now, and for many nights to come. The opportunity had been deliciously handed to him, by the one who would be most hurt by it and whom he wanted most to hurt. It was too perfect to miss, and he had no intention of doing so. …“Jeanette, did you hear what I said? Did you believe me, because I meant—”

She had heard, and now she said his name with the feelings she’d up to now struggled to hold back. “Oh, Jean-Paul, please, I do believe you … and I can tell you now, ashamed as I was for so long to even admit it to myself, that I love you too … from the moment, I think, that you first came to see the children. …”

He took her in his arms, kissing her passionately, and without resistance unbuttoned her blouse and slowly removed her skirt and underclothing, and then he was beside her, holding her, caressing her, fondling and exploring her body unhurriedly, and then, slowly, as gently as possible, he entered her. …And lying beneath him, feeling him, knowing him inside her, the pain became a joy, the reality of the dream making it all worthwhile. She was in a place she’d never been before, and she never wanted to come back from. …And for him, it was a moment of surprising sweetness, different from any other he’d known. …

Afterward, when they were lying in each other’s arms, he said, “Now do you see, my dearest, why I couldn’t possibly let you leave?”

“Yes,” she answered sleepily, “yes, Jean-Paul,” and saying his name seemed as natural now as breathing.

“And there will be no more talk about leaving, or talk about us to anyone, which would make things too difficult until I can figure out the rest of our plan. …” They fell asleep then.

When he woke up it was dawn. As he slipped out of bed he saw the blood-stained sheet, which doubly excited him … not only because he’d been her first, but also, the delicious bonus that now Etienne never could be. And she would stay, because he wanted her to be there, living in Etienne’s house, a constant reminder of his impossible love for her. Jean-Paul wondered how long Etienne would be able to stand it. He was, after all, still a man … as his mother had pointed out … a man with feelings to satisfy, or be destroyed by.

What a perfect situation. Small wonder that in the pleasure of it Jean-Paul was not inclined to remember the injunction of his father against precisely what he was doing.

A week passed. When Jeanette’s time of the month came round and she showed no sign, she became alarmed and frightened. …She couldn’t eat or sleep … she’d never missed, not even by a day. In desperation, she told Jean-Paul.

This was something he hadn’t bargained on, but strangely he was excited.
If
she was pregnant, then what should the next step be? He asked her to wait another few days, which he needed to think on it.

Four more days passed and still there was no sign. When he met her in the garden that night she was beside herself with fear. …She knew she’d be disgraced by bearing an illegitimate child. Her cousin Julian had been right: she’d end up in the gutter. …Like mother, like daughter …

“What can we do, Jean-Paul? I’ll
have
to leave now—”

He took her hand in his. “Are you sure …? Can you be sure you’re pregnant?”

“Yes. I know I am.”

“All right, then … listen carefully. There’s only one way I can completely protect you and the child.”

“How?”

“By having you marry Etienne—”

“
No
, I can’t do that, not ever, feeling the way I do about you—”

“Yes, you can. Because now so much more is involved. There’s going to be a child, my child and yours. Everyone will believe it’s Etienne’s, but we’ll know it’s ours. And the child will be a Dupré. That’s very important to me. Nothing need change between us. Do you think that just because you’re married to Etienne I would give you up? Never! You’ll be Madame Etienne Dupré. Our child will be born in the same bed I was born in. Etienne will be only a convenience.”

It seemed a wicked deception to perpetrate on Etienne, and yet, if she failed to agree she would surely lose Jean-Paul—the mere thought of which terrified her.

“…You’ll go to my mother and tell her you’ve thought it over carefully, that if Etienne will come to you and propose, you’ll devote the rest of your life to making him happy—”

“No, Jean-Paul,
please
.”

He held her very close. “Yes, my dearest, you
must
do it.”

“I’m not even good at pretending—”

“Then learn, darling. Diplomacy can open many doors. …”

He had thought it over carefully and knew exactly what the strategy should be. This marriage had to take place for two compelling reasons. First, Jeanette was expecting his child … the fulfillment for him of a long-standing obsession. He’d see to it that the child would love him more by alienating its affection from Etienne. It would be so simple. He could do so much more with a son than Etienne could. He’d take the child on excursions … skiing, hunting, riding, boating. He’d be the completely devoted uncle …
and
godfather, to his one and only son. From now on his behavior with Etienne would be carefully adjusted to be more brotherly.

Secondly, he wanted to ensure that his brother’s new wife would be his mistress. That would be a joy he could almost taste, had already tasted. By the very act of marriage Etienne would become a cuckold. Perfect. Damned ingenious, in fact. No wonder that someday he’d be Premier. …

His thoughts were interrupted by Jeanette, saying, “Jean-Paul, I still feel it’s so wrong. There must be some other way—”

“My darling, if there were, would I even think of subjecting you to this? But what else is there …? I am, after all, married, and we both know my wife would never allow me a divorce … not to mention that it would destroy my mother. …So how else can I protect both you and our child? This
is
the only way. …”

He took her in his arms, held her, kissed her, and carefully explained what she was to say to his mother. Later, he would suggest to his mother how she should approach Etienne.

Still protesting, but knowing she could not resist him, she finally said, “When do you want me to speak to Madame?”

“Tomorrow, I think, when everyone is resting. You’ll go to Mother’s room and I’ll stay at the cottage while the children are asleep. …”

Jeanette knocked softly at Madame’s door. Renée opened it. When Madame saw Jeanette, she sat up in bed and promptly asked Jeanette to sit beside her, wondering what the decision would be and steeling herself for an expected turn-down.

Jeanette’s hands were trembling. There was no choice, as Jean-Paul had said. And beside her love for him and wanting to please him, she owed him so much. …After all, he could have abandoned her, agreed that she leave—pregnant, unmarried, disgraced. …It was his love that fortified her, and, hopefully, her undeniable respect and affection for Etienne that would make it … somehow … tolerable, she told herself. Now she squared her shoulders and, forcing herself not to turn back, said, “Madame, as we agreed, I’ve thought seriously about marriage to your son.”

“And …?”

“I’ve searched deeply within myself, and find that I care very much for Monsieur Etienne. …”

Madame’s face relaxed somewhat, then tightened again. Jeanette still hadn’t said she would marry him. “And what conclusion have you come to?”

“… I’ve come to realize that … love can happen in many ways, that through respect, a bond of love can grow … as you said. I respect Monsieur Etienne more than any other man I’ve ever known, except my father. When I came into your home, it was he who was my friend and champion from the first. We have a great deal in common. And in my heart I believe from all this a deep understanding of each other can grow … and perhaps that is the best kind of love. …”