“Soon, mon amour, our every day will be spent together.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I just received word that my wife has breathed her last, may God give rest to her soul.”
Lord God, help me! She could only pray her face reflected what it should, and not so much as a hint of the ice that flowed through her veins. But words—they would not come. All she could do was open her mouth and blink at him.
Praise be to Dieu, Remi seemed to expect nothing more. He kissed her hand again. “I know. So long…it is finally over. Her suffering and ours. I must repair to the chateau at first light tomorrow to see to the funeral. She has no family left, so it will be a small, quiet affair. I will be gone a week at the most. And when I return…”
Her life would end—or all pretense of freedom, at the least. If she did not escape, did not go to England, he would force her to wed him upon his return, mourning period be hanged. He had already made as much clear. Given that his wife had been out of her mind for years, neither recognizing anyone nor capable of a coherent conversation, everyone accepted that he had already mourned.
Mère’s arm slid around her waist, and the small squeeze she gave Julienne was exactly what she needed to find her voice. “I will miss you while you are gone, Remi.”
His gaze burned into her like a torch. “And I you, mon amour. But it shall not be for long, and then never again.” That firebrand of a gaze swept down her, as if already he possessed her, already she were his. Then he released her hand and bowed, sending a wave of relief through her. “Now if you will excuse me, I have much to arrange before I depart in the morn. I will see you this evening, Julienne. Comtesse.”
Her mother pulled her onward toward their apartment while the duc continued in his set course. Julienne had all she could do to remain upright.
One week. She had one week to convince her mother of the need to escape Versailles before the duc could return and force her into the role of duchesse.
Five
The midnight moon hovered overhead like a great silver disc, full and brilliant. Fairchild tilted his face toward it, even though its gilding couldn’t reach him here in the shadow of Apollo’s cave. The stone was cool against his hands, soothing some of the nervous fire in his stomach. Still, each trill of a nearby nightingale sent his pulse galloping.
Where was she? Had she been unable to break away from the duc’s throng? News of his wife’s death had been the subject of all the gossip that afternoon, and the whole court had seemed determined to pay their respects to him at the meal that evening. Julienne had sat silently by his side the entire time, her face pale but lovely, her lips never making a reply to anyone.
But tongues aplenty had been wagging about her. About how glad she must secretly be despite her somber show. About how the wedding would no doubt take place within the fortnight. About whether she had really held off the duc all this time or if they would merely be legitimizing a relationship long-since consummated.
Fairchild pushed off the faux cave wall and paced five steps. Try as he might to tell himself her relationship with Remi was no concern of his, it was a lie, blatant and glaring. He could not suffer the thought of her in his arms—especially knowing now how loath she was to be there.
But it would be better when it was someone other than Remi, would it not? When it was some English nobleman courting her and then taking her hand. One of a rank worthy of her father’s, with an ancestral estate on which he could situate her, with family gems and secure fortunes. That, certainly, was what she deserved. For no matter how high up the ranks he might rise in the army, Fairchild would never be his eldest brother, never an earl, never the possessor of Fairmonte. Never able to provide for her as her family would expect.
Soft footfalls sounded from the path, and Fairchild turned that way just as Julienne stepped into the clearing. She must have spotted him at the same moment, for she flew past the pond and its bench and straight toward him.
Why did it feel as though he had lived this a thousand times? Why did his arms open without his conscious command, and why did they close around her so confidently when she surged into them, as if this was how they had always been meant to be?
Nay, ’twas foolishness, he knew that. Still, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and pulled her back into the grotto’s shadows with him, his arms refusing to loose their precious captive. And she held on, let it be noted, and buried her face in his chest.
“You would have heard.” Her voice was barely audible, which was no doubt best.
He positioned his lips just over her ear so he might make his reply no louder than a breath. “Of course. But it means he will be away. It may make it easier for you and your mother to leave.”