Chapter Thirteen
‘Will you take her away?’ Sandrine had strictly forbidden herself from asking Alain that, would not let the heavy worries that kept her up at night show to him.
She had the upper hand, she’d told herself, but she knew that wasn’t true.
Alain was the man, the comte; they were married. He could do what he chose.
The man she’d married, that she’d fallen for in such dizzying distraction, so young and careless and so headlong-romantic it made him giddily selfish—that man she would not have asked such a question.
Years had taught her that. He still looked like that young man, as though no time had passed except to make him even more beautiful—until she looked into his eyes.
She saw caution now, hope, a careful slowness that was new. As they walked towards the Pump Room the day after he had met Marie, morning sunlight shining around them in a greyish-gold haze, she felt the familiar world of Bath was shaken up, turned upside-down.
He stopped short, staring down at her. For a moment she saw anger there, a shadow across his grey-blue eyes under the brim of his hat. Had she somehow hit on the terrible truth? Now that he had seen Marie, he wanted her?
What did she really know about his life now? About his dreams?
‘Blast it, Sandrine,’ he muttered. He walked on, making her scurry to catch up, trying to smile at the people who passed by, to not let her fear show.
‘I would never do such a thing. I want to know Marie more. I want to know everything. But I would do nothing to hurt her or you. Please, please, do not fear me. I couldn’t bear it. ’
‘I do not fear you,’ she said carefully, and she realised she did not. Not him, but what he represented. The old life where she had been so helpless. ‘Yet we both know the power here is yours. I am your wife; she is your child. I should have worked harder to tell you before. I was wrong.’
‘Non, Sandrine. I was wrong.’ He kicked at a cobblestone in his path. ‘Wrong and foolish to let you go. I held a pearl, and I tossed it away when I was too young to begin to know its worth.’
Sandrine was struck speechless by those words, by the emotion that emanated from him in waves, crashing over them. ‘We were both young; our families tossed us together,’ she ventured. ‘You loved someone else…’
He stopped short, making her bump into him. ‘Love? I was infatuated with Danielle, yes, with her beauty, her mysterious ways. I imagined so many things in her. But I’ve seen so much since then, learned so much. I realise now what love is. It is understanding, kindness, comfort as well as passion.’
‘I should love to see such things that made you believe that,’ she whispered, wondering what she might have learned at his side.
‘And how much more beautiful, more profound it all would have been if you were there,’ he said fiercely. He stared at her so intently she remembered their kiss at the assembly, the fire and force of it, and she couldn’t breathe.
‘I would give you everything, everything, Sandrine, if you would let me,’ he said roughly.
Sandrine blinked away hot tears as she studied him. When she was young, when she had longed only to be with him, that was all she could have wanted. How did she feel now? Was it all too late? She felt so dizzy with it all, she hardly knew. ‘Alain…’
‘You said you’d like to expand your business to Paris,’ he went on.
‘I could help you with that. Help you and Marie make a life in Paris, I’ve made contacts there.
If that’s what you want.’ He shook his head ruefully.
‘I know I could not tempt you with diamonds and fine carriages. But what of art? Beauty? Just let me try. Give me some time. I would never hurt you again, never take anything from you at all.’
The crowd making their way to the Pump Room pressed around them, jostling them, and she knew they would have to move.
She would have to unroot herself from the spot where she felt frozen, but she barely realised where she was.
That she was still in the real world, in that cold Bath morning.
‘Time. Yes. Once it was all I longed for, Alain, time with you. The girl I was then…’
‘Then I give it to you now, all you want. Just let me spend more moments with you and Marie, and you will see.’
Sandrine studied his face. As she took in his unwavering gaze, she dared to let a tiny ray of hope sneak past her armour.
Could she trust him? Could this be the first new step?
She nodded, and took his outstretched arm to let him lead her inside.
After the chill outside, the room was warm and crowded, bright, swirling, with the clink of glasses, the strains of the string quartet playing.
‘Sandrine!’ she heard Mary Campbell call to her, and saw her friend hurrying through the crowd lining up to peruse the arrivals book, get their vile glasses of water.
But Mary looked like summer sunshine itself in her Madame Dumas gown and spencer of pale yellow and white.
With her was Francoise. ‘My dear, we were just talking of you.’
Sandrine made herself smile, and kissed Mary lightly on both cheeks. ‘Should I be nervous, amie?’
‘Never!’ Mary declared with a laugh. ‘You are the most fascinating lady in Bath, as well as a darling friend. Of course we must speak of you.’ She glanced at Alain, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘And you must be Francoise’s handsome brother.’
Sandrine quickly made the introductions, trying not to give her own emotions about Alain away, trying to pretend he was a mere new acquaintance.
‘I told Madame Campbell I am so hoping you will take me as a new client, and I am sure I need a walking dress just like hers. That jonquil colour, so heavenly!’ Francoise said as she joined them. ‘Your gowns are surely the stuff of legend.’
Sandrine laughed, delightfully distracted from Alain and the great puzzle of him. ‘Legend? Mon Dieu! I must charge more, then.’
‘They say any bride who wears one of your creations is destined for great happiness,’ Francoise added.
‘Just look at me, and my sister Ella,’ Mary said. ‘Blissfully happy!’
‘So I know I must have one… I can’t take “maybe” for an answer.
’ Francoise took Sandrine’s arm and pulled her into the room, Mary following with Alain until they were lost to sight among the feathered bonnets.
‘And tell me, how are matters with my brother? Have you forgiven him for his idiocy? Catherine and I always did hope so much you could find a way to be happy.’
Sandrine wondered what his family really knew, what she should say. ‘Did he tell you…?’
‘Oh, no! Not details, of course. We were young, but not nearly as silly as our parents imagined. We saw how he behaved with his schoolmaster’s granddaughter, and how she was never worthy of him at all.
’ She glanced around the room. ‘But he has surely been served his just desserts, as it is clear that you do not need him! Your business flourishes, and look how many ladies long for your favour.’
‘No. I do not need him.’ And she was fortunate in that.
She’d had seed money, had her own talents.
Too many women in unhappy situations were caught, trapped.
But oh, how she had once wanted him! He had haunted her for so long.
In truth, she wanted him now, yearned for him.
She glanced at him, fully aware at every moment of him, every detail of him.
‘Then you must make him work very hard to deserve you,’ Francoise said with a laugh. ‘My dear brother has had everything too easy, I fear, with that godlike face of his, that charm. It’s quite infuriating.’
Sandrine smiled to remember that was just what she’d always thought of Alain and his face—god-like, golden.
But Francoise was wrong that Alain had never worked for anything, sacrificed anything.
He’d sacrificed some things for his family when he married Sandrine.
He’d left Sandrine to build her own life as she chose, not chasing her down, locking her away, as would have been his right.
He had travelled, seen things, thought about things deeply.
He’d grown, just as she had. Could it be time for them now, as it had not been then?
As Francoise turned to speak to someone, one of Sandrine’s best customers came to greet her.
‘Madame Smythe!’ Sandrine said. ‘How lovely to see you again…it has been too long. I hope you have not been unhappy with your newest gowns?’
‘Madame Dumas! How could I ever be? They are exquisite, and make me feel ten years younger to wear them,’ Mrs Smythe cried, gesturing to her dark blue pelisse à la militaire that had been Sandrine’s work. ‘I have merely been away from Bath. My poor Evelyn! What a sad thing it has been.’
‘Your daughter?’ Sandrine said, alarmed.
She remembered Evelyn’s wedding last year.
Sandrine had made the mother’s gown, but not the bride’s, for young Evelyn insisted on more bows and swags than Sandrine could bear to feature in her work.
But Evelyn had been a sweet girl, if one with rather overblown taste. ‘What is amiss? Is she ill?’
Mrs Smythe sadly shook her head. ‘Only in her heart. You do remember she wed last year, I am sure.’
‘Of course.’
‘How we were all deceived. Mr Collinsworth turned out to be quite the rake, gambling and seeking out women of light virtue at every turn; he could never let his old ways go. It is one thing to be a bit wild in a man’s youth, yes, it’s to be expected.
But once he is older, once he marries and sets up a home, he should have purged much of that from his system.
Indeed, we were sure he had. But it was not so. He quite abandoned my darling Evelyn.’
‘Oh, my dear Madame,’ Sandrine murmured. Maybe rakes couldn’t change? But surely Alain had. She had to believe that! ‘I am so very sorry.’
Mrs Smythe sighed deeply. ‘I am sure I can count on your discretion.’