Chapter Eighteen
After Alain left, Sandrine couldn’t bear to stay in her house, couldn’t bear for Marie to see her tears.
She wandered aimlessly, knowing she couldn’t go to see her friends and face their questions.
She wasn’t sure where she could go to be alone, to plan what she must do next, and so she walked and walked through the cold afternoon.
Every street she turned down, every step she put between herself and Alain, grew more painful.
She felt as though her whole being had cracked open and was left vulnerable to every hurt.
Once, she had been sure freedom was the most important thing, but had her idea of freedom only been pride?
Pride that he had wounded, along with her young heart, after their wedding?
Pride that kept her from admitting so much was different now?
She’d begun to dare to dream of being with Alain, for real this time. She’d been so happy, seeing Alain with Marie, laughing with him, talking to him, sharing her dreams. Making love. She’d thought they were happy. Had she been wrong?
Or was she wrong now? She thought of how Alain had looked on her doorstep, desperate, reaching for her, declaring his love. What if that was the reality now? Or was she too scared to believe it, to reach for it?
She turned a corner, and found herself near Mary Campbell’s house.
She suddenly longed to see a friendly face, to not be alone.
Had she lost Alain forever by sending him away?
Had she really been so mistaken about him and Danielle?
Mary and Charles’s path to happiness had not been smooth; they’d faced several bumps in their betrothal before they married.
Perhaps, after all, confiding in someone now, not letting that pride hold her silent again, might help.
She had to sort out her confusion, see clearly again.
She hurried to the doorstep and raised the knocker before she could run away.
To her surprise, Mary herself answered. Sandrine realised she must look a wild-eyed mess, for Mary’s brow creased in a concerned frown. She reached out for Sandrine’s hand.
‘My dear friend! Whatever is amiss, Sandrine? Oh, do come in, you must be frozen. You’re shaking.’
Sandrine hadn’t even noticed the cold wind, but now she found she did shiver. Or maybe it was her heart freezing up again? She’d been so sure she needed to let Alain go for his own happiness, but now she didn’t know anything at all.
She admitted she needed distraction, needed a friend to help her shore up her resolve. Mary, so bright and happy, so understanding of human nature, thanks to her work, could do that. She followed Mary into the house, let her take her damp pelisse, her hat and gloves.
‘I know I sent no note ahead, Mary; so shockingly rude of me!’ She tried to smile, but she knew her desperation showed. ‘I just needed to talk to a friend. I am quite turned upside-down, and have no idea what to do.’
‘My dear, you have come to the right place.’ Mary glanced over her shoulder at the drawing-room door, as if worried, and Sandrine realised she didn’t seem really surprised to see her. Maybe she knew the whole pitiful story already.
‘Perhaps you have company already,’ Sandrine said. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll go.’
‘No! No, don’t. Let me help you. Heaven knows you have helped me so many times!’ Mary took her hand again, her grip warm and solid, not letting her go.
But Sandrine was still unsure. She wasn’t used to letting herself be seen so clearly. ‘I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘You never, ever could. Please.’
Sandrine had to admit it was rather cold outside, snow starting to drift down in lacy spirals. She nodded, and followed Mary deeper into the house.
She was right that Mary was not alone. Francoise stood in the drawing room, her hands twisting together as if she was unsure. ‘Oh, you do have company! I—I shall just come back…’ Sandrine stammered.
‘No, don’t leave!’ Francoise cried. She hurried forward in a flurry of pink-striped silk skirts to reach Sandrine and grab her other hand.
Sandrine hadn’t noticed before how much she looked like Alain, with her dark blue eyes, her dimpled smile.
That smile seemed very determined just now.
‘I know my brother has been very stupide! I can see it in your eyes. What a duper he can be. He is my brother and I love him, but…’
Sandrine exchanged a glance with Mary, who shrugged. ‘Do come in and tell us all about it, Sandrine. We so much want to help.’
‘Indeed we do,’ Francoise added. She drew Sandrine deeper into the drawing room—and then promptly ran out and slammed the door. To her shock, Sandrine heard the click of a lock. It was all so quick, the work of mere seconds, and her head whirled with confusion.
‘What is…? Francoise?’ she called out, twisting the door handle. Stuck.
‘Bonjour, Sandrine,’ a voice said from the shadows of the room. No. No, no, it could not be! This couldn’t be happening! She was suddenly alone in a small room with the one person from whom she’d tried to flee.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart, to make sense of all this. When she opened them again, she was still there in that shadowy sitting room, surrounded by the scent and warmth of him.
She slowly turned around and found Alain sitting on a chaise longue across the room, near the windows.
It seemed he’d been there for some time, for a brandy bottle sat on the table beside him along with a silver teapot, and his cravat was loosened, his greatcoat flung over a chair.
His hair seemed tousled by the winter wind.
He was more handsome than ever, and she felt her resolve to let him go crumbling away again.
‘What are you doing here?’ she managed to say.
He shrugged, and didn’t look very surprised to be in this strange situation. Maybe his sister and her friends often held callers captive. ‘I came here to find my sister, and in the hopes of begging advice from your friend Mrs Campbell. Also…’
‘Also?’
‘I was worried. I thought she could help me.’
Sandrine crossed her arms, but it didn’t help her feel safer. Instead, her world seemed to teeter and sway. ‘Worried about me?’
‘About us. About my heart. You must know that.’
‘But I sent you to be with Danielle! Your love. How could I hold you back from that? This is all quite ruining it. I want you to be happy…’
He laughed, and she scowled at him. ‘Do you think this all calls for laughter? How much of Charles’s brandy have you had?’
He shook his head. ‘Not enough, clearly. Will you join me? And I am only laughing because you, my darlingest darling, look so determined. Because I am so very happy to see you again. Because Danielle wanted to meet with me simply to say she was sorry about what happened all those years ago, and that she hopes I can forgive her and find love. But the truth is I never felt for her as I do for you. I could not.’
Sandrine spun around and banged on the door. How she longed to believe him, to think this was it, this was the truth! But she’d let her guard down before, and look what had happened. ‘Francoise!’
‘I shall let you out when you two actually behave like grown-ups and talk to one another,’ Francoise called back. ‘You have spent enough time being stubborn. Maintenant!’ Her footsteps, her laughter blending with Mary’s, clicked away and Sandrine knew they were alone.
She sighed, and reluctantly went to sit beside him, leaving a cushion’s distance between them. ‘I think I will have some of that brandy, merci.’
‘Very wise. Once my sister gets a thought into her head, you will not get it out. Best to do as she says.’ He seemed surprisingly calm as he poured her a glass and passed it to her.
Sandrine took a deep draught, and they sat there together in silence for a long moment, the weight of it growing between them.
‘If you wish it, Sandrine, we can sit here for an hour in complete quiet,’ he said. ‘Even Francoise will have to let us out eventually; the Campbells will need their sitting room back. But if you will just give me a few minutes, if you will really listen to me, listen to what I tell you…’
But what would he say? That he’d thought about it, and really did want to run away with Danielle? ‘Then what?’
‘Then if you still want me to go, if your heart is truly closed to me, I will leave. I will help you get your Paris shop, but you need never speak to me again. I want only what you want.’
Sandrine studied him, torn between hope and fear. She just nodded, unable to speak.
‘When I saw Danielle again, it only made me understand all the better that only one thing matters, and that is my love for you. That our love is what is real, our understanding for each other. Maybe I don’t deserve your love after being such a fool, but I want to earn it, will do anything at all to earn it.
I dread to think what would have happened to me if I hadn’t found you again. ’
Sandrine stared at him, overwhelmed by emotion, by longing to know everything could be set right between them at last.
He slowly, carefully took her hand, holding it as if it were a precious jewel. ‘I promise, I will never, ever hurt you again, Sandrine. I will always choose us. Choose our family.’
In his face, his expression of deepest yearning, she realised that his careless charm had always covered his vulnerabilities, and she longed to tell him she saw him truly, understood him. Loved him.
‘I only want you to be happy, Alain,’ she said.
‘How could I ever be happy without you?’
She didn’t know what else to say, to do, so she leaned over and kissed him. The taste of him made her forget all else, especially when his arms came around her, dragged her closer. He groaned, a wild sound deep in his throat.
‘Can you deny this now, Sandrine? Deny that this is what’s real?’ he said roughly. She could not, ever again. She reached up and held his face between her hands, studying every inch of him, every gleam in his eyes. She did love him, all of him. And wonder of wonders, he truly loved her, too.
He seemed to sense her opening up to him, her blossoming belief and renewed trust. Renewed joy. ‘Marry me, Sandrine. For real this time. For only us. I will work so hard to prove myself to you, every day.’
‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, Alain.’ And he did not. They never had to prove anything to each other now. They were together, longing for the same things, looking to the same future. ‘I only wish it had not taken years for us to get here!’
‘But now is perfect. We had to learn things, about the world, about ourselves, to be ready for this moment. Ready for this love. And now it is ours forever.’ He kissed her again, everything else forgotten but the two of them together. ‘Oh, Sandrine. I only want to give you and Marie everything.’
‘We already have that,’ she said, desperate for another kiss, another touch. ‘Yes, I will marry you, Alain. For real. For always.’
He laughed, a jubilant, bright-sun sound, and kissed her again, and again. ‘Shall we tell Francoise we can be let out now?’
Sandrine laughed, too, thankful that, in addition to everything else she’d been gifted, she had such a sister now who had pushed them along in their stubbornness. ‘Oh, no. Not just yet. I think we have rather more kissing to do first…’