5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
W ith a day to go before the meeting with Robbins, Fabienne was returning from another walk. Those had become her most frequent activity, an excuse to escape the house and expend energy.
But sooner or later, she had to return, paste on a polite smile, and pretend all was well. At least while she kept to herself, the pretension was only for the benefit of the servants. Those hadn’t been too nosy; besides the maid, Tess, the most communication Fabienne’s had so far was with the housekeeper, Mrs. Beasley. The household, apparently, ran quite well without Fabienne’s input.
Close to the house, she caught sight of pale pink roses in the garden. Perhaps those could make her room more appealing. Or the parlor.
Even with a pair of gardening gloves, retrieving the flowers from the overgrown bush was a slow process. While she worked, Caddie strutted around the bend, all jolly countenance, as if Fabienne hadn’t screamed at her only a few days ago. “Hello, dear. I came for the skirt.”
Fabienne gave her a blank look.
“The skirt you asked me to look at? Something about a tear? It was two weeks ago, but I was busy with the uniforms then—”
“Oh. That. I…” Fabienne glanced at her hands. “Let me finish this. You can wait inside. Mrs. Beasley will get you some tea.” Did she really ask Caddie to do chores for her? Her past self was… strange. “And… I’m sorry for the way I behaved the other day.”
Caddie waved her hand. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it, and Gertie has that effect on people.”
Well, she did mean it—but her ire was meant for Gertrude and Fabienne’s mysterious husband, not Caddie.
Caddie retreated inside the house, and over the next ten minutes, Fabienne finished the job, clearing the thorns off a few more stems. She gathered the roses together.
“Fabienne.”
She straightened at the unfamiliar male voice. The stranger stood by the garden fence. Fabienne’s eyes were immediately drawn to the uniform. Even worn out, the dark blue coat and light blue trousers were unmistakable. A soldier. His shoes carried dust from the road, traces of it extending to the lower part of the trousers. Lean, and not too tall—he had perhaps three or four inches on her. The absence of a hat revealed close-cut golden blond hair, tousled from travel. He had a refined face, the straight nose and well-defined eyebrows giving a sort of elegance to it. Not bad looking, she admitted to herself, but who—
“Brayden!” Caddie waddled toward him from the front door, dropping a paper-wrapped packet on the way.
He smiled and welcomed her in a friendly hug. “Caddie. I missed you.”
“You, missed me? Then you’d write me more often, boy.” She swept an invisible speck off his shoulder and pursed her lips. “And you didn’t tell us you were coming. We were all certain you were still in Georgia.”
“I didn’t get an opportunity to send a message.” For a split second, his gaze went back to Fabienne.
Caddie followed him, her mouth relaxing. “Mmm, I’ll let you two talk.” She bent down to pick up the packet.
“No!” Fabienne blurted. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now, when she wasn’t even sure what she herself had turned into. The neighbors, the servants, they were one thing—but he’d surely see straight through her. Worse—he’d want things. Things she couldn’t give, things she didn’t want to even think about.
Caddie looked at her oddly.
“I don’t want to be rude. And I haven’t given you the skirt yet!”
“Mrs. Beasley located it for me.” Caddie raised the packet, then turned again to Brayden. “And don’t forget to check up on Jim. His arm is fine, but he’ll be glad to see you. We all are, aren’t we, Fabienne?”
Even trying her best, Fabienne could not manage a nod. Her feet were rooted to the ground, deeper than the rosebush.
“Right, then. I’ll give you privacy.” Caddie winked at Fabienne and skittered away.
That left the two of them. He had no one else to look at now, and for a moment, their eyes met. Was that discomfort in his eyes, the kind she felt? Fabienne averted her gaze. Her grip on the bouquet had gotten so strong she’d snapped a few stems.
“You appear to be in good health,” he said. “I trust everything has been fine here. You’re managing with the servants?”
“Yes,” she barely got out.
“Good. I’ll wish to speak to you later. I’ll come by your room.” He started toward the house.
With some delay, Fabienne’s brain processed his words. “I’ll be in the sitting room, actually,” she responded, surprised at being able to string so many words together.
He looked back. “I’d prefer to carry this out somewhere private. Unless you’d prefer my room…”
“No, it’s fine.”
He gave a curt nod and went inside. Finally, Fabienne let her breath out in a loud whoosh .
Time passed slowly as she waited in her room, keeping busy arranging the flowers on the window shelf. An inch to the right. Don’t think about what he wants. Did she get enough of them? One more would fill the vase better. Don’t think about what he wants. They could use a splash more of color. Don’t think about what he wants.
Brayden entered with a brief knock, making her jump. He’d gotten rid of his coat, revealing a slightly wrinkled shirt, and had done some quick washing, evidenced by a few wet locks of hair curling at the back of his neck. He stepped to the other window.
She waited.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Purdy tomorrow,” he said abruptly. “I expect to be here for a month, and if your desires remain unchanged, this would be a good time to get things going.”
Fabienne blinked. Did she miss the beginning of the conversation?
“Fabienne?”
“Uh… Mr. Purdy?”
“He’s a lawyer in Hartford. He can be trusted to be effective and discreet. The rest is up to the court.”
The court? Her stomach squeezed. What would they want with her? Another guessing game. She was so tired of them. Irritated. “What is up to the court?”
He tilted his head. “The divorce, what else.”
Oh. “Our—our divorce?”
“Yes, ours. Fabienne, are you all right?”
“Maybe the sun… got to my head.”
A slight crease of a frown appeared, but he moved on. “As I was saying, I’ll be going to town tomorrow to contact him.”
“You want a divorce?”
“No, you wanted it. I merely offered it.” He shook his head. “Look, I’ve been traveling for days. I’m hungry, tired, and most of all, unwilling to play your games. I’m trying to clarify our wishes. It won’t be an easy process, but I hope we can act civil.”
C’est pas vrai! Here she was, terrified of the prospect of having to live with him—and he was offering a divorce. The compression that’s had a hold on her chest for the entire week lifted. She could be free, leave, get away from this life!
“I’ve been looking for reasons we might present,” Brayden continued. “As you can imagine, adultery doesn’t sit well with me, unless you’d like to claim that on your side. The same goes for violence. I believe the most accurate reason would be an incompatibility of temper, but while that worked great for our country, I’m not sure it will sit well in court. I think the best way is desertion.”
“As in leaving?” Oh, that was perfect!
“Precisely. If one partner leaves another for a long time, not contributing to their marital relationship, that’s sufficient grounds for divorce. The war doesn’t count, and given my business arrangements otherwise, I’d find it hard to leave. But you could. Go to France. It should be easy and civil. A, how would you call it, separation à l’agréable ?”
“A terrible pronunciation.” A bit of her amusement bubbled through her voice. For a brief moment, a smile crossed his lips, as if he couldn’t hold it back—and then it was back to serious. Had she imagined it?
Just like his smile, her fluttering feeling of happiness disappeared as she caught sight of the birdcage behind him. If she left, she’d return to an empty home, haunted by the absence of her family. And she’d be left forever wondering if what Robbins had said held a grain of truth after all; if he was able to help. If she’d let the opportunity go because she didn’t want to live a bit longer with a stranger.
Why did he have to return today? Tomorrow, after the meeting with Robbins, this might have been much easier.
“I… I’m not sure,” she said.
“I’ll fund your voyage if that’s the concern. Just don’t tell anyone, or it’ll make this a very peculiar desertion.”
“No, I meant… I can’t answer you. Right now.” Robbins had said she’d have to live a normal life. She was pretty certain divorce did not fall under normal in his book. Until she knew more of his offer, she dared not risk it.
Brayden's jaw tensed. He turned away, then back to her again, and raked his hand through his hair. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
Fabienne grasped the window shelf. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hell, me neither, since it’s hard to refer to a single trait of yours that doesn’t change daily.” Even with his voice still below shouting, his eyes flashed lightning.
“I only said—”
“Let me guess. You’ve had time to think. You realized there could be a better way out. Wait out the war, maybe you’ll find me on a casualties list. No divorce needed. Given my lack of relatives, you could even keep all of this.”
“Hold on, now—”
“No, you hold on. It’s obvious we’re done. There’s no need to pretend otherwise, no need to play games or twist your reasons. Put it plainly. Speak the truth. My opinion of you could hardly be altered anymore.”
“You called me fickle!”
“Well, you’ve called me much worse.” The lightning discharged, sending them into a heavy silence. The energy left over threatened to set everything aflame with one wrong word. Fabienne bent her head, her mind blazing, thoughts racing over each other. How much of this did she deserve—why even marry him then—but what if he was lying—bad enough to want a divorce?—well, at least she did really know a lot of bad words—but she couldn’t leave now—what about that smile?—on the other hand, if she had to live with someone like him—
“If I’m honest,” his voice pulled her back, “I don’t know who I’m more angry with. Myself, for being a blind fool, or you, for your deceptions.” He tore his eyes from the window and met hers. “I’ll cancel my appointment tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to greet some people who’ll actually be pleased to see me.”
With a soft click of the door, he left her alone. She realized she was shaking and, bracing her arms around her middle, sat on the bed. She should’ve been relieved this went the exact opposite way of what she’d imagined. But if theirs was a marriage of convenience, why would it affect him so much?
And if it wasn’t… then what on Earth had she done?