He remembered the reason he’d come to Robert’s office and he pulled some folded pages from his sleeve.
“Could you send this on to Arabella for me?”
Robert took the letter. He knew that whatever the contents, it must have been difficult for Richard to write. He started to ask, but his brother’s expression stopped him. Richard was right, it was none of his business.
“Of course. I have some herbal information I was just getting ready to send off to her along with some seeds. And I’ll seal it, just to be sure.” He had no reason to think anyone was watching his letters to Arabella, but they had to be cautious.
When Richard had gone, Robert gazed out the window at the bare trees in orchard below. Poor Arabella. She was a good woman. And a practical one. She would survive Richard’s news, whatever it might be.
When Arabella finished washing the supper dishes, she joined Alfredo in the morning room where he sat contentedly smoking his pipe. The warmth of the blazing fire was welcome, it had been cold and rainy for two days. Before sitting down, she picked up Robert’s packet, which had arrived that morning. His letters were always a treat and she had saved this one to share with Alfredo. She was not expecting any particular news of Richard. She assumed that would come in a separate letter, as it had when Robert had written cryptically:
“That which you sent has arrived safely and in good order. I will let you know as things develop. The climate here is still rather mild and I think it will do well,”
to let her know that Richard had arrived safely.
She expected to hear from Richard as soon as the situation with Christina was settled, one way or the other. So the packet she held in her hand was like all the others she received from Robert once a month, full of information about plants and medicines and often containing seeds, as well.
As she took a chair beside the old man, he got to his feet with some difficulty to fix her a cup of tea.
“I can get that, Alfredo,” she said, knowing it would do no good. Despite his age—more than twice her own—and the swollen joints she knew caused him constant pain, he insisted on treating her with an unnecessary amount of courtesy.
“Ah Signora, surely it is the least I can do after you fixed me this wonderful meal.”
“You know you say that every night.”
“And with good reason, for every night you fix me a wonderful meal.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, Alfredo, what am I to do with you?”
“Why anything you like, Bellina,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything you like.” He winked at her as he handed her the steaming cup and settled himself back into the comfortable chair.
“Shame on you! Thoughts like that can get you in trouble,” she teased.
“Thoughts like that keep me young!” Alfredo insisted.
Arabella opened Robert’s packet and spilled the small packages of seeds out onto her lap. As she unfolded the pages, a smaller but very thick envelope landed on top of the seeds. Her name was in Robert’s hand and the seal was his. She opened it and recognized Richard’s distinctive script. It was the letter she’d longed for and at the same time dreaded receiving, sure that she knew what it would say. For a moment she just stared at it. Involuntarily, her hands went to her swollen belly.
“Signora
?
What is it?” Alfredo saw her expression. “Not the
bambino?
”
“No. It’s not the baby.” She put her hand on his arm to reassure him. “This letter, it’s from Richard.”
“So, you finally told him about the baby?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Oh, Signora…”
“Alfredo, I’ve told you, I must be sure.”
“Signora, even
I
am sure you’re expecting a baby.”
“Yes, I know.” Arabella sighed. How could she explain to Alfredo that she wanted to be sure that Richard was returning to her before she told him she was carrying his child? If he decided to stay with Christina, how could she burden him with that knowledge? She knew what it would do to him.
“Signora
,
” Alfredo said gently as he laid his hand over hers. “You must listen to me. I know what you fear. If the Signore does not return, you don’t want to tell him, do you?”
Arabella could only shake her head.
“But don’t you see?” he went on. “You are making a mistake. A man deserves to know that he has a child, especially a man who will one day be the Baron of Beauvu.”
“But if he doesn’t return—the child will be illegitimate.”
“Bah!” Alfredo said, brushing the thought aside with the wave of his hand. “It means nothing, nothing! The child will be his firstborn, yes?”
“Yes.” Arabella believed Richard when he said that he had no children, illegitimate or otherwise.
“The firstborn has a special place in a man’s heart no matter which side of the sheets it arrives on.”
“But…”
“And,” he continued, shaking his twisted finger at her, “and more important, the child deserves the benefit of his father’s fortune, which in this case, I assure you, is considerable.”
“I couldn’t…”
“Nonsense! The child is entitled to an education, and a fortune in his own right. You don’t want him to live in poverty, do you?”
Arabella was silent. Alfredo was right. Their child deserved to live free from the terrible existence she had known before she met Richard.
“Bellissima,” Alfredo said, putting his finger gently under her chin and lifting her face until she looked him right in the eyes. “You know that the Signore would want to know, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Arabella did her best to smile.
“He’s a good man. We both know that. We both know what it would do to him if he learned that child had grown up in difficulty because he was never told the child existed.”
“You’re right. But Alfredo, I’m not young anymore. I just want to be sure. So many things can happen.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. “Would you like me to leave so you can read that alone?” he asked, gesturing toward the still unread pages in her hand.
“No, stay, please…” With trembling fingers she lifted the pages and began to read.
14 Décembre
My Dearest Bella,
I have spent a full seven days trying to write this letter and still I know I haven’t got it right. I would give anything to be there with you now, to look into your eyes as I tell you these things so that you know that I, too, am suffering, even as I cause you pain.
Arabella stopped reading and put the letter down. It was as she knew it would be. He was not coming back to her. She glanced over at Alfredo, who stared into the fire and puffed on his pipe, allowing her as much privacy as possible. She picked up the letter again.
Dear Heart, what can I say to you? First, I thank God every day that you insisted I come back. Christina has been horribly abused by the man she married and if I had not returned to help her, I’d have been damned forever, and rightfully so, for abandoning her to such misery while I remained content with you.
Bella, Christina is expecting a child—my child. But the problem remains: Will the pain I cause you by bringing her to Corsica be every bit as great as what she has already suffered? I don’t know. I don’t understand why I can only help her by hurting you.
That last day you made me promise that if Christina wanted to come, I would bring her there. But how can I? Can you honestly tell me that you want the two of us there at the cottage? Don’t let your answer be influenced by any fear that I will ask you to leave. I won’t take you away from your children. And I offer you several choices—you may have the cottage and an income and remain there as long as you wish. You can build another house wherever you like and I’ll see that the children go with you. If having Christina and me in such close proximity is too much for you to bear, I can move the business to Propriano. If there is another solution that appeals to you, just tell me what it is. I only want you to be as happy as you can be in these circumstances.
I wish I could be there. I can always read the truth in your eyes. I would know immediately how much I’m hurting you. I suppose I think if I were there, I could make you understand that this is the only thing I can do. But how can that be? I don’t understand it myself.
Help me Bella. Tell me what you would have me do. But most of all, forgive me.
Richard
PS/ The two packages in the drawer with my handkerchiefs are for you. I’d hoped to give them to you at Christmas, but we won’t be able to leave here until the middle of January. I’d so looked forward to us reading the book together. Who knows? Perhaps we will.
Arabella put the pages back in her lap and stared into the fire as the tears ran down her cheeks. She wasn’t surprised. She knew that Richard had always loved Christina. He had tried with her; he had done everything possible to convince her that he loved her and wanted her for his wife. And she knew that he did love her, but not in the same way he loved Christina. He was tied to Christina heart and soul, while he’d merely been content with her. She’d hoped it would be enough for him, and she truly believed it would have been if Christina had not come back into his life.
Poor Richard. She knew he’d suffered over the letter. She knew he hated hurting her. Now, she only had to ask herself one question: what did
she
want? She smiled. There was really only one thing she wanted. There was really only one thing to do.
Alfredo saw her tears and reached for her hand.
The holidays at the abbey passed quickly for all who lived within its great walls. There were services, processions, and gifts of food and clothing, which were distributed to the poor. Before they knew it, the festivities were over and they settled in to await the end of the year.
On the afternoon before the eve of the new year, Robert called Richard to his office. When his brother arrived Robert handed him a letter, indicating he should read the postscript at the bottom of the page. Richard immediately recognized Arabella’s hand.
PS/ If you would be so kind as to convey a message to my friends there in Arles, I would be most grateful. I want them to know that I have married and have settled into a very contented life here at the cottage with my husband. I should be very happy if they could come to stay with us, for I cannot say how I long to see them. They should have no fear of inconveniencing us, for there is plenty of room, and I want to do anything I can to make them comfortable. There is no way I can properly express my gratitude to your brother who has changed my life and given me nothing but happiness for the last seven years and every prospect of continuing good fortune for the future.
May God bless you.
Richard read it over twice.“Married?” he said, looking up at Robert. It had certainly taken them both by surprise. Was it possible that Bella had married someone just to make it easier for him to go back to the cottage?
“So she says. I think she’s being overly cautious, but I suggested she be careful if she wrote anything concerning you.”
“But who?”
“I have no idea. I can write to Father Matarese or we can inquire through Gérrard, but it will take time.” He studied his brother a moment, realizing the news had hit him hard. “Richard, are you planning to take Christina to Bonifacio?”
“Yes.” He looked at Robert, wondering what it was that he wasn’t saying.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Wise?” Richard smiled, sadly. “I doubt it. But I asked Bella to make a choice and she has.”
“What about Christina? Have you told her about Arabella?”
“I’ve told her that there was someone. I didn’t tell her that ‘someone’ was my housekeeper. There’s no reason for her to know anything else.”
Robert shook his head. “What about you? Can you do this?”
Richard stood up and reluctantly handed the letter back to Robert. “I don’t know. But apparently it’s what Bella wants and the least I can do for her is try. I owe her that much.”
When Dom Louis conducted the last Mass before the New Year, he noticed that Christina was wearing the bracelet the Oriental whore had delivered. Why was the man responsible for his cousin’s death, a man who was himself recently married, sending a gift to a married woman, which bore a very personal inscription?
Au Coeur qui t’amait toujours—Tends-lui la main, donne-lui la Paix.
—Sagne
The Heart that always loved you—Reach out and give it peace.
Janvier 1760
Montmajour
At the end of the first week in January, Robert received a message from Étienne, the majordomo at Beauvu. Louis, his general health having declined in recent years, was not recovering from a rather bad cold he’d contracted before Christmas. Étienne was concerned.
Robert knew his father must be quite ill to warrant Étienne’s letter. He immediately wrote to Grégoire in Rome, suggesting he take a leave from his studies and come home. And while he was writing, it occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to ask Grégoire to return to Beauvu via Bonifacio, so that he might check on Arabella.
Two days later Robert met with Richard in his library in the tower. His brother’s reaction to the news that their father was quite ill was not what he’d hoped for, but rather what he’d expected.
“I was going to make the arrangements next week for us to leave.”
“I know, but I have a feeling this is serious, Richard. I’ve sent for Grégoire.” When Richard said nothing, Robert went on. “I think Father will want to see you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t. But you don’t want him to die without you seeing him again, do you?”
Richard just stared at Robert. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the news that his father might be dying.
“You must forgive him, Richard.”
“It was unfair of him to make me leave.”
“Yes. It was. And he knows that, believe me.”
Richard went to the window and sat down on the stone seat. He always assumed he’d see his father again. In fact, he now realized he’d also always believed he would be able to go home again…someday. He’d never imagined that when he did, his father might not be there.