Prelude to Heaven (21 page)

“Yes.” He rose to his feet. “I don't want Tess taking any risks with her health. She's too close to having the baby.”

Jeanette smiled as he back as he walked away, for she knew this was a momentous step forward for her reclusive brother-in-law. More than that, it was a miracle.

***

Nigel stared at the innkeeper with distaste, careful to remain at least half a dozen strides away. The man reeked of garlic and rancid grease and bad wine. The inn, located on the road from Paris to Lyon, was dark and empty and smelled as bad as the man who owned it.

Nigel held a perfumed lace handkerchief to his nose for a moment, breathing deeply, then tucked the handkerchief back in the pocket of his cream silk waistcoat. “You're certain?”

The man nodded, glancing once again at the painted miniature in his hand. “
Mais oui
. She was here. Two days, perhaps three, she stayed here, but that was months ago.”

“If it was months ago, how do you remember her so well?” Martin Trevalyn stepped closer to the man, unmindful of the smell, and retrieved the miniature.

“She was dressed like a man.
Tout de même
, she did not fool me.” He gave a coarse laugh and shrugged. “But what will you? My wife, she watches me like a hawk. Ah,
les femmes
...” He sighed at the temptations of the flesh that had been denied him.

Nigel also stepped forward, furious at the man's implication, but Trevalyn placed a hand on his arm. “He’s not worth the trouble of a fight, my lord,” the lawyer murmured, and though Nigel let out an angry hiss between his teeth, he knew Trevalyn was right.

“Well, man, did she say where she was going?” he asked.

“
Non
. She did not say.”

Nigel tossed a handful of coins at the innkeeper's feet, and the two men departed, leaving the innkeeper to scramble for the coins rolling across the greasy floor.

***

“Splendid idea. The girl works much too hard.” Henri nodded with approval, holding up his glass to down the last swallow of brandy. “I'm glad you've finally come to your senses about servants.” He started to take another sip, realized the glass was empty, and declared, “I'd like another.”

He held out his glass, and his brother poured, but only a few drops trickled from the bottle. Alexandre lifted it to the lamplight, frowning at the lack of brandy within. “It's empty.”

Henri sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table between them. “Another one? How many is that?”

“Two, I think.”

Henri sighed again. “Well, there has to be more here somewhere.”

“I'll see what I can find.” Alexandre rose to his feet, and the unsteadiness he felt told him he’d rather underestimated the quantity of brandy they’d consumed. He crossed to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the library to the cabinet, and let out a triumphant, if rather loud, exclamation. “Ah, more brandy.”

“Knew you'd find some,” Henri said with the complacence of a truly drunken man. He held aloft his glass. “Pour. Try not to miss this time.”

Alexandre made every effort to comply, but nearly as much brandy ended up on the floor as in the glass. He resumed his seat and rested his elbow on the table before he refilled his own glass, an action that enabled him to avoid the waste of any more brandy. He set the bottle on the table and fell back into his seat, then lifted his glass. “Let's drink to...” Pausing, he frowned. “What shall we drink to?”

“Do we need a reason?”

“No.”

Both men laughed, thinking themselves quite witty, and drank their brandy.

A loud meow sounded, and Augustus rose from where he had been sleeping in the corner, clearly indignant at being roused from his nap by a pair of drunken fools. He walked over to the table, and Alexandre lifted the kitten onto his lap, and action that caused Henri to shake his head in disbelief. “Never thought you'd have a cat. I begin to think you are actually fond of it.”

“Possibly,” Alexandre admitted, rubbing Augustus between the ears with his thumb. The kitten responded with loud purring. “But I must confess I’m glad Tess didn't bring home more of them.”

Henri grinned. “No, she came home with a donkey instead. And what a donkey!”

Alexandre picked up the bottle, and with a frown of complete concentration, refilled his glass once more, only spilling a few drops this time. “Never should've bought the damn thing,” he muttered. “I had intended to give it back, but then I saw her eyes.” He paused to take a swallow of brandy and leaned back, starting up at the ceiling. “I saw her eyes, and I couldn’t do it.”

Augustus stirred, placing his paws on Alexandre’s chest and rubbing him under the chin. “And now, we are the only males in a household full of females, are we not,
mon ami
?” he murmured to the cat. “There is Tess, and Betsy the donkey, and Sophie the goat. Oh, and the goose, Mathilda. I'd forgotten Mathilda.” He glanced at Henri and said with a scowl, “I hate that goose.”

Henri laughed and downed the last swallow of brandy in his glass. “You hated cats once, too. On my next visit, I expect you and the goose will be fast friends.”

“Never,” Alexandre vowed, setting Augustus on the floor. “Every time I go near that animal, she tries to attack me. She is a
femme formidable
, that one. But Augustus understands me.”

Both men looked down at the kitten, which was happily lapping up the liquor on the floor.

“I see he also understands the value of an excellent brandy,” Henri commented.

“So do we,” Alexandre answered, picking up the bottle. “But we’ve nearly drunk it all.”

“Shame, you know.” Henri leaned forward again, elbows on the table, glass in hand, staring at his brother through bleary eyes. “Vintners should never run out of drink.”

“We aren't vintners anymore.”

“Ah, but when we were, we made excellent wine. And our brandy ...” His voice trailed off, and he lifted his glass. “It was better than this.”

“This
is
our brandy.”

“I knew it was good.” Henri emptied his glass and promptly refilled it with an unsteady hand. “We should make wine again.”

Alexandre shook his head. “I won't make wine again.”

“Because of Anne-Marie? But she didn't die because of the winery. You know that.”

“I do. She died because of me.”

“She did not!” Henri sat up straight in his chair and rubbed a hand over his forehead as if trying to gather his sodden wits. “It was an accident.”

“She didn't want a baby. I wanted it.” His words were slurred, but filled with the anguish of guilt. “She didn't want to sleep with me anymore. But I didn't listen.”

“But...” Henri started to speak, then stopped.

“And then she was so scared. She thought she'd die.” He paused long enough to take a swallow of brandy. “I said things to her. I was angry. I wanted the baby, but she didn't. She didn't want it. I told her she was selfish. That she only cared about herself.” He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “I called her a coward.”

“When we're angry, we all say things we don't mean.”

Alexandre's laugh was bitter and humorless as he lifted his head and leaned back in his chair. “But I did mean it. I meant every word. I thought she was a coward. But look at me, Henri.
Mon Dieu
, who is the coward now?”

Henri opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again. After all, what could he say? There was no way to refute the truth.

Tess stood in the library doorway, staring at the sight before her in disbelief. The morning sunlight pouring through the window revealed Alexandre and Henri exactly where she and Jeanette had bid them goodnight over eight hours before.

Alexandre was sprawled back in his chair, his long hair loose and tangled, and a dark shadow of beard on his jaw. Augustus lay sprawled out on the floor beside his chair. Henri was seated opposite, leaning forward over the card table, his head resting on his folded arms. The table held three empty bottles and two empty glasses. The kitten and both men were sound asleep.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Tess turned as Jeanette came down the corridor toward her. “I found them,” she told the other woman and returned her attention to the library.

“What, they're still in there?” Jeanette stopped behind her, peering over her shoulder.

Augustus heard the voices of the two women and lifted his head, giving a rather pathetic-sounding meow.

Tess crossed to the table, shaking her head at the three empty bottles, and lifted Augustus from the floor to cradle him in her arms. He responded with another meow.

The sound awakened Alexandre, who lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes. Wincing at the bright sunlight and giving a groan of pain, he fell forward to rest his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands.

Henri also stirred, lifting his head long enough to answer his brother with a commiserating moan, before once again burying his face in the crook of his folded arms.

“Really!” Tess looked from one man to the other. “Of all the childish, immature things to do!”

Alexandre held up one hand to stop her flow of chiding words. “Don't talk so loud,” he croaked in a low voice as he slowly sat up. His face was pale beneath his tan, and when he glanced at her, she noticed his eyes were bloodshot.

Jeanette entered the room, coming over to the table to stand beside Tess and add her own opinion. “Three bottles? Couldn't you two have exercised a bit of common sense?”

“It seemed a marvelous idea at the time,” Henri muttered in reply, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with one hand as he also straightened in his chair.

Jeanette and Tess exchanged amused, exasperated glances.

“We may have had a cup too much,” Alexandre admitted. “I don’t know about Henri, but I feel like death.”

“A bit down-pin are you?” Tess inquired with false sympathy. She set Augustus on the floor, and as she watched the kitten amble on shaky legs over to a corner, she frowned, her suspicions aroused. Turning back to the table, she glared at the two men. “Heavens, you two didn't give the cat any drink, did you?”

He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “We may have done.”

“You got the kitten drunk?” She turned to Jeanette. “What does one do with such men?”

“Disgraceful, the pair of you,” Jeanette said. “Making a poor little kitten inebriated.”

“Don't say any more,” Henri pleaded. “We feel badly enough as it is.”

“It's no more than you deserve!” Tess said and walked over to the corner to once again lift Augustus into her arms. “Poor baby,” she murmured as the animal let out a wobbly protest. Glancing at Jeanette, she asked, “Do you know any remedies for the aftereffects of too much drink?”

The other woman nodded. “I know a recipe guaranteed to work.”

“Good.” Tess walked toward the door, Jeanette right behind her. “We'll make some for Augustus.”

“Augustus?” Alexandre turned his head to stare after them. “What about us?”

Tess paused by the door, glancing over her shoulder at the two men. “Alexandre, you're an excellent chef. Jeanette would be happy to give you her recipe, wouldn't you Jeanette?”

“Certainly.”

The women departed, leaving the men to fend for themselves.

***

After Alexandre’s request for servants, Jeanette had wasted no time. She had written immediately to Marseilles. As a result, Paul and Leonie Renault arrived in Saint-Raphael a fortnight after receiving her letter.

Tess anticipated their arrival with mixed feelings. Her own situation here was unorthodox, to say the least. The two servants would conclude what seemed obvious—that she was Alexandre’s mistress, and the babe was his. As the daughter of a vicar, Tess disliked that she would be regarded in such an immoral light, but at this point in her pregnancy, she could not afford to care what other people thought of her. Jeanette had told her the baby had descended, estimating that she was within a few weeks of delivery, and she simply could not continue with the physical labor her role as housekeeper demanded.

Jeanette had prepared rooms in the servants’ quarters on the third floor of the chateau, and all was in readiness when Paul and Leonie arrived. When Jeanette performed introductions, she introduced Tess as the housekeeper. Her condition didn’t seem to cause the servants any surprise, leading Tess to conclude the other woman had already explained her situation to them.

Paul was a tall, extremely thin young man with brown hair and a shy manner. Leonie was a complete contrast to her husband, being short and plump, with dark hair and merry black eyes. But it was their baby daughter Elise that captivated Tess. “Oh, she's lovely!”

Leonie smiled. “
Merci
, mademoiselle.” She glanced down at Tess's swollen abdomen, and blushed. “I mean madame—I mean—”

Tess waved a hand to stop Leonie's mortified flow of words.

“Please call me Tess,” she said and gestured to the baby. “May I hold her?”

“Of course.” Leonie held out the baby, and the moment Tess took her, she felt a fierce wave of anticipation wash over her. Soon, she thought, resting the baby’s head against her shoulder and patting her back, soon she would be holding her own child in her arms. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what her own baby would look like. Would her baby's face be round as a dumpling, like Elise? Would her baby's skin be as soft? Would the baby look like her, or like—