Authors: Laura Lee Guhrke
Aubry tilted his head to one side, considering the idea. “It would be a wonderful addition to my collection,” he said. “And my wife should have a new portrait done. But she has been ill.” He looked at Alexandre. “When were you planning to journey into Kent?”
“I still have commissions in London until the end of the Season. So, perhaps late July or early August?”
“I'm certain Teresa will have sufficiently recovered by then. I accept your generous gift, Monsieur. And may I say I am anticipating your visit to my home with tremendous pleasure.”
Alexandre wished he could say the same. But seeing the woman he had once loved with an ass like Aubry, staying in their home, wasn’t something any man could look forward to.
***
Tess wished she could enjoy the days of solitary freedom at Aubry Park before the Season ended and Nigel returned home, but her thoughts continually strayed to London and to Alexandre. Soon he would leave England, and she doubted he would ever return. He would take her daughter with him, and Tess knew she would never have the chance to see her. Thinking of Alexandre and Suzanne only made her more unhappy, but she couldn't stop herself. Memories of them were all she had left.
Nigel's mother arrived several weeks after Tess's return to Aubry Park, providing a welcome diversion. Tess was in her special garden, giving instructions to the gardeners, when a maid appeared to inform her of the dowager countess's arrival.
Her mother-in-law was sitting at one end of the sofa sipping a cup of tea when Tess entered the drawing room. She knew the dowager's visits often made Nigel's mood more violent, but despite that, Tess greeted her mother-in-law with affection. “Margaret, it's good to see you.”
“And you as well, my dear.” The dowager clasped her hands warmly. “How was Town?”
Tess sank down on the sofa beside her. “Exhausting, of course.”
Margaret eyed her with concern. “I heard you have been...” There was a delicate pause. “Indisposed. Are you all right, Tess?”
Tess pasted a smile on her face. “I’m perfectly well,” she said and changed the subject. “I saw Lady Grenville in Town. She sends her regards.”
“How is Caroline? I haven't seen her for years!”
Tess assured her that Caroline was fine, and proceeded to relay as much Town gossip as she could remember. When that topic was exhausted, Margaret found another. “Upon my arrival, Chilton told me you were out in the gardens. Something about a new flower bed. Have you taken up a garden of your own again? And should you be doing so. If you have been ill—”
“I was merely giving instructions to the gardeners.” Tess met her mother-in-law's gaze with a limpid one of her own. “Nigel allowed me to put a garden of my own design near the maze, with the stipulation, of course, that I do none of the work myself. We both know he has rules about that.”
Margaret must have heard the bitter tinge of her voice, but she set down her teacup with a gentle smile. “Why don't we go down and walk through this garden of yours?” she said, her voice overly bright, her need to divert the topic from her son painfully obvious. His rigid rules and controlling temperament were topics the two women never discussed.
They were in the drawing room, discussing the annual garden fête to raise funds for the parish church when Nigel returned from town a few weeks later, and the moment he walked in, Tess knew he was displeased to find his mother had arrived before him.
“Mother,” he greeted, pausing by her chair to place a stiff kiss on her cheek as Tess poured him a cup of tea. “You should have informed me you were coming early this year. You know how I dislike surprises.”
The words were lightly spoken, but the reproof was clear. Tess heard Margaret’s quick indrawn breath, and she came to the rescue.
“Your mother came early to help me,” she said as Nigel took the teacup from her hand and sank down into a chair opposite her place on the settee. “She thought I might need her assistance with the fête this year. After all, I have been ill.” She met Nigel’s gaze head on, heedless of possible consequences. “As you well know.”
Ignoring the angry flush that came into his cheeks at this reminder of what he’d done, Tess resumed the topic she and her mother-in-law had been discussing before his arrival. “Now, Margaret, about the flower show. Do you think we should have different judges this year? You know Mrs. Ridley always chooses her own gardener to win the prize for roses, and it isn’t right. Perhaps—”
“Zounds!” Nigel cried, jumping to his feet. “This is a warm welcome indeed! I can see the two of you are overjoyed by my arrival.”
The teacup flew from his hand, spraying tea everywhere as it sailed just over Tess’s head. It hit the wall behind her and shattered to bits as Nigel turned and stalked out of the drawing room.
Margaret moved to sit beside Tess, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the droplets that stained her daughter-in-law’s dress, but neither of them spoke of what had just occurred. Their conversation returned to the flower show, for Nigel's violence was another subject the two women never discussed.
***
Although he had arranged to stay at Aubry Park to do the portrait of Tess, Alexandre refused to take any risks where Suzanne was concerned. He intended to spend no more than a week at the earl's estate, just long enough to confront her and obtain some answers, but he could not bear to leave his daughter in London. He found an inn only a short distance from Aubry Park, and there he left the baby in Leonie and Paul's care.
Because he had been so preoccupied with work, he had managed to bury his resentment toward Tess, but when his hired carriage pulled into the wide circular drive of Lord and Lady Aubry’s country home, Alexandre felt his enmity returning. Aubry’s house and grounds displayed the gracious perfection only the very wealthy could maintain. His crumbling château could hardly compare, and he could never have provided Tess with the luxuries she had here. He probably shouldn't resent her for returning to this life instead of the one she’d left behind with him, but he did. He resented her like hell.
The butler took his name and showed him to the library with the assurance that the earl was expecting him. Alexandre walked down the long, spacious room, observing that there were several fine portraits on the walls. One of Tess was not among them, although there was a blank space beside the fireplace where her portrait would probably be placed when he completed it.
He glanced above the mantel to admire the crossed pair of fine rapiers that hung there as he walked to the windows at the far end of the room. He stared out at the view with unseeing eyes, his mind on the task that lay ahead of him. Now that he was here, no longer immersed in the hectic pace he’d set for himself in London, the ramifications of his decision to come here hit him with full force. How would he manage to paint her again without reliving the first time he'd painted her in the meadow? How would he be able to look into her expressive eyes without drowning there? How would he be able to walk away and return to France, knowing he would never see her again?
Still, he was driven to learn the truth, to hear from her lips the answers to his questions. Only then would he have any peace of mind. Only then would he be able to put her behind him.
The door opened, and Alexandre turned away from the window as Aubry approached him.
“Monsieur Dumond,” the earl greeted him, “it is a pleasure to see you again. A room has been prepared for you, and Chilton, my butler, will have your things put there. But he informs me you did not bring your valet with you?”
“No, he is attending to other matters for me. I will do for myself.”
“As you wish.” Aubry pulled out his watch and noted the time. “I have asked my wife to join us here.”
“Have you decided where you would like the portrait done?” Alexandre asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from Tess.
“I think the conservatory will do nicely.”
It was the middle of summer, all his beautiful gardens were in bloom, and he wanted his wife to be painted in the conservatory? “Very well,” he murmured, stifling the artistic protest on the tip of his tongue. “My paints and supplies are with my luggage. Would you arrange for them to be brought down to the conservatory, then?”
“Certainly.”
The door opened again, and Tess came into the room. Her steps carried her only a few feet before she caught sight of Alexandre and stopped. Her eyes went wide, and he realized his arrival was a complete surprise to her.
She clutched at the folds of her cream-colored skirt, and he watched as her momentary surprise slid behind a mask of indifference.
“Monsieur Dumond,” she said politely, “what a delightful surprise.”
“Lady Aubry.” He bowed, equally polite.
The earl moved to her side and took her hand, curling it over his arm, and Alexandre was once again struck by the possessiveness the other man displayed, a rather unusual quality among most married couples, particularly those of aristocratic station. “Teresa, my dear, Monsieur Dumond has come to Kent to paint. He'll be staying with us for a week or so.”
There was a pause before Tess spoke. “How lovely.”
There was no indication of feeling in her voice, nor in her face.
Alexandre studied her as Aubry continued, “He had intended to stay at an inn, but I insisted he should be our guest. And I've arranged for him to paint your portrait while he's here.”
A flash of emotion came into her eyes, a flash of unmistakable pain that hurt him, too. And at that moment, he knew he’d been fooling himself to think that he’d come here for answers to his questions. The brutal truth was that he’d really come to see her again, to be near her one last time, to steal just a few more precious moments with her before leaving her forever. Despite everything, he still loved her, and to pretend he didn’t, to hide the desire for her that was already flooding through his body, to be with her and know he could never have her for himself, would make the next seven days pure, unadulterated hell.
***
Alexandre was here to paint her.
Tess managed to put that ghastly fact out of her mind and endure the next hour only by donning the shield of numbness that three years of marriage to Nigel had enabled her to perfect. After sipping sherry and making small talk for an hour, she was able to excuse herself from their company, and went upstairs to change for dinner.
Still numb, she dressed as if in a dream, but once Sally had finished assisting her and it was time for her to return downstairs, her blessed numbness deserted her. The idea of facing Alexandre at dinner with Nigel there, of spending hours playing her part as the perfect countess, of hiding from both men what she felt, seemed impossible, unbearable. Halfway to the door, she stopped and waved Sally out of the room. The moment the maid had departed and closed the door behind her, Tess returned to her dressing table, sinking onto her chair with a sob of dismay.
For all the months since her return to England, he had haunted her dreams. In London, she'd had to see him, she'd had to hear about him. Now, she would have to face him as he painted her?
Tess pressed a gloved hand over her mouth, smothering another sob, terrified. What if she could not hide the love she still felt for Alexandre? Lowering her hand, she stared at her face in the mirror, knowing her mask of indifference would surely slip at some point. What if Nigel saw that? What if discerned that she and Alexandre had been lovers? He would kill her. Worse, he might kill Alexandre. And what would happen to Suzanne?
“Go away, Alexandre,” she whispered to the empty room. “Please go away from here.”
The door opened. She stiffened, watching in the mirror as her husband entered the room. She had tried to seem pleased by his surprise, but one look at his face told her she had failed.
Hoping to distract him, she turned back to the dressing table and picked up the necklace that lay there, grateful she’d chosen earlier not to wear it. “Nigel, thank heaven,” she said, trying to smile as he came to stand behind her chair. “I can't seem to fasten this and I've sent Sally on an errand. Would you do it for me?”
His handsome features hardened, and she knew her ploy hadn't worked. He took the necklace from her hand and tossed it onto the dressing table.
“I went to a great deal of trouble to persuade Dumond to do this portrait. I'd have expected you to display a bit more gratitude.”
Her throat closed up, clogged with fear, but then Nigel turned away. “I think you should miss dinner this evening,” he told her as he walked to the door. ^Perhaps an evening alone in your room will improve your peevish disposition.”
The moment he was gone, she sagged forward in relief, propping her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. Nigel thought that forcing her to remain in her room was a punishment, but Tess knew it was a blessing.
***
Alexandre ate the lavish meal before him without tasting any of it. Tess had a headache, he had been told, and would not be joining them for dinner. The dowager countess, to whom he'd been introduced earlier, ate her meal in silence, staring at her plate. Conversation between the two men was limited to Aubry talking and Alexandre making the appropriate replies.
After dinner, the earl took him down to the conservatory. Since the room was located at the southeast corner of the house, Alexandre expressed the wish to have the portrait sessions with Lady Aubry in the mornings when the light would be best. The time of ten o'clock was decided upon, and then the two men adjourned to the earl's library for cheroots and cognac.
“I apologize for my wife,” Aubry said, handing him a glass. “She wanted to join us for dinner, but I'm afraid her headaches are often quite painful.”
Thinking back on the six months Tess had stayed with him, he couldn't recall her having a single headache. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he answered. “I hope she recovers quickly.” He paused, considering, then added, “You mentioned your wife's delicate health to me once before.”
“It is unfortunate,” Aubry said, taking a draw on his cheroot and leaning back to blow the smoke toward the ceiling. “And source of considerable inconvenience to me.”