Prelude to Heaven (39 page)

“And where were you intending to go,
ma petite
? Exploring?”

The baby wriggled in his grasp, clearly wanting that very thing. “All right then,” he said and stood her on the grass, kneeling in front of her. “If you wish to explore in that pretty dress, it might be easier for you to walk than to crawl. Shall we see if you can?”

He held her by her hands until he felt that she no longer needed his support, then he let go. She wobbled a bit, but stayed upright, and he moved backward on his knees, watching her carefully, his hands outstretched and ready to catch her if she fell. “It’s only a few steps,” he told her as she remained still, looking at him, her brow puckered with doubt. “You can do this.”

Her frown deepened as if in concentration, and her left foot moved clumsily forward, and his breath caught, watching her, his heart tight in his chest as he watched his daughter take her first step. She managed three more before the grassy, uneven ground proved her undoing and she stumbled, pitching forward into his waiting hands.

“
Epatant
!” he praised her, lifting her against his chest and pressing a kiss to her golden-red hair. “That was splendid!”

Those words were barely out of his mouth before he heard another sound, something rather like a choked sob. Frowning, he turned his head and froze.

Tess was standing at the edge of the meadow, only about fifteen yards away, one fist pressed against her mouth. Before he could speak, or even react to her presence, he saw her turn and run for the shelter of the forest.

She disappeared amid the trees, and before he could even rise to his feet, he heard the thud of horse’s hooves against the ground that told him there was no point in trying to chase her down. And what would he say if he caught her? Stay away from your daughter?

She loved Suzanne. He knew that. The agony in her expression a few moments ago as she’d been forced to watch her baby from a distance left no doubt about that. And it was because of Aubry that she’d left Suzanne behind.

Nigel would not have wanted a daughter. He would not have been good to her.

He thought of Aubry's careless disregard for Tess, of how unhappy she was, and how little he seemed to care for her well-being. If he treated a wife so callously, he would hardly treat a daughter better.

It seemed he had answers to all his questions—all but one. And when he asked her that last question, her answer would decide his destiny.

***

Tess had dinner in her room. She'd told Nigel she wasn't feeling well, and he hadn't insisted on her presence at the table, much to her relief. She hadn't lied to Nigel, for she was sick—sick at heart—and the sight of Alexandre right now was more than she could bear.

She’d known he would be a good father. It had been both beautiful and painful to see how he'd coaxed Suzanne to take her first steps, the way he'd been there, ready to catch her if she should fall. But she’d known that, too. Alexandre would always be there for Suzanne, just as she knew she could never be.

The next morning, she knew she had to sit for her portrait, but she dreaded it. What if there was a repeat of yesterday, when both of them had lost their heads for one glorious, blissful moment? What if Nigel walked in and saw them as they had been yesterday? Fear dogged her steps as she went down to the conservatory.

Alexandre was there when she arrived, already working on the painting. He glanced over his shoulder as she came in, but he didn’t speak, and she to her chair. “How can you paint me when I’m not here? Don’t you need to have me here?”

Alexandre paused, but he didn’t answer her. He could have told her that everything about her—the fiery color of her hair and the green of her eyes, the curve of her mouth and the shape of her body—were burned in his memory. He said nothing.

As he worked, he tried not to look at her, but sometimes, he had to, and when he did, he always saw the same thing: the woman he loved looking back at him as if she loved him, too. But what he still didn’t know was if that woman was real, or if he was only seeing her as he wanted her to be. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and he set down his palette and brush.

“Why?” he asked softly, throwing all his pride away as he walked toward her. “Why did you leave me?”

She tilted her chin back to look at him as he paused in front of her chair. “I had to. Nigel came for me, and I had to go. He's my husband. I had no choice.”

“And if you'd had a choice?”

She turned her face away. “Don't,” she whispered. “Don't make me imagine choices that I never had.”

He knelt in front of her. “Do you love him?”

“No. I did once.” Her voice faltered, and swallowed hard. “I was stupid, foolish. I loved the man I thought he was.”

He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “You don't love him,” he said. “So what shall we do about it?”

“Do?” She stared at him in bewilderment. “There's nothing I can do.”

“Yes, there is. You could leave with me now, this minute.”

“I can't. You know that isn't possible.”

“It is possible.” He knelt before her and grasped her shoulders. “We could go somewhere he'll never find us.”

“There is no such place!” she cried, pulling away from his touch.

“I love you. Do you love me?”

“What does it matter?” She shoved back the chair and rose to her feet. “Don't you understand? There’s nowhere we could go that he wouldn’t find us. And when he did, he'd force me back, and I would have to go. I'm his wife.”

“Petition for divorce.”

“On what grounds? The courts would never grant me a divorce!”

“A separation, then.”

“Nigel would have to agree, and he won't. I'm trapped. Don't you see?” Her voice broke. “I'm trapped.”

She stepped around him. “Go away, Alexandre. Please go back to France.”

Her voice caught on a sob, but she didn’t stop. She ducked out the door and disappeared. He could have gone after her, but he let her go. She was right about divorce or separation. He couldn't imagine that pompous English ass granting his wife either option. But he couldn't leave her here, knowing she was trapped in a loveless marriage, so unhappy that she was wasting away.

So what was left for them? A clandestine affair, carried on until they were caught? Alexandre picked up his palette and brush. He continued to work, trying to find comfort in painting the woman he loved, trying not to give in to the despair that threatened to tear him apart.

***

Margaret knew she was the sort of woman who faded into the background. People often forgot her presence. As a result, she had become a keen observer of life, rather than a participant. She had also developed the ability to eavesdrop on conversations without feeling guilty and without being caught.

When she heard Tess's footsteps, she slipped noiselessly out of the corridor and into a nearby room, listening until the sound of Tess's footsteps faded away.

Margaret turned, leaning back against the wall. It was inevitable, she supposed, that Tess should take a lover. Her son was not an easy man to love. He was so much like his father.

A vision of her husband came before her eyes, and Margaret shivered. He had been dead for many years now, but he refused to die in her memory. Even now, he had the power to make her afraid.

Father and son. So much alike. Both handsome and charming on the surface, but with the same rage seething beneath. When Nigel was a boy, she had already been able to see what he was learning from his father's example. The years had passed, she had hoped she was wrong. When Nigel had fallen in love with Tess, she had hoped their marriage would change her son. None of her hopes had come to pass.

Now Tess was suffering the same fate she had suffered, and guilt weighed heavily on Margaret's shoulders. She should have spoken to Tess about it, tried to warn her. But she had kept silent. Unable to watch her own marriage being replayed in front of her, she had withdrawn permanently to her home in Northumberland, only returning to Kent for a dutiful visit once a year.

She buried her face in her hands, very disturbed by the conversation she had overheard between Tess and the Frenchman. Clearly, Tess had met him when she'd run away to France. Margaret knew her son had beaten Tess and to protect herself, she'd shot him. Nigel thought he'd kept that a secret, but Margaret knew the truth. She also knew it wasn’t the first nor the last time her son had hit his wife. Information was easy to pry out of servants if one knew how to go about it.

The question was what to do with all the information she had. Tess and Dumond were in love. Margaret knew what would happen if Nigel found out. She had to do something before it was too late.

Tess was alone in her room, preparing for bed, when a soft knock sounded on her door. She glanced up as Margaret stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Margaret?” She stared at her mother-in-law with surprise and concern. “It's very late. Is something wrong?”

The older woman came to stand beside her. “I overheard your conversation with Dumond in the conservatory,” she said. “I know he wants you to go away with him.”

Tess felt her face grow hot with embarrassment, even as inside, she went cold with fear. If Margaret told Nigel—

“Go with him, Tess.”

Tess stared at her mother-in-law in astonishment. Slowly, she sank onto the edge of the bed. “What did you say?”

“Go with him. This may be your last opportunity to escape. Go now, while you have the chance.”

“Go where?” Tess's question was bitter.

“My dear, I know better than anyone in the world how you feel.”

“How could you know? How could anyone know?”

“I know.” The words were soft but spoken with conviction. “Tess, I've known you since you were a little girl. I've watched you grow up. You were such a happy child, and you grew into a lovely young woman. But you are no longer happy.”

Margaret sighed and sat down beside her daughter-in-law on the edge of the bed. “I have done you a great disservice,” she confessed. “I knew a long time ago what my son's character was. I suspected what would happen when he married, and I dreaded it. But I said nothing. I did nothing. I told myself that Nigel would change his ways when he married you. I convinced myself that he would not do to you what his father did to me.”

“His father?” Tess looked at Margaret in horror. “Oh, God.”

The older woman nodded. “Yes, Nigel learned at his father's knee how to handle women. He remembers the day his father shot my lover in a duel. So you see, my dear girl, I know exactly what you are feeling right now.

“Do you remember the first time you ran away from him?” she continued. “You came to me for help, and I had no help to give you. When Nigel came for you, I sent you back with him. God help me, I sent you back.”

Her voice was filled with regret, and Tess's heart twisted with pity. “There was nothing you could have done,” she said.

“But I can do something now.” Margaret squared her shoulders, looking uncharacteristically resolute. “Go with your Frenchman,” she urged, laying a hand on Tess's arm. “Have him take you as far away as you can go. Go all the way to America. Even Australia, if you have to.”

“But what about you?”

“My life was over the day Nigel's father killed my beloved John. I don't want the same fate to befall you. I will be all right. Not even Nigel would dare to hurt me.” Her voice turned a shade bitter. “A man may beat his wife, but no one would tolerate it if he beat his mother, not when she is the daughter of a duke. I made it clear to my son long ago that if he ever laid a hand on me, the entire
ton
would hear of it. My own form of protection.”

“But I can't leave.” Tess shook her head. “If Nigel found out I went with Alexandre, he'd follow us. He'd kill Alexandre. I can't let that happen.”

“That is a possibility,” Margaret allowed, “but if you don't leave, I very much fear Nigel will eventually kill you.” Her voice was filled with pain as she made the admission about her son. “You know that as well as I do, Tess. If you don't leave now, you may never have another chance. I know I never did.” The older woman rose to her feet. “Go with Dumond while you still can.”

Tess shook her head, knowing she could not risk Alexandre’s life. Nor could she risk allowing Nigel to ever learn about Suzanne. Slowly, she shook her head, and Margaret turned away with a sigh. She left the room without another word, closing the door behind her.

***

The following morning, Alexandre was waiting for Tess in the conservatory, but when the clock struck ten, it wasn't Tess who entered the room. It was Margaret.

“Madame?” He watched, puzzled, as the woman glanced around to make certain they were alone before closing the door behind her. “Where is Tess?”

Margaret walked over to him. “Tess will not be coming down this morning,” she said in a very low voice. “She asked me to tell you to go away and forget her.” Taking another fearful glance about the room, Margaret whispered, “I happened to overhear the suggestions you made to my daughter-in-law yesterday.” Alexandre started to interrupt, but she held up one hand to halt his words. “I urged her to go with you, but she refused. She's afraid that if Nigel found out, he would follow. She's afraid my son would kill you.”