Maids in frilled snow-white aprons served the first course, which Amy eyed suspiciously. Seeing the look on her face, Monsieur Laroque said, ‘You must try this,
chère mademoiselle
. You cannot come to Paris without trying our two most famous delicacies. There, on that dish, are
les cuisses de grenouilles
, dipped in flour and fried in olive oil and crushed garlic. On the other dish are
les escargots à la Bourguignonne
, again lightly fried, but this time with parsley, garlic, butter and spices. Mmm.’ He kissed his fingers to add emphasis to his statement. ‘You have not lived until you have tried them,’ he assured her.
Amy was still not convinced and asked quietly, ‘What are these dishes in English?’
A titter rippled around the table as her host smiled at her mischievously.
‘In your language, my dear, they are frogs’ legs and snails.’
Amy quickly waved them away. ‘Thank you all the same but I think I will miss this course,’ she told the maid hurriedly, and everyone roared with laughter at the look of horror on her face.
There followed several courses, each more to Amy’s taste than the first. The next was
brandade canapés
, which Amy soon discovered was salt cod and potatoes puréed and served with crème fraiche and garnished with caviar. The main meal was
poulet à la crème
, chicken ‘which had been infused with thyme and wine, served with caramelised mushrooms, onions and shallots. For dessert there was a delicious and refreshing raspberry
eau de vie
sorbet that melted in the mouth but Amy, who was used to much simpler food, found it all a little rich and could scarcely swallow a morsel. She was afraid that her hosts would think her ungrateful, so it was a relief when the meal was finally over and Monsieur Laroque rose from the table to lead them all back to the sitting room.
They were offered coffee and yet more wine by a young French maid and once they had all been served they sat informally
en famille
as the two men discussed the political situation as well as the latest fashions with their wives. After a time Adeline rose, her long black hair gleaming in the moonlight that was spilling through the open French doors.
She said something in French to her parents before turning to their guests. ‘You will please be forgiving me,’ she said in clipped English. ‘But I had already made arrangements that could not be broken for the rest of this evening, and I must be leaving you. But I hope to be seeing you again very soon, yes?’
They smiled up at her so after saying their goodbyes she flashed them one last friendly smile and gathering up her skirts, she left the room.
Seizing his chance, François immediately turned to Amy and smiled charmingly, asking, ‘Would you care to take a walk around the grounds with me, Mademoiselle Ernshaw? The paths are well-lit and I think you would enjoy some fresh air.’
Amy looked at Josephine, who nodded. Madame Laroque told her, ‘Be sure to take your wrap, my dear. Although it is spring time the nights can still be chilly and I would not wish you to be catching the cold.’
Flustered, Amy joined François at the open doors. He draped her shawl about her shoulders and after then gallantly offering her his arm, they strolled from the house into the velvety blackness of the night.
He led her first towards the woods at the rear of the house and then, skirting the trees that stood motionless as if watching their progress, they gently strolled along. The moon was sailing high and the inky sky was scattered with stars that seemed to be winking down at them. Amy was ridiculously aware of the strong muscled arm beneath her small hand and grateful for the darkness that would disguise her blushes.
Eventually they came to a small plateau that jutted out from the hillside, and there they paused as she stared down at the city of Paris spread out far below them. Running through the centre of it, the River Seine caught and reflected the moonlight and Amy gasped in wonder at the wonderful sight. She felt as if she was floating on air and her eyes were as bright as the stars above them.
François silently surveyed the young woman at his side. She was so incredibly beautiful that she made his pulses race, and it was all he could do to stop himself from snatching her into his arms there and then.
‘Will you be staying in Paris for long,
mademoiselle
?’ he asked instead.
‘For four weeks,’ Amy informed him and he sighed with satisfaction.
‘That is good then. With your permission, I shall ask your Monsieur Forrester if he will permit me to show you the sights of Paris. There is much to be seen in the city and it would be sad if you were to return home without visiting them.’
Amy smiled shyly up into his handsome face. ‘I’d like that very much indeed. Thank you.’
Gently squeezing the hand that was tucked into his arm he returned her smile and they continued their stroll, each content in the other’s company.
By the time they rejoined their elders in the sitting room some time later, they were both starry-eyed and breathless, and Madame Laroque watched them with her lovely dark eyes alight with mischief.
François seemed relaxed and totally at ease in this charming young woman’s company, and for the rest of the evening his mother observed them tactfully, her woman’s instincts sensing an impending romance.
The following two weeks passed in a pleasurable blur for Amy. During the day she visited Monsieur Laroque’s salons, where with the help of an interpreter she talked to his designers, and gradually she gained enough confidence to put suggestions to Monsieur Laroque himself.
But the nights … oh, the
wonderful
nights. Amy was quite sure that she would never forget a single second of them for as long as she lived.
François would arrive at the Hotel Le Meurice, looking handsome and dashing, before whisking her away like a knight on a white charger accompanied by Adeline’s lady’s maid who would act as their chaperone at Madame Laroque’s insistence. It would not have been correct for a young woman to be escorted by a gentleman without a chaperone. However, Anaïs Babineux always stayed discreetly in the background and for most of the time Amy and François could almost forget she was there. He escorted her to the theatre, took her on a trip in a private boat along the River Seine, and gradually taught her to enjoy French cuisine. They fed the pigeons that were as common in Paris as the sparrows were back in her hometown, and in the middle of the third week, she and the Forresters were again invited to dine at the château.
It turned out to be another enjoyable evening and this time, Adeline stayed in and chatted to Amy.
As they were being driven home in Monsieur Laroque’s fine carriage, Mr Forrester observed Amy’s shining eyes and smiled.
‘Are you enjoying your stay in Paris, my dear?’ he asked kindly.
‘Oh
yes
, sir,’ Amy said without hesitation. ‘I wouldn’t have missed a single minute of it. I have so much to tell my gran when we get home that I shall scarcely know where to begin.’
He nodded, then on a slightly more serious note he continued, ‘You seem to be getting on extremely well with François.’ Josephine sat looking at Amy, waiting for her to reply as they bowled along.
Amy looked through the carriage window, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I do find him very good company,’ she admitted. ‘But I assure you he has always acted as a perfect gentleman and—’
Mr Forrester held up his hand to stop her flow of words. ‘You misunderstand me, Amy. I never meant to insinuate for a single moment that he would ever be anything less. Had I believed that, I would never have allowed him to be your escort. But you do realise, don’t you, that we will soon be returning home … and I would hate to see you get hurt.’
Her face dropped and she stared out of the carriage window miserably, all the joy suddenly gone from the evening.
The following day, as she sat at Monsieur Laroque’s desk with him in one of his salons, he suddenly sat back and steepling his fingers, he stared at her across the top of them. They had spent the last hour discussing aspects of her designs, and the more he saw of her ideas, the more impressed he was with the young Englishwoman sitting beside him.
‘I think,
mademoiselle
, that should you so wish it, you could go far in the fashion empire.’
Delighted with his compliment she flushed with pleasure.
‘Should you ever think of moving to Paris I would take you on as one of my personal designers in the blink of an eye.’ He was testing the ground but her answer when it came disappointed him.
‘I could never leave England,
monsieur
,’ she told him soberly. ‘Mr Forrester and his wife have been extremely kind to me and Mr Forrester is a good master. But I also have an elderly grandmother who I live with, and I could never leave her, ever.’
‘I see.’ Monsieur Laroque tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘Your loyalty to your master and your grandmother do you justice. But if that is your final decision and I cannot tempt you away from them all, then I am sure that Mr Forrester and I can come to some suitable arrangement about your designs that will be beneficial to us all.’
That evening, when François arrived at the hotel to collect her, he found Amy in a sombre mood and instantly decided that he must try and shake her out of it.
‘Come,
ma petite
,’ he urged. ‘Tell me what you would like to do this evening. I am yours to command.’
Amy sighed. ‘To be honest, François, I am feeling a little tired tonight.’ She blushed as she looked towards Anaïs Babineux, who was standing a discreet distance away. ‘I am so sorry that you have had a wasted journey but I think I should retire and have an early night.’
He looked crestfallen and she felt a little stab of guilt.
‘I really am sorry, François. Perhaps we could go out tomorrow evening? That is, if you have no other plans.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he assured her all too quickly. ‘I shall be here at the same time tomorrow then.’ Lifting her hand he kissed it tenderly. ‘Until tomorrow.’ He then turned and walked away with his shoulders slumped, and Anaïs followed him as Amy miserably made her way to her room.
Once there, she sat quietly staring from the window over the rue de Rivoli as Paris by night slowly came to life. So much had happened in such a short time that she was glad of some time alone so that she could think. It seemed that she rarely had time for thinking any more as she seemed to be constantly rushing from one place to another.
Since Mr Harvey had told them of Monsieur Laroque’s invitation back in London, her life had changed almost beyond belief. But then as she sat there it came to her that it had actually changed long before that – almost from the day Mr Forrester had promoted her to the status of designer. The life she lived now was a far cry indeed from the life she had lived with her gran and Toby before then, for who would ever have thought that she, little Amy Ernshaw, would ever be sitting here in a grand hotel room, dressed in clothes fit for a princess in the heart of Paris?
And then, of course, there was François. Just the thought of him made her heart beat faster, and again, Mr Forrester’s warning sounded in her ears. ‘
I would hate to see you get hurt
.’
What had he meant by that statement? Even as she asked herself the question the answer came to her loud and clear: she was falling in love with François, for no other man had ever made her feel as he did.
But then, her mind reasoned, what
is
love? If it was enjoying every second of a man’s company and missing him every second they were apart; if it was the strange tingling sensation that she got every time he was near and the longing she felt to kiss him, then yes, this was love.
Had Mr Forrester recognised how she felt even before she had, and tried to warn her gently that this love could only ever cause pain?
It was her kindly master’s words that had brought her back down to earth with a bump, and now as she analysed her feelings, she knew, just as Mr Forrester had known, that nothing could ever come of them.
Mr Forrester treated her as an equal, but even so he was still her master, albeit a generous one, and he always would be.
François Laroque was the heir to one of the wealthiest men in Paris, whilst she was the granddaughter of a lowly cottage-dwelling ribbon weaver. Amy knew that she owed everything to her gran. The woman had taught her values and to hold her head high and be proud of who she was. But even so, Amy now saw that she and Francois were socially poles apart.
The knowledge caused hot stinging tears to blind her. She had been a fool, allowing herself to be swept along on a tide of emotion and to have dreams far above her station. And now she must pay the price.
When François arrived at the hotel the next evening he found Amy waiting for him in the ground foyer and instantly noticed that she looked a little pale.
‘Are you unwell,
ma petite
?’ Concern was sharp in his voice as he took Amy’s hands in his own.
She smiled. ‘No, François, I am still just a little tired.’
‘Then what would you like to do this evening? I thought perhaps we could go to the theatre, or perhaps you would prefer to have dinner in a restaurant?’
Amy shook her head. ‘I thought it might be nice if we could just walk a little,’ she told him quietly.
He nodded. ‘Of course, if that is what you wish then it shall be so. And I think I know exactly where I shall take you. My uncle has a vineyard on the Ile de France. My carriage shall take us there and then we may walk to your heart’s content,
n’est-ce pas
?’
Despite herself, Amy smiled. The idea of seeing the vineyard was appealing so she allowed him to escort her out to his carriage, where Anaïs was waiting for them.
They rattled away through the busy city streets towards Notre Dame, and Amy felt herself beginning to relax. After all, what harm could there be in simply enjoying his company? she asked herself. Just as she had told Mr Forrester, François had never behaved as anything less than the perfect gentleman. He obviously thought of her as nothing more than a friend and as he could have no idea of her feelings for him, then where was the harm in spending some time together?