Chapter Eight
Marian stood before the townhouse door, feeling foolish. She shouldn’t have come. What if the woman wouldn’t speak with her? What if the blonde just wanted her to go away?
Marian took a deep breath and raised her hand, forcing herself to knock on the door. The argument with Louis had forced her to realize that the questions revolving in her head since Jean’s death would not disappear until she spoke with one of the women Jean married, maybe both. She needed answers to these questions or go crazy wondering.
A servant opened the door. “Yes?”
“Could I speak with Mrs... could I speak with Nicole?” Marian asked. “Tell her it’s Marian Cuvier.” The servant’s face went ashen.
“Please wait in the parlor while I see if she’s accepting visitors,” the servant said ushering Marian into the house.
He took her into a small room off the entryway of the town house and shut the door. A few minutes later, the door slowly opened and a very pale Nicole walked in. For a moment, the two women stared at one another, their gazes locked as they took measure of each other.
“I...I need to talk with you,” Marian said.
“Please sit,” she invited.
Marian glanced around at the small sitting room where a loveseat and two chairs were placed in front of a fireplace.
“I’ll order us coffee,” Nicole said stepping into a room off the sitting area.
Marian sat in one of the chairs and glanced at a copy of a Rembrandt painting, which graced a wall over the small fireplace.
Nicole stepped back into the room, her long skirt flowing gracefully behind her. Her manners were elegant and ladylike as she sat on the loveseat across from Marian.
Her blue eyes gazed at Marian with a gentle regard. “How can I help you, Mrs...”
“Please, Marian.”
Nicole smiled warily. “Sorry, it just feels so awkward.”
“I understand. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you by coming to your home.”
“Oh, no. But I would suggest that when you leave, you take the back way and be cautious. There’s at least one pesky reporter who continues to hound me. There’s no need to give them any more gossip.”
“Yes, we’re still having problems with reporters ourselves,” Marian acknowledged.
The room grew silent with only the sounds from the street filtering through an open window that looked out onto a courtyard. A bird trilled a song celebrating the warm sunshine, an odd contrast to the chilled atmosphere in the room. Marian gazed at the young woman, noticing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, her complexion pale, and she wondered if she were ill.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asked, hoping they would warm to one another, before she asked the personal questions she needed answered. The stilted atmosphere made it even harder to ask for the information she sought. “You haven’t fainted again, have you?”
“I’m better,” Nicole said. “I’m going home in the next few days and I think that will help me more than anything.”
A lengthy silence ensued as the two women sat there, Marian not knowing how to bring up the delicate subject.
She cleared her throat. “I guess you’re wondering why I came here today.”
Nicole looked up and nodded. “Yes.”
“I—I need to speak with you about Jean,” she said blurting the words out, uncertain even now if she should talk with Nicole about her dead husband. But who else could understand her fears and her concerns about what Jean had done? “You seemed to care for him a great deal.”
“I loved Jean. He made me happy,” the woman said, her gaze unwavering as she stared at Marian as if daring her to dispute the statement.
Marian stood and began to pace the floor. “I’m sorry this is so difficult. Most people would question my sanity for asking you, a woman he married, but I thought that maybe you could help me. There’s no one else.” Marian wrung her hands as she paced the floor. “I feel so betrayed. Not because I loved Jean. My marriage to Jean had been over for a long time, but because— my life with Jean could have been better.”
Nicole watched Marian and her eyes filled with distrust. “I too feel betrayed.”
“My marriage didn’t turn out like I expected. It was not what I dreamed of as a young woman.” Marian sighed and walked to the window, gazing out at the beautiful courtyard, not really seeing anything. “I can’t help but wonder what went wrong. What did I do to make him seek other women?”
“Marian, you and I both know that men don’t need a reason to seek out other women. It’s accepted for them to have a mistress,” she said. Nicole folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me, if you didn’t love Jean, why did you marry him?”
Marian sank back down in her chair and took a deep breath. “My father knew Jean’s father and arranged my marriage. I was barely nineteen on the day we wed.”
The maid knocked and entered carrying in a tray with a small coffeepot and two china cups, and carefully set it on the small table in the center of the room. Nicole poured Marian a cup and handed it to her. The china pattern had delicate pink roses painted on the side with the rim outlined in gold.
When they both settled back, Marian continued. “Shortly after we married, we moved to New Orleans where Jean took over Cuvier Shipping from his father. I soon became pregnant with Philip and while our life together held no passionate love, I assumed we were happy. Not long after our second child, Renee, was born, I noticed a change in Jean.”
She sipped from the cup. “He lost interest in our children, in me, and remained home for only short periods of time. He stopped coming to my bed and when I tried to confront him, he avoided my questions or refused to tell me why he no longer wanted me. I begged him at least to spend some time with the children. They needed him. Jean never would tell me why he no longer came to my bed.” Marian took a deep breath. “I soon realized there must be another woman.”
She glanced at Nicole. “I don’t know what I did that drove him from my bed to yours. I don’t know why he couldn’t love me, but he didn’t. You said you didn’t know he was married, but did he ever tell you anything that could help me understand what happened to our marriage?”
Nicole sat there, her cup and saucer balanced in her hand, staring at Marian, her face showing no expression yet her eyes were brimming with tears. She took a deep breath. “Marian, he never said anything about you. I didn’t even know you existed until that morning we all met at the hotel room.”
“I know. I came here hoping that something you could tell me could help me to comprehend what happened. I just want to know why.”
Nicole sat her cup down, put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. A tear trickled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m not even sure anymore that I knew the real Jean. How can I help you when my own life with Jean appears to be a lie? I thought we were happy. I thought he loved me, but he married Layla.”
Marian resisted the urge to move to the young woman and comfort her. “I’m sorry to upset you. I’ve dwelled on this for weeks and I needed to speak with someone who could help me to understand what I did that drove him away. I thought you might know.”
“No, he said nothing about you, Marian, to me. The worst part is he’s dead and we can never ask him why he did this. I’d simply like to know why he lied.”
“We’ll never know his reasons for betraying all of us. I long to put all this behind me, but it’s hard when you don’t understand the reasons why. When your husband doesn’t love or want you, it does things to your confidence as a woman,” Marian said, her hands tightly clasped.
Nicole raised her head her eyes searching Marian’s. “Oh Marian, you can’t know what Jean’s reasons were. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Marian shrugged. “I don’t feel beautiful or desirable. I feel like a matron past her prime, while Jean married two much younger women.” She paused. “Sometimes I hate the two of you for what you’ve done to my life. But then I realize it’s not y
our fault, but Jean’s. And then I hate him.”
“You’re not past your prime. As for hating Jean and us, I can’t say I haven’t felt many of the same feelings. And once I loved him so much.”
“I came here with the hope that maybe together we could finally understand Jean, but you’re just as confused as I am.” Marian said.
Nicole shook her head. “Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t understand how Jean could be the man I loved and yet betray all of us.” Nicole turned her tear-filled eyes to Marian. “For over four years I’ve been trying to get pregnant. Every time he came home, we talked about what our son or daughter would do with their life.”
A tear trailed down her pale cheek. “The day he died, I came into town so happy and excited to tell him—I’m pregnant, Marian. I’m pregnant, unmarried, and Jean is dead. What do I do now?”
Wronged (Book 1) Page 24