After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  “Non. One I met in London.”

  “It would not do to set your heart on someone yet. Your father will likely expect you to marry as befits the daughter of a Duke.”

  “He is a gentleman.”

  “Is he?” Lady Ashbury reached over and patted Christelle's knee. “He will need to be more than any mere gentleman.”

  “I would hope my father would wish me to be happy.”

  “Of course. The two need not be exclusive.”

  “I—” Christelle began to object.

  “And remember what we discussed. You are to wait in the parlour until Beaujolais comes to get you. Yardley never ventures in there.”

  “Oui, Madame,” Christelle replied wearily. They had been travelling for three days and they had delayed their arrival until this morning. Lord and Lady Ashbury thought it best to approach the Duke in the morning, when he was the least likely to be distracted. To Christelle, that meant when he was least likely to be angry.

  At this point, she was ready to have this visit over and done with.

  The carriage continued to climb up the hill until the golden stone façade of the house came into view.

  “Magnificent, is it not?” Lady Ashbury said whilst watching Christelle's face.

  “It is as grand as where the King lives,” Christelle answered in awe.

  “Oui. It is. Your father is a very powerful man in the kingdom.”

  Christelle sighed. “I wish he was not.”

  “Why, mon chérie?”

  “I think he will be less pleased with me.”

  “He will be more able to provide for you, and see you want for nothing.”

  “I did not truly want for anything at Madame Monique's.”

  How could she explain her feelings to this woman who had never known anything but this life? All Christelle wanted was a family—love. She did not bother to make the attempt. The past two weeks had shown her this new family had a different way of life from that to which she was accustomed.

  “Here we are, chérie. You stay in here until the carriage is taken around to the stables, and a maid will meet you there to take you to the parlour.”

  “Oui, Madame.”

  Christelle very much disliked playing games. She would have preferred to march to the front door and bang the knocker and introduce herself.

  However, the Duke of Yardley did not like surprises, they said, so she did as she was told.

  A maid in a starched blue dress was waiting for her in the stable yard. They began to walk towards the back entrance to the house.

  Without warning, an enormous black horse came galloping towards them and Christelle could not register what was happening. There was the sound of horseshoes on cobblestone, then sparks flew from iron scraping the stone, voices were shouting warnings…

  “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed when she met eyes with the rider. Unable to move, she stood frozen as if watching everything happen as a spectator.

  The man jerked on the reins, much to the displeasure of the horse, which skidded and dropped its haunches, unseating the man backwards in an undignified heap onto his posterior.

  “Your Grace! I doubt I've seen you unseated since you were in leading strings!” a groom shouted as he came running to his aid. No one seemed to pay him any heed.

  “Who are you?” the rider demanded, glowering at Christelle.

  He was angry. She had not moved out of his way. She glowered back, then her next instinct was to flee. This was not how she wanted to meet him. Of her parentage, there could be no doubt. She understood why everyone had reacted the way they had in London.

  Christelle hiccupped and turned away from the unsettling vision of her own eyes glaring back at her. She put her fist to her mouth and bit down to give an outlet to the pain she felt. Her feet began to carry her behind the stables and across a grassy meadow. She was not quite running, but she could not seem to stop.

  She heard voices cry out frantically. “Benedict! Christelle!”

  Beaujolais must have realized what was happening when Christelle had not arrived in the parlour, and had come running out to see.

  Christelle stopped on a bridge over a river to catch her breath. She put her head down on her arms where they rested on the railing and tried to slow her breathing. What should she do?

  She heard footsteps running towards her.

  “Please. I want to be alone,” she begged as she nervously fingered the pearls around her neck.

  She heard the footsteps stop and harsh breathing follow. She could not bear to look up and see the disappointment on his face.

  “I cannot allow it.”

  She threw her head up in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?” she asked defiantly.

  He took a step closer, and though her knees were shaking, she stood where she was.

  “I do not believe it,” he whispered. He reached out and wiped away an errant tear that had escaped down her cheek.

  Christelle swallowed hard. Her throat ached from holding back her emotion.

  “What is your name, child?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come. He was not acting angrily any longer.

  “Do not be afraid.”

  She managed a half smile. “I-I cannot help it.”

  She looked up into his eyes, which were looking at her with disbelief and perhaps the same wonder she felt. If he had abandoned her, he was a superb actor.

  “My name is Christelle, or Christine, which is my given name.”

  “I am Yardley.”

  She nodded. Was she to curtsy? This was not how she had rehearsed this first meeting. She looked up at him again and he was opening his arms, and she was pulled into an embrace before she knew what was happening.

  “Oh, dear God. I cannot believe I have a daughter I did not know.”

  He held her tight and she felt him inhale deeply as he placed his face over the top of her head.

  She also tried to take in his touch, his scent, the feel—everything about him. He was very tall and he smelled of horses and sandalwood and…he was her father.

  He pulled back and looked her over.

  “I am astonished. How long have you known about me?”

  “Not long. A few weeks perhaps. I did not know if you knew of me, but I had to find you.”

  He looked off into the distance for several seconds and then moved away from her to lean on the railing.

  “I do not know what to think. I had thought your mother no longer had the power to hurt me, but this—”

  “I am sorry. I do not wish to interfere with your family.”

  “No. I did not mean it that way. If I am angry, it is because I have missed almost…seventeen years of your life?” he asked, as if unsure of her exact age.

  “Oui. I will be seventeen next week.”

  “How could she keep this from me?” he shouted.

  He banged his hand down on the rail and she jumped. He looked at her with sympathy.

  “I will never hurt you, child. I am not a violent man, despite what you may hear.”

  The tender look he gave her told her it was true. It also told her he understood some of what she had seen in her past.

  “How did you find me?” he asked as he continued to look her over as she studied him. She did not know if she would ever be able to stop staring. The facial likeness was uncanny, yet he was tall where she was slight; he was imposing where she was ordinary.

  “It is quite a story,” she began.

  “We have the rest of our lives. Start at the beginning,” he said with a charming smile, revealing creases around his eyes which told of a better humour than she would have expected after her initial impression of him. She relaxed as he held out his arm for her. “Shall we walk and talk? I can show you the estate, if you wish.”

  “I would like it very much,” she said as she took his arm and allowed him to take her on a tour of the property, still trying to decide if this was real or just another dream.

  Seamus and Gav
in had breakfasted early as was their custom and were enjoying a fireside chat in Yardley’s study about Seamus's new practice in London.

  “The foxglove seemed miraculous in this patient,” Seamus said, explaining Mr. Baker's case. “It was as if his response came straight from the text books.”

  “So his dropsy and palpitations improved?”

  “As long as he takes the prescribed dose, yes. He did double his dose and showed signs of toxicity.”

  “I am pleased you have found your calling, at last,” Gavin said with a proud look.

  “I was afraid you would be disappointed,” Seamus confessed.

  “How could I be disappointed? I have never expected you to love everything I do.”

  “I very much enjoyed my time at Wyndham. It was rewarding, working with the veterans. I realized I wanted to do more research and become a consulting physician.”

  “Which is a wise financial decision as well,” Gavin pointed out.

  “I did not make the decision for money,” Seamus said. “I confess I was motivated by something else.”

  Gavin wrinkled his brow, as if trying to determine what Seamus was referring to.

  “I want a family.”

  “A family? Then I would have expected to see you return to Scotland.”

  “You misunderstand me. I would like a family of my own. There was only a small selection in Sussex.”

  “Ah.” Gavin gave a smile laced with understanding. “So you went to London for a certain female?”

  Seamus chuckled. “I had no one in mind when I left, but it does appear as though fate knew what it was doing.”

  “Shall I bring Margaux in to hear the story? I will never re-tell it properly.”

  “If you wish.”

  Gavin went to the nearby breakfast room, where the three sisters, Margaux, Beaujolais and Anjou, were eating, returning shortly with Margaux. Seamus stood to kiss his step-mother. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Maman and Papa arrived a few minutes ago. She was telling us about her guest.” She sat on the arm of Gavin's chair. “Now Gavin says you have a story to share? Pray tell!”

  “I was about to regale him with how I met a young lady by coincidence... or accident, I suppose.”

  Margaux smiled. “Oh, Seamus!” She clasped her hands together.

  “I do hope Grandmère will not be too disappointed. Simone said she was bringing a young lady to meet me.”

  “Nonsense. She is never disappointed. I think the visitor is intended to meet Yardley, anyway.”

  “Oh? Capital!” he said with relief. “Well, I was walking across the bridge towards Westminster, when I ran into someone on the pavement.”

  “Oh, dear. Are they all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, quite well. More than quite well. It turned out to be a lady. She had just arrived from Paris and could not find her way.” Seamus omitted the unnecessary details.

  Gavin and Margaux exchanged glances.

  “I helped her find her way, and I have been seeing her once a week since then.”

  “Did she come alone?” Margaux asked with concern.

  “Yes. It is a sad story. She was orphaned, or at least she thought she was, until she found her birth certificate. So, she came to England to find her father. Grandpère gave her a reference and thus Madame Monique employed her as a seamstress.”

  “Oh, no!” Margaux said, covering her mouth.

  Had he said something wrong? He had thought his parents would be delighted.

  Just then, they heard a commotion from behind the house. A horse was neighing; there was a screech of metal on stone, and there was general mêlée.

  Someone was shouting 'Benedict' and he thought he heard 'Christelle.'

  “Christelle?” Seamus repeated aloud. Was it possible there was a coincidence? Margaux and Gavin had already run out to the terrace to see what the commotion was. Perhaps he should see if someone was hurt.

  He followed the crowd and caught a glimpse of a petite blonde, hurrying away across the meadow. Yardley was dusting himself off and looking over to his wife.

  “It was not supposed to happen like this,” she said, her head in her hands, weeping. “I wanted to tell you about her first.”

  “I will go to her,” Yardley said and he set off across the meadow after the girl.

  The whole group of them, family, grooms, the coachman and two footmen, stood there and watched him run until both Yardley and the girl were out of sight.

  “What has happened?” Seamus asked, though deep down inside he knew.

  “Yardley had a daughter by Lillian who he did not know about. She recently arrived from France and has been working as a seamstress in London,” Margaux explained, almost reciting what he himself had just described a few moments before.

  Seamus closed his eyes in self-reprimanding disbelief. “How could I have not seen it?”

  Margaux put her hand on his arm and gave him a look of sympathy.

  Should this not be good news? He had been concerned whether his family would accept a modiste, and now he would not be considered worthy enough?

  “I need a drink,” Lord Ashbury stated to no one in particular.

  “It was not supposed to happen this way,” Beaujolais kept repeating as her mother and sisters led her away.

  Gavin patted him on the shoulder and left him alone.

  As the family returned to the house, and the servants went back to work, Seamus could only stand there, feeling as though his world had been turned inside out.

  Why was he thinking only of himself? What of Christelle? How would she feel now? Would she be different? Very likely she had not even thought of him since leaving London, what with meeting her father—and what a father, to be sure.

  Seamus needed to step back and give them time. His heart gave a painful squeeze inside his chest. Clearly, it did not agree. He had lived long enough to know Christelle was the person he wanted to spend his life with—to have a family with. However, she had just found her father after a lifetime without one, and a mother who should remain nameless. Seamus had never met her, but had heard tell of her antics and how they had almost caused Beaujolais and Yardley to be killed instead of her.

  Abruptly, Seamus noticed he was freezing, which was not surprising, since he had neglected to put on his coat before coming outdoors and it was only February. He walked back into the house, wondering if it would be best for him to return to London.

  Chapter 12

  Christelle and Yardley walked to the edge of the still and serene lake before he spoke. “How does one go about catching up on seventeen years?”

  “I do not think it is possible,” she replied softly.

  “Perhaps not. My first inclination is to have you try to recite every detail. Where did you live? What is your favourite colour? Your favourite food? Your favourite pastimes? Who has taken care of you all these years since Lil…since your maman died?”

  “I do not think I want to remember it all,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “What would you like me to know about you, then?” he asked with a look of amusement.

  “Let me think. I love pastel colours—all of them. They make me think of flowers in spring. I love the smell of the garden after the rain.”

  He closed his eyes and smiled. “It will not be long now until the estate is covered in blooms. I hope you will enjoy them.”

  “My favourite food is anything sweet. I was not allowed desserts at school these past six years,” she said with a sideways glance.

  “The cheese-paring wretches! I do think we can remedy that.” He was making an effort to be light-hearted, at least. They walked a few steps down the path and he looked down at her. “You have been at a school? In Paris?”

  “Yes. As a charity pupil. Maman left me there before coming to England.”

  “I see. Were you happy there?” he asked. His voice sounded thick with emotion, whether because of sadness or some other thing she could not tell.

  She slightly
lifted one shoulder. “I was content. It was better than the alternative.”

  He swallowed hard. She wished she knew what he was thinking. He had taken the news better than she had imagined, after all the others had said of him.

  She watched his face as discreetly as she could. She wanted to memorize every angle, every line. It appeared as though he was struggling between anger and disbelief when he was looking away, but by the time he looked at her, he had composed his features again.

  “Are you cold? I confess I have been so astonished I have taken leave of courtesy.”

  “No, I am quite content. I am enjoying viewing the park.”

  “Then we shall continue to the hidden treasure, if you like,” he said, with the smile of a school-boy.

  “Lead the way,” she responded, smiling in return.

  “Where did you live before you went to school?” He continued to ask questions.

  Maybe one day she would be brave enough to ask all she wished.

  “Mostly on Jersey. Do you know of it? It is an island in the Channel,” she replied.

  He stopped and swung around. His face held an expression of disbelief.

  She met his gaze. “Yes. I lived on Jersey—on Lord Dannon’s estate. My maman was a high-paid courtesan.”

  “You knew all of this?” He searched her face. The pain in his eyes was evident.

  “She did try to keep me away from there once she realized I understood. But it was better than being in Paris with Monsieur Clement.”

  He made another noise that sounded distinctly like a growl. He then looked to the sky and took a deep breath. It was obvious he was having difficulty keeping his temper in check by the way he clenched his jaw.

  “Why did you not care for Monsieur Clement?”

  Christelle hesitated, and her father noticed.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Only if I interfered with Maman’s business. I learned very young to stay out of his sight.”

  “And Dannon?”

  “The situation was much the same. Maman did try to keep me away from him. She said he preferred girls my age, so she sent me to school instead of bringing me to England with her.”