She dressed quickly in her gray work dress and pulled on her old, scuffed boots rather than her new, delicate slippers. They wouldn’t be appropriate for walking out side--and besides, she’d need to give all of these beautiful dresses back. Her heart tugged at the thought, but it was the right thing to do, of course.
She grabbed a wrap and threw it over her shoulders. She quickly pinned her hair up--all of it--and went downstairs, out the front door and down the brick steps.
A horse whinnied in the distance and she was drawn to the sound, breathing in the crisp morning air. Her head already felt clearer and she started off, walking in the directions of the cabins she’d noticed.
As she passed under a giant willow she stopped, ducking behind the huge trunk as she watched the young mother and little girl she’d seen the day before. And the day before that, now that she thought about it.
The child was beautiful--maybe three or four years old--with caramel-colored skin, black hair and blue eyes. It was a strikingly lovely combination and Josephine didn’t think she’d ever seen a person before who looked like that.
Her mother was equally lovely, her skin just a bit darker and her eyes brown, but a beauty, nonetheless. She wore rather simple clothes, but a bright blue apron over it that was of some fabric Josephine hadn’t seen before--even in the factory.
She ducked behind the tree, only the top of her head peeking out, as Pierre walked over to the woman. His long strides brought him there quickly, and he smiled at the woman, handing her a basket covered with a checked napkin. The child ran over to Pierre, wrapping her little arms around his knees. He laughed and scooped her up, taking a muffin from the basket the woman held and handing it to the little girl.
He set her down on the ground, ruffling her hair before she ran into the house, muffin grasped tightly in hand. He said a few words to the woman--who couldn’t have been much older than Josephine--smiled, and turned back toward the house.
Josephine hung her head, knowing that it was time to seal her fate. She walked toward the back of the house, where the kitchen would be, past the shrubs lining the side of the house. As she passed the young woman, their eyes met. The young woman nodded at Josephine, her brilliant smile seeming genuine and sincere.
She returned the woman’s smile and kept on toward the kitchen, one foot in front of the other, feeling as if she was heading to the guillotine.
Head down, she trudged up the back stairs of the house and reached for the latch of the door. Just as she was about to open the door, it swung open and she looked up in to the startled eyes of Pierre.
Her cheeks blazed as he looked down at her. His eyes softened and he held out his hand to help her up the steps. “I’ve been waiting for you in the kitchen. There are freshly baked muffins and coffee that Bernadette has made for us.”
Her brows furrowed, surprised that he wasn’t angry or asking her to pack. As embarrassed as she still was, she was willing to take her lumps and move forward. She followed him and he stopped at the kitchen door, waving his arm inside for her to precede him.
She walked in slowly, removing her wrap and sniffing at the delightful aroma of coffee. As soon as she did, she shivered at the memory of the last time she inhaled an aroma--and her hair promptly fell into her soup.
Bernadette handed her a cup of coffee with a gentle pat to her shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone, ma cherie,” she said as she shot a glance at Pierre and left the room.
Josephine sat down at the kitchen worktable and sipped her coffee, avoiding looking up. “Pierre, I--”
Pierre sat down across from her and held up his palms. “Josephine, let me speak first, if you don’t mind. I have something I’d like to...ask you.”
Ask? Asking her to leave, no doubt. She took a deep breath, set her coffee down and looked up at him, ready for whatever was coming. It certainly wouldn’t be unexpected. She knew how important this all was to them and she’d failed.
Pierre reached across the table, taking her hand in his. Puzzled, she cocked her head to one side. Certainly he was anxious for her to go. None of this was necessary--it actually made it worse as her hand tingled in his. Better to just go.
She pulled her hand back and sat straight in her chair, ready for the blow she knew was coming.
His eyes radiated sympathy, and her heart tugged. “Josephine, I know that last night didn’t go that well.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “That is an understatement, Monsieur.”
“Pierre,” he corrected. “Pierre. And I would like to make a proposal to you, as we have already invested a substantial amount of time and effort in this endeavor. You’ve traveled halfway across the continent, and I think there may be a solution.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A solution?”
Pierre cleared his throat and he stood, pacing on the other side of the table. Josephine followed him with her eyes, wishing he would just say what he was going to say.
“I would like it very much if you would consider staying.” He sat down again at the table and folded his hands in front of him.
“Staying? Surely you’re joking, and that is very cruel. It was evident to everyone last night--including myself--that I do not have the skills or breeding to do what it is you need of me.”
Pierre circled his thumbs around each other. He took a deep breath and said, “No. You may not now, but I’d like to teach you. Please stay, Josephine. We--I--need your help.”
Josephine’s head reeled and her eyes grew wide. This was not at all what she’d expected. She stood and took a step back, sure he was mocking her. “Monsieur, that is truly unkind.”
He stood and walked around the table, taking her hands in his. “I am not mocking you. We have run out of time, and if you would be kind enough to stay and accept a bit of--help--I would be most grateful.”
She pulled her hands away, the sensation unsettling. If she did consider accepting his offer, the last thing she needed was to have any feelings--about anyone or anything at The Willows. It would be her undoing.
Squeezing the letter to Michelle in her pocket, she realized that she owed it to herself--and to Michelle--to give this a try before she turned up on Michelle’s doorstep.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked straight into his crystal clear blue ones. “All right, Pierre. I will do my best to try to make this work.”
He hung his head briefly and rubbed his eyes. When he looked up, his eyes had softened once more and he said, “Thank you, Josephine. I am truly grateful, and I promise you won’t regret it.”
She gripped the letter once more and decided to send it anyway and she would at least know whether she was welcome at Michelle’s or not, just in case the time came that she needed to leave in a hurry.
Chapter Fourteen
“Pierre, she really is a kind young lady. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Bernadette poured another cup of coffee as Pierre explained his plan.
He warmed his hands on the mug and sighed. “Bernadette, you know as well as I do how ridiculous this situation is. Why on Earth would my inheritance be tied to whether or not I’m married? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Bernadette turned away, reaching into the icebox for anything that might go into a picnic basket. Josephine had gone upstairs to change her clothes as Pierre had suggested they take a tour of the plantation and if they did that, they would need to eat at some point.
“Bernadette? Did you hear me?”
“I did, young man. You know I loved your mother very much. Enough to know that if that was what she wanted for you, she had a good reason.”
Pierre watched as she lowered her eyes and looked away, reaching into the cabinets below for a loaf of bread. She took out a tin of foie gras and added it to the basket, along with several imported French cheeses.
He turned up his nose and said, “Are you trying to starve us? You know I don’t like that stuff.”
“Blasphemy, Pierre,” Bernadette said as she
grinned at him, adding chocolate and several other things from the icebox to the basket. “I’ll make sure there’s something included that you will want to eat. When did you lose your taste for French delicacies? Your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew.”
Pierre laughed and reached for a grape, popping one in his mouth. “Ever since you’ve known me, I believe,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “So why all this now?”
She set down her knife and wrapped the chunk of very strong cheese she’d just cut in a napkin, placing it in the basket beside the bread. “If you truly expect your father to be happy with this, she needs to at least be familiar with French delicacies--whether she chooses to eat them or not. He would know in an instant if she’d never heard of foie gras and didn’t know what it was.”
“I’m not exactly trying to fool him, Bernadette. Just help Josephine be acceptable for whatever his version of this mythical French lady is.” He reached into the pie safe and took out the pie Josephine had made that they’d had last night at dinner. He’d never had it before, and she’d explained it was a New England favorite, Boston Cream Pie. “And some of this, please?”
“Ah, you liked that, I see.” She laughed as she took the pie from him and cut two pieces, wrapping them as well and placing them in the basket that now was getting full. “About that...the mythical French lady, as you called it.”
She gestured for Pierre to sit across from her as she sat herself. “We haven’t discussed this for a very long time, Pierre.”
“Discussed what?” he asked as he reached for another piece of chocolate.
She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the table toward him. “How much do you remember about your mother?”
Pierre’s hand stopped in mid-air as he turned to look at Bernadette. “Why do you ask?”
“You were so young when she passed away. I’ve often wondered how much you remember.”
He closed his eyes, trying again to conjure up a memory--her voice, her hair, her scent--and just as the other night, it was difficult. He couldn’t.
“I’m sorry to say not much. I look at her picture regularly, and try to remember--but it always seems just out of reach.”
“She was very special, your mother. It’s a shame that you don’t remember more. If you did, you’d know exactly what your father’s version of a perfect French lady is.”
She pushed herself back from the table and covered the basket, handing it to Pierre. He frowned, looked at the basket and up at Bernadette.
“I don’t mean to confuse you, dear boy. But I will say that Josephine--rough as she would be, according to your father--possesses many of the best qualities of your mother. Kindness, compassion, the gift of laughter not the least of them. I’m pleased that you’re giving her a chance--if you sincerely want to help.”
“Is that so, Bernadette?” Jerome said as he walked into the kitchen and reached for some chocolate himself. “I’m a little older than Pierre, but I don’t remember much about Aunt Vivienne, either.” He lifted the napkin from the basket in Pierre’s hands. “Does this mean that it went well? Are you and Josephine beginning your lessons?”
Bernadette smacked his hands from the basket. “You mind your business, young man. Let Pierre do what he needs to do.” She looked past Pierre to Josephine standing in the doorway and pushed past them both, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m so pleased that you’re staying, my dear. I fixed a basket for the two of you--the trip around the whole plantation takes some time and I didn’t want you to get hungry.”
Pierre squinted at his cousin to quiet him. Jerome shrugged, his eyebrows raised as he turned back to the chocolate. “I had the buggy brought around for the two of you--just in case.” He smiled and nodded at Josephine.
This was uncomfortable enough for Pierre and he was anxious to leave the unwelcome comments behind. He turned to Josephine and paused--he blinked several times as he took in her change.
When he’d first seen her in town, he’d thought she was beautiful, even in her drab, worn attire. Her laugh had lifted his heart even then, before he even knew who she was.
Then last night, she’d been beautiful as well, but he had been saddened on her behalf at the obvious disaster and her despair.
This morning, she’d been strong and stoic, clearly expecting to be asked to leave, and he was impressed at her willingness to re-consider, to try again. He admired her courage.
And now--now, as he looked into her sparkling brown eyes, heat crept from his collar. He cleared his throat and looked down at the basket, turning away from the brilliant blue dress that set her brown eyes and honey-colored hair to light.
This wouldn’t do at all. Best to stick to the plan. Teaching only.
“You look lovely, Josephine. Thank you for reconsidering my proposal, and I look forward to showing you around your new home.”
Jerome’s smile widened as he said, “Yes, Josephine. We are most grateful and pleased to have you here. You two enjoy your day.”
Pierre caught his wink as he nodded at Bernadette. “Thank you, Bernadette. We will be back before supper.”
“Thank you all. I’m very sorry that I--well, I will do the best I can.”
She smiled and nodded at Jerome and Bernadette, turning her wide, brilliant smile toward Pierre. His heart pinched and he held out his arm to her, hoping that this just might work after all.
Chapter Fifteen
Josephine looked from the basket Pierre held in his hands to the buggy, wondering what Bernadette might have packed. She knew that French food would be part of her education, and shivered at the thought that there might be snails in the basket. Her father had made her try them once at a fancy French restaurant and they--well, weren’t her cup of tea. And all the melted butter in the world wouldn’t change her mind.
She sighed with relief as she realized there wouldn’t be any melted butter on a picnic, therefore it was unlikely they would be having snails. She tried to get a look into the basket before Pierre put it in the back of the buggy, but he laughed and batted her hand away.
“You can wait. I promise that I won’t try to poison you. Lots of these French things aren’t my favorites either. But even if we choose not to eat them, we would certainly know about them if we’d been in the company of French society for any length of time.
He placed the basket down and covered it with a large, flannel blanket. She assumed it would be for them to sit on whenever they reached their destination.
She lifted her yards of skirts--she’d chosen the simplest of the beautiful ones she’d bought yesterday--and reached for Pierre’s hand that he held out to help her in. As their eyes met and she took his hand, she shivered--at the chill in the air, she thought. It couldn’t be anything else.
“I have a blanket in the buggy for you to cover up with.” He looked up at the sky, the white clouds dotted with some darker ones. “The weather is a bit unpredictable this time of year, so better to be prepared.”
Pierre came around and hopped in the buggy, reaching for the blanket on the seat between them and spreading it open over her lap. “There. Is that better?”
She glanced up at him from under her lashes, a bit embarrassed that she would have any reaction to him at all, certain her shiver was due to the cold and would be taken care of with the blanket.
“Yes, much. Thank you.”
Pierre flicked the reins, getting the horses started, but rather than turn down the long drive lined with willows, he turned down the road toward the group of houses that Josephine could see out her window.
Horses whinnied as they passed by tall, white fences enclosing large grazing fields. The horses glistened in the sun and Josephine inhaled the rich, musky sent of earth as it was kicked up by their hooves.
She gazed over the fields and rows of a tall, green plant. “What is that?” she asked, pointing in the direction of the long, even rows, golden strands that looked like silk billowing from the tops.
Pierre looked in the direction she was
pointing and laughed. “Uh-oh. You’ve never seen corn plants before, have you?”
She turned toward him, her eyes narrowed. “If I had, I wouldn’t have asked you what it was. I’m from the city, remember?”
Pierre wiped the smile off his face, not entirely successful at attempting to look serious. “I do apologize,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “This is the very last of the corn crop, so late in the season that it’s only for horse feed.
Josephine pushed a stray strand of hair back up into her hat and stole a sideways glance at Pierre. “I’ll thank you not to laugh at me. Pretending that I knew things I didn’t is what caused this whole mess. I’d really like to start at the beginning. I love to learn new things--but don’t enjoy being mocked.”
Pierre turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t look away--if this was going to work, he needed to take it seriously and tell her everything she needed to know.
His eyes softened and he pushed his hat back on his forehead. “I understand. And I appreciate your commitment.”
“What if you just tell me everything you can think of? Pretend you’re explaining what happens on the plantation to someone who’s never been here before.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I guess that’s exactly what I am doing.”
She hid her smile behind her hand. What she’d said was silly. She was grateful when he started to point out things on the plantation as they passed, and she could listen.
As they passed the first cottage--the one where the young woman and little girl lived--she craned her neck, trying to see more. Was this a relative of Pierre’s? She didn’t think so, but she could be wrong. She’d yet to see the man of the house. Maybe he was working out on the plantation.
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