The Chateau by the River

by Chloé Duval

  He beamed.

  “Done!”

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, I was sitting in a café with the charming mayor of Chandeniers, discussing our common interest—the castle.

  We hardly strayed from that topic throughout the meal. Bruno, as he had told me to call him, turned out to be a treasure trove of information, and I scribbled note after note, fascinated, listening to tales of sixteenth-century parties that were as splendid as they were opulent.

  “How do you know all of this?” I finally asked, when the waitress brought us desserts. “Have you ever thought of writing a book on the castle? It could help save it.”

  “I’ve thought of it, yes. But by the time I finished writing it, it would be too late. And how I know this… I’m very interested in history, especially my city’s. I have big plans to develop tourism and try to find the means to help Éric save the castle.”

  “Do you know Éric well?”

  “Well enough, we were in school together. When I was in university, I read his mother’s work on the history of the region. I was so impressed I took over her museum as soon as I could.”

  “I see. In that case, forgive me for asking, but…why don’t you help fund the restoration?”

  He sighed.

  “I’ve tried to find a solution, and I even offered to buy a share of the castle from Éric, but he won’t hear of it. I talked to him about it only yesterday and he refused again.”

  I was surprised.

  “Why? It would be a solution to all his problems. Or most of them, in any case.”

  “He told me he was waiting. That someone had promised to help and that he wanted to wait. I don’t know who,” he added with a knowing glance, “but I can tell you that it’s very unusual for him. When I offered to buy a share, I thought he’d leap on the opportunity to return to Africa, but…it seems this person impressed him very much.”

  I felt my cheeks turn scarlet and my heartbeat ratchet up. I tried to look innocent and composed.

  “I was ready to negotiate with the banks and throw in my own savings,” he went on, “even if I had to mortgage my house.”

  “If that was the condition, I think I would also have refused,” I said. “I don’t think Éric would want anyone to be ruined because of him.”

  “But it would have bought us some time.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Hmmm.”

  As the waiter came to take away our plates, neither of us spoke. Leaning back on his chair, Bruno swirled his glass of wine idly, admiring its clear ruby color.

  “You know, not many people are aware of this, but the castle used to have its own vineyard back in the eighteenth century. It disappeared when the castle was torn down during the Revolution, and nobody ever replanted the vine stock, but at one time there was a Chandeniers vintage.”

  I froze in my seat.

  “A vineyard?”

  “Yes,” Bruno repeated. “There are no traces left today, but I have evidence that there was one.”

  I pulled out the plans I had copied from Marc Lagnel’s file and spread them over the table.

  “Do you know where exactly the vineyard was? How big it was?”

  “Let me think about it.…” He studied the plans. “I think it was around here.”

  He pointed to a patch of land at the back of the grounds, a smallish area, but not inconsequential.

  A plan began to form in my mind. The plot of land was smaller than what we were looking for, but if I presented things right, I might be able to make that seem meaningless compared to other points, including the fact that it came attached with a castle. A significant detail concerning marketing, not to mention the philanthropic aspect of our investment that could be emphasized.

  Excitement almost overtook me. How had I not thought of this before? The answer was obvious! It was the solution we had been looking for!

  “What is it?” Bruno asked, perplexed.

  I raised shining eyes to him.

  “I know how to save the castle.”

  Chapter 24

  Gabrielle

  Castle of Ferté-Chandeniers

  December 1899

  If Gabrielle’s impulse surprised him, Thomas did not show it. On the contrary. She felt his powerful arms close around her without hesitation as he buried his face against her neck. A second later, he had lifted her clear off the ground. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe, but it did not matter. Why would she need to breathe when she had the man of her thoughts holding her?

  “You came back!” she exclaimed.

  “I promised I would,” he murmured against her neck.

  His English accent, more pronounced than it had been when he left, made her shiver. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of his arms around her, a sensation both foreign and familiar.

  It was so good to see him again.

  He set Gabrielle down but did not release her from his embrace.

  “Welcome back, Mr. D’Arcy.” She beamed.

  “Thank you, Mademoiselle Villeneuve.”

  “Did your trip go well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Now that I am here, I am just fine.”

  Gabrielle scrutinized him for a minute, then nestled against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and powerful. She loved the sound of it. More than any other, maybe even more than his laugh.

  “I am so glad to see you,” she breathed. “I…I worried. I was afraid something had happened to you. There were no more letters.”

  She felt his arms close a little tighter around her, and Thomas’s lips brushed her hair, stopping just shy of a kiss. Just a touch, a tender gesture. She closed her eyes.

  “I am sorry I left you without news this week. I was…embroiled in family matters.”

  She pulled away again and tried to meet his eyes, frowning.

  “Is your family well?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She smiled, relieved. Abruptly, as their gazes met and stayed bound to each other, an intense emotion washed over Gabrielle and, unable to keep quiet, she confessed with a sigh, “I am so very happy to see you. You have no idea how much I have missed you.”

  The world was not the same without him. The castle was not the same. She was not the same.

  “I have missed you too, Gabrielle.”

  Thomas’s hands slid up to her face, uncertainly, hesitantly. His smile vanished, and his face grew more serious. And when his eyes rested on her lips, time seemed to slow. Millimeter by millimeter, Thomas’s face drew nearer to hers. Her heart began to beat faster. Her body stretched and leaned toward his, and she instinctively clutched the lapels of his jacket. She burned with anticipation and desire. She may be crazy, for part of her loved this sweet, sweet torture. She wished this moment could last forever, and yet she yearned for Thomas to end this wait that drove her insane, for him to kiss her at last, to—

  There was a knock on the door.

  Please tell me I’m dreaming, Gabrielle thought, closing her eyes in frustration as Thomas leapt away from her. Not again!

  How many times was history going to repeat itself? Was the castle not big enough? Could someone tell her where her fairy godmother was when she needed her? Flirting with the local wizard? Lord!

  With a deep breath, Gabrielle tried to collect herself.

  “My apologies, sir, mademoiselle,” Agnès stammered as she came in, more embarrassed than ever. “Céleste sent me to tell you that supper will soon be ready.”

  “Thank you, Agnès,” Thomas replied. Gabrielle could only admire his calm and self-control. “Tell her we will be there shortly.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Agnès curtsied and promptly left, undoubtedly delighted to get off
so lightly this time.

  Thomas turned to Gabrielle, an apologetic look on his face.

  “I believe we are expected.”

  “I’m afraid we are,” she said, hiding her disappointment behind a smile.

  “Will you do me the honor?” Thomas asked, offering her his arm.

  She tilted her head gently and slipped a hand in the crook of his elbow.

  “With pleasure.”

  * * * *

  Two hours later, after a meal fit for kings, the party was well under way. To Gabrielle’s great satisfaction, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, dancing to the heady tune of Ravel’s Boléro—Gabrielle with Guillaume, Maurice with Céleste, Thomas with Hélène, Arnaud with Agnès, social hierarchy abolished for a time.

  The last notes of the crescendo rang out, and Gabrielle thanked her partner with as gracious a curtsy as she could manage, then proceeded to the gramophone to place what would certainly be the last record to play before midnight.

  “This party was an excellent idea,” Arnaud declared, drawing near to her as she replaced the Boléro with The Blue Danube. “Everyone seems enchanted.”

  “It certainly looks like it,” Gabrielle replied, turning toward the crowd, record in hand. “Dancing is always a good idea.”

  She observed the small clusters tenderly for a time. Guillaume and Agnès were chatting animatedly. This evening did not mark an end for them but rather a beginning—they had both chosen to leave with Thomas for New York. Maurice and Hélène were talking close by. Gabrielle’s father seemed…tense. A stranger would not have noticed, but she could tell from the way he fiddled with the buttons of his jacket. She grinned to herself. She thought she knew what made him so nervous.

  Gabrielle’s gaze left him and slid over to Thomas, who was listening attentively to a beaming Céleste. Their eyes met, and they smiled as though they were the only people in the world. Gabrielle’s, however, were full of melancholy. As the evening went by, a thought had crept into her heart, darkening her mood, chipping away at the joy Thomas’s presence created.

  Now that he was back, the time to say their farewells would soon be upon them.

  “Indeed,” Arnaud agreed.

  It took Gabrielle a few instants to realize that he had not read her mind and was still talking of the dance. Tearing herself away from Thomas’s gaze, she turned to him.

  “What will you do once Mr. Choiseul no longer requires your services?” she asked, laying the record on the gramophone’s turntable.

  “I will be leaving for America.”

  Gabrielle froze. She must have misunderstood.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you said you were leaving for America.”

  “I am.”

  “You too?” she exclaimed, unable to mask entirely the hint of despair in her voice.

  Was everyone leaving to rebuild their life elsewhere? Would she be the only one left behind, to return to her old life? To stay where she was, unchanging?

  “I had been thinking about it for some time, but speaking with Mr. D’Arcy earlier helped me make my decision. I will try to become a journalist there. He can help me receive the necessary paperwork quickly.”

  She couldn’t help but envy him for his dreams, and the freedom he had to pursue them. She wished she had the same liberty and the opportunity to make such a choice. She wished she, too, could leave with Thomas.

  “It is a beautiful project,” she said, busying herself with the gramophone. “I hope you will be happy there.”

  “So will you, I hope.”

  “Oh, I am going nowhere,” Gabrielle replied, a touch bitterly. “I will be returning to my quiet little life among my books, in my father’s store, with my father’s employee who awaits only one thing, for me to swoon into his arms.”

  She loved her life; to pretend otherwise would be a lie. She had always loved it, as far back as she could remember. Like her mother, living among books had always been her dream, and she counted herself lucky that she could earn a living with a job she very much enjoyed. God knew all women did not have such luck, and many had to endure conditions far worse and with much less freedom.

  Yet it was no longer enough. She wanted more; she wanted the entire world.

  Her eyes flitted back toward Thomas, and he smiled at her, as though he had only been waiting for this. Nostalgia welled up inside her.

  She wanted him. His life, his world. His heart.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw Arnaud grin in that mysterious way of his. But before she could ask him what amused him so, he bowed and took his leave, claiming he had photographs to take. Thomas came over to her.

  “Would you do me the honor of this dance, Mademoiselle Villeneuve?”

  Setting aside the melancholy that threatened to spoil the precious time she had left with him, Gabrielle pasted a smile onto her face and sank into a deep curtsy fit for a king.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. D’Arcy.”

  Chapter 25

  Alexandra

  Chandeniers-sur-Vienne

  Present day

  Bruno stared in astonishment as I haphazardly flung my things into my handbag and tossed enough money to cover my share of the bill and a tip onto the table.

  “What do you mean, you know how to save the castle?” he asked. “What are you thinking of?”

  I paused just long enough to reply.

  “It’s just an inkling. I need to work through it, so I’d rather not say just yet. I need to check a few things and discuss it with Éric.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Bruno did not insist but rummaged in the inside pocket of his vest and pulled out a notebook and pen. He scrawled a phone number and tore the page away, handing it to me.

  “Call me. When you find something and you’re ready to talk about it, call me. Tell me if I can help.”

  I nodded and hesitated.

  “Sorry for ditching you like this. Thanks again for everything. I’ll keep you posted.”

  I was about to leave when Bruno called me back.

  “Will you be there tomorrow?” he asked. “At the costume ball?”

  Crap. I had totally forgotten about that.

  “I… Yes. I don’t have a costume, but I’ll come.”

  “Ask Marine. She’s head of the events committee; she’ll find you something. See you tomorrow?”

  I nodded again and was about to leave for good when he called one last time.

  “Alexandra?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re doing all of this, but thank you.”

  I grinned.

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  And I left the café without a backward look, impatient to start drawing up plans.

  * * * *

  I had already mentally listed several arguments in favor of my idea when I parked in front of the inn a few minutes later. Still mulling it over, muttering to myself about what I’d need to put together a rock-solid case, I limped in without noticing the motorbike in front. I was about to climb the stairs toward my room when a sharp voice coming out of the kitchen stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “There is no way on earth you will convince me to put on a skirt.”

  I froze just outside the room and out of sight of its occupants, recognizing Éric’s voice. My heart promptly started beating double-time, and that keen edge of loss pierced me through and through.

  I stifled a sigh, thinking that I had better sneak up to my room to work on my project, but my legs refused to move and I kept skulking there, ears pricked to find out exactly what kind of skirt Éric refused to wear.

  “It’s not a skirt,” Marine explained patiently, sounding like a mother placating a sullen child. “It’s a kilt. All Scotsmen wear one, and they don’t make a fuss about it. Sean Connery, Gerard Butler
, David Tennant, Ewan McGregor…they all wear kilts, and let me tell you, they wear them well. So will you, I’m sure.”

  “Seriously, what is it about you women with the Scottish?” Éric exclaimed.

  I blushed as the memory of our brief conversation upon hearing my GPS’s voice popped up. My brain helpfully supplied me with a load of images from that day. Images I had tried to forget. Unsuccessfully.

  “The Scottish are sexy,” Marine’s voice said, “and their accent makes any woman melt on the spot. Read Outlander, or watch the series, you’ll see what I mean.”

  Éric grunted something incomprehensible, and Marine replied, “Look, the kilt is the ultimate fantasy of just about every woman right now. Forget about tall, dark vampires; muscular Scottish redheads are in. Get used to it.”

  “I’m not a redhead. And I have no wish to prance about in a skirt just because it’s ‘in.’ I’m going to look utterly ridiculous.”

  “You’re not going to look ridiculous, you’re going to be sexy. And sexy is just what we’re aiming for. Anyway, there was nothing else left in the costume shop, so…”

  “I don’t believe you. I’m sure there were a lot of costumes that wouldn’t leave me half-naked or in a skirt.”

  “Nothing as attractive as this, believe me. I wanted the leather pirate costume for you. It would have been perfect with your dark hair and stubble, but somebody else had already rented it. I wonder who dared. I should have asked them to save it for me. Anyway, the only thing left in the “Sexy Man” category was the kilt. Deal with it.”

  Images of Éric in pirate costume and in a kilt danced in front of my eyes. If he was as irresistible as he was when dressed up as a biker, a lumberjack or just in plain clothes…I was as good as dead.

  I really shouldn’t be thinking about it.

  I heard Éric sigh. “This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have said yes.”

  “Look, Éric, I’m doing this for you. For you and the castle. All of this, the party, the costume ball, the auctioned dances, it’s for you and Marc. So the castle can stay in the family. So it wasn’t all for nothing.”

  I didn’t catch his muttered reply, but I guessed it was something about hitting below the belt. I couldn’t help but agree that Marine was targeting all of his weak spots.