by Chloé Duval
“She must have been very proud of you.”
“I think so. I also told her about my other projects.”
“Your other projects? You have other projects?”
“Yes. I only had the idea very recently, I have not yet worked out all the details, but…I have decided that I will use everything left over from the Saint-Armand heritage after the castle is sold to fund an orphanage. To give what my uncle once gave me to those children who have no one. A place they can call home and a person to love them as they deserve.”
The last few words were a final blow. How could any woman not fall in love with him? He was simply perfect.
But he was not meant to be hers. Or rather, she was not meant to be his.
She closed her eyes, the pain in her chest so sharp she could barely breathe.
“Gabrielle.”
She felt Thomas move beside her, shifting to face her.
“Gabrielle, my darling, look at me.”
Her heart stuttered at his use of the endearment. Surprised, she turned to him.
“All of this is because of you.”
“Me?”
Thomas’s eyes plunged into hers, a mix of tenderness and intensity shining in their depths. The light from the ballroom illuminated his profile, his scar, and Gabrielle became aware that she no longer found him handsome despite the scar—she found him handsome because of the scar. It was the symbol of who he was. A phoenix that had risen from the ashes. A man who had risen above adversity, head held high. A man who had overcome hatred to keep the beauty and generosity of his soul and heart.
The man she loved with all her heart.
The wind tugged a curl of her hair free and made it dance in front of her eyes. Infinitely gentle, Thomas pushed it back and slipped it behind her ear. His finger lingered over her skin, tracing the shape of her face.
Gabrielle’s heart beat like a hummingbird’s.
“You inspired me to do all of this,” he whispered tenderly. “Your words convinced me to seek out my grandmother; you gave me the idea to build an orphanage. You have changed my life, Gabrielle.”
Thomas’s gaze tracked his fingers, caressing the curve of her lips. His jaw clenched, and he breathed in deeply, then out. He was so close to her that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. His face filled her entire field of sight.
“Me?” she repeated.
She no longer knew who she was, where she was. She no longer felt the biting cold of the wind that pulled at her. She only heard the beating of her heart, only felt the touch of his fingers on her skin.
“You,” Thomas confirmed. “You have opened my eyes, Gabrielle. You have made me understand what kind of man I wish to be, and you have made me into that man. You have given my life meaning. You are…the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me.”
Oh Lord…
Gabrielle closed her eyes, savoring the effect those few words had on her. Her heart beat so fast that she feared it might burst out of her chest any moment. She felt Thomas’s hands settle on her face, felt his fingers twine into her hair, his thumbs stroke her temples as he tilted her face toward his.
“Gabrielle, open your eyes,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
Throat tight with emotion, she obeyed. Every emotion he felt was apparent on his face in that moment: hope, tenderness, reverence, admiration. And something else, something stronger yet. He kept their gazes linked a few moments more, until he was sure he had her full attention. Then, his voice solemn, he spoke the words she had so hoped to hear.
“I love you, Gabrielle. From the first day, from the very first moment.”
And thus, with the stars and moon as sole witnesses, he kissed her at long last. As light as a butterfly landing on the petals of a rose, his lips claimed Gabrielle’s in a tender kiss that made her heart melt. His hands slipped free of her curls and lost themselves on the planes of her face, caressing the curve of her chin, the velvety softness of her cheeks. As one, their breath grew short, and as their bodies flowed together, Gabrielle’s hands mirrored Thomas’s and traveled up his chest toward his neck, his face, sliding full of emotion along the scar that symbolized who he was and losing themselves in his thick hair as she had so often dreamed they would, and she held him tightly, so tightly, to her.
In his arms, she rose from the ground, flew somewhere far, far away, beyond sky and stars, toward an elsewhere in which tomorrow no longer existed, where they only existed for each other, only existed through each other.
No matter what tomorrow may be made of, Gabrielle decided. No matter what her life would be after tonight.
Whatever happened, whatever would become of her, of them, she would always have this magical moment, these few seconds of happiness and the words he had spoken. “I love you.…” A single tear rolling down her cheek, Gabrielle let go of the world and of reality, and lost herself in the kiss she had hoped and waited for so long.
* * * *
Later, when Thomas broke away and leaned his forehead against hers, Gabrielle could not hold back a sigh.
“Thank you,” she murmured against his lips.
“What for?”
“For everything. For this kiss, for telling me I changed your life, that you loved me. Thank you.”
“Does this mean…?”
She nodded.
“I love you too, Thomas. So much…you have no idea…”
He kissed her again, tenderly, full of love and awe, and she melted anew.
“There are worse ways of saying farewell,” she sighed under her breath.
She bit her tongue, but it was too late. The words had escaped her.
Thomas froze.
“Farewell?”
“Is that not what we are doing? Saying farewell to each other?”
Thomas jerked away from her.
“No!”
“No?”
“No, not at all! Why would you think such a thing?”
“You said so yourself not a minute ago,” Gabrielle replied, surprised. “You will be leaving shortly, to rebuild your life across the ocean. I thought you were saying goodbye. I understand, Thomas,” she hastened to add as he opened his mouth to protest. “You need not answer to me.”
“No, Gabrielle! You do not understand! I will be leaving soon, yes, but I did not mean to imply—I do not—I am not saying farewell! On the contrary!”
A spark of hope kindled in Gabrielle’s heart, and Thomas sighed. “This is not how I meant for things to happen,” he said, half to himself, shaking his head, and fished into his pocket. “Not at all.”
He pulled out a square of crimson velvet.
“I had planned everything out,” he went on, unfolding the cloth. “I wanted to speak to your father first. And I meant to give you a beautiful speech, the kind that you deserve. But I think…a change is in order.”
Gabrielle’s heart had started beating fast again as her mind deciphered the meaning behind Thomas’s words and actions.
Was he…? Oh Lord!
Eyes wide open, she stared as Thomas finished unfolding the cloth to reveal a magnificent ring, an opal set in a bed of rubies and diamonds, and held it out to her. His gaze never leaving hers, he knelt and declared:
“Gabrielle, these three weeks away from you have been the longest in my life. You have not only changed my life, you have made it more beautiful. My days without you are gray. I have had time to think while I was in England, and forsaking the past is not the only decision I made.”
He paused then carried on, hoarse with emotion:
“Gabrielle Adélaïde Hortense Villeneuve, would you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife and sailing with me to America?”
Chapter 27
Alexandra
Chandeniers-sur-Vienne
Present day
I slowly closed Gabrielle’
s diary, my hands lingering over the leather cover, and switched off my reading lamp. Sighing, I tilted my head back, gazing up toward the sky and stars. Once I was sure the coast was clear, I had left my room in the evening to have dinner and resume reading. Night had fallen, and small solar lamps bathed the garden in a soft glow, casting shadows over the green grass, the trees and the hedges around the inn.
Everything around me was peaceful and quiet.
Inside me, however, was another story. My heart beat a violent tattoo against my ribs and my throat was tight with emotion.
I was happy, deeply and sincerely happy for Gabrielle. Even though I already knew that she and Thomas had gotten married, that they had lived happily ever after in the US and had four children, reading about how they had finally revealed to each other their pure and beautiful love was…intense. I was overwhelmed.
I almost could have cried.
But that had not been my only feeling upon reading about Gabrielle and Thomas’s reunion, their dance and this tender, beautiful proposal. Something deeper, more complex stirred within me. An emotion that was not quite envy—it was much more than that.
We English speakers have a word to which I have not yet found a strict equivalent in French—longing. It means a kind of desire, more or less rational, generally difficult or impossible to fulfill, one that grips you and does not let you go. Desire mingled with want and a touch of regret sometimes, for something that you do not or no longer have, and crave more than anything in the world. A desire so strong it is physical, felt in every cell of your body, in your heart and in your mind, a sense of void in your existence. Like a hand gripping your heart and stomach, clenched so tightly you wonder if you will survive. Like yearning for something, but stronger.
That was what I felt in that instant. It filled me entirely. A single sentence ran through my mind and looped, again and again, punctuated by my frantic heartbeat: I want that too.
I, too, wanted to know that unconditional love. I, too, wanted to feel such passion in real life, in my life. And I wanted it right away.
A face, always the same, floated in front of my eyes, mimicking Thomas’s movements, his hands stroking Gabrielle’s face, his lips on hers, on mine, his arms around her, around me…this yearning, this desire rang so deeply in me then that I felt almost…oppressed.
My vision blurred, and the stars vanished.
Crap. Crappity, crappity, crap.
Just then, my tablet buzzed, announcing a message on Skype. Blinking to clear the tears from my eyes, I set aside the diary and read the message—or messages.
Alex?
You there?
No news! I’m worried.…
Call me if you’re there! I miss my best friend!!
Aleeeex?
And I realized that I had neither written nor spoken to Beatrice since the day I had arrived at Chandeniers, after my first encounter with Éric. She had written and texted several times since, and each time I had promised myself I would reply soon. And I had been swept away by something else, and for the first time in my life, I had completely forgotten to write to my best friend.
I used the camera to check that my face revealed none of my inner turmoil. I blessed the darkness of the garden and clicked on the call symbol.
“Alex! There you are! I was going out of my mind here! We haven’t talked in ages, and you didn’t reply to my emails or texts. If I didn’t hear from you, I was going to call Spencer! Is everything all right? What happened? Why weren’t you answering? Is it nighttime already in France? I can hardly see you!”
She spoke so fast I had trouble following her.
“I’m so sorry, Bea!” I reassured her. “Everything’s okay! It’s just been crazy these last few days and—”
“Crazy how? Good crazy or bad crazy? Tell me everything!”
“How long do you have? This could take a while.”
“Long enough. Spit it out. And it better be worth it if you want me to forgive you for neglecting me for so long.”
Over the next half hour, I told her everything—nearly everything.
I told her about my conversation with Marine and about Marc Lagnel’s file, the information I had found there, the bookstore in Angers, how I had decided to go there. About going to the graveyard, coming across Éric, and my misadventure with Max. How Éric had decided he needed to take me to Angers, probably out of guilt. I explained that I had found Gabrielle’s diary, the phone calls Éric had received and the fact that he was going to have to sell the castle that meant so much to his parents. I relived for her the balloon ride, the view, the châteaux. I summed up what I had learned from the diary about my ancestors’ story.
“It’s strange how close I feel to Gabrielle. I read her diary like a novel, but at the same time, she feels so real that it sometimes seems to me she’s somewhere around and that I could meet her here in Chandeniers.”
“You know what they say—some people have a personality so strong that even after their death, they leave a trace of themselves behind.”
“You’re going to make fun of me, but just this afternoon I wondered whether she hadn’t been the one to guide me to her picture so I would come here and save the castle.”
“Who knows…maybe you were destined to retrace her footsteps. To go back to where she came from.”
“Nah, you know I don’t believe in that stuff. But I do think I’ve found a way to save the castle.”
I told her about my visit to the museum, lunch with Bruno, and his revelation that there had been a vineyard on the estate in the eighteenth century. Then I told her about my plan to suggest the place to my boss, Elizabeth.
“But that’s amazing! Alex, you know you’re brilliant, right?”
“Let’s not get carried away…nothing’s certain yet; first I have to get Éric to agree to the plan, and then I have to convince Elizabeth and the other managers. It’s a long shot.”
“You’re going to nail it, I know you will. And your grumpy old castle lord may be a grouch, but why would he refuse if his situation is as desperate as you say it is?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s very fond of Americans in general, so he might not like the idea of renting out part of his estate to an American wine company.”
“He might not be overly fond of Americans, but a vineyard on part of his estate is better than disrespectful tourists everywhere and a razed castle. If he’s smart, he’ll make the right choice.”
“I hope he will. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“I expect you to call me the very minute you return to the inn.”
“It’s a promise.”
“And think about it—my theory is growing more solid by the minute!”
“What do you mean?”
“It really was your destiny to go there. You can’t deny that it’s a lot of coincidences. Out of all the people descended from your ancestor, you were the one to find her picture. And you work for a wine company that is trying to establish itself in France. And boom—right when you need it, you discover that the castle used to have a vineyard and that you have the perfect solution to save it. You can’t not see the signs!”
“Yeah, well, that is a lot of coincidences. But it’s not that extraordinary.”
“It seems so obvious—you were destined to follow in your ancestors’ footsteps, to save their castle. How was it destroyed exactly?”
“Apparently there was an electrical fire.”
A thought flashed through my mind.
What if the article I had found was incomplete? It mentioned no victims, but such a large fire must have inflicted serious damage. What if some of the castle’s inhabitants had been injured? My gut twisted as I imagined one of them with third-degree burns or worse—they had all grown so real to me that should I learn that one of them had been hurt, I believed I would truly mourn them.
�
�Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“What is it? You look weird all of sudden.”
“Nothing. I was just thinking of Gabrielle’s diary, and of the people she met while she was here. Sometimes I have trouble remembering they’ve been dead and buried for a long time. I kind of expect to come across them in the market square or the castle gardens. Hey, speaking of the castle grounds, did I tell you that Éric wanted to make the old stables into a bed-and-breakfast? His father also came up with the idea to rent the castle out for a wedding venue once it had been restored. I really think it could bring in quite a lot of money.”
“Mmmh.”
Bea stared at me.
“You are coming back, right?” she asked. “When your vacation is over?”
“Of course I’m coming back! Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. A hunch. The fact that you’re so wrapped up in the castle’s future, as though it’s your responsibility. Or maybe because you’ve been speaking of Éric nonstop for the last hour. Have you noticed you haven’t mentioned Spencer even once?”
I froze.
Her words were a knife twist in a wound, and guilt crashed over me again.
Bea’s eyes were serious all of a sudden and as I failed to reply she went on: “You like him, don’t you? You’ve completely changed your mind about him since the last time we spoke.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, hanging my head. “I—I’ve gotten to know him. He’s not as—rough as he looks on the outside. He’s just—frustrated and powerless. He wants to save his father’s castle, and it seems like the entire world is against him. But he’s someone good deep down. He’s sensitive and generous, but he’s also grieving and adrift. Which is understandable, given his situation.”
“Mmmh.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay. There’s nothing for me here; I don’t belong. It’s not my life, not—”
I broke off as the truth slammed into me—I wanted to stay. I didn’t want to return to my old life. To my day-to-day routine. I wanted…I wanted to feel useful. To do something that mattered.
Like saving the castle while its owner saved the world, one child at a time.