Authors: Eugenia Riley
Henrí had overheard the argument
between
maître
and madame, just as he had overheard other arguments of
late. He felt deeply troubled by the impasse in his master’s marriage. His
sympathies were not really with madame, for
maître
had suffered much for
her over the years, and the girl seemed cruelly unaware of his many sacrifices.
It was about time that someone set
the young woman straight, he mused grimly.
That night, Julian Devereux paced Justine
Begué’s parlor. She sat on the settee opposite him, her eyes filled with
compassion.
Following the argument with Mercy,
Julian had felt desperate for a friend to confide in, and Justine was truly the
best friend he had ever known.
He had already informed her of the
continuing impasse in his marriage. Now, as he continued to pummel the rug with
lean, economical strides, he gestured passionately and supplied additional
details.
“The girl has made it clear that
she has no respect for this marriage—or my feelings. For instance, this very
afternoon I caught her with her former fiancé, Philippe Broussard.”
Justine’s eyes widened. “Where did
you catch them?”
“In the parlor.”
Justine laughed and waved him off.
“Oh, Julian! For a moment I thought they were . . .” She paused to smile at
him. “The two of them were engaged before,
n’est-ce pas
? Would it not be
natural for M’sieur Broussard to come calling to check on Mercy’s welfare?”
Julian harrumphed loudly. “That’s
precisely what my wife claimed. But I know better.”
“Oh?”
With an explosive sigh, Julian
collapsed into a chair. He raked a hand through his hair. “I overheard them
talking, right before I came in. Evidently, Broussard is engaged again.
However, he most generously offered to call off his betrothal if only Mercy
will seek an annulment from me.”
Justine gasped. “Oh, Julian. You
must have felt eaten up with jealousy.”
He shot her a smoldering look,
then sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And what did Mercy say to the
young man?”
Julian’s eyes glittered with a
chilling light. “She told him to forget about her and marry his fiancée. But
she spoke with little conviction, I must say.”
“Still, she said what she should
have said.”
He laughed ironically. “Ah, yes,
I’ve seen to it that she has no real options left in our marriage.”
Justine frowned. “Being aware of
Mercy’s very spirited nature, I would not assume that you could force her to
stay in the marriage against her will.”
He waved a hand angrily. “She’s
heartless. She’s never cared for me.”
“Oh, Julian, I know for a fact
that just the opposite is true.” When he glanced sharply at her, she explained,
“She came to see me, you know.”
Julian’s features blanched. “She
did? Oh,
mon Dieu
! I hope she didn’t cause you any distress, or—”
Justine reached out to pat his
hand. “
Non
.”
Still, Julian was grinding his
teeth. “She had no right to—”
“Julian, she
did
have a
right,” Justine cut in gently but firmly. “Of course she was curious about me
and Arnaud. You cannot blame her for that.”
“I suppose I can’t.” His fingers dug
into the upholstered arm of his chair. “What happened? Did she treat you well?”
“Your young wife is polite and
shrewd—but also very detached, very cool.” An expression of pleasure curved
Justine’s full lips. “Except when Arnaud was in the room. She seemed to fall
completely in love with your son.”
Unwittingly, he smiled. “Did she?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Why did she come? I mean, I’m
assuming she told you?”
“She did.” Justine slanted Julian
a wry look. “Mercy came, of course, to determine whether or not you and I are
still sleeping together. I tried my best to reassure her that we’re not, but I
don’t think she believed me.”
“Damn!” Julian was on his feet,
pacing again.
Justine’s features creased with
distress. “Julian, I must implore you not to blame Mercy for what she did. If I
had been in her shoes, I would have done exactly the same thing.”
“Would you have?”
“Think of how jealous, how hurt,
she must feel.”
He scowled, shoving his hands
deeply into his pockets. “Perhaps so. But what can I do?”
“I’ve told you several times
before that it was wrong of you to keep my existence, and Arnaud’s, from her
until after the marriage. Apologize to her.”
He turned to face her, gesturing
in supreme frustration. “I already have. It didn’t work.”
“Then try again. She’s a woman, Julian,
and she feels hurt and threatened—especially by the fact that you have a child
by me. She needs to be wooed and reassured. And frankly, the best thing you can
do for Mercy right now is to give her a baby.”
That comment halted Julian in
mid-stride. “A baby?” he repeated in a cracking voice.
“You should have seen the way she
stared at Arnaud. There was wonder in her eyes, but also a deep hunger. I know
she very much wants a child with you.”
He blinked at her, a muscle
twitching in his jaw. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. Any woman knows that
look in another woman’s eyes.”
Julian could only shake his head
incredulously. “Even assuming that this is true, can you honestly tell me you
don’t at all feel threatened by it?”
Justine lifted her chin proudly.
“If you mean will I feel threatened when you have a child with Mercy, the
answer is no. I have everything I need—my son and your friendship. Furthermore,
I know that when you do have children with Mercy, Arnaud will still remain very
special to you.”
“Indeed he will,” Julian concurred
vehemently.
“Then what is to stop you from
mending things with your wife?”
With an ironic laugh, Julian
returned to his chair. “Justine, I’m beginning to think that you’re an
incurable romantic. You seem to believe that my young wife is some saintly,
devoted creature who wants nothing more than to serve my needs and bear my
children, and that all our troubles have been merely some petty, overblown
misunderstanding. ” His bitter gaze met hers. “The truth is, Mercy would like
nothing more than to hang my hide from the Place d’Armes. What would you say if
I told you that she informed me recently that only the physical aspect of our
marriage pleases her?”
“Oh, Julian!” Justine’s golden
eyes shone with deep empathy. “If she said that, then it was only her hurt
talking. You’re both so caught up in your wounded pride. But try to set aside
your own anger and pain. You’ll never make your marriage work if you shut her
out.”
He could only stare at her in
wonder. “You truly want my happiness, don’t you?”
She laid her hand on his. “Of
course.”
He shook his head slowly.
“God—whatever did I do to deserve a friend like you?”
Justine lowered her eyes. “It is
most definitely I who should be asking that question,” she murmured in a
strangely choked voice. Before he could comment, she squeezed his hand and
forged on. “
Mon ami
, I have another suggestion—”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s high time for you to
tell Mercy the truth about her father’s death—and how he killed your lady
friend.”
His incredulous gaze flashed to
hers. “Have you gone mad?”
“You need to tell her, Julian.”
“And shatter her father’s image in
her eyes forever? The girl has suffered enough already.”
“And what about your suffering,
Julian?” Justine asked passionately. “You’ve protected her for far too long. It
isn’t fair that she go on blaming you as she does. She needs to know that you
weren’t at fault, that you experienced anguish, too.”
He drew a hand to his eyes. “It
doesn’t matter. Her father died at my hands. Telling her the truth now would
only make matters worse.”
“Oh, Julian. I think you’re very
wrong.”
He was on the verge of commenting
when a child’s voice called out from the portal, “Papa?”
Arnaud stood in the archway,
wearing a nightshirt and clutching a colorful rag doll of a Mardi Gras clown.
He looked wan, his dark hair disheveled.
“Arnaud!” Justine scolded. “What
are you doing out of bed at this hour?”
The child took a tentative step
into the room. “I heard Papa.” He flashed an eager smile at his father, then turned
back to Justine. “And I feel queer, Mama.”
Justine slanted the child an
admonishing look. “Arnaud, I think this is only a ploy so you can spend time
with Papa.”
Julian waved her off. “Oh, let him
stay up a while.”
Arnaud needed no further
encouragement. With a grin, he hurled himself across the room and tumbled into
his father’s arms.
Julian laughed, cuddling the boy
and ruffling his hair. He placed his hand on Arnaud’s forehead and glanced at
Justine. “He looks pale, but he doesn’t feel feverish.”
“He’s fine,” she told Julian. “My
son is simply well aware of which parent spoils him outrageously.”
Julian chuckled. “Would you like a
bedtime story, poppet?”
“Oh, yes, Papa!” Arnaud cried in
delight. “Mama bought me a new storybook just yesterday.”
With a proud grin, Julian carried
his son from the room. Watching the two, Justine shook her head.
***
A moment later, Henrí stole
quietly into the room and came to sit beside Justine on the settee. She smiled
at him radiantly and slipped her fingers into his. They stared at each other,
with only the tick of the mantel clock breaking the silence.
At last, Henrí cleared his throat.
“You did not tell him?”
“Oh, Henrí.” Justine squeezed his
hand. “I’m not sure how Julian will feel about our desire to wed.”
“You still fear he won’t approve?
That he would want you to wait until later?”
She nodded. “I don’t think either
of us can bear the thought of disappointing him. And what if he feels
threatened regarding Arnaud?”
Henrí frowned. “I’m aware of these
concerns, but things are different now. Now that we know you’re with child,
ma
petite
, we have no choice but to tell him. And soon.”
She sighed. “I know. But Julian is
already so deeply troubled over his marriage. I hate to add to his burdens
right now. It would help if he would tell Mercy the truth about her father’s
death, but he refuses to do so.”
Henrí’s eyes gleamed with fierce
determination. “I know. That one needs to grow up, to quit acting so spoiled
and self-centered. I’m tired of her assuming
maître
is some kind of
monster. Someone needs to set her straight.”
Justine’s eyebrows flew up.
“Henrí! You’re not thinking of—”
He drew himself up proudly.
“Actually, I am. We both know that Julian will never tell the girl the truth.
And it’s high time she stopped punishing him for something that was not his
fault.”
Justine bit her lip. “I suppose
you have a point.”
“I intend to speak with her as
soon as possible.”
“Oh, Henrí! Be careful. Julian
will be angry at you when he finds out.”
“
Oui
, but he’ll get over it—especially
if the girl can at last be persuaded to start acting like a real wife and not a
cold-blooded martyr.”
Justine’s eyes remained troubled.
“We’ll just have to hope the truth will bring her to her senses.”
“Yes, we must hope,
ma chère
,”
Henrí replied fervently. “For only then can we seek our own happiness.”
He leaned toward her, and the two
shared a kiss of deep longing.
***
Julian did not return home that
night until well past midnight; Mercy was already asleep. When she awakened in
the morning, he was gone; only the rumpled bedclothes proved he had been there
at all.
She went morosely about her early
morning routine, dressing and eating breakfast in her room. She had little to
look forward to today. Actually, Charity La Ronde had invited her to a luncheon,
but Mercy had politely declined; the thought of playing Julian’s blissful,
giddy bride, of spending her morning gossiping with other wives, seemed
obscene. And she greatly feared that if she went out in society today, she
would wear her heart on her sleeve. Her troubles with Julian might be
devastating, but they were also private.
Remembering their argument
yesterday, she winced. In a way, she couldn’t blame Julian for feeling
resentful about Philippe’s visit, yet she had even greater cause for outrage.
Julian had walked out on her again, and had doubtless spent his evening with
Justine; this was surely why he hadn’t returned until the wee hours. The very
thought made her seethe with anger and jealousy.
How much more of this bitter,
angry marriage could either of them endure?
Mercy was at the writing desk in
the parlor, jotting down a list of items to buy at the market, when Henrí came
in. “Madame, may I have a word with you?”
With a surprised frown, Mercy
turned to him. “Yes? What is it?”
He shifted his weight awkwardly.
“It concerns
maître
.”
Mercy hesitated a moment, then
shrugged. “Very well.” Putting down her pen, she went to the settee and sat,
smoothing her pale yellow skirts about her. She nodded toward a chair for
Henrí.
Watching the servant take his
seat, Mercy wondered for a moment about his relationship with Julian. The two
men had often seemed more like friends than master and servant; several times,
she’d spotted them engaged in an intent conversation as she passed her
husband’s study. Henrí also kept the household books and paid the accounts,
which Mercy found quite odd.
Realizing that Henrí was politely
waiting for her to speak, she abandoned her musings. Suspiciously, she asked,
“Tell me, did my husband prompt you to have this little chat with me?”
“No, madame,” he replied, sitting
stiffly in his chair. “I took on the responsibility entirely myself.”
“Oh, did you?” she challenged.
“And it never occurred to you that you might be interfering in matters that are
none of your concern?”
He lowered his eyes. “Yes, madame,
it did occur to me. And I apologize if I am speaking out of turn. It’s just
that I’ve noted much discord between you and
maître
of late.”