Page 25 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
He cocked his head. “I am to take this asroyalisteactions?” If she were involved in secret meetings ... What would he do? He should have reported her for the book. But a meeting ofroyalisteswas more serious, and if anyone found out he knew about them, where would the trouble end?
“You may take this simply as a private matter of personal enlightenment,” she said. “Please excuse me.”
It was his duty as a Jacobin to find out if there really was a secret meeting. But strangely, pure curiosity held greater sway. “I could follow you, you know.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a flirty grin that did not affect her steely expression in the slightest.
“That would not bring you any closer to earning my trust.”
His father’s face in the dark vestibule appeared in his mind before Gilles could make a coy quip about finding other means.You do not understand women so well as you think you do.
Gilles drew in his lips to run his tongue over them and the remnants of fig juice, now sickly sweet. Perhaps Père had reason in this one instance. He hated to accept it, but here she stood, radiantly firm in her convictions, and he hadn’t the faintest understanding of the inner workings of Mademoiselle Daubin’s mind. How she held to the dying monarchy with such conviction. How she stayed true to a religion that failed so many. How she did not melt under any of his teasings or playful smiles.
“I suppose now you must choose between gaining the trust of a woman with whom you vehemently disagree and investigating the terrible treason she might be off to commit.” She rested her hands on her waist, further accentuating its slimness. “I know which one the Jacobin would choose.”
Gilles’s foot inched back of its own accord. “It may be that you know me as poorly as I know you,” he said softly. He would let her go. He shouldn’t, but he would. “Might we part as friends?” He continued to back up, putting a safe distance between them.
She still eyed him warily. “If you do not follow me, I will agree to not being enemies.”
“I can accept that compromise.” He gave a gentle bow, then pivoted and walked away. The blanket over his shoulder rose and fell softly against his back as he made for the Panier district. Strangely he did not feel the tension that usually came after his encounters with Mademoiselle Daubin. He had not made the mistake of implying she was simply a pretty face, as he had the last time they met. His cheeks grew hot at the memory. Imbecile.
He pulled his book out and stretched the arm that had held it against his side for the whole of their conversation.Tartuffe. When he’d first read the tale of the hypocritical clergyman and his victims, Gilles had taken it as a confirmation of the corruption of religion. Now he wondered if it had more to say than just criticism of the church.
The figs and almonds gave way to olive trees as he walked the straight road. He filled his lungs with fresh air, something scarce at his home in the middle of Marseille. After journeying several minutes, he came to a bend in the road and looked back. He could see a straw bonnet and dress the color of a summer sky.
Still watching.
He raised his arm and gave an exaggerated wave, not sure if she could even see it. In a moment her arm lifted to return the gesture, a blue thread caught on a blanket of forest green. He grinned and turned back to his path, whistling a little tune about dancing on the Pont d’Avignon.
The next morning, a rap on the doorframe caused Gilles to look up from his desk. Both his fellow clerks were in the factory, and Monsieur Daubin was breakfasting with his family in his office down the hall. Why his employer breakfasted here and not at home, Gilles could only guess.
But it wasn’t Mademoiselle Daubin at the door, as he’d hoped. “Martel?” He rose to greet his friend, who wore a haversack slung over one shoulder. “Are you off this morning?”
“I have only a moment, but I wanted to offer once more for you to join me.” His friend’s sharp features seemed even more severe today, with his eyebrows drawn low and his mouth pressed so firmly shut when he wasn’t talking that it nearly disappeared into the rest of his face.
Gilles opened his mouth to respond, but he did not have words. He’d already told Martel why he couldn’t go.
“The Assembly is calling for troops,” Martel said, stepping into the room. “Austria and Prussia are beating on our door. Change is afoot, Étienne. We’ve passed the time for sitting dormant while others do the work of freedom for us. If we do not unite the country, we will fall.”
“I would make you late,” Gilles said lightly. “I will have to wait for your next recruiting trip.”
Martel shook his head. “The longer you put it off, the harder it will be. When will I see you dangling from a rope with the otherroyalistes?”
Gilles tried to laugh, but the sound fell flat in the empty office. “Some of us do not have the privilege of employers willing to save our jobs for us while we traipse about the countryside looking for worthy Frenchmen.”
“Fate smiles on those who take action.”
Could he never win? Gilles’s greatest efforts had still left him lacking as a mariner, as a Jacobin, as a trustworthy friend. Being pulled from so many directions had begun to take its toll. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. What to say to make Martel leave ...
A softer tap on the door made Gilles’s heart flip. “Monsieur Étienne?” The clear, confident voice rejuvenated the oppressive atmosphere of the office.
“Mademoiselle,” Gilles said, skirting around his friend and bowing to her. “How good it is to see you this morning.” And today he truly meant it.
“My father wished for your report on the perfume shipment yesterday,” she said. “Who is this?”
Someone he wished were not in the room. “May I introduce my friend, Honoré Martel.”
Martel strode forward, hand extended to her and a smirk creasing his features. Mademoiselle Daubin hesitantly laid her hand atop his.
“Enchanté,” Martel crooned, bowing low over her hand. His fingers tightened around hers, and in an instant his lips rammed against her bare knuckles.
