Page 33 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Jamais en vain.
Gilles slipped the ring onto his littlest finger. It fit snuggly, but not enough to hurt. He drew in a breath, the stifling tension within him slowly releasing at the touch of the cool metal on his skin.
A little giggle tripped up the stairs, and the corners of Gilles’s lips shot upward. Maman had invited the best kind of guests to dinner tonight, it appeared. He closed the trunk without another glance at his books and didn’t bother to don his jacket. The girls wouldn’t mind.
Two puffs of curls, the color of melting chocolate, skipped down the hall and into the sitting room, oblivious of their favorite uncle descending the stairs. Gilles tiptoed the rest of the way down and hid behind the doorframe to observe. The girls sat on the couch, each with a doll in her arms. Well,sitwas perhaps not the best word for it. Four-year-old Claire had flopped onto the couch on her belly, little shoes dangling above the floor.
Growling and extending his fingers like claws, Gilles pounced into the room. Seven-year-old Aude shrieked and bolted for the opposite door, while Claire gave him a withering glare and continued to walk her doll across the couch cushion. Gilles caught Aude before she could escape.
“Where are you going before you have paid your respects to Oncle Gilles? You know the laws of this house.”
“Tyrant!” she cried through a fit of laughter.
“Tyrant? I believe you mean Supreme Uncle, Lord of the House and Protector of Nieces.”
His mother appeared at the entrance to the sitting room. “Must you rile them up before dinner?”
Gilles shrugged and offered a sheepish smile.
“You aren’t lord of this house,” Aude said. “Grandpère is.”
Of course she would point that out. How his father had managed to gain the girls’ affection, Gilles would never know. Perhaps it was because he always brought them gifts. Gilles let Aude wriggle out of his arms and formed his mouth into a deep frown with a jutting lower lip. “I don’t even get a kiss?”
His older niece whipped her head back and forth, curls bouncing. “Your face is scratchy.”
Gilles rubbed his cheeks. He’d shaved that morning. Alas, the Étienne men could not escape whiskers before the end of the day. His were not as bad as his father’s.
“Papa’s face is scratchy, and you still give him kisses,” Claire grumbled from the couch.
Aude cocked her head, then scampered over to Gilles and lightly kissed him on both cheeks.
“Dinner is on the table,” Maman said, her face softening as she watched her son and granddaughters.
Gilles scooped up Claire, who squawked in protest, and proceeded toward the dining room. He threw her the same pout he’d given Aude. “Do you have kisses for Oncle Gilles?”
Claire huffed and pushed the corners of his mouth up into a smile with her small fingers. “No.”
Two rejections from two girls he loved. How very unlucky. At least Claire’s scowl was adorable. Mademoiselle Daubin’s instilled fear.
Gilles’s face heated like the kettle just before it whistled. He did not love Mademoiselle Daubin, of course. What had put that strange thought in his head? He could count her as a friend, perhaps, but love? What a laughable notion, the idea that he, a Jacobin, could love a monarchist. And he didn’t,bien évidemment. He was only thinking of his love for Claire and the rejections both gave him.
Claire poked his face. “You’re turning red, Oncle.”
Gilles laughed and set her down at the door to the dining room, then ran a hand over his face. So he wished to kiss Émile’s sister. Who wouldn’t? She was beautiful. That hardly meant he loved her.
He sat between his mother and Aude, still trying to will a measure of coolness to his skin. Across the table sat his sister-in-law, Rosalie, her face resembling the pale green of the steaming courgettes resting before her. He opened his mouth to ask after her health, but a sharp shake of his mother’s head stopped him.
He raised an eyebrow. Rosalie was an even-tempered woman, unlike others of his recent acquaintance. Others who he had no interest in courting and who he wished would leave his thoughts.
Maman gave a silent sigh, then glanced at her daughter-in-law. Rosalie’s attention was on her empty plate. His mother caught his eye again and cradled her arms, swinging them gently back and forth, almost as if she were rocking a ...
Oh.Thatsort of illness. Gilles nodded his understanding. A little one. And Victor had just gone to sea and would not return for a month or more. Poor Rosalie. Perhaps Gilles could take the long way home after work tomorrow and fetch the girls to give her a little peace. It wouldn’t be much, though, as he could only do that for the next week. Thefédérésleft on the second of July.
Gilles’s stomach sank. He wasn’t really abandoning these women; he was going to fight for their protection, but it felt as though he were leaving them to fend for themselves. He hadn’t spoken of his leaving to Maman yet. But the distance in her eyes when she watched him told him she’d already guessed. What’s more, he had yet to tell his employer. And if he were to go at all, he needed to actually add his name to the lists.
Florence brought in a steaming turret of soup and set it on the table. Rosalie looked at it, taking a deep breath. She swallowed. Then she quickly excused herself from the room.
Little Claire pressed her lips together. “Maman doesn’t like to eat anymore.”
