Page 74 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Kiss her. Ciel, how he wanted to. Would she pull away again? The curl was secure, but he let his fingertips linger in her soft tresses.
“There is only one way to ensure that never happens,” she murmured. In the candlelight her lashes cast feathery shadows which wavered as he trailed across the line of her hair.
Only one way—to marry her, to look past their disagreements, and to find common ground. Lashing a slipshod privateer to a sleek frigate would look comical at best, but perhaps he could offer the protection her father’s once prestigious position had. Safety could be worth the price of living poorly through his schooling, though he could not say if she would see it the same. Gilles brought her hand to his mouth and placed a tender kiss on her knuckles. A hint of lavender touched his nose, drawing up the sensation of her lips moving fiercely against his in the midst of the blossoming fields.
“You gave your word,” she whispered, but no accusation tainted her voice. Yes, he’d promised not to kiss her, but so much had happened since that Sunday on the road by the vineyards.
“Do you wish me to keep it?” His lips still grazed the back of her hand, which had warmed under his touch. He didn’t move. She would have pulled away if she wanted him to keep the promise. At least the Caroline he knew would have.
“Not anymore.”
He tugged her hand, easing her closer. “Truly?”
“I’m not certain why you’re waiting.”
Neither was he. He slipped his hand along the side of her neck, pulling her face toward his. Her stolen kiss in the lavender fields had only made him want it more. Heat surged through his veins as though he’d swallowed a Mediterranean sunset.
Hinges creaked down the hallway. They jumped away from each other, whirling to meet the intruder. The cook, carrying a teacup. Gilles fought to still his panting.
“He’s finished this.” The woman’s lips pursed as she glanced between the two of them. “I think themadamewould do well with some tea. Would you like to take it to her,mademoiselle?” The woman hurried to them, throwing an expectant look at Caroline.
“Of course.” Caroline took a nonchalant façade. How, given the circumstances, Gilles would never guess.
“Thank you for your help,monsieur,” the cook said, dipping into a brisk curtsy. “Shall I show you out?”
“Oh, no.” It had been in his reach. And he’d lost the opportunity to kiss her. Again. “I have business with Monsieur Daubin.”
The cook nodded. “He is in his study.” She motioned for him to precede them down the stairs.
With one fleeting glance at a stone-faced Caroline, Gilles shuffled past. The stark disappointment would have to wait to be satisfied. But he swore it would not wait long.
He only had to face her father first.
18 August 1792
Marseille
ChèreSylvie,
Maman was at the pianoforte this morning. I don’t remember the last time she sat at the instrument. And of all things, she playedSur le pont d’Avignon, the song I’ve had circling in my head since returning to Provence. I hadn’t heard it played in ages until I came down for breakfast. It was so curious to see her plucking away at the merry tune. A few days ago, when Papa went for Gilles, she was near to hysterics, and she hasn’t been at ease since Père Franchicourt entered the house. But this morning she was as close to relaxed as I have seen her since my return, and I cannot understand why. I asked if she had heard from Émile, and she said that she hadn’t. I thought the reminder would turn her mood, but it dampened it only slightly. She also hadn’t heard from Guillaume, and despite this happy episode, I ask that you have the little knave write to his mother so she may worry less about at least one of her sons.
The last three or four days Papa also has had an odd manner at breakfast, which he has taken sitting at table with the rest of us instead of in his study or rushing off to thesavonnerie. He even spoke throughout the meal! Of all the shocking occurrences. When he finished this morning, he bid me a good day before he left. After the tension of a few nights ago, I cannot think what has entered my parents’ heads. I hardly know them from who they were a few days ago. I’ve half a mind to find a way to thesavonnerieto ask Gilles if he has noticed anything strange, though I doubt he would have much insight. I would not mind seeing him this morning.
Oh, who am I fooling? I am aching to see him this morning. And every morning. Not to mention every evening. And all through the day. Was I this terrible with Nicolas? Tell me truthfully.
Père Franchicourt has improved a small amount each day. He has been able to eat a little gruel and the ginger tisane Gilles suggested. He sleeps for several hours, which gives me hope that he is on the mend, as he hardly slept from Saturday to Tuesday. Perhaps it is as Gilles told the cook, that he would have turned the corner that night regardless of Gilles’s help, but just having him there seems to have affected all in the house for the better.
Praise the heavens none of your clerical guests have needed a doctor’s care. I’m certain it is harder to find anyone to trust so close to Paris. I am very fortunate, since one of the only people I trust has gone through much training as a surgeon’s mate at sea, continues to learn through extensive reading on the subject, and is more handsome than asavonnerieclerk has any right to be.
So much danger surrounds us in these troubling times, and yet I cannot be weighed down. Where has the fear and frustration gone? They are swallowed up in a mischievous grin and pair of warm brown eyes. I am a hopeless cause, and yet more full of hope than I have been in more than a year.
Affectueusement,
Marie-Caroline
Gilles pulled out his watch and held it up to the light coming through the Daubins’ salon window at the back of the house. Three minutes to nine o’clock. He took a fortifying breath and ran a hand through his hair. Maman had offered to cut it that evening. He should have let her, instead of pacing his room for two hours after dinner.
In the darkness, the street before the Daubins’ house was nearly empty, for which he was grateful. Unnecessary attention from over the low garden wall would make him lose his nerve.
