Page 75 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Marie-Caroline, you look lovely this evening.” Madame Daubin’s chipper voice carried through the slightly open window.
“I haven’t changed a thing since dinner.” Caroline’s level tone sent a wave like that of a warm southern sea through him. Though he couldn’t see her, the image of her seated by the hearth, brow raised in that knowing way of hers, flashed across his mind’s eye and nearly drew a chuckle. He shouldn’t have expected the mother to act normal. And even more, he should have known the daughter would get suspicious. “Maman, really. Is something wrong? You have been acting so strange today. Shall I help you to your room?”
“Of course not. I feel wonderful. In fact ...”
Was it time? Gilles pushed off the wall. The balmy night air rang with the harmony of crickets and a distant nightingale cheering him on.
“How would you like some music,ma fille?” Footsteps crossed the salon floor.
“You have been suddenly musical today.” Of course Caroline suspected something. Gilles pulled at his waistcoat. The cloth was thin and perfectly suited to the evening, and still it stifled him. He skirted around the light that painted the soft grass outside the salon. “I think I shall go check on Père Franchicourt.”
Gilles froze. No, she couldn’t leave. He hazarded a glance toward the window but couldn’t see anything more than a fold of Caroline’s lilac skirt as she stood.
“I will send the cook in a moment. What I’d really like is a few heads of hortensia from the garden. Would you cut some for me? I think they would look very nice arranged on the pianoforte.”
The blue rounds of hortensia blossoms swayed not far from him, bobbing their heads encouragingly. This was it.
“Now?” Caroline asked.
“Yes. Here, I have some shears.”
He turned toward the double doors that led out of the salon into the garden and forced his hands down to his sides.
Caroline’s voice floated out into the garden. “You came rather prepared this evening, Maman.”
Gilles twirled Grandmère’s ring around his little finger. He knew she’d accept, but the pessimistic pieces of his mind insisted she had too many reasons to decline. He was a clerk. A privateer’s son. A Jacobin. His heart leaped into his throat when a small crack of light appeared between the doors and then widened. The smooth lines of her silhouette darkened the entrance before disappearing into the dimness of evening as she closed the door.
She paused for a moment. “Ah, there you are, Gilles. I thought I’d find you out here.”
“Was it very obvious?” He itched to knead the tightness from his shoulders.
Caroline glided toward him, her pale gown turning from azure hues in the moonlight to soft purple as she crossed the patch of candlelight on the lawn. Madame Daubin had positioned nearly every candle in the room by the window, making matters more conspicuous. “I suppose I hoped you would be out here.”
A smile spread across his face as he met her in the middle of the grass. How wonderful to see her under calm conditions. That hadn’t been the case in weeks. “Then I am glad to satisfy your hopes.”
The tips of his fingers longed to slide around her waist and pull her against him. He could almost feel the glossy silk of her gown on his palms. Finally, finally, he would press his lips to hers. Relish the moment. And for the first time in his life put all his heart and feeling into a kiss.
But not yet.
A quick glance at the house showed a shadow cross an upper-floor window. The form should not have frightened him, not after speaking with Monsieur Daubin on this subject several times over the last few days, but still Gilles straightened. He must follow the proper order.
Caroline watched him, the hint of a wry grin on her lips. She saw straight through him, as always. Gilles gulped and tried to match her ease in posture. Madame Daubin was to give them a few minutes before she began, but Gilles’s mind had gone blank. Perhaps he should have prepared a script for tonight.
“What brings you here this evening?” Caroline prompted. “Are you here to ask after the invalid?”
“Your father said he was on the mend.” Of all things to discuss, the priest.
“Then you are here to see my father on business?” Had she leaned in closer? The brilliant moonlight reflected in her eyes, while the night breeze sent a puff of lavender perfume across his senses.
Breathe, Gilles.“Dancing.”
She cocked her head, and a thick curl bounced against her neck. “Dancing? Here?”
Gilles cleared his throat. “Of course. Why not?”
“Are you teaching me one of your revolutionaryfarandoles?” The lift of her brow told him exactly what she thought of that.
“In fact, I was considering anAllemande.” He had practiced with Maman and Florence for the past three nights, and he’d mastered the intricate figures. Mostly.
