She couldn’t see a price label anywhere, but when she asked diffidently about the cost, she found to her astonishment that it was half what she’d have expected, and therefore —just—affordable, especially as she already possessed an almost new pair of high-heeled black shoes.
Within minutes, the transaction was done and she was watching the taffeta dress being swathed in tissue paper and laid reverently in a blue and silver striped box tied up with ribbons.
As she carried it through the market, she’d felt momentarily like Cinderella, a dream soon shattered by the sound of Madame scolding a stallholder over the price of leeks.
A much needed reality check, she thought ruefully now, as she climbed the final slope to the gates of the château, and one that she’d returned to over and over again in the days which followed.
She went in the back door and into the kitchen, where Jules was standing talking to his aunt. And just beyond them, lying on the kitchen table, Ginny saw two rabbits.
‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. Ça va?’ Jules greeted her cheerfully. He gestured at the rabbits. ‘Tonight Tante Clothilde will cook them for you in her special mustard sauce.’ He kissed his fingertips. ‘Formidable.’
Ginny stared at the rabbits, feeling curiously hollow as she unfastened her coat.
Fur, she thought. Ears and tails. That would have to be removed.
She said hoarsely, ‘Where did they come from?’
‘I shot them early this morning.’ He sounded surprised. ‘The noise of my gun did not disturb you?’
Mutely, Ginny shook her head, only to discover that was a serious mistake. Gagging suddenly, she dropped the bag of vegetables and ran to the scullery sink, where she was swiftly and unpleasantly sick.
As she straightened, the world still reeling around her, she was given a drink of water, then, firmly supported by Madame’s sheltering arm, found herself guided out of the kitchen to the petit salon, where she was deposited on the sofa in front of the fire.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ginny whispered. ‘It—it was seeing those rabbits. I’m not usually so squeamish.’
Madame nodded. ‘But everything changes when one is enceinte, mon enfant.’ She gave Ginny a reassuring smile. ‘And for tonight’s dinner, I shall roast a chicken very simply.’
‘Enceinte,’ Ginny repeated numbly. ‘You mean...’
‘That you are to have a child, petite.’
‘No—you must be mistaken.’ You have to be...
Madame shook her head. ‘I knew from the first. And Monsieur Andre will tell you that I am never wrong.’
Ginny stared up at her. ‘You told him too?’
‘That he was to be a father? Most certainly. It is important news for a man.’ She patted Ginny on the shoulder. ‘And another generation for the Château Terauze. It will bring great happiness.’
Happiness, thought Ginny when Madame had bustled off and she was alone. What possible happiness can come from being married to a man out of his sense of duty? And when there’s someone more suitable waiting in the wings?
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. Falling in love with someone, knowing you wanted to spend your life making him happy should be a wonderful thing. Not like the wretchedness and desperation that were threatening to overwhelm her, but which must for ever remain her secret.
At least, she whispered silently, until I’m long gone from here, which must—must be soon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHE HAD BRACED HERSELF for Andre’s arrival, but when he walked into the room and she saw the bleakness of his expression, her heart felt wrenched.
She said huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’
And it was true. It was her misguided attempt to intervene in whatever was going on between Cilla and himself that had triggered this disaster. Instead, she should have closed her eyes and kept her distance.
Because she’d known from the start—probably from the moment she saw him—the danger she was in.
But she’d told herself that her feelings were down to dislike and resentment, too inexperienced to recognise the tug of sexual thrall for what it was. Or to realise that it was jealousy as well as anger that had taken her to him that day. And love that had brought her here.
He said abruptly, ‘I too regret—everything.’ He shook his head. ‘I have been hoping, praying that for once Clothilde might be wrong.’
She winced inwardly. ‘But it doesn’t change anything,’ she said quickly. ‘I shall still go back to England.’
His mouth hardened. ‘Au contraire. Tomorrow at the party I shall announce our engagement, and we will be married as soon as the legal formalities are complete.’