Chapter 15

Fifteen

MONET MANOR, LONDON - JUNE 13, 1816

CELINE

I woke with fewer aches than I deserved but more than I wished. My hip was home to a truly spectacular bruise, the result of landing on the pavement. My neck was home to a wholly inappropriate one, the result of one William Hart.

I could not bring myself to lament it, not when the brush of my fingers across the mark served as a reminder of citrus and sage and heated sapphire eyes.

I did not favor the fichu as a rule, and it took some time for Jane to locate one to cover the mark. It would certainly attract notice where I was going, but it could not be helped. While I broke my fast, I endured a lecture from Bouvier that was more severe than I wished but well warranted. Afterward, I set off into the morning sun.

For the first time in days, I did not have a bench to occupy. Instead, I made my way to Mama's.

Presently, I occupied the home that had once been ours. After the late duke demanded I give up Rycliffe Place, I moved back in with her. For over a year, she and I lived together before she left the house to me and moved into Monet Manor with our dear friend Marie.

There was something about young widowhood and the violent death of one's husband that only my mother could understand. It was a peculiar bonding experience. Our relationship shifted irrevocably that day—the day I fell apart in her arms with Gabriel's blood still staining my hands. That was the day we became equals in grief.

Though he had known me for nearly two decades, Marie's butler was ever the professional. He directed me to the drawing room as though I were a lady he'd never met before. Mama found me a few moments later, midsip of my tea.

" Chérie , you look well." She whispered after a warm embrace. My mother's French never failed to cause a pang of guilt and longing for the country I barely knew and the language I hardly recognized.

"Merci, Mama. You as well. How is Marie?"

"She is lovely as always. She is still abed, but I'm certain she will join us soon." Her dark eyes surveyed me. Perhaps it was my imagination that they caught on the mark through the gauzy fabric covering my neck. There was no way she could see it through the fabric, I was certain. But her gaze lingered in the space on my neck where the mark lay.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, chérie ?"

"How do you always know?"

"You are here before midday. You're wearing an ill-suited fichu. And I've loved you your entire life. It makes one observant."

"I may have feelings. For a man."

She studied me thoughtfully before answering. "And you are worried. About what, precisely?"

"Anything? Everything? I've entertained the thought, occasionally, over the years. I considered, perhaps, moving on, finding someone whose company I could enjoy. In wistful moments I've even considered the possibility of falling in love again. But…"

"Faced with the possibility you are terrified?" She always knew. How did she always know?

"Yes. I do not even know precisely why."

"Oh ma fille chérie … In losing Gabriel, you endured pain beyond words. To love someone the way you loved him, and to lose him—in such a sudden, violent manner as well. It is more than anyone should have to endure. But I know you. You are not capable of loving by half measures. To let someone in, truly in, you risk that pain again."

I remembered little of the months after Gabriel passed. But I would never forget the agony of each breath. My chest fisted in an angry knot, each and every inhale feeling like death. Worst of all was the knowledge that I would have to make the effort all over again in mere seconds, endure the torment again and again and again.

Eventually the pain lessened, or perhaps I became accustomed to it. But the memory of it was still sharp and bright. And that was the essence of it. Because when I had been with Michael, we shared an amicable friendship alongside our arrangement. Feelings had never gone deeper than fondness and attraction. That would not be so with William.

From the start, every interaction between us had been the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I wanted to kiss William as often as I wanted to kill him. And he made no secret that he felt the same. Already, I could feel myself being swept away. I could fight the current and perhaps survive. Or I could give in and drown in him. And each was its own kind of terror.

I had not noticed the tears start to fall, not until my mother brushed them away one by one. "You are brave, ma chérie , to even consider it. And I am so proud of how far you've come. No matter what you decide."

"What about Gabriel?"

"If it had been you who passed and not Gabriel, what would you have wanted for him?"

"It is different. He had responsibilities."

"Not so different. He would want you to be happy, certainly. Now, tell me about this man."

"Mama!"

"What? He must be an interesting fellow."

"He… He fascinates me. The way Gabriel did, but… different? Every time I learn something new about him, I like him more because of it."

"Is he very handsome?"

"He is… sharp, all extremes. Not classically attractive, but I find him handsome."

"Sharp?"

"It fits him. He has an edge, quick to irritation but softens easily. His face fits as well, his cheeks and jaw are finely honed, and his eyes are the bluest I've ever seen."

"Not charming then?" she asked.

"On closer acquaintance, yes."

"He need not be charming to others. How does he treat you? You said he is easily irritated?"

"He is unwilling to suffer my very occasional nonsense. But he is considerate and brave."

"Do I wish to know how you determined he was brave?"

"No, certainly not." That earned me an indulgent chuckle, the same one I used to receive when I was caught sneaking biscuits from the kitchen.

"How does he support himself? Does he own property?"

"He is a solicitor. He works with Kate's brother, Lord Leighton. You remember Kate, Viscountess Grayson?"

"Vaguely. The pretty one whose aunt put her in the unfortunate gowns?" she asked before waving the thought away. "A man who knows the value of hard work, that is not to be underestimated. Life itself can be hard work, and a man accustomed to it will be well served by his experience in those times."

"Yes, that is her. But I must admit, I expected a bit of disapproval for his position."

"Perhaps at one time. But having seen how you suffered these past years, I rather think that anyone who makes you happy will delight me. Regardless of his circumstances. I would like to meet this man. Have him come for dinner?"

"But…"

"Celine Cadieux… if you are considering this man with any kind of seriousness, I wish to meet him. If you prefer, you may host." My mother had never adopted the Hasket name when scolding me. Nothing made me feel quite so young and insolent as being addressed by my maiden surname.

"I do not know if I am considering him. I do not know if he is considering me."

"Well that is ridiculous. Every man with a pulse has been considering you since you were far too young to be considered." I merely rolled my eyes, something Mother was kind enough to indulge.

"I should be going soon. He will call this afternoon and I have another stop to make. Is Marie still abed?"

"Oh, likely so. She is a late riser. I will give her your good wishes. And you can see her when you bring your young man to supper."

"Yes, Mama."

"Celine? Say hello to Gabriel for me."

"How did you know?"

Her eyes softened when she replied. "I always know."

The walk to the Hasket family home was more than warm—it was sweltering. The sun was high and bright, and the temperature was unseasonably hot for so early in the summer.

The past week was the longest I had ever gone without visiting Gabriel. The oppressive heat and more oppressive guilt slowed my pace. Each step was a fight, as though I walked through mud.

The trip took nearly twice as long as it ought to due to my theatrics, but eventually I made it to the plot outside of Hasket House. The family was used to my visits, and I was free to slip through the wrought iron fence without announcing myself.

Unlike the Cross Bones Graveyard, the fence and grounds were well-tended and maintained. The contrast between Gabriel's final home and Adriane's was more stark than I ever could have imagined. Brushing away that unhelpful comparison, I found myself at my usual spot in mere steps.

Usually on a day as warm as this one, I would sit on the ground, my back resting against the cool stone. Sometimes if I closed my eyes I could pretend I was in his arms. Today the bench was more tempting. It had the irrational effect of making me feel that I was facing him.

I began my ritual as I always did, my fingers pressed to my lips before dropping them to the headstone with a whispered, "Bonjour, Mon amor." My voice was thicker this time than it had been in years. In lieu of the intimacy of resting against his stone chest and the perceived distance of my bench, I sat on the grass facing him.

"I am sorry to have left you so long, but I have much to tell you. And ask you."

A leaf from the nearby oak tree escaped and brushed my cheek on its fall.

"I missed you too. I… I know you are not here, not really. But I need to ask you something. And I need you to give me a sign. Please. Anything."

The breeze gave a gentle waft, ruffling my hair.

"You were not killed by William, were you?"

An unnatural stillness surrounded me. For an unending moment, nothing happened. I waited, too afraid to breathe, to create an unnatural sign. Then a butterfly flapped delicately into view before finding perch on the nearby irises. Orange with black-tipped wings that fluttered easily. It was soon joined by a brother, small and white. Then a blue and a red friend came too. Dancing around the flowers as they swayed in the breeze.

"That's a no?"

The littlest blue one flitted over and settled itself on my knee. This one was familiar. I had seen it, or one like it, last week and in years past. But he had never come close enough to touch, to land.

"Thank you." The words came out of me in a rush. Tension abandoned me, leaving me boneless with desperate relief.

"I… I have… feelings for him. Not love, but… it could be. Maybe. And I don't know what to do with them."

My little companion gave a graceful flap of his wings.

My throat tightened as I tried to find the words. "I feel as though I'm betraying you. What we had. What we could have had."

The grass beside my feet rustled with the breeze. The tears were there now, just hovering, waiting for the right moment to escape.

"I could not possibly have found someone you would hate more."

Somewhere high up in the oak tree, the great tit that called it home let out its laugh-like call.

"I don't know how to do this. If I'm even capable of it. If I fell in love again. And lost again… I would never recover. I'm not sure I know how to stop anyway. Nothing could have stopped me from loving you, not even your own efforts."

With a last agitated flap of his wings, the small butterfly returned to the irises with his friends.

I rose and settled my back against the familiar stone. In Gabriel's arms again, I let the tears go. One became ten became ten thousand. Tears for all the memories we would never make, for the kisses we would never have, the days that were stolen from us.

I made no effort to wipe them away. There was no point. Eventually, minutes, hours, days later, the world came back to me. Blue iridescent wings waving back and forth in the breeze on my knee, the great tit sitting on its lower branch, laughing at me, a breeze brushing through my hair, and his cool stone at my back.

I sat, enjoying the sights and smells and sounds and touches I had attributed to my husband over the years. Appreciating each and every one of them for their efforts. Thanking them silently.

"Thank you, mon amor. I do not think I will be by to see you quite as often anymore. I think it is time I make some new memories instead of mourning the ones we will never have. I will never, not if I live to see the end of time, love anyone the same way that I love you. I want you to know that."

One by one, the butterflies flitted back to wherever they came from. The bird offered one last forlorn chirp. A bit of dandelion fluff whispered past me in the great gust of wind that pulled a few tendrils from my coiffure.

And then all was silent. And I rose with one last press of lips to fingers and fingers to stone. And I made my way out of the cemetery and into the sunshine.