Love's Vengeance by Dana Roquet

on.”
    Desiree hugged the old woman affectionately, “I thought I best get home and see about things.” She sniffed, shoring up her resolve and pulling herself up straight.
    “Very well dear,” Mary began as she set Desiree’s bag inside the front hallway and gestured for the two to follow as she started through the house before them.
    Like Bridgett, Mary was English. She was well into her sixties and a bit on the heavy side, but Desiree had never really noticed her size and could still recall the sense of security and love she had felt, when as a small child she was gathered up onto Mary’s generous lap, when frightened or hurt. She would cuddle against her warm and sheltering form and listen to stories of knights and princesses, wizards and sorcerers, of English lore, until her fear or her pain would abate.
    Mary’s hair, which was always pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, had been silver for as long as Desiree could remember. Her face was round and jolly, with apple cheeks and sparkling gray eyes. She had become more of a supervisor in the house, in recent years, delegating work from her mistress to the other servants. She had been with her parents for over twenty-five years and in France a good score before that. She was the closest likeness to a grandmother Desiree had ever known, and she loved her as such.
    “We have been busy here, to be sure.” Mary was saying, “Julien is in the garden right now, weeding. With the mild winter and here only the beginning of May, a few of the new tomatoes have already begun to bud, if you can imagine!”
    As Mary rambled on about daily duties and they moved across the main hall, Desiree glanced to her left into the parlor and noted the furnishings had been returned to their original positions, with no sign her parents had been laid there just the day before. All was neat and tidy, all traces of the houseguests and mourners gone.
    “Well it looks as though Bridgett and I have little enough to do here. You have taken care of everything, but I should have known you would.” Desiree declared, placing her arm about the old woman’s shoulders.
    Looking to her right Desiree paused there at the drawing room door, as she noticed the door to her father's study on the opposite side of the room, stood ajar. The study door was usually kept closed. Mary saw the curiosity and question in her eyes and hurried to explain.
    “It’s all right dear, Jacques Monet is here trying to set your father’s things in order for you. He was hoping to see you.”
    “ Monsieur Monet? I haven’t seen him for quite some time. I don’t believe he was at the funeral was he Bridgett?”
    “No sweet, he has been away on business in England, remember?” Bridgett coaxed her memory gently.
    “Oh—I recall now. It must have slipped my mind. I really must go in and say hello to Jacques.”
    “Very well sweet.” Bridgett agreed, “I shall retire to my room for a bit.”
    “And I will be heading back to the kitchen if you need anything at all dear.” Mary added.
     
    ***
     
    Desiree stopped at the threshold of the study and knocked lightly upon the open door. Jacques Monet sat at the desk, his spectacles low upon his nose, studying a ledger, when her knock drew his attention.
    “Desiree my child!” he exclaimed and stood abruptly, coming around the desk with open arms. She came into his warm embrace, accepting his kiss upon her cheek. He stepped back then and removed his spectacles, studying her face as he held her hand in one of his own.
    “How are you Monsieur Monet?” Desiree asked before he could speak.
    “How am I? The better question would be how are you? You have been through some very trying times my sweet. I only returned this morning and was utterly shocked when I heard the news. Your father was one of my closest friends and your mother—well Celeste was one of the finest women I have ever known.”
    Desiree gazed into the tender eyes of her father’s business partner