enough to rectify. After I assured them you were going home, the officers released you without complaint. But the ideas, they remain a wall around you. Grands Dieux! Ideas of independence and feminine freedom, as if there were such a thing." He rolled the rim of his glass along his bottom lip, took a measuring sip. "Caleb would have put up with your nonsense. After all, he continues to."
"He's in love with Christabel. A tad late, I'm afraid." Elle smothered a yawn; she had heard these complaints many times.
"Well, well. Gossip travels."
Elle's shoulders lifted beneath her faded dress. She felt calm, overly calm. She wondered if her father's Bordeaux were to blame.
"Christabel Connery is nothing for you to worry about. I will talk to Caleb, if you wish. If you changed your mind, I could be persuaded to change his."
Elle gazed through flickering candlelight—across an incongruous setting of chipped porcelain and gleaming crystal—into a stranger's eyes. At times like these, her mother's comforting smile returned, and Elle experienced grief greater than any she could imagine. If only ... oh, damn and blast with if only. "Papa, I don't care about Caleb and Christabel. I don't care about Magnus and Anna Plowman. If I married a man, shouldn't I care if he loves another woman?"
Henri reared, his thumbs snaking beneath the braided edge of his waistcoat. "I imagine you would care if the situation involved young Noah. He asked me to translate a science text this afternoon. Mentioned he's living in the widow's vacant dwelling. How opportune."
She slid her glass in a slow circle. Would she care if Noah loved another woman? Kissed another woman? The naive young girl would have cared plenty, and gone after them, claws sharpened. Elle rubbed her hand across her stomach, the sudden ache warning her the young girl still resided inside her.
No. A woman did not experience the unconditional love of a child. And, her love for Noah had been unconditional from the first moment. She could still see him shoving Daniel Connery from her path and turning to escort her inside the schoolhouse. Her mind had not understood every word spoken that day, but her heart had.
Her father's fist cracked down, upsetting a tin saltshaker and her wineglass. "Marielle-Claire, you must get him out of your mind. I would be happy to hand you over to him, believe me. But be reasonable. He does not want you. He never has."
Elle righted her glass and reached for the bottle. "Our relationship does not include sharing my mind, Papa. What's there is mine and mine alone." Commending herself for pouring with a steady hand, she took a long sip before she looked into eyes that scaled and stored.
Exposed, she buried her anguish deep.
Henri leaned forward, wadding stained cloth beneath each elbow. "Forget him, daughter. Right now, right this minute. You made a perfect ninny of yourself, but you were a child, and people will excuse a child's impropriety. They will not excuse a woman's."
Anger bloomed hot and fast in her cheeks.
"I can see by your intractable expression that I will have to unveil harsh truths to make you understand your position. A scented letter was waiting for young Noah at the post office this morning. From a Mrs. Bartram. Caroline, I believe. Return address Chicago. Unfortunately, Garrett retrieved the missive before I had a chance to intercept. Written proof would work wonders in convincing you."
"That's despicable."
His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "Dear girl, I no longer presume where you're concerned. I learned that lesson long ago."
"I no longer presume where you're concerned either, Papa. Those lessons blistered."
He vaulted to his feet, his chair skidding back. "You set yourself on a perilous course." He stuffed his crystal wineglasses in his coat pocket. "A dire one."
Knowing it would fuel his ire as mere words could not, Elle flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. It worked, she thought, watching him storm from the
"He's in love with Christabel. A tad late, I'm afraid." Elle smothered a yawn; she had heard these complaints many times.
"Well, well. Gossip travels."
Elle's shoulders lifted beneath her faded dress. She felt calm, overly calm. She wondered if her father's Bordeaux were to blame.
"Christabel Connery is nothing for you to worry about. I will talk to Caleb, if you wish. If you changed your mind, I could be persuaded to change his."
Elle gazed through flickering candlelight—across an incongruous setting of chipped porcelain and gleaming crystal—into a stranger's eyes. At times like these, her mother's comforting smile returned, and Elle experienced grief greater than any she could imagine. If only ... oh, damn and blast with if only. "Papa, I don't care about Caleb and Christabel. I don't care about Magnus and Anna Plowman. If I married a man, shouldn't I care if he loves another woman?"
Henri reared, his thumbs snaking beneath the braided edge of his waistcoat. "I imagine you would care if the situation involved young Noah. He asked me to translate a science text this afternoon. Mentioned he's living in the widow's vacant dwelling. How opportune."
She slid her glass in a slow circle. Would she care if Noah loved another woman? Kissed another woman? The naive young girl would have cared plenty, and gone after them, claws sharpened. Elle rubbed her hand across her stomach, the sudden ache warning her the young girl still resided inside her.
No. A woman did not experience the unconditional love of a child. And, her love for Noah had been unconditional from the first moment. She could still see him shoving Daniel Connery from her path and turning to escort her inside the schoolhouse. Her mind had not understood every word spoken that day, but her heart had.
Her father's fist cracked down, upsetting a tin saltshaker and her wineglass. "Marielle-Claire, you must get him out of your mind. I would be happy to hand you over to him, believe me. But be reasonable. He does not want you. He never has."
Elle righted her glass and reached for the bottle. "Our relationship does not include sharing my mind, Papa. What's there is mine and mine alone." Commending herself for pouring with a steady hand, she took a long sip before she looked into eyes that scaled and stored.
Exposed, she buried her anguish deep.
Henri leaned forward, wadding stained cloth beneath each elbow. "Forget him, daughter. Right now, right this minute. You made a perfect ninny of yourself, but you were a child, and people will excuse a child's impropriety. They will not excuse a woman's."
Anger bloomed hot and fast in her cheeks.
"I can see by your intractable expression that I will have to unveil harsh truths to make you understand your position. A scented letter was waiting for young Noah at the post office this morning. From a Mrs. Bartram. Caroline, I believe. Return address Chicago. Unfortunately, Garrett retrieved the missive before I had a chance to intercept. Written proof would work wonders in convincing you."
"That's despicable."
His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "Dear girl, I no longer presume where you're concerned. I learned that lesson long ago."
"I no longer presume where you're concerned either, Papa. Those lessons blistered."
He vaulted to his feet, his chair skidding back. "You set yourself on a perilous course." He stuffed his crystal wineglasses in his coat pocket. "A dire one."
Knowing it would fuel his ire as mere words could not, Elle flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. It worked, she thought, watching him storm from the
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