life here, except to say that I had no grandparents.'
'She said nothing else?' Madame's fingers twisted the magnificent
ruby she wore. 'But that is —quite extraordinary.'
'I thought so too,' Sabine agreed. 'No doubt she had her reasons,'
she added pointedly.
'Ah.' Madame' s eyes seemed to look past her into a different time.
'She was very lovely. My mother-in-law was alive then, and she
indulged her — encouraged her artistic talents, I believe.'
She sighed faintly. 'An exquisite child, growing into a beautiful
girl. Unfortunately, she was also one of those women born to be
adored by men. That can often bring more grief than pleasure,
don't you find?'
'It's not something that's ever concerned me particularly,' Sabine
said drily. 'Are you saying that's why my mother ran away from
here—because she was loved too much?'
'She was certainly worshipped by my brother-in-law Fabien,' the
Baronne said flatly. 'He always did, it seems. But he was
contracted to marry elsewhere —a suitable marriage, and Isabelle
was a dangerous distraction.'
She paused. 'That was why, when she showed promise as an artist,
my mother-in-law arranged for her to be trained in Paris — and
even provided money for the purpose.' She sighed faintly. 'It was
thought — everyone assumed —she would marry in her turn, and
that would be the end of it. But she didn't. And when Hercule
became ill she came back to look after him, and it all began again.
'By this time Fabien was a widower, you understand. After
Hercule died, it was suggested that Isabelle should stay on for a
while —assist with the children. Antoinette was just three.' Her
face softened perceptibly. 'And so spirited. None of the nursemaids
I had engaged were of any use at all. Rohan was older, of course,
but he needed the kind of attention that Fabien could not give him,
although he was devoted to the boy.'
She threw back her head. 'It was a terrible mistake, of course, for
Isabelle to stay —to be close to Fabien again. I —realised that at
once. But it was too late. He had already asked her to marry him.
We protested, naturally, but he was adamant. He had married once
for duty, he told my husband. This time he would make his own
choice.'
'So they were actually engaged?' Sabine queried.
'Yes, but there were problems. Your mother had learned to be
independent in Paris—her own woman. She refused outright to
live here at the chateau. She wanted a house of her own, and she
persuaded Fabien to give her the money to buy Les Hiboux in her
own name. He could refuse her nothing, of course, and she bought
the house. I suppose he thought that when they were married they
would live there together.'
She was silent for a moment, then she said harshly, 'And then she
left—disappeared —without a word — without a trace, only two
weeks before the wedding.'
'So soon?'
The Baronne nodded. 'Fabien was not here when she went. He was
on a business trip to California. She had —laid her plans carefully,
it seems. He was inconsolable when he found what she'd done. It
— destroyed him. Nothing was ever the same again.'
'But she couldn't just go, like that. She wasn't a cruel person.'
The Baronne shrugged. 'Clearly, she never loved him as he did
her. I sensed that, but it is the same in many relationships. There is
one who loves, and the other who allows that devotion.' She
paused for a moment, biting her lip as if fighting for her
composure.
Sabine was silent too. It was not easy to come to terms with this
view of Isabelle as someone who received love without giving in
return. That wasn't the woman she remembered at all. But the
memory of Hugh Russell's blind, unthinking adoration of her
mother raised doubts in her mind.
I was a child after all, she thought. I saw only what I wanted to.
Isabelle's acquisition of Les Hiboux seemed inexplicable too. It
was an oddly cold-blooded act to coax a large sum of money from
someone she had no
'She said nothing else?' Madame's fingers twisted the magnificent
ruby she wore. 'But that is —quite extraordinary.'
'I thought so too,' Sabine agreed. 'No doubt she had her reasons,'
she added pointedly.
'Ah.' Madame' s eyes seemed to look past her into a different time.
'She was very lovely. My mother-in-law was alive then, and she
indulged her — encouraged her artistic talents, I believe.'
She sighed faintly. 'An exquisite child, growing into a beautiful
girl. Unfortunately, she was also one of those women born to be
adored by men. That can often bring more grief than pleasure,
don't you find?'
'It's not something that's ever concerned me particularly,' Sabine
said drily. 'Are you saying that's why my mother ran away from
here—because she was loved too much?'
'She was certainly worshipped by my brother-in-law Fabien,' the
Baronne said flatly. 'He always did, it seems. But he was
contracted to marry elsewhere —a suitable marriage, and Isabelle
was a dangerous distraction.'
She paused. 'That was why, when she showed promise as an artist,
my mother-in-law arranged for her to be trained in Paris — and
even provided money for the purpose.' She sighed faintly. 'It was
thought — everyone assumed —she would marry in her turn, and
that would be the end of it. But she didn't. And when Hercule
became ill she came back to look after him, and it all began again.
'By this time Fabien was a widower, you understand. After
Hercule died, it was suggested that Isabelle should stay on for a
while —assist with the children. Antoinette was just three.' Her
face softened perceptibly. 'And so spirited. None of the nursemaids
I had engaged were of any use at all. Rohan was older, of course,
but he needed the kind of attention that Fabien could not give him,
although he was devoted to the boy.'
She threw back her head. 'It was a terrible mistake, of course, for
Isabelle to stay —to be close to Fabien again. I —realised that at
once. But it was too late. He had already asked her to marry him.
We protested, naturally, but he was adamant. He had married once
for duty, he told my husband. This time he would make his own
choice.'
'So they were actually engaged?' Sabine queried.
'Yes, but there were problems. Your mother had learned to be
independent in Paris—her own woman. She refused outright to
live here at the chateau. She wanted a house of her own, and she
persuaded Fabien to give her the money to buy Les Hiboux in her
own name. He could refuse her nothing, of course, and she bought
the house. I suppose he thought that when they were married they
would live there together.'
She was silent for a moment, then she said harshly, 'And then she
left—disappeared —without a word — without a trace, only two
weeks before the wedding.'
'So soon?'
The Baronne nodded. 'Fabien was not here when she went. He was
on a business trip to California. She had —laid her plans carefully,
it seems. He was inconsolable when he found what she'd done. It
— destroyed him. Nothing was ever the same again.'
'But she couldn't just go, like that. She wasn't a cruel person.'
The Baronne shrugged. 'Clearly, she never loved him as he did
her. I sensed that, but it is the same in many relationships. There is
one who loves, and the other who allows that devotion.' She
paused for a moment, biting her lip as if fighting for her
composure.
Sabine was silent too. It was not easy to come to terms with this
view of Isabelle as someone who received love without giving in
return. That wasn't the woman she remembered at all. But the
memory of Hugh Russell's blind, unthinking adoration of her
mother raised doubts in her mind.
I was a child after all, she thought. I saw only what I wanted to.
Isabelle's acquisition of Les Hiboux seemed inexplicable too. It
was an oddly cold-blooded act to coax a large sum of money from
someone she had no
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