The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience. Sara Craven
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and do not expect this to be easy for you.’ She paused. ‘Bonne chance, Alys.’
I’ll need it, Allie thought as she started the car. Every scrap of luck that’s going, and every prayer answered too.
Today, the house looked quiet and brooding in the sunlight, its shuttered windows like barriers, warning her not to come too close. Or was that her guilty conscience, working on her imagination?
Stomach churning, she drove round to the back and stopped in the courtyard. Remy’s Jeep, she saw, was parked in its usual place, and she breathed a faint sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to go into Ignac and confront him at the medical centre.
As she got out, she heard the dogs begin to bark in the main house, but she ignored them. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the barn door and turned the handle, as she’d done so many times before. But the door didn’t swing open to admit her, and she realised it must be locked.
He’s never done that before, she thought with a silent sigh. Yet he must know that I’d be coming come to see him. He’s obviously planning to make me beg.
She lifted the brass knocker shaped like a horse’s head. They’d bought it together at the market only a few days ago, because she’d said the horse looked like Roland. She beat a vigorous tattoo.
But there was no response, nor sound of movement within. Allie stepped back, shading her eyes as she looked at the upper windows, and then with a rush and a whimper the dogs were there, circling round her, tails wagging, as they pushed delighted muzzles at her, waiting for her to stroke and pet them.
She turned and saw Georges de Brizat, standing looking at her across the courtyard, his face like a stone. He whistled abruptly, and the dogs, reluctant but obedient, moved back to his side. He hooked his hands into their collars and kept them there.
As if, she thought with real shock, she might contaminate them.
He said, ‘Why are you here, madame? You must know you are not welcome.’
Allie lifted her chin. ‘I need to see Remy. I have to talk to him—to explain.’
‘It seems that your husband is the one who requires an explanation,’ he said with grim emphasis. ‘Go back to him, madame, if he will have you. There is nothing for you here.’
Her throat tightened. ‘I won’t go until I’ve seen Remy.’
‘Then you will wait a very long time,’ he said. ‘He has gone.’ And turned away.
‘Gone?’ Allie repeated the word almost numbly, then ran across the courtyard to him, catching at his sleeve, her voice pleading. ‘Gone where? Please, Monsieur Georges, you must tell me…’
‘Must?’ the old man repeated, outrage in his voice. ‘You dare to use that word to me, or any member of my family? And what obligation do I have to you, madame—the young woman who has ruined my grandson’s life and, as a consequence, broken the heart of my son, too?’
She bent her head, hiding from the accusation in his eyes. ‘I—I love Remy.’
‘You mean that you desired him,’ he corrected harshly. ‘A very different thing.’
‘No.’ She forced her voice to remain level. ‘I love him, and I want to spend my life with him.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘But his wishes are entirely different, madame,’ he said at last, his voice gruff. ‘Yesterday he contacted the Paris headquarters of the medical charity he used to work for, and volunteered his services yet again. His father drove him to the train last night, having failed to persuade him to stay. By now he may be on his way to the other side of the world.
‘And why?’ His voice rose. ‘Because he does not ever want to see you again, or hear your name mentioned. And for that he is prepared to sacrifice his home, his career, and all the dearest hopes of his family. He has gone, Alys, from all of us. From his whole life here. And even if I knew where I would not tell you. You have done enough damage.
‘Now, leave, and do not come back. Because the answer here will always be the same.’
He moved to the back door, then halted, giving her one last, sombre look. ‘It was a bad hour for my grandson when he saw you on the beach at Les Sables.’
‘A very bad hour,’ Allie said quietly. ‘He would have done better to have left me to drown. Just as I’m dying now.’
And, stumbling a little, she went back to her car and drove away without a backward glance.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE’D returned to England two days later, even though Madelon Colville, with sorrow in her eyes, had tried everything to dissuade her.
‘You cannot go back, my child. To that house—that family,’ she’d insisted. ‘They will destroy you.’
‘But I can’t stay here either,’ Allie had responded wearily. ‘Not when I’m constantly surrounded by reminders of him. You must see that. And, anyway, nothing matters now. Not Hugo—or Grace. Any of them.’ She tried to smile and failed. ‘From now on they’re the least of my troubles.’
It had been a different person who’d arrived back at Marchington—someone cool and remote, who had announced quietly but inflexibly that in future she would be occupying a bedroom of her own and did not expect to be disturbed there. Someone who had refused to be deflected from her purpose, no matter how many icy silences, shouting matches, or more subtle forms of persuasion she was subjected to.
She had faltered only once, when she’d been back just over a month and had begun to realise that the unexpected interruption to her body’s normal rhythms was not caused by stress. That, in fact, she was going to have a baby.
A child, she’d thought, caught between shock and sudden exhilaration, a hand straying to her abdomen. Remy’s child.
She had closed her eyes in a kind of thanksgiving. I have to tell him, she’d thought. He has to know straight away. Because when he does it will change everything. It has to…
She had shut herself away to telephone Trehel, and this time had spoken to Remy’s father, Philippe de Brizat, only to encounter the same icy wall of hostility.
‘How dare you force yourself on our attention again, madame? Have you not caused us all sufficient anguish?’
‘Please, Dr de Brizat, I have to know where Remy is.’ Her words tumbled over themselves. ‘There’s something I have to tell him urgently—something important. You must have a contact number or an address by now. Somewhere I can reach him.’
‘For more messages of love?’ His tone bit. ‘He doesn’t want to hear them. How many times must you be told? Anyway, he is in a remote part of South America, and communications are difficult. So let that be an end to it. Do not ask for him again.’
She heard him disconnect, and replaced her own receiver, pressing a clenched fist to her quivering lips. She sat like that for a long time, thinking. At last she got to her feet and went to Hugo. Expressionlessly, she told him she was pregnant, and waited for him to explode in rage.
But he didn’t. For a moment his hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair so convulsively that the knuckles turned white, and then she saw him deliberately relax again. Lean back against his cushions. Even—dear God—smile at her.
‘Darling,’ he said warmly. ‘That’s wonderful news. The best ever. It’s got to be a boy, of course—for Marchington. How soon can we find out definitely?’
She stared at him, astonished. Chilled. ‘Hugo—don’t you realize exactly what I’ve told you?’
‘Naturally I do. I’m going to have a son and heir.’ His tone was suddenly exultant. ‘All my dreams have come true at last.’ He shook his head. ‘My mother’s going to be so thrilled when I tell her.’
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