Bride of Desire (24 page)

 
What a fool I’ve been, Allie castigated herself bitterly. What a pathetic abysmal fool.

 
Did I ever—in my wildest dreams—think that Remy’s attitude to me might have mellowed over the past months and several thousand miles? Did I believe in some empty corner of my heart that he would really be able to forgive me for betraying him like that?

 
Well, the answer to that was—yes. She’d probably done exactly that. But, then, she’d been able to indulge any sad fantasy she liked when she’d existed in the absolute certainty that she was never going to see him again.

 
But now she’d walked headlong into hard reality, and it had left her broken and reeling.

 
So much so that she took the next corner faster and wider than she’d intended, and received a bad-tempered blare on the horn from a vehicle travelling rapidly in the other direction.

 
However, it was only when she glanced in the mirror, berating herself for her stupid lapse in concentration, that she realised it was a blue pick-up.

 
Not that she should read anything into that, she thought. There must be dozens of the things around, and they couldn’t all belong to Solange Geran. That glancing impression of a flash of silver-blonde hair as the truck had erupted past her was probably just a figment of her imagination. And so was the fleeting sense of something hostile and malignant aimed at her from the other vehicle, like a stone thrown through her window.

 
At least she hoped so. Because even the briefest glimpse of the girl who’d destroyed her life would be altogether too much to bear.

 
Although she was being unfair, and she knew it. She’d laid the charges for her own destruction. Solange had merely lit the fuse.

 
It was the thought of her wearing Remy’s ring, queening it over her little domain at Trehel, that was piercing Allie’s soul like an open wound.

 
He has to marry someone, she acknowledged wretchedly. The celibate lifestyle would have no attraction for Remy, and that enormous bed was intended for sharing. But—dear God—does it have to be Solange? Does she have to triumph quite so completely?

 
The road ahead of her blurred suddenly, and she pulled over on to the verge, putting her head down on the steering wheel as she fought the misery of loss that was tearing her apart.

 
But there’s nothing I can do, she told herself, choking back a sob. Remy has gone, and it’s all my own fault. I have no one to blame but myself. If I’d trusted him, been honest, Solange could have done nothing.

 
When she finally arrived back at Les Sables, she’d regained a measure of self-command. She sat for a long moment, arranging her face into a controlled and smiling mask. Trying to look like someone who’d enjoyed a relaxed and pleasant afternoon.

 
But when she walked into the living room and Tom greeted her with a toothy grin and an exultant word that was undoubtedly ‘Maman’, while Tante and Madame Drouac beamed with pride in the background, she was rocked to her foundations.

 
What will he learn next? she wondered, with sudden shock. To say Papa? And she felt her throat thicken with swift tears as she hung on to her self-control like grim death.

 
But she managed it with the help of the new toys, which her son accepted with wide-eyed delight, and supper was a determinedly cheerful affair, as she coaxed him to repeat the ‘M’ word, praising his latest accomplishment with suitable extravagance.

 
Although she might be overdoing the hilarity, she realised, suddenly encountering a shrewdly questioning look from Tante.

 
When the meal was over, and she’d mopped the bathroom floor after Tom’s boisterous bedtime romp in the tub, Allie came slowly downstairs.

 
Tante was on the sofa, knitting a Tom-sized sweater in thick blue wool, her fingers rapid, her hands held low in her lap in the Continental manner that Allie had never mastered.

 
‘He is asleep?’

 
‘Yes, but he went down fighting all the way.’ Allie sat beside her, nerving herself for another battle. She took a deep breath. ‘Darling, this afternoon gave me a real chance to think. Quite soon now, I’ll have to return toEngland , and I’d—really like you to go with me.’

 
The busy hands instantly stilled. ‘Go toEngland ?’

 
Tante couldn’t have sounded more shocked, Allie thought, if she’d suggested setting up a naturist camp in theArctic Circle .

 
‘Please listen,’ she urged. ‘It’s not that outlandish a scheme. You won’t tell me what’s the matter with your health, but your letter clearly implied that it’s something serious, and I think we should get a second opinion—before it’s too late.’

 
Madelon Colville was staring at her almost raptly. ‘Go on, ma mie.’

 
Allie swallowed. ‘And while this house is gorgeous, and I can see why you love it here, and might want to stay until…’ She floundered over the unthinkable, then recovered. ‘What I’m trying to say is that it’s still pretty isolated, even with Madame Drouac to look after you.’

 
‘Yes,’ her great-aunt surprisingly agreed. ‘That has become—a consideration.’

 
‘Well, there’s a really good cottage near the Hall. Hugo had it completely renovated for his groom, just before the accident. Everything’s on the ground floor, so there are no stairs to cope with. It could be—perfect.’

 
‘There is, however, your belle-mère.’ Tante’s tone was dry. ‘Who might not welcome a Breton invasion of her property.’

 
‘The estate belongs to Tom,’ Allie said. ‘Grace is only one of his trustees. I can deal with her.’

 
‘You sound very brave, ma chère.’

 
Allie forced a smile. ‘I had to wake up some time.’ She paused. ‘Well, what do you think of my idea?’

 
‘It is a kind, good thought,’ Tante said gently. ‘But I have no wish to live inEngland again.’

 
‘But you need to be looked after,’ Allie pleaded. ‘There must be treatment of some kind…’

 
Madelon Colville sighed. ‘Mon enfant, I am not ill. Just no longer young.’

 
‘But your letter…’

 
Her great-aunt took her hand, patted it. ‘I told you that this would be my last summer at Les Sables. And so it will. In the autumn, I plan to sell and move—elsewhere.’

 
‘But I thought…’

 
‘That I was dying?’ The older woman shook her head. ‘Au contraire, chérie. I have every reason to live, even at my advanced age.’

 
‘You—deceived me?’ Allie felt dazed.

 
‘Une petite ambiguité, peut-être,’ Tante agreed calmly.‘Because, selfishly, I wished very much to see you, and also le petit, before more time passed. And for that I needed a very good reason. One that you would believe, and which would defeat the undoubted objections of madame ta belle-mère.’ She paused. ‘Was it not so?’

 
‘Oh, yes.’ Allie was still gasping. ‘It certainly worked.’

 
‘Then what harm has been caused?’

 
Oh, God, thought Allie. If you knew—if you only knew…

 
‘And am I forgiven?’ There was an anxious note in Tante’s voice.

 
‘Of course you are, darling.’ Allie tried to speak lightly. ‘So what shall I say when I go back? That the moment you saw me you made a lightning recovery?’

 
Tante’s eyes were gravely questioning. ‘Must you—go back, ma petite?’

 
‘I have to.’ Allie stared at the floor. Where else is there for me to go? Because God knows I can’t stay here. ‘After all, Marchington is Tom’s home,’ she went on, trying to sound positive. ‘I—I can’t keep him away for too long.’

 
‘But he also has Breton blood,’ Tante said. ‘Another important heritage.’

 
And one that I dare not tell him about, thought Allie, her throat tightening.

 
She pinned on a smile. ‘But you haven’t told me yet where you’re planning to live after this?’

 
Tante was vague. ‘Oh, I have not yet made a final decision.’ She yawned. ‘There is no great urgency.’

 
And no pressing reason for me to stay either, Allie told herself as she lay in bed that night. But Tante would be terribly disappointed if I left before the end of the week, especially as I know I’ll never be able to come back again. Or not with Tom, anyway. The risk is far too great.

 
So I’ll return toEngland as planned, but until I go I’ll just have to stay firmly around Les Sables. That way, there’s no possibility of meeting Remy again. Or anyone else I’d prefer to avoid.

 
Because, looking back, she was almost certain that it had been Solange driving the blue pick-up that afternoon.

 
And if I saw her, she may well have seen me, she thought grimly.

 
She sighed to herself. She should never have come here, she thought with quiet desolation.

 
Nothing had turned out as she’d expected. And, while she was eternally grateful that Tante wasn’t suffering from some life-threatening condition, she couldn’t understand why the older woman hadn’t immediately put her mind at rest.

 
She knew what I was thinking, so why didn’t she tell me? she wondered. And what is she still not saying now? Or am I just being paranoid?

 
She sighed again, and turned her mind to the immediate future. She had to admit that returning to Marchington Hall held no attraction for her, and nor did the inevitable battles with her mother-in-law that lay ahead. But they’d be worth it, she told herself determinedly, if they secured for Tom the happy childhood he deserved, rather than Grace’s rigid regime. She had to believe that, because she had nothing else to cling to. Nothing to hope for either.

 
So she would go back and take her rightful place as the new, improved Lady Marchington. She would concentrate her energies on fighting Grace and winning, and forget there’d ever been a girl who’d foundParadise in a man’s arms and dared to dream of a different life.

 
And when these final days that she would ever spend in Brittany were over, she would ensure that, whatever her own feelings, she left only happy memories behind her.

 
‘I am going to the hairdresser in Ignac,’ Tante announced over lunch the next day. ‘Do you wish to accompany me, chérie? You have shopping, perhaps?’

 
Allie pretended to consider the proposal. ‘Not really—and I think, if you don’t mind, that Tom would be much happier playing in the garden,’ she returned, then suddenly smiled. ‘Do you know, he insisted on having all his new animals in bed with him last night?’

 
Tante smiled too. ‘He is an enchanting child, Alys. But he needs a masculine influence in his life—a father figure.’ She gave her great-niece a penetrating look. ‘I hope the disaster of your first husband has not turned you against the idea of a suitable remarriage.’

 
Allie shrugged. ‘Perhaps—one day. But I don’t meet that many people, and besides it would take a very brave man to get past Grace and the hedge of thorns she’s built round Marchington to enshrine Hugo’s memory.’ She pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I think most guys would prefer a more accessible woman.’