Read Online And Be Thy Love by Rose Burghley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rose Burghley
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make it plain, and de Bergerac said that would be splendid, and Marie-Josette could wait on him personally. And from the adoring fashion in which Marie-Josette hung on his arm, and the way in which her grey eyes seemed anxious never to leave his face—even while Thibault was eagerly disembowelling the contents of the chocolate box —Caroline deduced that to wait on him would be the greatest delight in the world to her, although she was barely eight years old.
On the way back to the chateau at last she found herself studying him thoughtfully as he drove, and believing him to be unaware of her contemplative regard she was a little surprised when he looked at her sideways, and asked with a curious smile:
“Well, what is it that is puzzling you, Carol, Cherie? Or is it perhaps, that you have arrived at a decision?”
“You are fond of children?” she said, as if that was the decision she had arrived at.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“Are not most men?”
‘‘Not all. Certainly not all And children are cautious about forming attachments.”
His smile glinted at her, whiter than ever.
“And you have made up your mind that the little Benoit children have attached themselves to me?”
She could have told him that it was the one thing she could be absolutely certain about, and she could have added that he didn’t surprise her in the least. For there was something about him that was not merely endearing, it was almost a compelling charm. She had been aware of it from the moment they met.
CHAPTER VI
The next few days passed with a smoothness that neither Caroline nor de Bergerac would have believed possible when they arrived at the chateau to find that Marthe had met with an accident. Monique wasn’t merely quite as good a cook as Marthe, but being much younger she was able to undertake far more than poor Marthe had found it possible to undertake in recent years, and although most of the rooms at the chateau were under dust-covers, the two or three that were now used constantly began to look really well kept. Monique baked, and scrubbed, and washed, and polished, and looked after her two children, without apparently
finding any of it beyond her, and with very little assistance from Pierre, who stuck closely to his kitchen-garden. And in addition she insisted on waiting on Caroline to such an extent that the English girl began to feel positively useless.
“I’m not used to it,” she protested more than once, when Monique declined to be dissuaded from carrying her breakfast tray up to her, laundered her crisp linen dresses before they were in any real need of attention, insisted on serving “elevenses”, and made odd pots of tea for her because she was used to them. “If Marthe was here I couldn’t possibly allow her to do these things for me, and you have so much to do that I certainly shouldn’t allow you.”
“Marthe is old,” Monique returned complacently, “and one does not expect so much of the old. But I am young and strong, and it is monsieur s orders!”
And by this time Caroline realised that anything “monsieur” ordered would be the last thing that would be disputed.
It occurred to her that de Bergerac had acted as a kind of emissary (in the pleasantest sense of the word!) of the Comte on more than one occasion, so far as Monique was concerned, and that was one reason why she had evolved such an admiration for him. It might be the Comte’s generosity, but Robert had his own method of administering it, and allied with the warmth and appeal of his own personality it attracted to him some of the gratitude that should rightly belong to the Comte.
And as Caroline had hot very high praise of the Comte this didn’t worry her very much. In fact she thought it was poetic justice that the one tenant in whom he interested himself should reserve so much appreciation for his friend.
But she was a little anxious sometimes when she wondered what the Comte would think if he turned up suddenly
On the way back to the chateau at last she found herself studying him thoughtfully as he drove, and believing him to be unaware of her contemplative regard she was a little surprised when he looked at her sideways, and asked with a curious smile:
“Well, what is it that is puzzling you, Carol, Cherie? Or is it perhaps, that you have arrived at a decision?”
“You are fond of children?” she said, as if that was the decision she had arrived at.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“Are not most men?”
‘‘Not all. Certainly not all And children are cautious about forming attachments.”
His smile glinted at her, whiter than ever.
“And you have made up your mind that the little Benoit children have attached themselves to me?”
She could have told him that it was the one thing she could be absolutely certain about, and she could have added that he didn’t surprise her in the least. For there was something about him that was not merely endearing, it was almost a compelling charm. She had been aware of it from the moment they met.
CHAPTER VI
The next few days passed with a smoothness that neither Caroline nor de Bergerac would have believed possible when they arrived at the chateau to find that Marthe had met with an accident. Monique wasn’t merely quite as good a cook as Marthe, but being much younger she was able to undertake far more than poor Marthe had found it possible to undertake in recent years, and although most of the rooms at the chateau were under dust-covers, the two or three that were now used constantly began to look really well kept. Monique baked, and scrubbed, and washed, and polished, and looked after her two children, without apparently
finding any of it beyond her, and with very little assistance from Pierre, who stuck closely to his kitchen-garden. And in addition she insisted on waiting on Caroline to such an extent that the English girl began to feel positively useless.
“I’m not used to it,” she protested more than once, when Monique declined to be dissuaded from carrying her breakfast tray up to her, laundered her crisp linen dresses before they were in any real need of attention, insisted on serving “elevenses”, and made odd pots of tea for her because she was used to them. “If Marthe was here I couldn’t possibly allow her to do these things for me, and you have so much to do that I certainly shouldn’t allow you.”
“Marthe is old,” Monique returned complacently, “and one does not expect so much of the old. But I am young and strong, and it is monsieur s orders!”
And by this time Caroline realised that anything “monsieur” ordered would be the last thing that would be disputed.
It occurred to her that de Bergerac had acted as a kind of emissary (in the pleasantest sense of the word!) of the Comte on more than one occasion, so far as Monique was concerned, and that was one reason why she had evolved such an admiration for him. It might be the Comte’s generosity, but Robert had his own method of administering it, and allied with the warmth and appeal of his own personality it attracted to him some of the gratitude that should rightly belong to the Comte.
And as Caroline had hot very high praise of the Comte this didn’t worry her very much. In fact she thought it was poetic justice that the one tenant in whom he interested himself should reserve so much appreciation for his friend.
But she was a little anxious sometimes when she wondered what the Comte would think if he turned up suddenly
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