intention of marrying to buy a house she
didn't intend to live in.
And why had she secretly kept it all those years, when she didn't
want it? Why hadn't she arranged for the house to be sold so that
Fabien de Rochefort could at least be repaid to some extent?
Because she didn't want to be traced, that was why, she thought.
And negotiations over the sale of a house — signature of the
various contracts would have inevitably revealed her whereabouts.
But surely even having second thoughts about marriage wasn't
enough to prompt that kind of reaction, particularly as Isabelle
must have known she was expecting Fabien's child. Yet she'd been
prepared to chance it, alone and pregnant as she was.
Something must have happened, Sabine told herself. Some
traumatic, terrible thing. And I have to know what that was. I can't
just leave it and walk away. She said quietly, 'If you want me to
explain why my mother acted as she did, madame, I can't. I only
recently discovered her connection with this place, and that was by
accident. She—left some things.' She took the wine label from the
envelope, and handed it across. 'This was among them, and that's
why I came here.'
The Baronne had retreated behind her mask again, but her lips
tightened as she glanced at the label.
'It was one she designed for our chateau at Fabien's request. A new
label, he said, to mark a new beginning for the vignoble. He —
insisted that it be used, even afterwards. The legend of the tower
and the rose,' she added, half to herself.
'And there was also this.' Sabine unfastened the chain round her
neck, and put the medallion gently into the Baronne's hand. 'It
obviously belonged to your family, and I'd like to return it.'
The older woman was very still, staring down at it. 'Where did you
get this?'
'I found it. It must have been another gift.'
'Yes.' Madame drew a deep breath like a sigh. 'Another gift.' She
opened a small drawer in the pretty rosewood table beside her
chair, dropped the trinket into it, then closed it with a kind of
finality.
Then she looked at Sabine. 'Why have you come here, Miss
Russell? Fabien is dead —your mother also. Why do you want to
probe into old wounds like this? What do you hope to gain?'
Sabine lifted her chin. 'I want the truth,' she said. 'It's that simple.'
The Baronne shrugged. 'The truth? Your mother was a silly greedy
girl —a gold-digger who wanted to marry above her station, but
took fright at the last moment, without caring what hurt she
bestowed. That is the truth.'
'I'm sorry,' Sabine said. 'But I don't believe it.'
The Baronne leaned forward, her eyes fixed piercingly on Sabine's
face. 'Be advised by me, Miss Russell. Take a little tour in our
beautiful country—sit in the sunshine — drink some wine. But ask
no more questions. Enough harm has been done.'
She looked past Sabine. 'And here comes our tea,' she added, her
face softening into an approach to warmth. 'It is good of you to
save Ernestine the trouble of the stairs, mon cher. As you see, I am
entertaining a visitor.'
Sabine sat rigidly upright in her chair. She didn't have to look
round to know who'd entered the room. Every sense, every nerve-
ending in her body was tingling with sudden awareness.
'So I was informed,' Rohan Saint Yves said grimly, as he set down
the tray. 'Ernestine, however, failed to tell me the identity of the
guest. What are you doing here, mademoiselle?'
'How fierce you are, my dear Rohan,' the Baronne intervened,
openly amused. 'I invited her, of course.'
'And I've clearly outstayed my welcome,' Sabine said tightly,
rising from her chair.
Madame waved an imperious hand. 'No, no, sit down again, and
we will all have tea together. Such a pleasant English custom,' she
added as Sabine reluctantly subsided. 'Miss Russell and I have
been talking over the past.'
Rohan drew up a chair with gilded legs which looked altogether
too fragile for his tall frame.
'It's time that was
didn't intend to live in.
And why had she secretly kept it all those years, when she didn't
want it? Why hadn't she arranged for the house to be sold so that
Fabien de Rochefort could at least be repaid to some extent?
Because she didn't want to be traced, that was why, she thought.
And negotiations over the sale of a house — signature of the
various contracts would have inevitably revealed her whereabouts.
But surely even having second thoughts about marriage wasn't
enough to prompt that kind of reaction, particularly as Isabelle
must have known she was expecting Fabien's child. Yet she'd been
prepared to chance it, alone and pregnant as she was.
Something must have happened, Sabine told herself. Some
traumatic, terrible thing. And I have to know what that was. I can't
just leave it and walk away. She said quietly, 'If you want me to
explain why my mother acted as she did, madame, I can't. I only
recently discovered her connection with this place, and that was by
accident. She—left some things.' She took the wine label from the
envelope, and handed it across. 'This was among them, and that's
why I came here.'
The Baronne had retreated behind her mask again, but her lips
tightened as she glanced at the label.
'It was one she designed for our chateau at Fabien's request. A new
label, he said, to mark a new beginning for the vignoble. He —
insisted that it be used, even afterwards. The legend of the tower
and the rose,' she added, half to herself.
'And there was also this.' Sabine unfastened the chain round her
neck, and put the medallion gently into the Baronne's hand. 'It
obviously belonged to your family, and I'd like to return it.'
The older woman was very still, staring down at it. 'Where did you
get this?'
'I found it. It must have been another gift.'
'Yes.' Madame drew a deep breath like a sigh. 'Another gift.' She
opened a small drawer in the pretty rosewood table beside her
chair, dropped the trinket into it, then closed it with a kind of
finality.
Then she looked at Sabine. 'Why have you come here, Miss
Russell? Fabien is dead —your mother also. Why do you want to
probe into old wounds like this? What do you hope to gain?'
Sabine lifted her chin. 'I want the truth,' she said. 'It's that simple.'
The Baronne shrugged. 'The truth? Your mother was a silly greedy
girl —a gold-digger who wanted to marry above her station, but
took fright at the last moment, without caring what hurt she
bestowed. That is the truth.'
'I'm sorry,' Sabine said. 'But I don't believe it.'
The Baronne leaned forward, her eyes fixed piercingly on Sabine's
face. 'Be advised by me, Miss Russell. Take a little tour in our
beautiful country—sit in the sunshine — drink some wine. But ask
no more questions. Enough harm has been done.'
She looked past Sabine. 'And here comes our tea,' she added, her
face softening into an approach to warmth. 'It is good of you to
save Ernestine the trouble of the stairs, mon cher. As you see, I am
entertaining a visitor.'
Sabine sat rigidly upright in her chair. She didn't have to look
round to know who'd entered the room. Every sense, every nerve-
ending in her body was tingling with sudden awareness.
'So I was informed,' Rohan Saint Yves said grimly, as he set down
the tray. 'Ernestine, however, failed to tell me the identity of the
guest. What are you doing here, mademoiselle?'
'How fierce you are, my dear Rohan,' the Baronne intervened,
openly amused. 'I invited her, of course.'
'And I've clearly outstayed my welcome,' Sabine said tightly,
rising from her chair.
Madame waved an imperious hand. 'No, no, sit down again, and
we will all have tea together. Such a pleasant English custom,' she
added as Sabine reluctantly subsided. 'Miss Russell and I have
been talking over the past.'
Rohan drew up a chair with gilded legs which looked altogether
too fragile for his tall frame.
'It's time that was
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