Chapter 27

All accomplishments have the one great merit of giving a lady something to do; something to preserve her from ennui; to console her in seclusion; to arouse her in grief; to compose her to occupation in joy.

~ The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen (The Last London Editor; 1860)

“What are you doing?”

Startled from her revelry, Vicky glanced up at the little girl who cast a long shadow over her. Anouk Girard was seven years old and held a penchant for insatiable curiosity, especially when it came to her pretty houseguest. Anouk’s thick golden hair spilt over her slim shoulders in endearing disarray, the pieces at her temples held back at the crown of her head with a pink ribbon that matched her small gown. There was a cheekiness about her face, evident in the slightly pointy chin and mischievous brown eyes. Her ears were a little bit pointed and poked out from between the sandy locks of her hair. Impish and adorable, Anouk had taken to Victoria the moment she had arrived in Paris and been ushered inside Robert and Adrienne Girard’s lovely home. However, Vicky’s grasp of French was poor at best, so during the month that she had spent in Paris she had been hard-pressed to adapt. Although much had improved with her dialect, she still had to concentrate on what and who was addressing her and she could not expect allowances to be made for her just because she was English.

“What are you doing?” she demanded back in her broken French.

Anouk wrinkled her nose and pointed at the parchment cradled on Vicky’s lap. She had been writing a letter to Danielle, utilizing the warm Autumn day as an opportunity to plant herself on a patch of grass in the small Girard garden. The sun pleasantly tickled her skin and mildly heated the fabric of her creamy dress. “I asked you first,” Anouk pouted. “Are you writing a story?”

“No.” Putting the paper and her writing utensils to one side, Vicky suddenly snatched the little girl around her narrow waist and hauled her into her lap. “I am tickling you!”

Screeching with laughter, Anouk squirmed for all that she was worth as Vicky’s quick fingers unhesitatingly found her most sensitive spots.

“I thought I heard two pixies out here,” an amused male voice said, causing Vicky to halt in her assault.

Through a shower of black hair, she looked up and smiled at Ѐtienne Girard, Robert and Adrienne’s oldest and only son. Tall, broad-shouldered and a helpless tease, Etienne was a mere five years her older and had soon become a close friend. “Etienne!” Anouk leapt off her lap and darted straight for her brother, arms akimbo, and Etienne dutifully complied, swinging her in the air with a rakish laugh.

Watching them a moment, Vicky slowly rose to her feet and brushed off the grass that clung to her thighs. The sibling closeness between Etienne and his substantially younger sister was touching. The man would do anything for Anouk and he doted on her, spoiling her with ribbons and treats whenever he visited, which was quite often since Victoria had entered their lives. Both shared the same thick golden hair except Etienne’s was darker in hue, cut long and boyishly uneven. He was remarkably handsome and of a disposition to always find the humour in a situation. His light-heartedness had aided Vicky through her adaptation to Parisian society and he had provided the friendship she had at first lacked. But the Girard’s were a lovely, warm family who did not pass comment or judgement about the slithers of rumour concerning Victoria’s character that made it across the channel. Indeed, the ease with which she was received at parties and balls astounded her and quickly Victoria was in high demand. She was considered a beauty and her usual clumsiness and sharpness of tongue was not scorned at but admired. The French, she mused, appeared to extol temerity and vilify reticence. It was refreshing and she thought she could truly be happy if she were to remain in France for the rest of her life, but… Well, Gabriel wasn’t in France and although the time she had spent apart from him had lessened the hurt, it had not dimmed the yearning nor her love for him.

Etienne swung Anouk around in the air, the little girl screaming in delight as her yellow locks caught the glinting sunlight. Happily, he deposited her on the grass and Anouk held out her arms, her legs wobbling madly as she endeavoured to gain her balance.

“Your turn,” Etienne said to Vicky with a mischievous smile.

“Don’t you dare!” she told him sternly, although her lips were quivering. “I’ll be sick, Etienne, I swear…”

The man shrugged, his grin crooked. “Suit yourself.”

Anouk toppled backwards between them, landing resoundingly on her bottom, legs splayed out before her. She giggled.

“Here, imp,” Etienne said, handing her a prettily decorated box.

Eagerly, Anouk opened the parcel and discovered, to her delight, a set of water paints. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” Jumping up, she ran into him and threw her arms around his waist. “It is the most wonderful present I have ever received.”

“It is only my pleasure.” Tousling her mop of hair affectionately, he extracted her arms from around him and knelt before her. “Now why don’t you run upstairs and get your easel so that you may paint Miss Victoria for me?”

Anouk’s wide chocolate eyes nearly popped with excitement and she nodded with all the enthusiasm only a child could imitate before rushing inside the house. Vicky suppressed a smile as she watched the little girl disappear in a flurry of pink lace. When she shifted her gaze to Etienne, she found him studying her with the matching brown eyes he shared with his sister. “What brings you around for a visit this afternoon?” she asked him with a smile.

“You, of course.”

“Don’t be silly.” She chuckled, unaware of the meaningful smile that played across his lips. “You had those lovely paints to give to Anouk and no doubt Adrienne will be happy to see you.”

“Where is my mother?”

Vicky smiled slowly, ignorant of the seductive laziness of the gesture as she did so and the effect it had on the young man before her. “Where do you think?”

“Ah.” Etienne returned her smile. “Squandering the family fortunes on a dozen more bonnets.”

“Stockings this time, I believe.”

“Of course. To return with an entire wardrobe, no doubt.”

“Of course.”

Adrienne’s one and only guilty pleasure was her shameless addiction to a frivolous shopping spree on a regular basis. The woman thrived of it and Paris was only too eager to cater to her unremitting desire. Other than that, Adrienne was a motherly dear with a heart that was big enough to accommodate the love she held for all her children, her husband and friends and then Vicky. The unquestionable hospitality she had received from Adrienne had been undeniably touching and Vicky would never be able to repay her gratitude if she had all the wealth in the world. The Girard’s had provided her with a safe haven to grieve, to mend her broken spirit and heal her soul. They had allowed her moments of isolation and did not press her into accepting invites or callers. Rather, they patiently waited for her to come out her shell and burst onto the Parisian scene with the enticement and allure of her beauty to intrigue society. Having successfully piqued curiosity due to her exotic exterior, it was her personality and quick wit that lured them to her sides and whatever nonsensical and snide remark that someone would pick up on from England was forgotten immediately or discarded with a haughty look at the utterer.

Etienne sauntered towards her and his grin turned telling. “You probably think I have forgotten what today is,” he began and pulled something from his pocket- a flat, square and red velvet covered box that quite clearly encompassed jewellery of some sort.

“Etienne-”

He hushed her, causing her to frown. “Have you forgotten your own birthday, Victoria?”

Good God. She had. She lost track of time and it was hard to believe that she had been in Paris for over a month. Oh, she had some vague idea that her birthday was sometime quite soon but she had lost count of the days and in the larger scheme of things, her birthday had not seemed as important. She supposed that turning two and twenty should seem quite a momentous occasion as she was taking a step closer to confirmed spinsterhood, but she could not muster enough concern to think of it as such. If she was going to be a spinster, she might as well be a happy one.

“I believe I have!” Her smile was wry and self-reflective. “You really didn’t have to get me anything, though.”

He flicked the latch open and eased the lip up. It was a gold bracelet endowed with one, sapphire charm in the shape of a heart. “You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he told her sincerely as he took her wrist and clasped the delicate bracelet against her skin.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Admiring it fondly, Vicky smiled to herself, marvelling at the nice man before her who obviously held her in high regard. If only she could easily relinquish her heart to him like she had to Gabriel, but she could not.

“You are beautiful,” Etienne was saying warmly, standing much too close now as he, too, studied the charm lying against the pale skin of her wrist. “I have thought so for a long time.”

This, too, she knew, but his friendship had been dear to her and she had not been able to halt his flattery or his intentions when they first began. Like she had not put an end to them, nor did she return them, and she hoped that by remaining distant and unresponsive, his ardour would cool off. Usually, she would return his advances with a teasing remark about silliness and chuckle, hurriedly changing the topic of conversation to one of safer groundings. Always, the confusion would flash across his face and always Vicky would swallow the taste of stinging guilt that swamped her tongue. But Etienne knew why she had come to Paris, all the Girard’s knew, and she had even poured her heart out to him on a particularly lonely morning at the beginning of her visit having no one else to confide in and feeling close to bursting with emotion. And after that sad retelling he had made it his personal campaign to ensure her ultimate happiness by making her smile. He had accompanied her on a tour around Paris and even into the beautiful countryside on one or two occasions with Anouk in tow and for the most part, he had succeeded. She had laughed and smiled and for a time she was able to forget about Gabriel Sinclair and the heartbreak that awaited her return in England but Etienne would always be Etienne and she truly regretted not being able to return his affections because she was sure that he would make a fine husband. For some other girl, though.

“Etienne, really, I think you need spectacles,” she giggled nervously, unconsciously slipping into English. “Now, why don’t we go inside for lunch.”

“Stop doing that,” he told her with a frown.

“Doing what?” Owlishly, she blinked up at him. Azure sky scattered with lacy wafts of clouds provided an easy escape for speculation rather than the intensity of his chocolate gaze. A slight breeze rustled the turning leaves of a tree, skittering orange and brown and red entities spiralling to the ground. All these, Vicky took into account and more, anything but the facing the guilt churning her heart.

“This.” He gestured to her with his hand vaguely. “I am not ashamed about the way I feel. You English, always so conservative with your emotions. I love-”

Oh, God. “Etienne!” she yelped, jumping a step back from him and swiping the air frantically with her hand. It was a lame excuse as it was autumn and most insects were dying off, but it was the only one her distraught mind could conjure given the time restraints. “A bee! Run! I’ll take care of the nasty blighter before he gets you!”

His face balked and he looked at her as if he thought her mad. “Victoria, there is no bee.”

“Yes!” She pointed at thin air vigorously. “Look! There he is!” She waved her arms up and down idiotically before prancing around in a circle like a lunatic. “Save yourself, Etienne!”

He sighed wearily before reaching out and grabbing her shoulders, stilling her mad plight at an imaginary bee, and forced her to look at him. “Enough of this. You will hear me out.”

“The bee-”

“There is no bee, Victoria,” he ground out and, ensuring that her body was stable even if her mind was not, he delved a hand into his pocket again and obtained yet another velvet-covered box, this one smaller than the last. Stunned, Vicky could only watch as he dropped to one knee and flipped the lid back.

Dappled in sunlight on a pleasant Autumn day in Paris, Victoria was proposed to by the wrong handsome man and all she could do amidst a hysterically absurd state of startled numbness was watch him with wide, frightened eyes. Oh, holy Jesus, what the devil was she going to do now?

“Victoria Colton,” Etienne Girard declared solemnly in French, “would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”