the outline of her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to hold her close and tell her she would recover and that she needed him. He wanted to feel her body pressed close to his. But he knew she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe she never would be. Why couldn’t he have been the one to marry her in the first place? He knew the answer to that one. Wilhelm was the oldest, the fair-haired boy. The boy who always got everything he’d ever wanted.
“Take all the time you need,” he said. He could only hope she would come around, she had to. For her sake. For the baby’s sake. For his sake.
“All the time in the world will not convince me to marry again,” she said firmly and his hopes went down just as fast as they’d risen a moment ago.
“I understand,” he said. “I won’t trouble you again.” He opened the front door and stepped out into the rain while Lise stood in the doorway. “But if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I am determined to make amends for my brother’s grievous behavior.”
“The only things I want from your family are my belongings. I left Rhineland so precipitously, I brought with me only a small suitcase.” She looked down at her leggings, knowing she could get by perfectly well if she could only stay in her workshop all day, but unfortunately, one of these days, she hoped later rather than sooner, she’d be forced to take her place in the world again and attend some social functions, and then she’d need all those dresses, shoes, riding outfits and sailing garb. On the other hand, she wondered how much longer her clothes would fit.
“Consider it done,” he said soberly.
“Thank you. Good-bye,” she said. “Bon voyage.”
“Bon voyage?” he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But I thought you’d be going back—”
“Not to Rhineland. Or to the U.S. Not now. It is not only you but my work that has brought me back to Europe and to St. Michel in particular. I am setting up a joint venture with the vintners of your country, producing wine under our label. I have an office here and I’m looking for a place to live.”
“Oh.” She paused for a long moment, trying to digest this news. Charles was staying in St. Michel. It was a small country, an even smaller city on the banks of the river. If he was here, she didn’t know how she could avoid seeing him, even though she was currently leading the life of a hermit. It could be awkward. She felt awkward at that moment, not knowing what to say.
She didn’t dare give him hope she’d change her mind, because she had no intention of doing that. Perhaps he was hoping she’d be pleased at this news, but she couldn’t feign any emotion at all.
He seemed just as awkward as she did. The silence hung as heavily as the leaden skies above them.
“Well, then,” she said at last, “please ignore everything I said. I don’t need my things I left behind in Rhineland very much after all. I won’t say good-bye, just au revoir.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and then he was gone.
Lise stood in the doorway until his car disappeared from sight. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands.
What kind of a man was he to accept her refusal so graciously? No temper tantrums, no rages or threats. No reminders of what her future held as a single mother in St. Michel without a husband or a father or protection from the palace. He looked so much like Wilhelm, it frightened and confused her. And yet he didn’t talk or act like Wilhelm. He seemed nothing like his brother, but how could she be sure? She was just recovering from the worst mistake of her life and was not about to make another. If only she could erase the memory of the look on his face and the kiss on her cheek that lingered no matter how long she sat there.
Her instincts told her she could trust him. But her brain told her not to take a chance. She would be just fine on her own. Marriage was risky. Marriage to another Rodin brother was the riskiest of all.
For the next two weeks she tried to put Charles and his surprising offer of marriage out of her mind. She might have succeeded, if a whole crew of workmen hadn’t arrived one clear, sunny day to fix her roof. When she tried to pay them, the chief said it had been taken care of by Monsieur Rodin.
Charles. Charles was as good as his word. But she didn’t want to accept charity from him. She was too leery of taking favors from anyone in his family. She’d been fooled once and she refused to be fooled again. But she didn’t know quite how to get in touch with Charles to repay him for his repairmen’s work, and she didn’t really want to see him again. She might have forgotten the favor he’d done her, if it weren’t for Nanny.
“Wasn’t that kind of Monsieur Rodin?” she exclaimed at least once a day, gazing upward at the repaired roof.
“Yes, Nanny, he is undoubtedly a kind and wonderful man,” Lise answered, trying to hide the cynicism in her voice.
“Nothing like his brother,” she said.
“No, not at all,” Lise agreed.
“It’s not everyone who can be counted on these days,” the old woman said sagely.
“I know, I know,” Lise agreed. There was no point in disagreeing with Nanny. Gertrude had a habit of being right about these matters, and who could deny the man was as good as his word. Lise ended the discussion by going back to work on the picture frame so she didn’t have to continue talking about Charles. It was obvious that Nanny was quite taken with the man. Lise had been careful to keep his offer of marriage to herself, but Nanny had a look in her eye that made Lise wonder how much she’d overheard that day. Fortunately her beloved nanny was much too tactful to ever bring up the subject of marriage or the future.
When Lise had finished painting the frame, it was time for the frosting on the cake of her restoration project. With the light coming through the windows onto her work bench, she installed the portrait of Frederic the Bold back where it belonged. It had been stashed in the archives at the palace for many years. Lise felt the thrill of accomplishment.
In the natural light from the bright spring sunshine, Lise studied the portrait. No doubt about it, Frederic was a handsome man. But there was something about his eyes, a certain sadness that caught her attention. Was this painted after he lost his Princess Gabrielle? Or did he really lose her at all? Now that the portrait was framed, she wished she had someone to show it to. Sharing it with the queen was out of the question. She was consumed with hopes of producing an heir, the dowager queen was involved in the search for the missing heir. There was Nanny, of course, who never failed to support her work, but it was obvious the only other person who’d care, who would appreciate the work she’d done, was Charles.
It was too bad. They might have been friends. If he wasn’t the brother of her ex-husband. If he hadn’t asked her to marry him. If he hadn’t had such a disturbing effect on her.
Ah, well. If her work didn’t give her pleasure and satisfaction on its own, she wouldn’t be doing it. She refused to worry about the future. She was just happy to be home in St. Michel again, with her divorce final and the memories of her brief, disastrous marriage behind her. Next weekend was the dowager queen’s official seventy-fifth birthday party. Though her real birthday was in October, it was always celebrated in May when the weather was usually nice enough for a garden party.
Lise hoped everyone would be too busy scrutinizing the dowager queen at
