The French Maid Read Free Page A

never made love to her more than once in a night. And this time it was a slow burning sparked with tenderness, followed by a sweet pleasure that drowned her in contentment.
    As at last they drifted off to sleep, she hugged him close. Tomorrow everything would be different. Babette had been right. All it took was boldness. Why hadn’t she tried it before?
    * * *
    When she awakened, she felt a faint unease to find she was alone. Surely Henry had stayed the night as usual. She glanced at the clock and jerked upright.
    Oh, dear, it was already 9 a.m. No wonder he was gone— Henry always rose quite early. If he wasn’t in his room, Henry would be fretting at the breakfast table. She hurried from the bed and tried the connecting door, but it was locked as always. That bothered her a bit, but she tried not to read too much into it. Henry liked his privacy, after all.
    Changing out of her new nightdress buoyed her spirits once more, however, for she couldn’t help remembering how Henry had slowly stripped it from her last night, turning every brush of silk into an enticing seduction.
    She was still blushing when she strolled into the dressing room to find Babette waiting for her. “You look … contented,” the maid said smugly.
    Eleanor’s blush deepened. “I am contented, thanks to you.”
    “I only gave a little push. You did the rest.”
    “Was Henry here when you came in earlier?” Eleanor asked.
    “No. Perhaps he returned to his own room?”
    Tamping down her disappointment, Eleanor said, “I don’t think so. He’s probably already at breakfast.”
    “You must not expect everything to change overnight, my lady.”
    “I know.” Still, today was their wedding anniversary, and she had hoped …
    But surely he would not have forgotten, not now, not after last night. She brightened. He might be awaiting her downstairs this very moment with a gift. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t stayed.
    As soon as she finished dressing, she hastened to the dining room, but instead of Henry, she found a note lying on the plate set at her place. She opened the folded paper, her heart sinking as she read the terse words:
    Sorry I couldn’t join you for breakfast, but I have an important Parliament session to prepare for. I’ll be in my study. Do have a tray sent in to me before time for the session this afternoon. If I’m late tonight, don’t wait up.
    She read the words twice, a cold despair snaking about her heart as she crumpled the note in her hand. Nothing had changed. Only this time, it was so much worse. Her disappointment was so intense it destroyed her dreams for the future and shattered her pleasure in last night’s intimacies.
    Numbly, she climbed the stairs to her room. Until now, she’d always considered the image of a heart breaking to be silly. A heart was made of flesh and muscle—how could such a thing break?
    But now she could swear she heard her heart crack, split right down the center. She certainly felt the pain radiate through her limbs.
    When she entered her room, Babette was there, but Eleanor paid the maid’s surprised look no heed. Instead, she walked to the clothespress and began dragging out gowns and tossing them onto her bed, the one she’d shared so joyously with Henry only last night.
    “Babette, please have John bring my trunk from the attic,” she said in her coolest, most mistress-like voice, to discourage the French Maid from further conversation.
    She should have known better. “What are you doing, my lady?” Babette asked.
    Eleanor whirled around. “Do you know what today is? It’s the first anniversary of my wedding to Henry. I expected… I hoped…” She broke off, emotion choking her throat. “It doesn’t matter. This is what Henry has planned for our special day.” She dropped the note at Babette’s feet, then continued folding clothes into neat little piles.
    Babette scanned the note swiftly, then cursed in French under her breath. Eleanor couldn’t make out the words,