The French Maid Read Free Page B

but thought that she’d called Henry an ass. Eleanor quite agreed.
    Babette lifted her head. “So you are running away.”
    “Yes. Go on, say whatever you like.” Eleanor’s lower lip trembled, though she struggled for calm. “I’m going to visit my mother for a few days. With any luck, things will have returned to normal when I come back.”
    “Is that what you want?”
    “No!” Clutching a half-folded petticoat against her belly, Eleanor bent her head to hide her tears. “I want Henry to love me as I love him. But trying to make him love me is not working.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s too hard, and it hurts too much when he doesn’t. Perhaps you’re right—I am lazy and afraid to risk my heart. But I’ll go mad if this keeps happening. I’d rather go back to the way it was before, when I didn’t know …”
    She choked back tears. “When I didn’t realize how wonderful he can be when he chooses and what I’m missing when he locks himself away.” Her eyes met Babette’s sympathetic ones, and she swallowed. “There are too many locked doors between us, Babette. And I lack the beauty or the strength or … something to break them down.”
    She’d expected an argument from Babette, who’d been such a fountain of advice yesterday. But apparently the fountain had dried up, for the French Maid merely said, “I understand” and began to help her pack.
    * * *
    Henry sat in his study and stared blindly at the pages in front of him. That was all he’d done for the past two hours, all he’d been able to manage.
    He couldn’t stop thinking of last night. No matter how much he tried to concentrate on his work, he kept remembering the surprises … the warmth … the sweet caresses. He could still hear Eleanor’s hushed voice washing over him, commiserating with all the nonsensical pains of his childhood, all the minor disappointments of his life. Last night Eleanor had crept inside where no one ever had, and the truth was, it terrified him.
    He hadn’t meant to let her in. Deep down he’d probably always known that if he did, she’d turn his world upside down. And now she had. One night of bliss, and she already invaded sacrosanct territory—his work, his thoughts, his control. What would she expect of him after this?
    What demands would she make upon his time, his energies?
    How could he possibly satisfy them?
    Damn her! It had been so much easier to move in the comfortable flow of marriage, without thinking, without worrying about her feelings. It had differed little from being a bachelor, except that a wife had proved to be pleasant company whenever he required such a thing.
    But now …
    Now he’d tasted what it was like to have more. It was anything but comfortable or easy. And he wasn’t at all sure he liked it.
    A knock sounded at the door, and despite his misgivings, he hurried to unlock it, sure that it was Eleanor, wanting inexplicably to see her.
    To his surprise, it was not Eleanor standing there when he opened the door, but the French Maid he’d hired for her. And she looked decidedly grim.
    He stiffened in disappointment. “Good morning, Babette. I know that you are new to our household, but someone should have informed you that I do not like being disturbed when I am in my study.”
    Her eyes flashed at him. “I have come with a message from my mistress. She left an hour ago to visit her parents in the country. That is all.”
    Something very like panic filled his chest before he quelled it. “She left? Without informing me? I don’t understand.”
    She sniffed. “That does not surprise me.” Cocking her head, she examined him with cold gaze. “Tell me, my lord, do you know what today is?”
    “It’s Thursday.”
    “No, no, the date . Do you even realize the significance of the date?”
    This conversation made no sense to him at all. He thought a moment. “The 26th of April. Why?”
    “It is your first wedding anniversary, my lord. Perhaps such a date is of