THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART Read online

  A midnight cold supper in front of the fireplace was one thing, but waking to share breakfast was just plain wonderful. Sometimes I would slice saucisson and bread from the market stalls, and we would toast them over the coals. Other times, Erik would take over the kitchen to prepare eggs and brioches.

  No matter, though; our time together always felt entirely too short. I longed to spend every day and night with him, and to hell with whatever scandal it might cause.

  CHAPTER 19

  June 1889

  After a somewhat longer than usual absence, I had a note from Erik on a Wednesday evening in June, stating that Zareh and Antoinette would collect me at eleven o’clock on the following Saturday morning for the drive to Montfermeil-sur-Mer. His composition would be performed at two o’clock that afternoon. I was consumed with curiosity about Erik’s work, and none of my wheedlings netted the slightest bit of information from either of Erik’s apparent co-conspirators. All either of them would do was smile and tell me that I would know come Saturday.

  On Friday afternoon, Antoinette stopped by with a package for me: yet another box from my favorite modiste.

  “A gift from Erik,” she explained, “which he hopes you will wear tomorrow for the performance.”

  Inside was an elegant ivory moire walking suit. I was glad that I had a duster coat to wear over it; I would not want such beautiful garments to be travel-stained.

  “I will see you tomorrow, my friend,” Antoinette smiled as she departed. “Sleep well.”

  There was a rare joke! It was far too long since I’d last seen Erik, and all I knew was that he was giving a mysterious concert in another town. I doubted I’d sleep a wink. Nevertheless, I would try. I wanted to look my best at this performance, knowing Erik would be there somewhere -- perhaps hidden, perhaps not -- and would want to see me looking well in the beautiful clothes he had sent for me.

  When I did go to bed, I fell asleep quickly. In fact, when I awoke I was somewhat surprised at how deeply I had drowsed despite my curiosity and anticipation of Erik’s concert. I arose, went about my toilette, and dressed myself. I despaired of creating an elegant coiffure, though, and again resorted to a loose chignon. Erik had given me an ivory straw riding hat with mauve flowers and ribbons; it coordinated beautifully with the walking suit and I decided that I made a satisfactory appearance.

  When Zareh knocked at the door, I was ready with my duster coat and reticule.

  “You look beautiful today, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Madame Giry is already in the coach. We must away.”

  I locked the door behind myself and allowed Zareh to assist me into the carriage.

  “Good morning, Antoinette,” I smiled. “Are the two of you still going to keep me in the dark about the performance today?”

  “My dear friend, I think it best that Erik tell you himself when we arrive. He has been looking forward to this ... performance ... for quite some time.” She patted my hand. “Now, I will be about my needlework and perhaps you will find a way to while away the time?”

  I had a small volume of poetry in my reticule, but I could not concentrate on my reading. I watched the scenery go by as we rode the thirty miles from Paris to the little seaside village, occasionally returning my attention to the book. My mind kept wandering to the very closed-mouthed behavior of my friends, and curiosity about the concert Erik had planned.

  When at last Zareh stopped the coach and opened the door for Antoinette and me, I was rather surprised to find that we were in front of a church.

  “Erik’s composition is being performed here?” I asked.

  “Yes, my dear, it is,” Antoinette said as she alighted next to me. “Now, let us have your duster, shake out your skirts and go inside.”

  As we entered the sacristy, a beautiful piece of music was being played on the organ. I recognized the leitmotif as the one that Erik had played for me in his former home. The completed opus had a grandeur about it that took my breath away.

  “We are late,” I said to Antoinette. “They have already begun the performance. And I still don’t know what it is.”

  Erik appeared at my elbow then, dressed in an elegant gray morning suit, unmasked but with his hairpiece in place.

  “No, my love; you are exactly on time.” He offered me his arm then, and walked me into the sanctuary.

  Halfway in, he stopped, and I made to seat myself in one of the many empty pews.

  “What is this piece, Erik? It is so beautiful.”

  “My dear,” he whispered as he lowered himself to one knee, “it is a wedding mass that I have written. For us.”

  I was speechless. Things had happened so rapidly between Erik and me. He remained on one knee as the beautiful music played on.

  “Claire, my love ... my treasure,” he murmured. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  I could not stop the single tear that coursed down my cheek. After Philippe, I had intended never to wed. Yet, Erik had reawakened me ... and I nodded my assent as I realized that the idea of life without him was abhorrent.

  “My dear, I can’t hear you,” he teased.

  “Yes, Erik. I will marry you.”

  He then took a small box from his pocket.

  “I remembered an unusual ring that you wore once in my presence, and I sought out its maker. I hope that these will meet with your approval.” He opened the box to show me two pieces. One was a simple gold band, clearly made to fit Erik’s hand. For me, Erik had selected a gold band in an intricate floral motif that could only have been made with lost-wax casting. It was set with a large stone that flared green-gold like his eyes: a tsavorite garnet, and very rare indeed.

  “Beautiful,” I whispered and caressed his cheek.

  “Well, then, let us not keep the good vicar waiting.”

  I stood then, and Erik led me to the front of the sanctuary. The vicar, Antoinette and Zareh awaited us there.

  CHAPTER 20

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  Oh, happiest of days: the day I never thought to see. I have married Claire; she is now Madame LeMaitre. My wife. Were happier words ever written?

  The weight of a wedding ring on my finger is new to me and brings me great joy. To stand there, before a vicar and our two good friends, and exchange vows of fidelity with the woman who fills my soul. I find that words fail me.

  She wanted to know why we had gone so far from Paris. The truth is simple. Zareh has a home in this little town, and knows the vicar. He was able to arrange the paperwork for us without going through the formalities of reading the banns. For a fee, of course.

  As I write these lines, I am inside the carriage waiting for her. She is there, in the beautiful gown I had made for her, saying her farewells to Antoinette and Zareh. Her ring shines on her finger, and I am filled with pride. Tonight, in Zareh’s country house, we will share our first night as husband and wife.

  * * * * *

  After the brief ceremony, I said goodbye to our friends and joined my husband in the carriage that would take us to Zareh’s country home. He had kindly loaned it to Erik and me for our honeymoon. I could not stop smiling with delight, I felt so filled with love.

  I sat next to Erik on the carriage’s leather seat, nestled in the crook of his arm, and sighed with contentment.

  “My love,” he whispered, his lips grazing my forehead. “My wife.”

  I had a realization then and sat up straight.

  “Darling, what on earth are we going to do about clothes? I came with nothing but this dress and my reticule.”

  His laugh was warm and throaty.

  “My dear, there are advantages to knowing which modistes you favor, to say nothing of having friends who are willing to help me expend my funds. I think you will be pleased with the trousseau awaiting you.”

  “You did not have to buy new things for me, Erik,” I said solemnly. “I have always looked to my own needs.”

  “Consider it a wedding gift then,” he rejoined. “I wished to buy th
e garments for you, and I did so.”

  I sighed in resignation. “Very well. And what matrimonial gift would you have?”

  Erik took my hand and grazed my knuckles with his soft, warm lips. “I have all of the gift I could possibly desire,” he murmured as he looked into my eyes.

  I could feel the blush rise to my cheeks, but I determined to find an appropriate present at the earliest convenience.

  When we arrived at our honeymoon cottage, I was immediately charmed with the area. We were on the outskirts of the town, in a stone house surrounded by lavender and roses. It reminded me of my old home in Baincthuin; the scent of the garden was heavenly and the setting picturesque. I envisioned charming boulangeries, charcuteries and greengrocers; indeed, I looked forward very much to exploring the area.

  Erik arranged for the driver to return in two weeks’ time and then unlocked the door to the charming little house. I was about to go in, when he scooped me up into his arms.

  “I believe there is a certain tradition to be observed here, Madame,” he smiled as he carried me through the door. I laughed and kissed him full on the mouth, my fingers raking through his black locks.

  “Mmmm. Time enough for that, my dear,” he said as he sat me gently on a divan. I promptly stood up and began looking around the cottage. It was small: a sitting room with a fireplace, a kitchen and dining room, a water closet, and the bedroom. Next to the bed were boxes from my favorite milliners and modistes. On the bed was laid out an exquisite night gown and peignoir of pale green silk and creamy lace.

  Erik came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I can hardly wait to see you in that,” he whispered in my ear. “Antoinette thought it would be perfect for your first night as my bride. Now, open the rest of your boxes.”

  As I opened the packages and examined the beautiful dresses, blouses, skirts, underpinnings and hats, I was amazed. Erik’s taste was exquisite. The fabrics were of the highest quality, and all in the latest styles.

  “Thank you,” I smiled as I folded the garments and put them into the clothes press. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such beautiful things.”

  “You’ll want to change out of that pale suit, I should think,” Erik responded as he doffed his suit jacket. “Perhaps something more practical for our walk into town?”

  I was somewhat surprised, and said so. I had not expected him to leave the house.

  “My dear wife, this is not Paris. I am not known here. Perhaps people will presume I’ve an injury. A burn or something of that sort. I will not hide any longer, Claire; I want to live again and I am starting now.”

  He removed his cravat, braces and shirt, and sat down on the bed to take off his shoes.

  “I want to have the pleasure of going to the market with you,” he continued. “All of the things I said before about wanting to walk in the garden, to be seen openly with you: I intend to do all of them.” His delight in the idea was palpable.

  I changed from the elegant, pale silk into a charcoal gray dress with black soutache trim. I was reluctant to cover my beautiful wedding ring with gloves, but propriety demanded it of me. A plain straw hat with a broad brim and gray ribbons would do for a walk into town.

  Erik had changed to a simple shirt and trousers and donned a loose-fitting black jacket. A soft fedora in the same color shaded his face and its porcelain disguise.

  “Madame LeMaitre, shall we go to market to select our wedding supper?” He extended his left hand to me. The gold band shone proudly on his finger.

  “I would be delighted,” I responded as I took it, and we walked out the door and down the lane into the village.

  CHAPTER 21

  The day was warm, with a pleasant mild breeze. We strolled in companionable silence into town, delighted to be in one another’s company without the artifice and subterfuge we had employed in Paris. Just being abroad together in daylight was a grand treat.

  As we entered the village proper, I noticed that there was some kind of circus in town; the tents were set up in the market square. Erik stiffened at the sight.

  “Let us be about our business quickly,” he muttered. “I’ve no desire to be in the vicinity of one of those traveling fairs ever again.”

  I nodded my assent, thinking of the whip scars that crisscrossed his back.

  I opted to visit the greengrocer first. I selected a basket from those available for sale, and examined the haricots verts and aubergines with the grocer’s assistance while Erik purchased a newspaper from a nearby stand. I purchased the beans, along with some salad greens, and then moved on to the butcher, where I selected two very fresh-looking filets. I planned to avoid the fishmonger; purchasing fish in the afternoon invited digestive distress, in my experience. Fate, however, had different plans for me.

  Outside the fishmonger’s, some young boys were throwing rocks at something and laughing. I saw that it was a frightened young gray and white tabby cat, no longer a kitten but not fully grown. The poor thing was very thin, and very scared. I handed the basket to Erik and strode up to the brats.

  “Leave it alone!” I raised my voice in ire. “It’s done nothing to you. Leave it be!”

  The urchins scattered, but not without calling a few oaths in their wake. I squatted down and called to the cat, wiggling my fingers enticingly. Eventually, it -- he, as I soon noticed -- came over to me. A bit more crooning on my part, and he rubbed his face on my hand and began to purr. I picked him up and cuddled him to me.

  “You poor thing,” I murmured into the top of his head. “No one’s taking care of you, are they?”

  I looked up at Erik; with a resigned expression, he went into the fishmonger’s to buy something to feed the cat who was obviously going home with us. A couple more stops saw me pointing out that we needed bread, butter, and a bucket of milk; Erik went in to make the purchases so that I could hold the creature.

  We walked home, the cat content to be snuggled in my arms.

  “Well, my dear, it appears we now have a pet,” Erik laughed. “What will you call him?”

  “Pierre, I think. It just seems to fit him somehow.”

  When we reached the house, I put my purchases in the kitchen while Erik fetched wood for both stove and fireplace. Pierre amused himself by exploring all of the rooms, sniffing and rubbing his face on the furniture.

  “Where will he ... er ... use the water closet?” Erik asked when he had stacked the wood.

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  “Do you think he’ll run away if I let him outside?” I asked, as I put a dish of milk on the floor next to the small plate of shredded fish. Pierre ate hungrily, purring all the while.

  “I doubt that little fellow will go anywhere,” Erik said indulgently. “I happen to like cats very much, Claire. I think Pierre will be a grand pet for us.” His smile was soft.

  “I wonder, my dear, if you would start a fire in the fireplace?” I said as I put the dinner makings in the larder. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  As Erik laid the fire, I went into the bedroom and closed the door. I took off my new dress, brushed it carefully to remove the cat hair and dust from our visit into town, and put it in the armoire. I then removed my corset, shoes and stockings, and slipped into the lacy green silk peignoir set. I brushed my hair down over my shoulders and was just getting ready to turn from the mirror when Erik opened the door.

  “The fire is started ....” He gasped as he took in my appearance. “Oh dear god, Claire. I think a fire is going to start in here as well.”

  “My darling husband,” I said as I crossed the room, “I wonder if you would care to join me on the chaise in the parlor.” I caressed his arm as I passed by, with a look over my shoulder that made my intentions quite plain.

  It took Erik a few minutes to join me. When he did appear in the parlor, he was wearing only loose silk trousers; his mask and hairpiece were left behind in the boudoir along with his attire from the afternoon.

  “I took the liberty of laying a fire in
the kitchen stove,” he said as he sat next to me. “We’ll want to eat those filets eventually.”

  As he made no move to touch me, I laid a hand on his arm.

  “Erik, is something wrong?”

  He turned to face me full-on.

  “I don’t understand how you could have agreed to look at this face every day for the rest of your life,” he replied quietly.

  I stood up from the chaise. “Lie down here,” I requested.

  When he had done as I asked, I knelt next to the chaise and caressed his face, touching the port-wine stained cheek and damaged bone with a light hand. I was still afraid of causing pain because the skin there seemed so delicate. He leaned into my touch and dropped a kiss on my inner wrist.

  “Because, Erik LeMaitre, my husband, I love this face with all of my heart. Behind this face is the heart and soul of a poet, a knight.”

  I placed my mouth on his then, gently at first, and then with greater ardor as Erik’s fingers entwined themselves in my hair.

  CHAPTER 22

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  I write these lines as I watch my wife sleep. She is wrapped in a coverlet and curled up on the chaise longue, with her new cat purring in the crook of her knees.

  My wife. I cannot help but wonder whether I will ever grow accustomed to that phrase. As the Bard wrote, marriage is an honor I had dared not dream.

  I don’t know whether it was my imagination, but our lovemaking tonight felt more tender than usual and yet more sure and settled at the same time. Every touch of Claire’s hands on my skin inflames my ardor. I cannot imagine how I lived before I met her.

  The simple pleasure of doing the marketing together amazed me. I don’t know that I would have dared to do so without her there. I will admit that the traveling fair’s presence, though abhorrent on many levels, gave me the freedom to go into the shops. No one questions an oddity when the town is temporarily filled with them.