she did say herself, but Andre didn’t comment. That either meant he hadn’t noticed, or that he didn’t want to encourage her interest by letting her know how good she was. She couldn’t quite decide which it might be.
They took a walk through the orchard, with its peach trees just setting fruit, then down along the water, skipping stones and laughing at each other. Andre went out to survey some broken fenceposts he’d noticed as they rode in, and Julienne went exploring in the house.
Every room seemed to have a treasure trove of mementoes from past summers. She found amazing things everywhere, and then she pulled a beautifully bound copy of The Highwayman from the shelf. The Alfred Noyes poem about the tragic love between a robber and a landlord’s black-eyed daughter had always been a favorite of hers, and she opened the book, prepared for a treat. But the first thing she saw was that the flyleaf had been torn out, as though someone wanted to either preserve or destroy whatever was written there. She frowned, then noticed there were indentations on the next page. A note had been written, and with enough pressure to leave a pretty good impression. Searching a nearby desk, she found a pencil and proceeded to shade it lightly across the pertinent area. The missing note sprang into view.
“Hah!” She couldn’t help but give a little crow of victory. Then she put down her pencil and attempted to read the note.
“My darling A,” it began.
She bit her lip, wondering if it had been written to Andre.
You are my Highwayman, and, like Bess, I’ll be waiting by moonlight. Your first love, your true love, Denise.
She stared at the note. Now she was certain it was meant for Andre. Her teeth began to chatter, and it was a moment before she realized she was trembling. She shook her head, trying to shake it off. How silly of her. Of course he’d had women who’d adored him. Who knew how old this was? What did she expect?
And yet somehow it just got into her heart and twisted it. Pure pain. Jealousy? Maybe. Why not? Of course it hurt to think of him with another woman, no matter how silly that was.
Clasping the book to her chest, she went in search of him and found him, just back from his trip around the estate.
“Who’s Denise?” she asked bluntly, not waiting on niceties.
“Denise?” He frowned, then his brow cleared. “Oh, Denise.” He glanced at her quickly, his eyes sharpening. “What do you know about Denise?”
“I found this book.” She held it out to him. “It looks like she dedicated it to you.”
“Ah.” He smiled, then quickly erased it.
“Did you love her?”
He rose slowly, turning away and looking out into the sky. “I thought I loved her. She was very beautiful. I was very young.” Turning back, he met her gaze candidly. “We were both young, and we were thrown together, and we did what young people do.” He hesitated, then shook his head ruefully. “Okay, here’s what happened. Her father was the lake house butler. A summer romance. It was over by the time the leaves turned.”
She stared at him, but what she saw was the entire story playing out in her head.
Summer magic.
“Did you want to marry her?”
“Marry her? Why would I want to marry her?”
“Ah, yes. She was the butler’s daughter.” Julienne made a significant face.
But he laughed at her. “Julienne, you’re too old to live in a dream world. Face facts. We didn’t make the world the way it is and we can’t do much to change it. We are royal. We have to follow a certain path in life. Live with it.”
She felt her lower lip coming out in rebellion. “No.”
He shook his head, not sure what she meant. “What do you mean, no?”
She flashed him a look. “I think you know what I mean. I won’t do it.”
So she was talking about the Alphonso thing again. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. “The hell you won’t.”
She glared at him, then flounced off to sulk in the kitchen. And while she was there she whipped up a pan of delectable pastries such as he had never had before. He ate a few, then ate a few more, and had to admit she had the knack. But he still wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing it aloud.
“Tell me what happened with the butler’s daughter,” she coaxed, once he was full of pastry and groaning with