women in France. Since Aimée's appearance in his master's life, nothing had been the same.
St. Briac was laughing. "You're just jealous, windbag, because you haven't a pretty girl like my Juliette to sit on your lap!" Tying the last bow on her braids, he bent to kiss his daughter's rosy cheek, then lifted her down. She promptly went to Gaspard and raised her arms, thinking to console him.
The old man's heart melted. He handed the doublet over to St. Briac, then lifted the little girl into his arms. When she kissed his cheek, Gaspard blushed and cleared his throat. "Perhaps the children would enjoy it if I bundled them up and took them out to play in the snow," he suggested gruffly.
"That's very kind of you, Gaspard!" Aimée approved, while Ninon and Juliette squealed with excitement.
St. Briac only smiled, his turquoise eyes agleam with fond amusement.
When they were alone, Aimée began to pace again.
"I wish you would stop that," he complained. "Micheline is a grown woman! How would you have felt if someone had hovered so protectively over you?"
"I'm only worried about her safety."
He sighed. Setting down the doublet, he walked over and put his arms around his wife, then tipped up her chin and kissed her soundly. "You know what has happened as well as I. They've spent the night together in that cottage, which was the wisest thing the way the snow was coming down last night. There is always more than enough food there, and I'm sure they've been perfectly comfortable. The snow has stopped now. I've no doubts that they'll return this morning, but if they are not here by noon, I'll go to the cottage myself. Now do you feel better?"
Her green eyes were still worried. "Oh, I know that you're right...."
"It's not Micheline's safety from the storm that concerns you so much, is it, miette?"'
She shook her head, then rested it against his broad chest. "No, I suppose not. I saw them together yesterday, I saw the way she looks at him. Oh, Thomas, what if—"
"They are both adults, Aimée."
"But—"
"You can't live Micheline's life for her. I know it's hard, but you can't interfere. Besides, she's an intelligent girl—"
"Who knows nothing about her own heart! I admit that I felt this betrothal to the Marquess of Sandhurst was a terrible mistake, but this—this romance, or whatever it is, with Andrew Selkirk may be even worse! What are the chances of him proposing marriage? And if he did, what could he offer her?"
"I'll agree that Micheline's life has become rather complicated of late, but you're going to have to let her resolve matters herself."
"I'm going to pay a visit to M'sieur Selkirk's manservant," Aimée said suddenly.
"What?"
"I want to see the portrait he brought from England. I told you how impressed I was by the way he had captured Micheline's spirit on canvas. If that quality is missing in this other painting, I'll feel better."
"Go, then, if it will set your mind at ease. I'll finish dressing and get something to eat." He cupped Aimée's little face in his hands and kissed her, wishing that she could spare him a fraction of the attention she lavished on Micheline.
* * *
Jeremy Culpepper chewed a bite of greengage plum and wondered what Sandhurst was up to now. He'd said the queen had invited him and Micheline to her cottage, but kitchen gossip had it that Queen Eleanor hadn't ever intended to leave Fontainebleau and was professing complete innocence about the note Andrew had received. No one really expected the couple to come back last night considering the snowstorm, but all the servants were buzzing about what the betrothed Madame Tevoulere might be doing alone in a secluded cottage with that dangerously attractive English painter. Quel scandale!
A knock sounded at the door and Jeremy jumped. Sandhurst would never knock, and the only other person who might visit him was the amorous little saucemaker who liked to purr that she found him adorable. It was awfully early in the day for that sort of social call....
He opened the door to find the seigneur de St. Briac's pretty wife. God's toes! Jeremy thought. What if she's one of those married women who like a bit of diversion with the servants? Her husband's a giant!
"Bonjour, m'sieur," Aimée said charmingly. The sight of Selkirk's valet made her want to giggle. He was the picture of consternation, eyes popping while his curly, uncombed yellow hair stuck out in several directions. "You are—"