To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,58
his riders. He suddenly lunged forward with a bark at Aimée’s heels, making her yelp in surprise and sending Paul and Clara squealing as they clutched his shirt and waistcoat to maintain their position atop him.
Marie looked at John with some apprehension, her wide eyes turning almost luminous as she hid near the chair by which her sisters stood. She was a shy little one, and this stranger on all fours was clearly not putting her at ease in any way.
Sophie, the eldest of the young bunch, saw her sister’s distress and crouched down beside her. “Tout ma bien, ma chérie. Pourquoi tu ne caresses pas le chien?”
Marie shook her head insistently.
Hal smiled at the ragtag group, hairbows askew, cheeks flushed, pinafores and shirts rumpled. All smiles but for Marie, and it warmed her heart to see John in the midst of them. Not just in the midst, but spurring them on and engaging with them. Where had her staid, proper, reserved husband gone and who was this lively, engaging, affable man in his place?
“N’aie pas peur, Marie,” Clara insisted, patting John on the head. “Il est gentil!”
Still, the little girl was not persuaded.
John eyed Marie for a moment, then imitated a convincing whimper and crept towards her. He lowered himself to the ground, the other children still on his back and giggling at the change in their incline. Then, of all things, he let his tongue loll out of his mouth and panted like a dog.
Hal covered her mouth to keep from laughing, and Marie’s hesitant expression turned to one of curious delight. She took a few steps to close the distance between them, and, cautiously, batted his head twice.
Instantly, John keened a sound of encouragement, then slowly rolled to one side, effectively pinning Clara and Paul to the ground, which had them laughing uproariously as they attempted to free themselves. John nuzzled as close to Marie’s legs as she would let him, and she cocked her head, now actually petting John and mussing his hair as she might a dog. Soon, John was on his back, arms and legs bent in the air, and all the children were scratching and petting the enormous dog they’d so recently been playing with.
Giggles erupted from all quarters, and Marie could even be heard to say, “Bon chien.”
“He will make a good father, cousine.”
Hal leaned against the wall just outside of the drawing room, smiling at her cousin, who had silently joined her. “Do you think so?”
Jean returned her smile and gestured to the room. “You don’t?”
Hal looked back at John, her heart swelling at his antics, at his smile, at his willingness to let go of who he had been to spend this time with the children of his host. And to do it so well, despite all previous impressions and behaviors. There was so much more to this man she loved than she had ever suspected.
Her breath caught in her chest, her own thoughts repeating over and over again.
This man she loved.
Loved.
She loved John, and she loved him with a depth and breadth that startled her into silence. All she could do was stare at her husband and let herself feel just how much she loved him.
Her lips curved into a smile she couldn’t resist. “I know,” she murmured, the simple statement expressing far more than just the answer to her cousin’s question.
Jean chuckled softly from his position. “It has been good for you both to be here, ma chère. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Yes, it has.” Hal nodded to herself, then glanced at her cousin with a sly smile. “And it was good for us to attend the opera alone. You were so good to let us use the box.”
“Pah!” He waved off her gratitude dismissively. “Think nothing of it. As I said, I do not care for that opera anymore. Not everyone feels the same, but I cannot find enjoyment in it.”
“Why not?” Hal asked, folding her arms gently into her wrap. “What changed?”
Jean offered her a rueful smile. “France.”
“I don’t understand,” she responded, frowning.
“Yet it is simple enough.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Les Abencérages was a favorite opera of Napoleon, you see. And his wife.”
Hal stared at her cousin in shock, the significance of such a statement seeming to weigh down her very skirts. “Was it?”
Jean smiled, though it was flat and humorless. “It is said that his supporters flock to it regularly, though it cannot be used as a sign of support, obviously.”
“Obviously.” She