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Ginny stared at the rabbits, feeling curiously hollow as she unfastened her coat.
Fur, she thought. Ears and tails. That would have to be removed.
She said hoarsely, ‘Where did they come from?’
‘I shot them early this morning.’ He sounded surprised. ‘The noise of my gun did not disturb you?’
Mutely, Ginny shook her head, only to discover that was a serious mistake. Gagging suddenly, she dropped the bag of vegetables and ran to the scullery sink, where she was swiftly and unpleasantly sick.
As she straightened, the world still reeling around her, she was given a drink of water, then, firmly supported by Madame’s sheltering arm, found herself guided out of the kitchen to the petit salon, where she was deposited on the sofa in front of the fire.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ginny whispered. ‘It—it was seeing those rabbits. I’m not usually so squeamish.’
Madame nodded. ‘But everything changes when one is enceinte, mon enfant.’ She gave Ginny a reassuring smile. ‘And for tonight’s dinner, I shall roast a chicken very simply.’
‘Enceinte,’ Ginny repeated numbly. ‘You mean...’
‘That you are to have a child, petite.’
‘No—you must be mistaken.’ You have to be...
Madame shook her head. ‘I knew from the first. And Monsieur Andre will tell you that I am never wrong.’
Ginny stared up at her. ‘You told him too?’
‘That he was to be a father? Most certainly. It is important news for a man.’ She patted Ginny on the shoulder. ‘And another generation for the Château Terauze. It will bring great happiness.’
Happiness, thought Ginny when Madame had bustled off and she was alone. What possible happiness can come from being married to a man out of his sense of duty? And when there’s someone more suitable waiting in the wings?
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. Falling in love with someone, knowing you wanted to spend your life making him happy should be a wonderful thing. Not like the wretchedness and desperation that were threatening to overwhelm her, but which must for ever remain her secret.
At least, she whispered silently, until I’m long gone from here, which must—must be soon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHE HAD BRACED HERSELF for Andre’s arrival, but when he walked into the room and she saw the bleakness of his expression, her heart felt wrenched.
She said huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’
And it was true. It was her misguided attempt to intervene in whatever was going on between Cilla and himself that had triggered this disaster. Instead, she should have closed her eyes and kept her distance.
Because she’d known from the start—probably from the moment she saw him—the danger she was in.
But she’d told herself that her feelings were down to dislike and resentment, too inexperienced to recognise the tug of sexual thrall for what it was. Or to realise that it was jealousy as well as anger that had taken her to him that day. And love that had brought her here.
He said abruptly, ‘I too regret—everything.’ He shook his head. ‘I have been hoping, praying that for once Clothilde might be wrong.’
She winced inwardly. ‘But it doesn’t change anything,’ she said quickly. ‘I shall still go back to England.’
His mouth hardened. ‘Au contraire. Tomorrow at the party I shall announce our engagement, and we will be married as soon as the legal formalities are complete.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You don’t—you can’t mean that.’
‘You forget, Virginie.’ His voice was harsh. ‘I know what my father suffered, knowing his only child was being raised in another country by another man, and the extreme it drove him to. You think I will allow that to happen to me? That I would be content to provide financial support and the occasional visit?’ He drew a sharp breath. ‘Never in this world.’
‘But you don’t understand...’
‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘It is you, ma belle, who cannot comprehend how I would feel if our child was sick or in an accident and I could not be with you at the bedside. Or the pain of not seeing that first step—hearing that first word.’
He paused. ‘And whatever you may believe, there is still a stigma attached to a child born outside marriage. Bastard is an ugly word which some people do not hesitate to use. Almost from the moment she arrived back in Terauze, Maman had the support and protection of Papa Bertrand, but even so, she was not invulnerable.’
He added quietly, ‘And nor was I.’
