No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (23 page)

Andre scrubbed his hands through his hair, entirely unclear on the situation himself, as much as he’d tried to puzzle it out over the last month. Taking Ali’s virginity was one very good reason. Needing a wife was another. It was the vast gray area in between that confused him.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “marriage was the furthest thing from my mind when I met her again. And my God, that came as a shock, Jo-Jean.”

“Oh?” Joseph-Jean asked mildly.

“Well, yes. She’s … changed. Grown up, you know. In a manner of speaking. Don’t mistake me—I’m not in love with her. But she has become very attractive. Beautiful, actually,” he added.

Joseph-Jean took a moment to absorb this piece of information. “I see,” he said after a moment. “And it was at this point that you decided that Ali would make a convenient wife.”

“No,” he said in frustration, pulling open his neckcloth and taking a large swallow of the fiery cognac. “I was left with no choice.” Andre felt the back of his neck growing hot, but he desperately needed Joseph-Jean to understand that he hadn’t betrayed his vow to Genevieve, that his attraction to Ali was primarily physical.

“No choice?” Joseph-Jean asked, his gaze sharp on Andre’s face. “What do you mean? Nothing came out, did it?”

Andre couldn’t help grinning. “Well … in a manner of speaking it did.” He rubbed the corner of his mouth. “If you really must know, the truth of the matter is that Ali compromised me.”

Joseph-Jean stared at him for a long moment, then lowered his face into his hands with a smothered laugh. Within another minute his shoulders were shaking so hard that he nearly tumbled off his chair. He finally managed to collect himself long enough to look up. “She did? Truly? Oh, merciful Lord above. Ali. Only Ali. Ha!” He fell back into hysterics.

Andre walked over to the window, trying very hard to maintain some sense of decorum in the face of his own stupidity. He felt like a complete idiot. But when he glanced over his shoulder, it was only to see Joseph-Jean wheezing wildly, tears pouring down his cheeks.

It was too much for Andre. The absurdity hit all at once, and he sank onto the floor, tears of laughter streaming down his own face. “I—I swear to God, that’s how it happened,” he choked. “She took all her clothes off to prove a point, and I—I was unable to help myself.”

Jo-Jean doubled over. “Ah, no. Stop. Please stop.”

“Well,” Andre said, wiping his eyes, “maybe I could have if she’d asked me to, but she did just the opposite.”

“Oh my God.” Joseph-Jean groaned, grabbing his sides. “My ribs. Ah Lord, my ribs.”

Andre wiped his eyes again. “So here we are, and God help me, I really can’t find a thing to complain about. It’s a good thing we’re getting married tomorrow, for I swear, it’s everything I can do to keep my hands off her.”

“Ali. You can’t keep your hands off Ali,” Joseph-Jean said, slowly straightening, his hands clutching his tender stomach. “This um—oh, how to be tasteful? In Turkey you didn’t have this alarming physical attraction, did you? I mean, all those months sharing a tent?”

“Jo-Jean!” Andre said, grinning hugely. “Certainly not. Don’t you think I would have discovered the truth of the matter long before I did, if that had been the case?”

“I only thought I’d ask,” Jo-Jean said, his grin matching Andre’s. “You must understand, this is hard to imagine.”

“Yes,” Andre agreed. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I swear to you, the girl sets my blood on fire. Who ever would have thought it? Scrawny little Ali…”

Before they knew it, they were back in the long summer of 1864, the year that Ali had first come into their lives.

The soft, pale light of early morning streamed through the window, and Ali came instantly awake, knowing in every fiber of her being that this was the day she had been waiting for since God had left her on a mountaintop for Andre to find her.

She slid out of bed and pulled on a simple dress, tied her hair back with a ribbon, then crept out of her room, down one branch of the double staircase, and padded across the vast marble hallway, a mission on her mind.

Only a housemaid was about, busily cleaning the floor. She saw Ali and started, then clambered to her feet. Ali smiled and put her finger to her lips, and in another minute she had safely made it through the front door undetected by anyone else. She ran lightly down the steps and followed the path across the lawn to the fifteenth-century chapel with its high leaded windows, where she was to be married in only a few hours.

The door creaked slightly as she pulled it open and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The chapel had already been prepared for the wedding. Flowers decked the altar, and the ends of each pew had also been decorated with more of the same. She went directly up to the altar rail and knelt.

“I wanted to say thank you, God,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving me to Andre. I will love him with all my heart and soul, always, and I will be a good wife, and do everything in my power to make him happy.” She gazed up at the Cross. “But if it’s not too much to ask, do You think You might help Andre to love me just a little? It would be so nice if he could. And perhaps You could help him find his way back to loving his parents too?”

She said a quick Hail Mary for luck and rose, turning to leave, but stopped in surprise as a man moved out of the shadows by the door.

“Having one of your endless conversations with Allah?” he asked, walking toward her.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Jo-Jean!” she cried. “Oh, Jo-Jean, I can’t believe it! When did you arrive?”

She ran toward him, and he caught her up in a hug, then stepped away, holding her by the shoulders and looking her up and down with a smile. “I got in late last night. So. Everything I’ve heard is true. You’ve grown into a beauty, Ali.”

“I have?” she said, her face lighting up with pleasure. “Do you
really
think so, or are you just being kind?”

His blue eyes sparked with amusement. “I really think so. Andre’s parents told me as much, and Andre himself said the same last night.”

Ali looked at him suspiciously. “He did?”

“He did indeed. I think you’re going to make him very happy, Ali. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Oh,” Ali said, flushing with pleasure. “Oh, Jo-Jean, that’s the nicest wedding present you could have given me.”

“I don’t know about that. Actually, I followed you down here because I have something else for you, and I needed to give it to you privately. Come over here.” He led her to a pew and sat down next to her, looking around the chapel for a moment. “Did you know that Andre’s parents were married here?”

“They were?” she said with surprise. “I thought they’d been married at Saint-Simon.”

“No, here in this very chapel. The duchess asked me to tell you that, and to give you her love. And the duke asked me to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “They came to Paris to deliver this and two other things so that I might bring them to you to have on your wedding day.”

She took the envelope and opened it, unfolding a letter written in Pascal’s lovely flowing script.

He had signed it simply “Pascal.”

“He is a very good man,” Ali said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yes,” Joseph-Jean said. “He is. It’s a shame Andre doesn’t see it that way. I can’t tell you how angry it makes me that he continues to turn his back—ah, well,” he said, cutting himself off abruptly. “It’s his wedding day, and yours, and we should concentrate on happiness.” He sighed, then reached inside his breast pocket. “These are from the duchess. She hopes that you will wear them today.” He handed Ali a cloth pouch.

Ali opened the strings and tipped the pouch upside down. Out tumbled a triple strand of perfectly matched, milky-white pearls. She caught her breath in wonder. “Oh … oh, Jo-Jean, look at them. They’re beautiful!”

“They are indeed. You will do them honor, Ali.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“I mean it most sincerely.” Finally he handed her a little packet wrapped in ribbon. “From the duke.”

She undid the ribbon and folded the paper back. “Oh—oh, Jo-Jean,” she said, covering her face with her hands for a moment as hot tears started to her eyes. She thought her heart might break with love. “He—he remembered,” she said, her voice choked.

For lying nestled in the paper was a gold chain, and suspended from the chain was a golden angel that held a tiny diamond lily in its hands, the symbol of the Archangel Gabriel.

“He had it made for you.”

“Did he?” Ali said, blinking back her tears. “Oh, Jo-Jean, you have no idea…”

“How appropriate that he chose to give you an angel,” Joseph-Jean murmured.

Ali looked at him with surprise. “But how could you know about that day?”

“What day? I only meant that the duke has an interesting, um … attachment to angels. What are you talking about?”

“The day I first met Pascal. We had a long talk, and he taught me something very important about God and acceptance and myself. It meant a great deal to me.” She held the chain out. “Please. Would you put it on me? I would like to wear it close to my heart.” She turned her back to him, and he fastened the clasp around her neck.

“Thank you,” she said, looking down at the little Gabriel. “I know what you mean about Pascal liking angels. He says his favorite is Rafael, but I suppose that’s because Rafael is the archangel of healing, and Pascal is a physician. But you must know that.”

Joseph-Jean gave her a long look. “Yes,” he said. “I do know that. He not only delivered me, he also saved my life.”

Ali’s hand flew to her mouth. “He did? Oh, Jo-Jean, how wonderful! He never said, even though he’s often spoken of how fond he is of you.”

“He wouldn’t say,” Jo-Jean replied. “H e’s never even spoken of it to me. But it is the truth. And now I think you had better get back to the house before you’re discovered missing and everyone starts to think you’ve bolted.”

Ali slipped her arms around Joseph-Jean’s back and gave him a hug, then tenderly kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you could be here today. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

He smiled. “This I wouldn’t have missed for the world. I’ll see you here a little later, Ali. You will make a lovely bride. And I look forward to being formally introduced to you after the wedding. It will be a trial, trying to keep a straight face.”

“I know. I’m already having great difficulty pretending to know Andre only slightly. I nearly died at dinner last night. I couldn’t look at him without wanting to burst into laughter, so I tried not to look at him at all.” She shook her head, “but you should have seen him. Do you know that strained expression he has, the one that makes him look constipated?”

“Of course,” Joseph-Jean said, choking back a laugh.

“He barely spoke to anyone. It’s no wonder they used to call him the black marquess if that’s how he conducted himself,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, Georgia said it all worked out, because he behaved exactly as a nervous bridegroom ought, and I behaved like a shy bride, and no one is the wiser.”

Joseph-Jean took her hand between both of his. “It’s amazing, you know. You haven’t changed an iota, not really. Here we are, sitting in a chapel in England, you now a beautiful young woman about to marry my dearest friend, yet I feel as if it’s exactly like old times.”

Ali smiled softly. “Just another adventure, Jo-Jean. But this one will carry me through my entire life.” A spark of mischief leapt into her eyes. “At least now I can go back to giving Andre baths without anyone to object. Who is going to argue with a duchess?”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Joseph-Jean said. “God help England.”

She scooped up her pearls and her letter and jumped to her feet with a grin. “My first command as a duchess is going to be that from now on, everyone must ride camels in Hyde Park.”

“Maybe you should first consult with the queen,” Joseph-Jean said dryly.

“Oh,” Ali said with a toss of her head, “she’s in perfect agreement.” She dashed out the door.

Ali made it back to her room with no one the wiser. She washed, she ate, she dressed, her thoughts centered on nothing but Andre and the life that she would lead with him from this day forth. Hattie’s stream of chatter punctuated by sniffs and sneezes went unheeded.

She did register Georgia’s warm hug and whispered words of love and encouragement as Georgia left for the chapel. Hattie pressed something into her hand, which she only later realized was Hattie’s lucky silver six-penny piece. That alone nearly brought her to tears. She tucked it inside her bouquet of roses, knowing just what she wanted to do with it. Lily’s strands of pearls hung about her neck, and Pascal’s angel rested safely inside her dress.

Nicholas’s warm hand held hers in reassurance as they walked down the flower-strewn path to the chapel. All she could think of was that inside—oh, inside waiting for her was Andre.

As she adjusted the wide satin skirt of her wedding dress, let Hattie pull the long lace veil just so, she thought only of how she had loved Andre for so long, and now Allah was finally, but
finally
giving her to him properly. Goodness, she’d been patient.

And now it was time. The door opened and Ali walked into the chapel on Nicholas’s arm. Andre stood at the altar, tall and straight, looking directly at her, his eyes not guarded but instead clear and filled with welcome.

Ali didn’t realize it, but she wore a smile of such pure happiness and simple love as she walked into the chapel that it shocked half of polite society when the story circulated for months after. The other part of the shocking story was that the black duke’s face reflected an extraordinary amount of pleasure and affection as they exchanged their vows.