Where the Heart Chooses (36 page)

“I see.”

“It keeps out the boogeyman.” He changed the
subject. “Thank you again for
Hondo
and the DVD player.
Although I have to say I have no clue how you figured that was my
favorite movie.”

“Oh?”

He slanted a glance toward me. “Quinn sure
as…he didn’t know.”

I patted his arm.

Gregor stalked up to us. “Por-Mrs. Mann, we
have to leave if you want to be ready to meet Mr. Sebring and Mr.
Rivenhall for dinner.” He glared at Mark.

“Novotny, your face is going to freeze in
that expression. I have to get going also. Enjoy your dinner,
ma’am.”

“Thank you. But Mark?”

“Ma’am?”

“Please stop calling me ‘ma’am.’”

He grinned at me, touched a forefinger to
his temple in a brief salute, and left.

“Portia!” Gregor hissed.

“I was quite safe, Gregor. You were within
earshot the entire time.”

“Yeah, but…Never mind. We have to go.”

* * * *

June ended, and now it was the middle of
July. “We’re running a little low on wine, Portia.” Gregor emerged
from our wine cellar, brushing down the apron he wore.

“Yes. We’ll need to buy some more. I think
I’ll go myself.” Normally it wouldn’t entail a flight to France—I
had an agent who could do the ordering for me—but it had been a
number of years since I’d been there, and I found myself looking
forward to it. “I’ll notify all my charities that I’ll be away for
the next four weeks.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll make the
arrangements.” He flushed. “Would you…uh…mind if I didn’t go with
you?”

I raised an eyebrow, studying his unusual
reaction. “Not at all, Gregor. Now that I think of it, you haven’t
had a vacation in quite some time.”

“It’s not like I needed it. You’re not
exactly a slave driver, you know.”

“I should hope not!”

“The thing is, my cousin Marieta’s daughter
is getting married in a couple of weeks, and Alyona insists I be
there.”

“I’ll see about a gift. And I want to send
something to Alyona also, to let her know how much we miss
her.”

“That’s really kind of you, Portia.”

“You’re both family, don’t you know that by
now?”

He cleared his throat and said gruffly,
“Thank you. And speaking of family, your godmother’s son would be
pleased to see you. Why not contact him and ask if he’ll go to
France with you?”

“Jack’s busy with his own affairs just
now.”

“I bet he’d change them if the opportunity
came up to see you.” Was he matchmaking?

“He probably would, but that’s the last
thing I’d ask of him.”

“Well, Jeff’s got some stuff to do,
but…uh…Ludo’s going to be at loose ends, so he could go with
you.”

And he was aware of that, how? I didn’t
intend to question him about it. “I’ll call Ludovic and see if he’s
interested.”

As it turned out, he was.

* * * *

The flight over the Atlantic was routine,
and we landed safely in Paris. Ludovic hired a Mercedes and drove
us to Champagne, the first of our scheduled stops. From there we
went to Alsace, Burgundy, and Bordeaux. By the time August rolled
around, I had ordered more than enough wine to stock not only my
cellar, but Quinton’s, Jefferson’s, and Tony’s as well.

“I’d like to make one more trip, if you
don’t mind, Ludovic?”

“Of course not, Portia. Whither to?”

“Avignon.”

He grinned, and sang, in a surprisingly
sweet tenor, “
Sur le pont d’Avignon, l’on y danse, l’on y
danse…
”

I couldn’t help grinning back at him, but
then said seriously, “I’d like to pay a visit to
La Vigne d’un Dieu
.
”

“Wasn’t that Tartarin Bauchet’s vineyard?” A
frown creased his brows. “I don’t believe you’ve gone there
since…”

“Since 1980. Yes, I’m aware of that.
However, I find I’d like to see how their Chateauneuf-du-Pape has
matured over the years.”

I could see he didn’t think it was a good
idea, but he was reluctant to say anything. Too many times when
they’d first been together had Jefferson snapped at Ludovic to stay
out of it, that he wasn’t family. I’d wanted to smack my brother.
Ludovic had been heartbroken and on the verge of returning to
London. We’d run into each other one day when I was acting as
docent at the National Cathedral, and he looked so unhappy I’d
asked him to take me to lunch at Charmaine, a little restaurant
that featured outdoor seating.

“
I’m glad to have this opportunity to see
you,” he murmured as he stirred his tea. “I wanted to thank you for
always being so kind to me.”

“
Why does this sound as if you’re about
to say good-bye?”

“
Because I’m afraid I am.”

“
It’s Jefferson, isn’t it? What has
that—” If I called my brother an ass, it would shock the Englishman
who sat opposite me.
The entire family, even Gregor, could
see Ludovic was perfect for Jefferson. Why couldn’t he see it?
“
What has he done now? Never mind, I can tell answering that
would make you uncomfortable.”
I reached across the table
and gripped his hand. “If you love him, Ludovic, fight for him. And
for God’s sake, don’t be a gentleman about it!”

“
But what about Sebrings only loving
once?”

“
Who told you that?” I shook my head.
“Never mind. Just because a Sebring doesn’t love someone the way
that person may want us to, doesn’t mean we don’t love with all we
have.”

“
Suppose that isn’t enough for
me?”

“
In that case, the wisest thing would be
for you to cut your losses and leave.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him, and then
sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Unfortunately, I think I
have no choice but to follow your advice.”

“
Then I’m very sorry. I’d have liked you
for a brother.”

I never learned what happened, but the next
time I saw my brother, shortly after that, he was sporting a black
eye and not letting Ludovic out of his sight.

But even now, after all these years, Ludovic
was wary of being thought to be encroaching.

“If you don’t think it’s a good idea,” I
said, “simply tell me.”

“Very well. Portia, I don’t think it’s a
good idea for you go to
La Vigne d’un
Dieu
.
” He looked at me hopefully.
“We’re not still going, are we?”

“Yes, Ludovic, I’m afraid we’re still
going.”

He laughed reluctantly. “Very well. But may
I ask why?”

“Twenty-two years.”

“Excuse me?” He looked completely
perplexed.

“For twenty-two years, my son was under the
misapprehension that Armand Bauchet was his one love. The odds of
him finding it at the age of fifteen were so slim as to be
ridiculous, but he could very well have been happy with Armand.
Armand could have been happy with him. Instead…”

“I pity Armand. You’re not an easy enemy.”
His smile was faint. “I’ll fill the car’s tank with petrol, and
we’ll be off.”

The chateau was in even better condition
than when I’d last seen it, in 1980. The younger Bauchet was
obviously more successful than his father.

I was about to ply the knocker when I saw
movement from the corner of my eye.

“
Bonjour, madame, monsieur
. I see by
your car that you are tourists. English, perhaps?” It was Armand,
and if he failed to recognize me, I had no problem placing the boy
my son had loved and this man with his dark gypsy looks.

“I am American. My companion, however, is
from Great Britain.”

“
Pardon
. You look familiar.
M-Mme
. Mann?”

“
Oui
. And this is
M.
Rivenhall.”

“
M’sieur.
To what do I owe this
pleasure,
madame
?
It has been many years.”

“Indeed it has.”

“Is it that you wish to buy wines from us
again? I’m afraid I cannot take your order. Papa would come back to
haunt me.”

“And we wouldn’t want that.” I gave him a
sardonic glance. “No. I wished to speak with you.”

“I fail to see why,
but
eh bien
,
madame
.
As you wish. Please, come into the crème salon. I will procure some
refreshments for you.” Armand led us through the house and left us
in a room that was indeed crème, with cream-colored brocade
covering the windows and cream-flocked wallpaper on the walls.
There was a loveseat and a number of chairs, all with cream
upholstery.

“I begin to see how this room got its name,”
Ludovic murmured to me.

“Yes. It’s very pretty. Although I must say
that’s new.” Above the fireplace was a portrait of Armand seated on
a tree swing, holding two small children. On a blanket on the
ground before him was an obviously pregnant young woman cradling a
baby, while a toddler stood on unsteady legs.

Armand came in bearing a tray with three
glasses filled with a red wine and a plate of biscuits.

We each took a glass and a biscuit and sat
down.

“
Votre santé
.”

“
Merci
.” I’d be damned if I drank to
his health.

“Oh, I say!” Ludovic exclaimed after a sip.
“This is marvelous!”

“Yes,” I murmured in Russian, knowing he
would understand. “If there was one thing Tartarin Bauchet had to
his credit, it was his grapes.”

Armand looked from Ludovic to me. “May I ask
who this gentleman is? As I recall, the last time you were here,
you were a widow.”

“I still am. Ludovic is my brother-in-law.”
Ludovic flushed with pleasure.

Armand frowned. “I don’t remember Quinton
mentioning having an aunt.”

“Because he doesn’t have one.”

Armand first looked puzzled and then
appalled, and I decided in spite of what he might think otherwise,
my son had had a lucky escape.

“I was remarking to
M’sieur
Rivenhall that
the portrait above the fireplace was new.”

“Indeed,
madame
.”

“I assume the young woman
is
Mme
.
Bauchet.”

“
Oui
. It was painted in 1986, shortly
before the birth of our fifth child.” He glanced away. “Ghislaine
and I married in the spring of 1981.”

“Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of meeting
her?”

“Sadly, no. Ghislaine is deceased. She
succumbed to lung cancer and has been gone these five years.” He
worried the cuticle on his thumb. “How…how has Quinton been?”

“He’s very well. Not as busy as you, of
course, to produce five children in as many years. However, he’s
involved with someone for whom he cares deeply. Someone who cares
as deeply in return.”

“
C’est vrai
? Well…well, it is what I
hoped for
mon cher ami
.”

“You dare to call him that?”

“
P-pardon, madame
?”

“You broke my son’s heart!”

He turned pale.
“
Mais non
! We
were just boys! Papa vowed to me that he was simply toying with my
affection, that he would find another to fall in love with him as
soon as he returned home to America!”

“And you believed him?”

“He was my father!”

I stared at him coldly. “Didn’t your father
ever tell you about my family? We love once, for a lifetime. You
let a love many would consider worth dying for slip through your
fingers.”

“Please,” he whispered, casting an agonized
glance toward Ludovic.

“Portia, we’d better go.”

“Very well, Ludovic.” I rose to my feet.
“Thank you for the refreshments.”

“
Madame
, you don’t understand! My
father would have disowned me! The church…our neighbors…I would
have had nothing!”

“You would have had my son. You would have
had the backing of the entire Sebring family.” He appeared
astonished. “Did you think I would have disowned my son?”

“I…I do not know!” He covered his face with
his hands. “Please say no more…”

“It isn’t likely I’ll be
speaking to you again.
Adieu
, Armand.”

Ludovic followed me out to the car. “My
word, Portia!”

“Excuse me?”

He waited until I was seated, then ran
around the hood and got behind the wheel. “I’m used to seeing you
through your brothers’ eyes.”

“Yes?”

“Nigel told me once that you had more fire
than your brothers gave you credit for.”

“And?”

He smiled and turned on the ignition. “And
I’m just glad you’re on my side.”

“You’re being foolish. Let’s get back to the
hotel. I want to make arrangements to go home. And Ludovic?”

“Yes, Portia?”

“You won’t mention this incident to
Jefferson.”

“Certainly not!”

“Splendid. You also won’t mention it to
Tony, Bryan, Gregor, or Quinton.”

“I won’t.” He reached across and squeezed my
hand. “Word of a Rivenhall!”

* * * *

Autumn was just around the corner, and I’d
finally gotten Mark to agree to go riding with us. Prior to this,
he’d always found an excuse.

Gregor stood in the doorway glowering at me.
“Portia, I really don’t think this is a good idea. Vincent is too
much of a loose cannon.” He had never forgiven the man for somehow
managing to wipe out two separate surveillance tapes even after he
had patted him down for any untoward devices the second time, after
Quinton had been kidnapped by the monster who ran Prinzip and Mark
had come to assure me he would find my son and bring him home.