Nicole put her knitting into the basket on the floor, since it was no use trying to continue. Every storm took her back to that night when her grandfather was taken.
“Are you upset because you can’t meet Clay?”
Astonishment showed on Nicole’s face.
Janie chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me what’s been going on. I can read your face. I always figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
Nicole sat on the floor before the fire. “You’re so good and patient with me.”
“You’re the one who’s patient,” Janie sniffed. “There isn’t another woman alive who’d put up with what Clayton is giving you.”
“There are reasons—” Nicole began.
“Men always have reasons when it comes to women.” She stopped suddenly. “I shouldn’t be saying these things. There’s more to this than I know, I’m sure. Maybe there’s a reason Clay is meeting his wife like some city woman.”
Eyes twinkling, Nicole smiled. “City woman, is it? Maybe, someday, when I’m living with him and see him every day, I’ll look back fondly at this time when I was so adored.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do. You should be in Arundel Hall now, supervising the place, instead of that fat—”
As a sharp slash of lightning cut off her words, Nicole gave a little scream of fright and clutched at her heart.
“Nicole!” Janie said, jumping up, her mending falling to the floor. “Something is wrong.” Putting her arm around Nicole’s shoulders, she led her back to her chair. “I want you to sit down and relax. I’ll make us some tea, and yours is going to have some brandy in it.”
Nicole sat down, but she didn’t relax. The branches of a tree slapped against the roof, and the wind whistled in through the windows, blowing the curtains. The night outside was black and, to Nicole, horrible-looking.
“Here,” Janie said, thrusting a steaming cup of tea into her hands. “Drink this, and then you’re going to bed.”
Trying to calm herself as she drank the tea, she could feel the brandy warming her, but her nerves were too on edge to relax.
At the first pounding on the door, she jumped so high that half the tea spilled down the front of her dress.
“That has to be Clay,” Janie smiled, grabbing a towel. “He knows about you and storms, and he’s come to sit with you. Now, dry yourself and put on a pretty smile for him.”
With shaking hands, Nicole patted at the tea-stained wool and tried to smile as she anticipated Clay’s appearance.
As Janie threw open the front door, a welcome and a lecture for Clay were already taking form. She was going to let him know what she thought of his neglect of his wife.
But the man standing there wasn’t Clay. He was a short man, slightly built, with thin blond hair that straggled over the collar of his green velvet coat. About his throat was a white silk scarf that was tied so it covered the lower edge of his chin. He had small eyes, a knife blade of a nose, and a small, thick-lipped mouth.
“Is this the house of Nicole Courtalain?” he asked, his head tilted backward, as if he were trying to look down on Janie, which was impossible since she was several inches taller.
His voice was so thickly accented that Janie had difficulty understanding what sounded to her like, “Ees thees thee ouse of—” The name was one Janie had never heard before.
“Woman!” the small man commanded. “Have you no tongue or no brains?”
“Janie,” Nicole said quietly, “I am Nicole Courtalain Armstrong.”
Obviously appraising her, he spoke less angrily. “Oui. You are her daughter.” He turned on his heel and walked back into the night.
“Who is he?” Janie demanded. “I couldn’t even understand him. Is he a friend of yours?”
“I never saw him before. Janie! There’s a woman with him.”
The two women rushed out into the night. Nicole put her arm around one side of the woman, the man on the other side, as Janie grabbed a suitcase from the ground and followed them.
Inside the house, they led the woman to a chair before the fire, and Janie poured tea and b
randy while Nicole went to a chest to get a quilt. It was when Janie had the tea ready and handed it to the exhausted woman that she had time to get a good look at her. It was like looking at an older version of Nicole. The woman’s skin was unlined, clear, and perfect, her mouth exactly like Nicole’s, a combination of innocence and sexuality. The eyes, though like Nicole’s, were vacant, lifeless.