Royally Seduced

chapter 16


JACK’S MOTHER WAS nowhere in sight as the Rolls dropped him off. He ran into the manor-house kitchen. “Marthe-Louise, where is my mother?”

She looked up from her pots and pans, startled. “What?”

“My mother. Where is she?”

Marthe-Louise gestured upstairs. “In her rooms. She said she was feeling the heat….”

Jack headed upstairs two at a time. “Maman, Maman, are you ill?”

There was no answer at her door, so he opened it. His mother was stretched out on her bed with a wet washcloth on her forehead. He crossed the wide room to put one hand on her forehead and the other around her wrist to check her pulse.

She lifted the cloth and stared at him. “Jacques, what are you doing?”

“Nadine said you were getting heat exhaustion.”

“What?” She batted his hands away and he’d noticed she’d changed into a lightweight caftan, or muumuu, or whatever they called it. “I always get a touch of the heat when I am forced to come to the South in the middle of the summer.”

Jacques decided not to point out she regularly came to the Riviera that time of year, but probably the sea breezes and glamour helped.

“Marthe-Louise gave me a cool drink and sent me upstairs to rest. But heat exhaustion?” She gave a tiny laugh, covering her eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous. And what are you doing with that American girl?” She laughed again. “Never mind, if you and Nadine have an agreement, it is none of your maman’s business.”

Jacques shook his head. “Maman, Nadine and I have no agreement because we are not engaged anymore.”

She sat upright, the cloth falling onto her mouth. She tossed it aside impatiently. “What?”

“Maman, I told you we broke up before I left for Burma.”

She waved her hand impatiently. “She told me that was a lovers’ spat.”

He shook his head. “I won’t tell you all the details, but Nadine cheated on me. I caught her.”

She stared at him with narrowed blue eyes. “She did?”

“Oui. I didn’t want to tell you because…”

“Because you were terribly hurt.”

Jack shrugged, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. More relieved than hurt once the shock had worn off, but still…

“Jacques! Always when you are hurt you are crawling away to lick your wounds in private.” She puffed in exasperation. “And you do not think to tell your poor maman? I invite that salope to your party. Oh, mon dieu, no wonder you run away. Your poor heart, it was broken, and to find the cause of it standing in your own home.” She threw back her head in an anguished gesture.

“Really, I am fine now….”

“And now that you have found l’amour again with the American girl— She isn’t a bimbo you picked up, is she, Jack?”

He shook his head, trying to stifle a startled snicker at Lily being called a bimbo.

“Now that you have found love,” his mother continued, “your own mother brings the lying piece of trash who broke your heart back into your country home. Ah!” She clutched at the breast of her muumuu, or caftan. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“I forgive you, Maman,” he answered truthfully. His mother may have been a drama queen, but she was sincere in her efforts.

She cast away the wet cloth and jumped out of bed. Jack followed her. “Where is that awful girl? Nadine? Nadine?” She descended the stairs, shouting for his ex. Nadine appeared from the salon with a fashion magazine, having wisely decided to stay away from the kitchen, a pissed-off Marthe-Louise and her collection of sharp utensils.

“Oh, madame, you’re feeling better. Jacques and I were worried that the heat was making you sick.”

“You better worry about yourself, ma petite.” It wasn’t an endearment. “How dare you lie to me—twice—about being affianced to my son? After what you did to him, with whomever you did it.” His mother looked at him for more information but he shook his head.

His mother continued, obviously disappointed at the lack of details. “He is a good and brave man who deserves a decent woman, and you are not the woman for him. Get out!” She flung her arm to point to the front door.

Jack was torn between the desire to clap at her stage-worthy (but genuine) performance as Outraged Mother and the desire to get back to the guesthouse and smooth things over with Lily. Option two won. “Maman, you deal with her. I have to talk with Lily.”

Nadine gave him a half smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. She left.”

“Lily left?” He seriously considered throttling Nadine. “What did you say to her?”

“We chatted.” Her half smile pulled into a smirk. “She decided she wanted to return to Paris. I suppose the slow, rural pace wasn’t to her liking.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped. “She loves it here—loves Provence, loves the lavender farm.”

“Obviously not, or she would have stayed,” she answered.

“And how did Lily leave?”

“The Rolls.” Nadine started to get defensive as she realized how angry he was getting. “She insisted. She said she wasn’t going to stick around this dusty, hot place in the middle of nowhere and wanted to hurry back to Paris. I think she wanted to shop for clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “She certainly needs some help in that area.”

Now he knew she was lying. Lily hadn’t bothered to shop much when she was in Paris the first time, preferring to concentrate on the people and sights. “You better hope the chauffeur unloaded your luggage because you’re taking the train back to Paris, not Lily. Now do as my mother says and get out. You and I are going to the local train station.”

“Jacques, wait!” his mother called.

“No, Maman, I’ve waited too long to meet someone like Lily, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”

His mother gave him a sweet smile. “Nor should you, my treasure. But you need a shirt, do you not?”

“Oh.” He glanced down at his bare chest, still damp with lavender florets stuck here and there. He pounded upstairs to his rarely used boyhood room. “Nadine, you better really hope she’s still there, or…or…I’ll think of something nasty.”

He yanked open a drawer in his dressing room and grabbed the first T-shirt he found, pulling it over his head. It was snug since he’d filled out quite a bit since he’d last worn his scouting jamboree shirt, but he didn’t care.

He ran down the stairs and found his mother nose to nose with Nadine.

“My son may be nice, but I am not. If you have driven this Lily away, you can be sure that I will ruin you.”

For the first time, Nadine started to look worried. His mother continued, “You may as well move to Burma because you will never get invited anywhere, you will sit behind a column at the opera house and you will never, ever get your photo in the society page again. What is the English term for that, Jacques?”

“Blackball?”

“Yes, how appropriate. Social death,” Maman hissed. “And you know I will do it.”

Nadine was pale and quivering by then. Jack rolled his eyes. He couldn’t imagine Lily even caring about those things, as long as they were together.

“Go, go.” His mother flapped her arms at them. “And you—don’t come back,” she told Nadine.



JACK GRIPPED THE steering wheel of the small rental car, Nadine’s luggage stuffed to the ceiling and jammed into the trunk. Lily hadn’t answered her phone, so he was racing to catch her in person.

Nadine sat next to him, her arms crossed over her chest. Their trip had been rather predictable, first filled with begging and pleading, then accusations and insults and finally a sullen silence that he welcomed.

He slowed down as he reached the village, driving as quickly as was safe over the narrow streets, which were still made of stone in parts. He stopped in front of the nineteenth-century train station and jumped out, dodging old ladies with their market baskets and tourists with maps.

“What about me?” Nadine screeched.

He pointed to the large timetable posted. “Get a ticket because you’re not staying here.”

He ran to the ticket office. “When did the last train leave?”

The older man inside checked the clock. “It has been two hours.”

“Good.” He sagged in relief. Lily had to be somewhere around here. “When does the next train leave?”

“For where, monsieur?”

“Anywhere.”

“The train to Avignon leaves in ten minutes.”

Jack thanked him and moved away, scanning the small crowd gathering to board. If she got to Avignon, he wouldn’t be able to catch up. The high-speed train would take her to Paris in a few hours, and hundreds of flights left Paris every day.

If Lily had left France, he would follow her to Philadelphia. He would follow her to the ends of the earth—after all, he knew his way around them by now.