Page 52 of Love Unraveled
“Jocelyne,” he whispered, the whooshing in his head settling as her eyes grew bigger and color returned to her face. “Viens ici,cousine.” She seemed rooted to the spot, so he held out his arms to reinforce his invitation. “Viens,” he repeated.
Jocelyne walked slowly toward him, glancing quickly past his shoulder at Sophie, then back at him. He stayed still as she touched his arm, his hair, his cheek, a mix of fear and wonder in her eyes.
“Itisyou,” she said gruffly in French.
“Oui, Jocelyne. C’est moi.”
He pulled her close and hugged her, memories of yesteryear chasing through his mind. They were the same age, the only children of sisters, and had their fathers agreed on politics, they might have been as inseparable as he and Sophie had been. But the men had been stubborn in their ways and had refused to come together, even for the sake of family. Still, their mothers had managed to secretly see each other when they could, and they had been as close as could be under the circumstances.
She sobbed quietly in his arms, and he continued to hold her. Sophie stepped from behind him into his sight line. Her smile was tentative, as though she was not sure the surprise had been a good one. It had been a shocking one, but to know Jocelyne lived was an incredible discovery. He mouthed, “Merci,” and her smile grew.
When Jocelyne calmed, she stepped back, wiping at her eyes. “How?” she asked, looking from him to Sophie and back again. “How can this possibly be?”
“Let us sit,” Sophie said, taking the lead and settling on a chair, leaving the small sofa for Gaston and Jocelyne.
“I thought you were lost to me,” Jocelyne said, her eyes watering with fresh tears.
Gaston took her hand in his. “And I thought the same of you, cousin. Tell me how you have come to be a modiste in London.”
“Non, you first. I would know how you have come to be sitting in my drawing room.” Jocelyne looked at Sophie. “How long have you known?”
There was fire in her eyes, and Gaston did not want to see it ignite into unnecessary words, so he interrupted and told her his tale, leaving out the same parts he’d left out for Sophie. He glanced at Sophie. He didn’t know where she stood anymore. Her father had been in some agreement with the revolutionists’ ideas, but look where it had gotten his wife. It must surely have tainted Sophie’s view of them. And she knew Gaston had joinedles Bourbons.But it was so many years ago. Where did her loyalty lie now? Or had she washed her hands of it all? Regardless, he had learned the hard way the fewer people who knew his true business, the better.
He turned his attention back to Jocelyne. “And you, cousin. What happened? I saw your home.”
“I was not there.” Her eyes misted, and she shook her head slowly back and forth. “I had snuck out to see Henri. You knowMamanhad forbidden me to see him.”
Gaston remembered Henri as an overbearing donkey, braying about his achievements at every opportunity, but he also remembered Jocelyne was quite taken with him.
“They must have come shortly after I left, for I was only gone for a few hours and the fire was well advanced along the row of houses.”
Gaston touched her hand, knowing how horrific the moment of discovery must have been. “I saw it when I returned,” he said quietly. “There was nothing left.”
“Oui.Nothing. I fled back to Henri, but he wanted nothing to do with it. Said it was Papa’s own fault, that he’d fed the dog that bit him. I did not know what to do. I could not find you. I was lost. I had nobody.” She pressed her lips together, and he squeezed her hand.
“Je suis désolé. So truly sorry. I was helping Sophie and her father to the outskirts of Paris. I assumed you would be safe, since your father was—”
“A supporter. I know,” Jocelyne said, finishing for him. “I did not know you returned to Paris,mon cousin. I wish I had. Until Sophie told me of your visit toVenise, I assumed you, too, had been taken by the rioters. I was filled with rage. I still do not understand why they killedMamanand Papa.”
“Sometimes there are no answers, no explanations. An angry mob does not act with a single rational mind. The good get swept up with the bad. It is unpredictable.”
“Oui,” Jocelyne said. “It’s true. But it is why I now—”
Sophie cleared her throat, and Gaston did not miss the look the two women exchanged.
“Why you now live in London, no?” Sophie said, finishing Jocelyne’s sentence for her.
Gaston heard the warning in Sophie’s voice, and he wondered what he was missing. “How did you come to reconnect with Sophie?” he asked.
“It was by chance,” Sophie said again, interjecting before Jocelyne could answer. “I had gone to a new seamstress when I was visiting Bath. Jocelyne walked into the room with a tray of tea. I could not believe my eyes.”
“Nor could I. It was a miracle. And now I have a second one.” Jocelyne leaned over and touched his cheek. “Although, perhaps you are my third, since I, too, should have died in the fire. I used to wish I had,” she said quietly, dropping her hand.
“And now?” Gaston watched her closely, looking for the truth in her eyes. She’d had a position and standing in Paris. The loss of those things must be difficult too.
“I am content. I have a good life. And…” She glanced at Sophie before continuing. “I have purpose.”
“And what purpose is that?” Gaston could see the shifting landscape of thought on Jocelyne’s face, but after another look at Sophie, she clearly decided not to be forthcoming.
