Excerpt: One Day with You

 Here's an excerpt from  Louise and Malcolm's story, One Day with You, which I hope to have ready by mid-October! For now, please enjoy chapter one. :)

Chapter One

 Dover, England

December 1796

  “Do you need another pillow, Lady Hélène?” Louise Ardenne‎ held a thick, sturdy pillow out to the lady in question.

Her mistress raised tired eyes from the needlework she stabbed at halfheartedly and shook her head. “Non, merci, mademoiselle.”

“Louise,” she corrected but without too much emphasis. It was a common correction and one Louise uttered without thought now.

She didn’t mind the term, it almost sounded like an endearment when Lady Hélène uttered it. Like a friend. That thought warmed Louise in the chilly winter’s morning. A friend, and one Louise desperately needed.

Lady Hélène smiled, a soft pull of her lips that made her look years younger. “Louise. I shall remember that.”

Whether Lady Hélène did or not, did not bother Louise. The quiet understanding between them mattered more than whatever title Lady Hélène called her. Setting the pillow on the empty chair, Louise perched in front of it and poured the tea Cook had prepared.

“Tis a cold, blustery day, ma’am.” She held out the delicate porcelain cup, careful to hold it so Lady Hélène could take it without spilling. “Quite cloudy, I’m certain it might snow.”

           Hélène’s hands trembled ever so slightly as she accepted the cup, but she smiled at Louise. Her embroidery lay on her lap, forgotten. Louise made a mental note to set it aside before it became lost in the cushions.

“Are there many ships set to port today?”

“No, ma’am.” She did not sigh in frustration, nor did she look out the window. The view hadn’t changed no matter how she willed it to.

The endless row of homes, all built in the same style with their dark wood and darker interiors. A well-to-do neighborhood in a thriving port town, and one Louise wasn’t used to. However, she also wasn’t used to the English, either.

Instead, she met Lady Hélène’s gaze and smiled. “I shall stay close today.”

“I appreciate the company.” Hélène looked into her tea, seemingly unaware of her trembling. “I shall like to walk to the wharves, but perhaps when the weather warms.”

Louise doubted Dover ever warmed. If the port city was anything like her native Wissant, across the channel, the winters were long and cold, and never ending. At least Dover had only been a short distance from home.

Or what had been her home.

Hastily sipping the last of her tea, a beverage she wasn’t overly fond of, Louise set the delicate cup on the table. Though she thought of her reasons for being in England daily, she didn’t like to dwell on what happened to force her here.

Lucky for her, however, she had encountered Lady Hélène on her first week in Dover.

“Perhaps we shall walk tomorrow,” Louise offered, though she doubted the weather would hold. “See what ships have put to port.”

Lady Hélène’s gaze narrowed in on hers, and she stilled. “He will be on one of them, Louise.”

Mind racing with Lady Hélène’s quiet insistence, Louise could only blink at her. She sounded so sure, so absolute, for a moment Louise wondered if she had the sight. Before she could recover from the proclamation, a sharp knock echoed throughout the small house. Startled, both women looked at each other as if the other had conjured the sound.

Standing, though she couldn’t imagine who visited Lady Hélène at such an early hour, Louise shook out her skirts.

“I’ll see who it is.”

“Thank you.” Lady Hélène leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes. Louise detoured around the low table and took her teacup, setting it aside. “I don’t think I’m up to visitors, my dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Louise stepped from the warmth of the small front salon and closed the pocket doors behind her.

Lady Hélène’s house sat just off the main street coming in from the wharves. Close enough to explore on those rare occasions Hélène felt up to it, yet far enough away to block out the constant noise of so busy a port city.

The front salon was her favorite room, small and warm with large windows for watching the world pass by. Well furnished, too, a comfort Lady Hélène needed.

Bands of soldiers sometimes walked along the street and Hélène would comment about her son, who was in the army. More often than not, however, the citizens of Dover meandered along the street, occasionally nodding at them through the windows.

Louise enjoyed the quiet. She’d had precious little of it in Wissant. The révolution had burned the country to the ground, and her small fishing village was no exception. Before arriving in England, she wasn’t certain the last night she slept all the way through.

Grateful for both Hélène’s hospitality and her discretion, Louise had grown to care for her employer over the previous two months. She’d grown very protective of the fragile woman.

The knock sounded again.

Frowning, Louise checked the modified walking stick leaned within easy reach of the front door. Moving the metal cover from the viewing hole, she peered outside.

A tall man, warmly dressed, stood with his back to the door. As if he sensed her watching him, he abruptly turned and grinned. His blue eyes held laughter, but his head tilted as if he expected an argument to break out at any moment.

Confused over the man’s presence, they rarely had unannounced visitors and never a gentleman caller, Louise wrapped her hands around the walking stick. Tucking it behind her skirts, she unlocked the door.

“Ah.” He grinned wider, blue eyes sparkling. “You are neither Lady Hélène nor Mrs. Lizzie.”

“I am not,” Louise agreed. His smile set her off balance and she gripped the stick tighter. “Lady Hélène is not taking visitors today.”

Or most other days, but Louise didn’t bother mentioning that. Then again, those few close friends of Hélène knew better than to simply pop round.

The man before her didn’t seem deterred. His smile hadn’t dimmed either. He also hadn’t moved. The fierce channel wind whipped through the open door, chilling Louise’s fingers and making her wish for the warmth of the salon’s fire.

“I’m not a visitor,” he insisted in a smooth, jovial tone.

He did not, however, make to push past her. Simply stood there as if the wind didn’t affect him and he planned on speaking with her on the threshold all day long.

Louise frowned. “You do not live in this house, sir. Therefore, you are a visitor.”

He laughed. The sound moved through her, an unexpected warmth she could not place. Louise frowned harder. She didn’t like the way his laugh made her feel, as if she wanted to hear it again and again. Be the cause of such a carefree sound.

How utterly ridiculous.

“No, I do not.” He said as much but his smile widened and his tone remained confident. “I do, however, stay here whenever I’m in Dover.”

His voice, as smooth as silk and just as sinful, washed over her. Her skin tingled as it never had before, and her heart skipped a beat. Utterly off balance now, she gripped the door, intending to close it.

In this man’s face.

She could think of no other alternative.

“Ah, Mr. Malcolm.”

The boisterous call of Mrs. Lizzie, Lady Hélène’s cook, stilled her. In the two months since crossing the channel and literally stumbling upon Lady Hélène, she had never heard Cook speak so cheerfully. She had also never seen a man at the door who insisted he stayed in this house.

Confused with the number of firsts occurring in such a short period of time, Louise stepped from the door. She didn’t release the walking stick.

Mr. Malcolm stepped inside and immediately closed the door. He swept into a deep bow, which set Cook into gales of laughter. Louise stared at her and wondered if she dreamed. No, she didn’t think she’d fallen asleep in the salon.

For one, her fingers felt like ice.

So despite never having heard Mrs. Lizzie laugh so freely, she probably wasn’t dreaming.

“Lady Hélène will be pleased to see you.” Cook peered around him into the obviously empty foyer. “Alone?”

“For now, yes.” Mr. Malcolm kissed her cheek and shed his coat. He draped it over the chair, along with his hat, gloves, and scarf. “I’ve business in the area.”

“I’ll see to another place for dinner.”

Cook bustled off without so much as a glance at Louise. Louise, for her part, stood in the foyer, gripping the walking stick, and wondering when her solitude suddenly burst to life.

“Are you Lady Hélène’s companion?”

Again, that smooth voice washed over her, a sharp contrast to the cold and confusion she felt. Meeting his gaze, a blue so direct she wondered if they were chipped from sapphires, she nodded.

“Yes.”

He watched her another moment, that grin still in place, his gaze assessing. Standing taller, she met his gaze and did not flinch.

She’d managed to avoid Revolutionaries burning her small town and a terribly rough channel crossing. She knew what the townsfolk said about her—the whispers about the Frenchwoman they didn’t bother keeping quiet. Holding the gaze of a stranger in a house she’d come to think of as her own, did not sway her.

“Good on you.” He bowed to her and turned for the salon. He opened the pocket doors with a flourish. “Lady Hélène, my sweet.”

“Malcolm?” Lady Hélène gasped.

In all the time since arriving in Dover and finding Lady Hélène, Louise had never, not once, heard the other woman squeal with delight. She wasn’t certain she’d ever heard anyone squeal in delight, but Hélène’s obvious joy at seeing Malcolm sounded close.

“Oh, Malcolm, it’s good to see you.”

Peeking into the salon, Louise saw the man holding Lady Hélène off the ground in such a fierce hug it was a wonder he didn’t snap her in half. Laughing, kissing his cheeks, Lady Hélène clung to this Malcolm as if he were an old lover.

She still held the stick. The last few moments had thoroughly confused her, and she wondered if she ought to keep hold of it. Another look at the laughing couple and Louise decided she needn’t bother.

Replacing it by the entrance, she locked the door and stepped into the salon.

This was not the turn she thought her day would make.