Page 129 of Frankly, My Dear

“Why are you sighing, my love?” James asked, kissing the top of her head.

She turned her face upward, offering her lips. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly. “I was sighing because I still can’t believe you love me. It’s as if this love we’ve been given is a gift.”

He chuckled her playfully under the chin. “From whom?”

“I don’t know. God, maybe. Or the fates. Yeah, maybe fate ordained that I come to this time to be with you.”

He laughed.

“What? You don’t believe that?”

He shrugged. “A fanciful notion, don’t you think?”

“I suppose, but how else can you explain my time-travel? Look, it’s obvious, really. You needed me. I definitely needed you. Together…it’s as if we are two parts of one whole that was mistakenly divided by the quagmires of time.”

“So you think I needed you? What a conceited wench you are!”

Selene swept a teasing hand down his back to his buttocks, and he inhaled sharply, almost jolting Etienne off his lap. The boy whined in protest, squirmed a bit, then went back to sleep.

“That’s not fair, Selene,” he said, grinning. “Tantalizing me when you know I’m in no position to rise to the occasion.”

“Oh, and are you…rising?”

“Always, Selene. Always, for you.” He chuckled and slapped her straying fingers away with a free hand.

“That’s a promise I’m going to make sure you keep after we’re married,” she said, snuggling once again into the curve of his shoulder. “Only two more weeks until the wedding, James. No second thoughts?”

“None, chérie.”

“Have you thought any more about what I told you about the gold rush in California which is to come? About how we might go there?”

“No. It all seems too incredible.”

“Everything about us is incredible.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

It was already dark by the time their flatboat docked and two of the slaves tied it up for the night. James and Selene walked up the incline to the house. An overtired, half-asleep Etienne stumbled along between them.

“Why are there candles lit all over the house?” Selene asked suddenly.

“I don’t know,” James said warily. “Perhaps there are guests.”

They had almost reached the front steps when James stopped suddenly and gasped out, “No, it’s impossible. God would not be so cruel.”

A riffle of foreboding swept the back of Selene’s neck, like a ghostly vapor.

A woman stood at the top of the steps, wearing an exquisite off-the-shoulder gown of pale blue silk over wide petticoats. She raised a dainty hand in greeting.

“Fleur? Why is Fleur here?” Selene asked with alarm. “She should be all the way to Missouri by now.”

James looked at Selene oddly, then turned back to the figure on the gallery. The color drained from his face, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Just then a slight breeze came up from the bayou, causing a strand of the woman’s blonde curls to come loose from her chignon.

Blonde hair! But…but Fleur has black hair.