There was only a fractional hesitation before Annette smiled at her and said, ‘Of course I will.’

‘You’ll still be able to see Pierre,’ Hélène said. ‘I promise you that.’

‘Pierre?’ Annette gave a wry smile. ‘I doubt if he’ll mind one way or the other.’

‘I think he will,’ asserted Hélène. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’

Annette smiled again. ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ she said. She was very worried about Hélène’s forthcoming marriage. She had never liked Simon Barnier, especially since he had tried to use her as a spy. She had seen the way Simon looked at Hélène and it was not the way Rupert had looked at her, nor, if she were honest, the way Pierre looked at her. She was loath to move from Belair to Gavrineau, but she was not about to let Hélène go there without her.

‘I have to go with her,’ she confided to Pierre when she had slipped out to the stables one evening to sit and talk, cosy in the lamplight. ‘I can’t leave her alone with that man. I simply don’t trust him, not after he paid me to spy.’

‘Of course you must go,’ Pierre agreed reluctantly. He didn’t want her to leave; he would miss her more than he’d thought possible. ‘You could stay with her to begin with, but if everything is all right when she’s settled in, you could come back and marry me!’

Annette stared at him, stunned. ‘What did you say?’ she whispered, unbelieving.

He grinned at her and said, ‘You heard.’

‘You want to marry me?’ She shook her head. ‘But you don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know all I need to know,’ Pierre assured her.

‘No, you don’t,’ Annette said softly, ‘and you can’t even think about marrying me until you do.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Pierre. ‘Tell me.’

Annette drew a deep breath and got to her feet. Pacing the stable floor, she told him the truth about Father Thomas, the baby and her disgrace. When she had finished Pierre reached for her hand, making her pause in her pacing.

‘Do you think that makes any difference to how I feel about you?’ His eyes were fixed on hers and she looked away.

‘I don’t know,’ she murmured, ‘do I?’

‘Well, it doesn’t,’ stated Pierre. ‘Annette, I don’t care about your life before you came here. I love you and I want you to marry me. Will you?’

‘I can’t,’ whispered Annette. ‘I have to go with Hélène.’

‘I quite see that,’ responded Pierre, ‘but when the time comes that you’re happy to leave her, I shall be waiting for you.’ He got to his feet and gently drew her into his arms, and for a moment the feel of his body against the length of her own made her stiffen. Very gently he kissed the top of her head and said, ‘It’s all right, Annette, I’m not Father Thomas.’ After a moment he felt her relax again, and looking down into her face, he said, ‘I love you, Annette Dubois.’