One Night In Provence. Barbara Wallace
if he was a family of one. It was the least he could do for his family. His penance for being the last of the d’Usays.
He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” He just had to survive a few weeks. Come September, the yearning for whatever it was he yearned for would cease and he’d return to his apartment in Arles.
“In the meantime, why are you interested in Mademoiselle Brown? She’s certainly not your usual type.”
“No, she is not.” Philippe preferred shallow women who had expensive tastes and short attention spans. Women like him. Jenna Brown with her copper hair and shorts with tiny whales was as far from his type as he could imagine.
Perhaps that was why he’d noticed her the moment he stepped onto the hotel terrace. Sitting there, getting frustrated with her inability to take a self-portrait. He found that particular lack of skill extremely attractive.
Add what was obviously a sharp mind and dry wit... Yes, she was exactly the distraction he needed. “Nevertheless, I found her very stimulating and would enjoy spending more time with her.”
“Meaning you’ve already spent time with her. Why didn’t you simply ask her to dinner? Wait a moment...” Yves’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me she turned you down.”
“I believe it is called a rain check,” Philippe replied.
Something else that stirred his interest. There had been obvious attraction in her green eyes, and yet she’d still said no. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman rebuffed his advances. What his looks didn’t accomplish, his name usually did.
And there was what might be the most attractive thing of all about Mademoiselle Brown: she had no clue as to who he was. Their interaction had been based solely on his charm and her interest in their conversation. He found it amazingly refreshing.
“Which brings me back to why I need Nicole’s assistance,” he said. “She’s going to help me cash in my rain check.”
A frisson of anticipation passed through him. He couldn’t wait to see Jenna Brown’s face when their paths crossed again.
JENNA HAD A HEADACHE. Too much sun and strong floral aroma had left a knot behind her eyes. She needed a glass of water and some pain relievers. Hopefully the word aspirin was the same in French?
Day two of her adventure wasn’t off to a very auspicious start.
She never did eat dinner. She’d fallen into a deep sleep shortly after she returned to her room and woke up before dawn starved and eager to start her adventure. Since Philippe had sounded so enthusiastic about the excursion to Château d’Usay, she took his advice and signed up. Part of her wondered if she’d see him at the front desk when she went downstairs, but the only person she saw was a sweet girl named Nicole who grinned every time Jenna gave her name. She wondered if Philippe had found a dinner companion after they parted ways? Immediately, she pictured a leggy French heiress and felt a prick of annoyance in her stomach. More because she was thinking about Philippe than because of the woman she imagined. It wasn’t like her to dwell on a random stranger. Philippe with his mesmerizing eyes should be no exception.
She had to give him props, though. The tour was as interesting as he’d promised. They began in the greenhouse, where she and other visitors learned about the various varieties and uses for lavender. The d’Usays, they were told, grew lavande fine, or “true” lavender rather than the more popular lavandin.
“The lavandin actually produces more oil per flower,” the guide told them. “The family has a separate property a few kilometers away, which provides the bulk of their harvest. Here at Château d’Usay, however, they continue to grow lavande fine as they always have.”
The family certainly liked to maintain its tradition, didn’t it? Jenna crouched to take a picture of the spiny purple flower up close. The deep purple blossoms reminded her of Philippe’s eyes.
After a visit to the fields, where they were given a lesson on Provençal climate and agriculture, as well as ample photo opportunities, their group made their way across a limestone pavilion to the château itself, the final stop before they visited the lavender store. It was in the fields that the knot had morphed into a full-blown headache. Making matters worse, today’s tour guide had a high-pitched voice that turned into a high pitched squeak whenever she feigned enthusiasm. She must have chirped the phrase, “In the world!” at least a dozen times, her voice piping upward each time.
The group made their way up the front steps, where they found themselves in a large marble entranceway dominated by a large staircase. Several audible sighs could be heard as the temperature dropped several degrees.
Their guide pointed to a portrait guarding the entrance. Simon and Antoinette d’Usay, captured many years after the painting in the castle. Although both had gray hair and were noticeably heavier, their eyes were still sharp and intimidating. “This is Simon and Antoinette d’Usay, who built the château after the First World War. It’s considered one of the finest examples of French Renaissance Revival architecture in the world. I’m sorry, sir, the staircase is off-limits.”
She was talking to one of the older tourists, who had moved too close to the velvet rope blocking the stairs. “Those lead to the family’s private rooms.”
“Does the Comte d’Usay still live here?” someone asked.
“We do not use titles in France. They were eliminated with the revolution. To answer your question, however, Monsieur d’Usay lives most of the year in Arles. Although he does visit from time to time. Now, follow me through these doors. The next room we’ll see is the main salon, or as the family called it, le Salon des Fleurs.”
Jenna hung in the back of the line as the guide led the group through the double doors. No way she was going to handle that voice for the entire tour without taking an aspirin. There had to be something for sale at the store. Surely, she wasn’t the only person to take the tour and suffer from lavender overload.
Her sandals made a tiny squeaking noise on the tile as she turned around.
“Running away, Mademoiselle Brown?” a familiar voice asked.
Philippe? Her ears had to be playing tricks on her. Why would he be touring the mansion? When she looked to her left, however, there he was. Walking down the stairs in a pair of faded jeans and a white linen shirt that gaped ever so nicely. As opposed to her mouth, which simply gaped. What on earth?
He grinned, the dimple in full bloom. “Didn’t I tell you our paths would cross again?”
“Yes, but how did...?” Wait a second. Jenna rewound her thoughts. He was coming down the stairs. Where the family stayed.
“No way,” she said. “You can’t be...”
“Can’t be what?” Stepping off the bottom step, he sidestepped the velvet barrier to join her at the room’s center. “You aren’t wearing your little whales today,” he said.
Took her a moment to realize he was referring to her shorts. After noting yesterday that none of the other women at the resort wore shorts, she’d ditched them in favor of a Lilly Pulitzer shift and platform sandals. The pink tropical print still marked her as an American tourist, but at least she was slightly more stylish.
“No,” she replied.
“You look lovely.”
“Thank you. What were you doing upstairs?”
“What do you think?”
“You work here?” But even as she asked, she knew the answer. He was dressed too casually, and his eyes sparkled too brightly for an employee.
“How could I possible work