8.

He had kicked the door in. She saw it even though it felt like part of her dream. For some reason it wasn't easy to focus. The door was ripped off of its hinges in one violent movement and he had walked over it to get into the room. Clotilde and Claire followed him when he approached the bed and bent his face over hers. He lifted his hand as if ready to grab her but at the last moment he moved back and impatiently waved his hand to Clotilde to move closer.

"See to her–" His tone was urgent and angry and Eliane wished she could go back underwater.

She felt the touch of a cool cloth on her forehead, and opening her eyes, she saw Claire's worried face.

"When is the last time you saw her?" She could hear him from the other side of the bed. Eliane opened her mouth to reply but no sound came out.

"On Monday noon, just before I left for the village–" Claire's voice was trembling. "Madame… Madame Duret gave me permission to go to my sister. She had a baby–" Claire seemed ready to burst into tears. Eliane couldn't understand why they talked as if she wasn't in the room. She tried to sit up but her body didn't quite obey her.

"Clotilde?" Oh, that voice was scary. Eliane was so relieved it wasn't addressed to her.
"How did that happen? How did you let it happen?" the voice demanded more furiously now.

"I'm not going to spend my days running after her. I have work to do," the older woman retorted harshly.

"She's been locked in her room for more than two days, she hasn't eaten anything for three days and you two have just now realized that! Where is your mind? Why hasn't anyone told me?" he roared, and Eliane wished she could shut her ears with her hands.

"I've just returned from the village–" the girl murmured in tears now. Her sniffles were what forced Eliane to break away from the cloud around her. She opened her eyes again, blinked a few times for her vision to adjust to the dimly-lit room and pushed herself upwards so that everyone would stop talking about her as if she was invisible.

"Madame–" Claire's voice sounded relieved and the girl placed a trembling arm under her shoulders and helped her to prop herself against the head of the bed.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a voice that sounded weak even to her own ears while the girl rearranged her pillows. She ran a hand over her hair and her nightdress, and mostly out of exhaustion she decided she was decent.

"Bring her something to eat," Bertillon growled to Clotilde's side. "And tea!" he shouted at the woman's rigid back as she exited the room.

"How are you feeling?" Now the question was clearly for her and Eliane felt her resolve weakening.

"I don't know. I'm fine, I guess–" She didn't know what she was supposed to say.

"Leave us." Another growl, this time to Claire's side. She grabbed the basin she had poured water into and rushed out of the room, hopping over the carcass of the door on the floor.

He looked around and Eliane wearily followed his gaze. She watched him retrieve a chair and place it close to her bed at the darkest part of the room. "What were you trying to do? Do not lie to me." He sounded slightly calmer now.

"I don't know…" she said in an earnest voice, "I was angry with Clotilde… she didn't let me… do something in the kitchen, then Claire left…I was lonely I guess so I stayed here…"

"You didn't mean to harm yourself?" It was difficult to see his face as he had retreated to the shadows, but his voice was grim and serious. What did he think? That she had tried to follow her cousin's fate?

"For God's sake, no! I just didn't want to be in Clotilde's way. It rained so I couldn't go out for a walk and–"

"And?"

"I hoped you'd forgot I was here and would not send me to the city," she said when she realized he'd keep pressuring her.

Bertillon abruptly stood up, knocking down the chair behind him. Eliane was certain that the curse he uttered would have made a sailor blush and felt herself shrinking under his stare.

Her initial thought about the room being spacious and wide was challenged now as he paced it with long strides. He looked like a cornered wild animal, the kind that might try to pounce at you when you least expected it. No, her room was definitely too dark for her, too small for him.

They stayed like that until the two women came back, carrying large trays in their hands. Eliane took a look at the stew, the cheese, the bread on the tray Claire left on her lap and her stomach made an embarrassing noise. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bertillon lifting up the chair from the floor and then the heavy wooden door, placing it on the wall beside the doorframe.

"Eat!" he ordered when he caught her staring.

She moved her eyes to Clotilde, who had placed her tray on a chest of drawers and poured hot steaming tea in two cups. Eliane wished for Clotilde to light a lamp but she didn't say anything. Both women left the room, Claire with hasty steps and a relieved expression on her face, Clotilde with her chin up and her shoulders as straight as always.

Bertillon took his cup in his hands and lazily sat on the windowsill.

"Eat," he urged her more gently this time. "I won't leave until every plate on that tray is empty," he warned and she concentrated on her task.

The silence wasn't awkward mostly because of her hunger. The stew was delicious and the cheese had a taste of freshness that would have been complemented by a leaf of basil or mint but she kept that idea for herself.

Bertillon took the tray from her lap and replaced it with the other, letting her add sugar into the still warm liquid. The two lines between his brows grew deeper as he took in the plate with biscuits. He suddenly took the plate and emptied it into the fireplace.

"Until they disappear Clotilde will never care to bake something new. I know she has too much work to do but she hates baking. Sometimes, I think she deliberately makes such awful desserts to avoid the task altogether," said Bertillon, placing the plate on the chest of drawers. "Whatever you do, don't try her tarts. The last time, Pierre broke a perfectly good tooth."

Eliane found herself smiling broadly at the image in her mind, his conspiratorial tone and the fact that Clotilde did not excel in everything she did. She gave him the tray and placed her cup along with its saucer safely in her lap. The tea was warm and soothing. Now all her thoughts, all her fears seemed a little smaller.

Retrieving his seat at the windowsill, he made a grimace and rubbed his temple with the heel of his palm. Was this the sign of one of his headaches?

"How old are you? Eighteen?" he asked, completely turning his back to the window. His broad shoulders hid the setting sun.

"Nineteen," she corrected him and faced his smirk.

"You say it as if a year is that important. I'm almost double your age. Imagine the life you've lived so far and double it, Eliane." His voice was laced with bitterness under the humorous tone.
"Are you afraid of the city?" he asked almost gently after a while.

"No," she replied, exasperated because he had asked her the same thing before.
"No. I just want to stay here. At the Chateau."

He furrowed his brows but didn't say anything.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you keep sending me back to the village… to the city?" Her demanding tone seemed to surprise him, for he lifted his brows in amused astonishment and Eliane had for the first time a clear glance at the incredible color of his eyes.
"Why did you marry me? Is all this a test?" she pressured when he denied her an answer.

She was really infuriated at the way he had treated her. She was tired of analyzing the situation every minute of the day and wanted to know whatever it was that he expected from her and get over with it.

Bertillon looked at her with an expression of– she would dare say – newfound respect. He took the chair again and placed it by her bed, sat down and folded his arms over his chest. His shirt stretched over his arms and Eliane brushed away an invisible crumb, suddenly very aware of the proximity.

"Why did you marry me? I know for a fact this was not the only proposal you received."

She was fuming and she showed it. Not only did he avoid answering her question but he had reversed it. Eliane pursed her lips into a thin line, determined not to utter a word.

"You were offered your freedom two times and you declined both of them. The last one in an overdramatic way." His half smile didn't make her feel any better.
"And I think I could safely risk the assumption that you did not enter this marriage for the sake of children and family." His voice was softer now, almost a whisper. Eliane lifted her eyes to his face and followed his meaningful glance towards the broken armchair he had had to kick aside to enter her room. Her cheeks burned and it took her a while to meet his gaze again. His smile was kind and all she could do was return it.

"I feel safe here." That was all she could give him for the time being. "What do you want from me?" She heard the desperation creeping into her voice.

"I don't know." He sounded honest. "I never expected to get married. My proposal was kind of paying a debt– not to you," he said when she looked at him quizzically, "to a third person." His sigh was so faint that Eliane thought she might have imagined it.
"That's all I can say for now."

She smiled at his words. Half the truth was better than no truth at all. All the thoughts that rushed into her mind– could he owe a debt to her late uncle? He was a merchant after all and he had dealings with everyone in the village; he couldn't owe anything to her aunt; she would know it, wouldn't she?– were quickly pushed away for another time.

"So, you didn't want to get married," she risked asking after a while.

"Marriage does not suit the Bertillon men. It's even worse for the Bertillon women," he offered, cryptically, but Eliane didn't have the courage to pressure him more.

She drew up her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them over the sheet that was covering her, deep in her thoughts.

"Would it be so wrong if we didn't quite follow the rules?" His voice was beyond soft now, gentle, with a kindness she would never have expected possible from a man like him. Or any man for that matter. "If you were free to do whatever you'd like, what would you do with your time?" He paused as if searching for the right words. "Would you be very disappointed if we didn't have what you have seen in other people's marriages?"

She knew what he was implying and she couldn't meet his eyes, feeling the red on her face spreading on her ears, on her neck, on her arms. She visibly shuddered at the other images invading her mind. She shook her head in denial and then as if that could be misunderstood she rushed to speak.

"No, I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't mind that at all."

It took her quite a while to find the nerve to look at him again but now all the room was in shadows as the sun had set and the violet sky along with a weak fire was the only means of illumination. Amazingly, he looked better than any other time she had seen him, the grimace was almost gone from his face and only the two deep lines between his brows showed where his frown usually was. His smiling eyes attracted the light and she couldn't help but smile back at him.

"So, I'm free to stay here?" She hardly recognized her trembling voice asking.

"You're free to do whatever you want."

"Is there something you want from me?"

"No," he paused, "just eat properly." The half smile on his face was honest and reassuring. "I haven't given you any wedding present. What would you like?"

"Claire told me you've called Madame Arceneau to come here – the dresses will be more than enough."

"Madame Bertillon needs clothes – that is not a present. You should have taken care of it yourself." There was a hint of reprimand in his tone and Eliane felt young and lacking again.

"I haven't given you a wedding present either. What would you want?" she eagerly asked.

"What would I want? I guess–" His voice faded and the frown for an instant reappeared again.

"Not to waste your time," she said and immediately regretted it, seeing the intensity of his stare.

In the dusk he looked so much different. His features, not distorted by his constant scowl, now seemed calmer and more balanced and despite his nose and the wrinkle on his left cheek indicating where the grimace carved his face he didn't seem so ugly anymore. The shadows somehow suited him for when he stood and built a bright fire in the hearth, his frown came back and she was certain he'd leave.

"The library," she said, seeing him rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ease an upcoming headache. She had his full attention. "That's the wedding present I want: access to your library. The hours you're not using it of course," she rushed to say in one breath.

He placed a hand on the doorframe, before turning to her.

"Anything you want." His smile was cryptic again. "Wearing your hair down suits you. You should do it more often."

"Oh, the pins are a nightmare but I couldn't–"

"Why?" He sounded honestly curious.

"It's not proper–" Clotilde and her netted, tight bun came to mind. "The women in the village, especially the married wo–"

"And who will see you here?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He exited the room but his heavy steps stopped at the base of the stairs. Eliane stood up and, tiptoeing on the wide wooden planks, she approached the open doorframe to make sense of the mumbled words coming from the lower floor.

Judging from the tone neither Bertillon nor Clotilde were happy with the exchange.

"She is your wife," Clotilde's stiff voice said defensively. "You ought–"

"Exactly. She is Madame Bertillon, the mistress of this house. Don't forget that, Clotilde. Treat her accordingly." Bertillon's voice was hard. Eliane winced at his whipping tone that silenced the older woman and hastily moved back into the room, not proud of her eavesdropping.

Her fingers traced the hinges, the iron nails, then the wooden decoration on the door that now was set against the wall. It was a sturdy, solid door, belonging more to a fortress than a house and Bertillon had knocked it down with one kick. She turned her back to the voices and clenched her fist decisively as a ghost of a smile formed on her face. She had made the right choice. She would be safe here.

()()()()()()()()

My special thanks to TOWDNWTBN and Vale and to all those who read and reviewed this story..

As promised-and noted since Chapter One- I removed the rest of Time Not Wasted 40chapters from this site after leaving it online for more than a month after its completion so that all of its weekly readers would have the opportunity to finish reading it.

Time Not Wasted by Alexandra Rivers is available (print or digital) on Amazon and other retailers (Kobo, B&N, iTunes etc) and for free in local US libraries through OverDrive and more.
Hey, I just learned it's even available on Walmart through Kobo (confused emoticon definitely needed here!)

Thank you for reading this story so far. If you want to "connect" just try Facebook or Instagram (Alexandra Rivers and alexandrariverstories )

As for my next story…it's a contemporary novel (my editor calls it sci-fi but don't imagine anything wild in that aspect.) It'll be a series and the first book is already finished and scheduled to be published. If you are interested in ARCs (advanced readers copies etc) let me know on FB...

The title is Kepler's Web and the blurb is:

"All Kepler wanted was a new face – or so JC thought.
She couldn't have been more wrong.

As the clinical trials of her Bioprinting project commence, she gradually uncovers the truth..."

I may post it here, too, so check your alerts etc etc etc.
Till then... may Life treats us -all- well!