"...a baby! Oh my darling, why didn't you say something! I would never have let you walk all the way out here. Go on, go on, Alfred will carry that, pardieu!" Sand shooed her out of the clearing. Marie glanced one last time back at their aborted picnic before letting Franz lead her down the path. George's eyes were positively dancing with delight, and seeing his mistress so animated had drawn de Musset once again to her side. Marie turned away as the younger man leaned in towards Sand. She couldn't spare another thought for their affairs.
She looked at Liszt instead. Her tall lover attended her carefully and closely, an indescribable mix of concern and confusion etched on his normally haughty face. She let him support her arm tightly, for though she was having no difficulty with the long walk, she wanted to feel his nearness.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally murmured into her pleated hair. "Do we not share everything?"
"I did, Franz, you funny thing. I've only just found out myself. The doctor in Marseilles..."
"...and your husband? Will you tell-"
"I am telling you, Franz." Marie stopped walking and turned to face her companion. She plucked a twig out of his hair and smiled intimately for him. "I will not be returning to the Comte d'Agoult, not ever." Liszt briefly closed his eyes and looked relieved. When he opened his eyes again he smiled brightly.
"A baby! A little Comtesse from my little Comtesse! But where shall we live? You must come with me to Geneva! Beginnings, beginnings, such plans we can make!" Marie laughed at his uncharacteristic giddiness, releasing her own tensions in a burst of happiness. How could she have doubted this man? He was hers, heart and soul. Now they were knit together for life.
"But, Franz!" Marie tugged his arm and resumed their walk, "You didn't get to make your wish!"
"Bah!" Liszt scoffed, "What more do I need? I leave the storytelling to you. I feel a concerto coming on. Come, come. I will play for you and the baby." Marie giggled again and quickened her pace. Nohant loomed ahead of them. They were free and filled with dreams - she didn't feel the need for one more wish.
YOU ARE READING
Traditions of Dead Generations
Historical FictionRound One: Four friends on a picnic in 1830s France decide to pass the time with a wishing game not unlike Truth or Dare. The wishes they make weave tales of love, addiction, sensuality, hope, fear and rebellion laced with just a bit too much Truth...