Daughters of the Storm (7 page)

It was a long, long way when filled with dread.

At the further end was a group comprised of her father, the notary, the de Choissy party and what must be her two English visitors who had arrived late the night before.

‘What beautiful hair,' she heard someone say.

An eternity later, Héloïse stood in front of her future husband. She raised her eyes. Its dissipated lines etched harshly in the morning light, the thin lips registering amusement, the face from the garden greeted her gaze.

De Choissy looked deep into the troubled face of his young and reluctant bride. The situation was exactly as he had predicted and the fact that Héloïse was obviously unwilling did not displease him. Rather it mixed a piquancy into the situation, and de Choissy was not averse to having his jaded senses teased into life. Héloïse sank into a curtsy, and de Choissy stepped forward and extended an arm clad in olive-green stripes to help her up.

‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,'
he said, and then, in a voice meant only for her: ‘Or should I say Madame la Comtesse?'

Héloïse's gloved hand shook slightly in his, and it took all of her self-control to bite back the reply. ‘Not yet.'

‘How pleasant to meet you properly,' he continued in an undertone. Héloïse took back her hand.

‘If Monsieur le Comte is referring to a certain incident at La Joyeuse, then you did not behave well.'

De Choissy looked away but Héloïse knew that he was laughing at her and it stiffened her resolve to speak as little with him as she dared.

Her father gave the signal for the notary to commence proceedings. The formalities were brief, the contract having been signed the day before and the settlements already negotiated. Afterwards Héloïse moved into the receiving line beside her fiancé and the doors of the saloon were thrown open to admit more guests. She nodded and smiled, and submitted to being kissed on both cheeks. Yet, she felt as if a thin gauze had been thrown between her and the world. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sophie was besieged by the older generation of de Guinots and hoped that her cousin would not be too embarrassed by their scrutiny.

The guests moved on in well-trained lines. The gossip today, she gathered, was of rents and of her cousin Narbonne's wish to mortgage a house in Paris in order to pay his debts. The de Guinots were always interested in the subject of rent, and in politics, and just now her father was particularly in demand. Not only had he been summoned to Versailles to attend the recently convened Estates-General but he also enjoyed a superior knowledge of the English taxation system, a topic currently under hot debate, for a formidable body of French opinion considered it the only model to solve the French financial crisis.

How can they, she thought in despairing, when my heart is breaking?

‘Bonjour, ma fille.'
A well-known voice broke into her thoughts.

Héloïse returned the greeting of her favourite great-uncle and relaxed a little. Uncle Albert could always make her laugh. He once told Héloïse that he had been bored stupid in his youth by the constant hectoring of his relations and in consequence he had resolved never to inflict his views on his own descendants. Albert leant forward to kiss her cheek and squeezed her hand.

‘Remember,' he whispered in her ear. ‘You are dead for a very long time. You must enjoy yourself and use this marriage to your advantage.'

Héloïse felt better and she managed a genuine smile in return.

De Choissy was at her elbow.

‘Come, you have nothing to drink,' he said, steering her over to the sideboard arranged under a fine still-life by Desportes. It was laid with a deep blue Sèvres porcelain dinner service picked out in gold stars and with heavy crystal glasses. At its centre stood a salt-cellar made by Cellini at the height of his fame. Héloïse nodded to Galante, the black servant, to pour her some wine and sipped at it while de Choissy accepted another. She murmured her thanks through dry lips, hardly conscious of what she was saying.

De Choissy raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps the crush is too much for you, mademoiselle? Certainly this is not the best time to become properly acquainted. But there is time. Plenty of time. I want you to know that I look forward to our union.'

His words succeeded in piercing her shell. Fear and dislike flooded through her in waves. She struggled for composure, determined not to be outfaced by him.

‘Tell me about your family,' she said with an effort. ‘I am not yet well acquainted with your circumstances.'

De Choissy's face registered approval.

‘Well done, my dear,' he said unexpectedly. ‘You will not be surprised to learn that on account of my vast age – I am nearly forty – I don't have many close relations left.'

He proceeded to give her a cleverly articulated sketch of the de Choissys. He had set out to woo her, using wit and intelligence. Héloïse listened, intrigued despite herself. It seemed inconceivable not to be surrounded by a large and inquisitive family, and she wondered vaguely if it might be an advantage.

‘Come,' said de Choissy at last. ‘I will make a start and introduce you to my sisters.'

He led her forward. ‘This is my eldest sister, Madame de Roix,' he announced.

Héloïse found herself being looked up and down by a bored woman of some forty years who, for all her fashionable dress and deportment, could not hide the fact that she was ageing.

‘I do not like you,' said Héloïse to herself as the older woman's gaze wandered pointedly over her figure with barely concealed envy.

‘And this', continued de Choissy, ‘is Madame la Duchesse de Fleury, my youngest sister. Adèle, I shall count on you to be kind to my bride.'

Héloïse curtseyed to a ravishingly dressed and very pretty blonde whose face expressed concern and interest.

‘I knew she would be bewitching,' cried Adèle, who had been waiting for the introduction. ‘And she is, Hervé. You are extremely fortunate. I shall look forward to my new sister.'

Héloïse dipped a curtsy. No one could fail to respond to Adèle, as her many lovers and friends had so often exasperatedly concluded. Wild, carefree and, unlike her brother and sister, affectionate, she scattered love and money in equal quantities but accompanied her many sins and omissions with such charming contriteness that few remained angry with her for long.

De Choissy stood back, well satisfied that, in an unusual display of consideration for his bride, he had insisted that Adèle be present today. She had not been at all willing, being far more concerned with attending some rout or other at Versailles with her latest lover. But when her brother commanded attendance, she knew better than to protest. Adèle was also pleased with what she saw, not the least because Héloïse's dowry was more than respectable, which meant she might, after all, be able to cajole de Choissy into loosening his purse strings.

‘I wish to talk to you,' she murmured, thinking of a particularly fine pair of diamond earrings that had taken her fancy.

‘No,' said de Choissy before Adèle could embark on her crusade. ‘Definitely not.'

Adèle sighed. Hervé was so tight-fisted when it came to his sisters, and had declared more than once that the honour of paying their bills rested with their husbands.

‘Eh bien,'
she said, accepting the inevitable, and turned back to Héloïse. The girl has real possibilities, she thought to herself, and I like her looks.

‘Welcome to our family,' she said.

‘Your parents,' asked Héloïse politely. ‘Have they been dead long?'

Adèle paused. ‘Goodness, yes. My father of over-indulgence and my mother...' She paused again and lowered her voice. ‘Our mother abandoned us for her lover when we were very young. It caused a great scandal at the time. Hervé went after her and was found wandering on the road two days later. He was well beaten and locked up for a week for a punishment. I don't think he ever forgave her. Of course, being the eldest, he loved her the best. I can't remember her at all.' Adèle changed the subject. ‘When will you be married?' she asked, mentally rearranging her wardrobe, a process that tended to involve a complete refurbishment.

Héloïse furled her fan. ‘In the New Year,' she replied, and tried to make her tone as light as possible.

‘And will you be taking up a position in the queen's household?'

‘That will be settled later.'

Héloïse had been well instructed by the marquise. The matter had yet to be finally decided because the queen was reluctant to take on a new bride who might, at any minute, find herself pregnant and thus unfit for the tiring duties required of her.

‘But I am to be presented after my marriage,' she added.

Madame de Roix yawned. Her back teeth were quite rotten.

‘So
ennuyant,
mademoiselle,' she commented, in a lazy drawl reminiscent of her brother's, shutting her mouth quickly. ‘It can be very tedious.'

Adèle suppressed a smile. Her sister was displaying just the right touch of boredom, so fashionable just now, over the subject of Versailles.

Héloïse had no further private conversation with de Choissy. A musical interlude followed during which a string quartet executed some pieces by a composer called Mozart. What they lacked in real feeling they made up for in expertise, and the guests appeared pleased. An elaborate dinner occupied the rest of the afternoon. Héloïse forced herself to eat a small portion of quenelles, for which their cook was famed, and was relieved to find that it made her feel better. Plate in hand, she circulated among her guests and managed to give a good account of herself. The marquise rustled over to Héloïse.

‘You are doing well, daughter. I am pleased.'

This was praise indeed from the stern marquise. Héloïse placed her plate on a convenient table and dropped her a little curtsy.

‘If you say so,
ma mère.'

The marquise considered her daughter. Héloïse was behaving just as she should.

‘Rise, Madame la Comtesse de Choissy,' she said, with a great deal of satisfaction, and arranged her skirts in a billowing arc around her. ‘Now go and talk to your cousin.'

Héloïse dropped a second curtsy and went to find Sophie in the smaller saloon. She stood looking in, a slim, correct and elegant figure, and Sophie, rising to greet her from a chair where she had flung herself, was momentarily a little unnerved.

For her part, Héloïse was treated to a vision of glowing, golden beauty which bore only the faintest traces of travel fatigue. Taller and bigger-boned than her cousin, Sophie exuded health and high spirits. Her white gown, trimmed with a silver strip, set off to advantage her luxuriant hair, and the cunning (if slightly fussy) arrangements of ribbon and lace indicated that she knew how to dress with taste.

The two girls surveyed each other, neither of them quite sure what to say. Then Sophie gave her warm smile.

‘I did not expect you to be so beautiful,' she said disarmingly.

‘Nor I you,' replied Héloïse, and held out her hand.

Sophie took it and they looked again at each other. Both of them liked what they saw. Héloïse dropped into one of the chairs and patted the other one invitingly.

‘Are you rested after your journey?' she asked.

‘Indeed yes.' Sophie tried not to think of the flea bites that still marked her body, the legacy of one of the dirty and uncomfortable inns that they had stayed in on their route from Calais.

‘Your cousin, Monsieur Luttrell?'

‘He has gone to fetch me some wine and will be here directly.'

‘Bien,'
said Héloïse. ‘I am glad of the opportunity to meet you alone. I have thought so much about you.'

The last was not true, for Héloïse had been entirely preoccupied by her own affairs, but she thought it proper to express the sentiment.

‘And I of you.' Sophie spoke in rapid French.

Héloïse countered in English. ‘I am sure we will be the greatest of friends.'

‘Who speaks better?' asked Sophie. ‘Me in French or you in English?'

‘Why, yourself, of course,' replied Héloïse politely.

‘I think perhaps I do,' said Sophie because it was the truth, but pointed out. ‘You do not have the advantage of an English mother.'

‘C'est vrai.'
Héloïse stretched out her hand on which reposed the de Choissy emerald and diamond ring.

Emeralds are bad luck! The thought flashed through Sophie's head before she could stop herself.

‘I am so tired,' Héloïse confided. ‘Why don't you tell me about my uncle and aunt?'

Sophie complied and began to describe the Luttrells and High Mullions, speaking with such warmth and affection of her parents that Héloïse was seized by envy. She could never imagine feeling for her family in the way that Sophie so obviously felt for hers. Her face must have reflected her thoughts, for Sophie paused before saying.

‘But your marriage, cousin, are you content? I have quite forgotten to offer you my felicitations.'

Héloïse hesitated. She felt it was important that she was honest with her cousin.

‘Yes and no,' she admitted. ‘Naturally, I like the idea of marrying someone so distinguished as Monsieur le Comte, and I know what is expected of me. But I wish... I wish I had been at liberty to choose someone who was more congenial.'

Sophie, who had been somewhat awed by the magnificence of the de Guinot ceremonial, was aware of the tension in the young woman beside her and her sympathy was aroused.

‘Are you frightened of him?' she asked, privately considering that it was barbaric to force her cousin into a marriage she did not welcome.

‘I think I am, a little,' replied Héloïse. ‘I had not considered it in that light and I will never admit it to him. He is so much older, and I think he's cold and uncaring. And a bully.'

‘Can you not tell your parents of your feelings?' cried Sophie.