Intrigued (29 page)
Her fingers entwined in his soft hair. “Ohh, that’s nice,” she told him, enjoying the sensation of his mouth tugging upon her flesh. His head moved to her other nipple, and she sighed with her pleasure.
He pushed her garment up to to her waist and covered her body with his. Autumn’s hand smoothed down his long back as he entered her. She was no longer embarrassed by her eager response to him and welcomed him readily, her body wet and hot as he pistoned her slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor. Her legs wrapped about him. She made little sounds of passion and utter delight as together they exploded into a fury of utter satisfaction. Collapsing into each other’s arms, they fell into a contented sleep, but they did not sleep long, for a pounding came upon their bedchamber door, and it burst open suddenly.
Sebastian d’Oleron sat up, half-awake and utterly startled to find his bedchamber filled with musketeers. “What the hell . . .” he began. By his side, his wife clutched the bedclothes to her half-naked body, eyes wide with her shock.
“I told them you were sleeping, monseigneur,” Lafite, the majordomo said angrily. “I said I should fetch you, as this man, insisted he must see you and madame la marquise.” His look marked Captain d’Aumont. “But he would not allow it. He demanded I take him to you.”
“It is all right, Lafite. Captain d’Aumont comes on the king’s business. Is that not right, Captain? However, I should ask that you remove your men from my bedchamber. Lafite will take them to the kitchens for some wine and food. Then, if you will await me in the salon, I shall be happy to speak with you.” He stepped naked from the bed, his demeanor assured and cool. “You have frightened my wife, and I do not appreciate the lustful looks your men are directing at her.” He slid his arms into the fur-lined velvet robe Lafite wrapped him in, and then moved toward the door to the salon. “Come, messieurs,” he said to them, and they followed him.
When the salon had emptied of all but the marquis and the captain, Sebastian said, “I assume this unseemly invasion of my home is in regard to the queen’s disappearance. Has she been found yet? I told my wife she had probably wandered into an unused portion of the chateau. Chenonceaux is a large place, after all.”
“She has not been found, monseigneur,” Captain d’Aumont replied.
“Ah, so you have come to search my house, then,” the marquis remarked with a small, amused smile. “You have my permission, Captain.” He poured them both a goblet of wine, handing one to his visitor.
Captain d’Aumont took the silver vessel and raising it, then said, “To the king!”
“The king!” the marquis agreed, lifting his goblet in return.
“I should search your house with or without permission, monseigneur for, as you noted, I am on the king’s business. His mother, placed in my care, is missing. The king will be very distressed.”
“I have it on the best authority that the king is already upset, Captain, for he does not even know where his mother is,” Sebastian said to the soldier.
“But my orders came from the king! They had his seal.” The musketeer looked discomfitted. “Certainly the king knows his mother’s whereabouts. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Perhaps it is because the same men who have kept France at war with itself since this Louis succeeded his father wish it. Only the queen and the cardinal kept the boy safe from those orders. You are no fool, Captain d’Aumont. You know how power corrupts. The king is still a boy, despite his responsibilities. Did I not hear it said that he asked his mother to be his right hand when he was crowned? My wife was there and told me this. Ask yourself why this faithful and devoted woman would have left her son at this critical juncture in his life? I do not think I should look to the families of the Cher for some plot or other. I should look to those who seek to gain power and wealth for themselves by means of a young boy king. It is to their advantage that his mother disappear, certainly not to the people of this region. We are grape growers and makers of wine. Politics does not interest us, nor do we involve ourselves in the power struggles of the Seine valley.”
Now the captain looked confused, but then he stubbornly said, “I must search your house and the chateau of every family who came to Chenonceaux yesterday. I should not be doing my duty otherwise.”
“Suit yourself, Captain, but you will understand if I wish to rejoin my wife.” He put down his goblet and with a smile turned, reentering his bedchamber. Closing the door behind him, he waited until he heard the door to the salon open and close. Then, looking out, he satisfied himself that the musketeer had left their apartments. He could see the questions in Autumn’s eyes. He put his finger to his lips in a cautionary gesture. Then he climbed into bed with her and, enfolding her in his arms, kissed her a long, sweet kiss, one hand going to fondle her breast.
Autumn slapped the hand away. “I cannot!” she whispered at him. “Not while those men are in our house, Sebastian!”
Kissing her hand, he laughed, then nodded his assent.
In early January there came from Paris a king’s messenger bearing a gift for the Marquis and Marquise d’Auriville. It was a large silver and gold gilt salt cellar engraved with both the king’s crest and the crest of d’Auriville. With it came a small parchment with but three words scribbled upon it:
Our thanks. Louis.
By mid-February word had come that the king had welcomed Cardinal Mazarin in Poiters in late January. The cardinal had arrived at the head of an army of twenty-five hundred men, fifteen hundred of whom were foot and a thousand cavalry.
Our thanks. Louis.
By mid-February word had come that the king had welcomed Cardinal Mazarin in Poiters in late January. The cardinal had arrived at the head of an army of twenty-five hundred men, fifteen hundred of whom were foot and a thousand cavalry.
The cardinal immediately began to consolidate his power, acting in the king’s best interest to jail his enemies, soothe egos, and strengthen France internally. Those who had fought Jules Mazarin so hard were finally forced to realize that he could not be beaten. He would do whatever was necessary to make Louis XIV a strong and good king. Any who attempted to stand in his way would be disposed of without hesitation.
Spring came, and the vineyards were green again. The summer passed, and with autumn came a bountiful harvest and a good vintage. When the next year came Autumn, to her delight, found she was with child. After an initial bout of sickness she began to bloom, spending the summer months in her gardens, sewing on tiny garments with her mother and the two
tantes
from Archambault. She laughed when her parent commented that she had become as swollen as her husband’s grapes.
tantes
from Archambault. She laughed when her parent commented that she had become as swollen as her husband’s grapes.
“I love the feel of new life within me, Mama,” she said. “I am going to have lots and lots of children!”
On the second wedding anniversary of the Marquis and Marquise d’Auriville, September 30, 1653, Autumn was delivered in an exceedingly easy birth of a daughter.
“We’ll have a boy next year,” she told her delighted husband, who wasn’t in the least bit disappointed to have fathered this dainty, dark-haired child. “We shall call her Madeline Marie.”
“Why?” he asked, curious.
“Because the last two queens France gave Scotland were called Madeline and Marie. La petite Madeline was the king’s daughter, but she died, unable to take our Scots’ winters. Marie was Marie de Guise, the mother of our Queen Mary, mother of James Stuart. She was also for a time, France’s queen. So I should like our daughter to be called Madeline Marie,” Autumn finished.
“Mademoiselle Madeline d’Oleron,” he said softly. “I like it.”
The baby was baptized by Pere Bernard, and Red Hugh, Madame de Belfort and Madame St. Omer standing as her godmothers. Autumn’s choice of her daughter’s godfather came as a surprise to everyone.
“I want Adali,” she said firmly. “He is as good a Christian as any, and I have known him my whole life. Madeline could not have a better godfather.”
And so the old gentleman stood proudly in the church at Chermont while Madeline was baptized. He prayed silently that he would live long enough to see this baby grown, but that, he knew, would be a miracle. Still, miracles did happen, although in this day and age they were rare.
Madeline’s first birthday came, and she had grown into a plump baby with dark curls and smoky blue eyes. She walked, and was a most determined child. By her second birthday she was chattering and running. Both of her parents adored her, and everyone who knew her loved her, for Madeline was by nature a very sweet child, despite her resolute nature. It was true she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it, but Madeline never held a grudge, even when denied her heart’s desire of the moment.
Autumn was once again with child. The baby was to be born in the spring. Several days after her daughter’s birthday, a worker came running in from the vineyards, shouting for madame la marquise. Behind him Lafite could see a party of workers carrying something, and as they grew closer his heart sank. His mistress ran from the house, and her sudden screams of grief broke his heart.
The vineyard workers carrying Sebastian d’Oleron upon a board passed him as they entered the house. White-faced, Autumn hurried along with them, her hand upon her husband’s hand comforting him.
“Send for my mother,” she cried to Lafite, “and for a doctor if there is one nearby. Upstairs,” she told the workers, running ahead to show them.
They set the marquis on his bed. Lily and little Orane both burst into tears when they saw their master.
Autumn glared at them both. “Your weeping isn’t going to help,” she snapped at them. “Help me undress my husband. Marc, fetch your master’s nightshirt from his valet.” She bent over her husband. “There,
mon coeur,
it will be all right. Where does it hurt?” Weakly he pointed to his chest. Orane brought a small cup of wine, and Autumn helped her husband to sit enough to sip the liquid, which he did slowly.
mon coeur,
it will be all right. Where does it hurt?” Weakly he pointed to his chest. Orane brought a small cup of wine, and Autumn helped her husband to sit enough to sip the liquid, which he did slowly.
Together the three women managed to get him out of his clothing and into his nightshirt, then beneath the coverlet.
Sebastian clutched Autumn’s hand. “I . . . am . . . dying,” he managed to say to her. The words surprised him even as he said them, but he knew they were true. “A . . . priest,” he gasped to her.
“I’ll go,” Marc said quickly, before Autumn could either protest or give him the order. Marc didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but he knew his master was correct: He was dying. He ran from the room to seek out Lafite. Finding him, he said, “The marquis wants the priest. Where is he?”
“The church at Archambault,” Lafite said.
The young courier ran to the stables and, taking a horse, rode off at a gallop toward Archambault. In the village church he found Pere Hugo. “Our master, the Marquis d’Auriville, is dying, good father. He begs you come to him at once. Take my horse. I must go and speak with the comte, and he will see me back.” Then he ran from the church and up the hill to the chateau to find the Comte de Saville and his sisters. When he had told them what little he knew, the comte ordered a carriage for his siblings and then hurried off to the stables with Marc to fetch them horses. They rode with all haste back to Chermont.
“Is he still alive?” the comte demanded of Lafite as he and Marc entered the house. “Where is my niece?”
“He yet lives. The priest is with him, and madame,” Lafite replied. “Madame la duchesse has been sent for, monseigneur.”
“Do you know what happened?” the comte asked.
“The vineyard foreman said the marquis was in the fields with them as he so often is at the harvest. Suddenly he clutched at his left arm. A spasm crossed his features. He gave a great cry and then fell to the ground. He could not arise, and so they brought him home.”
“Send Madame Jasmine upstairs as soon as she arrives,” the comte ordered the majordomo.
In the darkened bedchamber, lit only by two candelabra, the Marquis d’Auriville lay quietly, Pere Hugo by his side murmuring his prayers. Autumn sat on the other side of her husband, her face stony, her eyes anguished. The Comte de Saville could see his niece was struggling very hard not to break into tears. In her lap she held her two-year-old daughter. Madeline was strangely silent, as if she sensed that this was a most terrible and momentous occasion. The Comte de Saville put a comforting hand on his niece’s shoulder.
Autumn looked up at him and smiled weakly. Then she shook her head. “I don’t understand,” he said softly. “This should not be happening,
Oncle.
How can this be?”
Oncle.
How can this be?”
“I do not know, Autumn,” he told her honestly, seating himself as he spoke in a chair that Lily pushed behind him.
They sat in silence as the marquis’s breathing became more and more labored. Autumn was trembling visibly as she watched her husband’s life fading before her very eyes. It was like a bad dream, and she kept pinching her arm in hopes that she would awaken.
They were so happy. They had Madeline, and had only just discovered that there would be another child in the late spring. He couldn’t die! He couldn’t! There was too much reason for him to live.
She started as she felt a cold hand take hers.
They were so happy. They had Madeline, and had only just discovered that there would be another child in the late spring. He couldn’t die! He couldn’t! There was too much reason for him to live.
She started as she felt a cold hand take hers.
“Ma cherie,”
he said. His voice was stronger than it had been.
he said. His voice was stronger than it had been.
Words failed her as she looked into his beloved face.
He smiled gently at her and squeezed her hand with what little strength he had left.
“Je t’aime, et notre
Madeline
aussi,”
he told her.
“Je t’aime.”
Then his eyes glazed over, and with a great sigh the life flew out of him.
“Je t’aime, et notre
Madeline
aussi,”
he told her.
“Je t’aime.”
Then his eyes glazed over, and with a great sigh the life flew out of him.
Other books
Midnight Pleasures by Eloisa James
El-Vador's Travels by J. R. Karlsson
Dressed to Kill by Campbell Black
The House of Blue Mangoes by Davidar, David
The Captain by Trixie de Winter
Deadly Lullaby by Robert McClure
Eternally Yours by Brenda Jackson
Crossing the Sierra De Gredos by Peter Handke
Blue Collar by Danny King
Girl on the Moon by Burnett, Jack McDonald
