Louisa Rawlings (40 page)

Chapter Nine

“Mademoiselle, ’tis your father!”
 

At the words, Rouge dropped her sewing into her lap and looked up at Emilie. Tintin was home! “Where is he?”
 

“Waiting downstairs to greet you.”
 

“Oh, the dear man! How I’ve missed him.” Rouge flew down the stairs, beaming with happiness. “Tintin!” she cried, and threw herself into her father’s arms.
 

He embraced her warmly and kissed her on the forehead, all the while snapping his fingers and pointing with instructions to the parade of baggage-laden servants who came in at the door. “Over there. That’s to go into my
appartement.
Leave that box. François, name of God…!”
 

His servant—the boy François—staggered through the door, thin knees buckling under the weight of a large straw hamper. He dropped it heavily to the floor, pushed back his shock of yellow hair, and grinned at Chrétien de Tournières. “You see, monsieur? I’m not too small for it!”
 

Tintin smiled. “Next year we’ll have you lifting wagons with your bare back, lad! Now go and see if cook still knows how to roast a pigeon or two. Wait.” He fumbled in his waistcoat and brought forth a coin, which he flipped to François. “Give her this for her pains.”
 

Rouge was bursting with impatience. She tugged at her father’s sleeve and pulled him over to the broad marble stairs. “Tintin, name of heaven, come and sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to!” They sat on the stairs together, side by side. Rouge couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him; as if by magic, Sans-Souci and her empty heart had become filled with the joy of his buoyant presence. “Oh, I’ve longed for your return!”
 

He dismissed the servants, urging them to find some ale in the kitchen, then turned to Rouge. He scanned her face with loving eyes. “You’re looking well, Rouge. I always said the country air agrees with you.” He kissed the freckles on her cheeks. “A bit too much sun, perhaps, but it suits you.” He indicated his costume. “And how do I look to you?”
 

“Most handsome, Tintin. You…” She stared. “But that’s a new suit! Oh!” She hugged him again. “You married Nathalie de Chambault!”
 

He shook his head. “No.”
 

Her face fell. “Her brother found you?”
 

“Alas, yes. After several weeks of bliss in Normandie with my fair vicomtesse, I was confronted one morning with the man—and shortly thereafter, with the man’s glove in my face.”
 

“Dieu!”
 

“It seems he had a better marriage in mind for his sister. I accepted his challenge to a duel…”
 

Rouge frowned in dismay. “Oh, Tintin, you lost! Where are you hurt?”
 

He held up his hand for silence. “All in good time. Let me tell my story. As I said, I accepted his challenge to a duel, on condition that if I won, Nathalie would be mine.” Tintin smiled with pleasure. “Her brother really is a more splendid fellow than I had at first supposed.”
 

Oh, the torture of his tale! “And so you dueled?” she encouraged.
 

“And so we dueled. It was magnificent! In the great hall of that Norman citadel.” His eyes shone. “I wish you could have been there, Rouge!”
 

She thought: Poor Tintin must have been wounded, and is being brave. “Was…was he a very good swordsman, Tintin?”
 

He laughed. “
Morbleu
, he was terrible! But Nathalie waited outside the door, sobbing and wailing in fear. And I managed to shout a great deal and clash our blades together as often as I could, so it would sound quite dangerous. At last I disarmed him without a scratch. He saluted me grudgingly and indicated the door. ‘Take her,’ he said. ‘You’re a man of honor,’ I said. ‘You keep your word. However,’ I said (and this was something I had been contemplating as we dueled), ‘faced with the prospect of marrying your sister, I’m not sure it’s something I desire above all else.’ He smiled like a great looby and clapped me on the shoulder. ‘What a fine fellow you are,’ he said.”
 

Rouge was now thoroughly confused. “Then who won?”
 

“We agreed that we should tell Nathalie her brother had won; however, I made it clear to him that I needed
some
compensation, since I had been hoping for a good marriage myself. To make it convincing, I asked him to give me a small slash across the shoulder. The poor man was loath to agree to it, and I was forced to take my own blade to myself.”
 

“Tintin! Then you
were
hurt!”
 

“The merest scratch. But it made for a lovely farewell scene. There was my sweet Nathalie, all in tears as she ministered to my wound, wishing I were less honorable so we might elope, but admiring the nobility of my spirit so greatly that she needs must throw herself at me and make love upon the instant. And let me only say that the darling creature brought more passion to the bed in that one hour than even she had shown in the weeks we’d been together. By my faith, I almost regretted the bargain with her brother! But…” He shrugged and laughed.
 

Rouge giggled. “Still the same old Tintin! And in exchange for such nobility?”
 

“In exchange,” he grinned at his own cleverness, “twenty-five thousand livres!”
 

She gasped. “Mother of Heaven!” She felt like a great weight had fallen from her shoulders. “Oh, Tintin. And did you send it at once to the moneylender in Paris?”
 

“Sweet Jesu,
why
?”
 

“But surely…”

“There are far better things to do with money like that.” He gestured toward the pile of boxes in the hall. “Look! There are two new mantuas for you, and a most handsome riding habit. Not a horse as yet, but I wanted you to do the choosing of it. And several pairs of shoes I knew you’d like, and a charming ermine muff to keep your dear hands warm in the winter. And there are casks of good wine and spirits, and a length of ribbon for Emilie, who’s getting so pretty I can scarcely keep myself from pinching her, and…”
 

“But, Tintin…”
 

“Wait. There’s more.” He jumped up and led her to the door. He laughed with delight. “See there!” He pointed out the open door to a fine coach that stood in the courtyard, its team of gray horses pawing nervously at the gravel. “It was not easy, I can assure you, to find a matched pair! But nothing’s too good for my Rouge. And the coachman, and the footman, as you have seen, are not above lifting and carrying if they must. They can help out in the stable and be useful to you in a general way.”
 

“Oh, but…”
 

“Is it not the best gift I’ve ever brought you?” His eyes shone with the happy innocence of a child.
 

It was too much to bear. She stamped her foot, fighting back tears of anger and frustration. “How
could
you? What am I to do with you? Look at this place! Leaking roofs, cracked windows…and you spend your money on a
coach
?”
 

He looked surprised. “I thought it would please you. And I’ve saved out enough for some repairs.”
 

“And what of your debts?” she asked bitterly.
 

“I can pay a few of my creditors in Montoire. As for the moneylender…I’m sure my fortunes at the gaming tables will change when I return to Versailles, and I’ll pay him what I owe.” He shrugged. “If not, I’ll die before the loan is repaid, and the man will write it off as a bad debt. He’s already made enough on interest, the bloodsucker, to more than pay off the principal.”
 

“And what if he demands payment?”
 

“He won’t. I send him too much business. All my unlucky friends. The man’s become fat and rich on his Versailles trade. But if it will set your mind to rest, I promise that the next good hand I have at
brelan—
my
winnings will go to him.”
 

She could no longer hold back the tears. “Oh, Papa,” she cried, “have you no sense? Gifts? And a coach, name of God?” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing in misery.
 

“Rouge. Rouge.” His voice
was soft with bewilderment. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be pleased. I only did it to make you smile. You do without so many things, and never complain. You mend your gowns and ride in a rented carriage, and never reproach me. I don’t understand. I brought you gifts to make you happy, and you cry and stamp your foot and call me Papa.” He sighed. “How angry you must be, to call me Papa.”
 

She sniffled and lifted her streaming eyes to his face. He looked old and tired, the bright sparkle gone from his soft brown eyes.
Maman
had called him a child, and it was so. But when she stripped him of his child’s joy, she robbed him of everything.
She
was the one who had been the fool, the dreamer, somehow hoping that he would return with enough money to clear his debts. So that she would be free to marry Pierre. Foolish dream. Mad hope. What was the point in being angry with Tintin? What was the use? He couldn’t understand, and it only hurt him when she turned on him this way. Besides, even if he could change, by some alchemy become a different man overnight, it would scarcely make a difference. The debts were already incurred, and unless he had enough money to clear them all at once, the price of a coach and team wouldn’t much matter. Torcy would still have her by the throat. “I’m not angry anymore, Tintin. It was foolish of me to cry. I was just lonely these weeks, missing you.” She put her arms around his neck and leaned on his shoulder.
 

He embraced her tenderly. “Why then, we must laugh to dispel the loneliness. You’ll try on all your pretty clothes for me tonight. I think they’ll fit but, if not, you and Emilie can alter them, I’m sure. And then I’ll tell you how I managed to bed the mantua maker’s assistant by pretending that I didn’t know your size, but I ventured to guess she resembled you.”
 

She giggled in spite of herself. “You wicked devil. And I suppose you looked completely helpless until she all but begged you—for the love of God!—to put your hands on her breasts to see if they were the proper size!”
 

He smiled roguishly. “You know me too well! Come out to the carriage. I want you to see how beautiful its appointments are!”
 

It really was a splendid carriage, she had to admit, with pale gray velvet curtains and pillows that seemed to have been chosen to match the horses. When she and Tintin sat down within, she felt quite the princess. Their last coach (which had been sold to pay for a winter’s worth of firewood) hadn’t been nearly so grand. “It
is
wonderful, Tintin,” she exclaimed.
 

He sighed. “If only you had someplace to go, this very minute! I should see you off in your beautiful new clothes, riding in the splendor of your carriage, and my heart would burst with joy and pride!”
 

She hesitated, but only for a second. Tintin’s perpetual extravagance had made her decision inevitable. “I do have somewhere to go,” she said. “I’ve been promised a hunt in my honor, and a grand ball.”
 

“Eh? You don’t say! When?”
 

“This very week, if I choose it.” Every day since she’d accepted Girard’s token, there had been messages from him, urging her to decide, to visit him and Marguerite, to pledge herself to him now and forevermore. He had promised her a round of amusements—with invitations to go to the finest families in the region—the moment she agreed to their betrothal. She smiled into her father’s perplexed eyes. “Girard de Saint-Esprit has come home from New France.”
 

“I thought he would, now that his father’s dead.” He frowned. “But why should the ball be in your honor, and not for his return?”
 

“Because I think I’m going to marry him.”
 

“But he’s just a child!”
 

She smiled gently. “Not anymore, Tintin. He’s grown up since you saw him last.”
 

“I shall always see him as a child,” he grumbled. “Self-centered and peevish, and hanging about you as if he’d make free with my little girl the moment my back was turned! I never liked him!”
 

“Oh, Tintin,” she scolded. “You never liked
any
man who looked at me. And
Maman
always hoped we’d marry, didn’t she?”
 

“Well, she thought about it, and talked to Girard’s father. But she was far from certain it was wise. For all that the match appealed to her sense of rightness, she wanted to see how the man developed from the boy. But what happened to monsieur le comte? Arsène de Falconet?”
 

“I haven’t seen him since I left Versailles.” A small lie, but it was easier than explaining, and being compelled to talk about Pierre. “He proved to be…a little impatient, a little impetuous after you left. I’m not sure marriage was what he was after, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to become his mistress. Besides, I knew so little about him.”
 

“I know something of him and his family. I asked Nathalie.”