Promised to the Crown (11 page)

Though the chair would not find welcome amid the décor of Versailles, it was well made. Possibly the most expensive item in the room. It had to have cost him more than he earned in a month, but he had saved the money to provide her with a small measure of comfort. She looked at the handsome chair, then at her husband. In that chair she would spend countless hours knitting or reading after a long day's toil. There she would comfort her babies. Were she a lucky woman, there she would seek respite from the physical torments of advanced age.

Nicole reached over and grasped Luc's hand, took a tentative breath, and pressed her mouth to his. His eyes shone at the bold gesture, and he enveloped her in his arms, strengthened from clearing the land of myriad trees and shrubs, and pulled her onto his lap.

She looked up at Luc's features, a curious blend of a chiseled nose and curved jaw. She wondered how she had ever seen anything of the boy, Jean Galet, in him. There was none of the boyish charm she had seen in Jean's face; instead, she saw the face of a man who knew work.
God knows, the company of a man will mean more than that of a boy in this place.

“It needs work, but fortunately, you have me to help with it,” Nicole said, offering another slow kiss.

“A greater blessing I've never had,” Luc said. “I thought I'd be alone the rest of my days.”

“In a desolate place such as this, not such a far-fetched idea,” Nicole said, laying her head against his chest, closing her eyes against the unpleasant thought of such a good man spending his life alone. She pushed it from her mind and ran her hand up his chest. He perfumed the air with the scent of clean man flesh, pine trees, and good Marseilles soap.
He must have saved a bar from home
. Nicole lamented leaving the soft soaps from home behind. The rough bars forged with animal fat and potash left her with a slimy coating like a frog's. “I hope I'll make you happy.”

“I have no doubts on that, my dove,” he said. “Though I must confess I won't have the funds for much improvements to the house until next year. You'll manage, won't you?”

Nicole eyed the gaps in the walls and holes in the roof. It would be tolerable with summer hard on their heels, but winter would be another matter. When the vicious winds howled through the ramshackle building, no fire would drive out the cold.

“Nicole, say something,” Luc implored. His eyes seemed to search hers, as though puzzling over an enigma.

“When winter comes . . .” Nicole began, biting her lip.

“We'll be bundled up under the covers,” he said kissing his way down her jawline. “We won't feel the cold, I promise.”

“What if we have a baby?” Nicole asked, pulling away. “We could have a baby by February. Do you really think we could keep a baby warm here in the coldest part of winter?”

Luc's brow furrowed, adding years to his appearance. He stroked the side of her face and the worry melted. “Let's not worry about that just yet, my dove. These things often take a few months. We'll welcome our baby next summer, I'm sure of it. We'll have time to fix things up. I swear it.”

Nicole buried her face in his chest and drew in a breath, enjoying his masculine scent.
I have no choice but to trust you. My fate is tied to yours.

She melted at his caresses, adjusting to the foreign sensations of allowing his physical affection. She wanted to lose herself in his kisses, but found it difficult to push aside the worry that she had made a serious mistake.

C
HAPTER
10

 

“Y
ou are how old, Madame Beaumont?” Judge Arnaud asked. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Whether shutting them against a headache or in annoyance, Elisabeth knew not.

As Bailiff Duval predicted, Elisabeth was summoned to Judge Arnaud's chambers. The judge had business in Ville-Marie that had delayed the proceedings for almost two months. Though it meant a reprieve, the waiting was worse than the questioning itself. If the judge decided against her, she might be sent away at any time. The window to sail was open for the year, and he would not delay until the next. If it meant the child would be born at sea on a maggoty bed surrounded by the stink of human filth, he would not spare a second thought for a woman he considered a lawbreaker. He would not spare a thought for the innocent baby.

The dank stone courtroom was cold, even in late spring, and smelled of stagnant water. The judge explained that this was not a formal trial, just a questioning, but that did not stop Elisabeth from shaking, though she tried to for the baby's sake—and Gilbert's. Rose and Gilbert sat in the chairs designated for guests, his arms crossed over his chest, looking both angry and frightened at the whole ordeal. Rose sat with an even expression, a welcome vision of calm and patience. Elisabeth suspected her husband had expected some sort of reprieve. That the questioning was so absurd it would never take place. Elisabeth clung to no such delusions. She had to be strong for him.

“Twenty-six monsieur. As I told your bailiff,” Elisabeth said. “My baptismal records say the same.”

“That they do,” Judge Arnaud said. “The problem is that your mother sent an affidavit saying you had your records falsified. She claims you were two months from your twenty-fifth birthday, not two months past it. Which means you were a minor and left France without her permission.”

“That is patently false,” Elisabeth said, using all her reserve to control her temper. “My baptism records are genuine, monsieur.”

“Why, for the love of all the saints, would your mother contest your leaving France?” Arnaud asked, leaning back in his chair. “You are married, and no longer a burden on her resources. She should be grateful to the Crown for its assistance.”

“Monsieur, she attempted to arrange a marriage for me in France.” Elisabeth decided that honesty was prudent. “The marriage was advantageous for her, but not in my best interests, I assure you. I left rather than let her badger me into such a union.”

“You took your mother's wishes so lightly?” The judge frowned. “Even if you were the age you claimed to be, did you not consider that your mother might know better than you?”

“Monsieur, she proposed the engagement on the day of my father's funeral. She'd been planning her own marriage to the young man's father before my papa even died. You will excuse me if I did not take her counsel to heart that day.” Elisabeth failed to keep the acid from her tone.

“Indeed.” Arnaud looked as if he saw Elisabeth's vision of Anne Martin, and did not find it endearing. Though she'd heard remarriage was a quick business in New France, Elisabeth herself had seen a woman publicly shamed for taking a new husband only three weeks after burying the first. Anne's plotting won her no friends in the settlement.

“So what say you, Arnaud?” Gilbert asked, no longer able to sit in silence. Arnaud ignored the breech of etiquette and leafed through the papers strewn on his bench.

“I need time to counsel,” the judge said. “I'm calling for a recess. Be back in an hour and I'll deliver my decision if I am able.”

If I am able? What can that mean?
Elisabeth wanted to scream at the delay.
Send me back or let me stay, but make up your mind!

Rose and Gilbert waited with her in the outside chambers as they listened for the bailiff's call to order. Gilbert held her right hand and Rose her left. The calm exterior left her, but she did not fall into hysterics. She felt hollow and was certain her face looked blank. When either her husband or her friend spoke, they had to repeat themselves several times in order to elicit a response.

They are going to take me from Gilbert. They are going to take the baby from him. I'm going to die at sea, and Mother will smile from malice, happy that if she could not get her way, at least I didn't get mine.
No cajoling could bring her thoughts to a better place.

Arnaud returned to the chamber a half hour later than announced, his expression a mixture of annoyance and frustration. His counselors, men of the Church and the State, clearly differed in their opinion as to what should be done. Elisabeth clutched the arms of the chair, as though they might haul her away by force. She was beyond controlling her shaking, and solemn-faced Gilbert made no attempt to comfort her.

The judge cleared his throat and motioned for Elisabeth to rise. Though he was not invited, Gilbert took his place beside her and held her hand.

“If Madame Beaumont were unmarried, and the affidavit were true, I would have no choice but to send her back to France,” Judge Arnaud said.

Elisabeth felt her knees buckle, but Gilbert steadied her before she could sway or tumble in front of the assembly.

“As I have no way of reliably proving the validity of her baptismal records, I'd be tempted to send her back anyway because of the time it would take to verify them on this end. Some of my counselors would see you returned to ensure that the honor of the colony isn't compromised, regardless of what we were to discover. They feel that your disregard for your mother's wishes shows a want of character that is unsuitable for His Majesty's colony. The priest even offered that the marriage could be annulled on these grounds. And ought to be.”

Just say it. Send me back and have done with it, but no more of this!
Elisabeth saw the vein in Gilbert's neck throb, a rare indication of his temper. The local priest, a sour-faced man named Cloutier, sat ramrod straight in his chair.

“However,” the judge continued, “Madame Beaumont married almost at once upon her arrival. She is a hardworking woman. She has shown her value to our community. She is doing her duty to the Crown and our settlement.” Arnaud turned to his clerk. “As such, even if she had been twenty-four years old when she left France, she still would have been of age at the time of her marriage. The most I would be willing to do then is fine you the ten
louis
and the cost of your trousseau, to repay the Crown for the deceit.

“But, seeing as Madame Beaumont has done what her king asked of her, and both Monsieur and Madame Beaumont are model citizens, I see no reason to impose this hardship on you, regardless of her age. You are free to go.”

“Your Honor, I must object—” The priest stood, clutching his Bible with purple knuckles.

“I've heard your argument, Father, and I've made my decision.” Arnaud did not do the priest the honor of turning to address him. “You will abide by it without complaint.”

The priest glared at the back of Arnaud's head and spun to exit the room without taking his leave of the judge, stopping only to spare a disgusted look for Elisabeth.
An enemy I'd have done well not to make.

“Thank you very much, Judge Arnaud,” Elisabeth said, finding her voice. She was just able to offer a weak smile of relief.

“My pleasure,” Arnaud said. “And, Beaumont?”

“Yes, Judge?” Gilbert turned around, but his hand did not leave his wife's arm.

“You're a lucky man,” Arnaud said.

“Thank you.” Gilbert cast a smile at his wife. “I believe I am.”

“And luckier still that your mother-in-law is an ocean away.”

“That, also, I cannot disagree with,” Gilbert said, with the first earnest laugh Elisabeth had heard from him in days.

 

Several days later, Gilbert padded up behind his wife and encircled her with his arms, kissing the soft skin at the base of her neck as she washed the supper plates.

“You're so quiet these days, sweetheart,” Gilbert said. “Promise me you're not worried about your mother.”

“It's just . . . I'm so angry. Why would Mother have done this to me?” Elisabeth placed the plate on the countertop. “I always imagined, once I was gone, she'd let it go. Be happy to be rid of me.”

“I don't know your mother, so I cannot say what was in her head, but it truly doesn't matter.” Gilbert tightened his embrace around her. “You're my wife now and the good judge has had the sense to recognize our union. She has no recourse now.”

“No, she doesn't,” Elisabeth said. “And you're right, she doesn't matter anymore. You and the baby are all that matter now. Still, I can't help but wonder why she would be so adamant that I be returned.”

“I know, sweetheart.” The smell of warm bread wafted from his skin as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Perhaps she loved you more than she ever could show you.”

Elisabeth was unable to contain her snort of derision. “All I can think is that she hoped I remained unmarried, and that she could have me deported back home,” Elisabeth said, picking up another plate. “Perhaps to force me into marrying Denis Moraud, or someone like him.”

“Too late,” Gilbert said, smiling into the gentle curve of her neck.

“Yes she is,” Elisabeth said. “Thank God.”

Gilbert took the plate from Elisabeth's hands, turned her around, and kissed her in earnest. “Come back to me,” he said.

She was there in body, but none of her spirit reached her lips.

“I think I need your help with something, my love,” Elisabeth said.

“Anything, sweetheart,” Gilbert said.

“I want to answer her letter,” Elisabeth said. Gilbert did not question her decision. He fetched a quill and paper and waited for her to speak.

Elisabeth signed her own name, as Gilbert had taught her, adding what she hoped was a stylish flourish. She wanted her mother to understand she had signed it with her own hand.

“We will send it with the courier when the ship arrives next month,” Gilbert said, kissing his wife's hand as she sealed the letter with a bit of candle wax.

“No.” Elisabeth stood.

She walked to the oven and deposited the letter in the fire, banishing her mother from New France, and her life, forever. She would not trouble couriers and sailors with this missive.

Elisabeth watched as the flames lapped against the paper, turning it to embers.
You deserved better from her, Papa, and so did I.