Promised to the Crown (30 page)

Rose nodded. Her uncle-in-law had a plan for everything. That afternoon, however, no one begrudged his abilities to manage a situation.

For the first hour, as they drove the northern route, Rose scanned the roadside and kept her thoughts as positive as she could. However, she grew tense as the minutes passed with no success. She willed herself not to fidget, lest she might drive Henri to distraction.

Dusk fell. Rose cursed herself for not bringing at least a light cloak.

The girls are worse off than you
.

As she prepared to light the lantern, she heard a scream.

“Over here!” It was Claudine. “Please help!”

Henri pulled the horse to the side of the road and leaped from the wagon. Rose jumped down with only a hint more decorum, owing to her petticoats.

Claudine was covered in mud from head to foot. When she realized who had stopped for her, she flung herself, mud and all, into Rose's arms, babbling through her sobs.

“Emmanuelle is hurt,” Henri shouted from the girls' upturned carriage. “She may have a broken leg—the horse most assuredly did. I've put him out of his misery.”

Rose shook her head. “Load Emmanuelle in the wagon and I'll sit with her,” she called to Henri. “Claudine, you must calm yourself and sit with Henri. Can you manage that?”

Claudine offered a feeble nod and climbed up to the seat Rose had vacated.

Henri carried Emmanuelle with ease, as though she weighed no more than a bag of flour, but he held her as though she were made of porcelain. Her face was far too pale and she shook from pain and shock.

“Shall we take them back to our house?” Rose suggested as they settled Emmanuelle in the back of the wagon. “It's closer. We could send Yves to tell the others.”

“No, she needs a doctor,” Henri said. “Moving her will get her medical care much faster.”

Rose kept Emmanuelle as still as possible on the ride. Henri tried to keep the ride smooth, but the rutted roads made the effort moot. He urged the horses along, seeking a balance between caution and speed.

Nicole and Thomas stood in the entry, removing their cloaks, when Henri and Rose arrived. Claudine gripped Rose's hand and Emmanuelle lay limp in Henri's arms.

The Lefebvre house flew into action. Servants were dispatched to the doctor, Claudine was bathed and dressed in a clean nightdress, and messengers were sent to inform Madame Deschamps of her daughters' whereabouts.

The doctor pronounced that Emmanuelle had fared much better than the horse. The girl had a badly sprained ankle and a twisted knee, but it would mend in time if she rested.

“What have you to say for yourself?” Thomas asked Claudine when the doctor had left. His tone calm, in the manner of the weather before a storm.

“It's my fault, Papa,” Claudine said, tears welling up in her large brown eyes.

“I've no doubt of that,” Thomas said. “Your sister would never consider such a fool thing on her own.” He glared at his daughter. “You cost me a horse, as well as a wagon, and could have killed your sister. Give me a reason not to lock you in the cellar for the rest of your days.”

Claudine wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of Nicole's dressing gown. “I can't, Papa.”

“That's the first responsible thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, girl.” Thomas sat back in the chair and rubbed his tired eyes.

“Where were you going?” Nicole asked. “What was so important that you had to sneak away from Maman and Papa?”

“I was coming here,” Claudine admitted. “I wanted to help you prepare for the ball. I thought it was terribly mean of you not to let us help. I convinced Emmanuelle that once we were here you'd be glad to see us.”

“You never stopped to think that Maman might need your help at the farm more than we do here?” Nicole asked. “She has enough to do, keeping Georges in line and running the household, without you scaring her half to death.”

“I didn't think of that,” Claudine said.

“Clearly,” Nicole said. “You never once thought about anyone but yourself.”

“You're right.” Claudine stared down at her feet. “It's just so boring out on the farm, with nothing to do but housework and chores.”

“I should have invited you to come help,” Nicole said in hushed tones, stroking the back of her sister's head as she still clung to Rose. “I didn't think pressing linens would be any more exciting here than at home.”

Claudine emitted a weak chuckle. “At least I'd be around more people.”

“Schooling,” Rose said after a few moments' reflection. “You need schooling.”

Claudine looked up at Rose, her face uncertain.

“You could come to my house, you and Emmanuelle both, and take lessons. I'm sure we can work things out with your mother. It would be a good diversion for you.”
And me as well
.

“Latin and Greek and all that boring stuff?” asked Claudine, her voice small.

“And poetry and needlework and history . . .” added Rose.

“That might not be so bad,” admitted Claudine.

“Not to mention a good smattering of etiquette and household management,” added Alexandre. “Our young Madame Lefebvre comes from solid Parisian stock, Mademoiselle Claudine, and has much to teach you and your sister once she's recovered.”

“I'd like that,” said Claudine. “Though I'm not as smart as Emmanuelle.”

“Then you must work twice as hard,” Alexandre said. “I don't want people to say my sister-in-law's education is lacking when you come to stay with us.”

“I—I can come stay with you?” asked Claudine.

“Provided you work hard, I think it would be wise once you're of age to make a match.” Alexandre cast a brief glance at his wife. Rose guessed that this was not the first time the matter had come up between them.

Nicole nodded her assent. “But I warn you, we'll accept none of your nonsense here, and you must prove yourself in the meantime.”

“I will,” said Claudine, her face sincere. “I will work very hard, I promise.”

“Trust to that. And if you had acted like a young lady tonight, you might have stayed and helped your sister prepare for the ball, but now no such invitation will be extended,” said Alexandre.

“Oh please, let me come. I'm so terribly sorry,” Claudine begged, her eyes alight.

“No, I don't think we'll go so far as to reward your behavior so well,” Nicole answered. “But there will be others if you earn the privilege. You need the skills Maman can teach you more than you need to know about throwing parties. Dream all you want of living in a grand house in town, but whether you live on a farm or in a palace, there is no one better than our mother to teach you how to run it.”

“And it's better than you deserve,” said Papa, breaking his silence. “If you ever give me such a fright again you'll be dancing on my grave.”

“I'm so sorry, Papa,” said Claudine, crossing the room and embracing her father. “It won't happen again.”

“I should hope not, girl,” Thomas said, his words gruffer than his voice. “I expect you to toe the line around here and help your mother, ‘boring' or not. You've a life of work ahead of you—not just balls and fancy dresses. If you can't learn to be a proper farmer's daughter and learn the value of a day's work, I won't send you off to your sister, invitation or not.”

Thomas wrapped his arms around his daughter, visibly relieved that she was unharmed. Though Édouard Barré had been gone for quite some time, the sight reminded Rose of how much she still grieved for his loss. Other than during the brief period before her uncle's true nature was revealed, she had not had the luxury of mourning for her beloved father. Since that time, life had not allowed for her to indulge her emotions. As she saw the exhausted girl enfolded in her father's loving arms, she felt a slight twinge of envy for that same embrace and protection she'd longed for so often over the past nine years.

C
HAPTER
30

 

N
eeding a break from the preparations for the ball, Nicole took her carriage out to see her family's new farm. Thomas Deschamps looked out over virgin fields gifted to him by his son-in-law with a glint of excitement in his eyes. In the years before she left France, Nicole had seen those warm eyes filled with defeat and exhaustion far too often. Now, she delighted in the potential and possibility he saw.

The growing season was short and he couldn't grow the same variety of crops that he could in France, but her father would learn and adapt.

Thomas draped his arm over his daughter's shoulders and squeezed her close.

“You've given me so much, my girl.” Emotion was thick in his throat. “I didn't think I had it in me to start over, but I feel like a boy again in this new world. Thank you, my sweet girl.”

“Papa, for all you've given me, I wish I could do more.”

Nicole looked over the rolling fields, so unlike her native Normandy, but now just as familiar and beloved. She had gained so much from New France—a husband and children she adored— and now, she had the gift of her past as well, in the form of her family.

She had lost much, too. She thought of Luc and Manon.

But with her father's arm wrapped around her shoulder, the knowledge that her mother and sisters were ensconced in their new house, thirty minutes away by carriage, warmed her heart as it hadn't been for months. Years, if Nicole were truthful to herself.

Nicole offered up a silent prayer that this could be true. There was no part of her heart or soul that didn't wish Manon every happiness, but she still ached. She ached for the months when only Manon's selfless love gave her comfort in the gloom of the days after Luc's death. The sweet child who stole into her bed on the coldest winter nights and stuck her frigid toes against Nicole's leg.

But the future bore down upon them all, like a runaway horse, prepared or not. Nicole considered the tiny secret in her womb. One she had not announced, wishing to keep the delight to herself for just a little longer. This baby would never replace the darling girl who had rescued Nicole in so many ways, but the child would be cherished and welcomed all the same. Still, the fact that Nicole could not give the same love and acceptance to Manon dealt a blow to her heart she feared would never mend.

 

Nicole entered the foyer of the Lefebvre house in a velvet gown the color of an evergreen resplendent with health, like the boughs that festooned every bare surface, owing to the want of flowers in autumn. Alexandre escorted her, standing tall, almost regal in a black-and-gold
justaucorps
that coordinated with, but did not match, his wife's ensemble. The detail was no mistake. The candles, the china, each ingredient in the myriad dishes the impeccably clothed staff would serve . . . not an element was left to chance. Nicole oversaw it all, and surveyed the room with satisfaction

“You're a miracle worker,” Alexandre whispered as the first guests entered the hall.

“I did as the situation required,” Nicole purred with a wink after she'd curtsied to a lesser deputy of the governor. “If I must conjure up a miracle, what else am I to do?”

“I cannot tell you, but will say I'm the luckiest man alive,” Alexandre said as the deputy's stodgy wife departed for the drawing room.

“I'm sure it's convenient having a capable hostess for a wife,” Nicole said, her tone absentminded.
Who would have ever expected me to be a society wife?
Her mother's face, aghast at the mountain of linens and the stacks of china, would stay with her for the rest of her days.

“Don't ever think that's why I married you,” Alexandre whispered.

“Not once,” Nicole said, her voice brimming with solemnity. “Since you had no reason to suppose I'd have any skill at it when you asked me for my hand.”

Alexandre threw back his head in a full-throated laugh. He seldom laughed, but when he did, Nicole could not help but share in his mirth.

The last guests arrived, and Alexandre escorted his wife to the dining room that gleamed with polished glass and clean china. They sat down to a meal befitting the finest houses in Paris. The staff, instructed as to how every portion of the meal must be served, missed not a step. From the crisp linens to the rich soup, presented with a flourish, Nicole could not find fault.

Henri tasted the creamy soup, thick with the earthy flavor of squash and seasoned with precision. “You've hosted the event of the season and it's only a half hour in. She's a triumph,” he whispered, but the truth of his words was evident.

Henri sat to the left of his uncle. The governor sat at the head of the table, his rank sufficient to dispossess even the host.

Nicole, rather than engage in the conversation, listened and noted. What sort of liquor did the governor prefer? To which seamstresses did his wife offer her custom? Noting. Filing away for later use. No detail was worth overlooking.

Without her interference, Rose and Alexandre managed the conversation with grace. The governor and Rose discussed a comedy of Corneille's that he had seen in Paris during a visit the year before. Alexandre mentioned Henri's efforts on the estate, but not in detail. No one would ever conduct business at a social event. From the expression on the governor's face, he was entertained by Rose's wit and pleased with Alexandre's and Henri's labors. And not at all disappointed in the meal.

“So much wonderful food, Madame Lefebvre,” said the governor, as one of Elisabeth's delicate cakes was set before him, the capstone to the repast. “I can't imagine where I'll stuff another mouthful, I'm afraid.”

“Many thanks, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” Nicole said. “But it would be such a shame if you did not at least sample the dessert.”

“I could not bear to disappoint you, my dear Madame Lefebvre.” The cake was a perfect tribute to autumn, apples and toasted almonds encased in Elisabeth's signature pastry—an elegant marriage of buttery and flaky textures that did not impede the flavor of the fillings, but withstood their robust consistencies. The governor took his fork, anticipation plain upon his face. He savored the first small morsel for several moments. The six people closest to him sat silent in suspense.

“A masterpiece,” he declared. “An absolute masterpiece.”

“I am so glad you think so, Monsieur le Gouverneur. The artist who created it, Madame Beaumont, sits not three places from you.” Nicole gestured in Elisabeth's direction.

The governor looked surprised that Elisabeth, refined as any lady, attired in a rich cornsilk-blue damask, could have created such a pastry. The Beaumonts looked like established members of society, not humble bakers.

“Beaumont . . .” said the governor. “Yes, I remember your name. My staff buys my bread and cakes from your bakery. You're an asset to the settlement, madame and monsieur.”

“I thank you, Monsieur le Gouverneur.” Elisabeth's voice was strong, but she said no more.

Alexandre had coached her to leave things here. The governor had witnessed both her skill and her gentility. Their problems would be presented later, and in the proper fashion.

“Seigneur Lefebvre, might I claim the privilege of opening the ball with your lovely wife?” The governor's expression in Alexandre's direction was of a man who did not expect to be disappointed.

“Of course, Monsieur le Gouverneur. Such is your right,” Alexandre said.
And so we intended for you to do from the instant this ball was conceived.

Nicole consented for the governor to lead her to the dance floor, and followed his steps with more poise than he showed, but not so much flourish as to make him look too far inferior.

“I'm impressed with my own ability to walk, let alone dance, after so fine a meal, madame,” the governor said, laughing at his own joke. The smell of the meal, paired with what had to be a rotting tooth on his breath as he guffawed, turned Nicole's stomach, but she retained control of her countenance.

“I'm so pleased you enjoyed our little feast,” Nicole said, the smile plastered on her face. “I thought the dessert was especially nice, myself.”

“Indeed,” the governor agreed. “Your friend is rather talented. Am I right in thinking that she has something to do with the Giroux family? I remember the good Father prattling on about them. Can't say I followed all the details. He does tend to go on, you know.”

“You're correct as usual, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” Nicole said, pleased for the direction of the conversation with so little need for manipulation. “The Beaumonts have apprenticed the eldest Giroux boy and have taken the eldest daughter in as a sort of assistant since their father passed on.”

“A kind gesture, to be sure,” the governor said, his hand on her back wandering an inch too low for comfort. “Though I seem to remember Father Cloutier thinking the arrangement wasn't all that suitable. He wanted the girl for the Church, if memory serves.”

“I fear Father Cloutier is an unhappy man. I think he pines for the bustle of the city,” Nicole said, doing her best to feign concern for the loathsome man. “Not all men are robust enough to appreciate the rugged beauty of our settlement, are they?” She allowed her fingers to trace the ridge of his shoulder. A bold gesture, but from the expression on the governor's face, a welcome one.

“No indeed, my dear.” The governor's hand inched lower. Nicole averted her gaze for a split second to see Alexandre watching from the sidelines, attentive but subtle.
Just keep your calm, I don't like it any more than you do.

“Indeed, in a settlement such as this, I feel our spiritual leaders must understand and support the needs of our political leaders, don't you agree?” Nicole returned her gaze to the governor's watery-blue eyes.

“Of course,” he said, though Nicole suspected he barely registered her words.

“It surprises me that an astute man like Father Cloutier would advocate for a young, healthy girl like Mademoiselle Giroux to be taken in by the Church when there is a family willing to bear the expense of bringing her up,” Nicole continued. “Doesn't the settlement have a greater need for wives than for clergy?”

“You're completely right, my dear,” the governor said.

“I'm so glad you agree,” Nicole said, offering him a wide smile. “Would it be too bold of me to suggest that you bring this to the bishop? I'm sure he'd be glad of a young priest who is more willing to learn our ways and support our fine leaders. And poor Father Cloutier would be much happier to retire in his homeland. I do so worry about him.”

“Your kindness does you credit, my dear,” the governor breathed. Nicole hoped her grimace was none too evident. “Of course I'll speak to him.” The old man's hand slipped just a hint lower as the strains of the quintet came to a stop.

“All my thanks, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” she said, stepping out of his grasp with a deep curtsy. “And I'm so sorry our dance is over. I could not bear to deprive the rest of the assembly of the pleasure of your company.”

Nicole made her way back to Alexandre, but spared a wink for Elisabeth on the way.