“I know Father has...other things on his mind,” she said carefully.
“The succession. Ah, yes.” Uncle Lucas frowned mildly. “Quite why he's so excited about your producing an heir, I'm not too sure. Anyone would think he's simply avoiding me taking over one day.”
Claudine chuckled. “Uncle, I'm sure it is not that. Anyone can see you'd be a grand duke.”
“I don't want to be Grand Duke,” her uncle said pettishly. Then he grinned. “I know what you mean, niece,” he teased fondly. “And thank you. Your faith in me is moving. If only it made me more able, I would revel in it. But sadly, it does not. I am as I am, and have no means of helping.”
Claudine shook her head. “Uncle, you do what you can. I am indebted to you for your assistance as it is. No one would have assisted me more. There's nothing that can help me.”
“Niece...” her uncle said gently. “Patience.”
Claudine felt a sudden stab of restlessness, out of character with her usual tranquil self. She did not feel patience. Why should she? She was twenty years of age! Why should she be confined to a chair on the terrace, unable to take twenty paces without weariness, when other young ladies of the court could hop, skip, and dance? It wasn't fair! She would need to try and find someone who could help her.
She stood and walked to the edge of the terrace, wishing at the least to watch the ladies dancing and forget, for a little while, about being patient.
Claudine leaned on the rail, her head clearing a little as she breathed in the fresh, fragrant air and watched the ladies in the courtyard below. Two of them, Yvette and Mirabelle, were dancing together, Mirabelle holding out an elaborate skirt of yellow silk and blue brocade. They were laughing, arms linked, as they practiced some new dance step together.
“Oh, come on, Mirabelle! Why should I dance the man's part?” Yvette protested lightly.
“We can take turns,” Mirabelle said with an impish grin.
“Maybe he can be of assistance?” Yvette suggested. She pointed into the shadow by a column.
“He?” Mirabelle asked, confused.
“Yes. Pardon me, sir? But what is your name? And, since you watch us so intently from the hallway, mayhap you will join in our fun?”
Claudine felt herself smile, a little shocked byYvette's forthright invitation to whoever it was. She craned her neck, curious despite herself, and saw him step out of the shadow of the hallway.
She stared.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong-jawed face, the young man was stunning. He also seemed awkward. It was his hesitating manner which struck her first. Second, she noticed his hair.
It was a color like leaves in autumn, kissed with sunshine. Totally different to anything she'd seen before.
The hair color, combined with the uncertain grin and the broad-shouldered, hardened body made him striking and handsome.
Claudine felt her heart start to thump in a way that had little to do with the malady.
I've never seen someone who interests me like this.
“I wonder who he is?” she whispered, almost to herself.
“My lady?” the man spoke quietly. “You wanted to ask me something?”
“We need someone to help us learn the quatrain,” Yvette explained. Claudine gripped the stone railing tighter as she watched the young man frown, evidently quite surprised by the invitation.
He smiled and Claudine felt her heart melt a little Unusual, handsome and shy! She couldn't help liking what she saw. She leaned over eagerly, drawn into the interaction.
“My lady,” he said, bowing low. “I regret to admit that I know little of the quatrain. I would be of little use to you...you seem already so admirably well-trained in it.”Claudine watched Yvette go redder. The ladies around her giggled and Jacintha fanned herself with her hand as if the courtyard got hot suddenly.
I know how she feels, Claudine thought. A slow flush of heat rept up through her own body, though she could not have said exactly why. It was something to do with the young man and that disarming friendliness of his.
“My lord!” Yvette said, when she'd found her voice again. “You are too gallant. We know very little of the dance ourselves. You'd fit in well if you have as little expertise as you claim to.”
He went red. “I protest, my lady. But really I do know almost nothing. I'm honored by the request, but would prefer to be on my way. ”
He gave the seven ladies a dazzling smile and Claudine felt her heart twist with a mix of joy and envy.
I suppose I'm fooling myself to even look at him, she thought harshly. Who would want to look at a useless woman like me? Uncle's right. Father should give up on getting heirs from me. No one would ever want me...why would they?
She turned away to hide her flaming cheeks, eyes wet with sudden tears. As she did so, a petal drifted from the rose she'd tucked into her bodice earlier, drifting down to the courtyard. The young man caught sight of it and looked up.
Their eyes met.
Claudine felt color flood her cheeks. He looked straight into her eyes.
His own eyes were pale green and beautiful. She blinked. Heat rose in her face and her heart start to thump.
He is looking at me as if...as if I'm something worth looking at.
She had seen that look on faces before, admiring the intense beauty of the palace groundsHowever, she had never expected that anyone, let alone this young man, would direct such a look at her.
Claudine coughed, embarrassed, and wrenched her eyes away.
“Niece? What ails you?” her uncle asked from where he leaned on the rail. He looked at her in mild inquiry. Claudine felt instantly shy.
“N...nothing, Uncle,” Claudine stammered. She leaned over the edge of the balcony again. When she noticed the man was still looking up, she blushed and ducked quickly back. Her cheeks flamed.
When she looked back at him, her uncle was frowning at her.
“Niece? What happened? You look quite flushed. Ought I to call your maid?”
Claudine shook her head. “I'm well, Uncle. This is no fever. At least...I think not.” She forced her fingers to relax. Breathed deeply. Tried to hide her response. Somehow, she thought her uncle would find it amusing. She didn't want him to laugh.
“Well, you might have fooled me,” her uncle said . “I am sorry, niece. But I worry for your welfare. You do look awfully flushed.”
“I am well,” Claudine repeated again, more hesitantly. What could she say? She hardly knew what was ailing her now herself. She looked at her hands shyly. “I will be fine. I just want to speak to Bernadette.”
“Of course. Come, niece. You are weary. Come inside. I'll call your maid directly.”
“I can do it,” Claudine said. She smiled shyly. “I know you always worry for me so, dear Uncle,” she added, squeezing his hand impulsively. She was so fond of Uncle Lucas – he was so funny and so attentive of her needs. Too attentive sometimes. I'm not a baby anymore.
“I know you can do it,” Lucas said, frowning. “But if you have need of anything...” his voice trailed off hesitantly.
“I'll be sure to let you know, Uncle,” Claudine said quickly. She hurried off toward her bedchamber.
Inside, she shut the door and leaned against it. Her heart was thumping though it did not hurt, rather she felt excited.
I feel alive, she thought. Happy, more capable. Why? “Bernadette?” she called, summoning her maid who slept in a smaller room adjacent to her own, separated by a wooden screen lest she need to summon her during the night.
She heard someone stand up from a seat – the soft creak of wooden furnishings, the whisper of a skirt along the stone flooring. Bernadette appeared.
“Yes, my lady?”
She looked pleased to see Claudine. Bernadette was so much more than a helper – she was Claudine's best friend.
“Bernadette! There you are. I feel quite weary. I would retire to bed, if you could help me out of this?” she indicated the long cream silk dress, which would take another pair of hands
to unbutton.
“Of course, my lady,” Bernadette replied. “Nothing worried you, did it?” she asked observantly.
“N...no, Bernadette,” Claudine said. She wasn't sure what to tell her companion. She wasn't sure how to tell herself, much less anyone else.
All she knew was that something had changed the moment she saw that young man in the courtyard and he saw her.
For whatever reason, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt excited about life. Like she really wanted to live it. Like she wanted to see what would happen next. And, for the first time, she felt excited about the ball tomorrow. With any luck, he might be there.
A BALL TO REMEMBER
“Do I look halfway reasonable?” Francis asked awkwardly.
His manservant, Yves, frowned and stood back critically. Then he pursed his lips. “You'll do, milord.”
Francis met the dour old man's eye, and saw a shimmer there. They both laughed.
“Yves, seriously! You are about as reassuring as The Last Judgment. And as harsh, probably,” he added.
Yves shook his head.
“One shouldn't jest about matters of faith, sir,” he murmured.
Francis sighed.
“I'm sorry, Yves. It's my nerves. I'm so nervous and I just can't help it. I'm not myself.”
His manservant grinned knavishly. “You'll do.”Francis was glad of his opinion tonight. This was his first ball at the palace. He had already seen a girl he hoped would be there.
I can't stop thinking about her.
He knew it was silly, but that moment in the courtyard, earlier in the day, when his eyes had struck the eyes of the girl on the balcony, had stayed in his mind. With her soft, heart-shaped face she had looked something like the porcelain angels on the altar of the church. Those blue eyes had looked right into his, as if they could see the very depths of his soul.
Stop being fanciful, Francis.
“Thanks, Yves,” Francis said nervously. He walked through the apartment he'd been given here. It was smaller, a place intended for a nobleman less illustrious than a duke, but nevertheless exquisitely furnished and decorated – and headed to the door.
“Right. I'm off.” He drew in a nervous breath and stood up straight.
“Very good, sir.”
Francis opened the door, strode out into the hallway and shut it softly behind him.
“Come on Francis. It's not battle, for Heaven's sakes. It's a ball. Have some sense.”
He couldn't help it, though – his first event at court was a terrifying prospect. He didn't know if he could navigate the uneasy seas of etiquette, if he could be a popular conversationalist, or if he could do the dances as well as expected here.
I don't know what anyone's supposed to be capable of.
Having spent his whole life at Annecy, with occasional trips for hunting to the other neighboring estates like Moreau and Paysanne, he had no idea of what would be expected of him here.
He swallowed hard. Only one way of finding out. Get it over with.
He strode forward into the hall.
Before he'd even got halfway across the threshold, a short man with a dour expression stepped forward. “Wait a moment,” he said.
Francis froze.
The man cleared his throat. “Francis McNeil, count of Annecy.”
Francis felt himself blush as the heads nearest to the doorway all turned. He wished he didn't have to mention his surname. It stood out a mile among all the French ones, drawing attention to his differences.
Damn the man. If he wasn't here I'd just have sneaked in.
“My lord of Annecy,” an older man said, bowing low. “A pleasure to see you at court. New faces are always welcome. Are they not, Matilde?”
The woman beside him, a sweet-faced older woman with a soft expression and flowing, elegantly styled gray hair, nodded. “Yes, indeed, Richard. Welcome, young man. Pray join us.”
Francis swallowed hard through a tight throat and nodded shyly. He couldn't help scanning the crowd as he looked around. Where was she?
Stop being silly, Francis. There are perhaps a hundred people here. Why would you see her? Nevertheless, the thought was sustaining him, making this evening marginally less fearful.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. “I'm glad to join you. It's my first time at court.”
“Yes, indeed,” the older woman nodded with that same soft smile.
Francis shook his head, suddenly remembering his manners. “Forgive me, Madame! I know you know my name, but I ought to introduce myself. I'm Francis McNeil, count of Annecy.”
“Lady Matilde, countess of Chaudet,” she said politely.
“Enchanted, my lady.”
“You come to seek some petition, sir?” the count inquired kindly. “Or just for the social aspect?”
Francis nodded. “Yes. I mean, um...for both, Lord Count.”
Goodness, man! Can you say nothing sensible? What's the matter with you tonight?
The count raised his eyebrows with an inquiring look. “In which case, my dear,” he said to the duchess inquiringly, “we might introduce our daughter, Estella.”
“Oh.” Francis swallowed, throat tight. A young lady with the same long oval face as Lady Matilde appeared, only with a mass of black curls piled in a highly fashionable style up on her head. He felt his throat go dry. How was he supposed to behave?
“I'd...it'd be an honor,” he said lamely.
“My lord,” the tall, elegant society woman said in a soft voice. “I am pleased to be introduced.”
Francis tried to make a sound but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, feeling desperately at sea and rather foolish. “My lady,” he managed. “It's a real pleasure.”He felt his pleasure turn to sudden dismay when the two older nobles – the count and his elegant wife – moved subtly away. They left Francis and Lady Estelle, facing one another.
“You are enjoying the weather, milord?” Lady Estelle asked gravely. The low “v” of her bodice showed her pale skin and bosom to an enticing level of splendor. Francis swallowed again, though his mouth had gone dry.
“Y...yes, milady Estelle,” he managed weakly. “Most diverting, is it not? Good for walking.” What am I supposed to say?
Francis tried to still his fidgeting and concentrate. He couldn't believe the nonsense that was coming out of his mouth.
“Oh, indeed. Though I do not go much further than the courtyard, I am afraid,” she said in a low voice. “I trust you are a very great walker.”
Francis frowned. He had no idea what the proper reply might be . He felt desperately uncomfortable. “Oh, no great walker,” he said. “I just like an odd stroll out towards the woodlands. The King has elaborate hunting grounds.”
“Indeed he does,” she said softly. “Though I know little of hunting.”
“Ah,” Francis said, feeling silly. Of course she doesn't, you dolt. Ladies don't accompany the hunt. At least not ladies like her. Gently raised, polite ladies.
“Estelle, dear,” Lady Matilde said, appearing suddenly at her daughter's elbow. “Come greet the count of Trevier?”
“Yes, Maman.”
Francis bowed. “Enchanted to have made your acquaintance, my lady.”
“Likewise enchanted my lord.”
Well! My first encounter with an eligible young lady at court. I survived it.
Francis wasn't sure he'd managed much better than mere survival, but perhaps he would get better at it with practice.
Like learning to joust. The first time you fell off the horse, you just had to get back on again and give it another go. Francis took a deep breath and walked further into the hall.
“My lord? Do come and join us. I am Lady Gertrude.”
“Honored, my lady. Lord Francis,” Francis introduced himself hastily.
He found himself drawn into the circle, which included two young ladies. He felt uncomfortable and looked around, focusing on the surroundings. A quartet played a stately measure and couples w
ere already sallying out onto the dance floor.
“Shall we dance?” he blurted.
Lady Mirella, with whom he was talking, giggled and curtsied. “I'd be pleased to, Lord Francis.”
Mirella was a beautiful woman – soft, curvy and compact, with abundant curly hair and a full bosom. Francis took her soft, scented hand. He found he was shaking as he walked out onto the dance floor.
What do I do now?
“My lord? You know the quadrille?”
“I...would be delighted to learn,” Francis said awkwardly.
Mirella giggled. “Well, I am happy to teach you. In this place, if nowhere else, you must follow my lead.”
Francis went red as his body responded to the implicit statement. He couldn't help that the images running through his mind were of other sorts of dancing.
“Th...Thank you,” he stammered.
“Now, you stand here, and I go over there,” Mirella explained briskly. “There.” She grinned at him across a space of perhaps ten paces away, across a polished marble floor.
He watched as other couples stepped out onto the dance floor – ladies in elaborate brocade gowns, trains sweeping the floor, sleeves overlapping long, slim hands. The muted candlelight shone off glossy hair in elaborate braids and diffused softly on the velvet doublets of the other young gentlemen, courtly and graceful, who accompanied them.
What on earth am I supposed to do now?
He looked at his hands, feeling desperately awkward. The music started up and he looked around a little wildly.
If in doubt, copy what the other people are doing. He heard his father's sage advice.
Francis looked to his left and watched the other gentlemen. They all seemed to be waiting too. He stayed as he was.
The quartet struck a particular cadence. All the gentlemen bowed and the ladies curtsied. Francis quickly did the same. Then they stepped forward, right hands out, to touch the right hands of their partners.
Francis found himself doing the same thing. He was a little bit out of time with the others, since he had to copy what they did. It wasn't that he'd never learned any formal dancing . He knew how to do a sarabande, a gigue, a gavotte. He just didn't know the quatrain or quadrille – more elaborate dances that must have hit the court first.
Adventures of a Highlander Page 42