After a moment, he spoke. “Perhaps now that we know who each other is,” he said, “and we have met in proper society as well, we should try to meet in a better place.”
“I like the forest,” she said wistfully, “but maybe another option wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would not be proper for me to pay you a call, but you could come by our house. Perhaps on the excuse of getting to know others here in the province, my aunt and uncle, but maybe if they are not available, then you could talk to me.”
It sounded far more complex than just meeting in the woods, but he liked the idea of being able to see her legitimately and somewhere other than the trees, at the mercy of the wilderness and whatever might be in it.
When they reached the border, Tristan found he’d laid his other hand over hers as it set on his arm. He was reluctant to let go, but he knew he had to. “My aunt and uncle will be busy in the morning,” she told him.
“I’m afraid so will I.” He smiled apologetically. “The Marquis d’Apcher is holding a hunt, for the Beast, and I promised to attend. Again, it would be insult if I broke that promise.”
Constance smiled, but there was sadness in it. “I understand. It is important to keep one’s promises, and I would not ask you to break that.” Sighing, she pulled her hand back and whatever openness had been in her gaze now faded behind the walls he could see in her eyes. “We’ll figure something out soon,” she said and then turned towards home.
He stayed where he was, watching until he lost sight of her.
Chapter Eleven
28 May 1767
The morning came warm and clear. Every hunter in the province seemed to have gathered, noble and peasant alike. The air was a cacophony of barking dogs, neighing horses and chattering people. Everything was barely constrained chaos, waiting for the signal to erupt onto the countryside.
If the Beast was half as smart as he seemed to be, the noise would have long driven him far from here, but none of those gathered seemed to think as much.
Constance rode with her uncle, who couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that she had wanted to come. Her excuse of just ‘wanting to take in some air’ didn’t seem to entirely convince him, but he appeared to be relieved that she was out of the house at all. He didn’t inquire further into the matter, for which she was grateful.
As they rode deeper into the fray, she began to doubt her courage. There were so many people and so much noise. She was unaccustomed to it and every sense she possessed, and perhaps even some she didn’t, threatened to drown.
She had to keep reminding herself of why she was here in the first place, but even that reasoning began to waver. She would only see Tristan for a few moments and it wasn’t like they would be able to talk freely. She would also likely have to see Morangis and was the one worth the other? Perhaps.
“Comte Moncan, mademoiselle,” Tristan greeted as they came up before him. There was the barest lift to his brow and lips. No one else could see it, but she could tell that her presence surprised him.
“Marquis,” her uncle said with a smile. It never hurt to have friends in high places, but her uncle seemed to genuinely like Tristan as well. That warmed Constance and hurt at the same time, for reasons she didn’t entirely understand.
She found, when he looked at her, that she had lost her voice, so she smiled politely and bowed her head.
“It is agreeable to see you both again,” Tristan went on. He obviously had a lot more practice at this than she did. “Will you be joining us for the hunt today?”
“I will,” Comte Moncan said, “but Constance will be returning to the house, of course. The hunt is no place for a young lady. She is simply joining us for the gathering, to get a bit of air.”
Constance wanted to argue the point, if only to make her own decisions, but she bowed her head demurely and accepted her uncle’s pronouncement. He might have gone on except that Comte Morangis rode up, which she watched with an inward sigh. She briefly looked at his face, but turned away before their gazes could lock for even an instant.
From the edges of her vision, she watched as surprise turned to suspicion in his expression.
“Moncan,” he nodded at her uncle. “Constance, I am surprised to see you. You’ve never attended a hunt before.”
“I am just here for the gathering.” Her voice was so soft it was just barely above a whisper. “The weather was so nice that I couldn’t help but want to take in some of it.” She felt her cheeks flush, but hoped her bowed head would hide it.
“Right. The weather is lovely.” He didn’t sound convinced, but she knew he wasn’t about to interrogate her in the middle of a crowd, and she wasn’t about to be caught alone with him. At least, she would hold off that fate as long as she could. She imagined that would be considerably more difficult once they were married, but that hadn’t happened yet.
She could still always hope for the Beast.
Off to one side, the crowds started shifting and the murmuring grew louder. Anticipation swept over everyone. Even Constance felt it, and she sighed. It meant that the hunt was about to start, which meant that she would have to go home. The idea did not inspire her. She wanted to stay here and for Tristan to stay here, while everyone else left. But that wasn’t possible. No matter how much she might want it, she knew that it wasn’t going to happen and she would just have to accept it.
“Good hunting,” she wished them all. Her eyes held Tristan’s for the length of a heartbeat before she tore herself away and left for home.
Despite how much he may have wanted to, Tristan didn’t let his gaze follow her as she rode away. He knew that Jean-François was watching him, so he smiled. “It looks like the hunt is beginning.”
“Indeed,” Morangis said, turning his horse and nudging him in the direction of the tide, with Comte Moncan falling away to join a different group. This left Tristan and Jean-François alone together.
Not for the first time, Tristan wondered what it was that Morangis had done to make Constance hate him so much. Marrying her without her consent, her truthful consent, was bad enough but it didn’t seem to explain her feelings. There had to be history there, but there was no covert way for Tristan to ask about it.
“So, my friend, how do you feel the chances are of catching the Beast today?” Morangis asked as they rode. The pace was easy now, as they moved deeper into the forest. Smaller groups split off to make their own ways.
“It’s hard to say,” Tristan replied. “I suppose the chances are as good today as any other day. The weather is good and the wind is in our favor. Perhaps the hounds will be able to pick up the scent. There are still some places where he has attacked that I have not yet tried, so maybe if we do, there will be some success.”
Jean-François shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t know. The creature has kept from being caught for nearly three years. I would think that the chances are less today than each day before. I doubt there is much luck left with any of us.”
The two of them split off from the main group, tracing a lesser known path up one of the many slopes of Mont Mouchet. The mountainside appeared to have been dug out by the hand of God, so they had to be cautious to avoid the many gullies along the ascent. There were caves that hid without pattern or sign, so they stopped to investigate. The Beast could easily be hiding in any of them.
“I suppose you’re right,” Tristan said. “Still, I think we have to hold out hope for the best, and stay optimistic.”
“I prefer realism to dreaming, Marquis,” Jean-François said. Tristan wanted to smack that condescending tone out of his voice, and the look off his face. “The Beast is smart. I doubt he’ll be caught today.”
“Then why are we bothering to hunt at all, I wonder?” Tristan didn’t try too hard to conceal his cynicism with Morangis. “If we were all as certain as you, then none of us would be out here and the Beast would most assuredly never be caught.”
“True.” Jean-François chuckled. “I suppose then it is a good thing that not everyon
e feels the same way as I do.”
Tristan imagined that to be true on a great number of things, but he didn’t say it. “I suppose it is.” He paused. “Feeling as you do, why are you out here? If you’re certain he won’t be caught, then why are you bothering to try?”
The comte shrugged. “Maybe I will be wrong.” He sounded unconvinced. “It doesn’t happen often, but I won’t say it’s impossible. And if the Beast is to be caught, I would like to be the one to do it. It will be a victory to be remembered.”
“And you would like to be the one who is remembered for it?”
“I imagine that everyone here would be,” Morangis said easily.
“I appreciate the challenge of it,” Tristan said out loud. “But I really don’t care who takes the credit for it, so long as the Beast can never torment the province again.”
Jean-François smiled. “Of course.” The expression never touched his eyes and sincerity never warmed his words.
They rode in silence for a time. Tristan couldn’t think of anything he had to say to the man, until he saw that they had been joined by two others. He glanced curiously over his shoulder. One was older by, he guessed, twenty years or so. The resemblance was undeniable. He supposed it was a father and son. Both were dressed like the lower class.
“Who are they?” Tristan turned to Jean-François, speaking low.
“They are the Chastels,” he replied simply, without looking back. “Jean Chastel, the father, is in debt to the House Morangis and is always looking for ways to gain my favor. He and Antoine will be attending us on the hunt today.”
Tristan frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise? I don’t like to hunt with men I don’t know.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Morangis replied, “It’s nothing to worry about.”
Although he still didn’t like the idea, Tristan was not going to argue with the man on his own ground. This was not Tristan’s home, after all, so if Morangis wanted to bring along some peasants then Tristan wasn’t going to argue, as long as they didn’t do anything to get in his way or get anyone hurt.
Chapter Twelve
Jeanne, who had been riding behind Constance and her uncle, caught up with her mistress as they headed for home.
“You’ve never wanted to attend a gathering of the hunt before, mademoiselle,” the maid commented after several moments.
“Comte Morangis said the same thing,” Constance replied dryly. Not that she would accuse the woman of thinking like the comte, but it didn’t mean she liked to hear the words echoed.
Jeanne was unimpressed. “You haven’t quite been the same for the past few weeks. Does this have anything to do with your frequent walks?” She frowned, concerned. “You know that I don’t like to pry, but I do worry about you.”
Although she wanted to be annoyed, Constance found that she couldn’t. She looked around to see if anyone was near. The last thing that either of them needed was for someone to overhear her. “It does,” she confided. “There’s been someone I’ve been meeting and talking to when I go out. I go into the woods.”
“Constance,” Jeanne replied sharply. “That is very dangerous! The woods are no place for a woman alone these days, and who is this that you’ve been meeting? Is it a man? Is it...” She hesitated and then the realization lit her face. “Was it that man in the mask who your uncle spoke to? Aside from Morangis, he was the only one you stood near and out of them all, he was the only one that you even looked at.”
“You see too much, Jeanne,” Constance replied, but without venom. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Jeanne would notice. “I know it’s dangerous, but it’s hardly like I have anything to lose.” She held up a staying hand. “My life is about to be over anyway. To me, death would be nothing. The worst that could happen would be for my reputation to be ruined and with me left alive to bear it. I would never seek that, I wouldn’t do that to my uncle and aunt, but it would perhaps mean that Morangis would no longer want me and there’s nothing bad there.”
Jeanne’s expression said more than her words could. She didn’t like the idea, but knew too many of Constance’s secrets to dare argue. “Tell me about him,” was what she finally said.
Constance smiled wistfully. “He is intriguing,” she said. It seemed like almost everything she knew about him was a feeling and that was hard to put into words. “He’s a marquis from another province and staying with Morangis, but is no friend of his. He can be trusted, and there are not many people I can say that about.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s heard me say things, when I thought I was alone. Things that would be dire if anyone else knew, but he’s kept his word and not told anyone,” Constance explained. “That is worth a lot to me, especially considering the things that he heard. He is kind and gentle when he speaks with me. He doesn’t think it is a waste for a woman to read. He wants to know me, and he wants to know about the things that occupy my mind.” She laughed wryly. “He believes I have a mind. That is more than many men think.”
Jeanne sighed audibly. “A point that I sadly cannot argue with. You look happy when you talk about him, Constance. I don’t know that I’ve seen that expression on your face in a long time.”
She looked at her maid appreciatively. “I have found happiness in talking to him, in having someone else to confide in, who wants to know me for me. You are a jewel Jeanne, and I never would have survived these years without you, but it’s different with him.”
“It’s different with a man,” Jeanne didn’t hesitate to point out.
“Yes, it is,” Constance conceded easily. “I never thought I would meet a man that would make me feel safe, but he does.” Her expression broke and fell. “I might as well enjoy the feeling for as long as I can.”
Jeanne reached across the space between horses and gently patted Constance’s arm. “I suppose you should keep seeing him then. You must be careful, but we need to seize what happiness we can in life. And such a thing has been particularly hard for you, so you need to grab it with both hands and hold on. For as long as you can.”
Patting her hand back, Constance said, “I intend to.”
Silence passed for a time between them, filled only with the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. “Have you considered speaking with your aunt and uncle again?” Jeanne asked delicately. She knew the ground was rocky on this topic.
“I tried to speak to my aunt, but she won’t listen.” Constance sighed, moving the reins between her hands while her mare faithfully plodded forward. “Perhaps I will try again, but I have little hope that it’s going to change anything.”
Her family might as well have turned into stone walls for all the good it did to try to convince them that she really did not want to marry Comte Morangis, without telling them the truth... She couldn’t bear even to think about telling them that. Would they even believe her, and what might happen if they didn’t? If they did? It was too shameful to consider the scandal she would bring on everyone. She knew what her family thought of Morangis, even beyond his rank and connections. They didn’t know that what they believed was built on a lie and yet she had continued the lie. To show the truth, she would have to reveal things she couldn’t.
They were settled. In the eyes of society, it would be a good marriage. She couldn’t imagine what would convince them otherwise now.
The day ended, and there was no Beast to be found.
Tristan couldn’t tell if he was more disappointed because they had not killed the Beast, or because it meant that Morangis had been right. Either way, it was an unpleasant end to the day and he rode back to Morangis’ house in a dark mood. His host was delayed with some of the other members of the aristocracy that the visiting nobleman did not feel like contending with, so he had managed to escape from that engagement.
Once back at the house, Gregoire saw to the dog while Tristan went to clean up. The idea of a nap before dinner was tempting, but he chose not to indulge himself. By the time he was done and had come downstairs,
Morangis had returned and the barest of pleasantries were exchanged.
“It looks like business in Paris is going to call me away from the province,” Morangis stated rather suddenly, flipping through a stack of correspondence. Tristan would have wondered why so many people were so interested in the man, but the pronouncement filled his thoughts instead.
“For how long?” he asked politely. It took no small amount of effort to rein in his enthusiasm behind the bland mask of manners.
Now, Jean-François looked up. “Two weeks,” he answered. “You are, of course, welcome to continue to make yourself at home here, if you intend to stay in Gévaudan. My home is your home for as long as you wish.”
The thought of having the house to himself while still continuing all of his... pursuits in the province was an appealing one, but he didn’t want to let that show. “I intend to stay a while longer,” he agreed. “I appreciate your hospitality, Comte. When will you be leaving for Paris?”
“Immediately. My business is urgent and must be attended in person, so I have no time to waste. My servants will be able to see to any needs that you may have, despite my abrupt departure.”
“I am sure that they will,” Tristan replied, nodding slowly, although he wasn’t really concerned about that. “I wish you a safe journey then, and hope that your business will be concluded without any undue trouble.”
Jean-Francois smiled and left Tristan with a chill. “Thank you, my friend. I must see to my arrangements.” He turned and walked away. Tristan watched him go, imagining how much more pleasant the house would be on his own.
The rest of the evening passed without incident. Morangis departed for Paris and Tristan dined alone. He gave himself the evening to take care of a few lapsed matters of business before retiring to catch up on some sleep. And when he slept, he dreamed of so many things that his mind was a blur before he even woke. He saw the Beast of Gévaudan. He saw the beast of his past. He saw Constance, but it was her appearance that was the most confusing. The images were unformed and left him feeling elated and uncertain at the same time.
Beauty Page 5