The comtesse shook her head. “No, she is all right,” she assured him. Was there something in her eyes, too? Perhaps he was seeing things that weren’t there. Morangis was already an obstacle to their happiness. Tristan really didn’t want her family being one too, even though they already were. “She just didn’t have much appetite and wanted to take in some air instead. She went out for a walk.”
Tristan felt something crackle down his spine. “She went for a walk?” he replied. “Isn’t that a little dangerous, for her to be outside alone in times like these?” He couldn’t keep from frowning.
“She is a smart girl,” the comte said with a dismissive smile. “She will not leave the grounds and will remain in view of the house. She will be perfectly safe.”
“Besides,” Morangis pointed out, lifting his wine glass, “the Beast does not attack nobles. Only peasants. Constance is far from a peasant.” He didn’t seem nearly as concerned as Tristan thought he should be, but then neither did her aunt and uncle. Perhaps it was Morangis’ point that made them all feel safe, because he was right. So far. The Beast had not attacked anyone of their echelon, but Tristan didn’t know that it would always be so.
Tristan ground his teeth together for a moment. “I suppose you are right,” he forced the words between his teeth with another false smile.
He wanted to hit Morangis right in the face for not being more concerned. He wanted to leap up and rush out of the house to go find her. He knew he was over-reacting, because she had assured him that she no longer sought death, and it should be safe if she remained in sight of the house, but he still worried. And was angry with her for taking such a chance. He knew he did not rule her, but it still annoyed him.
The meal passed in a fog of banal conversation that Tristan barely participated in. He was waiting until the best moment to leave without arousing suspicion, while still having the chance to find her. He knew she was probably fine, so he didn’t want to cause undue trouble by making an obvious exit, but he was too impatient to sit through the meal without thinking of her during every other breath.
When he found the right moment, he took it and politely excused himself. He made sure that none from the table were following him before hurrying out onto the grounds.
Constance found herself wanting to escape into the forest and be as far away from the house as she could be, but she remembered what she had promised Tristan, so she remained close by where it was safe. If anywhere was safe. She at least wanted to keep from going into the house too early so she could minimize any chance of having to spend time with Morangis.
When she heard heavy steps behind her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around and sunk into herself with relief when she saw that it was Tristan.
“Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to be out here by yourself?” he asked. He didn’t sound too happy with her.
“I haven’t left the grounds,” she pointed out. “I just couldn’t be inside the house. It was making me ill.” She smiled ruefully. “So my excuse for missing dinner wasn’t really a lie. I just didn’t give the whole story.”
He touched her hand, but let it go after a moment. Just in case. “Still,” he said, “I wish you’d be more careful.”
Brushing hair off her forehead, she smiled. “I made it into the woods for weeks without any harm, despite my best efforts. I think I can manage an hour or two on my uncle’s property.”
“I suppose,” he relented with a trace of a smile. “I guess it’s hypocritical to chastise you for it, but it seems like there is more at stake now. Not just in how I feel about you, but there has been a rash of Beast sightings and attacks of late. I think it is more dangerous now than it was before. This shouldn’t be forgotten, by anyone. And regardless of what others may say, the Beast is unpredictable. His previous habits should not dictate our behavior.”
This time, she touched his hand. “I’m not disagreeing with that,” she said, “but I needed air. You have to let me breathe.”
He nodded. “Of course. I do not want you to think that I look at you the way that... he does.”
“I don’t,” she assured him. “You’ve shown me that. I appreciate your concern.” She longed to step into his embrace and feel his lips on hers again. Her mouth dried and her breath grew shallow with the wanting, but she knew that she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Anyone from the house could walk out here at any moment, or just look out a window, and all sorts of trouble would follow if anyone saw that.
She swallowed, trying to find moisture somewhere in her mouth. “You should go back inside,” she said reluctantly. “They will probably be wondering where you are.”
His golden brow rose. “Do you think they will wonder where I am more than you?”
“You are the guest,” she pointed out. “Your absence will be more easily noticed, especially now that your host is back in Gévaudan.”
“Unfortunately true.” Glancing to either side, he lowered his voice. “I know I cannot do as I wish, but were I free, I would kiss you right now and hold you in my arms until we couldn’t stand any longer.” He smiled a smile that was just for her.
She blushed. He spoke her thoughts far more easily than she did. “Were I free, I would happily let you. As we are not, then we will just have to agree what we would wish and dream about it. Good night, Tristan.”
Chapter Seventeen
After reluctantly leaving Constance in the Moncans’ gardens, Tristan returned to the house and gathered his things. Gregoire saw them to Morangis’ while Tristan bid farewell to the comte and comtesse, thanking them for their hospitality. The comte seemed sad about Tristan’s departure, but the marquis thought he noted something like relief in the comtesse’s eyes.
“I was beginning to wonder if you would return to my house tonight, my friend,” Morangis greeted him as he walked in.
“I had a few things to see to,” Tristan replied with the attitude of a noble that didn’t have to explain himself, but did need to remain civil. It was an easy part to play because it was true. “I had thought you would be in your chambers by now, resting after your long journey.”
Morangis waved his hand in a way Tristan noticed was habitual. “I find it hard to sleep after traveling,” he said. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to talk after being apart for two weeks. Can I offer you a drink?”
Tristan wondered where this was going. He shook his head. “I’ll pass, thank you.” His eyes followed Morangis as he went to the sidebar and poured a glass. “What did you want to talk about that we didn’t talk about this evening?”
“Where did you go after dinner?” Jean-François asked casually, leaning back against the table with his glass in hand.
“I took a walk.” Tristan stayed where he’d been standing.
Morangis swirled his liquor. “After your fuss at dinner, aren’t you afraid of the Beast?” A smirk ghosted over his face. It was gone again so quickly that Tristan wondered if it had been there at all, but if it had been, what had it meant? It seemed like he was mocking Tristan, but not overtly enough to be called on it.
“You’re keen of pointing out the Beast’s habits,” Tristan said, “and the Beast does not attack nobles, and rarely men. Since I am both, I felt fairly convinced that I would be safe on a quick jaunt about the grounds. I hope you were not too concerned for my safety.”
“I am sure that a hunter of skill such as yours can take care of himself.” Morangis’ tone was easy, but then there was a long pause and the easy expression became visibly forced. “Did you enjoy your stay with the Moncans?”
Tread carefully, Tristan told himself. “They are very pleasant people and considerate hosts. Your offer to let me stay in your house was most kind, but it would have been lonely. I am indebted to the comte.” This was all true enough to serve as a legitimate answer without saying anything he didn’t want to admit.
The pair of them felt, at least to Tristan, like they fenced through this conversation. As neither was ready to drop the façade
of companionable connections, they could not say what they really thought but danced each word as a step, forward and back.
Morangis inclined his head. “Then I suppose I shall be grateful to them as well then, for assuring that you would not be... lonely while you were without me.”
Something in the man’s tone made Tristan very uneasy. Did he suspect something? If so, was it because he had actually noticed any missteps they had made, or was it simply because he was paranoid? All good questions that Tristan had no immediate answers for, except that he felt like he would need to watch his back.
“Did you have any chance to get to know my fiancée?” Morangis asked. The question was too pointed, despite the easy way he tried to make it sound.
“We had a few occasions to speak.” Tristan planned each word before it came out of his mouth. “She seems like a lovely girl.” That was certainly an understatement.
Morangis drained his glass. “She’s a suitable girl, at the least.”
Forming a tight fist, Tristan drove his nails into his palm. “You do not even propose to pretend to be in love?” The question had been irresistible.
“Oh, Tristan,” Morangis admonished him like a parent might a stupid child. “You know that such details play no part in these arrangements. It’s a matter of money and good connections, of which we are a suitable pairing. I have known this for some time, as choices are limited in Gévaudan. It has simply taken me a while to convince her and her family that it would be suitable for them as well as for me. Now they have finally seen that I am right.”
“It sounds like you have it all figured out then,” Tristan said tightly. “If you will excuse me, I am rather tired and am going to retire for the night. Good night, Jean-François.” Exiting hastily, Tristan moved swiftly up the stairs.
He heard Jean-François’ ‘good night’ behind him as he left.
The dying fire still crackled and cast off warmth as it danced in the fireplace. Constance sat watching it from her bed, knees pulled to her chest. Warmth and chill wrestled within her, but the flames didn’t have the answers she looked for.
“What’s on your mind?” Jeanne asked from where she sat in the corner, working on more sewing and mending. Her tone hinted that she already knew, but was going to let Constance come to her instead.
“He asked me to marry him,” Constance replied. Her voice was barely a breath, just loud enough to be heard, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the fire. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jeanne lower the fabric in her hands.
“What did you say?”
“Yes, I told him yes.” Constance sighed and finally looked across the room at her maid, whose outline she could just make out in the dim light. “But I asked him to keep it between us until I found out if my uncle would grant a different match. I fear that too much time has gone by and too many people know. He may want to save face and not break an engagement that everyone knows about. It would be disreputable, if Morangis did not accept it gracefully, and he’s never accepted the word ‘no’ with any grace.”
Setting aside the dress, Jeanne came to sit behind Constance on the bed and pat her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Constance covered her face with her hands. “I realize now that I’m in an equally impossible situation as before. If I ask my uncle and he says no, he will know that I’ve not been behaving in the way expected of me and I don’t know what the repercussions of that would be but it wouldn’t be pleasant. So I can only ask if I know that he is going to say yes and I have no idea that he will. My aunt is no ally. She will be of the same mind as Uncle.”
“There could be one other option, if he says no,” Jeanne suggested carefully. “You would have to move quickly if it came to that, but you are not a prisoner in shackles.”
It took a moment for her meaning to dawn on Constance, who gasped. “Do you mean run away?”
Her maid hesitated. “I am not telling you that you should, but it is an option. You would not be alone, like you would have been before. If you love this young man then I am sure he is worthy, and he would not abandon you. You would have his help and would not have to risk destitution to get away from this marriage. I cannot bear to think of you married to that man either, but this is all I can offer you.”
“My family would be shamed if I ran away.” Constance looked at the bedclothes, letting her eyes trace the shadows and contours. For the first time she wondered if it would be really any better to have her dead instead. She knew to some families it was considered better that than disgrace, but her uncle and aunt weren’t of that mind, she hoped.
“Like I said, I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do. It’s just something that you can keep in mind. It is an option.” Jeanne smiled tentatively. “Just, please consider that before you do anything drastic.” She didn’t finish the thought, but it was clear what she meant.
Constance wasn’t about to tell her that it was too late for that. She would at least not consider doing anything else drastic. She sighed and lay back against the bed. “I wonder what my mother would think now,” she commented, staring at the ceiling. “Of course, I know that if she was alive, none of this would be happening... but still. I often wonder what she might think or say or do about all of these things.”
“I’m sure that she would want you to be happy and healthy,” Jeanne said.
“I think that she would.” Thinking of her mother always made a strange ache bloom in her chest. It wasn’t the same longing she felt when she thought about her father, because she remembered him. At least she had memories to hold to. When she thought about her mother, she had stories she hadn’t been a party to, and a single painting. “But she married young, and would probably not be happy that I was not yet married. A woman of good breeding should be wed and not living off her family as she gets older.”
Jeanne looked at her dryly. “You’re hardly a spinster. You’re not even one and twenty yet.”
Constance sighed. “And I’ve been avoiding proposals for nearly six of them, although less in more recent years, of course.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand, looking at Jeanne. “You don’t talk of yourself much. Do you want to get married? It’s not like you can’t, even while in my service.”
“I know,” Jeanne said. Her expression changed to something that Constance didn’t think she had ever seen before: shyness. That was usually Constance’s expression to wear. “I would like to be married and have children at some point, but it would be difficult if we were under different employ, and there is no one I feel that way about here in your uncle’s house.”
“Still, the future may bring something,” Constance said, finding a smile of her own. “We cannot lose hope, right?”
Jeanne’s brow arched. “No, we can’t,” she agreed. “You’ll remember your own advice, won’t you? We will find a way to make it work.”
Constance found it easier to hope for Jeanne than for herself, but she nodded. “We will.”
Chapter Eighteen
15 June 1767
It felt like it had taken two days to escape Morangis, who had been more observant of his guest than before. Morangis was eager to go hunting with Tristan every time the marquis had suggested he would be going out. He might have pulled rank, but as he had not done so before, he didn’t need to add to the growing suspicion. Tristan was sure that Morangis suspected something about Tristan and Constance, even if the man didn’t actually have an idea what he was suspicious about. Paranoia usually didn’t need much to work with and this would be the worst kind of paranoia: the kind that had truth behind it.
After two days, Tristan had been on the verge of tying his bed sheets together and climbing out his window to get out alone. Thankfully, Morangis had business in Saint Alban, which freed Tristan to make a hasty escape and get a little air.
He desperately wanted to go see Constance. He hadn’t seen her or heard from her in two days. Not that he was surprised, but it still bothered
him. The urge to go to the Moncans’ was strong, but he knew it would be a bad idea. If Morangis was there or heard that he stopped by uninvited, it would only add to his host’s suspicions, and to the possible repercussions for Constance with her family. He didn’t want to risk that.
Instead, he just walked in the direction he felt would keep him from being discovered and would not lead him near temptation. It was a beautiful summer day and well worth the effort to get out of the house. He could have gone for another hunt, see if he could find any trace of the Beast, but after so many failures, his heart wasn’t in it. Besides, he knew his time would be limited and Morangis might possibly come looking for him.
Was it wise to be walking alone? After admonishing Constance for it, it might be seen as hypocritical that he was doing it himself, but the fact was that Morangis was (as much as he might hate to admit it) correct about the Beast’s attacks (or lack thereof) concerning men and nobles.
He was, perhaps, ten minutes into the forest before he realized it was disturbingly silent. He stopped and looked around. There were no birds chirping or small animals rushing through the trees. Even the breeze seemed to have stopped. It wasn’t until that moment he realized how comforting those little background sounds were to a person’s sense of ease and safety. He couldn’t imagine what could make an entire forest go silent.
At least, until the thing he couldn’t imagine crashed into him.
Tristan was flat on his back before he had even known he was about to be attacked. The creature was the size of a very large dog. It felt like it weighed more than a hundred pounds and all of it was on Tristan’s chest, squeezing the breath from his body. It looked like a dog but with a ferocious mouth, jaws drooling and snapping in Tristan’s face as the man instinctually gripped the creature’s throat, holding it away while it writhed and fought to get at him.
Beauty Page 8