A Lady Betrayed (Secrets of the Musketeers Book 2)

by Leda Swann

  “There is no need to don your best or dress your hair in aught but a couple of plain braids. We are off to spend a day in the country.”

  She couldn’t imagine what had gotten into her father. He never went into the country on a pleasure jaunt. Normally she would be delighted at the unaccustomed treat he had planned for her, but spending today in the country was little short of disastrous. If she went to the country with her father this morning, she would miss her rendezvous with Monsieur de Tournay. She would not see him all the day, and mayhap not on the morrow either. Heaven only knows what pressing business he might have that would keep him occupied and unable to visit her for days maybe.

  She did not have many days left to win whatever corner was left of his heart. He was to leave for Paris in just over a week. She had to make sure that when he left, he had plans to return again to claim her for his own.

  Maybe if her father had planned for a large party to go into the country, she could plead a bad headache and stay behind. Or even inveigle her papa into inviting Monsieur de Tournay along as well. She threw a cotton wrap about her shoulders and clambered out of bed. “Just you and me? Or have you made up a party with some friends?”

  “Just you and me and the picnic basket. Hurry now. We must leave presently.”

  There was no hope of staying behind – she would not ruin her papa’s surprise with a fictitious illness. She would have to resign herself to not seeing Monsieur de Tournay today.

  Her pleasure had only been postponed, she told herself, not cancelled. If he liked her as seriously as he seemed to, he would not be put off by her absence today. She would surely see him again another day.

  If he really did like her, that is.

  She didn’t know why her father had suddenly taken it into his head to take her for a picnic in the country. She puzzled over the reason as she hurriedly washed herself in the pitcher of warm water that Suzanne made haste to bring her, put on a pretty green gown with yellow ribbons, some green slippers, and patterns to wear over them in the mud. She had Suzanne brush her hair and braid it in a simple plait that hung down her back.

  She was far from satisfied when she looked in the glass. With such a simple braid, she looked more like a young country girl than ever. She hoped she would not bump into any one she knew – particularly not Monsieur de Tournay. She could not bear for him to see her so plainly and simply dressed, without even her hair curled.

  There was no time to ask Suzanne to do it anew - her father was knocking at the door again, urging her to make haste. She would have to pray and hope that her luck held out.

  She pressed a gold coin into Suzanne’s hands. “Monsieur de Tournay will be waiting for me in the park where we walked yesterday,” she whispered to her maid. “Tell him I cannot come today – that I have gone on an excursion with my papa and I couldn’t come even though I wanted to with all my heart. Tell him,” and she lowered her voce still further, “tell him that if he can escape his duties at the same time on the morrow, I will be sure to be waiting for him in the park then.”

  Suzanne quietly slipped the coin into her bodice. “I will be sure to tell him.”

  Her papa was waiting for her on the landing. “We shall breakfast in the carriage,” he said, as he hurried her down the stairs.

  The housekeeper had packed them a basket of soft white rolls and a flask of hot chocolate for her and strong, sweet tea for her father. They munched companionably on their bread as the carriage rumbled on over the cobbled streets of the town and then to the rutted lanes of the countryside.

  Her hunger once satisfied, her curiosity was in full swing once more. “Where are we going?” she asked as she stuck her head out of the window watching the cows in the fields as they passed.

  Her father shook his head and would not answer her. “Wait and see.”

  On they rumbled for hour after hour. Finally around mid-morning they stopped at a fine-looking manor house surrounded by tall trees and well-kept gardens. Courtney clambered out of the carriage picnic basket in hand, glad to stretch her legs after so many hours in such close confinement. Her father followed her, his old bones creaking and groaning at being made to move again.

  This was hardly the pleasant inn and gardens that she had imagined when she had been told she was being taken to the country. She shook her head, still puzzled. She did not understand.

  Her father dismissed the coachman. “We shall rest here for a while. Off you go and amuse yourself and come back for us mid-afternoon. I would be home again before the night grows dark.”

  The carriage rumbled off and left the two of them alone there, standing in the middle of the lane that led up to the house.

  She put her hands on her hips and looked her father straight in the eye. This was no simple jaunt in the country as he had pretended it to be. “Now will you tell me what is going on?”

  Her father took the picnic basket from her and began to walk up the lane towards the manor house. “I thought it was time that you saw your new estate.”

  Courtney looked at the house in front of her with renewed interest. It was an attractive place from outside at least, built in colored brick and surrounded by lush pasture land, and looked sturdy and practical as well as very fine. It was just the sort of country estate her father would buy, though why he had bought it she didn’t quite understand. Her father was a merchant, not a landlord or a farmer. “My new estate? What do you mean? Is it mine? Did you buy it for me?”

  He stopped walking and sat down on the stone wall that bordered the lane and lay the basket at his feet. “There is something I must tell you, Courtney.”

  She sat down next to him, struck by the solemn tone in his voice. All of a sudden she realized that this was no pleasure jaunt in the country – but a serious matter of business. The estate was no pretty present to his daughter, but something else entirely. Whatever her father had to tell her was serious – so serious that he had brought her all this way to disclose it to her. Her stomach flopped with distress and foreboding. “Yes, papa?”

  “I have enemies in France, my dear. They are jealous of my success and seek to ruin me.” She gave a gasp of horror, but he made a dismissive gesture as if were so used to the idea that relating it bored him. “Every man has enemies, so there is nothing new in that, but I fear that mine have found a way to make trouble for me.”

  Prepared for ill news as she was, she could hardly comprehend what he was saying. “You are in danger? Your life is in danger?”

  “It does not matter what becomes of me, as long as your future is secured.” He gestured at the house in front of them. “No one knows that this estate belongs to me – or rather to you, for it is held in your name. If aught happens to me, you can safely hide here and no one will be any the wiser.”

  She could only listen and nod as the world she knew went to pieces around her.

  “Mayhap what I fear will never some to pass, but you must needs be prepared for the worst. Tell no one of this place. If none know that it is mine, it will be safe from their grasp. My house in Lyons is far too well-known – I will not be able to save that for you.”

  “Your enemies would take your house?”

  “I would be a happy man if they would take only my house.” He got to his feet again and shouldered the picnic basket. His face looked less weary now, as if telling her his secret had eased his load a little. “Come and inspect your new property.”

  The two of them wandered through the nearly empty house. The large rooms felt cold, bare and unlived in. She shivered in the chilly gloom that hung like a miasma over the entire place despite the warm summer air outside. Ghosts lurked in every corner, she was sure of it, waiting only until she and her father left so they could claim the place as their own again.

  As they wandered through on their lonely pilgrimage, she recognized the odd piece of furniture and painting from their house in town.

  Her father caught the direction of her glance and nodded. “I’ve had a few treasures brought out here over
the last month or so – as soon as I got wind that trouble was brewing.” He ran his hand over a rosewood desk that had belonged to her mother and she could see the glint of a tear in his eye. “I could not bear to see this go under the auctioneer’s hammer – your mother used to sit at it of an evening as she wrote her letters. The pieces I have moved here are less than I had hoped to leave you with, but I am glad that the most precious memories at least will be saved for you.”

  One of the bedrooms was well-furnished, as was the library and study.

  “I’ve had some of my papers moved here,” her father explained as they sat down to rest for a moment in the heavy leather chairs in the study. Courtney’s feet were not tired, but her spirit was weary and glad of the chance to stop for a while and assimilate everything that she had learned that morn. “They are no longer safe in my jewelry warehouse, and I cannot bring them to my town house. I fear our dwelling will soon be watched, if it is not already.”

  She felt a dagger of fear plunge deep into her heart. Her father was deadly serious. His life must indeed be in grave danger. “Did they follow us today?”

  He shook his head. “I saw no signs of anyone following us. Leaving as early as we did, we should be safe from pursuit. Still, I shall not dare to come here again. I must show you everything now and you must pay close attention. I may not have the liberty of showing you again.”

  He stood up out of his chair, took a painting off the wall to reveal a safe behind it. He took a golden chain off his neck, on which hung a tiny key. He held the key out to her. “This is the key to the real treasure that I own. If my enemies take me, it is all that I have to leave you with. Open the safe.”

  She took the key and turned it in the lock. The door swung open, revealing a small cavity in the wall where a strongbox sat. She lifted it out and put in on the desk.

  Her father motioned to her to continue. “The same key opens both the safe and the box.”

  She fitted the key to the box and lifted the lid. Inside were a number of pouches. She opened the drawstring of the nearest bag and poured the contents out on to her hand. A dozen emeralds lay on her palm, winking back up at her in the sunlight. She held one up to the light between her thumb and forefinger. The colors and facets in it were flawless – indeed it was a gem fit for a king.

  She poured them back into the bag and closed the string again. She had never held such wealth in her hand before. She dropped the bag into the strong box once more and closed and locked the lid. Only when the box was back in the safe, the safe was locked up, and the picture replaced on the wall to hide it, did she dare to breathe again.

  Her father was back in his chair again, his feet up on an embroidered footstool. “Emeralds mostly. Mostly first quality, though there are a few lesser gems in there, too, as well as a few diamonds and sapphires, and a couple of choice pieces of lapis lazuli. It were best to take them to a friend such as Monsieur Legros to dispose of them for you. His selling them will attract no unwelcome notice from my enemies and you know enough about gems to see you are not cheated.”

  She sat back down herself, her head still reeling. “I will not forget.”

  He put his head in his hands as if it ached unbearably. “You must marry, of course, as soon as you are able. In the next sennight would be best, if I can arrange matters so expeditiously. I would have you safely wed before my enemies close in for the kill if I can manage it. A respectable husband from a good family will secure your future better than any handfuls of emeralds I can leave for you.”

  “Wed in the next sennight? To whom?”

  He seemed not to even hear the last part of her question. “Come what may, these jewels will be a fitting dowry for you. There is enough wealth in that safe to marry you well twenty times over, even though your father has been brought to ruin by his enemies. All will not be lost if you cannot wed at once.”

  She thought of Monsieur de Tournay with a pang. Would he want to marry her if her father was disgraced? Did he even want to wed her at all, or was she merely an idle amusement to while away his stay in the country? She could not give him up yet – not until she knew for sure that he did not want her as his bride. “How can I marry so soon as that? I am not even betrothed yet.”

  “I have failed you there, I must confess. I regret that now – how greatly I regret that! I delayed accepting any offer made for your hand, hoping that Justin Legros would eventually be persuaded to ask for you. Such a marriage would have pleased me greatly: I have always loved Justin as my own son. But it was not to be…”

  “You wish me to wed Justin in a few days?”

  He shook his head. “I have no doubt but that my old friend Vincent Legros knows what dealings are in the wind. He would not wish to betroth his son to a girl who might be a pauper any day. Of course,” he gave a rich chuckle, “old Vincent does not know about my secret stash, and I shall not tell him. He will kick himself if he ever finds out what a rich prize his son may have gained just for the picking of it. But I dare not tell him how much I have saved for you in case even an old friend such as he is in league with mine enemies. You cannot wait for young Justin. I will have to find you another suitor.”

  Another suitor? She had the name of one on the tip of her tongue. “Maybe you could wed me to one of your handsome Parisian friends. Monsieur Charent, or Monsieur de Tournay, perhaps?” She kept her voice light, as if she were making a jest. Only she knew how serious her intent was underneath the laughter in her voice.

  Her father misliked the idea even in jest. His face darkened at her carefully-chosen words. “Never you fear, Courtney, my love, I shall wed you to an honest merchant. No rascally scoundrel of a soldier shall wed with my daughter while I yet live.”

  His heart was set against her new suitor then. The pity was that she had so little time to convince him to change his mind.

  She would warn Monsieur de Tournay on the morrow that he would need to work hard and fast to gain her father’s favor – show her father that he was not a rascally soldier but an honest man with a good head for business. Her father only wanted what was best for her. Eventually he would be won over to her way of thinking and accept Monsieur de Tournay as her lover.

  Her father was sitting in silence, looking around the room as if he had forgotten something. Then he shook his head sadly, sorrowfully almost as if he were mourning the passing of an era. “I cannot think there is anything else I need to tell you.”

  The questions were burning in her stomach, but she could hardly find the words to utter them. “What trouble are you in, papa? Who wants to hurt you?”

  His face clouded over. “It were best that you did not know. Your innocence is a gift from God. Keep it while you may.”

  He rose to his feet. “Come, we have lingered in this gloomy place for long enough. Let us enjoy the sunshine on our faces while we are yet able.”

  They spread out the picnic in the manor gardens under a tree. Courtney had little appetite, but she forced herself to swallow a morsel of food for her father’s sake. Even the sweet, red, wild strawberries that the housekeeper had packed for them tasted like sawdust and ashes in her mouth.

  Her father ate no more than she did. Finally he too gave up the pretense that he was hungry. “Let us wait in the lane. Our carriage will soon return.”

  She followed him mutely up the path to the lane.

  Halfway back to the lane, he stopped, held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Do not speak to anyone of where we have been today, or what I have shown you.”

  She was shaken by the fear in his voice and hastened to reassure him. “I will not.”

  He was not happy with her simple reassurance. “You will not tell a soul? Not even Justin? Not even Suzanne, your serving maid? You will not let a single incautious word escape your lips? You give me your word?”

  His earnestness frightened her more than anything else than morning had. “I give you my most solemn word, papa. I swear on my mother’s grave that I will not tell a soul of aught.”
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  He nodded, satisfied by her solemn vow that she would not speak of her secret. “Good girl. You ease the torment of my spirits a little. Your life may well depend on your silence.”

  The rumbling of the carriage wheels could be heard in the distance, though a turn of the tree-lined road meant that it was still hidden from view. “Do not forget, my dear,” he said, as they continued their funereal march back up to the lane. “We have had a picnic in the country, a pleasant walk in the sun - nothing more.”

  Dusk was falling as they returned to town – in vastly different spirits from when they had left that morning. Courtney stared out of the window at every person they passed by, seeing a bogeyman behind every tree, seeing a monster out to destroy her father in every chance passerby.

  Never had she been so glad to come home again, to clamber out of the carriage and into the well-lit chambers of their country house, and to lock and bolt the doors securely behind her. With the smell of good beef pudding wafting in from the kitchens and the housekeeper’s cheery greeting ringing in her ears, she could hardly remember the chill of the other house they had visited today. Was it not for the strain she still saw on her father’s face and the golden key she had hidden around her neck, she would have thought the whole affair had been a dream.

  Monsieur de Tournay was waiting in the park for her on the morrow as she had asked. Courtney hurried up to him, the hem of her skirts trailing in the wet grass. A light rain was falling and a mist hung low over the trees.

  He took her hand in his and drew her in closer for a kiss. “I missed you yesterday.”

  He tasted of mist and rain, like an insubstantial water sprite, a conjuring of her imagination rather than a man of flesh and blood. She wanted to hold him tight to make sure that he was real, and would not float out of her fingers like a dream. “I missed you, too.”

  Even his dark, brown eyes, usually so lively, looked as if the spirit behind them was far away. “Your father spirited you off before daybreak, your maid told me. Bound on some adventure, I take it?”