Love's Vengeance

by Dana Roquet

  “Hardly!” Desiree spat, then her brow knitted forlornly and she spoke passionately, “Many girls younger than I are wed. Some already made mothers! And I—I have yet to even sample my first kiss, except in a disgustingly brotherly fashion. Why? Am I so unattractive? Undesirable?” She moved to a large oval mirror across the room and scrutinized her image closely.

  “No sweet….” Celeste began, but was interrupted as Desiree whirled away from the mirror, pacing the room again furiously.

  “He is my friend—he is dear to me and I simply asked him to kiss me…in a fashion that I might know I had been kissed by a man and—and you would have thought I had asked him to commit a crime for me!”

  Celeste attempted to convey concern and appear appalled by such a revelation but laughter was close to the surface, “How ungentlemanly of him!” she gasped.

  “Not only that,” Desiree nodded with new vigor, “but he also told me if I didn't stop talking of such things, he would turn me over his knee! Then he leapt up, declaring that we had been out long enough and fairly forced me to mount the horse. He refused to even discuss it! I tell you Mama—he deserved that dunking! Odd behavior—especially for Antoine of all people. Why—he is no innocent! Not naïve! I've heard gossip of his af...” She stopped short on that confession. “Oh why would he treat me as if I am a leper?”

  “My dear you need to realize that Antoine is your friend and it would be difficult for him to cross that line. He…Rene' Vermillion, Honore' Romains… Philippe—I could name a dozen more! They are all as close to you as family.”

  Desiree sat down heavily beside her mother, speaking wistfully, “I did not ask him to cross any line Mama, only a simple request for a small favor. The same favor he has most assuredly granted a score of women, without their even asking. It is humiliating and so unfair.”

  Desiree studied her folded hands as tears threatened, until she felt her mother’s touch upon her chin and raising her eyes, Desiree waited for some words of wisdom.

  “Sweet—is it, in fact, fair to ask such of him? Of a young man, who for most of his nineteen years has guarded your honor ferociously?”

  Yes he had done that, Desiree reflected silently, as had so many others. The memory came to mind of a summer festival last year on the town square in Rouen. There had been music and dancing and somehow she had found herself with a constant unwelcome companion, a visiting cousin of Antoine’s. He had sidled her off away from the activities, where in no uncertain terms he had made known his desire for her favors with a clumsy, groping hand that had found her décolletage. She had been aghast at his vulgar attempt at seduction and had delivered a sound slap, heaving against his chest to free herself, only to feel the bodice of her gown give way as he fell back. She had shrieked, flaying him with an assortment of well-chosen words and turned away trying unsuccessfully to hide her bosom in the tatters of her chemise.

  Then from all directions, across the square had come her heroes at a jog—as always, rushing to her aid. They had surveyed the young Fabre' seated against a tree rubbing his jaw in stunned silence and then Antoine's eyes had fallen to her gown. Quickly accessing the damage he had removed his coat with a curse, draping it carefully about her shoulders while the other young men had glared at their foe with rage.

  Rene' Vermillion had made to lay the offender lower still but she had tugged at his arm, assuring him she was fine and pleading with him to see her back to the inn to change clothes. His eyes had been afire with anger, his fists clenched ready to do battle but he had nodded, placing an arm about her shoulders and leading her away.

  She had heard Antoine's voice, very tight and menacing behind her as he spoke to his cousin, “Never touch her again or by God you will have me to answer to.”

  Although Antoine had been very close to his cousin, the rift caused by that indiscretion had taken the whole of this last year to reconcile.

  “You have two types of men in your life Pet,” her mother was now saying, “those you don't know and those you know too well. One day, you must learn to restrain yourself and allow a man to court you or you shall have a multitude of confidants but not a one brave enough to give you even that first kiss.”

  Desiree quietly digested this statement. The same words she had heard time and again from Bridgett but to hear them from her mother gave them added weight. Perhaps she were right, perhaps she befriended too easily.

  Philippe Barbre came to mind. He looked to her as almost a mother image, although she was only one year his senior. He had been orphaned ten years ago, at the age of seven and taken in as an apprentice to her godfather’s groomsman. She had met him shortly after his arrival and they now shared a closeness that had stemmed from his need to have someone…anyone to care for him. She could not imagine how lonely he would have been if not for her openness that had brought him out of his shell those many years ago.

  But if her mother spoke true, then she must be distant. And what man would she distance herself from in order to spark his interest? Which one could she honestly consider as a mate for life? None came to mind. They were all as close as family. And what would she do if she lost the friendship of even one by distancing herself? She could not bear it, she knew.

  Then too, she had witnessed enough of the sickening ploys girls that were her peers practiced to entrap a man's interest. In the close living quarters of an exclusive private finishing school in Paris, she had found that she shared nothing in common with the other young women attending. They had but one topic of conversation, men, or more specifically the strategy they were plotting to woo one into a proposal of marriage and she could not abide their prattle.

  Her dearest friends had always been boys and over the years she had spent many happy summers romping in the cool murky lake, riding horses, attending social and other functions with Philippe, Antoine and others. She felt a fierce sense of loyalty to each of her friends. Men were not merely a quest to her—not a quarry to ensnare.

  Of her closest friends, the four young men who lived within a few miles of her home, three were from well to do families, but Philippe, the fourth, worked, and worked hard, for his keep. Three were vied for by many of the young women of Rouen, while Philippe was given hardly a passing glance. How that fact infuriated her and in itself gave credence to her vehement opinion of most women and their ploys. For Philippe was by far the most appealing of the four—extremely handsome with smoky dark eyes and a sensitive, gentle and loving soul. But that mattered not to those in search of a husband by the weight of his purse or the holdings of his family.

  “Ma Petite?”

  Desiree came from her musings to find her mother waiting for some reply. No—she decided silently, she would not act against her nature, not with Antoine or any other man. She was not some supposedly doe-eyed little twit, secretly conniving and scheming, all for a man’s unwitting entrapment. Aloud she said lightly, “I fear I shall be forced to move to the south of France to find one I have not befriended.”

  “Worry not my Precious. One day a man will come into your life and he shall woo you—perhaps dare a kiss, ask you for your hand and take you as his wife.”

  “Do you believe that—truly Mama?”

  “I do! Now go and find your Papa so that we may be off.”

  ***

  Desiree found her father in the front hall, pensively staring out the large window overlooking the grounds before their home. She quietly moved up beside him, looking out the window and expecting to see some disturbance, which caused him to frown so.

  “Papa?” she questioned.

  He turned with a start to find an angelic face close to his shoulder. Twinkling eyes sparkled up at him lovingly.

  “What on earth were you thinking about?" she giggled, hugging his arm adoringly, “You looked positively pained!”

  “I have been contemplating losing my sweet little girl to some man in the not too distant future.” He confessed.

  Desiree pursed her lips, knitting her brow, “To be sure Papa,” she quipped,
“You spend sleepless nights worrying on just that loss.”

  “Do you doubt my concern for you? More nights than you know I wonder on that very topic.” He nodded curtly.

  “That must be why I am forever feeling the lash of your tongue when I decline an unappealing offer to wed! You are simply cranky and cross from lack of sleep. Now it is all clear to me.” She teased mischievously, kissing his cheek and with a theatrical flair and swishing of her skirt, swept out the front door, leaving him to glare after her.

  Celeste emerged from the drawing room, having caught the conversation as she approached and he scowled darkly at her amused expression.

  “Celeste—that child is incorrigible!" he fumed, flailing his hands in exasperation, “Where on earth did she acquire her prowess with a gibe?”

  His wife touched his jaw with a lilting laugh, “Mon Cheri…I can not imagine where she inherited that trait!” she taunted wonderingly and then mimicked Desiree’s flamboyant exit, following her to the waiting carriage.

  “You two are a pair, to be sure!” Robare hissed, stealthily stalking his wife’s backside and delivering a gentle swat.

  ***

  The drive around the lake to the Roche’s took the lesser part of an hour. A pleasant outing when compared with the drive into the town proper of Rouen or the eighty miles to Paris, which took days and wore on a body with the constant jostling of the carriage. A light breeze blew across the water, stirring the gold tassels of the raised leather shades and carried on it the soft scent of lilac, in full bloom. The warm air of spring brought a high-spiritedness to the matched pair of white Boulonnais’ and they pranced and nickered merrily along at a smart clip.

  Desiree anxiously watched from the window as familiar landscape passed by. The ride seemed interminably long to someone with little patience. She had always been one to run if she could arrive at her destination sooner for her efforts. She enjoyed horseback rather than a carriage, which seemed the slowest mode to travel of all. She felt as if she could dismount the contraption and make the trek faster by foot. They moved along at what seemed a snail's pace and she was relieved when the sharp curve came into view ahead, heralding the more than halfway point in their journey. She could hear Georges’, the driver, above the creaking carriage and horses hooves, “Whoa down there…whoa.”

  The ground fell away abruptly at this point in the road, to a steep gully on either side. Scruffy weeds and wild flowers flourishing in unrestrained abandon camouflaged the severity of the drop to jagged rocks below. On the one side the lakefront, on the other, a twist of dense trees partially hid a newly turned field beginning to sprout the greens of this year’s crop.

  The horses responded quickly to Georges’, slowing their gait further still under the command of the bit as they turned sharply to the left, following the lakefront. Desiree was about to make some comment on the advanced state of the field across the road when her words were halted, replaced by a gasp of shock. The silence of the countryside was suddenly shattered by a loud grinding crack, for the world sounding like a cannon blast, but Desiree could feel the jolt under her feet and knew the sound came from below the carriage.

  The frightened horses bolted, with hooves frantically pawing at the dry earth and churning up gravel that pelted the carriage as they tried to escape the unknown. Georges’ voice, calm and reassuring attempted to bring the wide-eyed animals back under control but with heaving sides and nostrils flaring, acting without sanity, they could not be calmed. The carriage careened close to the shoulder of the road and Desiree screamed, seeing the gaping gully so near.

  Against the momentum pushing him into the side of the carriage, Robare' Chandelle struggled to the edge of his seat, grasping the far window frame. With a turn of the handle, he pushed the door open, slamming it soundly against the side of the carriage just as the leather harness and shafts broke free. The horses turned and bolted for their home and safety, while the carriage flipped over and over down the embankment toward the lake.

  Chapter Two

  The first blinding pains at her temples started Desiree on the slow climb from the black void of unconsciousness. The throbbing persisted until after a few minutes, she opened her eyes, watching with curiosity as white flashes of light stole snatches of her vision as if she were looking through fine lace sheers as she struggled to a sitting position and nearly swooned. Gradually she came to realize that she was seated on the road with the grit of gravel dust covering her face and invading her eyes and mouth. All around was quiet but for the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds.

  “Mademoiselle Desiree—stay still. You may have injuries.” a panting Georges’ implored as he passed by her, “You have been unconscious.”

  “I do not seem to be injured.” she tried to assure but her wavering voice was unconvincing. Inanely, groggily she busied herself straightening her bunched skirt beneath her, patting the dust from her clothes, running her hands through her disheveled hair, before it finally dawned on her that Georges’ had crossed to the steep embankment and disappeared. Then it all came flooding back to her, the carriage—her parents, were nowhere in sight.

  “Mon Dieu!” she shrieked in horror. Without further thought to herself or her possible injuries, she shakily came to her feet and made her way to the point Georges’ had descended. He was there, at the bottom of the gully, near the water's edge and the mangled wreckage. It was then that she saw the two still forms he was tending.

  “Mon Dieu…no…Mama! Papa!” she cried covering her mouth with her hands and falling to her knees. She maneuvered over the rocky pitch, by grabbing handfuls of grasses to slow her decent. Her slippered feet were gouged by sharp rocks and grasses cut into her hands like razors as she scrambled down and made her way to the lakefront.

  “Mama…Papa?” she sobbed, “Georges’ are they…”

  “They are both gone Mademoiselle Desiree. Both gone…gone.” He wailed, dropping down beside them in the sand.

  “Let me see…let me…” Desiree moaned, as she knelt beside her mother, checking for a pulse at her neck. She leaned over her chest, listening intently for a heartbeat then stumbled to her father—nothing—useless. They were gone.

  With a groan, she sat back upon her heels, covering her eyes with her hands and lifting her face to the heavens, “Why? Oh…how could this be?”

  “I…I am sorry Mademoiselle Desiree…it is my fault. The axle gave way…I had no warning. I should have slowed sooner.” Georges’ blubbered, lifting his hands in supplication.

  “Georges' it wasn't your fault. You mustn't blame yourself.” Desiree cried dejectedly, “It was an accident. But Georges’ you must now start for the Roche’s. Are you able?” she inquired brokenly, as she lifted the hem of her gown and began tearing off a length of her underskirt.

  “Oui I am. I was able to clear the carriage as it went over. I am uninjured.” He sniffed loudly, “But Mademoiselle I don't want to leave you here alone.”

  “Georges’,” she implored, “If the horses get waylaid with grazing, no one will know what’s happened. It may be hours before we are missed. You must!”

  “We are nearly an hour late already.” Georges’ confirmed, watching as she went to the water’s edge and dipped the cloth into the lake, wringing it out and returning to her parents. “You were unconscious for some time.”

  “All the more reason—we are overdue. Georges’ go now. I will be fine.”

  Reluctantly Georges’ turned for the climb up to the road and when he mounted the summit he looked down to see Desiree gently wiping blood from a gash above her father's eye and placing his hands over his chest. She was blinded by tears and used the backs of her hands to clear her vision, then pulling herself to her feet she turned back to the lake to wet the cloth once more as Georges’ hurried on his way.

  ***

  It had been less than an hour when the thunder of hooves echoed above Desiree on the road. Francois Roche’, Georges’ and Philippe were among the first to skid to a halt and look down
to find her seated on the ground near her parent’s sides.

  She was leaning against a large boulder, with her legs drawn up and resting her pounding head upon her arms to relieve some of the pain in her temples. She had managed to retrieve a lap blanket from the interior of the carriage and had draped it over her parent's heads, lending what dignity she could to the scene.

  Philippe was down the embankment first, dropping to his knees before her. “Desiree you are bleeding.” He said softly, inspecting the slight blood matted gash in the hairline near her right temple and finding it not to be serious.

  “I didn't expect you so soon.” Desiree sniffed, “Georges’ just left a short time ago.” She hugged Philippe tightly and sobbed into his throat.

  “I was on my way to Antoine's and saw Georges’ on the road near the Roche’s.” Philippe stated, rubbing her back gently, “I went back for help and we got here as soon as we could. Thank goodness you are uninjured.”

  “Merci Philippe.” She said softly and then bravely, with a deep breath released her hold upon him and looked to her godfather. “Francois—Georges’, please let us move my parents out of here and home.” Desiree requested, rising with Philippe's assistance. “Please send someone ahead of us to the house and break the news. The horses must not have made it home or someone would have surely come looking for us. Please ask that he keep an eye out for the team.”

  She had rose too quickly and squeezed her eyes shut briefly, accepting Philippe's steadying arm about her waist. She held her hands to her temples until the wooziness subsided, then continued strongly, “Mary will need to prepare the parlor to receive Papa and Mama, then Father Beine will need to be sent for and the undertaker…”

  “I shall take care of all the arrangements.” Francois broke in, rising from where he crouched beside Robare Chandelle while dabbing at his teary eyes with a kerchief “Don't worry about a thing.”