Le Fèvre climbed in next to him and rapped on the ceiling to tell the carriage driver to start. Dom opened his eyes just enough to see the musketeers staring.
A few minutes later, Le Fèvre said, “Right. We’re safe.”
The lump of blankets on the rear-facing seat slid to the floor as Pâques sat up, grimacing. He looked slightly less pale than Dom felt. Dom’s heart stabbed with guilt as it had every time he saw Pâques’ empty sleeve. One of the maids had altered the man’s shirts and coats, removing the spare sleeve and sewing the holes closed, but today he wore a shirt identical to Dom’s.
“Remind me not to hide again under a pile of blankets in May, Monsieur le Comte.” Pâques smiled crookedly. “Too hot for us invalids.”
Dom could only nod as tears threatened. More weakness. Pâques had been so close to death. He had lost his arm because he had stood too close to Dom. He had warned Dom of the rumors of treason, and now he was maimed. Perhaps everyone around Dom was doomed. He glanced at Le Fèvre, who shook his head. He had warned Dom not to cosset the other man or pity him. Dom would avenge him, too.
“Bien. The sling, Monsieur?” Le Fèvre held out a hand, and Dom untied the sling from around his neck and handed it across. Le Fèvre tied the sling on Pâques, then took a handful of rags and stuffed them up the empty sleeve. He tousled Pâques’ hair, dyed dark brown with a sludgy decoction of coffee. “The dark hair makes you look like a monkey.”
Pâques huffed a little laugh at his friend’s teasing. “I’m not as tall as Monsieur, either, but I can swoon as well as any grande dame.”
The two guards chuckled, and Dom’s heart eased. He had spent so much time with these men that it was not a breakdown in discipline for them to laugh in his presence. He would provide for Pâques for as long as he lived. He winced. If he never got his money and estate back, he would not provide for anyone.
“Make your way to la Brosse in small groups.” They had been over the plan with everyone in his employ, but all he could provide his loyal servants was a vague promise of help from his in-laws. “Make sure the women and children are well-protected.” And Pâques.
Le Fèvre pursed his lips. He knew the plan better than anyone. He had helped two maids and a guard sneak away that morning in a farmer’s cart. He was honorable and well-trained in combat and as a field surgeon. Dom and Pâques owed him their lives.
“The leather coat, Monsieur?” Le Fèvre pulled the coat gently onto Dom’s left arm and then helped him get his right arm in as they went over a particularly rough patch. Blood rushed in his ears as pain stabbed through his shoulders. When his head stopped spinning, he and the men switched seats and Dom lay down as the others tossed the blankets over him.
“Another time past the musketeers.” Le Fèvre’s voice was muffled by the blankets and the ringing in Dom’s ears.
“That wasn’t the plan,” Dom muttered, but he didn’t know if Le Fèvre heard him.
He must have dozed off, because the next he knew, Le Fèvre was rousing him. When he sat up, he didn’t recognize the road. He did recognize the gray gelding tied to a tree, attended by a groom. The horse had impeccable bloodlines, though after buying him as a foal, Dom had watched him grow into one of the ugliest horses he had ever seen. Something about his configuration looked all wrong. Nonetheless, the horse had the best stamina of any of the horses in his stables and was the mount of choice for his messengers.
Le Fèvre hopped out of the carriage and reached up to hand Dom down, but, unwilling to be treated like a lady, he waved the guard off and climbed out under his own power, stumbling as his weakened legs felt his weight.
Le Fèvre watched him closely. “We can come up with another plan, Monsieur.”
Dom stood up straight and brushed dust from his coat. He shook his head, afraid to talk in case he vomited. He was strong enough.
“There is a sling in your saddlebag.”
Dom nodded slightly. He didn’t want to admit he needed it, but he was already not sure he could ride for two days in his feeble state. His dizziness in the carriage had hammered home to him that his blood loss and pain were not yet under control. Henri had insisted that Dom travel alone to be as inconspicuous as possible, but Dom had his doubts about his safety, especially since he might swoon and fall off. He took a deep breath and stretched his shoulders, only wincing slightly as pain shot up his left arm again and settled as a pounding in the wound. He would put on the sling once he was well away from Versailles, as he didn’t want anything about him to be remarkable in case people along the road were questioned. He suddenly wanted to be far away from his guards so they wouldn’t see his weakness. He wasn’t sure himself if it was pride or hope that his most loyal men wouldn’t worry about him.
Pâques called out from the carriage, and Le Fèvre retrieved his old hat and handed it to Dom. “It’s Pâques’, Monsieur. I am sorry I forgot yours.”
Dom nodded and placed the hat on his head. It was uglier than any of his own, but fit well enough and matched his leather coat.
“Ready, Monsieur?”
Dom sighed. “Oui.”
****
“Is she here? My wife?” Dominique demanded of a groom as he swung down from his ugly horse. His legs gave way under him, and he grabbed the saddle with his good hand.
Dom hoped the musketeers would not blame his servants for his sudden disappearance. Henri was back in his position in the Finance Ministry inside the walls of Paris by the time the plan was carried out. And Henri had always been a good liar.
“Non, monsieur. She left a few days ago,” replied the groom.
“She did?” Dom swung clumsily toward the groomsman, who tripped as he backed away.
“She left with Michel a few days ago, de Bures,” said his father-in-law behind him. “And Gaston, you are not to reveal anything about her to anyone.”
“I… Terribly sorry, Monsieur.” The groom bowed deeply.
The baron managed a strained smile and kissed Dom on both cheeks. Dom nearly collapsed into the burly arms of the man who was a second father to him.
“Come inside,” said the Baron de la Brosse. “I will tell you everything I know.”
“She is all right? Healthy?” Dom staggered each time he turned his head. He was weaker than he had realized, and exhausted from two days of riding.
“In my office, de Bures,” said the baron.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Dom collapsed into a chair. “Is Aurore all right?”
The baron’s laugh lines strained as he frowned. “She is recovering. She lost the baby, and she bears some scars. Michel is taking her to the convent at Chaillot. She was worried—and I had to agree—that the bastards would find her here immediately. Even with my men and yours working extra shifts to keep watch, we are even less fortified here than in your château with its walls. She stayed only two nights.”
Another baby gone.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and the baron’s eldest son, Cédric, entered. His best friend held Dom down when he tried to rise, then cupped Dom’s cheeks with warm hands. “My father might not have said, but Aurore’s face is scarred.” Cédric touched Dom’s forehead and drew a line down his left temple. “Here and here.” His light brown eyes bored into Dom’s in challenge. Cédric released him and stood up straight. “From a fall, she said. I couldn’t get any more information out of Michel’s wife, who said that she hadn’t been allowed to see Aurore until after it happened and the wound needed care.”
Dominique slumped back into his chair, feeling the weight of his travels, his unhealed injury, and the suffering of his beautiful wife. “I don’t mind a scar. I have scars. Is she well?”
The baron and his heir looked at each other for a moment, their frowning profiles a mirror of one another. Cédric spoke. “I saw her the second day she was here. Papa sent a rider when they arrived. We all gathered here when we first had word of the château and rode back and forth to bring away anyone we could. We were trying to think of a way to get Auro
re out. We had news that Michel was working for them, so when my guardsman met him on the road, bringing Aurore, we were greatly relieved.”
Dominique nodded and asked again, “Is she well?”
Cédric sighed and rubbed one hand across his face. “She wouldn’t talk about it, but I would guess that she was, ah, attacked.”
“Raped?” Dominique sat up straight and banged his fist on the baron’s desk. “I will kill those bastards.”
They fell silent again, Dom’s mind churning in fury as his eyes prickled with tears. There was a tap on the door, and the baronesse entered, as lovely and cold as ever in a pale pink gown, her blonde hair curled in the height of fashion. She greeted Dominique with a regal nod and settled into a chair next to him.
“You will wish, of course”—she paused dramatically—“to annul your marriage.”
She smirked at him as he reared back in horror.
Dominique finally found his voice. “I do not wish to annul my marriage.”
The baronesse waved one hand dismissively. “She cannot give you an heir. She has been used by other men. Besides, you never much cared for her.”
The baron shifted in his seat, glaring at his wife.
Dominique said, “I have always cared for her a great deal. I am optimistic that one day she will give me an heir. Aurore would never consent to…that.”
Aurore’s mother darted a sly, mocking glance at the husband whom she hated. “If you change your mind, we won’t stand in the way, of course.”
This time it was Cédric who shifted in his seat. Dominique looked at him and saw what he already knew: he and his father would stand in the way of an annulment in every way they could. If Dom even thought of it for more than half a second, he would lose his best friend and earn the hatred of his wife’s family. The members of his wife’s family whom he cared about, that is.
Through gritted teeth, Dominique thanked the baronesse, who rose gracefully and exhorted him sweetly to think about it, then glided from the room, her back ramrod straight, her fashionable skirt swaying.
The three men returned to their seats in a gloomy silence.
Dominique finally said, “I will not annul my marriage.”
Cédric sighed, and the baron closed his eyes and crossed himself.
“We have quite a few of your guards and some of your peasants here,” said the baron.
“I cannot repay you for your assistance. I cannot pay for their upkeep at all until I have access to my lands and my funds again,” said Dominique. “I must humbly beg that you continue to help my people as best you can, for Aurore’s sake.”
The baron wrinkled his nose in mock outrage. “There is no payment necessary. I meant that we could lead an assault on your château with very little preparation. We’d need more arms and men, but we—and you—have enough friends from that guard school of yours that it would be easy.”
Dom’s heart stuttered. They could attack. They could take back his home and his lands. He felt hope resurging.
Cédric cleared his throat. “However, the news from the court is bad. I don’t know to whom you spoke while you were there, or if your servants had access to all the best gossip, but the king still believes you are plotting against him. Some in his inner circle are saying this attack was justified.”
Why didn’t you tell me this when I was still at the court? “And you don’t?”
Cédric’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Dom looked down, hating himself.
Cédric’s voice was clipped. “If I ever thought you would plot against the king and not tell me about it… No, if I ever thought you would plot against the king… You are the one who was dragged to court when you were five, to play best friends with Louis, the infant king. I was jealous when we were twelve, but I have progressed past that.”
Dom rubbed at the muscle in his chest that ached constantly due to the awkward way he had to hold his left arm. “I was only there because the king’s mother was suspicious of my father. I was a hostage of sorts, but I tended to only tell Louis the truth, even if it was not flattering. And I never liked having to lose on purpose when I could beat him.” He smiled, his prowess as a ten-year-old coming back to him, then frowned as he remembered the stilted, suspicious whisperings around him before he was shot at Versailles. “In the end, Cardinal Mazarin took a dislike to me, and when the Fronde rebellion petered out, he sent me home.”
He looked at his brother- and father-in-law, who were waiting for him to make some sort of decision. His head was getting fuzzier. “I will travel back to the court. The king moved to Fontainebleau while I was abed in Versailles. I will plead my case.”
The baron threw up his hands in exaggerated exasperation. “You are suspected of gathering support for a revolt along the lines of the Fronde. I think your old friendship with the king, the attack on your lands, and your injuries are the only reasons you haven’t already been arrested. The musketeers are probably frantic that you disappeared. Leave the diplomacy to us.”
Dom rubbed his head, which had not stopped aching for almost three weeks now, a sign of blood loss, according to Le Fèvre. “Then what am I to do? You say I cannot get back my château by force. I cannot plead my innocence and request assistance. Am I meant to hide? Or sit here and do nothing at all?”
The baron and Cédric exchanged a glance, and his best friend cleared his throat again. “Go after Aurore. Make sure she’s all right, reassure her that we can protect her, and bring her back here. Or take her to your lands in Dumouton, far out in the provinces.”
Dom glared from one to the other. “She is the least of my worries. You said she’s safe in a convent. You agreed she was safer there than here.”
The others exchanged another glance, this one tight-lipped. Two pairs of light brown eyes, so like his wife’s, stared at him, into his soul. His guts squirmed with guilt, but he held himself outwardly steady.
The baron said, “If you cannot at least assure us that she is safe and well-treated at the convent, then we…”
The silence in the room weighed upon Dom as he waited for the rest of the sentence.
Cédric shook his head. “We might not be able to help you. She is my sister, after all. She is nearly as precious to me as my wife.”
They both nodded, gazes never leaving Dominique. Dom noted that neither Cédric nor the baron stated how precious the baronesse was.
“So I am to wander about, hoping to find my wife in a convent, while my family advocates for me. I am to run away like a coward.”
The baron’s expression grew stonier. “Without her, we are not your family. Think about that, de Bures.”
He did not double over in agony, but it took all his strength to draw his next breath. If the baron had kicked him hard in the stomach, it would have hurt less.
The baron, known for his hearty laugh and friendly smile, glowered. “She’s in Chaillot, north of Paris. She is safe there while we work out the political and military side of things. And you will bring her back. Rest for a day or two first.”
****
“Never arrived at all?” Dom spat out the words.
Dark clouds roiled overhead, signaling an evening thunderstorm to break the humid heat of the afternoon. Dom tugged at the brown linen kerchief he wore as a sort of cravat, feeling the perspiration roll down his neck.
The baron’s groomsman, Gaston, dipped his head even lower, his voice not more than a mutter. “That’s what the nun at the gate said, Monsieur le Comte.”
Dom didn’t hit the man, but only through long habit of treating servants decently. He was at the end of his patience and didn’t know if he could contain the violence that bubbled under his skin. He turned away and leaned his good shoulder against his shaggy horse. He breathed deliberately several times before turning back. “Was she telling the truth?”
Gaston’s head came up, and he glanced at Dom from the corner of his eye. He hunched his shoulders and stared at his dusty boots again, not reassured by Dom’s fierce expression. “She seemed
to be. She appeared confused about whom I sought and gave me the names of other convents in the area.”
Dom sighed. And now the nuns would know that someone was looking for Aurore, and that her family did not know where she was, either. And if any of the nuns inside were in league with the bastards, the news would get back to them that Aurore might be in a nunnery, and they would search all of them. Dom swore foully, then begged the saints’ pardon.
He hoped Aurore had found someplace safe to hide. She had promised to write to Cédric when she was settled; then Cédric would write to Dom at the de la Brosse family’s house in eastern Paris. In any case, Dom would have to go there now to regroup and wait for news. And to heal. He and the groom had taken three days to make the two-day journey and were provisioned with red wine and red meat to build up Dom’s blood, but he spent each day dizzily clinging to his horse and each night tossing and turning on the hard ground, unable to get comfortable.
From his saddlebags, he pulled a piece of paper and a pencil of graphite wrapped in stiffened sheepskin to jot a hasty note to his in-laws.
When he held it out to Gaston, telling him to take it to la Brosse, the man shrank back. “I cannot leave you alone, Monsieur! I am to guard you and be your assistant in all things.”
Dom stood up straighter and thrust out his chin. This Gaston was a decent groom, but he was no warrior. He wished for Pâques, then remembered Pâques now had only one arm.
The man shrugged. “The baron’s going to shout, but I can’t go against your direct order, can I?” A decent groom, but sly and lazy. Dom wondered how many days it would take for Gaston to return to la Brosse. The man took the paper and tucked it inside his leather coat. “You’ll be in Paris, then? There are some servants there expecting you. Pick one of them to watch your back, Monsieur.”
“Your concern is gratifying, Gaston.” Dom had no intention of dragging some hapless manservant around with him. He could travel more secretly alone in homespun and leather than with someone trotting behind, bowing and betraying the ruse that he was just a poor wanderer.
Gaston swung up onto his horse and tipped his hat as he rode away.
The Indispensable Wife Page 3