The Making of a Duchess

by Shana Galen

  "You'd better stop calling me that," Julien said, striding into the room. She had not heard him enter the house. "Or we'll all be thrown in prison by the end of the day."

  "Of course, Monsieur le Duc." Gilbert poured Julien the second glass of wine and handed it to him eagerly. Sarah doubted he even realized his mistake.

  "Call me 'Monsieur Harcourt,'" Julien instructed then sipped the wine. "Very good." He nodded his approval and then sat in the vacant seat. "And I shall call you Monsieur Pierpont."

  "As you wish, monsieur." But she could hear in his voice that he wanted to add Julien's title. Sarah wondered if he would remember to omit it.

  "How have you been, monsieur?" Julien asked. "I

  see you have kept a faithful watch on our home."

  "Yes, Monsieur le... monsieur. I am only sorry it is in such a sad state. I would give anything to have it back the way it was."

  "As would I," Julien said quietly. "What happened?"

  "I stayed in town when the family went to the country. Your father, God rest his soul"—he made the sign of the cross—"asked me to guard it with my life. But one morning, we received the news that all of you had been murdered, and that night the peasants"—he scrunched up his face in obvious distaste—"came and burned the lovely home." He paused and rubbed his eyes. "I would have rescued as many of the valuables as I could Monsieur le Duc."

  Sarah saw Julien frown, but he did not correct his former servant.

  "But I was fortunate to escape with my life."

  "Of course." Julien nodded. "You did right. But if you thought we were all dead, then why did you watch over the house?"

  "Because I heard that your father would be guillotined. I wanted to go visit him in prison, but it was too dangerous. I might have been labeled a sympathizer. But I went out on the streets the day he was to be…" He paused and swallowed. "On the appointed day, when I saw they had only him, I knew some of you must have escaped. If they had you and your brothers, the peasants would have killed them. They loved nothing more than a show."

  Julien nodded. "So you saw it?" he asked, looking at a spot on the wall. "You saw my father's death?"

  Gilbert nodded. "I did. He went honorably,

  Monsieur le Duc. He did not cry or fight. Kept his head high and walked on his own to the guillotine."

  Julien nodded curtly. "How did you know where to find me?"

  "I have been looking for you for years, and finally word came to me that you were making inquiries about your brothers. Do not ask me how I gained this knowledge, Monsieur le Duc. I cannot tell you. But I was able to learn that you and the duchesse made it safely to England."

  "I'm sure all of this must have come at great risk to your personal safety," Julien remarked. "I hope you know you'll be adequately compensated."

  "I want nothing but to leave this godforsaken country," the servant said, his eyes lit with fire now. "As I said in my letter, life here has become dangerous for me."

  "Very well." Julien leaned forward. "Then let's get to the point. You know why I've come. Where is my brother Armand?"

  Twenty-three

  "Armand?"

  Julien held his breath and watched Gilbert Pierpont's eyes flick to the floor. When he looked up again, the former butler looked anguished. "Oh, monsieur, I do not like to tell you this."

  Julien's heart clenched, the vise of fear locking in. "I'm too late, aren't I?" Julien said, careful to keep his voice level. "He's gone." Damn it! He should have left as soon as he received the letter. He could have sailed one of his own ships across the Channel and to hell with the consequences.

  Bur Gilbert was shaking his head. "No, monsieur. Where would Monsieur le Comte go? Your brother is in prison."

  Julien stood. "Prison?" Thank God. Prison was not death, but it did pose problems. "What are the charges?"

  "I do not know, monsieur. I fear he has been there a long time. Years, monsieur."

  Julien did not like the ominous tone in Gilbert's voice. "Has there been a trial? What sentence is he serving?"

  "Again, monsieur, I do not know. I might have asked questions, but I thought it best not to. It appears—" He glanced at the windows and doors as though afraid they were being watched. "It appears"— he lowered his voice to a raspy whisper—"Monsieur le Comte has been forgotten."

  Sarah made a small sound of distress, but when Julien looked at her, she did not seem surprised at Gilbert's words. Julien himself had to exert all of his control not to react to the horror he felt. "For how long?" he asked, voice steady.

  Gilbert shook his head. The man knew, but he did not want to say. Perhaps Julien did not really want to hear anyway.

  "What prison, Gilbert? Can I see him?"

  "Le Grenier," Sarah answered for him. "The Attic."

  Julien glanced at her in surprise. So this was the information she'd held on to. How long had she known Armand's whereabouts? All along?

  He looked back at Gilbert. "Can I see Armand?" Julien repeated.

  Gilbert shook his head. "That would be very dangerous. He might recognize you and inadvertently give you away. I have seen him, and I assure you that the man I saw is your brother."

  Julien reached behind him, fumbled for the chair, and sat. Gilbert had said the words he had hungered to hear for twelve long years.

  Armand was alive. His brother was alive.

  "I have to get him out," Julien said. "I'm taking him home to England."

  Gilbert nodded, as though he had expected this, but Sarah gaped at him. "Julien, he's in prison. You can't just get him out."

  He scowled at her, dismissing her protests. "I'm not going to let him rot there. Tomorrow we'll go the prison," he said, addressing Gilbert, "and I'll take a look. We'll come up with a plan to get Armand out." His mind was working quickly now, plotting how he could steal the guard's clothing, when the best time to go inside would be. He did not dare picture his reunion with Armand. He could not allow himself to think of that yet.

  "I'll take you tomorrow, monsieur, but you cannot rely on your brother to be of any assistance. He's… changed."

  Julien's body went cold and numb. "What does that mean?"

  Gilbert sighed. "Perhaps you will see tomorrow, monsieur. They allow him out in the courtyard once a week. I do not think it a fixed schedule, and some weeks I have not seen him at all. Perhaps tomorrow you will see him."

  "And what will I see?"

  Gilbert spread his arms. "He has changed, monsieur. Prison will do that to a man."

  Julien clenched his fists but asked no more questions. There was something very wrong, something Gilbert did not want to talk about. Julien would rather see it with his own eyes anyway. He would form his own opinion.

  He did not want to impose any further on Gilbert, so he rose and went to Sarah, assisting her to her feet. "What time should we call in the morning, Monsieur Pierpont?"

  Gilbert's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, no, Monsieur le Duc! You must not go out into the streets again tonight. There are those who remember you and your family. You look too much like your father, monsieur. I beg you to stay here tonight. I know my abode is humble, but I will give you and madame the bedroom. I will sleep in the parlor."

  "Thank you. Can we give you money to go and buy dinner?"

  "No, monsieur. I have food in the kitchen. If you will just give me leave to prepare it?"

  Julien nodded. "Thank you, Gilbert."

  As soon as the old butler disappeared into the kitchen, Sarah smacked his sleeve. He gave her a disgruntled look, but she was frowning at him fiercely. "How could you agree to that arrangement? We are not taking an old man's bed."

  "We'd insult him to refuse."

  "Ha!" She swiped at him again. "You, Valère, have never been a servant. I assure you we are not offended when we get to sleep in our own beds."

  "What is this we?" he said blandly. "You're a duchesse now, or have you forgotten?"

  Her answering look was skeptical, enough that he wondered if she harbored doubts about their marria
ge. Did she think he was the kind of man to break a vow? He was her husband until death parted them. He had not taken those words lightly.

  Had she?

  For the first time, he wondered if all of this might be an elaborate ruse by the Foreign Office to collect evidence against him. But, no, he could not believe even the Foreign Office would go so far as to send in an operative to marry him.

  "You knew about the prison," he said to Sarah. "You knew Armand was a prisoner and did not tell me."

  She nodded, her eyes filled with pain he did not think she could have manufactured. "I realized only a few days ago. Sir Northrop said something to me once, something about your brother being hidden where you would never find him—in the attic. Later, I saw a list of prisons on your desk. When I read the name Le Grenier, The Attic, I knew that had to be where he was held. Now, after hearing what Monsieur Pierpont says, I am certain."

  There was more, something else she was not telling him, but for the moment this was all he could take in. They were silent for a long moment, and then she gave him a direct look. "Your old servant risks much by taking us in and agreeing to help you, and you repay him by taking his bed."

  He shook his head. Did she realize she was in just as much danger as Gilbert, if not more? "I plan to take Gilbert back to England with us and repay him handsomely for his kindness. Will that make his one night in a chair worthwhile?"

  She still had a stubborn look on her face, but he could see that inside she had softened. "Perhaps" was all she would allow. She was looking away from him, the thrust of her jaw stubborn. If they had been alone, he would have taken her in his arms and kissed that stubbornness away. He liked that she was not afraid to challenge him. He liked that she worried about an old servant like Gilbert.

  And more than any of that, he would have liked to strip off her clothes and kiss her until they were both shaking with need.

  But Gilbert was just a few feet away.

  Julien did not sleep that night. Gilbert's bed was small and uncomfortable, but no more so than the ship's berth. Sarah was asleep even before he pulled the bedclothes over her. He could tell she was exhausted. Their tenuous circumstances had given her faint blue smudges under her eyes and lines of strain on her forehead.

  She had put on a brave face at dinner, had smiled and conversed with the grace and aplomb of any duchesse, but all he had been able to think of was putting her to bed.

  Not for his own purposes.

  As much as he would have enjoyed making love to her, this was not the place nor the time. He wished their honeymoon could have been somewhere romantic and peaceful. He wished he could spend hours and days exploring her body, giving her pleasure and taking it as well. He prayed there would be time for that in the future. The most he could do now was to protect her. He would not bring her with him to the prison.

  Prison. Julien rolled over then finally gave up, rose, and went to Gilbert's small bedroom window. Parting the curtains, he looked out on a small moonlit courtyard.

  Armand in prison.

  The very idea made Julien shake with rage. Of all the members of the Valère family, Armand was the least deserving of such a punishment. He had been an obedient boy and an intelligent one. Sweet-natured, Armand had rarely misbehaved and then usually only at Bastien's urging.

  Bastien was the bad influence. If Gilbert had said Bastien was in prison, Julien would not have blinked. But Armand…

  Gilbert's words came back to haunt him in the darkness.

  Monsieur Armand has been forgotten.

  He has changed.

  Julien could find no comfort in those words or the cold uneasiness that formed a hard lump in his gut and stayed there, making him feel slightly ill.

  He clenched his fists, fighting to replace that uneasiness with determination. He would find Armand, and he would free his brother.

  Ne quittez pas. He would succeed or die trying.

  ***

  They were gone by the time Sarah awoke. She wakened suddenly, sitting up and staring about the unfamiliar room in confusion. Slowly, chunks from the past few days began to fall into place.

  She was married to Julien. She was a duchesse.

  But before she could savor the improbability of that turn of events, she remembered she was in Paris—the country with whom England was at war—to search for Armand Harcourt, comte de Valère. But Armand was in prison, and Julien—

  Where was Julien?

  She stilled, cocking her head to listen for any signs of life in the small house. She heard none. Pushing the bedclothes back, she jumped up and rushed from the bedroom. Within moments, she had searched the house.

  Gilbert and Julien were gone.

  She did not know why she should be surprised. Of course Julien did not want to take her with him. She had intended to go anyway, which was most likely the reason he had been careful not to wake her when he left.

  She went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed. Now what was she supposed to do all day? She would drive herself mad if she had nothing to occupy her thoughts but worries about Julien's safety. She supposed men never thought of that. They just went off on one adventure after another and never considered how worried those who loved them might be.

  And she did love Julien. Every day in his presence meant her love for him grew. He was everything she could have ever hoped for in a man—handsome, loyal, intelligent, successful.

  But there was one thing missing: he had not told her he loved her.

  Sarah had never thought she would marry. She had barely allowed herself to dream that one day she would have a family of her own, children of her own. She always wanted to be a mother, not just a governess.

  And suddenly all of that seemed possible. Only… what did a marriage and a family mean without the love of her husband?

  Oh, she knew Julien cared for her. Amazingly enough, he desired her. But how long would lust last without love to support it?

  She knew how the aristocracy lived. Men married, begat heirs, and then both partners went on to other pursuits. For men, this usually meant a series of mistresses. The wife found her own lovers or else suffered in silence.

  Sarah had never thought she would be a part of such a pattern. She had never dreamed she would marry a peer—much less a duc! But here she was, and already the cold prick of dread jabbed at her heart. How could she make Julien fall in love with her?

  And if she failed, would their marriage last? Anyone who knew Julien knew he honored his word. He had married her, and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure that marriage was valid once they returned to England.

  But what if he bowed to pressure from his mother or his friends? He was a man driven by duty, but what duty reigned supreme? His duty to her, or his duty to his station, and thus, his family?

  Sarah sighed and began to dress. She feared she would soon find out.

  ***

  Le Grenier was not at all what Julien had expected. It was small and ugly and tucked away. No wonder the peasants of Paris had chosen to storm the Bastille. If they had stormed Le Grenier, the historians would have yawned.

  "You should not scoff, monsieur," Gilbert said. They were seated side by side on the cart Julien had stolen. Julien had stopped across from the prison in the shade of several trees. In a moment, he would climb down and pretend to tend to his horse.

  Not that such subterfuge would be necessary. The lone guard at the prison gate looked bored and sleepy. Every few moments, he hefted his bayonet from one arm to the next as though its weight was too much to bear.

  "I'm not scoffing," Julien said, well aware that he was indeed scoffing. "How many soldiers are present?"

  "The garrison is said to be about fifty soldiers, but I think it is perhaps half that."

  Julien nodded. Twenty-five men was nothing to scoff at, but surely all would not be on duty at the same time. He would strike at night, when the men were tired and dozed in complacency.

  He climbed down from the wagon and lifted the horse's hoof, but he di
d not examine the shoe. Instead, he studied the prison's façade. It was made of old stone, yellow with age. Past the gate stood a wide turret, easily three stories, with a heavy wooden door. Behind the turret was a rectangular building with few windows and no adornment. Julien imagined it housed the cells and perhaps quarters for the prison guards.

  "Where is the exercise yard?" Julien asked, now glancing at the horse's hoof.

  "In the back." Gilbert gestured toward a large gate with another guard just inside. "Through that gate."