Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for THE INDISPENSABLE WIFE:
The Chevalier
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
A word about the author…
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Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Stay away from him and all his friends. It will only lead to pain. Not just physical pain, not just heartbreak, but the end of your reputation, the end of all your prospects.”
Her eyebrows went up; she was going to say something sarcastic. “You’re protecting me? Are you my brother? My father? My cousin?”
Manu opened his mouth to say that yes, he would act as her brother. But he snapped it shut and shook his head. “I’m not wise in the ways of the court.”
She sniffed in derision.
He scowled. “But I’ve spent the last twelve years with men of every class. I wouldn’t sell d’Oronte one of my horses. I wouldn’t sell your future to him, either.”
“It’s not your future, Emmanuel; it’s mine.” Her voice was as low and lethal as a short knife in a dark alley. “Maybe I don’t care anymore about my reputation. Maybe I’d like to flirt. Maybe I’d like a dalliance before I move to my property in Normandy and live the rest of my life alone.”
Manu stared. Alone in Normandy? He thought she liked the court.
She turned her back and marched to the next door, which she yanked open. She shut it softly behind her, showing remarkable restraint.
Praise for THE INDISPENSABLE WIFE:
“Ms. Lodge reminded me how much I loved reading Dumas [author of The Man in the Iron Mask, The Count of Monte Cristo, Twenty Years After, and The Three Musketeers]. The setting, the court intrigue, but more importantly, the characters. This is a character driven book that left me bereft when I finished. I wanted more of Aurore and Dominique. …Overall, I loved how Ms. Lodge plots the story and her characters come to life for me. I really felt like I was [in] King Louis’ court and the French countryside. The twists and turns that these two have to overcome make for an awesome read… I can’t wait to read more from Ms. Lodge in the future.”
~Harlie’s Books (4.5 Stars)
~*~
And for THE HONORABLE OFFICER:
“A story where every detail comes alive—a perfect marriage of strong characters, an engaging plot, and a time and place rich with detail. Sheer pleasure to read. I highly recommend this book!”
~P.D. Hurst, author of paranormal romance and
young adult contemporary fantasy
The Chevalier
by
Philippa Lodge
Châteaux and Shadows, Book Three
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Chevalier
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Phyllis Laatsch
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Tea Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0810-4
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0811-1
Châteaux and Shadows, Book Three
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my elementary teachers
at McGuffey Laboratory School of Oxford, Ohio,
who encouraged epic horse stories
in my creative writing journal.
To my parents,
who, in spite of my ineptitude,
paid for horseback riding lessons
when I was most horse-mad.
And to my daughter and her Little Ponies.
Chapter One
1678, Western France
Emmanuel, Chevalier de Cantière, thought he recognized the horse cantering up the drive of his house. Not his house but his father’s Poitou property, promised to his second-oldest brother at their father’s death.
A fine, deep bay with white feet and a black mane. Its form was wrong to be truly beautiful, but an all-around excellent riding horse for distance. Long, even stride, though he—if it was the horse Manu thought, from the inn twenty miles north—was nearly exhausted but putting up a good front.
Only when the horse was closer did he bother to look at the rider. One of his older brother’s men. Emmanuel wondered if it was news of another baby. Though why Cédric would send a servant all this way to announce a sixth child, he didn’t know. He hadn’t even heard they were expecting a new one, but the youngest was already…seven? She had been born before he moved to the farm, and he had met her on his trips north. Perhaps his other brother’s wife, Hélène, had her baby. Wouldn’t it be early?
Without changing horses, it was nearly a week to his family. With frequent changes, excellent weather, and little sleep, Manu could cover the distance to his father’s country house in three days. The message must be more urgent than a new baby. Which usually meant bad news, a thought which left Manu gritting his teeth.
And why one servant? There should be at least two, to protect each other.
Ah. A second horse limped around the curve of the lane almost half a mile away, backlit by the setting sun and almost lost in the long, dappled shadows, a jogging servant beside it.
Manu wiped his work gloves on his stained breeches and tied his filly to a fence post as the servant on the bay approached.
The servant swung down from his horse, removed his hat, and bowed low. “Monsieur Emmanuel.”
Manu nodded. What was the servant’s name?
“I have a letter for you from Monsieur le Baron. Madame la Baronesse is gravely ill.”
Manu staggered.
Maman.
****
They left at dawn the next morning: Emmanuel, his friend Jacques who was groom, guard, and right hand, plus a coachman, a groom, and his brother’s two messengers. The messengers had been nearly as exhausted as their horses; Manu had almost left them behind. Some strain of cruelty had made him order them to come along. They wished to return to their homes anyway, and Manu allowed them to ride in his small coach. He wasn’t so cruel as to put them on horseback for another week, of course. He rode his favorite horse, a big bay he had named Vainqueur. Jacques was up on a showy gray mare Manu had been thinking of selling.
At the halfway point, he could no longer stand the slow pace. He and Jacques left Vainqueur, the mare, and his carriage to be brought along in stages. His young stallion neighed for him until he was out of hearing, but Manu had to move faster. From there, they changed horses when possible, and rode slowly when they couldn’t.
Throughout the journey, his heartbeat said, Maman, Maman.
*
***
Manu’s stomach clenched hard as he recognized the landscape near his childhood home. How many times had he ridden out this way to get away from his older brothers and sister—and nieces and nephews? And from his father? And—he hated to admit it, even to himself—his mother?
He needed most to escape when his mother got tired of him. Until he was thirteen, they had lived in the family townhouse in Paris or at whichever palace the king dragged the courtiers to. They only came down to the country house when his father insisted on his right to see his son, which he did at least once a year. Emmanuel hated court, his mother dressing him up and leading him around like a puppy as she gossiped viciously with other bitter ladies and gentlemen who masked their judgment in piety.
He set his horse to canter—it was too tired to gallop—up the long driveway to his father’s château. Jacques, seeing the road clear of danger and being exhausted himself, waved him on.
Manu swung down at the front door and hesitated for just a moment, looking up at the gray stone portico. He handed the horse’s reins to a groom and leapt up the stairs. The majordomo opened the door and bowed to him.
“My mother?” he barked, sounding angrier than he intended.
“She is gone, Monsieur Emmanuel.”
“Gone?” His mother had died? He had come as quickly as he could. His knees wobbled.
The majordomo steadied him, then apologized for grabbing him. “She left this morning for Paris.”
Manu’s spine snapped straight. “Paris?”
“Oui, Monsieur. She woke up two days after your father sent for you.”
Manu brushed past the servant, the heels of his traveling boots ringing on the marble floor of the entryway.
She couldn’t wait for me to come home? She didn’t know I would come? He opened his mouth to say as much but decided against complaining to a servant. “Is my father in residence?”
“He’s in the west field, Monsieur. I’ve just sent a boy to tell him you arrived.”
“And my room?” Manu gritted his teeth, practically snarling.
The majordomo bowed and assured him all was ready, but not before Manu saw the warning look in the man’s eye. The majordomo took it personally when anyone criticized the baron, as Manu was wont to do.
Manu strode up the family staircase to his small bedroom, a few doors down from his mother’s. On her rare visits, she stayed in the east wing, the rest of the family in the west.
He had barely washed some of the travel dirt from his face and torso when there was a knock at the door. He yanked on a shirt and shouted for whoever it was to come in.
His sister threw the door open and exclaimed in delight. Her pretty face was developing lines around her mouth and eyes. The corner of her left eye tugged down slightly, due to the scar on her temple, but she had a cap low on her forehead, hiding the round scar there.
As always when seeing her after a long absence, he felt a tug of anxiety and guilt. He had failed her once when he was a boy. She had almost died. She had never blamed him, though everyone else had.
“Manu!” She came forward to pull his head down and kiss his cheeks. “My favorite brother! Have you grown again? I keep forgetting you are this tall. I declare you are taller even than Dom and Jean-Louis, and they are taller than Cédric and Henri. Oh, you are more muscular, too!” She squeezed his bicep. “Look at you! So handsome!”
“Bonjour, Aurore.” Manu barely managed to make himself heard.
“I am glad to see you! My favorite brother!” Her smile slipped away. “I am sorry about Maman. Papa sent you another message when she awoke, but you must have passed the courier on the road. Or taken a different route. And now she…well, she is better, and you must stay for a few days at least before going back to Poitou.” She embraced him again and danced to the door. “If you can wait twenty days, Dom is thinking of going to Dumouton then. We can all travel together. We’ll go up to court for a week or so first, of course. We cannot travel as fast as you, even though Dario thinks he could keep up with you on horseback, of course, but you can be the outrider. Or ride in the carriage and keep me company. Dario will love to see his young uncle, as the older uncles are all as old as me and therefore ancient. I am afraid Dom and I are just too elderly to understand him.” She shook her head, jokingly mocking her ten-year-old son. “Dom should be here tonight. He went over to the château-fort a few days ago but promised to be back today to stay through Sunday.”
Manu shook his head at his sister’s usual rambling. “I should see Maman before I go back to Poitou.”
“Ah, oui. I suppose so.” Aurore shrugged. “As I said, we’ll go up to court for a week or so.”
None of his siblings appreciated their mother. But then, once he supported their side in the constant battles, he had felt Maman’s sharp tongue more than once. More than once? Constantly. She’d refused to see him for over a year when his father moved him to his brother-in-law’s château to be tutored and to train in weaponry. Even over the last few years, when he wrote to tell her he would be visiting the rest of the family, she’d told him not to come see her.
“She was nearly recovered but still pale and shaky. She wouldn’t listen when we told her to stay and rest. She…”
The hurt flashed across Aurore’s face so quickly that if Emmanuel hadn’t known to look for it, he wouldn’t have seen. His mother had said something horrid to sweet Aurore.
He sighed. “She has to have known I would come.”
Aurore hugged him around the waist, her puffy, lacy cap barely brushing his chin. He squeezed her close for a few seconds. Her silence seemed ominous to Manu, since Aurore could talk through anything.
They heard footsteps in the hall and turned to the door as their father entered, talking even before he came in.
The Baron de la Brosse’s face was grayer and more lined than just a year before, when Manu had last seen him, though he smiled and laughed and embraced Manu as heartily as ever. He said he had sent a message to their oldest brother and his family to come over from their smaller house for dinner.
Manu backed away, irritated again. “Mon père, why did you send me a message if Maman was not truly ill?”
His father sighed. “She had a terrible bout of the grippe. She was more ill than I have ever seen her. We couldn’t rouse her, so I sent for all you children. She awoke two days later, confused, so I sent the next message, but the messengers must have missed you.”
“Jacques and I took a faster route on horseback and let the carriage go over the roads.”
“Voilà! I hope my men met up with yours and didn’t get all the way to Poitou before turning around. They’ll be at least two days behind you. Maybe more, since they can’t travel tomorrow.” His father glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Manu didn’t know if he was assessing to see if Manu approved or disapproved of traveling on Sunday.
“But Maman? How could you let her leave?”
“Ah. Your mother hasn’t let me tell her what to do for thirty or more years, mon fils. She packed up her maid and her men and was gone.”
His father sounded so cheerful Manu had to turn away, clenching his fists. The anger he had learned from his mother rushed into him.
His father strode out, calling for his valet.
He felt Aurore’s warm hand on his back through his shirt. “Go to Paris, Manu. She’s lonely, even if she made herself that way. Oh, and she left her companion here because she fell ill. The companion, I mean. She’s better now. You can take her back to Maman.”
He shoved down his angry reaction and nodded. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
****
Catherine de Fouet slipped silently into the drawing room, hoping no one would notice her. And no one did; there was no one there. She exhaled in relief. The Comtesse de Bures, her host’s daughter, had flitted into her bedchamber, felt Catherine’s forehead, pinched her cheeks to make them rosier, and declared her healthy. Catherine hadn’t had a fever even when she was ill, but she’d been so le
thargic she couldn’t raise her head from her pillow. Yet who could argue with Madame de Bures? Catherine was nearly healthy and would have been ashamed to hide in her room.
Her gown fell somewhere in the vast, imprecise borderline between the elegant court gowns the baronesse bought for her and her shabby at-home gowns. Somewhere between the frilly gowns appropriate for young demoiselles and the severe, dark gowns of the confirmed old maid. The ensemble was mostly pale brown, with some blue panels in the skirt and pretty, blue, wave-like embroidery at the neck and waist of the stomacher, which made her think of the sea near her home in Normandy. She had pinned her mother’s opal-and-silver brooch to the strip of creamy linen chemise that showed above the neckline of her stomacher. The brooch was the only jewelry left her after her uncle barred her from her parents’ rooms after their deaths. Her uncle had probably sold the other jewelry.
Her clothing was perfect for blending into the background without quite looking like a servant. Perfect for being overlooked. Perfect for the baronesse’s companion, when the companion was the daughter of a dead friend and paid in food, lodging, and clothing. A lady-in-waiting would have more style. A handmaiden, maybe? The baronesse wasn’t there to see her, to pass her critical eye over Catherine and hmph.
Catherine looked around the drawing room, empty even of servants. She held herself up very straight as she glided with a little extra hip sway to a small armless chair.
The fine, beautiful, rich demoiselle sweeps into the room. Every eye is on her as she curtsies to the handsome beau, who bows deeply, smiling in approval, then to the nobles, who raise their quizzing glasses to look her over. She sweeps up and smiles to her right, where her beaming family tries—and fails—to look nonchalant. Her handsome father gestures to a chair next to her mother’s, and she goes to it, sweeps around, and sinks slowly to the edge of her—
A young man in an ill-fitting justaucorps, long blond hair tied back with a dark ribbon, stood in the doorway, his face scrunched in bad-tempered confusion. “Are you the companion?”
He strode into the room, glancing toward the landscape painting Catherine had just curtsied to. He looked familiar. His face was much like the baron’s, but with a sour expression.
The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) Page 1