Moi aussi, he almost said. He stared at her profile for a long while before offering his arm. They stepped out into the hot midday sun. Mademoiselle de Fouet adjusted her hat to keep the sun off her face, and he donned his brother Cédric’s hat, which was much nicer than his ragged riding hat but too big. He wasn’t sure he was thankful for his brother’s loan of clothing, as he would almost have preferred to wear his dusty leather riding clothes, which had the advantage of being comfortable.
They walked toward the carriage that stood waiting to take the ladies back to the manor. Manu’s thoughts turned back to confessionals.
“And what about lust, Mademoiselle de Fouet?”
She jerked in surprise, and he saw her cheeks flush red before she turned her head away and the brim of her hat obscured her face.
He stopped short in surprise, staring at her hat. Except for the moment when she hadn’t known he was watching and curtseyed to imaginary people, she had seemed like a hard-shelled, bitter image of his mother. That she lusted surprised him.
He wanted to ask after whom. He dreaded it was him. No, he dreaded it was someone else.
Manu took a long stride to catch up with her and helped her into the carriage with the other ladies. He stepped back with his father, brother, brother-in-law, and various nephews to return on foot with the servants. His father had always made a good case for walking, except in the worst weather, to give the horses and the servants more rest on Sunday. Manu wasn’t sure how walking half a league was rest for the servants who had been up since before the dawn to lay fires and cook breakfast, but he didn’t argue.
“Well, Manu!”
He thought the voice from behind his right shoulder was his father, but when he turned to look, it was his brother Cédric, twelve years older than he and heir to the barony. He looked and sounded more like their father all the time. He was even getting a bit of a belly.
“How is the horse farm?”
Manu narrowed his eyes to be sure his brother wasn’t teasing. He had been the most set against Manu starting a breeding operation, saying Jean-Louis would get better rents from grain harvests. Besides, a truly good horse breeder should set up operation close to a royal palace and hope to come to the attention of the court, not lose himself in the provinces. Manu could only afford the nominal fee that Jean-Louis charged him and liked being far from the court and from his family’s interference.
“Excellent, thank you.” Manu tried to sound more polite than he felt. “I’ve just sold a young stallion to a duke’s household. He hopes to train the stallion to race.”
Cédric appeared genuinely pleased. “Dom told me. It’s an excellent coup for you.”
Manu bristled at the implication he had success only through luck and not skill, but felt a hand on his other shoulder before he could retort. Dom smiled at him and raised his eyebrows in warning at Cédric, his oldest friend. “I’ll have to have a look at your horses when I’m in Poitou in a few weeks, Manu. If I delay, I won’t be able to afford your prices.”
“You wouldn’t have anything in carriage horses, would you?” asked Cédric. “My leaders are getting old, and I could use a new pair. Matched, if you have them, but anything strong, with good looks.”
They talked about horses all the way home, Manu describing his newest foals and Dom describing the broodmare he had tried to buy from Manu the year before, but which Manu had refused to part with. Cédric’s oldest son, Charles, tall, gangly, and almost a man, walked with them, listening and asking questions. The younger boys, including Dom’s only son, Dario, darted back and forth, chasing each other and the servant boys.
Dario darted in front of him and jumped up to knock Manu’s hat off. Laughing, Manu clamped one hand down on his hat and shook his fist in mock anger. The boy cackled and raced away. Manu couldn’t remember a time when he was as happy and free as his nephews, especially on a Sunday.
Manu’s mind, though, kept drifting to the becoming flush on Mademoiselle de Fouet’s cheeks. And to lust.
****
Catherine excused herself after the cold midday dinner. She still got dizzy after too much effort, even though she was much stronger than a few days before. She hoped she was well enough to leave for Paris the next day, as she didn’t think she could ask Monsieur Emmanuel to wait. She did not know how else she was to return to the baronesse without inconvenience to others, unless she waited a week or more to go up with the de Bures family. She worried about the baronesse, too. Catherine hadn’t been able to rise from her bed to wish her patroness a good journey.
The baronesse was up to something. Their voyage to the country had been a surprise to Catherine. The baronesse hadn’t seemed to have a real purpose, other than to argue with her estranged husband. She had always been honest with Catherine, but this trip appeared to have been a whim. Maybe she had felt her illness coming on?
Or was it something in Paris they had been fleeing, which the baronesse now faced alone? Catherine frowned in worry. She owed a debt of loyalty to the lady.
****
Manu paced in his own room. He was avoiding his father, who had invited him for an evening stroll in the gardens. After spending a few happy hours in the stables and then kicking and throwing a ball with his nephews, he had pled tiredness and a need to get ready to leave, but was doing nothing at all. He flung himself down in a chair and penned a note to his head groom in Poitou, saying he was going to be delayed by two or three more weeks and to let Pierrot do the haggling if anyone wanted to buy a horse. And not to sell the carriage horses because his brother might want them.
A knock sounded at his door. His father had cornered him.
Manu unfroze and took a deep breath. No need for his father to see he’d been dreading a private conversation. “Ah. Would you make sure this letter gets sent to Poitou, please, Monsieur?” He was too bossy and dismissive. “I mean, please have your servants take care of it. I’ll leave them a few coins, of course.” Too groveling. His father could afford to send a message better than he could.
His father took the letter and tucked it into a pocket. “I have something serious to talk to you about, mon fils.”
Emmanuel searched his father’s face, wondering what could be wrong.
“It’s past time you married, Emmanuel.”
Manu almost groaned. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the announcement, since he was twenty-five and all his older brothers except Henri had married when they were barely twenty. His sister had been fifteen.
“I haven’t pressed the issue, since I made such a mistake in choosing for Jean-Louis.”
Jean-Louis’ first wife had been a charmer with a sharp tongue and a penchant for unfaithfulness. Jean-Louis had married her cousin Hélène a few years after his wife died. The quiet, powerful devotion between them had made Manu uneasy when he was younger, but now it appealed to him in much the same way Dom and Aurore’s constant kissing made him wish for kissing of his own.
“Henri didn’t want to marry. He was supposed to be a priest, if you remember?”
Manu nodded. Of course he remembered; he wasn’t stupid. His mother had cackled about how the plan had fallen through because Henri hated the monastery and begged to be brought home. Now Henri was living with his male lover, the two of them helping run Jean-Louis’ furniture factory.
“And now you wish to raise horses, and you need both land and gold.”
Manu nodded again. He wanted to say his father could give him the small estate in Poitou, as Jean-Louis already had a manufactory and a rich wife. Manu had asked once before, and his father had been adamant that either his second son would get the property or his heir’s second son.
“So I’ve been looking around at court, keeping my ears and eyes open for a young lady with a good dowry—enough to buy a farm, something good for horses.” Papa looked quite pleased with himself.
Here it comes.
“Alors, I’ve whittled the list down a bit, made some inquiries with the girls’ fathers, and so on. Not everyo
ne’s willing to marry off their girls to a fourth son of a mere baron with nothing but his family name, good looks, and a few horses. Most are looking to marry up, find someone with an independence their daughter’s dowry can add to instead of their daughter’s dowry being the only thing keeping her in fancy gowns. Some on my list are older girls, ones who haven’t found a husband after a few years. Others are third or fourth daughters. They’ve got a good dowry, but their fathers married off the older sisters and are short on candidates.”
At Manu’s grimace, his father said, “I found girls who aren’t so ugly they hurt your eyes, of course. Can’t have a handsome boy like you married without attraction. And, what’s been harder, I’ve had to eliminate the bitter ones, the ones who would cause a fuss if you didn’t spend your life doting on them. The ones who would hold their dowry over your head.”
The ones like his mother, then, who, by all reports, had already been unpleasant even before her father had a bastard with his wife’s companion: a young woman much like Mademoiselle de Fouet, without family, money, or connections. The bastard Michel was Aurore’s favorite brother, no matter what she said to all of her legitimate brothers. Michel had saved Aurore’s life twelve years before, even before their father acknowledged him. Manu always tried to not be jealous, especially because he himself had failed to follow orders in the battle to retake the château. Michel was Dom’s right-hand man in the training school. Manu liked Michel well enough. Michel’s wife and children, while not quite feeling like family, always welcomed him politely.
Papa kept talking. “And so, well, the dowries themselves aren’t spectacular. But when you go up to court to see your mother, I’d like you to look the ladies over, introduce yourself to their fathers.”
“Which ladies?” Manu asked, suspicious of the reply.
“Oh, I’ve written them down, along with the names of their family members. You know, the uncles and aunts who can be relied on to put a good word in for you, if you impress them.”
Manu unfolded the paper his father handed him. He scanned only a few lines, but the page was crowded with his father’s large, bold writing. Front and back. And there was a second page. His father had put a tremendous amount of effort into this. Manu was unworthy of this much attention. “I don’t know any of these people.” He thrust out the papers.
His father didn’t take them. “You haven’t been at court since you were thirteen, mon fils. Not for any length of time, anyway. If there’s one thing I didn’t agree with Aurore and Dominique about, it was not getting you in with the right people. These… None of them are in your mother’s circle.”
Memories of supreme loneliness welled up in Emmanuel. Having only a nanny with him for days on end, with an occasional appearance by his mother. Being allowed to play only with certain children. Sneaking out to borrow a horse, and the spanking being worth it.
“Why did you not take me to court with you when I was older, then?”
His father sighed. “Besides that you hated me? You said you didn’t want to go. Even Dominique and Aurore tried to talk you into going more.”
Manu nodded, staring blindly at the list. It was true. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
His father’s arm went around his shoulders for a moment. “I’m sorry, too, Manu.”
****
The sun wasn’t even up the next morning when the maid woke Catherine. She jumped as though burned, and the maid staggered back in surprise.
“Monsieur le Baron said you would leave at first light, Mademoiselle.”
Once outside, she didn’t catch more than a glimpse of Monsieur Emmanuel speaking with the men who would ride alongside the carriage as guards. His family was up early to see them off, and there were several boys—the de Bures heir and Monsieur Cédric’s sons and another boy whom she couldn’t identify—speaking earnestly to one of the grooms and pointing at horses. Madame de Bures dragged Catherine off to the side.
“Do be kind to Emmanuel, please.” The comtesse was uncharacteristically serious.
Catherine raised her eyebrows. She had never mastered the trick of raising just one.
The comtesse tilted her head fetchingly. “He’s very upset about Maman, you know. He always gets unpleasant when he’s hurt. He is very much a man in that way.”
Catherine glanced at Monsieur Emmanuel and noticed he was very much a man in other ways, too. Her face felt warm.
The comtesse smiled slyly at her, her light brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “They’re all like that, in my experience. They can’t admit when something is wrong. They’ll be funny or angry, but never admit they’re sad or lonely—they bear up stoically and hope the trouble goes away. When we were children, Cédric would make us laugh until it hurt, and only later would I find out it was after Maman had used a switch on him and left bruises. Jean-Louis would become even quieter—never say a word. Henri is very like Manu—they lash out.”
Catherine looked away. She had learned manipulation and well-placed verbal jabs, but mostly she withdrew from a challenge and let the person lashing out feel guilty. “Why are you telling me this?”
The comtesse laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe I want you to know that if Manu is nasty, it’s not because of you. It’s what he learned from our mother. Since you know how to deal with Maman better than any of us, you can help him. Don’t let him be cruel.”
“You are protecting me, Madame?” What an odd feeling: someone willing to guard Catherine in spite of her hard shell.
“Oh, please, I told you to call me Aurore. Well, in front of anyone except my mother, I suppose. She wouldn’t like you being friendly with me. I’ve always dealt with her by avoiding her and instead seeking out friendly faces and singing and smiling. And by talking. Always talking. Like right now.” The comtesse laughed at herself, just as Monsieur Emmanuel called for everyone to saddle up.
Five minutes of confusion later, Catherine was in the baron’s traveling carriage, a very young maid across from her. The girl grinned excitedly and bounced in her seat when the coachman shouted, “Hue!” and the carriage lurched into motion.
Catherine looked at the girl. “I told them I didn’t need a maid.”
The girl’s face fell, and her eyes darted to the carriage door as if Catherine would throw her out. “They said it was for propriety, Mademoiselle.”
“Oh, I know, but I am hardly more than a servant myself. I can make do with a maid from the inn tonight and will be back with the baronesse tomorrow.”
The poor girl sank down in her seat, looking like she wanted to cry. Catherine felt like a bully. She went on more gently, “I am glad to have some company, of course. If I had realized what the baron had in mind, I would have argued against taking you away from your family.”
The girl wilted further. “I’ve never been to Paris,” she muttered.
Catherine sighed. She’d be kind to the girl until she could send her back. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen, Mademoiselle.” The girl sat up straighter.
“I was sixteen the first time I came to court.”
The girl smiled slightly, but when Catherine didn’t go on, she looked out the window. They rode in silence.
When she’d first arrived at court, Catherine had been shocked. She, the best-liked girl in her district of Normandy, was completely overlooked because she wasn’t beautiful or vivacious enough and her dowry was tiny. Besides, she was already promised to the third son of a useless drunkard. Her fiancé, Laurent, was kind, at least. Her father was actively disliked by many other courtiers. In fact, her popularity in Normandy might have been due to people trying to get on her father’s good side or out of pity for her sweet-natured mother.
At court, Catherine had been invisible. Later, invisibility became an advantage.
She’d lain with Laurent several times because they were engaged and the wedding was fast approaching. He made her feel visible. They hadn’t had much to talk about—the only thing he was interested in was his future in the army—his father had pr
omised him a commission.
When he died, she thought she would die, too. Her father promised he’d find her another husband, then went off to a hunting party, dragging her mother along in an attempt at reconciliation. They weren’t the only ones to get ill at the party but had been two of the three who died. They had never agreed on anything; that they both ate large quantities of the same fish seemed suspect to Catherine. She had been powerless to launch any sort of investigation, prostrate in grief, and friendless. Few people missed her father and hardly anyone had known her mother. Even fewer knew her.
And yes, there were debts. Her father’s Paris house was sold to pay them. Her uncle inherited the debt-ridden estate and proceeded to drink it away. Catherine was left on the mercy of her father’s friends. She had been back to Normandy only twice in the intervening eight years, once to rent out the farm and a second time when a flood wiped out the crops. Not only was the renter unable to pay the rent, but the people who worked the land were in danger of starving. She had spent far more than she earned that year. She had also seen that the small, unoccupied house on her land was beginning to fall into ruin, while the barns and other outbuildings were seen to by her renter.
She wondered what the maid hoped to see in the two days she would have in the capital before she went home. A glance across at the child showed her the girl was pale and swallowing convulsively. Catherine leapt to her feet to bang on the panel at the front of the coach. “Stop! Stop! She’s ill!”
The coach slid and lurched to a halt. Catherine swung the door open and slipped to the ground, holding up her hands to the girl, whose feet barely touched the ground before she bent over, throwing up everything she had eaten for breakfast and what appeared to be everything from the day before, too. Catherine’s stomach roiled at the sight, smell, and horrible noises. She crouched down, holding back the wispy tendrils of the girl’s dark hair that had escaped her linen cap and patting her back as she heaved.
A groom approached, but the girl gripped Catherine’s sleeve.
The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) Page 3