Louisa Rawlings

by Promise of Summer

  He opened his eyes. His face was haggard with disappointment, resignation, bitterness. “I might have, if my father were still alive. But after the estate passed to Hubert, my lawyer in Guadeloupe advised me to put it out of my mind. It’s too complicated now. Too many claimants. Hubert. Léonard. Léonard’s future children. Even Véronique. At the end of a costly legal battle there’d be nothing left for any of us.”

  “Then go home, Lucien. Go back to Guadeloupe, and grow your tobacco, and be happy with what you have.”

  His eyes shone with an unholy light. He whirled and pounded at the wall of the tunnel with his fist. “It isn’t enough! Damn it, it isn’t enough!”

  “Lucien!” She trembled at his savagery, but her heart was breaking.

  “My father is dead,” he said through clenched teeth. “The villain is gone. Where do I spend my rage now?” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Lord,” he groaned. “I should never have come back.”

  She hated the whole foul scheme. “I should never have come at all.” She put her hand on his arm.

  He lifted his head. The moment of weakness had passed. “Then let’s put an end to things as soon as possible,” he said coldly. “How soon do you want to die?”

  A chilling choice of words. “I forget how cruel you can be. But I hate to do this to Adelaïde. To break her heart again. It’s so cold-blooded.”

  He laughed mockingly. “Isn’t it a bit late to develop a conscience, my little thief? You did it for the money. For yourself and for the Givets. If you’re going to lead an unprincipled life, you can’t allow yourself to soften.”

  “Is that your motto?”

  His satanic eyebrows arched in amusement. “Emblazoned on my bastard coat of arms,” he said. “Look at it this way. You’ll have given her several months of happiness that she didn’t warrant. And then you’ll go back to the Givets, who need you just as much.”

  She stared at him, struck by a sudden, frightening thought. “Ave Maria, I can’t go back to the Givets. I can’t! That would be the first place Bonnefous would look, if I disappeared again. Suicide or not.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” His expression was bland.

  She gasped. “You knew that! Damn it, you knew I couldn’t return.”

  “I suppose it occurred to me, at some point. But by then it was too late to back out.”

  “And you didn’t care,” she said bitterly. “Not if it stood in the way of your scheme. Your money.”

  He shrugged. “If you choose to think me a monster, I give you leave. I probably am. And damned a hundred times over. But, as to your problem, why don’t you stay?”

  “Forever?” she whispered.

  “Why not? They’ve accepted you as Véronique. There’s no reason to think the real Véronique will ever return. You could visit the Givets whenever you wished. It would seem natural enough, to continue to interest yourself in their lives.”

  Forever? She paced the small space, thinking it over. “Why not, indeed?” she said at last. The risk of discovery was no more dangerous than the risks she’d taken every day on the streets of Bordeaux. And perhaps there was another reason to want to stay. “It might be interesting at that,” she said. “Because, you see, I’ve begun to wonder if I truly am Véronique.”

  He guffawed loudly. “Are you such a sharper that you’ve begun to believe your own flimflammery?”

  “Don’t laugh at me, Lucien. I know it seems foolish. But sometimes I get the oddest feelings. As though I belong here.”

  “Don’t be a little fool. If you were Véronique, wouldn’t you know it?”

  “But if something happened to Véronique, something terrible, could it have been wiped from my memory?”

  “I’ve seen it happen with seamen who’ve escaped from the cannibals in the South Seas. A surfeit of horror that wipes out all recollection.” He shook his head. “But that wouldn’t explain what Topaze was doing with Madame Benoîte her mother while Véronique was living at Grismoulins!”

  “No, I suppose not. It does seem foolish.”

  “Then you’ve decided to stay.”

  She bit her lip. “If I stay, what happens when the family learns that the money is gone for good?”

  “I know how Farigoule handles these delicate matters. He’ll send you a few more dividends. In the meanwhile, he can be looking around for legitimate enterprises that are failing. When they collapse, he can say that your money had been put into them, and your investments are gone. It will probably cost a bit more. And he’s already taken his commission from our ninety-three thousand. But we can negotiate the price when we make the arrangements with him.”

  She nodded. “It sounds reasonable. If need be, I’ll turn back the dividends to him, in secret.”

  “Then you’ll stay?”

  She took a deep breath. How strange life could be. Such twists and turns. “Yes.”

  “Good!” He grinned, a diabolical smile.

  It made her shiver. “Why are you smiling so?”

  “Because, dear cousin, your Cousin Lucien is about to return from Guadeloupe, sweep you off your feet, and marry you.”

  “Sweet Jesus. You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? Véronique isn’t my blood cousin.”

  “But they’d never allow it.”

  “Didn’t you tell me they gave you leave to choose your own husband? And quickly?”

  “Only because of Véronique’s disgrace. To save the family honor. And Hubert insists on a suitable husband.”

  “You’ve proved yourself adept at getting your way. I’m sure Fleur could be persuaded. She’ll be your ally in this. And then we could always elope, if there were difficulties.”

  “What about Guadeloupe?”

  “I’d still spend most of my time there. You’d be free to stay here at Grismoulins, or join your husband in the islands.”

  She shook her head in bewilderment. “But why would you do it? What’s to be gained? You’d lose your Adriane de Ronceray.”

  “What’s to be gained? Lord! All of the Marcigny holdings—the entailed estates and the half-million livres of Adelaïde’s personal fortune.” He smiled, baring his teeth. “And the satisfaction of knowing that the Chalotais would be forced to take me back, to accept Marie-Madeleine’s spawn as a member of the family again.” He laughed. His eyes were starkly blue against the deep tan of his face. “It’s a pity you can’t inherit Grismoulins as well. But, knowing Hubert, I’d guess he’ll marry off Léonard. And impregnate the girl himself, if he has to, to keep Grismoulins for his own heirs.”

  “It’s madness. They’ll connect you to me at once.”

  “Not at all. We’ll be almost strangers at first, though I’ll be surprised and delighted at dear Cousin Véronique’s return. We’ll continue our secret signals at the mill, just to be safe. At any rate, didn’t you say that Bonnefous has cleared me of any connection to you? I’ll tell them that when his agent began to nose about Guadeloupe, it reminded me of how much I missed my dear family. I’ve come from the islands this very week. I’ll write to Farigoule. He can have one of the captains in Nantes swear that I’ve just set foot on the coast of France.”

  She frowned at him. Was she a blind fool? He’d been sunning himself, all these weeks. Just for this. To reappear, seeming newly arrived from the Indies. He’d planned it, exactly this way, and never said a word. It gave her a cold chill. “You in Guadeloupe. I in Grismoulins. And what if I begin to find the arrangement not to my liking?”

  He spread his hands. “You can still commit suicide, leaving me a very rich widower.”

  It was becoming so complicated. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t worry. Before you vanished again, we’d work out an agreement. You’d get your fair share of the inheritance.” He rubbed his hands together. “It will be a short courtship, I think. I’d like to be back in the islands by the end of the summer, to see how our tobacco is doing.”

  Damn the man! Did he even have a thought for her? It w
as always the money. Always his revenge. And she was expected to go along with it, meekly to agree to it. His instrument. His means to an end.

  No, by Sainte Elizabeth! She was Véronique now. Not Topaze. She was worth more than his grudging acknowledgement! “It will not be a short courtship,” she said coldly. “If you want me, you’ll have to woo me.”

  He chuckled. “When I’ve already bedded you?”

  “That was in the past. I mean it, Lucien. You’re going to have to make me want to marry you. If not, I can think of at least two gallants who’d be happy to take your place in my bed.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I think I know how to deal with you.” He turned on his heel and stamped away through the rain.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Oh, you’ve beaten me again, Léonard.” Topaze threw down her dice and laughed. It warmed her heart to see the smile on Léonard’s face; for that, she’d willingly lose at backgammon every day of the week.

  Adelaïde put down her tatting and looked around the small drawing room. “It must be time for bed,” she said to no one in particular.

  Hubert raised his head from his book. He consulted his watch on its fob. “Nearly ten.” He glanced at Bonnefous and shook his head at Père François snoring in a corner, bewigged head lolling to one side. “As usual, the good Father has ensured his rest with an excess of wine.” He snapped his fingers. “Justine, ring for my valet de chambre. I’m ready for bed.”

  It was a cool evening. Justine had been toasting her toes before the fire. She started to squeak a protest, saw the look on Hubert’s face, and changed her mind. She flounced to the bellpull and tugged it twice.

  The door opened almost at once. Paul, the young footman, stood in the entrance. “Monsieur, there’s a gentleman who wishes to be received.”

  “At this hour of the night? Who is he?”

  “He didn’t give his name.”

  Hubert’s voice was sharp. “Go back and get the gentleman’s name.”

  “Renaudot.” The door swung wide. Lucien stood on the threshold, his coat dusty from travel. Adelaïde gasped.

  Hubert muttered an oath. “Can it be Simon’s brat, come to visit us? I wonder they’d let you in the country.”

  The harsh planes of Lucien’s face were intensified by his satanic smile. “How kind of you to care, Uncle. I still have my baptismal certificate. I may be a bastard and a Huguenot outcast, but I can still prove I was raised a Catholic. It’s safety enough.”

  “And welcome in this house.” Adelaïde’s voice shook as she rose to her feet. “Don’t quarrel with me on this, Hubert. Welcome, I say.” She held out trembling arms. “Lucien, my dear boy.”

  Lucien stared. Topaze could read the distrust on his face. He nodded curtly. “Aunt Adelaïde. They told me, in Saint Michel, that you’ve been ailing. At least those villagers who didn’t spit at me as I passed. It’s rather amusing to be a pariah. To see how eager the world is to show you that you’re despised.”

  Adelaïde began to weep as Lucien made no move toward her. She dropped her arms slowly. “Not despised by me,” she whispered.

  “Fleur!” Topaze rushed to Adelaïde’s side and urged her back into her chair. She glared at Lucien. “They said you were in the New World, Cousin Lucien. Is that where you learned to be hateful? Among the red savages?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is this Cousin Véronique who chides me? When did you come home? When you’d caused enough grief?”

  “What do you want?” growled Hubert.

  “To see my family again. To see how the title of Comte de Chalotais suits you, Uncle Hubert.” He squinted like a sailor scanning the ocean. “Almost as arrogant as the last comte, I should guess. And far more deserving of the title than he, since you yearned for it with such unremitting jealousy for all the years that I can remember.”

  “You insolent whelp.” Hubert rose menacingly to his feet.

  “Monsieur le Comte, I beg you.” Bonnefous restrained Hubert, then scowled at Lucien. “What is your purpose in coming here, monsieur?”

  Lucien’s eyes were cold. “Who the devil are you?”

  “Monsieur Blaise Bonnefous, solicitor.”

  Lucien bowed low, pulling his tricorne from beneath his arm and sweeping it against the floor. “You’re the very reason I came back, monsieur. When I learned from my overseer that a Monsieur Bonnefous’s agent, acting on behalf of the Chalotais, was asking questions about me, it reminded me of my dear family. Lord, I positively yearned for them. And I was curious as to why you wanted me. I took the first ship out of Guadeloupe that very week.”

  Père François woke with a snort, belched loudly, and gazed sleepily about the sitting room. At sight of Lucien he jumped to his feet and crossed himself. “Now may God preserve us!”

  “You seem well preserved, Reverend Father. I could have hoped that God had welcomed you into the Kingdom of Heaven by now.” He smiled as Père François sputtered. “As your just reward, of course. For rooting out heretics. Tell me, was it you who betrayed us?”

  Père François looked horrified. “Not I, as God is above!”

  “You’ll stay the night, of course,” said Adelaïde quickly.

  Lucien strode to the fireplace and warmed his hands at the blaze. “I’d hoped to stay for a few weeks. To renew acquaintances.”

  Père François quivered in distress. “But the disgrace! How would it look?”

  Adelaïde ignored him and looked at her husband. “Hubert? May he stay?”

  Hubert shrugged. “Well, why not? As long as he’s here. It might be amusing to see what…Monsieur Renaudot is up to.” He beckoned. “Come, Justine. I’m tired.”

  “Justine?” Lucien stepped in front of the girl. He smiled and flicked at a ribbon on her bosom. “Not a member of the family, surely. Someone new. For I’d never have forgotten you.” Justine’s eyes opened wide. She blushed and giggled nervously.

  Hubert clutched at her elbow and pulled her toward the door. “I see you’ve brought your sword, nephew,” he said softly. “You might have occasion to use it.”

  “Why?”

  Hubert smiled coldly. “True. Dueling is a gentleman’s sport. Poaching, on the other hand”—his eyes flashed to Justine—“is practiced by ruffians. It’s a serious offense. The lord of the manor can apply any punishment he chooses. Whipping, perhaps. Even hanging.”

  Lucien laughed, a chilling sound. “It must be gratifying to be lord of the manor.”

  “It is indeed. Now, where the devil is my valet?” Hubert nodded and left the room, pushing Justine before him.

  Bonnefous took the still quaking Père François by the arm and the two men bade the company good night. “I look forward to your visit, Monsieur Renaudot,” said Bonnefous.

  Lucien raised a mocking eyebrow. “Another carrion crow, eager to feed on the scandal?”

  “Not at all. I’m sworn to uphold the laws of France. I don’t have to like some of them. Your servant, monsieur. Come, Reverend Father.”

  Léonard had been silent all this time, playing with the backgammon stones. Now he stood up, waves of color washing his face. “I r-r-remember you, Cousin L-L-Lucien.”

  Lucien softened. “I’m glad. Perhaps we can fish together, as we did in the old days.”

  Adelaïde sighed. “Help me up, Véronique. You must be tired, Lucien. How did you come?”

  “I rented a horse in Parthenay.”

  She moved slowly to stand in front of him. “Before I retire, I’ll see that you’re unpacked, and your horse is stabled. Would you like to be in your old room?”

  His eyes were hard. “I’d prefer not.”

  “Of course, my dear. I understand.” Her voice broke. She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, trembling fingers reaching toward the scar. He scowled and jerked his head away. “Good night,” she whispered.

  Topaze frowned. Damn the man! He’d never even left a message to tell her he was coming tonight. And now to behave so recklessly…it was madness! She stamped her foot,
her amber eyes blazing. “If you mean to be welcomed back, Cousin Lucien, you’ve made a poor beginning!”

  He made more of an effort to be civil the next day. At least to Adelaïde and Bonnefous, for whom he harbored no grudge. He was icily cold to Père François, who wrung his hands and muttered a prayer each time their paths crossed. Topaze wouldn’t have been surprised if the priest, distraught at the presence of an “unbeliever” in the château, had pulled out a cross and held it up to Lucien, in the manner of exorcists. By evening his distress had sent him to bed with a painful attack of gout.

  Lucien saved most of his venom for Hubert, responding to the simplest of remarks with veiled insults, and bending attentively to Justine whenever he could. By the time supper was finished, and they met in the secret passageway by prearrangement, Topaze’s blood was boiling. She glared at him in the light of the lantern. “If you’re trying to make me jealous by dancing attendance on that silly creature, don’t waste the effort.”

  He grinned. “I? I wouldn’t dream of making you jealous.”

  “Well, I certainly hope it isn’t to anger Hubert. I didn’t think you were such a fool as that.”

  He put his arms around her. “Perhaps I just like to make mischief.”

  “And perhaps you’re sorry you can’t find anyone to hate. A sickly woman. A self-indulgent old fool of a priest. Poor greedy Uncle Hubert, with his vain trollop. It’s not very satisfying, is it?”

  He dropped his hands. “Damn you,” he muttered.

  “Try to remember why you’re here. Not to spend your petty hatreds, but to woo your cousin, and marry her. For the Marcigny inheritance. And quite aside from my wanting to be courted, you have to make it look convincing to the others.” She snorted. “If you’re capable of it.”

  “I’d forgotten what a saucy miss you can be,” he growled.

  “But such a prize.” She put her arms around his neck, pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him with passion. “Just a reminder,” she said, laughing, and skipped away to the library door.