“It clearly runs in the family,” Alexandre said, ushering them to their places in the foyer to receive their guests. “All the better. It will serve you well.”
In the four weeks since her arrival at the Lefebvre house, Claudine imagined her entry into society with the gilded expectations of a giddy child. She anticipated dozens of handsome, young—rich—men, all vying for her favor. She had not counted on nearly an hour of curtsies, false smiles, and idle chitchat with a throng of wrinkled faces.
“The receiving line is always rather tedious, I’m afraid.” Nicole patted her sister on the shoulder as they sauntered to the ballroom. Claudine massaged her cheeks discreetly as they walked. I refuse to smile for a week after this. You can all think me surly if you want.
“I didn’t expect everyone to be so old,” Claudine whispered.
Alexandre chuckled, but Nicole’s eyes flashed as she rebuked her sister. “You wanted an entrée into good society. That’s what we’ve given you. These ‘old people’ run the colony. You’re here to entice one of their heirs, if you’re lucky. Leadership is not the province of youth, sister dear.”
“Now what do I do?” Claudine’s whisper had an edge of panic, but her expression remained collected.
“Be your usual, charming self,” Nicole said. “Alexandre and I will lead you in the right direction. And remember—don’t dance with anyone more than twice. Doing so may discourage others, and it’s far too early for that.”
“Your sister is right.” Alexandre claimed Nicole’s arm, leaving Claudine a pace behind. “You don’t know which families are feuding and there’s no need to offend half the settlement on your first night out.”
“Lovely. One dance too many and I’m a social pariah.” Claudine hoped her gloves would not betray her sweating palms.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Nicole said. “Everyone knows it’s your first ball. They’ll forgive a minor blunder or two.”
Claudine noticed that Alexandre did not contradict his wife, but the arch of his eyebrow clearly said don’t depend on that.
For over an hour, Claudine mingled with Quebec’s elite at her sister’s elbow. She smiled for the Governor de Frontenac and his insipid mistress. She curtsied for every minor statesman in attendance, finding them all as interesting as drying paint. When, finally, the dancing began, Claudine was at no loss for partners. One by one the young men spun Claudine about the dance floor, eager to earn her attention. Farmer’s daughter indeed. I’m the sister-in-law of a leading citizen here . . . not the nobody I was and always would have been in France.
“You’d love our estate. Beautiful view of the mountains . . . sprawling fields and evergreens as far as you can see.” What was the boy’s name? If only she had Emmanuelle’s memory for such things.
“It sounds beautiful.” Claudine smiled prettily for the dreary boy, but let her gaze drift about the room. Four boys in a row—all yammering endlessly about lakes and forests and mountains. Clean, solitary country living. It sounded as much fun as a hanging. She exhaled her relief as she saw Nicole hovering as the final notes of the tune sounded.
“Claudine, I wish to introduce you to our young friend, Victor St. Pierre.” Nicole gestured to a young man with sandy hair and mirthful eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy a dance together.”
“It would be my honor, Mademoiselle Deschamps,” Victor said with a graceful bow.
Claudine accepted with a curtsy and allowed him to escort her to the center of the dance floor.
“I confess I’ve been waiting more than an hour for the chance to dance with you,” Victor said as he expertly led Claudine about the floor. “Your brother-in-law could have sold tickets to your many admirers.”
Claudine played off the compliment with a laugh, but was more than a little pleased. All evening, she could not help but notice the envious stares of the other young men as a beau walked her to the floor. But Victor, in his handsome blue justaucorps, was the first to merit a second glance. The very image of my gallant prince, if a little blonder than I had pictured. It doesn’t do to be too particular about these things.
“Your sister has been extolling your many virtues to the settlement. I don’t think there is a man under the age of fifty who isn’t mad to meet you,” he said.
“She’s very kind,” Claudine said in her best imitation of modesty.
“Nonsense. She speaks the unembroidered truth, I assure you.” He smiled down on her as they twirled in artful circles.
“Please tell me more about yourself,” she asked, deflecting his flattery. “I’d like to know more about you and your family.” For once this evening, I honestly want to know the response to that query.
As the strains of the orchestra directed the movement of the dancers, Victor gave Claudine the usual details of his family’s business and holdings. Unlike the others, he tempered his pride with good breeding, but it was clear to Claudine that his family’s fortune was one of the grandest in the settlement. Better still, his father kept a house in town, despite being an active landowner like Alexandre.
“And does land management suit you?” Claudine asked.
“It’s the profession of a gentleman,” he said, his tone noncommittal. “Though it seems dreadfully dull here after Paris.”
“Paris!” Claudine exclaimed loud enough for the couples closest to hear them. “Have you been?”
“Of course. Father sent me to the university there. It’s far more established than any of the institutions here, you understand. I’ve not been back a full year yet. I miss it terribly.”
“Naturally. I’d give anything to go to Paris,” Claudine said, her enthusiasm spilling over.
“I imagine you and Paris would get along famously.”
“I expect we would.” Temper your enthusiasm, you fool. Don’t frighten him off.
“Mademoiselle Deschamps, it has been my honor to dance with you tonight. I hope to repeat the pleasure in the very near future.”
“Monsieur St. Pierre, you may depend upon it.”
* * *
“It would be a smart match, to be sure,” Alexandre said over breakfast the next morning, poring over his account books while he ate. “Well-connected family. Solid finances, from what I gather. I don’t think you could do better, my dear.”
“Nor do I,” Claudine agreed. “He’s wonderfully interesting.”
“And not bad to look at,” Nicole said in a wry tone. “I’m sure that doesn’t hurt matters at all.”
“I confess it doesn’t.” Claudine couldn’t quite stifle her giggle.
“So you’re prepared to marry a man you’ve only known a few hours?” Emmanuelle asked, her eyes challenging.
“I must marry. The sooner the better, really. Why wait if I’ve met someone so agreeable?” Claudine looked down at her breakfast plate and paid more heed to her eggs than her younger sister’s chiding.
“Because marriage is for life. You cannot change husbands like you do a dress you’ve tired of. And I’ve seen you do that often enough,” Emmanuelle said, setting her fork down forcefully.
Manon looked as if she wished to add to Emmanuelle’s pronouncement, but seemed to think better of it and returned to her breakfast.
“For the love of all the saints, stop being such a pious snit, Emmanuelle,” Claudine spat.
“Don’t talk to your sister that way,” Nicole snapped in Claudine’s direction. “There is a good deal of sense in what Emmanuelle says. And you needn’t rush into things. You’re only just seventeen.”
“Nicole, you’re not my mother. Please stop acting like it.” Claudine wanted to swallow the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. It was a direct violation of what she’d promised when she came to stay. Alexandre, at least, did not register offense at her remarks.
“Claudine is merely being pragmatic. If she likes the St. Pierre boy, she ought not delay and risk him finding affection elsewhere,” Alexandre intervened.
“Spoken like a man of politics,” Nicole said, raising her goblet
of milk in his direction.
“First, foremost, and always,” Alexandre said, looking weary of the female banter. “And while patience is not Claudine’s chief virtue, she’s right.”
“Thank you, brother dear,” Claudine said.
“Let’s hope you don’t come to regret your haste,” Emmanuelle said. Claudine opened her mouth to retort, but Emmanuelle raised her hand to silence her. “I do not mean to criticize, Claudine. I just urge you caution. Take some time and get to know him. If a young man in such a territory with so few ladies can’t wait a few months to court you, he isn’t worth having.”
“Ladies, you’ve put the cart a full country mile before the poor horse. No offer has been made yet. We can hope for good developments, but let’s not read the banns just yet.” Alexandre looked up from his account book just long enough to roll his eyes at the table at large.
“Sensible.” Nicole beamed at her husband.
You really ought not be so openly affectionate, sister. Highborn ladies are cold and distant. Like the peaks of the mountain.
“Ladies, go on up and fetch your shawls and caps. We’re wanted at Rose’s to do some knitting for the Church.”
“Oh, must we?” Claudine’s tone was even more nasal than she’d intended. So very ladylike.
“You don’t think you’ll be doing your share to help the poor if you marry young Victor?” Nicole set her napkin on the table, challenging Claudine to dispute her. “I assure you the St. Pierre family doesn’t take their contributions to the Church lightly. If you aren’t prepared to do your part, I suggest you look elsewhere.”
“Let’s go, Emmanuelle.” Claudine heaved a sigh and tossed her napkin on the table.
She thundered up the stairs, Manon ahead of them and Emmanuelle on her heels. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, Claudine rounded on her sister.
“Do you have to contradict me at every turn? Make them think every decision I make is foolhardy? Don’t you see how lucky I am?”
“Claudine, I’m sure he’s a wonderful young man, but how well can you possibly know him after the space of a dance or two?”
“I don’t need to know him any better. He’s young. He’s handsome. He lives here in town. What more can I ask for? It’s not as though we’re up to our necks in such eligible suitors.”
“There’s at least two men for every woman here. I heard Alexandre say so less than a week ago.”
“Farmers. Blacksmiths. A merchant here and there. I want more than that.”
“I know you do. But there is more to happiness in marriage than a fine house in town and a smart carriage.” Emmanuelle found her cap and tucked it neatly over her brown topknot.
“I’m sure there is, Emmanuelle, but you can’t claim to know what it is any more than I. Heavens above, it’s bad enough to be lectured by Nicole, but to be badgered by a younger sister is unendurable.”
Emmanuelle crossed the room to where Claudine stood, now stooped over her trunk looking for her favorite shawl.
“I don’t mean to scold. Really I don’t, but I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy. I just worry for you.”
Claudine closed the gap between them and embraced her sister. “I know. I’m sorry to be cross with you. I just hate to have a bucket of cold water thrown over my excitement. I really think he’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”
“I hope he is. I really and truly hope he is. But slow down and share a meal or two with him before you get down on bended knee and ask him to take your hand?”
Claudine burst into a fit of giggles at the ridiculous image.
“This Victor of yours has one thing in his favor, I’ll admit,” Emmanuelle said, pulling away slightly and holding Claudine at arm’s length.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What has he done to earn your approval to some small degree?”
“He keeps a house here in town and is likely to after he marries. I couldn’t bear to be left here in town without you.” Emmanuelle closed the gap again and gripped her sister in an uncharacteristically firm embrace.
“Never.” Claudine gripped her sister close. “You may be bossy, and a know-it-all, and downright insufferable at times, but I love you.”
“As I love you. Now grab your knitting needles and a smile. We’ve work to do and you can practice being a proper society lady as we toil.”
“You know, little sister, I think you’re more ambitious than you let on when you talk like that.” Claudine laughed as she gathered her basket. And I hope it’s true, sister. For all my grand plans, I want you to share in this good fortune with me.
CHAPTER 6
Gabrielle
July 1677
“What about the Hublot boy?” Elisabeth asked between decorous bites of crusty bread dipped in her piping-hot stew. “He always seems so friendly when he comes to the shop.”
“Engaged to Lise Pierette,” Gilbert answered. “Her mother was crowing about it last week. Nathanaël Lavallé?”
“A bigger prat there never was,” Pascal interjected, stabbing a chunk of stewed chicken from his dinner plate.
“Surely in a colony full of men, a beautiful girl like our Gabrielle won’t go begging for a husband,” Elisabeth said. “Not when so many men are anxious for wives.”
Anxious for wives who didn’t have a drunk for a father and who have something of consequence to bring to the marriage, but I will do my duty.
“I’m not hungry,” Gabrielle said, tossing her napkin on the table. I’ll apologize for my manners later. She kissed little Fabien and Pierre on their round cheeks, but took no leave of the adults.
Gabrielle shut herself in her small room, happy in her own company, and took out the carefully cut pieces of pale pink silk for the bodice of Claudine’s new evening dress. Silk required perfect stitches. One false seam and there was no guarantee that removing it wouldn’t destroy the entire panel of costly fabric. It required every ounce of her attention, and for this she was grateful.
It would be a lovely gown, the soft pink offsetting Claudine’s rosy complexion and brown eyes. Claudine demanded the latest in fashion, hoping to emulate the fine ladies in Paris she had never seen—and likely would never see. On the occasions Gabrielle had to sew for Emmanuelle, the younger Deschamps girl proved a far more agreeable customer. All she wanted was a serviceable garment suited for the occasion. Though Gabrielle never had the honor to sew for their elder sister, she imagined Madame Lefebvre’s tastes would fit somewhere between her sisters’. Manon, on the other hand, left all of the decisions on her formal wear up to Gabrielle or Nicole, which was both thrilling and daunting.
After an hour, the bodice was basted together, and Gabrielle was pleased with the result. She removed her own bodice and replaced it gingerly with the fragile mock-up of the new one. Pink would never, ever suit Gabrielle with her fiery orange hair and freckles, but the fit was good, which meant that it would do well for Claudine. She took just a moment to embrace her vanity. She coiled her red mane on her head and admired her profile in her small mirror. She looked like a lady. The gown would cost more than Gabrielle could earn in several months, if not a year. Never would such a garment belong to her.
She exhaled and removed the bodice with care. In truth, Gabrielle didn’t covet the luxurious clothes and fine things that the Deschamps girls had, or that Madame Lefebvre forced Manon to accept. Gabrielle wasn’t born into a fine family, nor did she aspire to one. But they may choose their paths, while mine was set by edict.
The bitter thought stung like salt in a cut, so she pushed it aside. There was no use in begrudging Claudine or Emmanuelle something she had no control over. They were free by the law to marry when they chose. Whether their family was as lenient was yet to be seen. Claudine was eager enough, but Emmanuelle was more interested in her books than in the young men of the settlement. No more anxious to marry than Gabrielle herself. But when a good offer came to Emmanuelle, the Lefebvres would press her to take it. The town, in its subtle ways, would do the same.
“H
ow thrilling for you, Mademoiselle Deschamps,” they would say. “How anxious you must be to see things settled.”
Refusal would never be mentioned as an option. The only way Emmanuelle could deny an offer of marriage or to rescind her acceptance without scorn from the community would be if there were another one made. And by a man of better standing, too. Marriage for love was mocked. Elisabeth and Gilbert were the most affectionate couple Gabrielle had ever seen, and even they did not openly display their love in the public eye. The comfort of holding hands wasn’t worth the snide comments.
Gabrielle looked at her reflection in the mirror once more as she stood, clad only in her loose chemise. She unpinned her hair, letting her red curls fly down her back. “Scrawny, freckled, red-haired, likely with a temper to match.” She heard the whispers when people thought she wasn’t in earshot. “Penniless, virtually nameless, and plain” were the real insults they wanted to hurl, but the people in town were too kind to speak so about a girl who they had to admit was polite and inoffensive.
She had no doubt she would soon be sewing Claudine and Emmanuelle Deschamps’ wedding gowns. Their weddings would be joyous events the entire town would speak of with admiration. As she looked at her own reflection, her eyes drooped; she knew her own wedding would bear no resemblance to such a lavish affair. Nor would the bride be the picture of demure beauty and sedate happiness she was supposed to be.
* * *
Though Gabrielle didn’t have her foster mother’s talent for pastry making, she had more aptitude for it than the men of the house. She found more pleasure in the pleats of soft linen and fine silk than in the consistency of crème anglaise, but did find it a good way to take her mind off other things. Elisabeth was with Nicole, sewing for the Church that afternoon, so the running of the shop was left to Gabrielle. She supplemented the dwindling stock with simple buns, savory, with a sprinkling of salt on top. It was not a day for sweet things. The hard kernels of coarse salt made a satisfying crunch between her teeth as she took a sample of her handiwork. Her sense of taste was heightened, and she knew the rich beef stew would dance on their tongues that night. She placed the warm buns on display on the shop counter, reserving some for the family, and grabbed the broom, preparing to sweep away the dirt from the morning rush before the evening rush began.
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