Duty to the Crown

by Aimie K. Runyan

  “Darling girl, how funny to see you wasted in the arms of that old man,” Victor whispered with a low chuckle.

  “ ‘Funny’ was the last word I would have used,” Claudine said, suppressing a giggle.

  “You are such a lovely creature,” Victor breathed. “Every time we’re together I long to be alone with you.”

  Claudine’s eyes widened at his familiarity. She knew she ought to be shocked at his suggestive undertones, but the warmth of his words spread to her very core. It was a flame she could not quench.

  “Come with me,” Victor whispered. “There’s a room where we can go. . . .”

  He’s going to ask. It will all be settled. I will be his wife.

  Victor whispered instructions and left the room first, Claudine following a few minutes later so they wouldn’t be seen leaving the room together. In the dark of the side corridor, he offered his arm and led her to a small but lavishly appointed bedroom. His mouth was upon hers and his hands roved over her breasts. He expertly loosened her stays and exposed her bare skin to his.

  “Let me . . .” he asked.

  He’s going to ask Alexandre tonight. He wouldn’t ask me to do this if he weren’t. What’s the harm? I’ll simply insist on a short engagement. He continued to kiss her hungrily, invading her mouth with his tongue. These were not the sweet, lingering kisses he stole in shadowed hallways, and she found she missed them. His hands were rough with her tender flesh, pinching and probing in places she’d never dared to touch herself.

  “Slowly,” she urged in a whisper, hoping he could temper his eagerness. She moved her hands to caress his buttocks over the smooth silk of his breeches, her touch featherlight, demonstrating how she wanted him to love her.

  “Shh,” he said, pulling her hands away and loosening his breeches, entering her with one swift movement. She began to cry out at the rush of pain, but he covered her mouth with his hand as he gyrated above her, grunting. Won’t you look at me? Whisper sweet things to me, my darling?

  She’d pictured this moment more times than she could ever admit to her confessor, but she did not expect the discomfort. She had dreamed of his soft hands bringing her pleasure with gentle caresses, but he only took what he wanted.

  He’s young. He’s impatient.

  She said this to herself, and the words were true, but they gave her no comfort. No matter how she justified his behavior, she could not ignore the lack of warmth in his touch.

  Almost as soon as he’d begun, he gave a final thrust and climbed off her at once.

  “Hurry,” he said, fastening his breeches and straightening his hair as he steadied his breath. “They’ll notice we’ve gone.”

  Claudine succeeded only marginally at keeping her tears in check. Perhaps it was just the excitement of the moment? Nerves?

  Victor left without a thought to helping her dress or restoring her to a presentable state. The truth twisted in her gut like the rusty blade of a hunter’s dagger: No part of this had been about her, not a solitary second. Victor had claimed his prize and had not spared her another thought. But men of his class, Alexandre had often explained, were not like the farm boys she was used to. He would have to be taught to consider of her needs when they were married.

  She straightened her skirts and smoothed her hair in the mirror to little avail. There was nothing to do about her stays without the help of a lady’s maid. What in God’s name am I going to do? Go out into the hall half dressed? Why would he leave me like this?

  She peeked into the hall, praying to see a maid who could be bribed into silence, but instead saw Nicole and Alexandre scanning the hall. She’d been missed. Why couldn’t Nicole be alone? She swore under her breath and called to her sister in a loud whisper.

  “What’s happened to you?” Nicole said. Alexandre took one look at his sister-in-law and his expression darkened instantly. Nicole placed her hand on his arm and he stepped back out into the hall. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “No, not exactly,” Claudine said. I know he didn’t mean to.

  Nicole said nothing, but rearranged Claudine’s dress and fixed her stays. She did what she could with her hair without the benefit of a brush or pins.

  Back in the hall, Alexandre greeted them with arms crossed over his chest and his teeth clenched so tightly the vein along his jaw protruded. There was no question that he knew what had happened and no doubt in Claudine’s mind that he would make her pay for her transgression.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, young lady—” Alexandre hissed.

  “Please, it won’t matter,” Claudine said, her expression panicked. “He’s going to ask you tonight. He wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t have otherwise . . .”

  Alexandre’s expression was no less murderous, but a call for attention from the ballroom interrupted what was certainly destined to be a scathing lecture. They returned to the room, Alexandre leading Claudine by the arm instead of his wife. Shortening the leash already.

  Aubin St. Pierre, Victor’s father, stood near the orchestra, the room’s attention fixated in his direction. “My dear friends. We thank you so much for joining us this evening. We do hope you’re enjoying yourselves. To that end, we wish to impart some glad tidings to bolster your enjoyment further. We are pleased to announce that our eldest son and heir, Victor, is engaged to Mademoiselle Nadine DuLaurier, daughter of Seigneur Antoine DuLaurier. Please join us in wishing the young couple well.”

  Victor approached his father, arm in arm with a fair-haired girl with a narrow, weasel-ish face and an opulent gown, who smiled with the happiness of a well-matched bride.

  Claudine looked at her sister and brother-in-law in horror.

  She was ruined.

  * * *

  “What in God’s name were you thinking?” Alexandre barked an hour later in the privacy of the Lefebvre parlor.

  “I thought he was going to ask you,” Claudine said, staring at her hands, unable to speak above a whisper. “Truly I did.”

  “He never gave you any understanding? No false promises?” Nicole asked, sitting ramrod straight in her chair—the face of the seigneur’s wife in place. Claudine knew the look. She was looking to minimize damage.

  “No,” Claudine admitted. “But I heard the rumors in town. I didn’t think he would . . . well, I didn’t think he would take liberties if he wasn’t going to ask.”

  “How very naïve,” Alexandre said.

  “I feel responsible,” Nicole said. “We heard Victor’s mother discussing the announcement. We came looking for you to take you home to spare you the public embarrassment. If only we’d come a bit sooner.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Alexandre scolded his wife, taking a deep swig of his fine brandy that he usually reserved for happy occasions. There are always exceptions, I suppose. “She ought to have behaved herself until she was certain things were settled, whatever she thought he was going to do.”

  “Alexandre, don’t you think you’re being a bit hard?” Nicole’s cup contained only cider, and it seemed to give her no more comfort. “After all, he led her on.”

  “Unfair as it may sound, her virtue is the only one that matters,” Alexandre said, then turned the full force of his glare to Claudine. “You’re going to go back to your parents and hope for two things: First, that no one saw what happened, not so much as an eavesdropping housemaid. Second, that St. Pierre hasn’t saddled you with a child.”

  Claudine’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. A child. She had never entertained the possibility. Stuck in the wilderness on her parents’ farm with a squalling baby to care for. Her parents’ heartbroken expressions every time they saw their disgraced daughter.

  “Please, not the farm,” Claudine said.

  “There’s no other choice,” Alexandre said. “If there is a child, I can’t have people knowing I housed you. I can’t risk the scandal.”

  “Alexandre, isn’t that—” Nicole began.

  “What? Too harsh?” Alexandre slammed his glass down on th
e table with a clank. “No. I don’t think it is. She came with the understanding that we would give her houseroom here if, and only if, she behaved. Sending her back to her loving parents to avoid tainting the whole family doesn’t seem harsh at all.”

  “But won’t her leaving cause talk anyway?” Nicole asked. Well played, sister, you do know his weaknesses, don’t you?

  “Everything causes talk,” Alexandre said. “If there isn’t a child, nor any malicious gossip, we’ll bring her back in a few months’ time for a visit to dispel any rumors. We’ll invent an excuse—some malady best cured by fresh air—headaches or the like. People will believe it if they choose to.”

  “Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Claudine said, regaining her composure. “May I leave in the morning, or will you have one of the manservants steal me away to the farm under the cover of night?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Nicole said. “Of course you may wait until morning.”

  “I wasn’t sure your husband wanted me sullying your house another night,” Claudine said.

  “Don’t be hateful,” Alexandre said. “St. Pierre acted unpardonably, I’ll admit.”

  “How gracious of you to say so, seigneur,” Claudine said, curtsying with an affected flourish. “I promise not to trespass on your hospitality a moment longer than necessary.”

  Claudine spun on the ball of her foot and climbed the stairs to her room. Thankfully her entry didn’t disturb Emmanuelle, who stayed fast asleep. She indulged in the weakness of tears, wishing that her sister’s presence didn’t impede her from giving in completely to her grief.

  * * *

  “Perhaps Alexandre will allow you back—after,” Emmanuelle said the next morning as she helped Claudine arrange her plainest clothes in the trunk. She was too delicate to speak the rest of the sentence: after you’re sure you’re not with child. Manon sat next to Emmanuelle and held her hand. The youngest Deschamps girls had never been separated from each other before, and Claudine expected Manon knew something of what they were going through.

  Claudine raised her hand to silence Emmanuelle on the subject. She didn’t want to hear the words spoken, as if it might make them true.

  “I won’t set foot in this house again,” Claudine said. “I see Alexandre Lefebvre for who he is now, and I want nothing to do with him. I’m just sorry Nicole will never be free of him.”

  “He’s a good and generous man, Claudine,” Emmanuelle said.

  “Until you make a single false step,” Claudine said. “As soon as you risk staining the Lefebvre name with the bright red ink of scandal, then his generosity is nowhere to be found.”

  “Claudine—” Manon interjected, wrapping her arm around Emmanuelle.

  “Don’t, please, Manon.” Claudine stepped away and crossed her arms over her chest. Pity was unendurable. “Step off your pedestal for one moment, Emmy. I’m ruined. I was a fool and I don’t blame Alexandre—or Nicole—for my folly. I do blame him for not lifting a finger to help right things. To come to my defense or my aid. It’s not as though I acted alone. But while Victor is free to live the life he wants, I’ll be cast out from good society. Possibly forever.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Emmanuelle said at length.

  “And I you,” Claudine said. “We may have driven each other mad, but you’ve been my friend when there was none other to be had.”

  “I could come home with you,” Emmanuelle offered.

  “No,” Claudine said without pause. Not long ago she would have begged her sister not to leave her alone on the farm, but now she could not deprive Emmanuelle of the benefit of Alexandre’s assistance in society. At least one of us can make a life.

  A knock at the door startled the trio. Rose entered the room, bearing a stack of books for Emmanuelle and Manon.

  “Your brother-in-law informs me that you’re returning to your parents for some rest,” Rose said, looking to Claudine as she passed the books to Emmanuelle. “I was surprised to hear it.”

  Claudine emitted an unladylike snort. “Rest indeed.”

  “That’s what I thought, which is why I insisted on bringing the books up to your sisters myself.” Claudine arched her brow at the plural but said nothing. Rose took a seat in the plush green chair nearest the window. She was ready for a long tale. Claudine sat on her bed and indulged her with one, relaying more detail than she had in her brief confession to Emmanuelle and Manon. All sat stunned as Claudine recounted the sorry tale.

  “The vile little slug,” Rose said in an uncharacteristically acid tone. “Taking advantage of a girl moments before announcing his engagement to another.”

  “Yes, but Alexandre places the blame squarely on my shoulders.” Claudine sorted through her wardrobe, selecting only the items she’d brought with her. “I know I was in the wrong as well, but at least I wasn’t being deliberately false like Victor. But apparently that counts for nothing.”

  Rose took a place next to Claudine on the bed and wrapped her arm around her. The gesture startled Claudine at first, Rose not having been openly affectionate with her in the past. After a brief hesitation, Claudine returned the embrace, if awkwardly.

  “It counts for more than you think,” Rose said, releasing her. “Come with me.”

  The pair found Alexandre in his library, deep in contemplation over his record books.

  “Ah, how nice that Claudine was able to say good-bye before her retreat to the country,” Alexandre said. “Are you packed?” “Don’t dawdle about it,” you’d say aloud if it weren’t for Nicole.

  “It’s not much of a task,” Claudine said, keeping her tone in check. “I’ll have no use for evening gowns. I’ve left most everything for Emmanuelle.”

  “Sensible,” Alexandre said with a nod.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to reclaim your wardrobe from Emmanuelle,” said Rose. “You’ll have need of your finer things if you’re to stay with Henri and me.”

  “Rose, I’m afraid you don’t understand the circumstances—” Alexandre began.

  “I understand them perfectly well,” Rose said. “While Claudine did act irresponsibly, the young man in question was malicious and cruel, which is far worse. I won’t see Claudine deprived of her education because of his misdeeds.”

  “Do you really think Henri would appreciate you inviting scandal into his house?” Alexandre asked. “What if the worst happens?”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Rose said. “And we’ll make arrangements if we must. In the meantime, I would rather answer to my maker and my conscience for scandal than heartlessness.”

  “Very well, if I cannot persuade you, I won’t waste my breath,” Alexandre said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Though I’m curious as to why you champion her cause so vehemently. She’s not been a prize pupil, of your own account, and you’ve not been the best of friends.”

  “Perhaps not, but Claudine is bright and has potential,” Rose said. “What’s more, I had three years of my life wasted in a stinking death trap when my own family cast me out. If I can spare Claudine any part of that heartache, I will.” Rose had only mentioned her years stuck in the bowels of the Salpêtrière charity hospital a handful of times. Each time, she grew pale and withdrawn. Such horrors, Claudine didn’t care to imagine.

  “As you wish,” Alexandre said.

  “Run along and pack the rest of your things, dear,” Rose said, her tone significantly softer.

  Claudine nodded, still wide-eyed in shock at the kindness extended to her. It wouldn’t be quite as gracious a life as she had with Nicole, but it was infinitely better than no life at all. But what if the worst happens? If there’s a baby I can better conceal it if I stay in the country. And there’s Emmanuelle to think of. I won’t have her tarnished by my stupidity.

  “Thank you, Rose.” Claudine embraced her teacher again and kissed her cheek. “But I’m afraid I ought to go back to the country for at least a time. If . . . things . . . change, might I take you up on your offer in a few months?�
�

  “Of course, darling. But you know you mustn’t hide if you don’t wish to.” Rose wiped an errant tear that Claudine didn’t know she’d shed.

  “I know, but the rest may be good for me.” Claudine took Rose’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Those may be the first words of sense I’ve ever heard you speak, Claudine,” Alexandre scoffed from behind his desk.

  “Don’t be fooled, seigneur. My decision has positively nothing to do with making things less awkward in your social circles.”

  They have far more to do with me avoiding the sight of Victor St. Pierre. And you.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gabrielle

  Early October 1677

  The date had been pushed as far back as possible. Any later in the year and the weather could turn in a moment and make travel to the homestead a monstrous chore. Not to mention Advent would be hard upon its heels, making a wedding impossible. And, of course, her sixteenth birthday was only a week away. Despite assurances that the Beaumonts would be happy to pay the fine if she remained unmarried until the spring, Gabrielle remained adamant that they should not pay a single sou on her behalf.

  Gabrielle walked down the aisle in a plain but new dress. No satin and silk for a farmer’s wife, but she made it herself, taking more care than she usually did with her own garments. She may not be the blushing princess bride bringing pride to her kingdom by way of a match well made, but it was her wedding day, and it deserved some small attention. The Beaumonts and her brother were in the first pew, an assortment of Lefebvres and Deschamps behind them. The groom’s side of the aisle was empty save a gruff-looking old man named Jacques Verger who called himself Olivier’s friend. He dressed in ragged hides and more dirt than a wild bear. She struggled to keep her nose from wrinkling against the stench of unwashed flesh as she walked past him.

  These will be my friends and companions now. Men who look as savage as the land they steward. Gabrielle banished the uncharitable thought from her mind and spoke her vows with a smile that at least went skin-deep, if no further. She felt nothing as Olivier placed a decorous kiss on her cheek as the priest pronounced them husband and wife. As they turned to make their way down the aisle to the front of the church, she saw bailiff Duval duck out of the last pew. He wanted to witness the marriage for himself to ensure he could not find any way to further harass the Beaumonts.