Duty to the Crown

by Aimie K. Runyan

  “I just want to hear about you, Claudine. I feel like I’ve been missing my right arm these past few months. I hope you weren’t too desolate out on the farm.”

  “I’ve felt just the same about you, Emmy. Let’s not waste time worrying about my solitary mornings with Marguerite the stubborn milk cow. Since you’re to be married in three days, this all ought to be about you.”

  Emmanuelle tilted her head back, and her laughter tinkled like tiny bells. “It seems ridiculous to think of me married. And before you, it just seems utterly impossible.”

  “But you are happy, aren’t you, Emmanuelle?” Claudine finally escaped from her sister’s embrace long enough to remove her cap and cloak, which she hadn’t had time to discard at the entry. “That’s what matters.”

  “Laurent is wonderful, Claudine. The kindest man I’ve ever known. Truly.”

  “Then I am happy for you both.” Claudine took Emmanuelle in her arms again and smoothed her hair. “For you are the sweetest girl who ever drew breath. If he is as kind as you say he is, then you will be the most blissful couple in the settlement.”

  “You must promise to stay in town, Claudine. I hated being apart.” Emmanuelle kissed Claudine’s cheek. “Promise me.”

  “I wish I could promise, Emmy . . . but you know the decision isn’t mine. Besides, you’ll be a busy married woman and won’t have time for your old spinster sister anymore.”

  “A spinster at eighteen. I think you make our settlement out to be harsher than it is.” Emmanuelle laughed and began to unpack Claudine’s case.

  “I’ve learned to think it harsh so that I can be pleasantly surprised when it is not,” Claudine said.

  “You’ve grown wise in your months of exile, Didine.” Emmanuelle placed Claudine’s treasured volume of courtly poetry at the bedside table where she had always kept it.

  “I hope so, Emmy. I hope the time was well spent. Now let’s go down to our biscuits and cider so Nicole can gush about the wedding plans, shall we?” Claudine took Emmanuelle’s hand in hers and led her out the bedroom door.

  Claudine doubled back briefly, took the worn tome from her bedside table, and placed it up on the top shelf of her armoire before following her sister down the stairs. There is a library of books in this house. It’s time I tried out another.

  * * *

  Emmanuelle stood before the glass, a vision in pale pink silk. While Claudine was usually open with her criticism, she never told Emmanuelle what she—and most public opinion—held to be true. Emmanuelle was the least of the Deschamps girls in age and looks. Nicole had a warm expression and soft eyes that endeared people. Claudine’s shining mane of mahogany hair attracted second looks all by itself. Paired with her mischievous smile and flashing brown eyes, she was regarded as a blooming beauty. Emmanuelle, for all her kindness and intelligence, had narrow-set eyes, a stout figure, and a long nose that caused her to fade in the presence of her sisters. Today, however, as she smiled for the mirror as she planned to smile for her groom, any fault of nature was varnished over by the radiance of a joyful bride.

  “Laurent Robichaux will be the proudest man in the settlement tomorrow,” Nicole proclaimed as she adjusted the skirt to lie perfectly against the three petticoats that gave her a bell-like silhouette. Claudine, Manon, and Nicole were there to make sure the ensemble was perfect and the bride properly swooned over. To have Gabrielle absent from the fitting seemed unnatural, but no one marred the day by mentioning it.

  “And if he’s not, he’s a fool.” Claudine kept the venom from her tongue, but not all of her vehemence. The night she’d learned her sister’s betrothed was none other than the stodgy man she’d danced with at the disastrous St. Pierre ball, she’d wept bitterly into her pillow. How could such a dullard be a companion for her bright, sweet sister? The thought of Emmanuelle’s best years wasted on him sickened Claudine, but she voiced none of it. As reprehensible as she found the marriage, she would never aspire to make such a match herself. Not now. The nightmare played over in her head. She would find a boy from the right family and the right situation. He would court her and propose to her. The wedding would be as grand as any in the highest Parisian circles. Then he would take her to his chamber that night. He would discover she had been unchaste.

  And he would fling her to the wolves.

  Of course, none of that was certain. He might take pity on her. Certainly, most boys didn’t go to the marriage state unsullied—more here than in France, perhaps, owing to the scarcity of women—and they couldn’t sow their oats alone. Many young men were sensible enough to know this and didn’t necessarily expect a virgin bride. But a boy like Victor St. Pierre clearly had drawn a divide between the women for marrying and the women for bedding. Most of his kind would. No, she had to find a nice farm boy. One who didn’t care overmuch for the rules and regulations of society as long as he got three good meals a day and a soft, warm body beside him in bed.

  It wasn’t the life she’d hoped for, but it was the best she could expect.

  Claudine affixed her smile and pretended the blessed event was the happiest thing she’d ever experienced. If anyone thought she was insincere, they’d just ignore it as the sort of affectionate envy the older sister feels when the younger marries first.

  “Not a pleat out of place,” Nicole said, hands on her hips, surveying the gown with satisfaction.

  “You’re brilliant, as always, sister,” Claudine said, squeezing Nicole’s shoulder. The tender gesture caused a few raised eyebrows in the room, but Claudine paid them no mind. Let them think I’m being sentimental on the occasion of my sister’s wedding. By all means.

  “Dear, why don’t you help me with the linens downstairs. Manon can see Emmanuelle out of her dress.” Nicole put a gentle hand on the crook of Claudine’s arm with a gentle tug toward the door.

  Claudine knew full well Nicole would have seen to it a week prior that ample linens were laundered, pressed, and ready for the festivities tomorrow, but she obliged her sister without question. Nicole led her sister to the green-and-pink oasis of her sitting room rather than the stuffy storerooms below stairs.

  “How have you been managing at the farm?” Nicole gestured to a plush chair and took the one opposite. “With all the excitement, I’ve hardly had time to draw breath, let alone see to you.”

  “I’m perfectly well. Why would I be otherwise?” Claudine tried, not all that successfully, to keep her tone flighty. Insincerity didn’t come as easily as it once did. She amended, “I’m as well as you might expect.”

  “I’ve worried for you. Maman wrote just two weeks ago to say she’d barely recognized the girl we sent back to her. I’m glad you used the time to be helpful to her.” Nicole patted her sister’s hand, but fire blazed back from Claudine’s eyes.

  “What use am I now, other than washing, cooking, and tending other people’s children?” The resignation in her own voice startled Claudine.

  “Claudine, this isn’t court, you know. You do have options.” Nicole sat back in her chair, looking rather more pensive than usual.

  “Not like I did,” Claudine said, looking at the grain on the wood floors rather than up at her sister.

  “No,” Nicole agreed. “Some things cannot be undone, but lucky for you the gossip has been minimal. St. Pierre has been married and there is no child. There’s no reason you can’t have a life.”

  Claudine cursed the tears that stung in the corners of her eyes.

  “What is it, my dear?” Nicole leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair from her sister’s forehead. “You know you can tell me.”

  “I—I thought he loved me,” Claudine stammered between tears.

  Nicole stood and knelt by her sister’s chair and took the girl in her arms.

  “I know, dear, I know.”

  “Why would he do such a thing to me?” Claudine fought to keep the pain from her voice. “Why would he mislead me? I never would have . . .”

  “You answered your own question, love,” Nicole
said. “He wanted your virtue and was willing to shame you to get it. I’m glad you’re rid of him.”

  “Too late though,” Claudine said, wiping the salty brine from her cheeks.

  “Never, my dear.” Nicole cupped Claudine’s face in her hands. “I’ve lived through a broken heart myself. The best revenge is to build a life better than the one you might have had.”

  “Your husband who died?” Claudine arched a brow at her sister’s mention of revenge in connection with little Hélène’s father.

  “Him too,” Nicole said, nodding, her eyes misting over with memory for just a moment. “But you don’t remember my beau back in France, do you?”

  “Jean something-or-other?” Claudine supplied. “I never knew what happened.”

  “Jean Galet. Papa and Maman wouldn’t have talked of it, not in front of you. When Papa’s farm started to fail, he had to use my dowry to save it. Jean married another girl just three weeks after he was supposed to marry me.”

  “How awful!” Claudine said, looking into her sister’s brown eyes, understanding where a few lines around them originated. “So soon!”

  “I know. In my heart of hearts I knew his affection for me didn’t run as deep as mine did for him. I was so embarrassed. So ashamed. When the recruiters came offering ladies places on a crossing to New France, I begged Papa to let me go. I just wanted to escape it all. I was weak. I see that now, but I wouldn’t change things now.”

  “I know that feeling. All too well,” Claudine confessed. “It’s why I haven’t raised a fuss about coming back to town.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t go back to France. Paris would be ideal for a girl with your wit and spark, from what Rose and Alexandre tell me.”

  “I used to long for Paris. Not anymore,” Claudine said, looking out the window onto the settlement town.

  “What is it you do want, my dear?”

  “My pride back,” Claudine said. “Or at least most of it anyway.”

  “That will come. In time. But thankfully you had more than enough to start with.”

  For the first time in many weeks, Claudine wallowed in the delight of a girlish giggle and the warmth of her sister’s embrace.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Claudine watched as Emmanuelle became Dame Laurent Robichaux. As witness, Claudine wore a duly inferior dress and what she hoped was a sincere smile. From her heart, she wished her younger sister all the joy in the world, but the doubt that sweet Emmanuelle could find it with the bland man crept through her veins.

  Robichaux’s round face beamed at Emmanuelle when the priest declared them man and wife, and sealed the union with a demure kiss. I hope you know what you’re doing, sister. A comfortable house and position aren’t the only solaces life can offer. Claudine kept a placid smile plastered to her face as she exited the church behind the bride and groom and the Lefebvres. With a sigh she conceded that she was in no place to judge her sister’s choices. Emmanuelle’s life was shaping up far better than her own.

  The reception Nicole and Alexandre hosted was among the grandest affairs the renowned Dame Lefebvre had ever thrown together. The eldest of the Deschamps girls was the most skilled at keeping a neutral expression, but Claudine saw the glimmer of pride in Nicole’s eyes at the success of the evening. Claudine watched as Emmanuelle danced primly in the governor’s arms. An honor conferred only on a bride of status. It was everything Claudine had longed for. Once upon a time, perhaps. But the gallant prince of mine is long gone.

  Not far from her, Victor St. Pierre danced with his young bride as well, though he rarely looked at her face. Alexandre had warned her that St. Pierre would be on the guest list. To slight him would only give credence to any rumors. She averted her eyes before he could see her looking at him and moved in Nicole’s direction to seek out some office that surely needed someone’s attention.

  “I was hoping I might have a dance with my new sister-in-law.” A hand lightly touched Claudine’s shoulder, causing her to start.

  Behind her, Robichaux stood expectantly. Claudine eyed Emmanuelle off with one of the governor’s deputies, so she had no excuse to refuse the groom his dance. Claudine nodded her assent and allowed him to escort her to the dance floor.

  “Who would have dreamed the last time we were dancing that our next would be as brother and sister?” Laurent asked. “Life can bring such unexpected changes, can’t it?”

  “Monsieur, you speak the unadorned truth,” Claudine agreed. Such a boor for my sweet sister. How will she endure it?

  “I confess, I’d hoped to see you after that ball.” Laurent’s voice was just above a whisper. “I saw the look on your face when young St. Pierre announced his engagement. I can only guess what happened, and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am the knave toyed with your affections. I surmised that’s why you went back to be with your parents.” Thank God you didn’t guess the whole truth.

  Claudine exhaled with relief. Plausible, to be sure. Hopefully everyone else believes the same. “Exactly, monsieur. I was foolish and let myself believe his affections were greater than they were. Going back home allowed me to see things more clearly.”

  “Very wise, my dear sister-in-law. Many in town have said you were a flighty thing, but I think those tongues wag out of sheer jealousy.”

  They do, do they? Claudine could not help but shoot Laurent a wry look as they danced.

  “My apologies; that sounded uncharitable. I meant to pay you a compliment.”

  “I’m sure you did, monsieur,” Claudine said. “And I will take it as one.”

  “I’m glad. I do hope you’ll come back to town now. Emmanuelle will be so happy to have you near. She talks of little else, you know. You and her studies.”

  To know that even in her disgrace, Emmanuelle had pined for her sister caused Claudine’s heart to ache. She looked over at her younger sister, who smiled politely and exchanged pleasantries. Emmanuelle’s studies were at an end now, if not her education. Rose would miss her probing questions and keen intellect. If Claudine came back and resumed her studies, she would be a poor replacement for her sister.

  “I cannot say, monsieur,” Claudine said. “The decision lies in the hands of others. I cannot risk being an imposition.” And I’m not sure I have it in me to prevail upon Rose’s offer. I must retain something of my dignity.

  “Nonsense, I’m sure,” Laurent scoffed. He motioned to Alexandre, who was between bouts of conversation. The sextet’s tune came to its end, so Claudine found herself at the edge of the dance floor once more.

  “I was just speaking with my dear sister-in-law,” Laurent said to Alexandre. “Emmanuelle—and I—would love to see more of our Mademoiselle Deschamps here in town. You were meaning to have her back now that Emmanuelle will be out of your nest, surely?”

  I did not put him up to asking you! She hoped her eyes screamed the thought to Alexandre. I wouldn’t stoop to begging my way back into town.

  “Of course. I don’t think her elder sister would permit otherwise. She’s going to miss Emmanuelle painfully.” Alexandre wore the playful face of a long-suffering husband who secretly adored his wife. In some ways, Claudine felt his social façade was more truthful than his cold demeanor in private.

  “Wonderful news, Lefebvre. And tell your delightful Madame Lefebvre that I won’t keep our Emmanuelle a prisoner. She’ll be free to keep her sisters company as often as she likes.” Laurent glanced Emmanuelle-ward. He clearly cherished her, which showed that he had good sense in women at least.

  “How very accommodating of you, monsieur,” Claudine said, masking her husky voice with a polite cough. “I’ll ask you to excuse me for a little while. I’m in want of a drink.”

  The gentlemen nodded her away and she grabbed a glass of the champagne that Alexandre and the fashionable set in Paris were becoming so fond of, and escaped into the vacant hallway.

  “There you are . . . I had hoped the wedding would bring you back in from the woods.” Victor’s voice slithered acro
ss the marble tile to her unwilling ears.

  “And I’d rather hoped to avoid you.” Claudine forced herself to turn and look him in the eye.

  “Oh come now, we had a bit of fun, didn’t we?” He approached her with a swagger and brushed her cheek with the back of his finger.

  Claudine met the gesture with a smart slap across his face.

  “Fun, you call it?” Claudine felt her throat constrict but fought to remain mistress of herself. “Leaving me in disarray to be discovered by anyone?”

  “I suppose that was a bit careless, wasn’t it?” He had the good graces to blush into his champagne flute as he took a decorous sip.

  “More than careless. It’s a wonder I wasn’t cast out forever. As it is, my family will never forgive me.” Claudine spoke in a hiss, careful not to be heard.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Claudine. Family always forgives these little missteps. What else is family for?”

  “You forget I am not a man, Victor. These sorts of things aren’t so easily forgiven in a woman. But let me make myself rightly understood—I will never forgive you. Either leave me in peace or your horse-faced wife will know every detail of how you acted. I’ve nothing left to lose.”

  Victor stared at Claudine for a moment. He hadn’t expected the attentive, sweet girl from a few months ago to become the wrathful shrew who stood before him. And the shrew of your making, you heartless ass.

  Without further conversation, he nodded and escaped back into the ballroom. She smiled at the sight of her handprint, still red on his cheek. Explain that to your wife, cad.

  Alone with the echoes in the corridor, she took a minute sip of the curious fizzy wine and allowed it to slowly trickle down her throat, savoring each sip of the chilling sweet-tart liquid as tears flowed down her cheeks. My sisters are beloved wives. Nicole is a doting mother. Emmanuelle won’t be far behind. And I, for all my scheming and dreams, am left with nothing.