* * *
Claudine forced herself to make pleasantries when she entered the house. She longed for the solitude of her bedroom, where only the memory of Emmanuelle would bother her. How I long to speak with you, dear sister. I’ve quite the matter to discuss with you about your husband.
Instead, she remained in the parlor with Nicole, Manon, and Alexandre, claiming a book from her brother-in-law’s library to occupy her thoughts. Mending and embroidery gave her mind too much liberty to run into dangerous territory that night.
“Monsieur Robichaux is here to see you, seigneur,” the butler, Paul, announced at the parlor door.
“Show him to my study,” Alexandre said. “Here to talk about the border tenants again, to be sure. I may be awhile.”
Claudine was vaguely aware of a Lefebvre tenant and a Robichaux tenant on neighboring farms who disputed a boundary line, but she’d paid the matter little mind. And I’ll wager my best dress he’s here to speak of nothing like border disputes.
Claudine made a weak excuse and took her book upstairs to read at the feeble light of her oil lamp. Rather than resume the text on modern French livestock practices, she tossed it on her bedside table, wondering what had possessed her to choose such a dry tome. She removed her boots and threw herself, fully clothed, on the bed.
He’s going to tell them I’m a wanton whore who seduced him. He’s going to ensure that I face the full shame I barely eluded with Victor. She imagined herself returned to her parents’ homestead and eventually marrying a plodding farmer. Living for her visits to town thrice a year. Miserable.
She was grateful the bookish Manon was holed up in her study, rather than reading in Emmanuelle’s old chair as she sometimes did. Curled up on her bed, Claudine lay still and allowed her tears to flow freely down her cheeks as she let herself wallow in her self-pity. With no Emmanuelle to comfort her, it was the next best balm for her aching soul. Don’t let him exaggerate the truth at least. It was a kiss. Nothing more. I didn’t mean to entice him.
Perhaps a half hour later, a soft knock sounded at the door and Nicole entered without invitation.
“Alexandre wishes to speak with you, darling.” Nicole’s expression was not lined with anger or frustration. Let’s just get this over with. I’d have done better to pack my things rather than sulk.
Alexandre sat behind his desk, a cognac in his hand, his eyes wandering his bookshelf, looking as though he marauded about the jungle of his thoughts. He snapped back to attention when he noticed Claudine and Nicole enter the room. He indicated to the empty chairs in front of his desk. Claudine’s was still warm from Robichaux’s backside, the thought of which made her stomach both sink and twist into knots.
“Laurent Robichaux came to apologize for his unseemly behavior tonight. He didn’t think you’d listen to him directly, so he conveyed his regrets to your sister and myself in the hopes we would relay them to you.” Alexandre sipped his cognac as he leaned back in his chair, as informal as he might be with his nephew or other close male friend. Claudine exhaled audibly, relieved at her brother-in-law’s pronouncement. Robichaux’s half-consumed cognac still sat before Claudine’s seat. She took the glass and sipped its contents thoughtfully, painfully aware that his lips had been on the same glass only minutes before.
“He’s grieving. He’s not himself.” Since he didn’t cast her off as a whore, she could afford to be generous.
“Kind of you to say,” Nicole said. “But he had no right to force his attentions on you if they weren’t wanted.”
“I was too shocked to protest,” Claudine admitted. But would I have done so if I hadn’t been so shocked? The question had plagued her for the past two hours. She could have cast him down for his actions. Should have done, probably. But, even with the events of her past considered, she could not find it within herself to deny him the few moments of escape from his grief.
“I can imagine not,” Alexandre said. “He’s greatly embarrassed by the whole thing. He hopes you’ll find it in your heart to forgive him and continue to visit the child, even if you won’t join him for supper.”
“Of course,” Claudine said. “I won’t abandon Zacharie over a lapse of a man grieving for his wife. I’ll write him a letter to soothe his feelings.”
“Sweet of you, darling,” Nicole said. “I’m sure that will reassure him greatly.”
“I think it best you suspend your suppers for a while, though,” Alexandre advised.
“I’ve no objection,” Claudine said, rising from her chair. “A meal grand enough for Queen Maria Theresa herself is no treat when paired with awkward conversation. I’ll write the letter before bed.” Claudine rose, considerably lighter, perfectly happy to write her brother-in-law a very cordial letter of forgiveness.
“That’s not all,” Alexandre said. Claudine arched her brow and sat back in the plush blue chair.
“Claudine, Seigneur Robichaux has asked permission to pay you court after Advent.” Nicole took her sister’s hand. “He thinks it the honorable course of action given the events of this evening. He also thinks it would be best for Zacharie to have you as his mother since our Emmanuelle is no longer with us. I cannot fault his logic there. Such a dutiful aunt has never been seen.”
“It’s what I thought Emmanuelle would want” was all Claudine could stammer. She took Robichaux’s cognac glass and downed the rest of the sweet amber-brown nectar in one swallow.
“Were you my daughter, the matter would be settled already,” Alexandre interjected. Nicole met this statement with a hard squint in her husband’s direction. “He’s one of the most respected men in New France. He has both fortune and position enough to please most any noble family in France, let alone here. You could not do better, especially considering past events.”
“Which you will never let me forget,” Claudine said.
“There’s no need to browbeat upon it, Alexandre,” Nicole said, taking an unusually harsh tone with her husband. “No harm came from it.”
“Because luck smiled on her,” Alexandre said. “Claudine, the fact remains that you have the chance to make the match you aspired to for years. I can’t imagine such an offer will ever be repeated. If you wish to make anything significant of your future, I urge you to accept him.”
“And you, Nicole? What do you think?” Claudine turned to look at her sister, whose face was lined with concern for her younger sister.
“I think Laurent Robichaux, despite his lapse in judgment tonight, is a very good man. He was more than kind to Emmanuelle and will be the same to you.”
“Don’t you think it odd that he wants to marry his late wife’s sister?” Claudine asked to no one in particular.
“Not in the least. In many respects you’re the logical choice. You’ve already proven yourself as a compassionate mother to the child. No one has more of a vested interest in his future than you, aside from Robichaux himself. I’ve seen it happen numerous times in the best families in France.” The prudence of the alliance only now made itself apparent to Claudine, but it was undeniable.
Zacharie. The thought of any other woman caring for him as a mother, or worse, ignoring him in favor of her own children with Robichaux, caused a cold sweat to form on Claudine’s brow. A man like Robichaux would not remain single. Men in his station rarely did. If Claudine did not accept him, the day would come when another woman would take over care for her dear nephew, and she would not be likely to welcome her involvement.
“You don’t have to make a decision tonight,” Nicole said, squeezing her sister’s hand.
“But you must make one. And soon.” Alexandre’s words left no doubt that he believed there was only one right answer to the question put before her.
* * *
It was her afternoon to visit Zacharie at last, and both anxiety and dread churned in her core as she walked to the Robichaux house for the first time since Laurent had approached Alexandre. Would she see Robichaux? Would he want to see her? Do I want to see him? She couldn’t answer
the question with any real satisfaction.
She handed her cloak to the butler and summoned enough courage to add, “Please tell Seigneur Robichaux I’ve come to see the baby. He needn’t feel obligated to come visit, but he may wish to.”
“Very well, mademoiselle.”
Zacharie greeted her with his usual smiles and coos, and Nanny Simon looked almost as pleased to see her as the gurgling infant. Claudine could not help but smile at the lovely woman and empathize with her joy at a few hours of liberty.
Less than a quarter of an hour eclipsed before Laurent’s tall frame emerged at the nursery doorway.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said by way of greeting.
“I wouldn’t abandon Zacharie. Not even for a worse offense than . . . your little misstep. I could never forgive myself.” Claudine motioned to the empty chair next to her own, to show he was welcome.
“You’re a good woman,” he said, claiming the seat and caressing the back of his son’s head. Not “girl.” She offered a small smile at the sign of respect, combing her brain to think if anyone had ever used the term in reference to her before.
“I’m learning to be. I have a far better idea of what that means than I used to. At least I hope I do.”
“Indeed you do. You’re becoming every bit the good woman your elder sister is and your younger sister certainly was becoming.”
“Thank you for that,” Claudine said.
“Please tell me you forgive me. I couldn’t live with myself—”
“Laurent, there’s nothing to forgive.” Claudine knew that using the first name of a seigneur was bold, but formalities seemed awkward, given the intimacy of their last encounter. “You’re grieving and lonely. Let’s put it behind us.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t want things to be unpleasant with us.”
“Nor do I.”
Despite the words, an uncomfortable silence settled over them for several minutes.
“Did your brother-in-law and sister mention what I asked them to?”
“About you courting me come January? Yes.” She looked down at the sleeping babe in her arms. Should I accept him? For your sake?
“I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous. I felt it the honorable—not to mention practical—course of action.”
“And you won’t mind taking Emmanuelle’s sister as your second choice?” Taking second to Emmanuelle is something I’ve never done in my life. Can I do it now? When it really matters?
“My darling Claudine, I wanted to pay you court from the first moment we danced together. Please don’t misunderstand; I loved your sister as much as any man could do, especially given the short duration of our marriage. But I’ve never been able to forget you. Not entirely.”
Claudine felt the tears spill over and angled so they would not waken the sweet baby who was still asleep in her arms. She rose and, gently as she could, placed him back in the safety of his crib.
“I’m ashamed to make such a revelation to you. You must think I was a rake to marry your sister when I still felt this way for you. But I knew you’d never say yes to me. You needed someone younger. More exciting. But I hope that since things have changed . . . you might at least consider.”
Laurent remained seated, but his eyes never wavered from Claudine. They seemed to implore her for an answer. Since her arrival in New France, she dreamed of a handsome young man of good standing to raise her fortunes. This man wasn’t particularly young. He wasn’t overly blessed with good looks. But he was, she had to admit, one of the best men she’d ever known. For all of his dark good looks, Claudine would not exchange Laurent’s affections for Alexandre’s. Gabrielle’s husband was good-looking in his rustic way, and he was no prize for a husband. Laurent would never be cruel.
“Laurent, I don’t want you to pay me court in January.” With her words, his face fell. “I’d prefer to call it a done thing and be married in the New Year.”
Laurent’s eyes welled up, and he made no move to manfully hide his emotions. “May I please kiss you?”
Claudine smiled at the modest question he would have done better to ask a week prior and nodded her approval. This time the kiss was slow, chaste, but no less charged with his repressed desire for her.
I’ll do the best I can for them, Emmanuelle. For both of them. I hope this is what you would have wanted.
CHAPTER 18
Gabrielle
November 1678
Gabrielle sat in her old bedroom, bundled up against the coldest afternoon they’d seen in the budding winter, hemming one of the skirts that Laurent Robichaux had commissioned for Claudine. A year ago, she’d spend the entire time sewing with a dose of spite, begrudging the smug girl her happiness. Now she was able to sew with a heart grateful for her friend’s upcoming nuptials. No one outside of the Lefebvre and Beaumont families knew of the engagement, and the new wardrobe was to be kept in Gabrielle’s closets until the vows were spoken. I do not envy you your fine clothes or your kind husband-to-be, dear friend. You deserve a second chance at happiness. As do most of us.
The soft yellow linen was a joy to touch, let alone craft into a flowing skirt for everyday occasions for the smart young matron. It made for more amusement than baking for Elisabeth or doing her own sewing, which now consisted of letting out the waists of her own skirts to make way for her swelling abdomen. The even stitches kept her mind from wandering to the upcoming hearing. She would be forced to see Patenaude for the first time and she would have to stand before a judge and beg for her freedom. Both of the seigneurs from the Lefebvre family would testify for her. Gilbert, too, though the word of a baker, even a successful and well-liked one, would count for far less.
Patenaude’s bearded face and foul breath crept into her mind. She recalled an evening when he grabbed her by the hair and threw her against the hearth, causing a deep gash by her right temple. The scar still gleamed pinkish-white. You’ve marked me, Patenaude. You’ve bruised me from head to foot, but you’ve yet to leave a mark on my heart. It will remain unblemished so I can give it to my child in the perfect condition every baby deserves from her mother.
She cursed as she realized she’d rumpled the fabric, her hands tensing at the vision of Patenaude’s hulking form towering over her. She poked her finger with the needle in her anger, and tossed the fabric to the safety of her clean bed so it would escape soil. She found an old rag and wrapped her bleeding finger until the flow of red subsided.
Do not let him upset you. He’s not here. He cannot hurt you. He is not worth ruining one of your old aprons, let alone a length of new linen.
She felt the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes and kicked her bedroom wall. Leave me be, you damned brute. Can’t you even leave my mind in peace?
The bleeding stopped; she limped back to her bed and placed Claudine’s dress in her basket, to be revisited another hour. She lay down on her bed and forced her breath to slow until she could no longer feel the pulsing in her face or the racing of her heart against her rib cage. The baby needs you to be calm. The baby needs you to be healthy.
She looked down at her little bulge and patted the growing mound. She’d not felt a proper kick yet, but got the occasional sensation of movement. Elisabeth dismissed it as her stomach churning, but Gabrielle was certain her child was moving within her. My darling baby. I will keep you safe, as my mother was unable to do. You will never know pain or suffering. You will grow to a fine woman and I will see you happy. Rose can be your auntie and will help you in society. I’ll make and mend every stitch of clothes she wears for the rest of her days without charging her a sou in exchange for lessons.
Her heart lightened as she imagined the life her daughter would have with the help of her friends. Privilege, rank, respect. All the things Gabrielle witnessed but never had for herself. Because she had married, people did not look down on Gabrielle. They knew she worked hard and was no burden on the town. They gave her credit for no more than that. She was what a woman ought to be and no m
ore. Once word circulated that she petitioned for a separation from Patenaude, the measure of respectability she had would be lost. They would see a willful woman and a fatherless child.
Better to be the scorn of the town than to risk her at his hands. He cannot be allowed near her. I will not go back to him.
She had escaped Patenaude’s grasp once, and she would not see herself thrown back into his clutches. She had a child to protect. Her own health to protect in order to care for the child. No longer would she allow a man to raise a hand to her. She would place her trust in the good judge and in her friends. They would see her and the baby protected.
* * *
Claudine and Manon helped Gabrielle dress for the hearing. They put together an ensemble of their own clothes in better repair than anything she owned, but they made sure they were plain. They could not have the judge thinking she’d squandered Patenaude’s money on frivolous new clothes, but she couldn’t appear unkempt, either.
“It’s going to be fine,” Claudine said, smoothing Gabrielle’s unruly hair into a tidy knot and covering it with a fresh white coiffe, as all dutiful married women wore.
“You’re in the right,” Manon said. “We can hope the judge will recognize this and do his duty.” Manon shot Claudine a warning look that Gabrielle interpreted with too much ease. Do not raise her spirits with false hopes.
“Don’t be cross with Claudine. Whatever the judge decides, I have to try,” Gabrielle said. “I have to protect my child from Patenaude. If I don’t make the effort, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Too right,” Claudine said. “Have you decided to tell the judge you’re expecting, then?”
“No,” Gabrielle said. “Alexandre seemed to think it would work against me. The courts would assume I would have to rely on charity to raise the child without a father. I’m better off pretending I don’t know about the impending arrival just yet.”
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