Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  Margaux gave her a pleading look. “We will plan our trousseaus together.”

  Maman placed the box back on her lap. “Ma chérie, open it. It will put you in better spirits.”

  Jacqueline fingered the floppy satin ribbon, wishing she were not the eldest daughter.

  Margaux had already begun planning her, as yet unconfirmed wedding, to Marchese Falco. Margaux and the Marchese had so much in common; love, for one thing. All need be done now was for her to marry, and Margaux’s wedding plans would go forward.

  Jacqueline pulled the ribbon.

  Maman leaned forward. “Magnifique!”

  “Oui,” she murmured, lifting the necklace from its satin bedding. “I have never seen the like.” She turned the necklace this way and that and delicate rubies winked in the stylized dragon’s eyes. Such an intricate design was also found on the pendulum earrings and bracelet the Marquess had sent her over the last few months.

  Maman helped fasten the clasp at her nape. The dragon fell warm between her breasts and she felt the heat of the fire in her nightmare. Orange flames licked at her skin…

  Margaux squeezed in beside her on the sofa, jolting her out of the daydream. Her sister fingered the unusual dragon bracelet she’d put on this morning. “Voila! Now you have a set!”

  “I cannot speak for his character, but the Marquess has exquisite taste in jewelry,” Maman said. “Now, your father’s guest arrives today. What shall we plan for the evening meal?”

  They discussed a special menu, and then the conversation turned to the upcoming nuptials.

  They could very well spend the morning going over plans for the trousseaus. Her plans to get out of the château were quickly slipping away.

  She pasted an attentive smile on her face and thought of how she would paint the sunlight on the Seine.

  * * * *

  Captain Roman Eric Cardiff sat in the parlor of the Château de Vaujours as the brass hand of the ormolu clock on the mantle came to rest on the fourth hour.

  The Comte St. Clair enjoyed a good relationship with King Louis XVI; however, relations were not good enough to save his head. The Comte was a member of the Estates-General, the emissary of a king with a huge financial crisis. He was in a tight spot.

  Noblemen like the Comte St. Clair were not in high regard these days. With all his holdings and title deeds, there was nowhere in France the Comte would be able to hide when the people had had enough of King Louis’ guidance.

  Roman had friends in places the aristocracy would never dare to go. A myriad group of lawful and lawless characters who’d had the pleasure of a visit or two to La Force Prison or the Bastille. They had no love for King Louis and would see him guillotined, but they trusted Roman and would be of assistance in the Comte’s cause.

  He absently tapped his fingers on his knee. How long will this favor take? He wanted to be home in Yorkshire after a long voyage.

  “Captain Cardiff, it is good of you to come.”

  He stood to shake the Comte’s hand. The worry lines tracing the Comte’s brows never quite smoothed with his smile. “Comte St. Clair, it is my pleasure. The Raven had just returned to England when I received the urgent message from King George. He sends greetings.”

  “It has been too long,” the Comte said.

  “One year,” Roman said. “And very different circumstances.”

  “Yes, I am afraid so.” The Comte sighed. “Please, come with me.”

  He followed the Comte out of the parlor across the grand hall to the study.

  The Comte gestured toward a leather settee and then sat behind his desk. “Simone knows nothing of this.”

  “The Comtesse does not know?” Roman lowered his voice. “It will be more difficult to plan if the family is not aware of the danger of remaining in France.”

  “She loves her home, her gardens…I could not.”

  He studied the Comte’s drawn expression. At court, the Comte played a role of confidence in the monarchy. Now he must play another, more covert role to save his family. He was told the Comte had children. They would never get out of France if they were all in a state of panic. “I understand,” Roman said. “Well, I have been invited to a ball.”

  He began laying out his plan of escape for the Comte St. Clair and his family.

  * * * *

  Jacqueline stared at the captain of the English king’s royal navy.

  Masculinity personified, he was a commanding presence with his sharp angular features. Thick, black curls gave him a roguish look in contrast to sky-blue eyes, which were almost angelic. The dimples above his square jaw softened his expression when he smiled down at her.

  “Mesdemoiselles Jacqueline and Margaux.” His deep voice held a sensual resonance that warmed her blood. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.” The blue velvet waistcoat stretching over his chest made his eyes glow.

  She looked away from the play of muscles against the white satin breeches. His physique inspired images of a pagan god. When he took her arm and escorted her into the dining room, his large hand warmed hers like a glove.

  How many women worship at his altar?

  The deity led her to a chair, and she sat down before her legs gave way.

  “Is there something wrong, Mademoiselle?” His soft inquiry in French close to her ear stirred something inside her.

  “No, Captain Cardiff.” Grateful he could not hear her thoughts; she glanced up at his cravat, for she could not meet his eyes.

  “Very well, then. I will be just across the way if you require assistance.” His eyes rested on her lips briefly, before he relinquished her hand.

  She was holding her breath and let it go in a slow whoosh of relief when he sat on the other side of the table. She focused on the china as Papa motioned to Mathilde to begin serving the first course.

  * * * *

  She was beautiful, and she was not a child.

  Her auburn curls swept up and left the smooth alabaster column of her neck bare. Green eyes sparkled like jewels set in her heart-shaped face. The emerald velvet gown had a modest sweetheart neckline, yet could not conceal the perfect fullness of her breasts.

  Roman watched the graceful motions of her little hands when she spoke. She smiled and he glimpsed white teeth beyond crushed berry lips. Lust coursed through his veins and he shifted in his chair. She was made for love.

  She looked across the table at him and long, sooty lashes swept cheeks tinged with a blush. She cast her eyes down to the china again.

  He must stop staring; the Comte would surely take notice. He turned his attention to the Comte and the conversation soon turned to the political agendas among the guests of the upcoming ball. Such mundane conversation was meant to put Jacqueline at ease, and he could see she was more relaxed. He enjoyed looking at her.

  “Marchese Falco shall attend the ball,” the Comte said. “He will make my daughter a fine husband.”

  Roman gripped his wineglass. He wanted to see her eyes, to know if she was happy about the engagement. “Mademoiselle Jacqueline, you will find Italy is a wonderful country, full of culture.”

  Jacqueline glanced at him and then quickly looked away. “It is my sister Margaux who will be betrothed to Marchese Falco.”

  He relaxed his grip on the wineglass. “Ah, well, Mademoiselle Margaux, it is a beautiful place with much history. The people are very friendly.”

  Margaux giggled.

  “Jacqueline is betrothed to Francis Evenwald, Lord Alsborough.” Simone St. Clair smiled at her daughter. “They are to be wed this fall.”

  “He sends the most beautiful jewelry. It is so romantic,” Margaux sighed.

  Jacqueline touched the dragon necklace around her neck.

  Roman put his glass down and looked Jacqueline in the eyes. “A beautiful set, Mademoiselle Jacqueline. What does the dragon signify?”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t know.” She bit that delectable bottom lip. “Perhaps it has something to do with strength and beauty?”

 
He picked up his glass and sat back. “A good family, the Evenwalds. You must be very happy, Mademoiselle.”

  She looked down at her plate and continued eating.

  Now it was his turn to smile jubilantly. She was not happy at all and that made him very happy.

  * * * *

  Margaux walked ahead with Zoë on the top level of the gardens with magnificent flowerbeds riotous in every hue from deep purple to lily white. When the poodle spotted a hummingbird and ran after it, Margaux followed, laughter trilling in her wake.

  Captain Cardiff led Jacqueline down a path to the lower level of the garden. They crossed a moat and stopped in front a small ornamental lake where stone benches and statues of Greek gods were set in niches cut into the hedges.

  “Will your fiancé escort you to the ball, Mademoiselle Jacqueline?”

  “No, he will not attend.”

  “You must miss him?” The captain turned toward her when she did not respond. “Are you not pleased with the betrothal, Mademoiselle?”

  She examined a rose bush. “I am twenty-one years old. I must wed.”

  The captain came up behind her. “Do you love him?”

  She could feel his breath on the back of her neck and the hair on her nape prickled. “I don’t really know him,” she whispered.

  Though he did not touch her, she sensed the tensing of his posture.

  The captain muttered an oath. “You do this to please your father?”

  She turned back to him. “I have declined two proposals already. Papa grows impatient…” she could not say the rest. The very words choked her hope. Staring into the captain’s eyes, she wondered if he, too, was sobered with regret.

  The captain took a step closer. “Mademoiselle Jacqueline, would you not marry for love?”

  “Papa and his father are great friends.”

  “Friendship, Jacqueline,” he chided her. “I am talking of love.”

  “It is too late.”

  “It is never too late” He spoke these words in French. She knew he did it on purpose to reach her soul. He did. He took her hand and his full lips caressed it, so gentle on her skin. “Marry for love.”

  How she wanted to obey that command. She’d lost her voice and could only nod.

  “Never let go of a dream, my Beauty.” He tilted her chin up and as if it were his right, he nibbled on her lips.

  There was no hesitation when his tongue sought entrance to her mouth. She leaned into him, parted her lips and closed her eyes. She did not know much of anything else until he groaned.

  Captain Cardiff stepped back. The roiling sea in his eyes calmed, as did her breathing. When he was able to smile down at her, he stroked her cheek.

  “Shall we find your sister?”

  She touched her burning face and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as they walked back up the path.

  * * * *

  The captain’s kiss had opened her mind to possibilities like a flower to the sun.

  Yesterday, only their mouths had touched, yet her whole being resonated with the memory. The shivers up her spine were not only from what he had made her feel, but also from burgeoning hope.

  Is it possible to be with him? Her body said yes. Her mind wasn’t so sure; there were obligations.

  A finger-prick brought her out of the daydream.

  “Oh!” She sucked a drop of blood off the tip of her finger.

  “Jacqueline, you are so far away today.”

  She put down her sewing. “Maman, did you love Papa when you married?”

  “I did not know your father, ma chérie, but I grew to love him.” She put down her sewing and took Jacqueline’s hands in hers. “Lord Alsborough comes from an honorable family. He will take care of you.”

  “What if I cannot love him?” She asked this because she could not ask what she really needed to know. What if I want another?

  She had always been able to confide in her mother. But a young woman’s quandary was not as innocent and certainly not as easy to resolve as that of a little girl. She searched her mother’s eyes, willing her to understand.

  “You will have children to love and they will be a joy to you. You will be the Marchioness of Alsborough and your husband will take care of you. Jacqueline, it is for the best.”

  He has done this to me.

  She could not imagine kissing the Marquess, much less having his children.

  During the following week, Jacqueline could not avoid Captain Cardiff. He would not allow it.

  Exotic flowers left in her room were a plea for her to dream of him at night. He accompanied them to the L’ Opéra Le Peletier. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark theatre as they listened to the music.

  She and Margaux took him riding along the banks of the Seine. They stopped to watch the waters rolling over the slate gray rocks past the other châteaus dotting the riverbank.

  When the captain helped her off Anouk, he slid her from the mount against his body. Her nipples tingled where her riding habit grazed his chest. She gave the sheen of perspiration on her lips a discreet dab when she turned to follow Margaux to the water, leaving him to tend the horses.

  Captain Cardiff engaged her in conversation at every meal. Being naïve enough to feel safe in the company of others, Jacqueline laughed in spite of herself at his ready wit. It only served to draw her closer to him, like a child to an irresistible pied piper.

  Sometimes he would sit next to her at the dinner table and his thigh would rub against hers. Or they would reach for their silverware at the same time and his warm fingers would brush hers.

  The captain’s touch roused contradictory and yet powerful feelings in her, comfort and a deep yearning desire. When he’d kissed her the other day in the garden it was as if she had been sleep walking her entire life and had awakened at that moment.

  Treacherous hope crept into her heart by degrees the more time she spent with him.

  Though she was bursting with these new feelings, she told no one. She had never kept secrets from Margaux before. She was experiencing such precious emotions that she was unable to sort them out. One thing she did know; there was an urgency growing within her. She must come to a decision about her future.

  Chapter 3

  Château de Vaujours, Asnières-Sur-Seine, France – May 28, 1789

  The time had come.

  The Captain had turned her days and nights into such a distraction that Jacqueline could not think. She mustered the courage to approach her father in his study.

  “Papa, I must speak with you about Lord Alsborough.” She stopped at the threshold.

  Papa and Captain Cardiff were huddled together over something on his desk.

  The captain turned and leaned back in his chair. His gaze traveled the length of her. Papa had not yet noticed she had intruded upon their discussion.

  She drew her eyes away from the captain and turned to leave when Papa said, “What about Lord Alsborough?” Her father folded the paper he had been reading and put it in the desk drawer.

  “I am sorry, Papa, I thought you were alone.”

  “Come in, my dear. I’m sure you have questions about your betrothed.”

  That was not why she had come. Now that she had an inkling of what it was like to want someone, a dangerous, liberating hope grew in her heart. She could care less about the Marquess, as he obviously did not care for her. He had not come to visit her in all the months they had been betrothed.

  Weary of the war going on inside her head, she had come with an answer to her dilemma, but she would not speak in front of the captain. Having never gone against her father’s wishes as she planned to now, Jacqueline felt the need to sit. The only available chair was next to the captain in front of Papa’s desk.

  “Captain Cardiff knows your fiancé’s family very well. I am sure he would be happy to answer any questions you may have of Lord Alsborough’s home in England.” Papa spoke as if he were Père Noël handing her a special gift on Christmas Eve.

&nb
sp; She turned to face the captain. “I see.”

  He had kissed her—mon Dieu—and she had foolishly thought that meant he had taken a special interest in her! He was friend to her fiancé, not her. What had he meant to do with that kiss? It wasn’t what she had thought. Her eyes rested on those deceptive dimples she admired so when he spoke of his home in England. Betrayal was a bitter brew to swallow.

  Was he spying on her to report to the mysterious Marquess on what a naughty fiancée she was? She looked on the captain in a new light now, remembering the latest accidental brush of his arm against the front of her riding habit, which had made her breasts tingle. She would not ride with him anymore.

  Anger flourished within her at the notion that this punishment she doled out felt like hers as well. She had enjoyed their rides through the countryside.

  The captain lifted one of those sinful dark brows in question, which only served to incense her even more.

  She tried for an even pitch. “Captain Cardiff, when next will you see your friend the Marquess? I am sure he will want to know how you’ve enjoyed our beautiful country these past weeks.”

  “When the Comte and I have finished our business will be soon enough, Mademoiselle Jacqueline.” The captain now lowered that damnable brow, enhancing the subtle warning in his voice.

  With that, she was undone.

  “What business is that, Captain Cardiff? Surely two weeks is enough time to conduct an investigation.”

  “Jacqueline,” Papa stood.

  She took a deep breath. In that moment she saw something even more disturbing than the red patina in which the room was bathed.

  The look that passed between her father and the captain confused her. It made her feel even more like an intruder, and it said that her father was privy to the captain’s true purpose here in France.

  Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she rose from the chair. “I am sorry. Please excuse me.” She fled the room.

  * * * *

  “Your father thinks you are nervous about the upcoming nuptials.” The captain stood behind her. As always when they were alone, he engaged her in French. It disarmed her but she would not relent. Not this time.