The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1)

by Susanne Matthews

  Isabelle shivered as the cold-heartedness in his voice froze the blood in her veins. She scrambled to reply. There had to be some way to avoid this or at least delay it.

  “Can’t you beg an extension? Give me time to grieve properly? A few more months can’t possibly cause you and his majesty any distress.”

  The chevalier chuckled as if what she’d said had amused him, but he looked anything but happy.

  “Madame, even one day is too long when a man yearns for a woman he admires.”

  “No man has such patience,” Solange said, her voice filled with barely suppressed fury. “And neither do I. Do not make things more difficult for yourself and Sophie than they have to be. The king spoke with Cardinal de Retz, and a dispensation from the banns has been given. The royal edict confirming the upcoming wedding will be read in the churches tomorrow. Tongues may wag, since it’s so soon after your father’s passing, but none will question the king’s edict. There is only one widow in mourning here now, and that’s me.” She raised a handkerchief to what Isabelle was certain was a dry eye.

  “I don’t understand. Pierre was my husband—”

  “And a traitor, an embarrassment to the family and the crown,” Solange hissed. “The sooner his name is no longer linked to anyone in Caen, the better. No one in France is to grieve for Pierre Gaudier, not his mother, and certainly not his widow. You may mourn your father as a dutiful daughter should, wear darker shades, but as much as I deplore the color, I’ll be the only one in black.”

  Isabelle gawked as her step-mother walked over to the fireplace to warm her hands.

  “A delay serves no purpose. Sophie’s ship sails for New France in five days. Colbert himself has arranged it.”

  “Five days?” she exclaimed. “How can she be ready so soon?”

  Her cheeks aflame, Isabelle looked away, unable to meet the chevalier’s lecherous gaze or the smug look of satisfaction on her step-mother’s face. Anger and frustration warred within her. She was being herded into a cage from which there was no escape. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she blinked to force them back. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how devastated she was.

  “With all the servants of Caen at her disposal, she’ll be ready long before the ship sails,” Solange answered, stepping away from the fire. “This marriage contract is a generous one. The king himself is providing both Sophie’s trousseau and yours.” She poured three glasses of wine and handed one to the chevalier and another to Isabelle. “Royal seamstresses and tailors are working on suitable clothing for you at this very moment, and the queen has sent you a half dozen of her own gowns to wear and one she had made especially for you at Vincent’s request. As my wedding gift, you may keep your mother’s jewels and the de Caen Emeralds. You’ve always loved this drafty old house, now it’s yours—well, once you marry Vincent, of course.”

  The countess raised her glass of wine. “To the new Count and Countess de Caen.”

  She sipped from her glass as did the chevalier. Isabelle couldn’t swallow a drop of her father’s best claret.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  “Come,” the countess ordered.

  “Pardon the intrusion, my lady,” Jean said, bowing deeply. “There’s an officer here who wishes to see Madame Gaudier.”

  The chevalier placed his empty wine glass on the tray.

  “I’m sure my fiancée can deal with this matter herself. As the mistress of the house, she’ll have to handle problems on her own in my absence. In the meantime, we’ve estate and company business that can’t wait, Solange. Will you join me in my office? I’m returning to Paris at first light to see to the last-minute details of my nuptials.” He turned to Isabelle and reached for her hand. “Soon, my dove, you’ll make me the happiest of men. I’ll see you shortly.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and placed a wet kiss on her palm. Isabelle fought the impulse to rub her hand dry against her skirt.

  “Of course, Vincent.” Solange put her wine glass on the tray. “The last few interviews with the riff-raff who claim Pierre was a great man instead of a traitor have left a foul taste in my mouth. I’ll join my other guests for a few moments and meet you shortly. Will that do?”

  “Yes. It’ll give me time to look over his majesty’s most recent dispatches.”

  Solange turned to her secretary. “Show the soldier in.” She dismissed him and focused her gaze on Isabelle. “We’ll speak of this further when your distasteful interview is over. I don’t understand why you’d even take the time to see him, anymore than I can comprehend why you’ve allowed every peasant within a league to pay their respects to you.”

  She left the room, and with one last nod of his head, Vincent closed the door behind them.

  Alone, Isabelle placed her untouched wine back on the tray and turned to face the fire hoping its heat would thaw the frost settling around her heart. How could the Lord expect this of her? In five days she would lose the last person she loved and be forced to wed a monster. To disobey the king was treason, a crime punishable by death, but wasn’t marriage to the chevalier a worse fate?

  She steeled herself for another emotional blow. Using her handkerchief, she swiped at her damp cheeks, knowing there was nothing she could do about the redness of her eyes. Maybe the soldier wouldn’t notice, or if he did, he would be kind enough not to mention it. There’d been little enough compassion in her life lately.

  Chapter Two

  Isabelle stood by the fire, her back to the door, her hands held out in front of her, working to compose herself. The cold filling her, an iciness born of despair, was unlike anything she’d ever endured, unlike any chilliness commonly found in the province she called home. She’d always loved Normandy, despite its harsh climate. Yes, it rained frequently, but without it there wouldn’t be the lush forests and farmland of the region.

  The Château de Caen, reputedly built over William the Conqueror’s own castle, was the largest such structure in Normandy, and stood sentinel-like, its towers and ramparts overseeing the vast lands of the estate, promising a bastion of safety within its slowly decaying outer walls should the English, a perennial enemy, try to invade.

  The governor’s lodge itself had been added two hundred years ago, built of roughhewn basalt stones carefully mortared together. Her home had been renovated extensively in the last fifty years and boasted leaded-glass windows which allowed the sun to penetrate the four-foot thick walls. Since the house maintained the same temperature year-round, its fireplaces saw regular use. Caen, with its own individual climate, rarely suffered the sweltering heat of summer or the frigid temperatures of winter common to the rest of Northern France. Normally, the coolness suited her, but today, it froze her bones.

  “Madame, le Seigneur Guy Poirier,” Jean said, entering the room, pulling her out of her head as the countess would say.

  A seigneur? Hadn’t Jean said a soldier wished to see her? She turned to face her guest and curtsied.

  A wave of desire swamped her at the sight of the uniform, Pierre’s uniform, not the man wearing it, although there was something familiar about the tall, broad-shouldered nobleman who stood just inside the room. She swallowed her shock, prayed her face didn’t betray her, and begged her knees to hold her.

  “Please, countess, rise. My peerage is far below yours,” he said, indicating Jean should deposit the small trunk he carried near the door and moving toward her.

  Isabelle rose and stared at the man who bowed deeply as if she deserved the honor. He wore the regiment’s long brown jacket identical to the one Pierre had worn. His knee-pants were black, his stockings red, and his shoes dark brown leather adorned with brass buckles. A red sash girded his waist and a pristine, white lace jabot filled his neckline. Snowy wide lace protruded from the wide cuffs of his jacket. His brown hair fell smoothly just below his shoulders, and in his hand, he held a slouch hat similar to the one Pierre had preferred.

  As he approached her, Isabelle noted a slight limp, no doubt the resu
lt of an injury sustained in battle. He was lean with a deftly trimmed beard and mustache, and sunken cheeks suggesting he’d been ill. A long, recently healed scar ran down the left side of his face and disappeared into his beard, but it didn’t affect his handsomeness. If anything, it gave him an additional aura of mystique. He had a generous mouth with a smile that reached eyes filled with sympathy.

  Something about him touched her deeply, kindling feelings she’d believed as dead as her husband. Ashamed of this unexpected yearning, she forced her contrary emotions to the back of her mind. It had to be a subconscious reaction to the uniform, nothing more. She turned to her step-mother’s servant who lingered at the door.

  “Thank you, Jean. Could you bring another glass for his lordship?”

  “Right away.” He left, closing the door behind him.

  “Won’t you sit, my lord?” she invited, indicating a chair in front of the fireplace. “What can I do for you?” She sat in the chair next to the one she offered.

  “Please call me Guy, in memory of our old friendship and our mutual friend,” he said, taking the seat she’d indicated. “Allow me to express my deepest sympathy for your losses.”

  They’d been friends? Something about him tickled her memory.

  “Thank you, Guy, but you must call me Isabelle. I’m not the countess.” At least not yet and never if she could manage it. “My step-mother currently holds the title.”

  “As you wish.” He nodded his head, but his wide-eyed look indicated his surprise.

  “Since my father has no male heirs, the estate and the titles revert to the king. As soon as the new governor marries, he and his wife will become the Count and Countess de Caen.” She just prayed it wouldn’t be her. “My step-mother will relinquish the title and return to court.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that. After everything that’s happened, losing both your home and your father must be a crippling blow.” He smiled, his deep brown eyes filled with sadness. “You don’t remember me, do you? It’s been more than twelve years since we last saw each other. I’m a distant cousin to Pierre. When my father died, the vicomte opened his home to my mother and me. I sometimes accompanied him here.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t quite place you, but no doubt you’ve changed over the years and my memory fails me in my grief.”

  “To be expected. I was dismayed to hear of the viscount’s death. The man was like a father to me.”

  “Unfortunately, the accusations against Pierre and his sudden death were too much for my father-in-law. His mother is in seclusion at her sister’s home outside of Paris. Cedric is viscount now. Sadly, the king has ordered an end to all mourning for my late husband.”

  Guy nodded, his jaw tense and lips pursed.

  While Isabelle could read grief on his face, she couldn’t deny the anger there, too.

  “That will suit that snivelling bastard well, pardon my language, but Cedric and I never saw eye to eye. I empathize with you and my aunt. Don’t believe the allegations and charges made against your husband, Isabelle. Pierre was an honorable man. While I can’t share the details with you, rest assured that those in power in New France will not believe it either. Pierre was an excellent officer, a dedicated quarter master, and the best friend I ever had. He was a hero in the truest sense of the word. I’ll miss him.”

  Jean returned with the wine glass she’d requested. He filled it from the carafe on the table and collected the glasses Solange and the chevalier had used.

  “Will there be anything else, madame?” he asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.

  She shook her head, trying to hide her dislike for the man.

  “No, Jean, that’ll be all. Thank you.”

  He nodded and left.

  She glanced at the closed door. No doubt her step-mother’s lackey would have his ear pressed to the keyhole.

  After handing Guy his goblet, she reached for her own.

  “To Pierre,” Guy said, raising his glass. “An officer and a gentleman.”

  “To Pierre,” she repeated.

  This time, the wine slid down her throat without effort. She set her empty glass back on the tray and refilled his.

  Guy nodded his thanks.

  His intense gaze on her face sent the butterflies in her stomach into motion. Her cheeks heated.

  “Forgive me for staring, my lady,” Guy said, bowing his head and then raising it again. “You were all Pierre talked about. He carried your miniature with him everywhere. He had an artist in the colony create a larger portrait of you from it. The artist didn’t do you justice. The promise of beauty you carried as a girl has been more than manifested in the woman you’ve become.”

  Isabelle lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with the compliment.

  “Thank you, you’re too kind, but please call me Isabelle. It’s been a long day, one that promises to be longer still with so many mourners staying with us. What is that?” She indicated the small trunk on the floor. “Speak softly if it’s confidential.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “We may seem alone, but the walls have ears in my step-mother’s house. What’s in there?”

  Guy lowered his voice to match hers.

  “Contrary to what you believe, my lady, you do have the right to that title. Allow me to explain. Before leaving Ville-Marie, Pierre made plans to return to New France with you by his side. I should have sailed with him, but an injury prevented it.” He traced the scar along his face, seemingly unaware of the gesture. “If I had been, he would still be alive. I blame myself for not being there to watch his back.”

  “Had you been there, no doubt you would’ve been killed as well,” she uttered, clenching her fists, unable to hide her anger. “I doubt it was a fair fight, although few details have surfaced. My husband was an excellent swordsman. It’s hard to believe he could’ve died that way.”

  Guy scowled. “I agree. No one could’ve bested him in a proper duel. I heard about his death and the accusations when my ship landed. When the news reached me of your father’s death, I knew you would be here. This small trunk contains the personal effects Pierre asked me to bring when I joined him. I’ll arrange to send you the rest of his belongings. I’d anticipated giving him welcomed news, but now that news is yours. Did he tell you the regiment had been disbanded since peace has come to the colony?”

  “Yes, he did. It was the last thing we discussed before he left to answer the king’s summons, but Pierre was concerned about that. My husband thought disbanding the regiment might be presumptuous.”

  Guy nodded. “It’s a concern many of us share, but each man is part of the militia and will defend his land and the colony if need be. While the governor-general, the intendant, and the archbishop, represent the king and the church, seigneurs are the nobility in the colony and it is our responsibility to keep the colonists safe. While many of the seigneurs still reside in France and act as absentee landlords, their representatives maintain the land. Talon seeks to change that by encouraging the new seigneur to live in the colony. Four hundred men from the regiment have opted to stay in New France, most of them in the region along the Saint Lawrence called Canada. As a reward for his services, Pierre has been made a seigneur, like myself, and granted a large estate on the mainland near Ville-Marie. Close to six hundred souls live in the settlement, which continues to grow. One day, it will be the backbone of trade between France and the regions farther to the west. While furs, specifically beaver pelts are still the colony’s primary export, agriculture has grown considerably as has the timber industry. We may not be rich in the same way as the nobility in France, but we and our tenants fare far better than many doing the same thing here do. By right of préciput, the rules governing the disposition of a man’s estate, it’s yours. If you decide not to come to New France, I would like to buy it from you since it abuts my land. Pierre also built a fine house in the settlement itself. I can arrange its sale for you as well.”

  He looked at her expectantly and took another mouthful of his wine.


  Isabelle frowned and bit her lower lip. The charges against Pierre stemmed from New France, yet Guy seemed to think there was nothing there to implicate her husband in treason. If she could get to the colony to claim her land, would she be able to find supporters to help her clear Pierre’s name?

  But there was still his majesty’s edict. Would the king allow her to renounce her claim to the throne and move to the colony? That glimmer of hope faded almost before she’d finished the thought. As long as she lived, the chevalier would never let her go. Had he not said, only death could stop this marriage? She huffed out a breath. While this couldn’t help her, maybe it could make life easier for Sophie.

  “Guy, this comes as a surprise, and I’m overwhelmed. While I may not be able to go to New France, Sophie has been chosen as one of the Filles du Roi leaving for that colony in five days. Perhaps she could have the house in town, and we can make some arrangement concerning the land? Must I give you my answer now? When are you returning to the colony?”

  “The house is yours to do with as you please. My ship sails within the week. I’ll gladly take care of our property until you make your decision. If Sophie ends up in Ville-Marie, I’ll help her claim the house, but most of the king’s daughters are snapped up in Quebec. My ship carries the king’s brides, one of Colbert’s new ideas, women already contracted in marriage to men who await their arrival. It’s unusual, but officers and seigneurs have specific requirements for their brides and these girls were selected specifically for the skills they bring with them.”

  Isabelle nodded, impressed with the idea. If a man was going to run an estate, it made sense to have a wife who understood those responsibilities. Given Sophie’s background, she could be a boon to such a man.

  “There’s no hurry for you to decide,” Guy continued. “In my absence, life carries on as it should. Fields are cleared and planted, and I’ll be back before the harvest.” He smiled sadly. “Pierre loved New France despite its challenges. The land is rich and untamed, and it was his hope you would love it, too.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a leather pouch and some documents. “Here’s his last pay and the financial gift which accompanies the granting of the title and the estate. The provisions and livestock must remain in the colony, but this money is yours now to do as you wish. The key to the trunk is in the pouch.”