“My other husbands have always said that I was an understanding woman, monseigneur. Perhaps I will not comprehend, but how will you know unless you confide in me?” She gave him a small smile to encourage him. She must keep the lines of communication open between them else this marriage be doomed before it even began.
He leaned forward and began to speak. “The Catholic Church has become corrupt, madame. They no longer administer to the needs of their flock. They sell indulgences and absolutions! They own vast tracts of land. They engage in commerce and act as patrons to worthless artists! They are as venal and as lustful as the worst of men! They have lost sight of God!
“Pastor Lichault was once one of them, but in a vision he saw the light. Now he strives to bring that light to others. My people do not listen now, but in the end they will. The only way we will escape the fires of Hell and damnation is to live simply, to pray, to scourge ourselves free of the opulent trappings with which we have surrounded ourselves!”
Skye was astounded by the duc’s outburst and his next words sent a chill through her. “You must join me in my endeavors, madame. As your husband I command it! Only when we are both free of sin will God reward us with the children that I so desperately want.”
This was hardly what she had expected, and she suspected that even the very Protestant Lord Burghley had known nothing about the duc’s sudden conversion, either. The man was unstable, and would not make a reliable ally for England. She had been sacrificed to a madman!
“You say nothing, madame.”
She chose her words carefully. “I am a daughter of the one true Church, monseigneur. My uncle is a bishop. I have read and studied the teachings of Martin Luther, but I prefer to remain as I have always been although I am more liberal than many of my faith. I have friends who have chosen to follow the new faith, and if they are happy then I am happy for them, but I cannot convert.”
“Your gown is much too immodest,” he said, ignoring her words. “Are all your gowns so low in the neckline?”
“It is the fashion, monseigneur.”
“After today you will not wear such garments. They were made to entice, and to lure a man into lust. I will send the castle seamstress to you tomorrow, and when she has taken your measurements she will make you more suitable garments.”
“I choose my own clothes, monseigneur,” Skye said sharply. “Whatever the fashion, I am, and always have been, a faithful wife. I do not flaunt my charms before other men.”
“You would disobey me, madame?” His look was black.
“No, monseigneur, I would simply overrule you in an area in which you are not competent to judge.”
“But the sight of so much beauty is distracting, madame!”
“I do not flaunt my beauty. If you are distracted then the fault is within you, monseigneur. It is not with me.”
“You are right,” he whispered, and obviously shaken by the truth of her words, he withdrew into himself.
Skye turned to look out the window of the coach at the beautiful little town of Villerose. Her conversation with the duc had disturbed her greatly. He was obviously not a man of strong character if in his nephew’s absence he had been led astray by this Pastor Lichault. At least his people resisted this attempt to force them from the true Church. He may think he has driven the priests out, Skye thought, but I will wager that they are still here. I will have to find one. She focused her eyes upon the town.
It was a lovely place, and to her immense delight each building was painted pink and roofed in red tile. The streets were cobbled but not overly narrow, and flowers grew everywhere, in gardens, in windowboxes, hanging from pots and balconies. “Why are the buildings all pink?” she asked the duc.
“It was the favorite color of one of my ancestors. Villerose has been pink for over three hundred years now.” He fell silent again, and Skye turned back to the window.
The town seemed filled with small squares, each with its own fountain sending forth a spray of crystal-clear water into the hot afternoon. There were children everywhere, healthy, well-fed boys and girls, running and playing about the houses and fountains. The duchy of Beaumont de Jaspre was obviously a happy and prosperous place, Skye decided as they passed well-filled, busy shops and small open-air markets. It was everything that Edmond had promised her with one exception: the duc. How could she marry this intense, fanatical man? But she knew she must.
The coach wound its way upward through the cobbled streets until it reached the castle, perched upon the crest of a hill above the town, overlooking the blue sea. Like the town, the castle was of pink stone, its tower roofs tiled in red. A wide moat filled with pink and white waterlilies surrounded the building. The carriage drove across the lowered drawbridge into the courtyard, and Skye was further enchanted. In the courtyard’s center was a square tiled pool that was edged with a flowerbed filled with brightly colored blooms. At one end of the fountain, a mischievous bronze cupid rode a bronze dolphin from whose open mouth poured a clear stream of water.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
“I am pleased that you like it,” the duc answered. The intensity was gone, and she felt more comfortable with him.
The vehicle stopped and a footman hurried to help them out. Edmond and Robbie were dismounting their horses. They both hurried over to the carriage as Skye exited it.
“Well,” Edmond demanded, “what do you think of Beaumont de Jaspre, chérie?”
“It’s beautiful, Edmond,” she said, but Robbie noticed her lack of enthusiasm and drew her away from the duc.
“What is the matter?”
“He’s a Huguenot, Robbie. Newly converted by a Pastor Lichault, and quite the fanatic about it. He claims to have driven the priests from his duchy, and he wants to change my wardrobe to something more modest.” Speaking about it, Skye didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
“God’s foot!” swore Robbie, who although a member of the Church of England, was a tolerant man.
“Come, madame.” The duc was at her side again. “You will want to refresh yourself before we are married. Will half an hour suit you?”
“So soon? Could we not wait a few days, monseigneur, so that we might get to know one another?”
“Are you able to receive a man now, madame?” he demanded quite bluntly.
Skye blushed at his indelicacy, and whispered, “Yes.”
“Then there is no need for us to wait. You know my feelings on the matter, as we have already discussed them in the coach.” He took her arm. “Come now. You will see M’sieur Robert Small and Edmond at the ceremony.”
There was nothing for it but to follow him, though behind her she heard Robbie growl a low protest. She dared not turn but kept walking, allowing the duc to lead her into the castle. “Your maid should already be here, madame,” he said, moving through the main hall of the castle. The walls were hung with many beautiful crimson, azure and gold silk banners, some of which Skye could see were very old. She followed him as he hurried two flights up a wide staircase with magnificently carved bannisters and then down a corridor lit by windows that faced onto the courtyard now bright with the late-afternoon sunlight. He stopped before a pair of doors shaped like upside down U’s, and knocked. The door opened to reveal Daisy.
“Welcome, my lady, m’lord,” Daisy said.
“Does your maid not speak French?” the duc demanded.
“She is a simple English country girl, monseigneur, but she is a fine tiring woman, and has been with me for many years.” Skye turned to Daisy, saying, “Daisy, this is the duc.” She then said to the duc, speaking French this time, “Monseigneur, this is my maid, Daisy, whom you would call Marguérite in your tongue.”
Daisy bobbed a pretty curtsey, and smiled her gap-toothed smile.
The duc barely nodded. “I will come back for you in a few minutes,” he said. “You will be a beautiful bride, madame. And because you are so beautiful, and I believe that there is no real malice in you, I will b
e patient with your rather hoydenish and independent ways.” He bowed curtly, and left her standing there surprised.
Daisy pulled her mistress into the room. “Come in, m’lady! Lord bless me, it’s lovely here, it is! I ain’t never seen such flowers! Isn’t the town simply adorable, all pinklike?” Daisy was full of enthusiasm. “Maybe it won’t be so bad living here after all.”
“Is there some water, Daisy? I must refresh myself before the duc comes back. We are to be married immediately.”
“Ohh.” Daisy’s eyes widened. “He’s that anxious, is he?” She giggled with delight. “He’s a fine-looking man, m’lady. He might even be called handsome if he’d just smile, but you’ll have him smiling soon enough.” She hurried off to fetch the water.
Skye looked about her. She was in a square room with pale-gray stone walls. There were fireplaces on either side of the room, their enormous narrow mantels held up by seated golden marble lions with green jasper eyes. The walls were hung with exquisite silk tapestries all depicting tales of knights and maidens and dragons in colorful and bright threads. Each tapestry was beautifully done, and Skye wondered if some past Duchess of Beaumont had lovingly stitched them. She also wondered if that long-dead duchess had loved her husband.
The room had no windows. In its center was a long oak refectory table with a silver bowl filled with peach-colored roses upon it. Their fragrance perfumed the room. The rest of the furnishings consisted of several straight-back, carved chairs with velvet cushions, strategically placed. There was a door opposite her, and another beside one of the fireplaces, through which Daisy had disappeared.
She now reappeared carrying a golden basin. “Oh, m’lady, come just through the other door, please, into your bedchamber.”
Skye walked across the room, and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I’m daydreaming, it seems.”
Daisy hurried into the room behind her mistress. “And why not?” she demanded. “You’re about to be married, and this is a beautiful place!”
Skye looked around the bedchamber. It was a tower room and round in shape. There were windows directly before her that extended to the floor, opening onto a small balcony. She could see the sea through them. To her left was a huge carved bed with a linenfold paneled headboard, draped in plain dark green velvet. Opposite the bed was a small fireplace. There was but one candlestand beside the bed, holding a golden candlestick with a fine beeswax taper. There was a low-backed stool with a tapestry cushion at one side of the fireplace.
“It’s not very large for the duchess’s chambers,” she noted.
“The duc’s is next door, m’lady. See the little door on the other side of the bed? That goes into his chambers. There’s also a dressing room off the antechamber.”
Daisy put the basin down on the candlestand, and Skye rinsed her hands and her face quickly. Daisy had scented the water with her mistress’s rose fragrance. Skye was very quiet, and Daisy could not help noticing.
“I wouldn’t think you’d have bridal nerves after all these years,” she remarked.
Skye laughed weakly. “It’s all very different this time, Daisy. I don’t know the duc, and our conversation in the coach as we came from the port was not reassuring. He is a Huguenot, and a fanatic at that. He wants children desperately, but I do not know if I can give them to him. He frightens me a little.”
Daisy looked shrewdly at her mistress. “Ye’re taking the potion that yer sister, Eibhlin, gave you, aren’t you?”
Skye nodded. “I intend to go on taking it until the duc and I can come to some sort of arrangement. I don’t plan to be his brood mare, locked up in this fairy-tale castle forever.” She took the creamy linen towel that Daisy handed her, and dried her face and hands. Then, as an afterthought, she pulled the kerchief from her neckline in a gesture of defiance.
They heard the knock on the antechamber door at the same time, and Daisy hurried to open it. Edmond de Beaumont hurried in, his handsome face distressed.
“I did not know,” he said. “As the good God is my judge, Skye, I did not know he had become a Huguenot. I didn’t even know he was contemplating it. That damned Lichault! He waited until I was gone, and then, like the snake in the Garden of Eden, he wormed his way deep into my uncle’s confidence. God, he is an evil creature!”
“Your uncle says he has driven the priests from Beaumont de Jaspre. Is it true?”
“He thinks he has, but Père Henri has already come to see me. He was the family chaplain. He says he understands the difficult position you, the niece of a bishop, must find yourself in, but you are not to fear for your immortal soul. He gives you a dispensation to wed my uncle in this new faith, knowing that eventually you will overcome that man Lichault and bring my uncle back to the true Church.”
Skye nodded, but inwardly she was amused. Her religion was a private thing, although she had been baptized a Catholic. Her second husband had wed her in the Moslem faith, her third in the Church of England. That she had loved them both made the difference. But she did not like the duc telling her what she was going to do, and what she was going to be. If this religion of his was really that way, she would cling like a barnacle to her own faith and let the good local priests think she was devout. It couldn’t hurt her reputation, and if she could wean the duc from his obviously unpleasant faith, she might be able to learn to care for him in time. Beneath the stern façade she had detected small flashes of humor. She wondered again what he looked like when he smiled.
Another knock sounded upon the door, and this time it was the duc who entered. He carried with him a nosegay of fragrant orange blossoms, white freesias, and tiny white rosebuds, tied with lilac-colored silk ribbons. With an elegant bow he handed the flowers to her. “For you, madame. Pastor Lichault says such things are the Devil’s enticements, but I believe that women appreciate such small vanities, especially on their wedding day.” He held out his arm to her, and with a return curtsey she took it.
“Will you allow Daisy to see the ceremony, monseigneur? It would mean a great deal to us both.”
“Of course!” He was pleased to note that she had deferred to him in this matter.
The duc led the way to the family chapel, where Robbie, Sean MacGuire and Bran Kelly already awaited them. Edmond de Beaumont drew in his breath sharply as they entered.
“What has happened here?” he demanded furiously. “Where are the tapestries, Uncle? Where are the beautiful altar cloths? The candles? The crucifix? The paintings? Where is the tabernacle?”
The chapel was indeed bare and plain with its simple wooden altar. There was no vigil light. The only light was from its windows, magnificent arches of red, blue, gold, and green stained glass.
“Those fripperies were but trappings of the Devil, Edmond. It was my decision to remove them.”
“To where? There were pieces in this chapel that go back almost a thousand years! They belong to this family and to the Church!”
“Pastor Lichault would have destroyed them, Edmond, but I had them packed away. I do not want them any longer. Now be silent, nephew, else you spoil my wedding day.” The duc nodded to a man who stood by the altar, and immediately the servant ran out through the sacristy to return a moment later with another man.
He has the look of a cadaver, Skye thought. He was very tall, and very thin, and his face was long with narrow lips, a strangely large nose, and eyes that burned with the fervor of a martyr. He was garbed totally in black, and his rather spare, gray hair stuck out from beneath his square black hat at funny angles. As they approached him Skye could see that his fingernails were dirty, and as they came still closer she noted that he smelled terrible and that there was a ring of dirt around his neck.
“Behold the bride!” the stranger said in a voice that was surprisingly masterful and compelling for such an unattractive man. Then he smiled, showing yellowed teeth, some of which were broken.
The duc returned the smile. “Pastor, I would present to you my new duchesse, Skye.” It was the first time he h
ad said her name, and she was surprised that he remembered it, since he had kept calling her madame.
Pastor Lichault chortled. “Ah, Fabron, my son, she is not yet your duchesse, not until I have made her so!” He smiled again. This time his eyes fastened upon Skye, and she fought back the urge to shiver as she saw the man mentally undress her, licking his lips as he obviously liked what his imagination showed him. “Well, let us get on with it then,” he said briskly. “Will you take this woman to wife, Fabron?”
“I will,” the duc said.
“Will you take this man to husband, Skye? Will you accept him as your master?”
“I take him as my husband,” Skye said, and the pastor glared at her.
“You are then man and wife,” the pastor finally said grudgingly.
If Skye was horrified with this brief display then so were those who witnessed it. Bran Kelly turned to Robbie and said softly, “If that’s a marriage ceremony then I’m a Muslim. Do you think it’s legal, or is our lady being gulled?”
Robbie shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose if it’s all right with the duc then it’s legal here.”
“It would not be legal in the eyes of the true Church,” Edmond de Beaumont said in a low, angry voice, and Sean MacGuire nodded his agreement. “I do not know what has come over my uncle,” Edmond finished.
“Come, madame.” The duc had taken her hand, and was turning her about. “I have had a light supper set up in the hall to celebrate our nuptials.”
“Uncle, you have not given Skye a ring. Where is her wedding ring?”
“There is no need for one, Edmond. We have been united according to God’s law in the presence of witnesses. Pastor Lichault believes that wedding rings are a worldly and ostentatious show. I have donated the gold I would have spent on such a ring to him for use among the poor.”
“And will you share your happiness with our people as is customary, Uncle? Will there be feasting and dancing for our people this night in Beaumont?”
“Such extravagances are wasteful and unnecessary, Edmond. A marriage is a part of God’s law, and there is no cause for undue celebration because one keeps God’s law as is expected of him.”
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 15