Destiny's Kiss

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “I warned you that temporarily we’d be living poorly,” Philippe answered in the taut voice she had come to know signaled his greatest fury.

  Not at her, she had learned on the voyage, but at the circumstances which had reduced the Vicomte de Villeneuve to poverty. Only his determination to reclaim Château de Villeneuve kept him from succumbing to despair.

  When Philippe opened the door, she pressed a hand over her stomach and clamped her mouth closed. She must not be ill here. As she swayed, his arm circled her waist and tugged her against him. She clasped his burgundy waistcoat and leaned her cheek on his shoulder.

  “Are you ill, ma petite?”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then what’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

  “You’re what?”

  She recoiled from his ferocious question, but kept her chin high. “In about six or seven months, Philippe, your heir will be born.”

  “You’re already three months pregnant?”

  “Maybe only two. I was so seasick on the ship, at the beginning of the voyage, that I’m not sure.”

  “Why haven’t you said something before this?”

  “I wanted to be certain so you wouldn’t be disappointed if I was wrong.”

  He laughed with a happiness she had never heard from him. Pulling her into his arms, he whispered against her lips, “How could I be anything but happy? You are telling me that I have an heir. This is the best news I have heard in far too long.” His mouth slanted across hers in a kiss that promised more delights.

  “You going to take all day, mister?”

  As she was puzzling through the English words, Philippe reached into his pocket for money to pay the fare. Stamping back to the boot, the driver pulled out the box that contained all they had brought from France. He tossed it on the road and glowered. The vehicle lurched away, splattering mud on her full skirt.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Philippe assured her as she stared at the mess.

  “It’s my—my best dress.” She yearned to protect Philippe from the pain of poverty by pretending she had more than one gown, although it was foolish. What she had known most of her life, he was about to experience firsthand.

  “Don’t worry so. It won’t be your only dress for long. Things will be better for us soon, ma petite.” He smiled and tapped her nose.

  She should have guessed that she could not fool him, for he sensed so many of her thoughts. So many, but never her need to hear him speak of love. “I don’t understand. I thought you had no money. I thought—”

  He laughed. “Patience, ma petite.” When he lifted the case, he motioned for her to lead the way up the steps to the left of the tavern door.

  A man standing by the tavern door shouted something, with a laugh. Although she was not sure of his words, Philippe muttered a curse.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing you want to know. Ignore them,” he whispered with more tranquillity than she had expected. “They’re nothing but dogs.”

  She must learn more English, for she would be going to the market and dealing with her neighbors. Also, she needed to find a midwife.

  When Philippe opened the door at the top of the steps, vile odors erupted from within. She was grateful for Philippe’s hand holding hers. She lifted her skirts, because she did not want them to drag through the filth on the steps.

  Voices emerged from the doors opening off the upper landing, but Philippe did not pause as he walked to a narrower staircase. She sighed and followed. Heat trailed her up the steps, and she was sure it would be more intense on the uppermost floor. When he stopped, she heard a metallic scratch and guessed he was opening the door.

  Lirienne fought not to cry as she stepped into the room and saw dirt clinging to the corners and layers of dust on the sparse furniture. Putting her bag on the table, she walked through another door to discover a bedchamber with only a bed and a set of pegs for their clothes. There was no washstand.

  “Forgive me, ma petite,” he whispered. “This is all I could afford for now, but I promise you that our baby won’t be born here.” His nose wrinkled in aristocratic distaste. “I doubt if even your father’s house was this disgusting.”

  She pulled away, outraged at the unexpected insult. Before she could step past him, his hand caught her arm. She slapped it away. “My family may have lived in poverty, but not in squalor. One thing you have to learn, Philippe, is that pride doesn’t come from the gold in a man’s purse but the wealth in a man’s heart.”

  “That’s a fine speech.” He gave her a weary smile. “I stand corrected.”

  “At least we have this,” she said as she glanced again at the foul room, thinking of others on the ship who had nowhere to sleep that night.

  “Ah, there’s your optimism. It’s irritating, you know.”

  Laughing, she faced him. “Optimism will not make this place habitable. Only hard work. Do we have money for food?”

  “For about a fortnight. By then, I shall have arranged for a loan to get us a better place to live.”

  “Good.” She pulled off her bonnet. “If you’ll get something for our supper, Philippe, I’ll attempt to scour this sty. We need bread, some meat if you can find any at a reasonable price, and perhaps a few vegetables.”

  His blue eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t know what to pay.”

  She picked up a rag from the corner. “Then you scrub while I go out.”

  Glancing at the cloth, he grinned. “The Vicomtesse de Villeneuve clearly intends to rule her home, doesn’t she?”

  “This isn’t France,” she said, so seriously his smile vanished. “Here I’m Mrs. de Villeneuve, and you are Mr. de Villeneuve. We have no one to take care of us but ourselves.”

  He stared at the cloth in his hand, then squared his shoulders. “What do you wish wiped off?”

  Instead of explaining, she plucked it from his hand. She tossed it onto the table and reached for her bonnet. As she retied it under her chin, she said, “I think it’s time you learned about going to the market, my dear vicomte.”

  “And you’ll be my teacher?”

  “It can be fun.” Her voice quivered as his fingers caressed hers.

  He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Everything I’ve learned with you, ma petite, has been highly enjoyable.”

  When he pulled away, his puzzled expression was so boyish, she could not help laughing. “What is wrong?”

  “I want to make love with you tonight, but …”

  His uncertainty touched her heart. No, he had not said he loved her, but he cared for her and for their baby. She ran her fingers along his cheek. “I want you to make love with me tonight. You can’t hurt me or our child.” She laughed again. “Hold me, so I can recall this delight when I’m as round as a wine cask.”

  As his mouth found hers, she stretched her arms up along his firm back. She laughed softly when his tongue tickled her lips. When he raised his head to look down into her eyes for a moment which suspended time, she forgot the hardships ahead of them and even Charmaine Fortier, whose name was never spoken, but who was always between them. All she thought of was the sapphire glow surrounding her. Ceding herself to its fire, she began to believe her dreams still might come true.

  Lirienne’s joy filled her as she and Philippe walked to the marketplace, only a few blocks away. As they wove their way through the wagons and pedestrians, a collection of fragrances invited them to investigate the tables. Heavy odors of once-fresh fish competed with scents of crisp vegetables. The tapestry of words was incomprehensible to Lirienne. As she walked from one seller to the next, seeking the best bargains, she discovered she had little choice this late in the day.

  She laughed when she saw Philippe staring about as if he had never been in a market. Then she realized he probably had not. A sensation amazingly like pity surged through her. From her earliest memories, she had reveled in market days. The festivities, the bargaining, e
ven the gossip eased an otherwise quiet life.

  With a smile, she motioned toward the opposite side of the square. “I see a baker with a good selection of loaves for sale. Let’s start there.”

  “Lead on, teacher.” He chuckled as she grimaced, ran his fingers along her shoulder, and whispered, “Teach me here, ma petite; then I have some sweeter lessons for you tonight.”

  The yearning in his gaze touched the need within her. She hurried across the busy market, because she could submerge this longing only when busy with other tasks.

  “No, Philippe,” she corrected when he pointed to a loaf, “this is the one we want.”

  “But the other is larger and costs the same.”

  She tapped her thumb against the bigger loaf and smiled. “Hear that hollow sound? Air holes from rising too quickly.” To the woman selling the bread, she said as Philippe translated, “I’d like that smaller loaf over there. As it is near the end of the day, certainly you can shave a few …”

  “Pennies,” he supplied when she faltered.

  “Yes, a few pennies from the price of a loaf which shall be worth far less in the morning.”

  The woman looked from Lirienne to Philippe, obviously unsure which one to address. “I can’t—”

  Lirienne recognized her determined expression. She said in precarious English, “Then we shall go. Other people. Better prices.”

  Philippe’s smile had become a chuckle by the time they walked away from the booth, several minutes later, with the bread purchased at the price Lirienne had planned to pay. While she continued shopping, he spoke only when she required his skills with English. She bought a small chicken and some vegetables.

  Within a half-hour, she had enough food for their evening meal as well as some fruit for the morning. As they walked back to their rooms, Philippe teased, “You have a bit of a coldhearted pirate in you, ma petite.”

  With her arm linked through his, she grinned. “You can learn also.”

  “I doubt that. I stand in awe of your greater talent.”

  “Don’t be so glum. Surely you bargained for something at one time or another in your life.”

  He shrugged. “Other than trading my title to you for a chance to avenge Lucien’s death, I can’t recall another time.” When she stiffened, he asked sharply, “Why are you upset by the truth? We can’t change the past.”

  “We don’t have to dwell on it!”

  “Yes, we must.” He turned to face her, not heeding the grumbles of the pedestrians who had to walk around them. “We must never forget the past. I promise you that we’ll return to a France that will welcome us. This child won’t be denied its birthright.”

  “Philippe, we are in a place where you needn’t worry about being hunted and put to death. Can’t we be happy here?”

  “Happy?” He seemed startled by her question. “Yes, we can be happy here … temporarily.”

  She closed her eyes in resignation. Philippe did not want to escape the nightmare. What she longed for, a quiet life where she could raise their child in peace and safety, mattered little to him. He wanted revenge, the need for it burning like an ulcer in his gut.

  She knew no way to convince him to forget his rage at those who had betrayed his brother and him. He would continue until he could repay them, and she would lose everything she longed for when he returned to France and Charmaine Fortier.

  Nine

  Hurrying up the stairs, Lirienne went into the dank rooms she tried to pretend were home. She placed her hat on the peg by the door and smiled. In the month they had been here, she had learned enough English to shop at the market on her own, and, on this day, she had been able to buy a chicken. It was scrawny, and she suspected the meat would be stringy and tough, but it was better than anything they had had for almost three weeks.

  At a sound behind her, she spun about. Laughing nervously, she said, “Philippe, I thought you were going to call on your friend Monsieur Blanc.”

  He waved her aside and reached toward the shelf for the bottle of brandy which had been their single extravagance. Pouring a glass half-full, he sat at the table. The bench creaked, but he ignored it as he downed a large gulp.

  When she put her hands on his shoulders, he shook his head. “Maybe you were right after all, ma petite.”

  “About what?”

  “Pride.” He lifted his glass. “To pride. It’s the only thing I have left. I’ve no gold in my purse and no wealth in my heart.”

  “But Monsieur Blanc—”

  “Refused to part with as much as a penny.”

  “But the château is worth so much.”

  “Not here where no one knows when I’ll be able to reclaim it.” He put his arms around her and drew her down onto his knee. “We’re destitute, Lirienne. I don’t have enough money to pay for the rent on these rooms next week. I was right when I told you our babe wouldn’t be born here.” His fingers gently grazed her abdomen. “My heir will be born in some alley.”

  She brushed his sable hair back from his haunted eyes. “Don’t be absurd. There must be someone who needs household help and will hire me.”

  “Never!” He set her on her feet as he stood.

  “Philippe, if the only other choice is starving, I can see no alternative.”

  He grasped her upper arms. “You are the Vicomtesse de Villeneuve. The child you bear shall be the heir to a title older than France herself. That child can’t be endangered by you scrubbing floors.” He squared his shoulders. “I’ll seek employment.”

  “Doing what?” she shot back with the tone he used when he considered her suggestions asinine. “What can you do?”

  More than once, he started to answer. He stormed toward the shelf, which was empty except for the bottle and a heel of bread. She leaped forward to halt him from reaching for the bottle. Her arm struck his. She cried out in shock as she stumbled backward. He whirled to catch her before she could fall.

  “Ma petite, are you all right? If you or our baby is hurt—”

  “I’m not hurt.” Her voice softened as she uncurled her fingers from around his nape. “But you are.”

  “I am fine.”

  “Are you?” Combing her fingers up through his hair, she whispered, “You hate being dependent on anyone else, I know.”

  “I want to be lord and master of all I view. Is that what you’re saying?” He glanced around the room. “It is a pitiful view.”

  She turned his face back toward her. “Philippe, you married me so I could help you. So let me help you once again. You can’t change what you are, just as I can’t change what I always have been. A serving maid.”

  His wide hands cradled her face. “You are the mother of my child. I don’t want you working on your hands and knees for strangers. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’ll find a way to take care of you. Trust me.”

  She knew he believed his words, but this was one promise he might never be able to keep. As he took the chunk of bread off the shelf and carried it to the table to set by the chicken, she wished he realized he could trust her.

  Lirienne took a deep breath of the crisp air as she walked along the street. “Is that it?”

  Philippe laughed at the awe in her voice. “Yes, that’s where the Declaration of Independence was written.” He paused at the edge of State House Yard and stared at the brick building.

  “How brave they were to stand up for liberty for everyone.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with these Americans.” He laughed and tugged a loose strand of her hair. “They’re making a little republican out of you.”

  “I know you don’t believe—”

  “I’ve never denied that people should determine their own fates.”

  “But you hate the Revolution!”

  “The one in France. Not the one here.” Turning to walk back toward the river, he mused, “I nearly came to fight in this one. Such a cause! I believed the men here to be as chivalrous as the anc
ient Crusaders in fighting the British overlord oppressing them. Instead I stayed to tend to my dying father’s estate.”

  “Couldn’t your brother have done that?”

  His smile grew sad. “Lucien had no interest in anything but poetry and the ladies.”

  “Then why was he hunted down as an enemy of the Republic?”

  “I have no idea. He seldom went to Paris, so he could not have angered anyone there. He preferred the company of his mistresses, who had patience with his stutter.” He shook his head with a terse laugh. “The idea of my brother making speeches to bring back the royal family is absurd. Even if he had cared about politics, he could not have spoken more than a handful of words before people stopped listening.”

  “You loved him dearly, didn’t you?” She slipped her hand through his arm, wishing she could ease the anguish in his eyes.

  “I would have died for him.” His voice grew hard. “Someday, I will return to France and find the one who betrayed him and make him regret sending my brother to his death.”

  Lirienne tried to think of something to say, but they walked on in silence. The autumn wind now seemed chill. If Philippe could let go of his past, they might have a chance to build a life here, but he could not. It was as much a part of him as his every heartbeat.

  “Lirienne!”

  At the call of her name, she looked along the street. A woman stood on the steps of a church, and was waving to her. With a. smile, she recognized Veronique Saint-Gaudens who had sailed to America with them. The tall, thin man beside her must be Percival Goyette whose name had been included in almost every sentence Veronique spoke.

  Veronique rushed toward her, her polonaise gown of forest green floating around her. Beneath the drapes of her overskirt, cream petticoats were decorated with embroidered vines interspersed with roses. Her dark hair was swept up under her bonnet and adorned with ribbons of a vibrant red. Unlike when they had been on the ship, Veronique’s face was not a bilious shade from being seasick.

  Lirienne was enfolded in welcoming arms as Veronique said, “It is so good to see a familiar face in this city of strangers.” Squeezing her hand, she turned to say, “Good morning, Vicomte.”