She turned to see Monsieur de Talebot. She wanted to pretend she was looking at someone else, but he walked directly to her.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said, trying to be polite. “I thought you’d be overseeing your planting. Philippe told me that you had problems with the laborers you hired.”
He swore. “These Americans are useless. I wish I had some of my men from home. They knew how to bend their backs and keep their mouths shut. You know what I mean, of course.”
“Of course.” She looked back at the river. No matter what Vachel de Talebot said, it always was meant to remind her that she had been one of the servants who had slaved for the nobles. If she said that even in France things had changed radically, he would be infuriated with her … again. He already was furious that Philippe preferred to spend his evenings with her instead of calling on him as he had before. She did not want to argue, so she said, “Madame Davignon told me there would be some newcomers arriving on the boat this week. Is your wife coming north on this trip?”
“No.” He laughed shortly.
“You don’t expect her to come here?”
“Not if I’m lucky.” He stamped away.
Lirienne frowned. She was sure Philippe had said Monsieur de Talebot would not be complaining much longer, because he would not be spending the summer nights alone as he had the winter ones.
Shouts from the river shook Monsieur de Talebot from her mind. The boat was almost to the landing. Her hands clenched on her apron. Where was Philippe? She could not see past the crowd surging toward the river, but she could wait a moment or two longer as she savored the thought of how, tonight, he would hold her. In that sweetness, she would share the news that she was pregnant. She remembered how delighted he had been in Philadelphia. She wanted to savor such a moment again in his arms.
Ropes were tossed ashore to moor the flatboat. With all the rushing on the boat and on the shore, she could see nothing but the backs of other people. Madame Davignon had been correct. The boat was crowded. She hoped they had enough room in the new cabins that had been built at the beginning of spring for all these new villagers.
“I saw him on there a few moments ago.”
When Yves laughed as he put his hand on her shoulder, Lirienne asked, “Am I that obvious?”
“Yes, but don’t worry. Everyone is as excited as you are.” Yves grinned. “You want your husband, and I want that silk which he promised to bring back for Agathe’s wedding gown.” He rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“She just told me, so you didn’t betray her secret.” She patted his arm. “I don’t know how you two expected to keep it a secret when you both are grinning like children with a bowl of candy.”
Lirienne looked at the river when Yves was called away to help secure the boat. Leaning one way and then the other, she sought a glimpse of her husband. She saw him and started to wave.
Her hand halted as she heard the familiar, caustic laugh that carried over the voices of everyone on the shore. No, it was impossible! But it was certainly so, she realized with horror as her gaze locked with Charmaine Fortier’s when the blonde stepped ashore like a triumphant explorer claiming this land for her own. She choked back her shock when she saw Madame Fortier’s hand possessively holding Philippe’s arm.
Madame Fortier said loudly, so no one could miss her words, “I see you have found the proper home for your peasant wife, mon cher.” She laughed as they walked toward Lirienne. “And with a tanned face and a red and peeling nose.”
“Welcome to Azilum, Madame Fortier,” Lirienne said with a quiet dignity which required all her strength to maintain. She looked at Philippe, but he wore no expression. Why? Did he fear that she would see his elation at having his beloved mistress back at his side?
Aware of too many eyes and ears eagerly eavesdropping on the conversation, she heard the buzz of whispers. The newcomers to Azilum were being informed about the past shared by Madame de Villeneuve, her husband, and Madame Fortier.
“Aren’t we becoming egalitarian, Lirienne?” sneered Madame Fortier. “Once you bowed when you spoke to me.”
“Yes, we are egalitarian here, so I will forgive you for not addressing me as Madame de Villeneuve.” Hearing a giggle, she glanced over her shoulder to see Agathe.
Yves herded Agathe away as Madame Fortier scowled and swept past Lirienne.
Lirienne held out her hand to Philippe, but he did not smile. Something cramped in her stomach.
She would not let him close her out of his life again. Putting her hands on either side of his face, she drew his mouth to hers as she whispered, “Welcome home. I can’t wait to tell you—”
“Aren’t you going to escort me to my new home, mon cher?” called Madame Fortier in her most imperious voice. “Or have you become as vulgar as your wife and can no longer be the charming gentleman you once were?”
Philippe halted Lirienne’s protest by saying, “Both Lirienne and I shall escort you to your cabin. That way she can see that you have what you need for your first night here.”
“I doubt that she will be willing to see that I have what I truly need tonight,” Madame Fortier said smugly.
Lirienne bit her lip to silence her outrage as Madame Fortier maneuvered herself between her and Philippe. Madame Fortier linked her arm with Philippe’s, and the two continued up the path toward the village.
Hating to follow like a well-trained lapdog, Lirienne sighed. Her only other choice was to stay with her friends and neighbors, who would smother her with questions and pity. She would not do that.
“Madame de Villeneuve?” queried a tremulous voice behind her. “Are you Madame de Villeneuve?”
She turned to see a young woman. The woman was slight, but her brown eyes were huge with fear. Her simple dress and plain bonnet identified her instantly as a servant.
“Can I help you?” Lirienne asked.
“Madame de Villeneuve, I don’t dare to be alone in this horrible wilderness, and my lady is so far ahead that I doubt I can catch up while I carry this bag.”
“Your lady?” She choked, feeling as if she were seeing her reflection in the young woman’s fearful face which could have been hers last year. She glanced to where Philippe and Madame Fortier had reached the common area. “You work for Charmaine Fortier?”
“Yes.” The newcomer hefted the heavy bag she carried. “I am Giselle.”
“I don’t recall you at the Fortiers’ home.”
“I arrived after Monsieur Fortier died.”
“He’s dead?”
“Yes, a few months ago.”
“By the guillotine?” Sickness ate through her. Living on Monsieur Fortier’s estate had not been horrible until he married Charmaine. The old man had been kind to his servants.
Giselle said hastily, “No, not like that. Time simply became too much for his heart, Madame de Villeneuve.”
“If she has his wealth, why is she here?”
The maid regarded her with pity. “I shouldn’t say if you don’t know about it.”
“Know about what?”
“The letter,” she whispered.
Her throat tightened. “What letter?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
Again Lirienne looked at the village. When Madame Fortier tipped her head onto Philippe’s shoulder, Lirienne recoiled as if Madame Fortier had slapped her. “Tell me about this letter,” she said as Philippe assisted Madame Fortier up the steps of one of the new cabins.
“Madame de Villeneuve, my lady, received a letter begging her to come here if she ever had the good fortune to be widowed.” Anger whetted her voice. “Those were the exact words. ‘The good fortune to be widowed.’” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Madame Fortier’s strident voice intruded, “Giselle? Girl, are you stupid? Get over here.”
Lirienne watched the serving woman race to do her lady’s bidding. Waves of remembered fear crashed against her despair as she met Philippe’s gaze from ac
ross the common area. She knew he expected her to welcome his mistress to Azilum. Was Madame Fortier’s arrival why he had been so excited about going to Wilkes-Barre?
“This should be very intriguing.”
She stiffened as she heard Monsieur de Talebot’s comment. Not replying, she walked toward the settlement. She did not slow her pace until she opened her own door. A sob was trapped behind her tight lips. It became a gasp when she heard her husband’s footsteps on the porch.
Philippe’s face was still devoid of emotion as he said, “I trust everything went well while I was away.”
“It was fine.” She fought to keep her voice as steady as his. “Cristal is doing well with her foal. The other horses are enjoying the pleasant weather.”
“Good.” He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and yawned. “I’ll be back as soon as we get the boat unloaded and the newcomers settled.”
He kissed her swiftly before he rushed back out the door, letting it slam behind him. She put her hand to her lips and struggled not to cry. This was not the kiss she had waited for. Trust me. He had asked it of her so often. And she had, when trusting had been easy. Now … She was no longer sure of him, of herself, of anything.
Lirienne whirled away from the door, which showed all the activity on the common. Going out the back way, she turned her attention to her chores, hoping that the tiring tasks would silence her pain. Dishes needed to be washed, as well as clothes.
Sunshine burned down as she spread the clothes on the bushes to dry. She was draping Philippe’s best shirt onto a shrub when she heard her name called in that hateful voice. In astonishment, she saw Madame Fortier picking her way across the muddy yard.
Lirienne held her laundry basket like a shield as she said, “I didn’t expect you’d be making calls when you are so newly arrived.”
“Where is Philippe?”
“Helping unload the boat,” she said, smiling. Her heart soared with happiness that her husband had not returned to Madame Fortier. But, if he had written to his mistress and invited her here …
“Good!”
“Good?” That was not the answer she had expected.
“I wanted to speak to you alone.” Arrogance filled her voice. “I should have guessed you’d be in the dirtiest place here. This barnyard must remind you of the one where you were born.”
“This barnyard,” she said, leaning the basket against the railing and looking at the horses, “is one of Philippe’s favorite places.”
Madame Fortier ran her fingers across her breasts and smiled. “His favorite places may change.”
“I would not wager on that, if I were you.”
“You are, thank heavens, not me, and you never could be.” Reaching into her low bodice, Madame Fortier pulled out a small purse. She tossed it at Lirienne’s feet. “Pick it up, and use the gold in there to buy yourself passage to France. When you arrive, file for a divorce from Philippe.”
“I don’t have to obey your orders. You aren’t my mistress any longer, and you aren’t Philippe’s.” Only bravado let her add the last. If Philippe had written that letter to Madame Fortier, this might be part of what they had planned.
“You are nothing, but what I’ve made you!”
“You’re right. You arranged for me to become Philippe’s wife, and someday, God willing, the mother of his children.” When Madame Fortier gasped, Lirienne allowed haughtiness to sift into her voice. “I’m sorry for you, but you can’t hurt us any longer.”
“No?”
“No!”
Reaching into her bodice again, Madame Fortier drew out a folded paper. She pressed it into Lirienne’s hand. “See that Philippe receives this.” She laughed. “If you weren’t an ignorant peasant, you could read it.”
“I could have Agathe read it to me.”
She scooped up the purse. “Then everyone in Azilum will know how easily I have won back what I never lost.” Laughing, she swayed away.
Lirienne wanted to tear the paper into small pieces, but could not. She carried it into the house and put it on the table, anchoring it with the salt cellar. As she waited for Philippe to return, her gaze went again and again to the page.
Her grim spirits were as low as the sky when clouds surged into the valley to release a deluge. The weather must have slowed the unloading because as it grew dark, Philippe still did not return. If he had gone to Madame Fortier and—
A horse whinnied, and then hoofbeats pounded past the house. Lirienne rushed to throw open the back door. In dismay, she saw the gate was open. Grabbing her cloak, she ran to check on the horses. She secured it when she saw most of them were there, but Cristal was gone.
No one was on the common. If she went to where they must still be unloading the boat, the horse might get lost in the forest and hurt herself. All of Philippe’s dreams were wrapped up in that horse. All of his dreams and hers. She glanced toward Madame Fortier’s cottage with a shudder, but turned to see a flash of white on the road leading toward Mr. Slater’s house. Was that Cristal?
The wind tried to twist away her cape as she ran, calling the horse’s name, along the road after Cristal. The path rose steeply as it followed the river. She peered through the rain. Maybe she should return and get help.
Hoofbeats crashed through the trees. Suddenly a horse appeared out of the night. A white horse! She smiled when she saw a tall silhouette on the horse. His dark cape flowed back, and she ran forward.
“Philippe! You found her! I—” She screamed and turned to flee as the horse surged toward her.
A whip slashed at her. With a cry, she leaped aside. Her breath exploded out as she struck a tree. She put her hand to her head and touched blood. Her ears rang with the force of the blow.
Hearing laughter, she stared in disbelief as the horse wheeled, coming toward her again. She whirled to escape as the whip rose again.
This could not be real! Her loving husband could not be this madman. Her feet slid on the wet grass. She teetered on a steep bank. The whip flashed out with a snap. She screamed as she lost her balance. Her baby! She must protect her baby. Pain dragged her to the bottom of the hill before swallowing her.
Eighteen
Philippe rubbed his lower back. It ached as viciously as his head. Trying to finish the unloading in the rain had been a mistake, but Vachel had wanted all the newcomers settled tonight.
“At least it’s done,” Yves said, kneading his fingers together.
“It’s only stacked by the river. Tomorrow we have to get it into the village.”
Yves chuckled. “That can be done by cart, if we can find one.”
“Ennis Slater will lend us his, I’m sure.” He smiled. “I’ll ask Lirienne to make him a loaf of that sweet bread he really likes.”
“So there’s no trouble there any longer?”
Philippe did not pretend not to understand. Nothing stayed secret in this small settlement. “Slater is a decent man, and I trust my wife.”
“That’s good because—”
“Philippe, mon cher, can you help me open this case?”
He paused and looked at the open doorway where Charmaine stood in a cascade of lace. With a weary smile, he motioned for Yves to continue across the common without him.
Yves took his arm. “You trust your wife, but can she trust you?”
His smile vanished as he jerked his arm away. He had heard the whispers and seen the stares all day. Had they expected him to slip away from unloading the boat to seduce Charmaine? It was too dark to read Yves’s expression. He did not need to. The accusations were loud in his neighbor’s voice. Without replying, he walked to Charmaine’s cottage.
“Mon cher, come in.” Charmaine rushed to him in a cloud of a crimson wrapper which opened deeply at her bosom. She clapped her hands to dismiss the young woman who was unpacking a trunk.
“But, Madame, where do you wish me to go?” asked the maid.
“I don’t care. Just go.”
Philippe put out his hand to halt the young wom
an. “Charmaine, this isn’t France. There are wolves and other wild beasts.” He smiled. “Why don’t you tell me which case you need to have opened?”
“There’s no case.” Charmaine frowned. “I thought you wanted time alone with me. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I told you that we need some time to talk privately.” Glancing at the maid, he said, “Go next door. Madame Davignon will be pleased to show off her son to you.”
“Yes, mon seigneur.” With, a curtsy, she ran out.
Philippe flinched. A more lyrical voice echoed in his mind, pulling him back to the day he had asked Lirienne to marry him. Then she had answered each of his questions in the same fearful tone. Fear of Charmaine, he knew now. He wondered why he had been deaf to that when he had called at the Fortiers’ house.
Pale arms reached up around him to stroke his chest. Leaning her head against his back, Charmaine whispered, “So democratic you are here, mon cher. You send a maid off to call on my neighbors as if she were a lady.” She laughed. “Has that lowborn harlot changed you so much?”
“If you are referring to Lirienne,” he said as he brushed her hands away so he could face her, “she is no harlot.”
She went to a bench. “Sit with me, Philippe. I’m so frightened of this strange place. I never would have come here with a single maid if I had suspected you would leave me alone since I arrived.”
He stayed by the door. “My life here is nothing like the one I had in France. Now I must toil hard.”
“Do your muscles ache?” she cooed. “I could massage them for you.”
“Unlike when we last spoke in France, I have someone who loves me and whom I love.”
“I loved you then, and you loved me.” She grasped his hand. “You loved me enough to trust me to oversee your estate if something happened to you.”
“Yes, I loved you.” He pulled his hand from her cloying grip. “But you never loved me.”
“Let me prove that you are wrong.” She stood and glanced toward the bed.
“Do you forget I’m married, Charmaine?”
“Is this what this asylum offers? Bourgeois standards which speak solely of work and not of pleasure?” She held out her arms. “Hold me, mon cher.”
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