by Jackie Ivie
“Oh Louisa, how can I bear it?” Giselle cried out and buried her face into her pillows.
“If someone doesn’t tell me what’s happening, right now, I’ll send for the doctors.”
“Not the doctors!”
Giselle gasped. All those medical men wanted to do was attach leeches and drain her blood. She detested them almost as much as she did Papa.
“My father is…he’s—.” This was terrible. She caught the sob just as it sounded.
“Yes?”
“He’s sending me to my husband’s family.” Giselle finished.
“Thank the Lord!” Louisa clapped her hands and started jumping in a little circle.
“How can you say such a thing?”
Giselle wasn’t successful at keeping anger from her voice. Louisa was never anything but a champion. Giselle felt betrayed by the other’s emotion.
“Because it’s true! I’ve been praying to God every night for you for this very thing. I can’t believe my prayers are finally being answered!”
Giselle stared. She couldn’t believe it. Louisa must not care for her at all.
“It’s a grand day, and you lay abed. Up!”
Of course it was a grand day for Louisa, She wasn’t the one being sent away like excess baggage. She must be happy because her term of employment was over. Giselle had no idea how little the other woman must care. Giselle narrowed her eyes, and looked away from the sunlight. She’d ordered Isabelle not to let in the sun, but that command was disobeyed too. She was surrounded by people who didn’t care. She tried to keep the emotion from her voice, and the words came out as flat as she expected.
“I’m being exiled, and you rejoice. My thanks.”
Louisa laughed. “Don’t be silly, Giselle. You aren’t being exiled. You’re being set free!”
Giselle’s mouth opened, then shut. She hadn’t looked at it like that.
“I’ve watched you wallow in self-pity for too long, already,” Louisa continued. “I don’t think you’ve allowed sunshine into this chamber in months. It’s gloomy and depressing, just as your life has been. That’s why I had Isabelle draw your drapes. It’s a new day, Giselle. The start of a new life for you. The future is all yours. Just think of it!”
“I’m trying not to,” she grumbled.
“You’ll be chatelaine of Chateau Berchand, with many servants to command. There will be menus to decide, entertainment to provide, and don’t forget, you can order any piece of clothing you fancy — at will! I look forward to seeing you in a new wardrobe, furnished with the latest in Paris fashions. I’m almost too overjoyed for words.”
Wardrobe? Giselle wondered. Entertainment? “Aren’t you forgetting something, Louisa?”
“What?”
“What? Are you so dense? I may be chatelaine of the castle, but I’m not alone. What of my husband? Well? What of him? I’ve never even laid eyes on him.”
This time she was trying to keep fear from her voice, but fell woefully short. Giselle knew it as she met Isabelle’s glance. The maid knew exactly what she was feeling.
“Oh, him? There’s little to fear, Giselle. I promise.”
Louisa’s voice lowered and she moved her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Giselle stared at her. So did Isabelle, although she had to stop her infernal fidgeting to do so.
“Remember the wedding, Giselle, when you were six? You must remember something.”
Oh…she remembered, all right. Mama had made certain Giselle wore her daffodil-yellow frock, complete with a lace pinafore on top. She was very excited, even if she had instructions to stay away from Papa. She didn’t know why she’d been told that, for she loved him.
“I recall it, Louisa,” she said.
“Then you must remember your cousin, Janelle? Remember how lovely she was in her white gown? It was a wedding gown. She was your standin.”
Giselle hadn’t seen Janelle since, but she still recalled how beautiful Janelle looked. She had kissed Giselle as she left for the town chapel, and called her “Ma petit duchesse. “
After Janelle had left, Giselle had asked Louisa, “What’s a duchesse?”
“It’s a title, Giselle. You’re being married by proxy today. The Duc du Berchald has petitioned for and been granted His Majesty’s permission for the ceremony. Isn’t it exciting? You’ll be a member of the Berchald family. Your new title is higher even than your papa’s.”
“It is?” Giselle couldn’t imagine that. Papa was so tall, she barely reached his waist. She had no idea what Louisa meant.
“It’s wonderful, Giselle. I can’t wait to see Chateau Berchand, and all its riches.”
“I can’t wed, Louisa. This is stupid. You’re wrong, and Papa will stop it.”
“Your papa? He doesn’t like it, but I assure you, he can’t stop the duc from marrying you today.”
Giselle remembered that day, all right. And how it ended. She’d cried in her new chambers until late into the night. Papa couldn’t bear the sight of her anymore. She was a Berchald, and Papa cursed them all.
She looked at those same chamber walls in the daylight, knowing and hating each and every stone. But she had to admit it. Louisa might be right. She was being set free.
“You do remember, don’t you, Giselle?”
Louisa sat on the edge of the bed and took Giselle’s hand. She nodded.
‘Then how can you worry? You’re the Duchesse du Berchald! Even your Papa can’t take that away from you. Always remember that.”
“What does he look like?” Giselle tried to keep her voice steady.
“Who?”
Isabelle even looked heavenward, and Giselle giggled at her maid’s expression. “My husband!” She slapped the bedding.
“Who cares how he looks? He’s the hereditary Master of His Majesty’s Wardrobe. Your position at Versailles is assured, and he’s the key to your escape from this prison. Just think of it.”
Giselle had never known Louisa to be so vague before. She narrowed her eyes. “Louisa! You’ll tell me this instant, or I’ll…” The threat ended as Giselle gasped for breath.
“Don’t upset yourself, so! Isabelle, assist me!”
Giselle didn’t want assistance. She wanted answers. Was he ugly? Was that why he never came to claim his bride? Worse, was he deformed? Was he a simpleton, with an over-large head?
She was gasping for breath, as the women fluffed the pillows behind her, and made her sip at a goblet of wine.
“Forgive me, Giselle. I didn’t know how much it mattered to you.”
Giselle looked away from the speculative gaze. Of course it mattered. She had dreamed of him, thought of him — when she dared — but she’d never let anyone know. The thought was enough to give her further vapors. Papa hated the Berchalds. It would have been disloyal.
“He’s very handsome, Giselle,” Louisa said softly. She lifted Giselle’s hand and waited until she looked at her. “So much so, that Janelle pouted at him throughout the ceremony, and he was but fifteen then.”
Giselle felt her heartbeat quicken at the words. It was everything she dreamt about, like a fairy tale.
“He’s very tall. All the Berchalds are tall, Giselle. He’s fair, too, lighter even than you. But that’s to be expected. They are of Norman descent, after all.”
“They are?” Giselle hadn’t known that.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The Berchalds proudly list their antecedents in the court heraldic lists, and now you’ll take your place among them. Just think! It’s a new beginning, and you’ve been a ghost for far too long.”
Tall and blonde?
She pictured him in her mind and felt a shiver. Her husband. Etienne Berchald. A man so handsome even Janelle had flirted with him. It was exciting, dangerously so. Giselle closed her eyes and shut out the sight of her stone-walled prison, and ignored the unasked question.
If it was so perfect…why had he never come to claim his bride? Why?
CHAPTER TWO
“He’s here! Isn
’t it exciting, Giselle?”
Giselle had to admit that Louisa’s excitement was infectious. Ever since the Berchald family had replied to her papa’s summons, she had listened nonstop to excited chatter. Her bedchamber was beginning to look heavensent. And if Louisa’s emotion was bad, the seamstress was worse.
So much had happened in one week that Giselle could scarcely catch her breath. The comte had engaged a seamstress from Paris to clothe her.
From Paris!
Giselle was ecstatic. The comte wouldn’t allow her to go to her legal family poorly clothed. It was the closest he’d ever come to showing he thought of his only daughter in any way. So, he’d ordered a new trousseau, because his pride was at stake. No nobleman clothed his children poorly. Giselle’s mouth opened more than once at the thought of new clothing, even as she’d come to dread the fittings. The seamstress, Madame Broussard, had more than once commented on Giselle’s fifteen-and-a-half-inch waist as if she wasn’t even there.
“The petite duchesse will cause a riot in Versailles! The king has an eye for the ladies, he does, especially one as lovely as she. Why…I understand he’s looking for another maitresse en titre, too.”
She and Louisa had laughed, while Giselle huffed in silence. It mattered little to her if the king had an official mistress, or not. Giselle wasn’t being outfitted for the king. She was being clothed for her husband, the tall, handsome, blond Etienne.
It had taken what seemed like forever, but now, he arrived!
“It’s the duc?”
Giselle held in her breath as Isabelle finished hooking the corset.
“I don’t believe so,” Louisa answered. “He must be near thirty years old by now. The man awaiting you is barely your age, but he’s definitely a Berchald.”
“How do you know?”
“Please, Giselle, grant me some eyes. The Berchalds are very handsome. And he’s definitely that. Isn’t he, Isabelle?”
The maid shrugged.
“Let me see him!” Giselle begged. “Please? You’ve already peeked at him from the balustrade. It’s not fair.”
“You’ll meet with him soon enough.”
Isabelle lifted the new day gown as she spoke. Giselle turned to Louisa.
“Oh, please? You can’t imagine how much I’ve longed for this! S’il vous plait?”
Giselle put her best innocent, guileless expression on. She knew it had worked when Louisa smiled.
“Very well.”
The woman sighed afterward, but Giselle knew it was an act. Louisa would give in. She always did. It was Isabelle who was the tougher one.
“But not until you’ve finished your toilette. Come, Giselle. You must be perfection, itself. Isabelle and I expect nothing less.”
Isabelle had never been so slow!
Giselle watched the mirror as the maid fussed and fidgeted with the folds of the new gown. Minutes passed. Giselle heard every tick of the clock. It was all she could do to keep the agitation from showing. Her hair had been dressed the previous day, and the mass of curls atop her head gave her some much needed height. The white streak along her face was theatrical, and she toyed with asking Louisa if she’d powder her coiffure like the comtesse sometimes did.
Giselle du Berchald had never looked so spectacular.
The gown was peach-colored satin, and it skimmed atop a mass of yellow lace petticoats. The skirt was slit open from the waist, allowing a froth of yellow to catch the light every time she moved. The sleeves skimmed her arms just to the elbow, where more yellow lace was sewn on. Madame Broussard hadn’t allowed one bit of excess room in the waist, however. Giselle wasn’t sure she could breathe once Louisa took the final stitch and pronounced her ready.
“Madame Broussard was right, Giselle,” Louisa remarked as she met Giselle’s gaze in the looking-glass. “I’ve never seen anyone to compare. Your waist is small enough for a man to span it with his hands. The duc will be pleasantly surprised, won’t he, Isabelle?”
Giselle watched as Isabelle simply shrugged, but she knew the woman was pleased. It was in her heightened color.
“Now? Are we finished? Oui? Come! We must hurry.”
Giselle followed the maid and governess she should have long since outgrown. They were all acting like schoolgirls. Louisa was right, though. It was exciting! Giselle was already having trouble breathing, and she hadn’t even seen him yet.
She lifted her hem to keep it off the steps leading to her tower, but she couldn’t stop the noise. The satin rustled no matter how tightly she held to it or how slowly she tiptoed. She didn’t want to tiptoe, she wanted to run. She wanted to see him right away. Giselle hoped Isabelle wouldn’t notice the noise and put a stop to the entire affair.
“Shush.”
Giselle stopped moving, and waited as the satin dropped back into place. She was smoothing it down to take the worst of the wrinkles out as she neared. She was also hoping Isabelle wouldn’t notice.
“There.” Louisa stopped Giselle with a hand to her wrist as they reached the top landing. “We dare not go closer. He’s standing by the fireplace. Do you see him?”
She did.
Oh my.
Giselle caught her breath. She’d seen knee breeches on Papa and the manservant. It hadn’t been preparation enough. She had no idea a man’s legs could be so long or muscular. Nor that his shoulders would be so wide. He looked extremely masculine, and she could only see the back of him!
“Is he handsome enough for you?” Louisa whispered.
“Hush,” Isabelle said.
Giselle didn’t answer. She couldn’t stop looking. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she looked him over. She could only pray her companions weren’t watching her. The queue that grazed his back was definitely blond, a shade or two lighter that hers. His jacket was of dark maroon material, while the tightly fitted breeches on his legs were light green. He looked lean, strong, and very much a man, although she had little to compare him with.
He was also tall.
Good heavens!
Papa walked up to him and spoke, and Giselle’s eyes widened when she saw that her papa barely reached the man’s chin. Giselle would be a dwarf among such people. She barely ducked in time as the comte gestured toward the stairs and they both turned.
In that moment, Giselle saw his face and her heart sent reaction through her. She was afraid she might swoon. Louisa hadn’t been specific enough. This man wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful.
“They’re sending for you!’ Louisa whispered. “Quickly!”
Giselle ran the steps and tripped on some lace, hearing it rip. The first such clothing she’d ever owned, and she’d already ruined it! Isabelle would be upset and she deserved the scolding, but Giselle didn’t waste time worrying over that. Her mind was racing with other thoughts A Berchald was here for her! And if her husband favored this man even slightly, she was a very lucky woman.
They reached her room before the summons came, but it hadn’t been enough time to recuperate. Giselle was holding her hands to her cheeks when there was a knock.
“Madame la Duchesse?”
The manservant bowed, and Giselle smiled at first Louisa and then Isabelle. The former winked, while Isabelle simply folded her arms and looked strict. Giselle had to admit Isabelle’s stance had a calming effect and it was a good thing. She needed to portray a calm, unruffled composure. That is what her father would expect.
Giselle hands trembled as she held her skirts, walking sedately to the receiving hall. She followed the manservant, but not too closely. She spent some time perusing his stocking-covered legs as they walked, sucking in her cheeks as she did so. She had been right in her earlier assumption. She giggled and clapped a hand to her mouth. This manservant wouldn’t even compare favorably to the Berchald that was waiting for her.
Her new relative still stood by the fireplace. Giselle’s glance went to him just as he turned. And then she dropped her eyes and bit her lip. Oh, how she wished she could whisk away this shy
ness. It was impossible! She’d never met such a specimen before.
‘‘Monsieur du Berchald? My daughter, Giselle.”
Papa came for her, and took her elbow to draw her closer. Of all her new experiences, that contact felt the strangest. She guessed it showed on her face as she neared her relative.
And then she was there, but still unable to look up. Giselle swept into a curtsy, watching the skirts billowing out elegantly. Then she stood to greet him.
Le bon Dieu, but he‘s immense! She barely reached the lace on his jabot, and she dared not look higher.
“This is Giselle?” he asked. “You’re certain? She is much too small. This can’t be her.”
Giselle’s welcoming smiled dropped and looked up. He wasn’t addressing his words to her. He seemed to be ignoring her completely. That was rude and arrogant of him. As if she could help her size.
“Pardon?”
The comte finally said, breaking the silence.
Giselle was very proud of the way her Papa asked that, adding a slight edge to the word. He conveyed everything she wanted to shout at the man before her in one simple word.
“Enchanted, Madame la Duchesse.”
The man reacted from the rebuke quickly and she watched with wide eyes as he lifted her hand to his lips, although he had to bow in order to reach her.
“Navarre du Berchald. At your service.”
His lips touched her hand, and she snatched it away. Her mouth dropped open. She didn’t enjoy how gauche and naive she felt, nor the heat that rushed to her cheeks, either. Someone should have warned her. How dare he be so charming? How dare he have such a deep voice? How dare he have such a lyrical name?
She longed to stomp her foot and rant the questions, but remembered finally to close her mouth.
It was embarrassing, but it was more than that, too. Giselle dared a glance up at him, and as she did so, she felt the strangest whisper of movement within her.
His nose wasn’t small enough to grant him the handsome visage she’d thought at first — for it was quite long and narrow. His skin was dark-toned and his eyebrows were a dark brown. And his eyelashes!
She was stunned into envy at his eyelashes. They were so thick, her own wouldn’t compare favorably. When the light touched on them, they resembled small butterflies fluttering about his cheeks. He blinked and moved his glance to her. Eyes the color of a stormy sky met hers and Giselle gasped. She couldn’t look away fast enough as another blush heated her cheeks.