by Jackie Ivie
No. It was wrong.
She must control her thoughts. Esmee was safe. His sister had a different surname. She was in apparent control of the estate. And she was extremely tall. Even Giselle’s papa would have to look up at the woman. Giselle was dwarfed.
“We have champagne, tea, and several pastries that Chef Aaron has prepared for your arrival,” Esmee added.
Giselle stood at the door, considering a white-and-blue striped settee and two chairs before stepping forward and settling into a chair. There was a mirror opposite her, taking up a large portion of the wall. She glanced at it, gratified that her hair was still presentable, although a few wisps of white hair had escaped and trailed down one cheek. It was attractive, but it looked contrived, even to her.
“Champagne, please.”
Giselle couldn’t force another bite of food past her lips, but a bit of champagne might help…if it didn’t add to the effervescent sensation overtaking her entire body. She felt strange. Other-worldly. As if her skin was the only thing keeping her from floating away. It was incredible. Wondrous. Enervating. And Navarre was at the root of it.
She forced herself not to look at him.
“This vintage comes from Savignen, circa 1736. We felt it was appropriate, Madame.”
Esmee’s voice was warm and welcoming. It appeared she was doing everything she could to be charming. Giselle inclined her head, waiting for the other woman to sit. She was beginning to remind Giselle of Isabelle.
“Why is that?”
Giselle lifted the glass to her lips and immediately felt the tension in the room. Despite her every effort, she exchanged glances with Navarre, and instantly she knew. Of course! That was the year of the marriage and their acquisition of Savignen Valley.
“Please. You must call me Giselle, Madame Denton.”
The woman sighed in relief. “Tres bien. Call me Esmee. I’ll accept no other name from you…Giselle.”
Giselle watched her through the side of her wineglass. Esmee didn’t favor Navarre much. Her hair was so blonde it looked powdered. Her eyes looked light blue, but Giselle couldn’t be sure. Esmee caught her studying her, and Giselle had to look away.
Navarre sat in the other chair, and she glanced at him for the barest instant. She couldn’t stand to look any longer.
She continued perusing the room. It was safer.
The salon had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves beside the fireplace that contained several slim volumes. The fireplace was of black marble — very effective against the blue-flecked fabric lining the walls. There were two long windows stretching upward to split the room. Giselle guessed that even if Navarre stood beside them, the windows might be taller. The drapes on either side were a darker blue than the rest of the room, and puddled onto the floor.
It was warm, inviting, and feminine. The table behind Navarre was beautifully carved, and flowers graced the top. The arrangement was very artistic. Several miniatures hung on the walls, but Giselle couldn’t tell the subject matter from where she sat.
And then she did it. She couldn’t prevent the pull of Navarre. Giselle gasped when she met his gaze and couldn’t move. His eyes were no longer purplish blue, they were the color of storm-filled skies.
“Our aunt, the dowager duchesse, is responsible for decorating the Blue Salon, Giselle,” Esmee said. “She had a hand in furnishing much of the castle, didn’t she, Navarre?”
He shrugged and Giselle couldn’t pull her eyes away.
“She looks forward to meeting you, Giselle. We all do. There hasn’t been a new face for so long, I can’t tell you how exciting it all is….”
Her voice could’ve been the buzzing of an insect for all the attention Giselle was paying. Navarre had said he’d controlled himself during the ride? Oh my! The words still thrilled. Stunned.
She watched him lift his champagne flute to his lips. Giselle swallowed with him, although she was simply gaining time. Not once did he even blink.
“Perhaps you’d like to see your chambers, Giselle? Giselle?”
“The trip was most…exhausting, Esmee.”
Navarre turned from Giselle and answered for her. Giselle watched him. Exhausting? No! It was exhilarating! Amazing! Exciting!
“In that event, I should allow Giselle to retire. Giselle?”
Giselle forced her head to tilt toward the taller woman. “Thank you, Esmee. I would appreciate it immensely if I could be shown to my…bedchamber.”
She blushed and looked down at her hands. The last word came out in a whisper, and Navarre choked on his drink. Perhaps she should seek a priest and ask penance before going to bed, but then she wouldn’t be able to pursue her thoughts before she slept.
And that idea shocked her even more.
“Of course, Giselle.”
Esmee clapped her hands, and a woman in a long black dress entered the room. She must’ve been waiting right outside the door. Giselle recognized her uniform as that of head housekeeper, just like the one at Chateau Antilli.
“Madame Dessard? The duchesse, Giselle. Please have her shown to her rooms.”
Esmee dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand. Giselle wondered how well Esmee would take it when she was replaced as chatelaine of the Castle.
“If you’ll follow me, Madame la Duchesse?” Madame Dessard asked.
Giselle said good night to them, but didn’t dare glance anywhere near Navarre. As she left the room, she realized he was right. She was exhausted. The day contained more exercise and excitement than she normally saw in a year.
She waited at the bottom of the staircase for her weakness to fade. By the time she started up, Madame Dessard was near at the top.
Giselle slid her hand along the polished wood of the banister as she climbed. Her legs felt like lead, and her muscles like gruel. She hoped her rooms were on the second floor. If she had to talk farther, she might need assistance. It was an uncomfortable reminder of her frailty.
“Madame is well?” Madame Dessard came back down the stairs toward her. “You are weak, Madame? Wait one moment. I’ll send for Navarre.”
Oh no!
The thought of having him carry her up the stairs gave her needed impetus, and she reached the landing easily. If it hadn’t been for the sconces high on the walls, the hall would’ve been black. As it was, Giselle was grateful Madame Dessard still escorted her.
The main rooms of Chateau Antilli were large, but the ceilings in Berchand were even higher. Giselle craned her neck to look up and still couldn’t make out their height. A door loomed before them, taller than two of Navarre. It seemed like the entire home was built for giants.
Madame Dessard knocked, and they waited.
“Madame la Duchesse, we’ve been expecting you.”
A young woman answered and almost fell over with the depth of her curtsy. Giselle hid a smile, and then forgot all about her at the span of space before her. The room was dark. Grim. It made her feel even more small and insignificant. Giselle walked in slowly, waiting for the impression to fade. When it didn’t by the time she’d reached the center, her spirits lowered further. Perhaps it was because it was night, but the candelabra on the table barely threw enough light to see the size of the bed.
Giselle’s gasp of surprise was drowned out by the housekeeper’s explanation to the maid. Giselle ignored both of them. The bed was another monstrosity of immense proportions. Either it was the largest structure she’d ever seen, or it just looked that way because it was several steps above the floor, on its own platform.
The headboard seemed built for giants, too, because it ended in the darkness above the level of the light. Giselle followed the maroon shaded drapes on either side of the bed to the top of the headboard where they disappeared somewhere in the gloom.
“Your wardrobe has been arriving daily, Madame.” The housekeeper bowed as she left. “This is Gerty. She’ll assist you until your own maid arrives. I’m certain you’ll be comfortable, but, if you need anything, the bell is here.” Madame Dessard walke
d to one side of the bed and showed Giselle the cord.
“Merci.”
Giselle watched the door shut, then she slid down a bed post to the edge of the partition on which the bed sat. The room overwhelmed her. The entire experience was beginning to, and she wished Louisa was here. She would’ve helped dispel the depressive atmosphere of the room.
“Would you like a bath before bed, Madame, or shall I order one for the morning?” Gerty approached where Giselle leaned against the post.
“The morning will do.”
“Very good, Madame. May I unhook you? I’m certain Madame would be more comfortable in bed, non?”
Giselle longed to tell the girl that it was too much effort. Too much had happened. She just wanted to be alone, but she knew the gown wasn’t going to unhook itself.
“Oh. Just look. You’ve been sewn into this. No wonder there’s few wrinkles. There’s some that would call this wasteful, but not me. I’ve got more to do than worry myself over the ways of the nobility. It’s no problem, either. I’ve got my sewing-knife right here. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you out of this and into your nightclothes immediately, just you see.”
Giselle leaned forward and let the girl unpick Isabelle’s stitches.
“Madame is very petite. It’ll be a pleasure to see Madame gowned. And such gowns! We didn’t believe anyone could have such a tiny waist. The entire staff….”
Giselle raised her hands to her temples as the girl kept speaking. Finally, the bodice was opened and shed, and then came the skirts and then the corset. Giselle had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be able to take a deep breath again.
Gerty held out a wispy nightgown and Giselle nodded. She longed to say that it didn’t matter, but the girl didn’t need any encouragement to continue her prattle. Giselle watched in the mirror as her new maid combed out all the curls and braided her hair loosely. She looked as pale and drawn as she felt. Louisa had said Giselle looked like a ghost, and right now, she’d have to agree.
Giselle sat at the vanity table as Gerty walked over to her bedside, climbed the partition and lit a lone candle. The maid was going to take the candelabra with her, and Giselle nearly cried out to stop her. She’d never slept alone. She’d always had Louisa and Isabelle in their rooms beside hers. She would be isolated and so alone in that huge bed. Everything was strange. Her bed at Antilli was against a stone wall. She always slept with that at her back. She would feel unprotected in the monstrosity they’d given her.
“The duc is just beyond this door, Madame. It’s usually kept locked, but we thought it—I can lock it if you like.”
Giselle looked at the tall door and shook her head. If she dared to lock that door, the staff would spend endless hours gossiping about it. That much, she knew.
“That’s not necessary, Gerty. You’ve been most efficient. Merci.”
The maid dropped another curtsy and left, and the light seemed to slide right out the door with her. Silence descended on the gloom of her new room, and Giselle looked to the ceiling again. She had time to say her prayers. She wondered where it would feel safest to kneel.
She told herself she was being ridiculous. It was just another bedroom — a bit large and dark, but just another room. She stood, and was walking toward her dressing table when angry voices came from the connecting door. One sounded like Navarre.
“I told you meddling fools I’ll have no….!”
It was like Navarre, but not quite. By the sound she heard, the door wasn’t completely shut. Giselle guessed the staff had left it that way on purpose.
She stood close to the door, holding her breath, as she realized the man who had spoken had to be Etienne. Her husband.
“…had to bring her here! I had no other choice. You should count your blessings she’s as lovely as she is.”
Now…that voice was definitely Navarre, she thought with a smile.
“Lovely? What do you know of it?”
Giselle heard glass breaking, cursing, and then someone sobbing.
“Etienne, if you’d listen—”
“Listen? You’re all fools! And she can go to hell with the rest of you!”
Something struck the door, sending it against Giselle’s nose. Tears started in her eyes at the shock.
He threw something at the door! As if he knew I was listening!
She turned to run to the bed but her toes caught in the hem of the nightgown, and she fell, stifling a squeal. And a moment later there was another slamming sound in the other room. Giselle didn’t wait. It didn’t matter how monstrous and strange her new bed was. It was safer than staying there.
CHAPTER FIVE
The connecting door was open when Giselle woke the next morning. She blinked to clear her eyes and wiped at them as she stared. It had been closed when she huddled beneath the sheet, heavily embroidered with lace. It was also closed when the only witness to her crying had been the sputtering candle.
It wasn’t closed now, though. It was even more obvious because of the glow of dawn that came from in there. Giselle stared at the portal, wondering why Etienne’s room was so much brighter than her own. It looked like the only light in Giselle’s rooms came from the open door.
She wondered why it was open. Had he come into her room while she slept? And what must he think? He probably thought his wife was tiny. She barely showed since she’d slept with her back against the headboard. It was the only place in that massive bed that she felt secure.
Giselle slipped out, her toes flinching at the chilled floor. She was intrigued beyond measure. Why, after seeing his new wife, had he left the door open? There was an open book on the floor just inside his chamber. That must be the object he threw against it the previous night.
The light in the room dazed her, and she shielded her eyes with her hand as she ventured in. The view from his window was spectacular, and she saw Savignen Valley just over the parapet. Navarre had said Savignen was best when viewed at dawn. It was true. And Etienne’s windows were open, explaining the chill, but she was putting off the inevitable. The view wasn’t why she’d come.
Giselle turned slowly back to the bed.
The ducal chambers were larger than hers, and much brighter. Giselle wondered who had decorated it that way. Etienne’s bedding was of light material, almost silver, frothy with black lace. Her eyes widened.
He slept front-down on his bed, and he hadn’t changed from his evening clothes. Perhaps he hadn’t changed in some time. For the first time, Giselle looked carefully at the room and saw that it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time, either. If the windows were closed, the smell would’ve been terrible. Wine decanters lay about, some broken, some staining the carpets with old wine. She’d never seen such filth before.
Etienne snorted and moved in his sleep. Giselle held her breath and waited. His breeches could’ve been gray, brown, or black. It was hard to tell the original color from the condition of them. He wore a shirt that was torn at one sleeve, and there were wine stains down it.
Is he a drunkard? Is that the disability no one speaks about?
He settled back, turning his face toward her and she approached the bed slowly. She had to see how he compared to his brother, Navarre. Etienne may be taller, but not by much. The legs that stretched to the floor were shapely, too, although his hose were streaked with stains.
She stepped up onto the pedestal and held her breath. He was blond, too, but it was hard to tell if the lanky strands on the sheets were dark blonde, or as light as Esmee’s, due to the filth of him. He had a fine golden beard on both cheeks, which narrowed his face. It didn’t look groomed. It looked more like he’d neglected to shave.
He was disgusting, and yet his nose was almost like Navarre’s, and the eyelashes were easily as long. It was hard to tell, because they were so blonde. Giselle caught her breath as he stirred, and then she noticed his mouth.
He had the same full lips. That’s when she decided he was every bit as handsome as his brother. With a bath, shave and decent clo
thing, he’d be stunning. Still, she was only guessing. After all, she was a novice at male beauty.
An eye opened, and she caught his glance. The eyes were vivid blue, not purple-blue as she’d expected. Giselle gasped and held her hands across her breast as he blinked, stared, and then blinked again.
And then he scowled, causing sharp lines to furrow down both cheeks. Giselle stepped back quickly, stumbling as she reached the floor. Oh dear. She shouldn’t have come in. She should’ve waited. And she definitely should have worn a robe!
Giselle watched his gaze travel over her, revealed in the morning light through her transparent negligee. She covered her breasts with her hands, but that didn’t fix anything. And one side of his mouth lifted at her movement.
“What…do you want?”
His voice was rough, deep, and filled with malice. He lifted himself up onto his elbows. His filthy mass of hair was in bad need of care and hung limply to the covers. If it were washed, it would probably be as blonde as Esmee’s she decided, stupidly.
She stumbled back another step.
“Get out! Out! I won’t be looked at in such a fashion!”
Giselle turned and ran, slamming the door and locking it the instant it shut. She didn’t care if the servants talked. Let them. She refused to ever open it again. Etienne was horrid.
And he frightened her.
Giselle ran back to her bed and huddled beneath the covers. She was still there when Louisa came in to wake her for the day.
“Such a to-do your arrival has caused, Giselle,” she said. “I swear they talk of nothing but la petite duchesse this and la petite duchesse that! My, but this is a dreary room. I’ve never seen such a dungeon. Why would they decorate your chambers in such a heavy fashion?”
Louisa walked to the window. With some effort, she pulled aside the drapes, letting sunshine flood the room. “Well? What do you think of this change in station, Giselle? Isn’t it lovely to be free to do what you wish?”
“I hate it,” she replied.
Louisa stared at her.
“Are you ill? You’ve not taken a chill, have you? I was hoping we’d be finished with the doctors. There’s no need. You’re no invalid. You never were.”