Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  “I want to go home.” Tears filled Giselle’s eyes again, and she couldn’t stop them. “Oh, Louisa, I wish I hadn’t come. I want to go back. Can you arrange it?”

  Louisa climbed onto the bed, sat beside Giselle, and took her hand.

  “Giselle, my dearest. I’ve been with you for over fifteen years. You must never wish for that. Your father kept you imprisoned.”

  “It’s better than here.”

  “But why? Was your handsome escort rude to you? Did he frighten you?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I…I met Etienne.” Giselle looked away.

  Louisa sighed and released Giselle’s hand. “I was hoping to talk to you before you met with him. It’s not easy for a man of his abilities and looks to be so disabled. It must be a heavy cross to bear.”

  “He drinks, Louisa. What disability is there in being a drunkard?”

  “Who told you that? I’m surprised at you, Giselle. The man’s back was broken. He’s an invalid. He cannot move his legs. He hasn’t been able to since the accident.” Louisa scooted from the bed and stepped down to floor level. “I heard rumors about it when it happened, but I refused to tell the comte. Non. He would have annulled the marriage.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Giselle, you’ve been treated unfairly for years, yet defend your family? I knew of Etienne when he married. He charmed everyone. I believe that man still exists. You’ll just have to find him.”

  “You’re wrong, Louisa. He’s not charming. He’s uncouth, cruel and…he frightens me.”

  “Giselle, surely you’re being unfair. You frighten easily, don’t you? Is it his fault he tried to claim his husbandly rights, and that you’re little more than a child? That’s what normally happens when a man and woman marry. I assume that’s what we’re discussing, non?”

  Husbandly rights?

  Giselle’s mouth fell open. Then closed. She couldn’t force the words through her lips. She shivered with distaste at the thought of intimacy with the unshaven, unbathed, hateful man in the next room. She’d rather die. Louisa had explained about intimacy, and the emotions Giselle would experience with her husband, but she didn’t want that with Etienne.

  If it had been Navarre, however….

  Le Bon Dieu! She couldn’t finish the thought.

  “Madame is awake?”

  Someone knocked on the door. Louisa answered and let in Gerty with a breakfast tray. Giselle didn’t say a word as the tray was placed atop her lap. She was speechless at the array. She recognized grape juice and a poached egg, but she’d never seen pastries such as this Chef Aaron made.

  “Where’s Isabelle?” Giselle asked once Gerty had left.

  “Don’t avoid the subject with me, Giselle! I’m asking you to give it time. Perhaps you’ll get over your fear. Only time will tell.”

  There was another knock. Louisa went to answer it.

  “You ordered a bath, Giselle?”

  She’d forgotten it until then. “Oh. Yes. I did. And I’d love a bath.”

  She watched as a hip bath was set in the middle of the floor. Two maids emptied buckets into it before curtsying and going out for more water.

  “Finish your breakfast.” Louisa told her. “You’ve so much to do. I’m certain Madame Esmee will give you instructions on the many duties of running the castle.”

  Giselle didn’t want duties. She wanted her chambers back at Antilli. She wanted her safety back. Still, she reasoned, if Etienne was an invalid, that explained his strange movement as he lifted up in bed. It didn’t explain his drunken, filthy condition, though. Nothing did.

  Chef Aaron made flaky pastries. Giselle enjoyed as many bites as she could hold. If she continued eating this well, she’d soon grow out of her new clothes.

  Isabelle came in next and held open the door as more maids returned with more water. Giselle supposed she had Esmee to thank for such efficiency. She’d never given much thought to running a household. Antilli seemed to run by itself. But she could learn it.

  If Etienne was disabled, then he probably misinterpreted her curiosity. That could explain the ugliness of his words. Still, she could hardly tell him the truth, that she was comparing him to his brother.

  While Giselle bathed, she tried to ignore the myriad of women intent on duties within the bedchamber. Before she’d finished she decided to unlock the connecting door. After all, she and Etienne were wed. They would have to reach an understanding of some kind. Louisa was right again, and Giselle was getting heartily sick of that.

  She would give it time.

  ~

  Giselle was exhausted before luncheon, and it was getting more and more difficult to disguise it. Esmee took her through the lower rooms, but Giselle was lost before the library, and definitely before they reached the Blue Salon again. The floor of the foyer that split the main castle was checkered with alternating black and white marble tiles. They were beautiful and highly polished, and continued into all the rooms opening from the foyer. The most commonly used rooms were to the right of the hall. There were drawing rooms, three dining rooms, the duc’s study, and a morning room.

  To the left of the hall were the little-used rooms — salons, ballrooms and weapons rooms. In the latter, Giselle was awed to see five full suits of armor on display. The kitchens were to the back of the castle. Giselle found it hard to believe that the chef made such extraordinary pastries in such dark and small surroundings.

  “Perhaps you’ll ask the duc if an expansion to the kitchens can be accomplished, Madame? It is a horror I cannot describe trying to reach culinary mastery in such a kitchen. I shouldn’t complain, but I need room. I need light! I need more ovens. You do see that, don’t you, Madame?”

  Chef Aaron was taller than Giselle, but he easily accounted for two men with his girth. He was very earnest with his pleas, however.

  “I will speak to the duc about your needs,” Giselle answered.

  She should have realized that comment would be gossiped over, and that she’d be open to all sorts of complaints. Giselle was surprised she’d been so naive.

  “There aren’t enough housemaids, Madame la Duchesse.” Madame Dessard added her list of wants quickly. “I can’t clean the rafters without help.”

  Giselle smiled from her position at the end of the table in one of the small dining rooms. “Hire what is necessary, Madame Dessard. See to it that the ducal chambers are given a thorough cleaning, too.”

  A look of consternation crossed her face. That was almost amusing. Giselle knew the cause. She’d met him that morning.

  “Perhaps I can make do without the extra help, Madame,” the housekeeper finished.

  She was waiting to be excused, but Giselle wasn’t about to allow that.

  “Non. You’re to see that the duc’s rooms are cleaned, Madame Dessard…with or without the new help.”

  “How do you suggest I do that, please?”

  Esmee looked to Giselle for suggestions too, and she had none, but she couldn’t let them know that.

  “I’ll have the duc moved into my chambers in the meantime,” she finally replied.

  “Very good, Madame.”

  The look she gave Giselle was a combination of bemusement and doubt, and she was right. How could Giselle get Etienne moved into her chambers? That news would spread through the staff quickly, she knew that much. She recalled how quickly they learned things back in Antilli. Giselle sighed. There was nothing for it. She’d have to speak with Etienne.

  She stood. “What have you arranged for luncheon, Esmee?”

  “I have made arrangements for salmon mousse and peaches to be served at half-past two, Giselle. I can have that changed if it’s not to your liking.”

  “Excellent. It sounds delicious.”

  Giselle realized her luck instantly. Esmee was going to be a dear about it, when Giselle had been expecting dislike, anxiety, or worse, outright anger.

  “I am in awe of your ability, Esmee. I
will consult with you before I change a thing. I’m…very new to this sort of thing, you understand.”

  Esmee smiled and it made her look very like Navarre. Giselle had been doing her best to forget him, too. She had to look away.

  She hadn’t seen him all morning, although she’d kept expecting to, especially when they reached the Blue Salon. Giselle had glanced at the large chair he’d occupied, just to see if her previous reaction was there.

  It was.

  Perhaps it was better that he hadn’t been there. After all, she was a married woman, and had no right thinking of another man.

  “You’re doing splendidly, Giselle,” Esmee replied. “The staff has noticed, too. The castle feels differently, already.”

  She wouldn‘t be as effusive if she knew how frightened Giselle was of approaching the duc. None of them would.

  “Would you excuse me please, Esmee? I believe I’ll rest in my rooms until luncheon.”

  Giselle had to ask a servant to direct her and felt like an ignorant fool. How could she have said she’d get Etienne to move? And into her chambers? She was mad to consider it.

  Giselle lay in the bed, trying to rest. All she could think of was her dread of Etienne.

  “He cannot move, Giselle,” she told herself aloud, hoping to banish the fright. “If he’s horrid to me, I can run. He cannot.”

  Isabelle had undressed Giselle from the deep purple morning gown she’d worn, so she could rest. She couldn’t rest at all. A dressing gown lay across the bed, and she put her arms into it before tying it haphazardly about her waist. She would speak to Etienne right away, before luncheon. It wouldn’t get less frightening if she delayed. It would only get worse.

  Giselle stopped at the connecting door and watched her hand shake at the lock. She couldn’t do it. He’d throw another book at her! He’d sneer at her again. He’d frighten and scare her.

  She sighed, turned around, and went back to the monstrosity of bed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  There were twelve for dinner. Esmee took Giselle around the drawing room, introducing her to the castle’s tenants. There was only one she remembered by sight because he was named Francois, like her brother. She spent most of the time conversing with Etienne’ s aunt, the dowager duchesse, Mimi.

  That, and attempting to ignore Navarre.

  “I can’t wait to see your portrait in the gallery, Giselle,” the dowager duchesse said. “The Berchald line has always possessed beauty, but you’re even more so. Then again, the Antillions are known for being comely. I was so proud when my husband, the late duc, arranged your marriage to Etienne, especially with your dowry.”

  Giselle murmured something inconsequential, but it didn’t matter. Their aunt didn’t seem to need encouragement.

  “Etienne has angered me greatly during these past years. Why, when he had his coming-out, they came from far and wide just to see him. You can’t imagine a more handsome physical specimen than my nephew.”

  Oh yes, I can, Giselle thought and looked over at Navarre.

  He’d attended sup, dressed as if to draw everyone’s attention. He wore a burgundy-colored jacket that made the color of his eyes stand out. And he had a small amethyst stone at the throat of his jabot. He’d completed his ensemble with black silk breeches over white hose. He was more than handsome, she decided. He was a delight on the senses. Giselle couldn’t have kept her eyes from him if she tried.

  The priest had already counseled her on her duties, which were owed to her husband. Giselle was to light three candles to Saint Mary to absolve herself from further lustful thoughts. Giselle frowned.

  It appeared she’d gone to confession too soon.

  As if she spoke aloud, Navarre looked at her over the rim of his wine glass. His eyes were dark purplish blue, and he narrowed them slightly as he watched her.

  “Then there’s Jean-Claude,” the dowager duchesse continued at Giselle’s side. “Such a waste. Almost the moment my dear brother-in-law was buried, Madame Berchald took him to Versailles, and it has ruined him! They’ve turned him into the same kind of noblemen as themselves. Always the parties with them. Always the drink, the games of chance, and the trysts! Sometimes, it goes on for days, I am told! He is just like the others who are ruining France. Ah! For the old days.”

  Navarre sipped his wine and held Giselle’s gaze easily.

  Why couldn’t it have been Navarre?

  “The Lord didn’t bless me with any children, Giselle, and I hope you and Etienne will somehow…oh dear. My mouth does run away with me sometimes. I apologize.”

  “Pardon?”

  Giselle pried her gaze from Navarre and watched the dowager duchesse blush.

  “Yes…where was I? Your new family is not so large, oui? I’ve heard your own swelled to eight, is it? So many sons! The Comte d’Antillion must be so proud.”

  Giselle murmured something. It didn’t matter. Mimi just kept speaking.

  “Well, there’s also Esmee. She was betrothed at birth to the eldest son of the Marquis de Lingue. It would’ve been such a union! One, I had a hand in creating, I must confess, but alas, the boy died from a childbed fever.”

  “Then who was Monsieur Denton?”

  “He was a commoner! A member of the bourgeois! Such a misalliance. He was a mere shopkeeper in Paris, a milliner. It was such a shock, and I still shudder to think of the repercussions.”

  She looked ready to faint. Giselle kept her eyebrows from rising, and was proud of that fact. And while she waited for the dowager duchesse to recover, she practiced ignoring Navarre’s presence, just as the priest had advised her to do.

  “Esmee’s rather…large, my dear,” the dowager duchesse continued. “Not that you’ll ever have that problem but she was also too old. Why, she was over twenty when Monsieur Denton offered for her. He was tossed out for his trouble. Their father would never allow a marriage with a tradesman. Esmee had other plans, though. You see. She eloped.”

  Giselle was engrossed by the story of Esmee’s elopement. She wouldn’t have dreamed the woman capable of such a thing.

  “Of course, Monsieur du Berchald, my husband’s brother, disowned her completely. Cut her off without a franc, if you will. He had no other choice.” She shook her head sadly.

  I won’t look at Navarre. I won’t! Nothing can make me.

  “She was in luck that Etienne accepted her back when Monsieur Denton died. Then again, Etienne was young…just sixteen, and he had other things occupying his life. He had just been wed with you, and received your dower.”

  With Janelle, you mean, Giselle thought absently. It was a moot point. She had still been wed. She was having a difficult time following the conversation. Navarre had moved from behind the pianoforte to the fireplace. Giselle somehow knew it without looking.

  “Now, we are just the remnants of the great Berchald dynasty. What you see before you, is the only family I have. You’d think with so many nephews, I would have more babies to spoil…oh dear. I have done it again.”

  “What of Na— Um. The others?”

  “Jean-Claude is wed almost eight years. That is his wife over there.”

  The dowager duchesse gestured to someone Giselle should have remembered. She looked over and saw a large, unhappy-looking woman. Giselle pitied her the stays of her corset, because she looked pinched in half. Giselle may have a small waist, but her own corset was driving her mad with the scratchiness. It was best to keep her mind off of it.

  She was wearing one of her new gowns, complete with panniers to hold the skirts out at the sides. To sit and converse with Aunt Mimi, meant she was barely seated on the edge of her chair. That was the only way her skirts would fit.

  “They have a daughter, but alas, no heir. Of course, Jean-Claude would have a better chance of that if he stayed at the castle instead of intriguing with his Mama.”

  Aunt Mimi touched Giselle hand with the tip of her fan, as if she were telling the latest bit of gossip. And perhaps it was. What did Giselle know of it?
/>   “My maid mentioned that Etienne sent for a bath this afternoon, my dear. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about that.”

  Giselle moved uncomfortably on the chair. It wasn’t due to her dress. It was because of her failure. Etienne wasn’t sending for a bath because of his wife. She hadn’t managed to gain enough courage to even speak with him.

  “It would make my heart so proud to see his heir.”

  Giselle’s eyes widened. Her breath stalled. She was amazed to still be seated, numbly listening to the woman’s prattling.

  “I was so hopeful that he meant to join us this evening. I haven’t even seen him since the Christmas Mass, and he was so wrapped up, it could have been anyone. But come, Giselle, my dearest. Dinner is being served.”

  The dowager duchesse stood, surprisingly spry for her age and the amount of foundations she had to be wearing. To Giselle’s consternation, she realized that Aunt Mimi hadn’t said anything that mattered.

  She hadn’t said a thing about Navarre.

  “I’m to escort you to dinner, Giselle.”

  She looked sideways and saw black breeches and above those, a wine-colored jacket. Oh my. Her heart started hitting painfully against her corset. She should’ve known it would be Navarre.

  He bowed before her, and Giselle had to consciously stop her knees from knocking together as she looked at his arm. It amazed her that she had that affliction with as many garments as she was wearing. She had to clench her thighs to stop the motion.

  Despite everything, the reactions still happened. It was intolerable. No matter how many candles she lit or prayers she said. Navarre still affected her.

  “You look very beautiful, Giselle.”

  He whispered it as they preceded everyone into the medium-sized dining room.

  Oh heavens! The instant joy had to be stopped. She must concentrate on her place. She must recall Scripture. Remember her duty. He called her beautiful! There wasn’t enough material in the bodice of her dress to hide a blush. Giselle quickly looked at the table, and not at her escort.