by Jackie Ivie
“While it is true of you, I’ve heard that all follow His Majesty’s pursuit of a clear, unblemished complexion. Most of the nobility weren’t blessed with porcelain skin as you were, Giselle.”
“Blessed? I’ve been hidden away. Is it any wonder I’m white? I rarely see the outdoors.”
“Complaints still? Giselle.”
Louisa clucked her tongue and Giselle glared at her through the glass. It didn’t do much. The maid just continued in a chastising tone.
“Look at you. You have a full evening of entertainment ahead, a beautiful dress, and a new hairstyle. Besides, you can go outside anytime you like, anymore. Isabelle and I have talked of it. Why don’t you pursue riding? The Antillions have long been renowned for their ability, and I’m certain that new brother of yours, that Navarre? He would teach you. Isabelle and I spoke on it.”
“Which dress am I wearing?” Giselle spoke quickly to interrupt her.
“A new one, Madame. It just arrived from Paris.”
Both women exchanged glances again in the mirror, and then Isabelle lowered her head.
“What’s wrong with the dress?” Giselle asked. “Isabelle, answer me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Giselle,” Louisa said quickly. “It’s the latest creation. There was a month of stitching done on the bodice alone.”
Giselle swiveled in her chair, balancing the weight on her head carefully as she looked at them. They were endlessly trying to hide unpleasantness from her, while nagging her at the same time to mature. She was determined to put a stop to it. “A month? That must be an exaggeration. It was ordered just last week, wasn’t it?”
“All your gowns were made for another, Giselle. Madame Broussard charged extra for each of them because of that.”
“Then you lied when you say I have such a small waist? What else have you hidden from me?”
“The dresses all had to be taken in, Giselle, I swear it!”
Isabelle spoke quickly and then crossed herself. After all the years Giselle had relied on her, she felt insulted.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m waiting.”
“Isabelle,” Louisa said, “go and fetch the dress. I’ll speak with her.”
Giselle swiveled on her chair and gave Louisa her sternest look. Louisa smiled. Giselle needed practice if she ever planned on scolding a servant. Giselle sighed.
“So tell me. What’s so mysterious about my new clothing, Louisa?”
“Your papa…sent the bill with the shipment.”
Giselle sucked in her breath in shock and dismay. “Oh no! He didn’t! He couldn’t! That’s unheard of! How could he have done something so degrading? So bourgeoisie?”
Giselle was aware that tears of shame colored her words, and that Louisa heard them, but it was an incredible insult to make her new family pay for her trousseau. Giselle couldn’t believe the comte was that undignified.
“It’s true,” Louisa said. “Monsieur Navarre received the bill this morning. The servants have been whispering about it all day — when they aren’t gossiping over the duc’s plans of attending this fete, that is.”
“Oh…how can I show myself to them?” Giselle covered her face with her hands. Papa sent her to her new husband and refused to pay for her clothing!
“Giselle, you will attend this dinner with your head high. Well…as high as possible, considering your height.”
“I am not amused,” Giselle replied from behind her fingers.
“The clothing has been paid for many times over, Giselle,” Louisa continued. “The entire Berchald family owes its escape from debtor’s prison to you. They could have gone to the Bastille. If it hadn’t been for your dowry—”
“I’ve already heard the tale, and I don’t care. I hate my father! I hate him! I never want to see him again.”
“Does that mean…you won’t annul your marriage after all?”
How did she know? Giselle wondered.
“Of course not.” She tried to sound vehement, but failed. She disliked her husband intensely, but she hated her own father more.
“Well. That’s settled, then. And you can’t sit there all day admiring your reflection,” Louisa said. “Time is wasting. I look forward to seeing you in this latest creation. You’ll stun everyone.”
“Especially since they’re paying for it,” she grumbled.
“No, Giselle. You ‘re paying for it. I daresay you haven’t finished paying yet, either.”
She was much too astute. When Giselle pulled her hands away from her face, the woman wouldn’t meet her eyes.
CHAPTER NINE
“Monsieur Poinre was right, Madame la Duchesse. You’re so beautiful, and ever so small. It’s a pleasure to assist you, I vow.”
Giselle narrowed her eyes, smiled her thanks to Gerty, and then looked away. The maid knew about the bill for payment. They all did. Giselle shouldn’t be surprised at the way news flew about the castle. She’d lived too long in seclusion. Although she knew little about the world about her, little was known about her, too.
Everyone probably knew what she’d been asked to do with Etienne, too. That was a disgusting thought.
“She’s right, Giselle,” Louisa said. “But you need jewels. I’m certain the family has a selection. Gerty, could you see that the Berchald jewels are placed at the duchesse’s disposal?”
Gerty curtsied as Giselle looked back at her reflection. Why hadn’t she thought of commanding that? Would she never learn to be mistress of her own castle? And Louisa was wrong. It would be impossible to enhance her appearance. She looked astonishing. A necklace couldn’t make much difference. Her hair was high atop her head and pristine white, making her look dazzlingly pale. The dress was a masterpiece of needlework, too.
The material’s pattern of pink and white stripes had been sewn at the bodice so that only the pink showed. The white stripes were revealed at the waist. The darts in her bodice must have taken days to sew, but it was worth it. The dress was everything she could have hoped, but a bit lower cut than she was used to. Although the others beamed their approval, she felt shy at the neckline.
Giselle hadn’t been blessed with much bosom, and it had never mattered before to her, but the corset Isabelle had laced her into pushed everything toward the bodice’s lace edge. Giselle had never seen cleavage displayed as hers was. She couldn’t imagine what Navarre would think when he saw— Oh…why was it Navarre that occurred to her first? It should be Etienne, but something always brought Navarre to mind. It was perverse…but it was very delightful, too.
Immense panniers had been strapped atop her petticoats, holding Giselle’s gown out so far at the sides, she could only go through a door sideways. The cage-like affairs were fairly weightless, and even bounced if she did. It might be fashionable, but it felt strange. It did make her waist look even smaller than it was, though. If anyone noticed that after her neckline.
There was a polite knock at the door. Neither woman moved. They all seemed transfixed by Giselle’s reflection. The knock came again.
“See who’s at the door, Isabelle,” Giselle commanded.
She couldn’t tear her own eyes away from herself. She didn’t look like herself at all. Was that what the designers of haute couture had in mind? Giselle tipped her head to one side and then the other, and decided she wasn’t as flattered at the image as she had once been. She would rather look more like herself.
“Monsieur Navarre requests entry, Madame,” Isabelle said a moment later. “He brings a selection of jewelry for you to choose from.”
Giselle’s heart stopped. Isabelle’s even tone helped restart it. Navarre was here? He would see her and she’d yet to acclimatize herself to the neckline! She wore almost nothing at her bosom! And worse. She could actually see the tops of her breasts turning a rosy shade. She took several calming breaths, before she dared speak.
“A-a-allow him in.”
She stammered. Louisa caught her eye in the mirror and Giselle looked away quickly. It wouldn’t do f
or anyone to suspect how she felt. And that’s when she went white. She could actually feel the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t label anything. No. She did not have feelings. Not for another man. Etienne was her husband, and she shouldn’t even think of another— “Giselle?”
Navarre’s voice broke through her thoughts. Giselle turned toward him and gaped.
Magnifìque!
There was no better word for him. Navarre had his hair pulled back in a queue, and a froth of white lace at his throat. His thigh-length coat was made of dull yellow sateen, while black knee breeches looked sewn to his thighs. And she already knew they were muscled and lean. Giselle focused on the floor beneath his shoes.
“I brought the Berchald emeralds, sapphires, and of course, the Star of Savignen diamond. My ancestor, Jean-Claude, bought the diamond and named it after the vineyard, although he had no idea the Berchalds would someday own it. That was a strange idea of his, wasn’t it?”
How he could ramble on, without the slightest tremor to his voice? Perhaps his emotion didn’t match hers. Perhaps he didn’t think of her, at all. Giselle trembled through the instant flash of pain through her breast and hoped no one noticed. And then she swallowed, and looked up at him.
And the world stood still. A huge rush of noise whooshed through each ear, cancelling out sound, and it was replaced by a low buzz.
He had beautiful eyes, dark blue, bordering on amethyst, and shadowed by those long, lush lashes. But she already knew that. There was something else. Something she didn’t know enough about to name. Giselle’s eyes widened as he licked his lips, before sucking in the full lower lip. Shivers ran her, raising gooseflesh, and Giselle sent the command, but her mouth didn’t listen. She actually pursed her lips.
Oh…sweetness! Heavens!
Her breath quickened, making even that small, almost-not-there bodice feel too tight. Restrictive. Oh, this was wicked. It was depraved and immoral, too. But nothing stopped the delicious tremors that hit her legs and weakened her knees. And that’s when she was extremely grateful for the skirt’s fullness. And the panniers, as not one soul would be able to tell! What she wouldn’t give to be in his arms, experiencing those lips. No! She mustn’t think that. It was evil, and yet nothing about this sensation felt wicked. Every sensation felt more exciting than the last. Enticing. Stimulating. Thrilling.
Oh. This was horrid. She had Louisa, Isabelle, Gerty, and two retainers watching. And even that failed to staunch the emotions coursing her. Navarre cleared his throat and spoke from what seemed a long way away.
“I didn’t know which dress you’d be wearing, Giselle. Your maid should’ve warned me.”
His eyes dropped. A nerve twitched in his jaw, and Giselle felt herself respond, as if her bosom pulsed toward him, aching for his touch, caress and kisses.
“The emeralds are out of question with that gown,” he continued, although his voice had deepened to Giselle’s ear. “But the diamond is almost as well-known. Savoy, bring the tray.” He gestured, and a dark-haired man stepped forward to Navarre’s side. “Savoy is the keeper of our vault, Giselle. If you need assistance in the future, send for him, not me.”
She hadn’t sent for him, but was it such a faux pas? The question made her feel vaguely ill. As did the realization that it was Gerty who’d devised this to happen. Giselle turned to examine the perfect square diamond set in a necklace of smaller stones. Named after her dowry, it would be the perfect choice for her pink and white dress, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the sheer size of the setting. She was too small for such a necklace.
“Let me see the sapphires.” She spoke in a whisper.
Navarre flicked his glance to her, imprinting heat everywhere, and then he looked over Giselle’s right shoulder. With that one glance, she felt as if flames roared through her, filling her ears this time with a loud, melodic humming sound. She vibrated as it filled her, overpowered her. Owned her. Terrified her.
She gulped.
Oh no. No. No.
She was in love!
As horrible and as disgusting as that might be, and as morally wrong and degrading, the certainty was still there. Carried through her with every heartbeat. Nothing had ever seemed so wondrous. Extraordinary. Thrilling. Giselle felt like a flower under the touch of the sun. She couldn’t believe it. She’d never felt so gloriously, perfectly, stunningly alive.
And somehow she had to hide it.
She looked down to the sapphires. They were a perfect match to Navarre’s eyes. Perhaps it was due to the red velvet cushion beneath them. She couldn’t be sure, but the purple deepened the blue stones to the hue of his eyes. Giselle loved the stones the moment she saw them. She wondered if he’d known that she would.
“I’ll wear the sapphires, Navarre.”
Giselle ignored the impulse to look toward him, knowing how many watched.
“Tres bien.”
He spoke formally, as if bored.
“If you’ll turn around, Madame, I shall do the honors and clasp the necklace. There’s a matching tiara, a bracelet, and two rings.”
“Merci, Na…arre.”
Giselle split his name. And it shook. Oh dear. And she was trying to prevent that very thing! It was impossible! And then she watched him pick up the stone with fingers that trembled. Giselle’s lips curved, and she had to hide that, too.
There was a cluster of tiny stones at the center, like little grapes. Giselle watched in the mirror as he hooked it. His fingers were icy cold against the back of her neck. Giselle lifted her eyes to meet his in the glass. Her skin was probably sensitive from heat — she was blushing, and that could have accounted for it — but nothing accounted for a spark that bit into her flesh and made him leap backward at the same time.
Stunned purplish eyes gripped hers, and she no longer cared how many others were in the room. They were invisible. She loved him, and he had to feel the same toward her! She knew it from the way he scrunched his eyes closed, and the look of pain that flickered across his cheekbones before he opened them again.
“I…must see to-to…Etienne.”
He stammered the words and stepped back, out of her sight. Giselle turned in time to see him bow. She hadn’t noticed before that he hadn’t powdered his hair. That was strange, but she was glad. She loved the golden color. She loved everything about him! Isabelle held the door open as he swept from the chamber.
“Oh. My. This is interesting, Giselle.”
She turned to Louisa as she picked up the tiara. It was made of smaller stones laced together with golden filigree, like the necklace. Two larger, egg-shaped stones hung from either end.
“These are meant to fall behind your ears,” Louisa noted. “I’ve never seen such a design. Thank you, Monsieur Savoy, but I don’t think the duchesse will need the rings or bracelet.”
Giselle let Louisa dismiss the man, although that should have been her decision. But Louisa was right. The color of the sapphires would jar against the striped skirt.
“Perfection!” Louisa announced once the tiara was in place. “When you first chose those stones, I almost interrupted, but it’s clear you know your colors. Nothing could become you better. I can’t wait to see the duc’s face when you are presented.”
The duc?
Giselle bit her tongue. Who cared about Etienne? She was aching to see Navarre again. She couldn’t help it. She loved him. The emotion was fraught with a passion and intensity she’d always dreamed existed. And now that she’d found such wonder, it must be kept hidden? Oh, but that was going to be difficult. She longed to shout it from the rooftops, it felt so beautiful. So wonderful. So amazing.
The waterfall of sapphires fell to the juncture of her new cleavage. She knew she looked desirable. Giselle could hardly wait to see Navarre again, so she could gaze into his eyes, feel the flickers of heat, tremble, and even pretend to kiss him.
She danced down the hall, listening as the rustle of her new finery accompanied every step. It wasn’t until she reached the t
op of the staircase that she felt shy. Giselle lifted the front of her skirts as she walked, and was glad her new shoes had heels. She wasn’t used to wearing them, however, and she had to take the stairs carefully. She couldn’t even bend forward enough to see where she put her feet.
Such strange fashions the aristocracy wears. Menservants awaited her at each set of double doors opening them wide for her promenade. If they hadn’t been there, she’d have had to stop, turn sideways, and take little, mincing steps to proceed. It was silly. Wasteful. She’d rather wear the plain dresses of my incarceration than such nonsense as this.
Oh. That last was a lie! And she knew it. She had never felt more beautiful, or looked more eye-catching. It was the most important thing in her world at the moment that Navarre thought so, too. Giselle couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he considered another woman was more fair. Her steps halted at the entrance to the large dining room, while the menservants bowed on both sides of it.
Navarre and another woman?
Oh no. No. That would be terrible. But likely. He could never be hers. He was probably betrothed. Aunt Mimi said nothing of it, but that didn’t mean anything. The agony of thinking he belonged to another made Giselle catch her breath with stifling the cry. He couldn’t belong to another woman!
Giselle lifted her head, and focused on the ceiling high above, blinking rapidly to stop the moisture in her eyes. Love was too new, fragile, and illicit. She was barely coming to terms with how it felt to experience it. This new emotion was too raw.
“Madame Giselle, the Duchesse du Berchald!”
Giselle was announced and immediately noted that Navarre wasn’t there. But Etienne was.
“Ah, Giselle,” her husband spoke loudly. “You are looking splendid. I see you wear Navarre’s sapphires, though. I must speak with the boy.”
Navarre’s sapphires?
“Come closer, my little wife! I certainly can’t come to you.”
Etienne laughed at the end of his words. Giselle watched as Esmee tried to humor him by laughing, too. It didn’t help. Etienne was obviously drunk. If nothing else, the condition of his clothing announced it. Giselle watched Aunt Mimi approach, pleasantly surprised to see they were of a like height due to the new heels.