Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  She crossed the room to him and grabbed an arm. He made it sound evil. Corrupt.

  Exactly as it was.

  “Enjoy Chef Aaron’s skill, Giselle. I find I’m no longer hungry.”

  He shrugged her off his sleeve and walked away. Giselle didn’t cling to him or call him back. She knew what was happening was the right thing…so why did it feel so wrong? She couldn’t stand to be near him and not touch him. She already knew that. It would be better if Navarre wasn’t about, tormenting her with the impossible, wouldn’t it?

  Wasn’t this what she wanted?

  What had she done?

  Giselle called out, but the door shut softly behind him. And when she reached it, he’d gone. And she had no one to blame but herself.

  ~

  “I was certain Navarre said he was coming to supper this evening, didn’t he, Esmee?”

  Aunt Mimi asked it. Giselle toyed with laughing from her lone place at the end of the table. But didn’t. She was too close to crying.

  “Perhaps he took ill, or that dratted house of mine takes more of his attention than it should. I can’t imagine why the boy insists on moving there. Chateau Berchand is his home.’’

  Giselle was grateful nobody addressed her. She doubted her ability to respond. She didn’t even remember leaving the Red Salon. She’d blown out the candles, and stayed for several long moments in the dark. That part she recalled.

  Dark was better, she decided, concentrating now on the ice sculpture in the center of the table.

  “It’s so rude of him. I’ve little time to change the table arrangements already, and then he upsets everything. Eleven to dinner? Whoever heard of such a thing?”

  Giselle ignored Esmee’s complaints and sat through every course, although, by the time mousse arrived for dessert, she was near hysterics. Now she knew what Etienne meant when he’d said they could all go to hell. That first night. When she’d eavesdropped.

  Except it felt like she was already there.

  Her heart seemed to be crying Navarre’s name with every beat, but it was too late. It had always been too late. She’d never be his. Only in her fantasies could she imagine it so…and those were about to end. She was going to confession. Giselle doubted she had the strength to see it through.

  But somehow, and from somewhere, she had to find it.

  “Marriage is sometimes a rocky affair, Giselle. I can attest to that.”

  “Pardon?”

  Giselle turned to Aunt Mimi. She’d made a point of sitting beside Giselle after sup had finally ended, and they’d moved to the Blue Salon. And Giselle couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten there.

  “The late duc was a difficult man to learn to care for.”

  Giselle watched Aunt Mimi blush with a sense of detachment. The rosy shade made her look years younger. Giselle didn’t know why Aunt Mimi had singled her out. She wasn’t paying attention.

  “I mean…things with Etienne might not always go as smoothly as one might wish.”

  Giselle nodded to her comment. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t interested in continued breathing, much less wanting things to go smoothly.

  “What time is Mass?” Giselle asked.

  “We can go now, Child. We can be a little early. It won’t harm anything. It may even help with finding our own place in heaven one day, non?”

  Aunt Mimi put her hand on Giselle’s elbow, pinching the flesh as she steadied herself. Giselle longed to tell her she needed a stouter leaning post. Giselle wasn’t stable. Navarre had accused her of toying with him. Well…hadn’t she? What had she hoped to gain by begging for his kiss— and more?

  They entered the chapel.

  “Here’s our pew, Giselle. Oh. I see Esmee’s already here.” Aunt Mimi said.

  She loved Navarre. Incessantly. Longingly. What use was such an emotion if it tore her apart?

  He’d accused her of using him to satisfy her curiosity! No. Never.

  Tears stabbed at her eyes, and she daren’t let anyone see. Giselle held to the wood backrest, closed her eyes, and forced the emotion down. She welcomed the renewed constriction in her throat as the sobs subsided.

  She would never have done what Navarre accused her of. She loved him. And it created an ache so vast, no one could’ve told her of it and had her believe it before.

  “They’re starting, dear.”

  Giselle forced her eyes open. Aunt Mimi wasn’t watching her. Mimi was settling onto the bench. That was a blessing. Giselle sat.

  The priest’s intonation of Latin made her glance up at him. What was this? He wasn’t the same priest who had heard her confession earlier in the week. Oh. This was terrible. How could she unburden her sins to a stranger?

  Giselle looked sideways at Esmee and felt her heart beat just a bit faster. Of anyone, Esmee knew what it meant to risk all things for love. Surely, Esmee would know how it felt, and if love was worth it. Giselle wished she’d thought of speaking with Esmee sooner.

  When it came time to confess, Giselle’s throat closed completely. She couldn’t confess to anything. She had to speak with Esmee first.

  “Welcome, my child.”

  “Father.”

  Giselle made the sign of the cross. She tried to tell herself that it was because there was something about the new priest that was unsettling, but she knew the truth. She wasn’t ready. Her love for Navarre encompassed her whole world, and she’d hurt him. She couldn’t admit that to anyone.

  “Forgive me, Father, but I have no sins I must confess at this time,” she said softly.

  “You find marriage suits you, Child?”

  “Oui.”

  That took a moment’s thought. She wasn’t lying. If she hadn’t married Etienne, she never would have met Navarre.

  “I’ve heard your husband sleeps in your chambers. Is that true?”

  He peered intently at her through the grill and Giselle turned aside. Why does he ask that? she wondered. Any servant could tell him of it “Yes, Father. It is.”

  “Bless you, Child.”

  Giselle was slightly stooped as she left the confessional. She wasn’t able to stand upright, and didn’t look too closely at why. She didn’t dare. She was grateful no one was paying her much attention. Because she’d just lied to a priest!

  She was bent nearly double by the time she reached her chambers, where Etienne still stayed. Yes, she’d lied, but not to subvert the truth. She had to have more time! She had to speak with Esmee first.

  Giselle didn’t say anything as Gerty and Isabelle prepared her for sleep. She couldn’t speak. The lump in her throat wouldn’t have allowed it.

  Etienne appeared to have drunk himself into a stupor. Giselle was grateful for that, as well. She didn’t think she could face him. She couldn’t even meet her own eyes in the chamber mirror.

  “Madame is well?” Gerty asked. Giselle waved her away.

  “She would speak of it if she wasn’t,” Isabelle answered quietly in her usual somber voice.

  “I have heard she attended Mass, and the confessional.”

  Giselle frowned at the way Gerty stressed the last word. What could she know of it? What could anyone know?

  “The duchesse attends Mass often, Gerty. Keep your speculation to yourself. I won’t allow gossip of that nature.”

  “I never—”

  “You should leave. Now.”

  Giselle pillowed her head on her arms and waited for them to both leave.

  “My prayers are with you, Madame. Good eve.”

  The tears started at Isabelle’s kind words, and Giselle’s chin sank to her breast. She was in luck that Isabelle had already shut the door behind her and wasn’t a witness to such a loss of control.

  Giselle found the wardrobe room by touch alone. She’d extinguished all the candles. Even one candle was too much light. It was better to be in the dark. That’s where all sinners deserved to be.

  Giselle cried herself to sleep, clenching her rosary to her heart as she begged God’s forgi
veness. She had sunk far in only five days.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “This is the second wing,” Esmee said. “Pierre, the eighth duc? He hated using references of east, west and north wings, so he simplified things by naming the additions from the time they were added. A bit strange, but it stuck.”

  Giselle nodded, although she had little interest in the ancient stone tower they were entering.

  “It’s said this wing is haunted, although I’m certain that’s just a tale to frighten little children.”

  “Haunted?”

  Giselle looked about with more interest than she’d felt all morning. She wanted to ask Esmee if love was worth sacrificing everything. If she had to endure a tour of the chateau before she had a chance to ask it, so be it. However, a haunted wing was almost interesting enough to take her mind off Navarre’s absence – but not quite.

  “The fifth duchesse, Bertina, didn’t die naturally. It’s said she still haunts this wing, although not the first three floors.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she fell to her death from the fourth floor. Come. I’ll show you. Watch your step near the top.”

  The warning wasn’t necessary. It was obvious the tower wasn’t maintained. Giselle followed Esmee up tower stairs that were carved into the walls. They made a continual circle going up and down. She didn’t really want to go. The last thing she needed to see in her depressed state was the exact spot where the Spanish Duchesse Bertina fell.

  The stairs were filthy. Giselle grimaced at the line of dirt on her hemline. She could only lift the front section of her skirts, because she had to hold to the wall with the other hand. She watched as Esmee had the same problem. The woman’s hand was splayed along the tower stones as she climbed.

  “There should be a banister here, I suppose,” Esmee commented.

  “Why isn’t there one?”

  “No one comes anymore. It would be a waste of funds, non?”

  They reached a massive wooden door with the most ancient lock Giselle had ever seen. Esmee took a key, larger than her palm, from her pocket. Giselle had never seen such a strange looking key. She watched as Esmee twisted it in the lock and turned the handle.

  Giselle coughed at the dust that flew from the wind they created the moment the door opened. It took a moment before she opened her eyes again. Blue sky and leagues of land showed from the missing side. She watched as dirt and feathers swirled out.

  “It looks easy to fall from here.”

  Giselle commented, watching from the safety of the doorway as Esmee approached the opening.

  “It wasn’t always like this, Giselle. It looks like the hole has been widened on purpose. I wonder who would go to such trouble? And why?”

  Giselle forced herself to walk toward the opening, although she had to swallow her fright. There were new-looking marks on the rocks. She bent forward to peer over the edge. There was a pile of the same rock very far below.

  She had no idea four stories was so high.

  Her tower in Chateau Antilli was as nothing in comparison. Giselle gasped and backed to the safety of the inner wall, hoping Esmee wouldn’t notice. And when her palms touched the stone, it was so warm to the touch, that Giselle jerked her hands away.

  “Esmee!” Her voice squeaked.

  “What is it, Giselle? You look like you’ve seen our ghost.”

  She walked toward her.

  “The stone! It—it’s warm!” Giselle’s voice rose.

  “But, of course. The sun has shone on it almost all day. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  She didn’t sound sorry, especially as she turned aside to stifle her giggles. Giselle had rarely felt so stupid. She crossed her arms in front of her breast, defensively.

  “I don’t like this tower. It’s dangerous. Why hasn’t it been torn down? It’s not being used, and it’s unsightly.”

  She was trying to sound self-confident, but knew she sounded as childish as she felt. She watched Esmee’s lips twist before the woman gestured her back through the door. Giselle didn’t think she’d get an answer as Esmee took her time locking the door again and pocketing the key.

  “The duc takes little interest in the castle or any of the estate. Why, if it wasn’t for Navarre, even our retainers would have to resort to begging.”

  Including Desiree?

  Giselle almost asked it. She lifted her skirt with a hand that still trembled, and held to the wall with the other. She was grateful Esmee was in front of her and couldn’t remark further on her misplaced fright.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak to you in that fashion. Forgive me.”

  Esmee tipped her head to say it, and Giselle smiled.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I need to know these things. Besides, Etienne will never hear of it from me.”

  Esmee was apparently satisfied, for she turned back around and kept walking. Giselle felt safer the closer to the ground they got. She wondered what a tumble down the stairs would feel like, and set the thought aside the instant it occurred.

  “If Etienne won’t take care of the tower, why don’t you approach Na-Navarre, then?”

  She almost got the name out, but something perverse and wonderful made her stammer. She only hoped Esmee wouldn’t notice.

  Esmee looked sidelong at her. Giselle was glad they were already at the bottom of the second addition.

  “Navarre already assumes enough ducal duties, and it’s shortsighted of him. I’ve lectured him on it often enough. The duchy will never belong to him. Berchand belongs to Etienne, and then, from him, to Jean-Claude. Unless you and Etienne….” she stopped.

  “I know. Unless we have a son.”

  Giselle finished, although she couldn’t help blushing. She had changed a lot in the six days she’d been here. When she first heard it mentioned, she’d been overcome with embarrassment. Now it rolled off her tongue like it was nothing.

  “Yes. Well…there is always that, and it would change things considerably as far as Jean-Claude is concerned, but a child would do nothing for Navarre. He needs a wife and family of his own instead of always running an estate he’ll never possess. He’s wasting his future, and won’t listen to me. Perhaps you could speak with him about it?”

  Giselle was lucky they’d reached the main castle again. Esmee could have hit her in the stomach and had the same effect. Giselle couldn’t breathe for a bit. The black-and-white parquet pattern of the floor wavered for a moment and she leaned against the wall for support.

  “Of course, Etienne has the responsibility of finding Navarre a suitable wife, and he does little more than…oh dear. My mouth has run away from me again, hasn’t it?”

  Esmee didn’t give Giselle time to answer. She strode to the duc’s library, trying to cover up her words.

  So that’s why Navarre wasn’t married, Giselle thought. Etienne must find him another wife, and, as long as he remains a drunkard, Navarre can do as he likes, Navarre never had to wed. He could always be available for her to look at, fantasize over, and— Giselle refused to finish her own thoughts. He could always be at the chateau, running it from behind-the-scenes…no! She mustn’t think like that.

  Giselle straightened from the wall.

  It was such a wonderful, but disturbing, revelation. Giselle felt elation fill her, making it easy to meet Esmee at the library door, and yet was horrified and desolate simultaneously. The mix of emotions made her giddy-feeling.

  “See that Chablis is brought to the library.”

  Esmee instructed the servant who opened the door for them. Giselle dipped her head as she followed Esmee. She should be the one instructing the staff. She wondered if she’d ever learn to be chatelaine of her home. And then it hit her, what Esmee had really said.

  Navarre never had to leave!

  That was what he’d meant in the Red Salon about trusting him. He’d meant that Giselle and he could—oh dear.

  “What of you, Esmee?”

  Giselle inserted it quickly, stopping her th
oughts. She couldn’t stop the blush. She could only hope Esmee wouldn’t notice.

  “Me?”

  Esmee sat in one of the straight-backed chairs, and Giselle took a facing one. It wasn’t until she was seated that she noticed the obvious. The chairs were so high Giselle’s feet didn’t touch the floor, even if she sat at the front of it. So, she perched at the front, balancing herself uneasily on her voluminous skirts.

  “Don’t you also need a husband and children of your own? You can’t mourn Monsieur Denton forever.”

  To her surprise, Esmee burst into laughter, and continued until she almost cried. Giselle frowned. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Esmee was still chortling when the Chablis arrived. Giselle motioned for it to be served. Perhaps the dry burgundy would calm her. Something had to.

  “You’ll think me touched, Giselle.” Esmee dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and resumed her normal composure. “But, mourn Gerard? I’d sooner dance with joy at my release.”

  Giselle hadn’t drunk enough wine to hear such a thing. She gulped it so fast that she choked. The manservant refilled the glass without comment, although she wouldn’t be drinking any more. She already felt the disembodied sensation she needed.

  “You didn’t…love Monsieur Denton? Then why did you elope?”

  Giselle reached for the table to set her glass down and almost fell off the chair. She hated being in a house built for giants. She watched as the manservant hid a smile behind his gloved hand. All the servants would say she drank too much. Giselle decided she no longer cared. Let them.

  “Who told you that I had?”

  “Aunt Mimi. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a secret.”

  “It’s no secret, but it’s not something I’m proud of, all the same.”

  She walked over to the bookshelf and looked over the novels as if selecting one. Giselle waited. It was clear Esmee wasn’t going to be able to answer any questions about love.

  “Gerard was dashing enough, I suppose,” she began. “He even had noble blood on his father’s side.”

  Ah. He was like Jacques Minot, Giselle realized.

  “My uncle was a stern man, and a penurious one. He had me practically chained to the chateau. If it had been left to him, I would never have met any eligible men. None. That would have been fine with him. No marriage for me meant no dowry spent. Perhaps you can understand?”