by Jackie Ivie
Giselle nodded, but Esmee wasn’t looking.
“They couldn’t stop me from needing new clothing, though. That’s how I met Gerard. How do I explain it? I was young and looking for an escape. He was looking for a way into respectability. I suppose we both got what we were looking for.”
“What was he like?” Giselle asked.
“Nothing like you’d imagine from such a tale. Truly.” She turned to Giselle and shrugged. “He was rakish-looking, rarely barbered and bathed, but dressed well. And, he was forbidden territory. It was exciting to sneak away to be with him. We might be caught. Punished. It added an edge to our clandestine meetings. I don’t suppose you know what I’m speaking of, but it was there.”
Giselle worked at maintaining her color and a blank expression. She knew she’d succeeded when Esmee turned back toward the books and continued speaking.
“I thought I loved him, but I didn’t. How could I once I found myself living in squalor? We couldn’t afford much. He couldn’t pay for a maid to help me. I had to clean floors on my hands and knees, Giselle. It was a time of complete horror.
“And people looked down their noses at us. I can’t explain how it felt, but I shudder to remember. Gerard was a milliner, by trade and an artiste with his creations, but there was no one to help, so I had to sell them. Imagine standing for hours while the noblesse tried on hats. I had to listen to their comments as if I didn’t exist. Ugh. It was horrid.”
She finished looking at book titles and came to sit down again. She almost caught Giselle glancing over at the manservant lingering near the door. Esmee spoke as if he weren’t there, just as she’d finished describing. Giselle decided she didn’t want Esmee’s advice, after all.
“Gerard took sick one winter. Perhaps we could have done something different. Perhaps we should have paid the coal timely. Who can say? It was a joy to be released, Giselle. I didn’t even mind being relegated to a position of poor relation. At least I was back in the chateau, and back in my own world, among my own kind.”
Among her own kind? Giselle couldn’t meet her eyes. She had no idea Esmee was harboring such disgust for others. She wondered what Esmee thought of Giselle’s affection for Louisa and Isabelle, and knew she wouldn’t ask. But one thing was certain. Esmee had nothing of value for Giselle.
“But come, Giselle, let’s talk of something else. I’ve certainly been morbid today. First there was the ghost in the tower, now my distaste of Gerard. I’m no grieving widow, am I? Don’t answer that. I can see it in your face.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s ancient history. But come. Perhaps you’d enjoy planning the next supper party? We can invite eligible parties for Navarre and me if you like.”
She chuckled at her wit, but Giselle didn’t find her the least bit amusing. She wasn’t going to plan a party, or anything else of that nature. She was going to order a bath and cleanse the morning’s experiences away, and then she was going to pray.
She only hoped it would work.
~
It didn’t take long to realize the futility. It seemed nothing Giselle tried brought any comfort. All her prayers seemed to gain her was more time on her knees. It had been two days and as many nights since Navarre had left. Giselle was barely able to contain her grief, and it only worked as long as there was daylight. Louisa mentioned doctors again, as if a physician could cure what ailed the duchesse.
At least Etienne moved back into his chamber, and Giselle could cry each night in the huge, lonely bed without having anyone gossip about it. No one knew how much her heart ached. Giselle had no idea she possessed the ability to suffer like she was.
It was all she could do each day to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking and that she’d slept well. Only her pallor gave her away. She was certain of it.
It was a fragile charade, though. She nearly burst into tears when Aunt Mimi asked her to sponsor a ball — not a small one, but a huge affair, attended by as many acquaintances as could be persuaded to leave Paris and Versailles for a weekend in the country. The thought appalled Giselle. She’d be sobbing long before she entered the ballroom.
“You can’t cling to shadows much longer, Giselle,” Louisa said. “You have a household to run, and the chef speaks nonstop of your cruelty in returning his dishes untouched.”
“What do you want, Louisa?”
Giselle asked it in as even a tone as she could and turned away to look at the wall. She knew Louisa stood at the base of her bed-platform, her hands on her hips, surveying the bed. She didn’t need to see it.
“Perhaps I’d like to seek other employment, Madame. It’s clear I’m no longer needed here.”
Giselle’s eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t enough penance that she lost Navarre? She had to lose everyone she loved?
“Go ahead. I can’t stop you.”
It was meant as sarcasm. It failed miserably. Giselle buried her face and shook with the sobs she’d reserved for the darkest hours of the night.
“Giselle, my sweet, don’t cry. I’d never do anything so cruel. I promise.” Louisa wrapped her arms around Giselle as she once did when Giselle was too young to understand her own father’s dislike.
“You don’t understand, Louisa. I love him. I do. I can’t change it. I’ve tried.” Giselle’s words tumbled over each other.
Louisa chuckled and smoothed Giselle’s hair. “Well…I suppose it was inevitable, considering. I’ve rarely seen such a man, and I’m not young and beautiful like you. Monsieur Navarre is a very lucky fellow, I would say.”
Giselle started from her shoulder and stared.
“What? I surprise you? Oh, please, Giselle. Credit me with eyes, and the ability to see into your heart. You might be able to hide your emotions from the others, especially that drunkard husband of yours, but you can’t hide them from me. Dry your eyes. We must decide what to do about this love of yours. Here.”
She handed Giselle a face cloth, freshly wrung. Giselle didn’t bother to ask why Louisa had it.
“That’s better. Now. I daresay when you see this Navarre again, you don’t want to look old and haggard like me, do you? Of course not.”
Giselle didn’t answer, but her tears stopped. The cloth felt cool and soothing against her eyes, too.
“We could plan this outrageous weekend ball your Aunt Mimi has been pestering you with, non? That should give her something to occupy herself with…and it would give everyone something better to do with their time than gossip over the duchesse’s fragile health. In the meantime, how would you like a little jaunt to Paris?”
“Paris?” Giselle pushed up from the bed.
“Of course. I don’t see why you cannot choose your own gown for this type of affair, and we can arrange for Monsieur Poinre to do your hair again, oui? It sounds exciting just thinking of it. You’ll have to take your maid and companion with you, of course.”
“Of course.” Giselle smiled.
“I’ve visited the Paris shoppes before, Giselle. I probably need more thread with which to sew, don’t I? Besides Isabelle mentioned the lack of good tatting thread here, and you know how particular she is about her lace.”
“I…hadn’t thought of it.” Giselle gazed out the window. Had she really been so self-centered and selfish? She was as bad as Esmee, “And with all the designers there, we can certainly find something unique with which to stun a certain nobleman I could name.”
Navarre. His image came to Giselle, and she felt her heart sink. She actually felt the motion, and it made her vaguely ill. Navarre had accused her of toying with him once, and now she was planning on doing it again? Her shoulders drooped as she remembered what he thought of her. He’d never come, regardless of the fete they planned, or her couture, or her feelings. He’d never come.
“You go too fast, Louisa. I don’t see how—”
“He’ll come, Giselle. He knows his duty, and, unless the duc stands beside you to welcome your guests, Monsieur Navarre will have to do it.”
/> “You don’t know him. He’s so proud, so stubborn.”
“Which is why he’ll come. Trust me, Giselle.”
“Oh. If only….” Her whisper trailed away, and she wiped at her eye before Louisa saw it.
“Can I order the carriage for the morning? It will take some time to reach Paris, and I’m not sure where the Berchald house is in the city.”
“You think he’ll come? Truly?”
“He’s proud and stubborn. You said so, yourself. Those attributes will make him come. You’ll see. He’s a Berchald, Giselle, and his duty is to stand in for his brother. He’ll come. I promise.”
“Then, order the carriage. See if Esmee has the directions, or Aunt Mimi. Oh, Louisa, tell them of our plans! I won’t be able to sleep with the excitement.”
“That’s an improvement to your usual reason, I would say.”
Giselle couldn’t think of a witty response before Louisa left. And she had to admit the woman was right once again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Aunt Mimi was thrilled with Giselle’s change of heart. Perhaps she thought it due to her persuasive talents, and that made it even more pleasant to plan. Giselle didn’t dissuade her. The dowager duchesse readily agreed to take care of all the arrangements, leaving Giselle’s time free to visit Paris and to shop. Esmee was a ready companion, too.
The trip to Paris was accomplished with so much good humor, it seemed to have taken no time at all.
Giselle clung to her side of the Berchald coach as they neared the city. The noise of so many people overwhelmed her. She was afraid it showed. She’d never seen such crowds before, and she suspected Louisa wasn’t as self-assured as she tried to be, either. If it hadn’t been for Isabelle’s quiet demeanor, Giselle would have been trembling, but she needn’t have worried. The coachman knew the way, as well as Esmee. Giselle paid attention as Esmee pointed out several landmarks.
The Berchald house was on a very exclusive street and was much quieter than the rest of the city. Giselle was grateful for that. She was tired from the travel, although it was but mid-day. She hadn’t rested, but it wouldn’t have been possible. Sleeping in the coach would have been difficult, and she hadn’t wanted to close her eyes once they reached Paris.
“The duchesse?” a manservant said. “We’ve but just learned of your visit. You’ve been prompt. Follow me, please.”
Louisa and Isabelle were at Giselle’s heels as she followed Esmee and the man into a high-ceiling salon. Even here, it appeared the Berchalds built for giants. Word had been sent ahead, but the staff appeared surprised to see them. Giselle frowned as candles were lit and dust covers were removed so they could sit down.
“Perhaps you could see to some refreshments after our long journey, Garon. It is Garon, isn’t it?” Esmee asked.
“Oui, Madame Denton. I’ll see if something can be prepared for you.”
The servant tipped his head in a slight gesture. Giselle watched him.
“Prepared? We sent word ahead of our arrival, Garon. Did it not arrive?”
“Oui, Madame.”
“Then this display is inexcusable. Please have the housekeeper shown in.”
“We aren’t used to visitors, Madame.”
“I will not repeat myself, Garon. The housekeeper?”
He gave Esmee a thin-lidded look before bowing from their presence. Giselle couldn’t shake the feeling of his insolence. Perhaps it was the way he stiffened when Esmee spoke, but she guessed it was something more. It felt as if they were the intruders, and the staff actually owned the house. Giselle wondered if he was this insolent because it was Esmee speaking…and due to her misalliance, she no longer had the power to command? Or…was he this insolent to everyone?
“You sent for me, Madame Denton?”
The stiff-necked, white-haired woman who entered had the same hard note in her voice as she curtsied.
“Actually, it was I, Madame,” Giselle spoke up. “It seems notice of our visit didn’t arrive in time for the staff to prepare for it.”
“Madame la Duchesse.”
The housekeeper’s curtsy was as brief as the one she’d given Esmee. Giselle’s eyes narrowed, but it was Esmee who spoke.
“The duchesse finds the lack of servitude in her own house to be annoying, Madame. We can only guess it is due to your influence. I can only hope it’s but newly-caused.”
“My duty is to serve, Madame, I apologize for any lack the staff may display. I will speak with Garon.”
Giselle watched her as she spoke. Far from looking apologetic, she looked more like she was barely controlling her anger.
“Very good. The duchesse would like to rest now. We are all wearied from our long journey. Are there enough bedchambers that can be aired quickly?”
“You don’t wish refreshment, now?”
“They can be brought to our suites just as easily. I am not used to repeating myself, Madame. I would not like to do so again.”
“It will be seen to, of course. If you’ll follow me?”
Giselle watched the woman flick her eyes to the barely-uncovered furniture, and Giselle flushed. She guessed what the woman was thinking about the wasted effort, and it embarrassed her. She was as thoughtless as Esmee, ordering dust-covers removed and not even sitting on the uncovered furniture.
The duchess’ suite was as warm and inviting as the one in the castle was cold and solemn. Giselle looked about in wonder. It was exactly what she would’ve expected from Aunt Mimi, all pink and white. Even the furniture was painted white.
“Why is this room so bright?”
She asked the housekeeper, who had never ceased watching her.
“The former duchesse was responsible for this room.”
“The one at the castle is so dark, though.” Giselle spoke without thinking, and Isabelle gave her a warning glance.
“I believe the rooms at the castle were decorated because of a condition a former duchesse suffered from, Madame. She couldn’t abide light. It made her head ache.”
“But, Aunt Mimi—I mean, Madame Mimi surely would have changed it?”
“The workings of the aristocracy are beyond my reasoning. The dowager duchesse was very happy here, Madame. Will there be anything else?”
Giselle felt like she was being chastised and then dismissed. It was a horrid feeling. She longed to make the woman stay, just so Giselle could be the one deciding when she could go, but that was stupid.
“Non. Mercì, Madame. Good eve.”
The woman seemed surprised at Giselle’s kind answer. Giselle wondered if that was why they were all so sullen. Was being a servant such a hateful existence? She would ask Isabelle, but it could wait.
Giselle fell asleep dreaming of the dresses she would choose, the jewelry she might try on and the shoes she’d buy. And still, Navarre’s face haunted her.
~
It was still an issue as the next day progressed, Giselle following Esmee and their servants through the Paris streets. And at every shop she visited, she was announced at the doorway with a pomp she disliked.
‘The Duchesse du Berchald!” each proprietor effused. “It is a pleasure to have such a beauty in my pitiful shoppe.”
Giselle had decided by the third such greeting that if one more man mentioned his pitiful shoppe, she was going to hit him with her new pelisse. At first she had been flattered, then she had blushed, but by the fourth such greeting, she was bored with it. The response they got from her now was a quick smile and a nod.
Esmee ordered so many new things, Giselle quickly lost track. To everyone’s dismay, all that caught the duchesse’s eye was the new cloak she wore. She wasn’t going to buy just anything. She knew exactly what she was looking for.
“The Duchesse du Berchald!” yet another storekeeper said. “It’s a pleasure….”
Giselle ignored the rest of his greeting. She’d seen a bolt of material through the window that she wanted to see closer. She left Esmee to divert the man’s attention and went looking. She
couldn’t prevent her gasp when she found it. It was silky to the touch and interwoven with such golden thread that it seemed alive.
“This material, Monsieur…have you made a dress of it yet?”
She knew the answer as his face fell. It felt like her spirits did the same motion.
“Oui, Madame, but I can have another crafted immediately.”
Giselle set the bolt down with difficulty. The moment she’d seen the pale rose-colored material, she knew it was perfect. It was amazing how long and dull the day seemed of a sudden. She lingered a gloved finger on it, before turning.
“Then there is nothing else of interest, Monsieur. I bid you—”
“Wait, Madame la Duchesse! It hasn’t been delivered yet. Come quickly. If it becomes known that I sold Mademoiselle Frerre’s dress to another, she’ll have me run out of Paris.”
“Mademoiselle Frerre?”
Esmee choked on the name, but Giselle ignored her. She was already following the man. The dress he showed her was well worth the trouble, too. She held her breath. The material was cut on the bias, and seemed to swirl like a whirlwind upward from the floor. The lace he’d stitched onto the bodice, sleeves and underskirt was such a deep green it was almost shocking in contrast. It reminded Giselle of the arbor as she last saw it.
“I’ll pay double what she offered,” Giselle said. “As long as there’s no matching material on your shelf. Do we understand each other, Monsieur?”
She was surprised with her own insistence. She guessed that was what made Esmee’s mouth open and close, too. Giselle wasn’t used to commanding anyone. She was surprised at the heady feeling.
The man clapped his hands. “It will be as the petite duchesse asks. The bolt of material will be delivered to the Berchald estate this evening, along with the dress. I’ll attend to it myself. There is still the matter of the accessories that Mademoiselle Frerre chose. Do you wish those, too?”
Giselle ignored the others and followed him. If the woman had taste enough to have such a gown designed and sewn, her accessories were probably well worth the time, too. Besides, she told herself, this Mademoiselle Frerre wasn’t likely to need accessories for a gown she ‘d never own, was she?