Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  Giselle was thrilled with the selection. The mass of petticoats the mysterious woman had chosen were as beautiful and unique as the dress. She couldn’t wait to try it on, and have it taken in, but that could be done at the castle.

  She was exhausted by the time they left the dress shoppe. She had spent a fortune, but it was worth it. She had no idea shopping was so tiring, and she was grateful Esmee didn’t say a word.

  ~

  Aunt Mimi was up to the challenge. By the weekend for the ball, the castle’s guest rooms were full. Even the Comte d’Antillion had come. Giselle wasn’t looking forward to playing an adoring wife for her papa, but she’d do whatever it took to see Navarre.

  Etienne promised to attend and also promised Navarre that he’d stay from wine for the entire day. Giselle had Gerty to thank for that gossip, for if Navarre ever came to the chateau, Giselle never saw him.

  It had been almost three weeks since she’d gone to Paris. Each day felt like an eternity of loneliness passing. Giselle was surprised to feel that way. She was surrounded by people, yet so alone, she might as well be sequestered in her tower at Antilli.

  She hadn’t known being lovelorn felt exactly like the poets had written. There was no measure for how it felt. Each day added more to the pain. Sometimes, it felt like the weight of it, growing in her breast, was impossible to ignore. She’d double up with it, and hope no one noticed. And the fittings continued, the arrangements grew apace, and the chattering swirled about as if nothing were amiss.

  Giselle would look about her sometimes, wondering at their ignorance. Love wasn’t anything like she’d dreamed it would be. It was an agony of emptiness that only the thought of seeing Navarre made bearable. If it weren’t for the daily fittings of her gown, Louisa’s chatter, Gerty’s gossip, and Isabelle’s attention to prayer, Giselle would have been a sobbing wretch long before the day of the ball arrived.

  The entire day, Giselle stayed hidden in her chamber. Only Louisa and Isabelle were allowed entrance. She’d kept her dress a secret from most of the staff, especially anyone who might tell Etienne. The night was going to be perfect. She was desperate for it to be so. She’d envisioned it so often, it was like it already had happened, only better.

  It was still ahead of her.

  The last thing Giselle wanted was to match Navarre again. Etienne’s little tricks wouldn’t work on her this time.

  Monsieur Poinre was prompt for his appointment, and he spoke of her luck. He had at least six ladies waiting after Giselle, but he wouldn’t pass up the chance to work with the beauteous, petit duchesse du Berchald again. He’d spread tales of her beauty. She was good for his business, he told her. He nearly balked when she told him she wanted her hair dressed but not powdered, though.

  She watched Isabelle hide a smile at the man’s reaction.

  “You’ll be naked without the powder,” he complained. “How can you possibly wish to look so? I won’t be responsible for it. You’d better not tell anyone that I was. I cannot believe this! Mai oui, you are stubborn! The aristocracy! They have no sense. They take arsenic powder for their complexions, and then when they have the whitest, most pristine skin, they will not even apply powder to their hair to show it off. No wonder the masses talk revolution. It is beyond comprehension.”

  “I will not change my mind, Monsieur. I want it dressed but not powdered. It will look wonderful. You’ll see.”

  He sighed in resignation. “I have the worst luck. I pass up several appointments in order to dress the Duchess du Berchald, and I cannot even tell anyone of it!”

  He almost convinced Giselle to change her mind, but she already knew the gown would look wonderful against the reddish strands and white streak in her hair. She also knew she didn’t need artifice against her skin. The hairdresser was right. She had a clear, unblemished complexion was just right for showing it off. She also knew the neckline was made for showing off the large emeralds Monsieur Savoy had shown her what seemed a year ago. She’d already asked Louisa to have them available that morning.

  “You look enchanting, Madame,” Gerty said after the hairdresser left. “I’m to see that you attend the duc in his study the moment you’re finished.”

  Gerty’s words made Giselle’s hands tremble. She hid them with the motion of gathering her skirts. She thought she wasn’t frightened of Etienne anymore, and was demonstrating how false that was. She didn’t want to see him, but it was unavoidable.

  She looked at Louisa, who nodded unnecessarily. Giselle set her shoulders. She didn’t need the reminder. She knew where her duty lay.

  “Very well, Gerty. I’m ready. Thank you, Isabelle. Your needlework is beyond description.”

  It had taken the maid hours to sew Giselle into her dress. It had to fit without a wrinkle, and it did. The swirl of material rose from the floor and was cinched in at the waist. There it rose to cling to her skin until the green lace framing her bodice, and creating the back collar, completed the symmetry.

  The mysterious woman hadn’t designed with modesty in mind, however. Giselle’s corset wasn’t helping the situation. She had to keep her head high to prevent her own breath from tickling the exposed skin. Giselle gave herself one more glance in the mirror before shying away. Her appearance couldn’t be faulted, she knew that much. She’d known how the dress would look, and she’d simply have to get used to exposing so much of herself. It was the fashion, after all, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  She hoped Navarre wasn’t, either.

  She grimaced as they approached the study, but with Gerty in front of her, it wasn’t seen. Giselle composed her face as they approached the manservant outside the door. He looked amused as he opened the door and announced her.

  Giselle’s jaw dropped as Etienne wheeled from behind his desk, and she had to force it shut. She refused to believe the proof before her eyes. It wasn’t possible. But somehow, his breeches were made of material from the same bolt of cloth. His dark-green jacket was only a slightly darker hue than Giselle’s lace. They were perfectly matched.

  “I heard you ordered the emeralds, Giselle.” He smiled.

  She looked away.

  “They are a perfect choice, my dear. And if you’ll bend down, I’ll clasp the necklace for you.”

  She looked back to him, her face feeling frozen and stiff.

  “No? Very well. Do it yourself.” His proffered hand fell into his lap.

  “How did you…? And, why…?”

  “Giselle, Giselle.”

  He clucked his tongue. Giselle’s back straightened.

  “My valet is Gerty’s brother. Simple. Non? As to why…?” He set the jewelry case on the desk beside him. “We are on show tonight, are we not?”

  Giselle had to learn how to manage the games this household played and before she grew any older. It felt like she’d been dealt a hand in a game where no one had explained the rules of play.

  “You do look a bit feminine, Etienne, but it is an effective statement, I suppose. I congratulate you.”

  She picked up the necklace and turned to the wall mirror to clasp it. The stone was heavy, and the facets wouldn’t catch much light from where it fell, but that couldn’t be helped. The chain was made for a larger woman, like everything else in the castle. Giselle blushed. The chain wasn’t doing anything to keep one’s eyes on her face. Quite the opposite. The chain was pointing to what extra cleavage the corset created. She opened her mouth to request Gerty’s assistance in shortening the necklace, and then she squared her shoulders.

  It didn’t matter what anyone save Navarre thought of her. She turned back for the ear bobs.

  “You promised you wouldn’t drink.”

  She watched him gulp from a bottle while she looked at the mirror. Then, he tossed an arm across his mouth, wetting the green-colored material. It was a crass gesture from an uncouth man, but she already knew that about her husband.

  “Oh…I promised a lot of things, Giselle. As have you, I might add. Our wedding promise, for instance. A
nd the right to your body in my bed. Do you wish to continue this train of conversation, my dear?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re ready to greet our guests, then?”

  Giselle knew it was her heart sinking, and her belly gurgled warningly. She didn’t know how to contain the disappointment, but there was nothing for it. Etienne was going to be beside her as they greeted their guests. Louisa had been wrong. For once.

  She watched Etienne negotiate his chair through the doorway, although he needed help turning it once he gained the foyer. He looked unsteady and a bit uncomfortable. He had more than nine years in which to learn to maneuver his chair, yet he seemed to be starting just that night.

  She was never going to be able to pretend all evening.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The entire evening was flat, her future looked even flatter, and Giselle knew it probably showed in her eyes. She couldn’t believe her own stupidity, although she should, by now. No matter how she prepared herself, or what she planned, it wasn’t to be. Navarre was as far from her as ever.

  She sighed dispiritedly and looked out, over the crowded hall. She didn’t wonder why none of the attendees seemed to notice her depression. They were all much too interested in Etienne.

  Giselle listened as they mouthed vague platitudes such as missing Etienne at court, and how could he be so greedy as to keep his charming personality from them, and how soon could they expect him to take his place at the King’s side, all of it false. Flat. She grew more disillusioned by the moment. She might as well be a doll for all the interest she felt.

  And then Giselle’s papa was announced, and everything went crystal clear and very real. Etienne was overly amorous in his praise of his wife. Giselle blushed at his words. Etienne fooled the comte, though. They both watched as he left them, entering the ballroom with a stiff stride.

  Aunt Mimi had the room decorated with leaves tinted fall colors. It resembled a harvest night. Even the chandeliers had wheels of orange paper hanging from them, giving the light the same tint on the revelers below. Giselle watched her papa walk to the banquet table, reminding her of her earlier obstinacy. She wished she’d eaten the light luncheon Louisa had suggested hours earlier.

  And she wondered how something so mundane could keep her interest.

  “We are doing splendidly, aren’t we, Giselle?”

  She looked over at Etienne. His head reached her shoulder. She smiled slightly. Yes, she thought, we are fooling everyone.

  Etienne met her eyes and winked. Giselle turned away before he saw her real emotion.

  “The Comte la Maison, and his daughter, Monsieur and Mademoiselle Frerre.”

  The moment the name was announced, Giselle whitened. Mademoiselle Frerre? The creator of her dress?

  “Charmaine? It’s a pleasure to see you again. And Monsieur le Comte. Have you come to try and renew the betrothal?”

  Betrothal? Giselle repeated it to herself. They sounded like they were talking through a dense fog, although they were right beside her.

  “It would be about time, I think. I swear Navarre talks of nothing else.”

  Mademoiselle Frerre was Navarre’s betrothed? No. It couldn’t be. Such a coincidence wasn’t possible. Because if it were…that meant she was also Jean-Claude’s mistress! The white and black tiles underfoot blurred as she realized how close to swooning she was. She seemed powerless to stop it.

  Etienne wasn’t aware of his wife’s reaction, for he chattered on as if he’d said nothing of moment. Giselle heard them now through a ringing blur of sound that seemed to originate in her own ears.

  “Well? Shall I have the solicitor draw up the betrothal papers again? Say the word, Charmaine, and he’s yours.”

  Take deep breaths, Giselle. Deeper. She leaned against the back of Etienne’s chair and fought off the darkness at the edges of her vision. And Esmee never said a word? Giselle thought Esmee had some fondness for her, but she’d left her in ignorance. Why?

  “Your generosity is misplaced, Etienne…and of little moment.”

  “How so?”

  “Because I have little need of Navarre, of course. Where is the boy, anyway?”

  “He’ll be by shortly. I’m certain of it. He was looking forward to attending my function, wasn’t he, darling?”

  Giselle took one more deep breath. The floor was no longer roiling beneath her feet, although the hand holding to Etienne’s chair was white about the knuckles. It took a bit of will, but she replaced the look of shock that was probably about her face with an innocent one. If acting was a Berchald trait, she’d do her best to learn it. Right now.

  “He doesn’t speak…of such things…to me, Etienne,” she remarked finally.

  “You should speak more of his future and less of yourselves, then, I would say.” Although he was smiling, Etienne’s eyes were hard. Giselle couldn’t hold the gaze.

  “You always did have too much to say, and yet say too little, Etienne.”

  Charmaine narrowed what were gorgeous, moss-green eyes as she spoke. Giselle’s eyebrows rose. It was obvious she wasn’t used to having attention diverted.

  “You wound me to the heart, Charmaine. I swear it.”

  “Nonsense, Etienne. You haven’t got one.”

  “Are you always this pleasant, Charmaine? I begin to see Navarre has made a lucky escape, I think.”

  “Navarre cannot hold my interest, Etienne. You, of all men, should know that. He is but an infant…but you are not, are you?”

  Her voice purred. Giselle heard her clearly, even though she bent near Etienne’s ear.

  “You flatter me easily, but you always were a vixen, weren’t you?” he replied.

  She laughed. There was a hard edge to it, and Giselle winced before assuming an innocent look again.

  “And, this must be the duchesse I’ve heard so much about, especially from my dressmaker in Paris. I believe you met up with him?”

  Mademoiselle Frerre stood, and turned her attention to Giselle.

  “I may have had the pleasure,” Giselle replied tonelessly.

  “That must make this meeting with me even more pleasurable for you, non?”

  Giselle tipped her head to one side. “But, of course, Mademoiselle.”

  “Oh, please!” Charmaine laughed again and touched Giselle’s arm with her fan. Giselle flinched, and knew she hadn’t covered it in time as the woman pursed her overly-full lips. “You must call me Charmaine. I insist. We’re going to be such friends. I can tell.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply turned and walked off, heading for the ballroom. Giselle slowly released the breath she’d been holding. Etienne snorted beside her.

  “Friends? Don’t trust her that far, Giselle. The woman is a snake in disguise. She is a stunning one, though.”

  Etienne’s warning me? She concentrated on his strange words instead of Mademoiselle Charmaine’s beauty. The woman was more than beautiful. She was breath-taking. Giselle couldn’t imagine what she must have looked like when she tried on Giselle’s gown. With Charmaine’s red hair, white skin, and green eyes, she would have captivated all eyes in the room. In her black velvet bodice and green silk skirt, she still created quite a stir.

  “Thank le Bon Dieu they waited until last,” Etienne said. “I’m parched. How about you, Giselle? Would you join me in a toast to our success?”

  He tried to move his chair, but it wouldn’t budge against the restraining block on the floor. Giselle waited for a manservant to remove it.

  “She doesn’t powder her hair.” That was stupid, but the first thing that came to mind.

  Etienne chuckled. “Are you fishing for compliments, Giselle? You’ll have to look somewhere else. Charmaine has long been acknowledged as a court beauty. She’d as soon powder her hair as she would toss over Jean-Claude.”

  “Jean-Claude? Your younger brother, Jean-Claude?” Giselle asked, feigning ignorance.

  “I need a drink. If you won’t see that I get one, I’ll find
one myself.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll leave you to your musings, Giselle. Ask someone else for our sordid history, or take Navarre to task for not apprising you of it earlier. That should give him something better to do than stand at the stairs staring at Charmaine. The boy should be over her by now.” He turned to his servant. “A brandy for the duc! And be quick about it. Garcon! A drink.”

  Etienne moved away, loudly calling for his drink. Giselle didn’t hear or see. The moment he gave her Navarre’s location, she sought him out. Although it was true that he watched the festivities from the stairs leading to the minstrel’s gallery, he wasn’t watching Charmaine.

  He was gazing directly at Giselle.

  He’d lost weight. She could tell. His plum-colored jacket fell from his shoulders and he had dark hollows in his cheeks. Her heart lurched. Her pulse sang. She’d never seen anything that affected her more. Her feet moved toward him without thought or even looking where she placed them. She couldn’t tear her gaze away.

  “Navarre!”

  His name came out in a whoosh, as if someone had struck her in the stomach. He walked toward her so slowly that she almost went up the stairs to greet him. His eyes never left hers. Giselle knew her reaction showed in her face, and that there was nothing she could do about it.

  He reached the main floor, and she filled her eyes with the sight of him, and her breast with the smell.

  “You’re doing well, Madame?”

  He sounded bored as he brought her hand to his lips. Giselle waited, but he didn’t kiss it. He simply held it a moment in his chin and then let it drop. She couldn’t assimilate how it felt. She had nothing to base it on. Agony?

  “Come,” he continued. “You’re neglecting your guests.”

  He held out his arm for her, and it wavered before her eyes. Giselle blinked as rapidly as she could, but the tears welled and continued coming until she knew there would be no stopping them. She swallowed, desperately trying to control herself, but it was useless. She looked up at him through a film of moisture.