Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  “You’ll disarrange your powder, Giselle,” he told her.

  “I—”

  She shouldn’t need the reproof, but he was right. This was no time for such a display of emotion. There were too many others watching them. She tipped her head up, as if viewing the orange wheels above them, and blinked viciously, sending her tears to seep into her hairline at her ears. Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned, this was undoubtedly the worst.

  “The dowager house has many attributes, Giselle, but it is very lonely. Do you know of what I speak?”

  He placed her hand on his, and she felt him tremble. It brought her head down and her eyes to his. Her breath caught, but that couldn’t be helped.

  “It’s lonely here, too,” she told him.

  He finally smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “You must start the dancing, Giselle. It’s tradition that the duc and duchesse do so. Everyone is waiting for you.” He looked over her head at those behind them.

  “Etienne…doesn’t dance,” she whispered.

  “Then, I must fulfill my obligation to the house of Berchald and stand in for him, mustn’t I? Come. We will strike up the musicians.”

  The dance Aunt Mimi had picked to start off the fete kept Giselle circling about. She only met her partner every eighth note — she counted – but it was everything. And nothing. Navarre’s eyes held her, and it seemed like every time she moved away from him, the color in them intensified. She was probably lucky with the dance choice. She wouldn’t be able to attack him like before. She felt the wicked desire creeping up on her again. The passion. The craving. And there was nothing she could do about any of it.

  There were so many others watching them, Giselle should have been able to dispel it. She should feel ashamed, but she didn’t. It was time to feel the elation again. The despair it would lead to was too far off to worry about.

  They never finished the dance. The next time their palms touched, he broke away from the contact, and stood glaring down at her. Dancers still moved about them, but Giselle didn’t see them. She couldn’t tear her eyes from Navarre.

  He took a step to reach her, and his fingers closed on her elbow. She knew he was leading her from the floor, knew it would cause comment, and cared nothing for that. She had Navarre beside her and she refused to look anywhere else. She watched him with wide eyes and nibbled on her lower lip.

  Heads turned as they walked away, but she ignored them.

  “You look beautiful, Giselle. I wanted to tell you so before I leave.”

  His words were tersely spoken, and a nerve twitched in his jaw. Giselle watched him fill a plate from one of the tables.

  “Leave?” She whispered the word as her hands sought a wine goblet.

  “I only came at Etienne’s request. If it had been anyone else…?” He left the sentence unfinished.

  “He asked for you?”

  “It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, Giselle. Do not make it worse, s’il vous plait?”

  “Worse? How can you say such a thing?”

  He shrugged. His jacket fit so loosely, she could barely spot the movement.

  “I don’t understand, Navarre. Why would Etienne ask for you?”

  “Perhaps he realized his limitation concerning dancing. Who is to say?”

  He filled his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days. She watched him without blinking.

  “Why? Does it matter so much to you, Giselle?”

  He viciously shoved another bite into his mouth and grimaced like he’d tasted something foul.

  “How can you say such a thing? I—I…love you, Navarre.”

  He stopped chewing and glared at her. And then he swallowed.

  “Don’t toy with me, Giselle. I won’t tolerate it. Not again.”

  “I—I have never toyed with you, Navarre.”

  “Non?” His eyebrows rose as he asked it.

  “No. I swear it.”

  “Well, whatever you call it…don’t do it. I’m not man enough to let you go so easily next time. Next time? What am I saying? I’m mad to even consider it. Merde!”

  He set his plate down and took the glass from her hands. Giselle tried to stop her shivers as he gulped it down, then she simply stood there and enjoyed them.

  “My. My. If it isn’t mon cher, Navarre.”

  Giselle recognized the voice. She knew Navarre did, too.

  “I see you’ve finally gotten some age to you. What do you know? You’re quite handsome. Life never ceases to amaze me.”

  Mademoiselle Frerre’s voice turned Navarre’s features to stone. Giselle felt the same way as she turned to face the woman.

  “Charmaine.”

  He didn’t even dip his head in deference. Giselle raised her brows at the insult.

  “You were invited? What was my aunt thinking to commit such a faux pas?”

  “Have a care, Navarre. I’m still accepted in polite society, you know.”

  She moved close to him, arching her neck in a gesture to show off its length. Giselle clenched her hands to keep from shoving the woman away.

  “Polite society? You flatter yourself.”

  Navarre wiped his hands on a napkin to put distance between them and to snub her. He spent several moments studying his fingers before turning his attention back to her. Giselle longed to applaud his performance.

  “You’re a magnifìque specimen when you’re angered. I wonder why I failed to see that earlier. Enlighten me, mon ami.”

  If she insisted on speaking in that deep tone much longer, Giselle refused to be responsible for her actions. Her nails were digging into her palms now.

  “What do you want, Charmaine? My pockets are as much to let as they always were, remember?”

  She laughed her mocking laugh again. “Oh. I’m not here to make you propose, mon cher, although now that I have seen you full-grown, it is a tempting thought.”

  “You over-rate your attraction, Charmaine. I see that’s something you haven’t outgrown.”

  It was a good thing Navarre had spoken when he did. His words covered up Giselle’s reaction. She was close to screaming at her. Having another woman flirt so outrageously with him, right in front of her eyes was one thing, but to know it was the woman who had the most right to do so, was close to making her lose control. She was shuddering with squelching it.

  It was also a good thing Navarre had taken her wine goblet away from her. She would have tossed it in the red-haired beauty’s face, and not given it another thought.

  “I’d forgotten how amusing it is to trade compliments with you, Navarre, but you needn’t worry about my imposing on your bachelor state anytime soon. I’ve no designs on you. I have my hands full with Jean-Claude. He sent me tonight for a reason. I’m checking the status of his inheritance while I’m attending your little function. He’s not going to like what I tell him, is he?”

  She gestured toward Giselle, and they both looked at her. To her own disgust, she blushed hotly.

  “Hopefully not.” Navarre replied.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Giselle no longer questioned why her chambers were so dark. She knew the reason the very next day. The pounding in her head made her thank the peaceful dimness every time she opened her eyes. Louisa was constantly at her side, making the pain bearable. Nothing could be done for the heartache, however.

  Nothing.

  “You never should have stayed out so late, Giselle,” Louisa said. “Isabelle told me she removed the stitches from your gown at dawn. How could you be so…?” She chuckled. “I don’t know why I ask such a question. Monsieur Navarre was there, wasn’t he?”

  Giselle moaned. Her head pounded. Her throat hurt. And her heart just kept sending ache that overrode all the rest.

  “What is it, love?”

  “No…thing.”

  Giselle had watched for another chance to be with him almost the entire night, but he’d avoided her. It had been a simple matter. He was eligible, handsome, charming and
wealthy. There was no dearth of females willing to dance and entertain him, and keep him from his sister-in-law’s side.

  “May I have another cup of tea, Louisa?”

  “If it helps, love, you can have anything you like. Does it hurt overmuch?”

  “Only when you make small talk.” Giselle lifted the edge of the wet towel from her eyes to observe Louisa’s reaction.

  “Small talk? I’ll have you know I’ve got better things to do than sit at your bedside and coddle you. Tiens! You are so stubborn. All I ask is a hint of how it went, and what do I get? Insults.”

  “I’m sorry.” Saying the words made her eyes pound again, and Giselle eased further into her pillows.

  Louisa had finished pouring a cup of tea and brought it over to the bed. “Here you go, Giselle. Don’t mind me. I just want to know how things went. Was he impressed by the gown? Was he bowled over by your beauty? What did everyone say after meeting with you? Who is this mysterious Mademoiselle Frerre?”

  “That one I can answer. Do you remember the dressmaker where I got my gown?”

  “Mai oui! What a muddle. Did she say anything?”

  “Yes and no. We didn’t speak about it at length. How could we? I learned she was once Navarre’s betrothed.”

  “No! This is incredible.”

  “It gets worse, I assure you.”

  “It does?”

  “Oui.”

  The word was whispered. Giselle winced.

  “Does it hurt much to speak? I should let you rest.”

  “It isn’t the words, it’s…everything. This Mademoiselle Frerre is—she’s—I can’t believe I’m having trouble with the words.”

  “Let me help you sit.”

  The pain was worse when she lifted her shoulders, but she welcomed it, surprising herself. She deserved it.

  “Not only is she Navarre’s ex-betrothed, but she’s also Jean-Claude’s mistress from Versailles Palace. She told Navarre and me that she was spying for Jean-Claude.”

  Louisa stopped plumping the pillows behind Giselle’s back and stood. Giselle had to imagine the expression on her face.

  “Good heavens! No wonder your poor head aches. I can’t imagine anything more perverse. Mon Dieu! No wonder they speak of him like they do.”

  Giselle lifted the towel. She watched Louisa sip from the tea as she sat on the side of the bed. The expression on her face was exactly as Giselle had imagined it to be, too.

  “So…Navarre did have a betrothed,” Louisa mused. “Gerty tried to tell me the story when we first arrived, but I would have none of her gossip. She expects something in exchange, and I’d never talk about you. Stupid woman. She should find something better to do with her time.”

  “Mademoiselle Frerre is…very beautiful.” Giselle’s voice dropped.

  “I saw her. If you think such overblown looks are beautiful, you’re touched. And if Monsieur Navarre thinks she’s more lovely than you…well! I don’t know what this world’s coming to, I don’t. Besides, did you not just say she’s Jean-Claude’s mistress? With a wife and daughter here, he can afford a mistress? I’d like to know who’s supposed to pay, that I would.”

  “It’s quite amusing, Louisa.” Giselle handed her the cloth from her forehead. It had warmed too much to be soothing. “I bought the gown with Savignen gold, which is exactly what Jean-Claude would have used, too.”

  “Amusing? You have developed a strange sense of humor, Giselle. I can’t imagine where you learned it, either. You would have covered yourself in ashes and collapsed in a righteous faint earlier.”

  “I was never that devout, and you know it. Oh, my head!”

  Giselle sat upright to argue with her, then fell back onto the pillows. She knew what Louisa was doing when she heard the water. Louisa was re-wetting the towel with cool water. From the sound of it, she was rushing, too.

  “There, love. Don’t pay attention to my words when I jest. I can’t imagine what that Mademoiselle Frerre could have done to make your poor head ache so, but she’d better not do it again. She’ll have to get through me first.”

  “It wasn’t her. It was them.”

  Giselle pointed at the connecting door with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking. The room was dark for a reason, and being married to a Berchald male was it.

  “Them? Etienne did something? To whom?”

  “He said…he planned…he—”

  Her throat closed off with the stress of trying to say it, so she lay panting with it.

  “He said something? To whom? That Mademoiselle Frerre? He didn’t renew their betrothal, did he?”

  Giselle rolled her head back and forth on the pillows.

  “Then what?”

  “Navarre.”

  She whispered the name and closed her eyes. Nothing worked, though. She kept replaying the scene that had her pacing the room until she was too exhausted to walk. Navarre and Etienne were planning….

  She couldn’t even think it.

  After Giselle had dismissed Isabelle, the light outlining the connecting door made her realize it was ajar. Her head was starting to ache, but she could have sworn that door was locked when she left for the ballroom. She recalled making certain of it.

  Giselle was getting as self-centered as Esmee with her own servants. She realized it when she’d come upon Isabelle napping on the small divan as she waited to take Giselle’s stitches out and wrap her coiffure. That’s why she’d rushed in dressing for bed, and that’s why she hadn’t noticed the door ajar sooner. It wasn’t going to stay that way, though. Etienne wasn’t entering her rooms again, ever.

  Giselle lurched toward the doorway, holding onto the wrapped bundle of her hair to balance herself. She hadn’t wanted the hairstyle taken apart just yet. The chateau had many guests staying over, and she might have need of dressing formally again. It was stupid, though. She wished women would revolt against such fashions.

  “It will never work, Etienne,” Navarre had been speaking. “Go to sleep. You’ll see things differently tomorrow.”

  Giselle opened the door a little farther to peek.

  “Of course it will work! You’ve lost some…some…some—enough weight, haven’t you? I applaud you for it, too.” Etienne’s words were slurred, as if he stumbled over his own tongue.

  Enough weight? What strangeness were they plotting now?

  “Trust me, Etienne. She’d never believe it was you.”

  “If it was dark enough, and she had enough wine, she could. Besides…she’s a child. She knows nothing of it.”

  Navarre stepped out of her sight, so she opened the door farther to see where he went. Etienne was easy to find. He was propped against his headboard, tear tracks on his cheeks. Navarre was standing at the open windows, looking out over the valley. For some reason, she wasn’t worried over being caught, so she opened the door even wider. Navarre had his hands over his ears, as if to shut out Etienne’s words. He hadn’t changed although his hair had come undone. Giselle couldn’t tear her eyes from him even if she’d wanted to.

  Dawn’s light silhouetted him, turning his golden hair dark red, and highlighting every bit of him for her. When he turned, Giselle ducked back into the doorway.

  “You want to see me die, too, don’t you? You…along with everyone else! So be it. Get out! Didn’t you hear me? Get out!” Etienne covered his face with his hands as if to hide further sobs.

  “Etienne, I’d do anything for you. You know this. Please don’t talk this way.”

  Navarre approached the bed and went to his knees on the ledge. The motion brought him directly into Giselle’s line of sight.

  “Anything? Have I the wrong meaning for the word? Perhaps you’d better leave before you lie more to me.”

  Navarre put his forehead on the coverlet, and Etienne reached out to touch his head. Giselle had to swallow past the lump in her throat at the sight. She realized she was intruding. She was no better than Gerty, listening at keyholes. She moved back into her chamber. She was in the process of clo
sing the door as softly as possible when Navarre spoke again.

  “I’ll talk to Giselle again, Etienne. I promise.”

  “Talk? I don’t need more talk. I need you to bed her and get her with child! I need a son, and you can sire it better than I. How many more times must I repeat it?”

  Shock stopped Giselle, and then anger. She’d known her husband was bestial, crude, and heartless, but to ask something so evil? She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

  Say something Navarre, she silently begged. She willed him to refute Etienne’s request, to let him know he asked too much. Love was God’s gift, not a means to prevent someone like Jean-Claude’s inheritance.

  Say it, Navarre!

  Silence answered. She realized Navarre wasn’t going to say anything against it. The anguish settled into her stomach like a stone. Navarre was willing to try and fool her? He was willing to be intimate with her as if he were Etienne? She wondered why she questioned it, when she had the proof right in front of her. She watched as Navarre sighed, lifting his shoulders with it.

  Did they really think she wouldn’t know? Even in the dark? They may be close in weight now, but… Giselle wiped at her mouth, brutally rubbing away the feel of Navarre’s kisses. The memory remained. They’d never be able to fool her. They couldn’t disguise Navarre’s scent.

  Bile choked, tasting like flat champagne, as she stepped into the room. The sunlight blinded her for a moment. The duc’s rooms were bright, but there wasn’t enough light to ward off the blackness of their intrigues.

  “Oh. Look. It’s Giselle.” Etienne saw her first. “This is excellent. You see, Navarre? You won’t even have to pretend.”

  Etienne looked at her through such reddened eyes, she almost winced. Navarre stumbled to his feet like a thief caught in the act. Giselle centered her attention on the duc, refusing to even glance in Navarre’s direction.

  She’d been fooled at the arbor, she realized. When Navarre spoke his words of love, she actually believed him. They must think her stupid as well as childish. He hadn’t been in love. He’d been placing the groundwork for this plot. Giselle didn’t think she could bear it, yet she had to. Navarre had simply been preparing her for the moment when he would take her innocence and make it vile. Evil. Monstrous.