Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  They couldn’t inflict a graver wound if they used a weapon. She wondered if they knew it. She recognized it was agony gripping her heart, making her aware of every painful beat.

  “Giselle?” Navarre whispered.

  “Don’t say a word, Navarre. Not one. I’ve already heard enough. And I’ll never be a party to such evil! Never!”

  She tried to sound vilified, but her voice gave out. Giselle said the last in a whisper.

  “Oh come, Giselle. Stop.” Etienne said. “You won’t bed with me, and I can’t force you without the use of my legs. And what might happen then? You already threatened me with a convent. Or loss of the valley. What choice do I have?”

  He laughed as she turned to him. Giselle narrowed her eyes.

  “You are a pig, Monsieur le Duc. I realize that now. I should feel grateful you didn’t plan to send Jean-Claude to my bed, although it could hardly be worse!”

  Her voice cracked. Navarre sounded like he was choking. She didn’t look. She didn’t care. She already knew Etienne was a devil incarnate, but why did Navarre have to be one, too?

  And Navarre might not even love her. She’d been blind, innocent…and too inexperienced to know better. She could just see Etienne setting this up, telling Navarre to get her to trust him, wear down her resistance…work on her weaknesses. Because one Berchald in her bed was as good as another.

  She only wished it hadn’t succeeded as well as it had. That tormented her even more.

  “My father kept me imprisoned for a reason, and I know now what it is. He knew how evil you all are. I wish I had remained at Antilli, and ignorant of it!”

  “Isn’t she wonderful when she’s angry, Navarre?”

  Etienne smiled at her, and Giselle screeched in disbelief, using the last of her voice to berate him.

  “Do you think I care if you find me wonderful, Monsieur le Duc? Well, I don’t. I don’t care what any member of this family thinks of me! I’d rather lie with pigs than bed with any of you!”

  The last of her words tore her throat.

  “Giselle, wait!”

  Navarre started toward her. Giselle ran into her room and slammed the door in his face. She was trembling so viciously, she had difficulty turning the key, sealing them out, but she did.

  Anger kept her pacing until she was too exhausted to see anymore. She kept telling herself it was anger, and not the pounding on the door that wouldn’t quit for what seemed like hours. She certainly wasn’t stupid enough to open it. Not anymore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Is your head any better, Giselle?”

  It was Louisa, walking in with a supper tray. Giselle motioned her to set it down, without lifting her head.

  “Oh Giselle. You poor dear. They talk of nothing else below stairs.”

  How could they have anything to talk about? None of them were there, were they? The thought made her head throb even worse.

  “Chef Aaron has made an onion broth just for you, but you’re supposed to swallow this horrid-smelling concoction first.”

  She lifted a goblet and sniffed. Giselle glanced at Louisa’s pained expression before she set it back down.

  “If I can’t drink the soup until I take that…then tell Chef Aaron merci, but I am not hungry.”

  “What they don’t know won’t harm them, will it?”

  Louisa poured the contents out the window. Even the small amount of light that came from moving the drapes hurt her head.

  “Now drink your broth. Then you’ll be able to tell me what this is all about.”

  Giselle had begun to sit gingerly and reach for the soup bowl. The moment Louisa attached a payment, her arm sank back down.

  “Then, I repeat myself. I am not hungry. Merci.”

  Louisa put her hands on her hips and sighed hugely. “Giselle, what am I going to do with you? I thought seeing your love would make your heart lighter, not turn you into an invalid again.”

  “He’s not my love.”

  Giselle kept her voice flat as she said it. Then she reached for the bowl of soup with hands that shook. Chef Aaron was a master. The soup was as delicious as it smelled, delicately flavored with beef and mushrooms. Giselle drank all she could and waited for Louisa’s reaction.

  “Very well, Giselle. I’m listening.”

  “Is the same priest still here?”

  Giselle leaned back onto the pillows. Everything had started to worsen once she lied to him. She needed to make amends. That was a good starting point, and she was getting heartily sick of being in bed.

  “Yes, but I don’t mind telling you, he doesn’t inspire me. Gerty told me he’s new. That could be it, but did you know that he receives correspondence from Monsieur Jean-Claude, of all people?”

  She’d known not to trust him. This was bad. It meant she’d have to continue her silence and pray The Lord would be in a very forgiving mood when she reached confession.

  “We’re not going to talk of prayer, are we, Giselle? I swear that is all you do — and cry, of course.”

  “I only wish I could cry. I’ve been trying all day. Perhaps that’s why my head aches so.”

  Louisa stared. “It is that horrible?”

  “What?”

  “This reason you don’t love Monsieur Navarre anymore?”

  “Dieu! If only that were the truth!”

  “You do still love him, then?”

  “Why don’t you leave me be, Louisa? Make yourself a comforting companion, and just go?”

  “Because that isn’t what you need, love. Trust me. Are you finished with your soup?”

  Giselle nodded. She watched as Louisa took the tray to the door. She suspected the woman was checking for any listeners. It was certainly a strange household into which she had married. It wasn’t long before Louisa returned.

  “I never could hide things from you, could I?”

  “Why would you want to start now, Giselle? I can’t help you if I don’t know what is going on.”

  “I don’t even know most of the time. How am I supposed to share it?”

  “Between us, we’ll know. Come, love. Tell me what has happened.”

  Giselle lay on her back and looked up at the embroidered crest on the half canopy that shadowed the bed. “This is a very scheming family I’ve married into. I didn’t realize the extent of it.”

  “The nobility have little else to do with their time. I’ve heard tales from the palace that would shock more of your hair white.”

  Giselle sighed, and turned her head. “I doubt it.”

  She watched as Louisa resumed her seat in the chair beside the bed platform. Then, she picked up her sewing as if they weren’t discussing anything important.

  “Are you ignoring me, Louisa?” she asked.

  “It’s the only way I can get you to confide in me. I act like I don’t care, and you finally tell me what’s bothering you. I haven’t raised you from a child and learned nothing, you know.”

  Giselle laughed. It felt wonderful to realize she still had the capability.

  “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  Giselle watched her place another stitch in the stocking she was embroidering. Giselle knew the stockings were for her, but she wondered why they bothered. Very few would ever see such beauty.

  “Navarre. He….” Her throat choked off with the tears she’d been holding back all day. “He…said he loved me. And I believed him. I was stupid, naive and blind. I didn’t know it was just an act. I should have. I realize that now.”

  “How do you know he doesn’t?” Louisa placed more stitches as if concentrating on her work, and not what they spoke on.

  “Ha!” Giselle wiped her eyes with the towel, wondering where all the tears came from now. “Because I am not as stupid, naïve, and blind as I was before, that’s how. They educated me. And well.”

  “Navarre spoke on this with his own lips?”

  “Oui.”

  Louisa raised her brows. “He actually said he doesn’t love you? I am more
than surprised, Giselle. I am in shock.”

  “Well…he didn’t actually say that. It was more—what he didn’t say.”

  “Navarre didn’t say something? And this meant he doesn’t love you? What happens when the man talks, pray tell?”

  “No…yes. You’re confusing me.”

  “I’m confusing you? Really, Giselle.” She lifted her sewing and looked it over at the same time as she clicked her tongue.

  “He doesn’t love me. He can’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have agreed with Etienne.”

  “I can agree with the duc. Does that mean I don’t care for you?”

  “You don’t know what it is Etienne asks!”

  “Your husband asked Navarre to do something, then?”

  Giselle nodded.

  “And for some reason, you believe if Navarre agrees with this, he doesn’t love you anymore. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Anymore? Non. It means he never did. Oh, how can I bear it?”

  The towel wasn’t soothing anymore, it was too saturated with tears. Giselle held it to her eyes and shuddered through the sobs.

  “You expect me to believe Monsieur Navarre cares nothing for you? Honestly, Giselle. Even Isabelle spoke of the way he looks at you. If there was ever a case of unrequited love, that Navarre has caught it. The man is smitten. That is what Isabelle said.”

  “Isabelle? She wouldn’t say anything like that. I don’t even think she knows what it is.”

  “True enough. She inferred it, though.”

  Giselle shoved the towel into her eyes. “I don’t know why I confide in you. I don’t. Truly. This is not comforting.”

  “Isabelle did say as much. You forget we were here when your jewelry was brought, Giselle. Do you think your servants are blind?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded uncertain, even to her.

  “Do you think emotions such as love are so foreign that we can’t spot them right before our noses? Here I thought I’d raised you differently, and yet you turn out just like one of the heartless aristocrats. What have I done to deserve such a fate?”

  “I am not. I can guarantee I have a heart. Here I am crying it out. Look for yourself.” She moved the towel aside to show her.

  “You’d best give that to me. I’ll rinse it for you. I spoke the truth earlier. Isabelle said it was a good thing that Monsieur Navarre was moving to the dower house with the looks he gives you. That’s what she said.”

  “Isabelle said that?”

  “That man is as besotted as any I’ve ever seen, and you say it’s acting? Well! He should be on a stage. That’s where he should be.”

  “But he agreed with Etienne. At least…I think he did.”

  “Let me see if I understand this, Giselle. Monsieur Navarre may have agreed to something that the duc asked of him, something that would mean he doesn’t love you and never did. Furthermore, you aren’t even certain that it was something he agreed with. Am I hearing this correctly?”

  Giselle’s brows drew together. “I am not that confused, Louisa. I know what I heard.”

  “I am just trying to get it correct.”

  “He may not have agreed, but he didn’t disagree, either.”

  “So, now silence means agreement? You may find that difficult to enforce, Giselle. Look at Isabelle, for instance. She’s often silent, but I don’t think she agrees with me when she is. In fact, I rather think she’s the opposite. Do you see what I mean?”

  “You don’t know what it is they spoke of.”

  “True enough. Are you ready to enlighten me, yet?”

  Louisa put the stocking down and reached for the cloth. Giselle was surprised to find she wasn’t interested in crying anymore. She watched as Louisa dipped the cloth into the basin and wrung it out again.

  “Etienne—”

  Her voice stopped. The rest of the words clogged her throat, choking her. She couldn’t even say it? If she couldn’t tell Louisa, how could she ever tell a priest?

  “Was the duc…shall we say…in his cups at the time of this conversation?”

  “Was he drunk? Is that what you ask? I’ve rarely seen him otherwise.”

  “That complicates matters for me.”

  “For you?”

  Louisa placed the cooled cloth back on her forehead. Giselle pulled it right back off.

  “Your husband could have asked anything while he was in that state, Giselle. Can you assist me in narrowing down my guesses?”

  “Etienne wants a son.” Giselle whispered the words and felt herself going hot, and then cold.

  “Ah. And since he can’t give you one, he asked Monsieur Navarre….”

  “Don’t say it! I can’t even think it. It’s too wicked.”

  To Giselle’s surprise, Louisa burst out laughing. She couldn’t even speak the words, and Louisa found it laughable?

  “Perhaps you could save your amusement for another time, when you’re not supposed to be comforting me?”

  “Oh, Giselle. Forgive me! It’s just…I would have given anything to have seen Monsieur Navarre’s face.”

  “Why?”

  “Think of it. He’s been fighting his…shall we say…his attraction? Yes, that’s a good word. He is at war with himself, and all he does is work through it. I hear that’s all he does. He won’t even stop for meals, and the chef is worried. Chef Aaron is beginning to wonder if he’ll ever be able to tempt Monsieur Navarre or the new duchesse with his culinary skill. The odd thing is, they suffer from the same affliction, and only I know the truth. Oh, how Gerty would pay to hear this.”

  “Louisa!” Giselle tried to sound as stern as possible.

  “I’m jesting, Giselle. This is priceless. Monsieur Navarre is attracted to his disabled brother’s wife, and it’s making him ill with fighting it. The poor man stays away and only attends the ball because the duc insisted upon it.”

  “You know about that, too?”

  “Gerty is the duc’s valet’s sister. Always remember that. She knows more about the duc’s movements than he probably does.”

  “She might know—? Oh! I’ll die of embarrassment.”

  “She doesn’t know this, Giselle. Trust me.”

  “But, you just said—”

  “She wouldn’t keep it a secret if she did. That woman can’t keep anything secret. Now, look. You’re making me lose my train of thought.”

  “Oh. Forgive me,” Giselle said sarcastically.

  “Monsieur le Duc longs to make certain his littlest brother attends this fest. Why is that, do you think?”

  “Don’t look to me. I’m certain I don’t know.”

  “Because he wants to make sure Monsieur Navarre knows to whom you belong, perhaps? Or better yet, he wants to make certain you know to whom Monsieur Navarre belongs. That could have been his intent. It’s obvious he has to do something. Perhaps the duc knew this Mademoiselle Frerre would attend, and he would want the duchesse - that’s you, Giselle.”

  “I am capable of that much intrigue, thank you very much.” Giselle spoke sarcastically, but she was smiling, too.

  “Yes. Well. Suppose the petite duchesse finds out that this Mademoiselle was Navarre’s betrothed? Perhaps the duc believes this revelation will get you to…. How can I put this delicately?”

  “Don’t bother. Etienne wants me in his bed. He doesn’t care if I rant and rave about it, either. He thinks I’m wonderful when I’m angry, and even…. I shudder to recall this, but he desires me when I rage at him. Oh Louisa! He’s sick!”

  “It seems the duc may have out-schemed himself this time, though. He forgot Navarre’s betrothed wants nothing to do with him. She’s Jean-Claude’s property.” She almost spat the last word.

  “Then Etienne gets so drunk, he’s unable to do what he hoped, anyway,” Giselle said, surprising herself and Louisa. “He can’t fulfill his part of the intrigue, even if I’m willing and in his bed.”

  “You’re learning, Giselle. Now imagine that Mademoiselle Frerre made certain the duc knows that Je
an-Claude won’t stand by and watch his inheritance slip through his fingers. Don’t tell me he didn’t try and kill the duc, either. I already know the story.”

  “I won’t.” Giselle rose to her knees and moved into the middle of the bed.

  “That leaves Monsieur le Duc in a quandary. What can he do? Who can he trust to help him?”

  “Navarre!” Giselle gathered an armload of covers to her breast.

  “Exactly!” Louisa pointed at her. “And, since the duc has already seen Navarre’s attraction to you…” She winked as she said that, and Giselle blushed, “what better plan than to put Navarre into his own marriage bed? The resulting child would have the same blood, would it not? Monsieur Navarre resembles the duc quite a bit, too. Admit it.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. Navarre is the most handsome man in the world, but as long as the child is a Berchald and is accepted as such, Etienne would be safe.”

  “Right! But there are complications. The duchesse won’t agree. Therefore, she must be fooled. The man is stupid as well as disabled to think that would work, but men are stupid creatures. Don’t ever say you heard me say that, though.”

  “Never.” Giselle shook her head.

  “Which brings me to the part I wish I had seen. Oh! I can’t imagine how Monsieur Navarre must have looked when his brother offered you to him. He must have been in shock, Giselle. That’s why he said nothing. He never believed you’d ever be his, and he longs to do what Etienne wants. He knows it’s wrong, but his entire being begs for it.”

  She was making Giselle shiver, but she said nothing to stop the words.

  “But he has to argue,” Louisa continued. “‘It’s impossible, Etienne’, he must say. ‘It will never work.’”

  “Mon Dieu!” Giselle cried it aloud and slapped her hands to her cheeks, losing the bedding.

  “What?”

  “He was saying as much when I first listened. Oh, Louisa, what have I done?”

  “You did something?”

  “I stormed into the duc’s chamber. I called Etienne and Navarre horrible names. Oh…how will I get him to forgive me?”