Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  Giselle sat in the center of her bed, deflated beyond all reason.

  “You stormed the chamber? You? I don’t believe it.”

  “I said they might as well put Jean-Claude into my bed, since one Berchald was as good as another. I said I’d rather lie with a pig. Oh, Louisa! What have I done?”

  Giselle tipped her head and wailed it to the canopy of red drapery above her.

  “You said all that? Oh Giselle! I am so proud of you.”

  “You are?” Her head came back down.

  “You play this game like an expert. For what but a little righteous anger would make Monsieur Navarre even more tormented?”

  “I don’t want him tormented.”

  “Oh please, Giselle, you wanted much worse, earlier.”

  That much was true. Giselle opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  “You only need to choose the place, Giselle. If I’m not mistaken, your love is, right now, thinking of what he could have done differently, and what he should have said. I don’t suppose your head is feeling any better?”

  “Oui, and I’m starving. Would Chef Aaron send something more substantial up, do you think?”

  “Bend your destiny to fit your needs, Giselle. That’s my advice, and I don’t often give it.”

  Giselle’s eyes went wide. “You almost sound as if you think I should…. Merde! I still can’t say it!”

  “Listen to me carefully, Giselle du Berchald. From the first moment I saw you, I lost my heart. It was a good thing, too, for I failed to follow it earlier. If I had…? Well, that’s a long story. I was once young and in love, too, but I didn’t have the courage to follow my own heart.”

  “We’re speaking of adultery here, Louisa. Are you honestly suggesting I surrender all hope of heaven?”

  “Did your mouth say the vows? If you must think on it, remember that. Well, did it?”

  Giselle smiled as she watched Louisa plant her hands on her hips. It was such predictable behavior even if her advice did border on heresy.

  “I’m saying nothing, Giselle. You must follow your heart, not me. I can only tell you what you reap if you don’t follow it. Once you get as old as me, all you have are regrets. And the older you are, the more costly they become, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, pooh. Look at me, crying at my regrets and lecturing you when you have a handsome young man at your beck and call. Talk about a waste of time!”

  “I don’t think he’ll accept my overtures right now, Louisa. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

  She chuckled and walked to the door. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Giselle, but I’ve monopolized your time long enough. Isabelle will still be fretting over your head pain, and I have Chef Aaron to flatter with your order.”

  The door shut behind her. Giselle got up and went to her window. She felt weak, but at least her head wasn’t pounding anymore. She felt like she’d just been bathed and was waiting to be dried off. She shook off the fancy as she watched the edge of Savignen Valley. The trees were touched on their crowns by the setting sun. It was a peaceful sight, and she desperately needed some peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Would you rather go through the third addition or the cellars today, Giselle?” Esmee asked. “We haven’t seen either, yet. But, since it’s such a lovely day, we could tour the gardens. The eighth duchesse laid out a lovely maze, and it’s one of our showpieces.”

  “I think I’d prefer the stables, actually,” Giselle replied.

  “The stables?” Esmee’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “They will be muddy this early in the day. I’m not dressed for it, either.”

  Giselle shrugged and returned to the book of sonnets she’d taken from the Blue Salon. The words should have been memorized by now, but she wasn’t reading them.

  “Are you certain? The maze would be better, I think. It’s finally been groomed. It takes nearly a week to complete, and we have to wait until the shrubs are thick enough. It’s truly lovely.”

  “Why do you bother asking me, if you’re not going to acquiesce to my wishes?”

  Giselle spoke to her book. She wondered if she dared peek to see how Esmee took that particular speech, but decided against it. Esmee sighed.

  “Very well, Giselle. I’m no expert on them, though. It would be better if Navarre were to show them to you.”

  Giselle tried not to show her satisfaction by bringing the book closer to her nose. Louisa was right again. Giselle could learn to manipulate people with the best of them.

  “I suppose I could wait for Navarre to show me. I don’t know how long that might take, though. I really would like to see them today.”

  Giselle knew very well that it would take some bit of accomplishing to get Navarre to show her anything. She’d known this morning when Gerty brought in her breakfast tray, and she’d been so optimistic, too!

  She’d been sending sealed missives to Navarre for two days now, and all he did was return them unopened. It was maddening. She thought she’d finally succeeded last night, though. She’d had Louisa address it and give it to a manservant to deliver.

  That it was returned unopened on Giselle’s breakfast tray had almost brought her to tears again.

  “Have I offended you in some way, Giselle?” Esmee asked.

  “Me? Offended? Oh, please, Esmee, why would you ask such a thing?”

  She read a stanza four times and still didn’t know the words. It was more interesting to listen for Esmee’s reaction.

  “You seem…different today,” Esmee said slowly. “Forgive me, Giselle. I’m letting my imagination run amok. It has been since the ball. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, with the way you’ve been attending to Etienne lately.”

  Now…who could have told her such a thing? Giselle didn’t know why she asked herself the question. She already knew the answer. Gerty was forever gossiping, and Giselle was playing the adoring wife whenever Gerty was about.

  “I’ll send for Navarre to show you the stables…but don’t be surprised if he ignores my summons, too.”

  Esmee looked at Giselle from the doorway with an unreadable expression, and then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

  Giselle slammed the book shut. Everyone about her seemed an expert at intrigue, while Giselle was such a novice it was almost a crime. She wondered what had given her away. The book fell to floor as she stood and walked over to a window, narrowing her eyes on the sunlit lawns.

  She should have simply toured the maze. The door opened behind her.

  “Monsieur Jean-Claude du Berchald!” a servant announced.

  Giselle held in a gasp as she swiveled, but she couldn’t prevent her next reaction. Her mouth dropped. Her eyes widened. And her heart joined in with a faster rate. Even though she was standing, it wouldn’t make any difference. Jean-Claude exceeded his brothers in height and wore heels on his pointed shoes, too. From across the room, Giselle had to look up at him.

  “The Duchesse Giselle,” the manservant finished as he closed the door.

  Giselle heard it through a fog. It felt, and sounded, like the words came from very far away. Everything in the room faded. The only thing she was capable of absorbing at the moment was Jean-Claude du Berchald.

  Oh heavens!

  The man was absolutely stunning. He was probably wearing court attire, but he could’ve arrived from a ball, as well. His coat was fashioned of ice-blue brocade, heavily embroidered with silver, his breeches were silvery satin, and his legs were encased in white hose.

  It should have looked absurd. It didn’t.

  He had a small mustache, but it didn’t hide full lips. Since he was wearing a powdered wig, it was impossible to tell if he’d inherited the Berchald coloring. The shade of his mustache didn’t help. It was dark brown. Giselle considered herself a novice at male beauty, but knew instinctively that it didn’t matter. Jean-Claude was an awesome specimen. And he knew it. One eyebrow was lifted inquiringly at her reac
tion, one leg was posed in front of the other, and he smiled slightly.

  And then was walking toward her, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Her eyes went even wider as he stopped before her. Giselle had to crane her neck to continue looking at him. She couldn’t move her gaze away.

  “I’m enchanted to meet you finally, my dear, dear sister.”

  He bent at the waist to raise her hand to his lips. Giselle was grateful she still had her lips open as she sucked for one breath after another.

  “You’re probably wondering why I bother wearing heels,” he continued.

  Giselle didn’t answer.

  “Well. I wear them because I want to make certain I’m noticed.”

  She snorted.

  “I know. It shouldn’t be a problem, oui?”

  He didn’t relinquish her hand. He tucked it into the crook of his arm and moved them toward the settee, taking long, slow steps. Giselle’s feet moved without conscious volition. She couldn’t have stopped him, anyway. She hoped he wasn’t planning on sitting beside her. She didn’t know if she was ready for such close contact.

  But how could she have prepared for that?

  He swiveled gracefully for a man his size, moved her hand into his, and had her seated before she gained another breath. He then hooked a chair with his foot and pulled it beneath him so it was there as he sat. Without looking. If she hadn’t seen it happen, she wouldn’t have believed it. He hadn’t even let go of her hand the entire time.

  She was grateful he wasn’t sitting beside her, yet timid about it at the same time. He was probably closer this way. He swiveled his hand, sliding her fingers to rest atop his own, and then he touched his lips to each fingertip, one at a time. Giselle hadn’t a prayer of stopping a blush.

  “Charmaine told me of your beauty.”

  He had paint on his face. The line where it ended at his neck was obvious. That explained the contrast of his facial hair. There were black lines around his eyes, rouge on his cheeks, and he had some sort of red paint on his nails.

  All of which should have disgusted her. She’d wondered what the people at Louis, the Beloved’s court looked like, had received a basic education from Monsieur Poinre, but it wasn’t preparation enough. She realized that, now.

  She had never felt so admired, feted, or adored. If he’d been blessed with the Berchald eyelashes, they were swallowed in the black paint he’d lined about his eyes. That didn’t stop their impact. Eyes the exact shade of Navarre’s held hers and Giselle forced herself to swallow. It was like being too close to fire. It burned and yet drew her simultaneously.

  She saw what held Mademoiselle Frerre, and Jean-Claude had entirely too much of it.

  “Yet she told me nothing at all.” He held her hand and her gaze, and spoke with such sweetness she shivered. “And you’re so petite! I’ve never seen anything so… hmm. What can I say? Beautiful? Non. Too boring. Enchanting? Non. Over-used. There is no word capable of describing you. But I know now why the comte kept you hidden.”

  To her shock, he tightened his thumb and tipped her hand over. And then he kissed her on the wrist! A long, lingering kiss! Another shiver ran her. Chilling. Disquieting. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, anymore. She wondered what had changed.

  He released her hand, and sat back, inhaling deeply, well aware that Giselle was watching. She hadn’t moved her eyes. She might have forgotten to blink.

  “Ah…that smell! Fresh country air. I had forgotten how….”

  He winked at her. Giselle was appalled at another blush, but couldn’t tear her gaze away. Jean-Claude didn’t need the heels. He was impossible to miss, and equally impossible to ignore.

  “…disgustingly healthy it smells. Too many conflicting aromas for me.”

  He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket, placed a pinch of white powder under his nose, and sniffed it in. Perhaps that was the arsenic she’d heard of. The thought must have transferred to her expression because he explained.

  “It’s snuff, my dearest. Would you care for some?” He sneezed against the lace at his wrist and then held out the box.

  Giselle pulled back and her eyes moved down from his. He had the same Berchald nose. And he was wearing a black patch. She hadn’t noted it earlier because of his mustache. He’d placed it beside his nose. She noted the shape. A tiny spider. She didn’t have the expertise to look away quickly enough.

  “Oh. I’ve frightened you. Forgive me. I sometimes have that affect…although usually on innocent young maidens, I admit.”

  He’d leaned forward again to study her, making the chair creak a bit with his weight. Giselle blushed again. Ignominiously. Stupidly. If she kept reacting like this, he’d never believe she and Etienne had— “Jean-Claude! You should have warned us before you came.”

  Esmee interrupted, breezing through the door with Gerty behind her, carrying a tray of delicacies. Jean-Claude appraised them silently. Giselle watched as even Gerty colored and dropped her eyes. He had that affect on all females?

  “Esmee. You haven’t changed – always rushing in to save others from my presence. She does that often, you know.”

  He said the last as an aside to Giselle before he stood. Now that she wasn’t being threatened with the full extent of his charm, it was easier to breathe. He dwarfed Esmee, making her look small. He was easily the tallest of the Berchald men, even without his heels. His powdered hairstyle only added unnecessary height.

  He caught her staring as he turned back to his chair, and Giselle looked to her lap. Her first impression was wrong. He didn’t look as handsome as Navarre, after all…although it was hard to be certain with all that paint.

  “Did Mother travel down with you, Jean-Claude?”

  Esmee asked it as she poured tea. Giselle was grateful. Her hands would shake so badly, the cups would have clattered.

  “You know I can’t go anywhere without her, Esmee. It’s a curse.”

  The last sentence was another aside to Giselle, as if she were in league with him. She smiled stiffly.

  “I sent a summons to Navarre, Giselle,” Esmee continued. “I’m certain we’ll hear back before long.”

  She handed Giselle a cup and saucer. She concentrated on holding it without a hint of tremor.

  “Summoning Navarre?” Jean-Claude asked. “Whatever for? Is he still so caught up on my vineyards he has no time to greet his prodigal brother? Really, Esmee, I’m surprised. You should have sent word the instant my grooms arrived. I gave you all morning advance notice.”

  Giselle was reeling, and yet nothing moved. She still sat upright in the settee, careful not to move. It was bad enough that Jean-Claude called the vineyard his, but the fact that Esmee knew he was coming, and hadn’t said a word, was somehow worse.

  Esmee may have been looking at her, but Giselle stared at the wall over Jean-Claude’s right shoulder.

  “Navarre has moved to the dowager house,” Esmee said, finally.

  “That wreck? Why?”

  “Perhaps you should ask that question of me, Jean-Claude.”

  Etienne spoke up as he was wheeled into the room. The wheels squeaked slightly as he neared. Giselle watched as the chair was put beside her. Etienne held out his hand. She gave him hers. It was like ice reaching heated stone. The tiny squeeze she received made it even warmer.

  “Oh. Look. I’d heard you were moving about, Etienne. I didn’t believe it. How things change, non?”

  “It was about time,” Etienne replied. “I don’t drink tea, Esmee. Perhaps you’d see that a bottle of Chablis is fetched. Tea is so wretchedly weak. Jean-Claude may even agree with me, wouldn’t you, dearest brother?”

  “Thank the saints! I was starting to wonder if you’d quit drinking, as well. And I could hardly ask your oh-so-beauteous, little wife, now could I?”

  Jean-Claude set his cup down. Sunlight touched on his fingernail paint. Giselle quickly moved her glance to Esmee, watching her hesitate before leaving. Giselle wondered why. Was Jean-Claude likely to hur
t Etienne with her sitting right beside him?

  “And now…perhaps you’ll tell me why you came back to Chateau Berchand, Jean-Claude? You know the provision of the agreement. You don’t come back. I can’t see what Mother is thinking to allow—”

  “Spare me the lecture, Etienne.”

  Jean-Claude’s sweet tone had vanished. This new one started an unpleasant quiver. Giselle looked to her lap, wishing she was anywhere else.

  “You knew very well that the moment Charmaine informed me of this little wife of yours, I’d come back. You promised you’d never see her, let alone take her to your bed. Take care who you accuse of breaking his word.”

  “Etienne promised…what?”

  The words escaped her before she could stop them. She looked first to Jean-Claude and then Etienne. She watched her husband turn red, and drop his eyes. Giselle couldn’t believe it. She was reeling again, and the cup was clattering atop its saucer with it. She’d been purposely left at Antilli! There seemed no end to the intrigues in this family. Etienne had feared her presence would bring Jean-Claude. And he’d been right.

  “Etienne. Brother. Is it possible you didn’t even tell your petite duchesse why you never came for her? I’m surprised at you.”

  “No more than I am myself.”

  Etienne squeezed her hand again. Giselle looked back to her tea. It seemed safest.

  “You expected me to do nothing, when the duns are at my door almost every day?”

  Jean-Claude spat out the words and stood, rocking the chair with his move, and taking her gaze. She couldn’t help it. He had such a commanding presence. His size. His dress. His comeliness. The force of his personality. Whatever it was, Giselle felt it, and leaned back in her chair to order to continue watching him.

  “You aren’t the duc, Jean-Claude.”

  “No. Pity. But I am the heir.”

  He walked to the window she’d been standing at. Even its height didn’t make him look any smaller.

  “What will you do?” Etienne asked.

  Giselle held her breath.

  “Do? Oh, please. I won’t do anything, dearest brother.” He chuckled and turned back to them. “I’m visiting for a while, that’s all. Versailles can be so stuffy, and I can’t tell you how I’ve missed the fresh…country…air.”