Brocade Series 02 - Giselle

by Jackie Ivie

  Isabelle and Gerty paused at the door before curtsying and leaving.

  “Now, what’s this about Navarre?”

  Giselle shoved off the bedclothes and watched as Louisa eyed the sheer nightgown she’d worn. Louisa didn’t ask, however. And Giselle wouldn’t have answered. They both knew she detested the flimsy attire.

  “It seems your brother-in-law feels the duc and his little wife,” she paused at the title, and Giselle looked away, “need to revisit their privacy. I admit my mouth dropped open when he spoke of it, not that I was listening at keyholes, mind you.”

  “I would never think that of you. Go on please.”

  Giselle didn’t need another lecture on nosy servants. She needed to know about Navarre.

  “Let me see…Monsieur wasn’t alone. He was announcing his intentions to anyone who would listen. Seems he believes he has intruded for too long on his brother’s life. I can’t tell you how those words made my dander rise. Even his sister questioned it.”

  “What did she question? What?”

  “Monsieur Navarre is relocating again to the dower house again. They think he’s mad. I think he’s mad. He can’t leave Etienne at Jean-Claude’s mercy. The reason I know this part is because that Madame Esmee muttered it to herself as she passed me.”

  “What? The dowager house? I don’t…understand.”

  “You don’t understand? Why is it you’re dressed in that, then?”

  “It was the first thing I grabbed.”

  Giselle looked down at herself, surprised for the moment at how quickly the lie had come to her. And how well it left her lips.

  “Navarre moved out last night, Giselle.”

  “Navarre? But, why?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. It created quite a stir below stairs, too.”

  Louisa let Gerty back into the room with more water for the bath.

  He listened to her bare my soul…then he left? Giselle thought she felt humiliated the previous day. She’d been naive.

  Etienne must have lied about all of it. He was probably laughing about it in his bed chamber at this very moment. That was the only explanation for Navarre’s odd behavior. Navarre hadn’t said he’d abide the duchesse’s wishes. Instead, he ran from them.

  “You mustn’t dawdle all day,” Louisa said. “There’s still a chance to speak with him about it at supper. I understand everyone will be there. They’ve arranged a dinner party.”

  How would she ever get through supper? With Navarre attending?

  “Thank you, Gerty,” Louisa said. “I’m certain the bath is the perfect temperature for the duchesse. That will be all.”

  Gerty looked at Giselle for confirmation. Giselle looked away. She was incapable of speaking or meeting anyone’s eyes. She had admitted her lust in front of both Navarre and Etienne. She was mortified. Supremely embarrassed. Ashamed.

  “Giselle? Your bath?”

  “Leave me be, Louisa. Please?”

  “Why do you still worry?” Louisa asked. “He may be at the Dower house, but it’s only the width of the maze away. He, most certainly, is preparing to see you again. I can pass a note to him if you like. I’ve been told that if you stay to the extreme left in the maze, you won’t get lost. Not that I tried it — I wouldn’t dare. Still, I’d chance it to get a note to him if you like.”

  Giselle shook her head, watching the red on the bedspread shimmer like it had the previous night in the sputtering candlelight. There was no point in contacting Navarre. He was probably thinking up an excuse to avoid her. She couldn’t tell Louisa of it. She could barely stand to live through it herself.

  “You aren’t going to luncheon, are you, Giselle?” Louisa sat on the edge of the bed.

  Giselle turned away. She couldn’t meet her eyes yet, either. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Something horrendous has happened, hasn’t it?”

  Giselle shook her head and concentrated on the ball of material in her fists.

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Louisa, I’m just tired.” Giselle released the bedspread and lay back against the pillows. There would be no benefit in sharing her humiliation.

  “Very well.” Louisa sighed and stood.

  Giselle imagined Louisa looking down at her, her hands on her hips, and her lips pursed in thought. She knew she wasn’t far wrong.

  “I’ll tell the staff of your new malaise. But rest assured, Giselle, you can’t hide from your duties forever. The entire household needs an example set, and that Jean-Claude needs to be put in his place.”

  Put Jean-Claude in his place? That was laughable. She’d be as proficient at that as a newborn kitten. And now, she didn’t even have Navarre.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Louisa hadn’t been succinct. Which was odd. Giselle realized it as she entered the drawing room later that evening. She narrowed her eyes on the scene.

  She knew she looked like the Duchesse du Berchald should. She’d allowed Isabelle to curl her hair, although she hated the hot iron and how long it took. She’d had also donned Louisa’s embroidered stockings, although no one would see them. She only wished she felt as self-assured as she looked.

  Jean-Claude lounged across a settee as if prepared for sleep, not an eleven-course meal with guests. Esmee looked uncomfortable. Giselle glanced at the manservant and narrowed her eyes further.

  He looked slack and unkempt, as well. It wasn’t that his uniform needed washing or wasn’t buttoned correctly. It was the stubble on his face and the smirk on his mouth. It was clear Giselle had been neglecting her duties. She didn’t need Louisa to apprise her of it, either.

  “Good evening, Esmee,” she said. “You look elegant as usual. I’m proud to stand beside you and greet our guests. Jean-Claude….” Giselle walked to the center of the room to look down at him. “…we’re expecting the mayor this eve. You will retire to your chamber and dress appropriately?”

  To her shock, she saw there were insects moving about in his wig. Giselle quickly averted her eyes. She’d been told he shaved his head. But she hadn’t known the wig was a vermin-filled powdered confection. Then again, he’d always been towering above her.

  “I’m perfectly aware of our guests, my dear sister…Giselle.” Jean-Claude lowered his voice after pausing on Giselle’s name, but he sat up. “It’s just so horribly boring here. Still, I mustn’t complain.”

  She watched him open his little container and use more snuff, dusting his jabot off after he finished. He was disgusting. She wondered how she’d ever thought him attractive.

  “I was just telling Esmee she should accompany me to Versailles when we return,” he continued. “There’s so much more to do there.”

  More lives to tamper with? More plots to hatch? More careers to ruin or murders to plan?

  “I look forward to seeing your evening attire, Jean-Claude. You may be excused.”

  He stood, although he took his time, and dwarfed her. Giselle kept her chin high as she met his gaze.

  “Do I detect a rebuke, dearest little duchesse?”.

  Giselle smiled tightly. “I’d never aspire to such, Jean-Claude. Au revoir.” She moved sideways to let him reach the door around her skirts. “We look forward to your presence at supper later, don’t we, Esmee?”

  Giselle kept her eyes on his and felt Esmee nod mutely to one side. She didn’t realize how tense she was until Jean-Claude swept out of the room.

  Once the door slammed, she turned on the manservant. “And now you will find a replacement while you, too, prepare for our guests. You may hope it won’t be a permanent replacement. That will be all.”

  He nodded and walked out quickly.

  “Oh, Giselle,” Esmee sounded strange. “You were magnificent. I swear I didn’t know what to do. I thought I experienced enough embarrassment when Etienne dined downstairs.”

  “What has Chef Aaron prepared for this evening?”

  Giselle wasn’t really listening. She had to th
ink. Jean-Claude was evil, filthy, foul-smelling, and something else — he was cunning. She’d spoken out against him already, and the look in his eyes promised retribution. And she didn’t even have Navarre—.

  “Bonjour, Giselle. You look wonderful this evening. My compliments.”

  As if she’d conjured him up, the moment she thought of him, he greeted her. Giselle composed her features before turning.

  “It’s lovely to see you again…Navarre.”

  What began as a simple greeting ended on a sobbed note. Giselle barely restrained it. Esmee was watching, and so was the manservant who opened the door for Navarre to enter. She had no choice. She looked at him.

  He was wearing harlequin red-orange breeches, white stockings, and a black frock coat. His dark blond hair was neatly tied back, and a small diamond stick pin sparkled from his snowy jabot. Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked them away. She knew he was the most handsome man in existence, so why did it always take her by surprise?

  “You’re well?” He bowed over the hand she hadn’t realized she’d held out.

  This was monstrous. Jean-Claude was due back any moment Marguerite, Aunt Mimi, and our guests will be arriving, and she couldn’t even quell the quivers that touched the garters holding Louisa’s embroidered stockings in place above her knees. The warmth of his storm-colored eyes touched hers, and Giselle looked aside quickly.

  “Well enough. Merci.” She whispered her answer to the blue-flecked wall and found room to breathe again once he dropped her hand.

  “It’s wonderful of you to condescend to join us this evening, Navarre.” There was strong sarcasm in Esmee’s words. Giselle watched him walk toward her to bow formally before he answered again.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this evening for all of France, my dearest Esmee. Not even for all the world.”

  There was a strong lilt in his voice as he said it, and Giselle pinched her hands together to avoid holding them to her cheeks. She suspected she was as pale as Bertina’s ghost, and she still had to face all the evening’s festivities.

  “I had no idea you held our fine mayor, Ambross, in such high regard, Navarre,” Esmee continued. “I placed him in your normal position beside Giselle. I can have him moved closer to you, if you like.”

  “No!” Giselle said abruptly. Navarre started, and she blushed when he looked toward her. “It’s too late to change the arrangements, Esmee, and I’ll find conversing with the mayor enlightening. Please don’t change a thing.”

  To her surprise, Navarre chuckled, then turned back to Esmee. “It’s all arranged then. Is there a cordial available? I feel parched of a sudden.”

  He poured a small amount of brandy into a snifter and swirled it to coat the glass and disperse the aroma. The movement looked sensuous, and Giselle wasn’t certain of the meaning of the word. His long, slender fingers wrapped about the glass stem, then his lips pushed against the crystal, and his throat moved as he swallowed.

  Giselle swallowed too, sucking on her bottom lip as she watched. She was even more thankful he wasn’t going to be sitting beside her. She was in danger of being mesmerized. It was shameful, and yet it was exciting, too. She couldn’t look down fast enough when Esmee cleared her throat.

  How was she to get through the evening, and it had barely started! Years of training in the intricacies of proper dining etiquette saved her. She realized it as the meal progressed. She kept stiffly upright in her chair and acted the perfect hostess, although Ambross was a complete bore.

  But it wasn’t the mayor that she was posturing for.

  Jean-Claude had usurped Etienne’s place, facing her, and Giselle caught his gaze on her often. Each time, she studiously ignored him. She was more than grateful that Navarre wasn’t beside her. He’d been right. If Jean-Claude suspected how they felt, he’d have a terrible weapon.

  It was a wearisome affair, and Giselle was relieved when it was finally over.

  They adjourned to the Red Salon for after-dinner drinks. She sat with a glass of wine in her hand and waited until she could escape upstairs. She was worse than weary. She was exhausted. She hadn’t known pretentious behavior was so draining.

  Giselle had acted well, though. She’d done her duty with an exactitude that Louisa couldn’t fault. She’d made sure Jean-Claude dressed appropriately, and that the servants deported themselves correctly. Everything seemed to be in place. Even Esmee kept up a steady chatter as if entertaining a suitor, and not the mayor.

  “I find the entire affair a waste of my time,” Jean-Claude said, drawing everyone’s attention to his complaint. “Here I am, the prodigal son returned, and my esteemed brother, the duc, doesn’t even attend his own gathering and converse with me.”

  “Perhaps he hasn’t recovered from his injuries enough, yet,” Esmee said in the silence that followed Jean-Claude’s remarks.

  “I heard of His Grace’s unfortunate accident. Is he well?” Mayor Ambross’ many chins waggled as he asked it.

  Giselle decided to drink some of her wine instead of simply holding it.

  “You’ll have to ask the duchesse that, my good man,” Jean-Claude said. “I haven’t been allowed in to see him, although Navarre mentioned his recovery this very morning.”

  Despite her best intentions, Giselle whitened at the reminder of Navarre’s desertion. The sip of burgundy pained as she choked it down. She looked for a place to set her goblet. That had been foolish. She couldn’t possibly swallow around the lump that was settled into her throat. She’d already proved it during dinner, when she pretended to eat and hoped the mayor wouldn’t notice.

  “If you’re asking of Etienne,” Navarre spoke for her. “He’s recuperating well. It will still be some time before he can join us again. He has asked for his privacy, and to be alone with his duchesse. I believe she bolts the doors. I’m certain Etienne regrets missing your company, Ambross, and I know I speak for him when I extend the invitation for a later date.”

  Although he spoke to the mayor, everyone knew who his words were for. Giselle watched Jean-Claude gulp his wine.

  Some of Navarre’s words had been meant for her, too. She was being instructed to bolt her doors, allowing no one to enter. Even Navarre.

  She’d forced herself not to look at him all evening, but her resolve broke. Navarre stood, leaning against the mantel, his open coat draping to his knees, and the diamond stick pin catching light from the candelabra. His dark blond hair was pulled back so severely, it made his nose look even longer. He was avoiding her glance by studying the liquor in his glass.

  He didn’t need to tell her about duty. It was one of the words she hated anymore.

  ~

  Navarre hadn’t mentioned how beautiful the view was in the moonlight. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it that way. Giselle shoved the drapes all the way open and pushed on the window latch, opening it. Her room didn’t have the full view of Etienne’s, but she saw the side of the valley. It was enough. And if she wanted a better look, she could always go back into his chamber.

  Giselle leaned over the balcony, looking at the blackness below her. Isabelle had tried to argue with her, but Giselle had insisted the door would be bolted after the servants left. Henri had looked up and smiled from his chair in the hall before Giselle shut and bolted the door.

  The pale blue dress she would wear the next day was sent to the kitchens for ironing, but for once Giselle wasn’t happy to see Gerty sent off with it. It had left her alone with Louisa. Giselle knew Louisa expected her to explain things, and she had left disappointed. Giselle was determined to remain silent.

  She reached up to undo some of the pins in her hair, knowing Isabelle would raise her eyebrows at Giselle’s actions in the morning. They’d spent a lot of time curling, pinning, and arranging the duchesse’s hair to look elegant tonight. Giselle should have felt grateful, instead of being so horribly lonely.

  There was a sound in Etienne’ s chamber. Giselle turned to it for a moment, but it wasn’t repeated. She could check again, but bot
h times she had, the bolt was still in place, and he slept heavily.

  Moonlight threaded through the mist, while the trees bordering the vineyard cast a long enough shadow to reach the gardens below. It was beautiful, cold and austere, as if awaiting the warmth daylight would bring.

  Giselle shivered. She should’ve wrapped a dressing gown about herself before venturing out onto the balcony, especially since she wore one of her sheer nightgowns again. Louisa smiled when Giselle had told Isabelle to leave the stockings in place. It seemed silly, now. Perhaps she had wanted to feel feminine and beautiful in the immensity of her own bed. It was a wasted effort. The only thing the bed looked was large and lonely.

  How could she face an entire lifetime of this?

  Giselle knew now what emotion made each breath shallow and quick-paced as she studied the view. It was a desperate sort of longing. She longed for Navarre’s kisses and ached for his touch. With almost savage hands, she ripped the lace at her throat and yanked her ribbons free. This was an unbearable emotion, and it would always be so.

  She had the nightgown opened almost to her breasts before her fumbling made it impossible to continue. The night blurred, and she clenched at her stomach. It burned as she forced the sobs back, and even that didn’t work.

  Giselle stifled the deep whimpers and folded in half as she did so. If this was a foretaste of her nights, she’d rather die.

  “It’s too cold out here, Giselle, my love.”

  Navarre’s whisper? Here?

  “Why do you weep? I’ve come, and I find you not in the warm bed awaiting me, but shivering with cold on the balcony. Giselle? Darling?”

  Hard arms lifted her against him. Navarre’s arms. He was here! He’d come!

  Giselle pressed into him, shuddering while he held her. He moved them back into the chamber…placed her on the bed. Navarre had come to her!

  “You must let me go to shut the window, love.”

  “Non! Please don’t make me!”