“What?” Coquette asked. A strange sensation had begun to creep into Coquette’s mind and body. The feel of icy fingers at her spine, the hair on her neck seemed to bristle with a strange prickle.
“Well, I do not know what you mean to say, Father,” Inez began, “but it was Coquette who brought this on you, so then I am glad it is Coquette’s hand that saved you—whatever that means.”
“What do you mean, Father?” Coquette asked. “How was it I saved you?”
Coquette frowned as her father took her hands in his. She fancied his smile was that of joy but could not fathom why such threats and accusations from this dark Lord of Roanan could end in her father’s delight.
“The Lord of Roanan is wealthy, Coquette,” he answered. “Wealthy beyond imagination! And he asks only one favor. Only one simple stipulation and I am freed of danger.”
“And…and what might the stipulation be, Father?” Coquette asked in an apprehensive whisper.
“As I said, he owns great wealth and property,” Antoine continued, “but has no wife with whom to share such blessings.”
“What?” Coquette exclaimed, pulling her hands from her father’s grasp. “Do you mean to say—”
“It is wonderful, in truth, Coquette,” Antoine interrupted, “for I have worried so long over your well-being, over seeing you girls cared for before I am old…or dead.”
“Father,” Coquette gasped in a whisper. “You do not mean to say—”
“You will be wife to the Lord of Roanan, Coquette!” he exclaimed. “Your every want, your every need and desire…the pure fruition of it all!”
“But I want no things, Father!” Coquette exclaimed. “I want no possessions! I have little need.”
“Jewels, Coquette! Gowns, feasts, servants! All of it shall be yours,” Antoine told her. “You will want for nothing! You will not ever suffer.”
“I want no jewels, no gowns, no feasts! The only want I ever had was lost years ago, Father! Or do you not remember it? When you so easily give me over to a stranger…do you not remember my only true want, my only true need? A stranger, Father! You make to give me over to a stranger, a man I have never had any association with, no knowledge of! And yet, three years ago, you—”
“Is my life worth so little to you then, Coquette?” he asked.
Coquette was momentarily struck mute. Of course her father’s life was of value to her! How could he ask it? Yet to leave her home, to wed a stranger—a stranger cruel enough to have threatened to take her father’s life in payment for a rose. It was madness!
“Of c-course not, Father,” Coquette stammered.
“It is all your fault in the first of it, Coquette,” Dominique cried. “You and your want of a rose! Would that you were a kind, caring daughter and had asked for a new gown instead of a rose, which now sees Father’s life in danger and our security and well-being threatened!”
“Why should Coquette get to marry this wealthy lord, Father?” Inez asked. “I am the eldest! I should be first to wed!”
“And what of Henry Weatherby, Inez?” Coquette asked. Her sister’s shallow character yet astonished her.
“Henry Weatherby? Who is Henry Weatherby when the Lord of Roanan seeks a wife?” Inez laughed. “I shall go in Coquette’s stay, Father. I shall marry the Lord of Roanan and save your life.”
For a moment Coquette was sickeningly relieved. Her sister desired wealth and position. Love and companionship meant little to her. Then let Inez marry this dark lord.
“No,” Antoine said. “It must be Coquette. He means the youngest of you four to be wife to him, and I dare not attempt deception. It must be Coquette.”
Coquette felt tears filling her eyes. She looked to her father, at once astonished by the happy countenance on his face. How could this be? A stranger? Valor Lionhardt had been no stranger to her. Valor Lionhardt had possessed wealth and position. Valor had stood to inherit greatly, his father being a titled man. Handsome, kind, and strong, Valor Lionhardt had won her love many years before. Further, he had won respect and earned a fine reputation, in spite of his father’s antics and low character. Valor Lionhardt had been a gentleman—heroic, courageous, and brave, a man whose very moral fiber was reflected in the definition of his name—Valor. Coquette had loved him—loved him more than her own life. And yet when the day had come, when Valor had asked Coquette’s father for her hand, her father had flatly refused. Stating the bad character of Valor’s father as his reason, Antoine de Bellamont had refused Valor’s proposal of Coquette’s hand in marriage.
Coquette had been devastated! Her love, her heart, her Valor—refused permission by her father. Coquette’s heart broke when Valor hastily quit Bostchelan. Within the hour, he quit it and her. She knew this, for she planned to rebel, ignore her father’s word, and run away to Valor. Sobbing, she had packed a small valise and secretly made her way to Valor’s family home, only to find Valor Lionhardt had vanished.
For three years, Coquette regretted Valor—regretted not going to him at once, regretted taking the time to pack a valise. Even still, her body ached to be in his arms; even still, her dreams were haunted with visions of his handsome face, his playful manner, his very existence. And now, her father was asking her to wed a stranger?
For a moment, she did not care if her father was run through by the Lord of Roanan’s sword. For a moment, she hated her father for stripping her of her true love, whom he deemed unworthy, only to promise her hand to a man who would threaten to take his life over the plucking of a rose.
“You will go, of course, Coquette,” Dominique said, “for we need Father! We cannot exist without him. This is your fault! You put us all in danger for the sake of a rose.”
Coquette felt the beautiful lavender rose slip from her hand. She sensed it fall to the earth as she looked at her sisters and her father. It was true enough—her vain and shallow sisters were helpless. What would become of them if her father were taken? She looked to her father as well. He valued wealth and position. Valor had not possessed enough of either in her father’s eyes. Yet this strange, malevolent Lord of Roanan possessed enough of both? It would see her father happy, proud in the union. No doubt he would brag to all those in Bostchelan of his daughter Coquette and her wealthy and titled husband. Even for her resentment, her astonishment, Coquette loved her father and her sisters. She could not see her father murdered, her sisters homeless. In the end, she had been the one to ask for the rose.
“Then I will go,” Coquette said. Tears spilled from her eyes as her father clapped his hands together with joy. Dominique and Inez breathed relieved sighs. Only Elise did not seem merry.
“You must leave at first light tomorrow,” Antoine said. “This is the Lord of Roanan’s own stipulation. If you are not there by sun’s set tomorrow, he will come for me.”
“Tomorrow?” Coquette cried. “But, Father…how am I to prepare? What am I to take? I cannot possibly—”
“It is his word. Tomorrow before sun’s set,” he interrupted. “And fear not, my sweet Coquette,” he continued, taking her shoulders between his hands, “there is nothing you must take. The Lord of Roanan will provide for your every need.”
“Father,” Elise said at last, “surely you cannot mean for Coquette to do this thing!”
“She has chosen it herself,” Antoine said. “It has been your choice—has it not, Coquette?”
Coquette stood silent—unable to speak, unable to move, unable to fathom what was before her.
“Take this gown, Father,” Elise said, thrusting her new gown into her father’s hands. “I do not want it. We will do without. We will run away and hide ourselves from this Lord of Roanan. We will hide from him and Coquette with us.”
“Do not be absurd, Elise!” Inez said. “We will not hide. All of this is Coquette’s fault! It falls to Coquette to make amends. Poor Father.” Inez reached out, linking her arm through her father’s.
“Yes! Poor Father,” Dominique said, linking her arm through her father’s oth
er arm. “How frightened you must have been. How worried for our sake. We are so fortunate to have such a selfless father…that he would risk his very life in pursuit of a single rose for his daughter.”
“There, there, darlings,” Antoine said, smiling first at Inez and then Dominique. “I knew you girls would understand it all.”
“Father!” Elise breathed. “Surely you cannot force Coquette to—”
“She has chosen to go,” Inez interrupted. “The rose was for her. The Lord of Roanan demanded she come to him. She has chosen this, Elise.”
“Coquette?” Elise asked, turning to look at Coquette.
Coquette looked at each sister in turn. Vain, shallow, and diseased with selfishness, she loved them yet. She smiled at Elise. Always it was Elise who walked the blade between vanity and good nature. Of all her sisters, she loved Elise best, for in Elise there was hope—hope in a fine man eventually taking her to wife and drawing out her good nature forever.
If for no one else save Elise, she must go. Coquette knew her sisters would fall into ruination without her father. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to push the vision of her lost love from her mind. With the simple request of a rose, her path had been set, and she could not deviate from it without causing death to come to her father and ruination spilling onto her sisters. Inez spoke the truth. Coquette had chosen to go.
“I will go, Elise,” she said. “And…and all will be well. I am to be a wealthy and titled lady,” she added, forcing a smile, even as tears trickled over her lovely cheeks.
“You care nothing for wealth and titles,” Elise said, throwing her arms around Coquette’s neck.
“I care for you,” Coquette whispered.
“Then it is settled,” Antoine said. “You leave at daybreak, Coquette. And who is to say…” he began, releasing Inez and Dominique and taking Coquette’s hands in his own as he smiled at her. “Who is to say this will not be the making of you—you, Coquette de Bellamont, Lady of Roanan? Who is to say this is not meant to be your destiny? ”
“Yes, Father,” Coquette said, forcing a smile. “Who is to say it is not?”
“There! We are all of us better now. Are we not?” he asked, smiling with utter contentment and joy. “Now, off with you girls. Let me see you in those gowns.”
Coquette studied her father, awed at the twinkle and pure delight in his eyes as he watched Inez and Dominique skip off in giggles—as he nodded at Elise as she retrieved her own gown and left.
“There now, Coquette,” Antoine said. “Your sisters are happy—happy and safe. And it is all thanks be to you.”
“Yes, Father,” Coquette mumbled.
“Oh, do not be so fearful, Coquette,” Antoine said, embracing her. “You are to be the wealthy Lady of Roanan. What better fortune and future for you I could not fathom!”
“Yes, Father,” Coquette said, returning his embrace. She would leave him on the morrow. She hugged him, never wanting to release him, inhaling deeply the scent of him—the scent of tobacco and the sea.
“I must be off to attend your sisters,” he said, releasing her and pinching her cheek as if she were merely a child. “I’ll leave you to prepare for your trip.”
Coquette watched him go. She frowned, allowing herself to release more tears, to sob. Dropping to her knees, she buried her face in her hands as fear and anxiety overwhelmed her.
To travel to an unfamiliar township—to marry a stranger—how could it all be so? After several long moments, she raised her head from her hands, her gaze falling to the lavender rose, which now lay abandoned on the floor.
“I am lost,” she whispered. “And all for the want of a rose.”
The Lion’s Lair
Following her father’s dreadful revelation, Coquette endured the night with tears and trembling as her only companions. Now, as the rising sun cast brilliant pinks and purples over the horizon, Coquette sat in her father’s coach traveling toward Roanan and whatever destiny lay in wait.
The morning air was cool, indicating summer was making ready to leave. Reluctant to further challenge the beauty and glory of impending autumn, summer would soon be gone. Coquette wondered what autumn would bring to Roanan. She could not imagine any place rivaling the beauty of autumn by the sea. Surely, such a place as Roanan could not compare. The colors of autumn sprinkled through the trees and fields of Bostchelan were breathtaking. Coquette was loath to miss the season by the sea. It was yet another motive for her mind to induce anxiety.
The hills and valleys, trees and grasses passed quickly, and all too soon the sun sat low in the sky. Coquette’s hands began trembling as the coach rumbled along through a town. Though she had seen no sign declaring it to be so, Coquette felt this was Roanan. Many curious sets of eyes looked after the coach as it passed. Coquette tried to dislike them. She tried not to think of the rather quaint, cozy appearance of the old buildings, tried not to notice the kind nods to the coachman, the sweet, tiny hands of the children waving to them as they passed. There could be only dark and evil in a place whose titled lord would threaten to kill her father for the sake of a rose. And yet the warm evening sunshine flooding the streets with radiance seemed to be reflected with pure resplendence in the faces of the cheerful passersby.
Billings, the coachman, pulled the team to a halt and called to an elderly man sitting contentedly on a nearby tree stump. “Which way to Roanan Manor House, if you please, sir?” Billings asked.
“Straightaway two mile,” the old man answered, smiling.
“Thank you, sir,” Billings said as the coach lurched forward.
Coquette’s heart began to hammer with such force it caused her pain. Two miles—two miles and she would be at Roanan Manor House. Two miles and might she see the garden from which her father took the rose? Two miles and she would be lost—lost to everyone and everything.
Soon the town was behind them. Trees, grasses, wildflowers, and small animals of every sort embellished the lush, green landscape. There were scents lingering in the air—sweet fragrances Coquette did not recognize. Had she not been so miserable in her anxiety, Coquette would have enjoyed the two miles from Roanan town to Roanan Manor. Yet angst was her only companion, and as the coach traveled, her innards began to twist and turn.
And then, all at once it was there! Roanan Manor was in view, and Coquette felt her own jaw drop in awe, for it was indeed beautiful! The strong stone wall her father spoke of was like a fortress, yet softened by the thick ivy growing over most of it. And there, on the east wall, were the roses—a profusion of lovely lavender—and Coquette fancied she sensed their familiar perfume.
The house was indeed grand—enormous, strong, and built of stone with many, many windows. And then, suddenly, they were before her—the rose-bound iron gates of Roanan Manor.
“It is Roanan Manor, Miss Coquette,” Billings shouted.
Coquette could only nod as the coach passed through the gates and into the most elaborate, most exquisite gardens Coquette had ever seen. Roses of every sort and color thrived there—most of all the lavender rose! Trees and flowers of every kind were blended together, creating a world only before seen in the dreams of fairies.
So beautiful were the gardens of Roanan Manor, Coquette experienced a momentary reprieve from her biting anxiety. Still, the respite was fleeting, and Coquette laced her fingers in an effort to still the frightened trembling of her hands.
The coach stopped before a massive work of stone stairs leading to the large oak doors of the manor house. Coquette swallowed hard, feeling as if her heart had been residing in her throat for some time.
All too soon, Billings climbed down from his coachman’s seat to open the coach door for her.
“Roanan Manor House, Miss de Bellamont,” Billings said, offering her his hand.
Coquette took his hand and, with deep trepidation, stepped out of the conveyance.
As Billings pulled her small trunk from the top of the coach, she glanced to the house to see a man and woman descending the sto
ne steps together. Her heart’s already rapid beat only increased as her attention lingered on the man. He bore the straight posture and severe expression of some great battle commander. By his weathered face and graying hair, Coquette judged his age to be near her father’s. Her knees began to weaken. She had not considered the age of the man she was to marry. She had tried not to consider the man at all, but to see him now—standing before her so stern and middle-aged—it terrified her all the more.
“You are come from Bostchelan?” the woman asked. She was a mature woman, perhaps of the age Coquette’s mother may have been had she lived. She wore her graying blonde hair pulled up high and tight.
“Yes, ma’am,” Billings said. “My name is Billings. I have brought the Miss de Bellamont.”
The woman came to stand before Coquette, frowning at first, then smiling as if some great wave of relief had only just washed over her.
“Welcome to Roanan Manor House, Miss de Bellamont,” the woman greeted. “I am Victoria. I am housemistress here.”
“I-I am pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Coquette stammered, barely managing a curtsy. She could not help but look from the woman to the older man, a wave of new fear causing her to visibly tremble.
“And this is Godfrey,” Victoria said, “the Lord of Roanan’s first-man.”
The man called Godfrey reached out, taking Coquette’s hand in his own. With a rather stiff bow, he bent, placing his forehead to the back of Coquette’s hand.
“Your servant, miss,” Godfrey said, straightening to his perfect posture once more.
“We will take care of her from here…Billings, was it?” Victoria asked, looking to Billings.
“Yes, ma’am,” Billings said. “Goodbye then, miss,” he added.
“Goodbye, Billings,” Coquette managed. Somehow she restrained her tears, kept herself from throwing herself into Billings’s arms and begging him not to leave her.
The Whispered Kiss Page 3