"We don't employ enough as it is?" Catherine asked.
"I leave the specifics up to someone else. That is what staff is for, my dear. Heloise has a fine hand in planning such events. Of course, her duties have been somewhat neglected in favor of attending to you."
"Of whom were you speaking?" Catherine asked, having lost the content of his words as she tried to analyze his motives.
"Heloise. Her attention to you has taken her from her other responsibilities."
"I don't think I need all the attention. I feel strong."
"Perhaps you do need her to protect you from yourself. You might attempt to do too much, and Heloise will keep a check on your ambitions," he laughed. Robert stood, careful not to jostle Catherine as he did so. How odd it was to be treated like something fragile and valuable. The consideration was a strong contrast to the way he had ordered Malcolm to handle her.
"You are probably right." Let him think that he knew best.
"I have a friend from Paris here," he explained, "and I must meet him in the library. We have to make plans for the stable he will be building on his land. I did wonder, though, if Monsieur Dauterive was acceptable."
Catherine's face brightened at the mention of the dressmaker she had spent most of her morning with. "Acceptable? He is delightful! He brought the most beautiful fabrics and has the funniest manners. I am quite thankful for your thoughtfulness in engaging him."
Robert looked pleased at her burst of enthusiasm.
"I am quite beside myself to discover what he will make for me," she continued. "I fear I will feel like a daisy in a hothouse when he is through."
"Do not fear that a beautiful dress will overpower you. You will quite outshine anything he might create for you, I'm sure." With that declaration, Robert turned abruptly and left Catherine bemused by the compliment. Why did he feel the need to say something a swain might say to his quarry when he had her firmly in his clutches? Was her condition inspiring him to new stirrings of romance? If so, she knew it was quite counterfeit and must be careful not to interpret it any other way, lest she herself begin to feel something other than a growing hatred for the man who had imprisoned her in this locked room and forced her to maintain the devious fiction she had undertaken.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Every morning of the week leading up to the party, Heloise chaperoned Catherine to the drawing room to meet Monsieur Dauterive and Jacques.
The first morning, Monsieur Dauterive fit muslin pattern pieces to her, stretching them artfully on her body and pinning them. He held straight pins in his pinched mouth, but the accessories didn't keep him from talking as he mechanically reached out to Jacques, who would hand his master a piece of muslin, and then pinned the fabric in place. Catherine heard more about Monsieur Dauterive's acquaintances in Paris and London that first morning than she had heard about the Picard's extended family the whole time she had been in residence at Lac d'Or.
The second morning, Jacques handed Monsieur Dauterive pieces cut from the gorgeous fabrics she had heretofore only seen on the bolts. Standing as still as she could, she was able to see a plan emerge, the lovely chocolate brown satin forming an underskirt, a stiff, coppery material belling out over it, an embroidered golden length forming the waist, and an almost flesh toned toile molded into a fichu at her neck.
"Monsieur Dauterive, you must keep me modest," she exclaimed teasingly.
"What you have is worth displaying, and Monsieur Picard will want everyone to see what beautiful merchandise he has acquired." His teasing tone told her he meant what he said in jest, but his jape was truth.
Trying to maintain the light tone, she asked, "What will Heloise be wearing?"
"I won't be dining with you, madame, so of course there is no need for me to alter my customary ensemble," Heloise said. She had brought darning and sat on a low chair in a corner. "Those of us who aren't serving will be enjoying a festive meal of our own. We don't need finery in our little refectory."
The mood returned, and Monsieur Dauterive busily tacked the gorgeous yardage together on Catherine, stepping back occasionally to get the whole effect and batting Jacques away from the platform on which she stood.
Each day the dress became more of a whole, first the luscious underskirt she would wear over her personal linens, and then the waist, which drew to a point at her midsection.
One morning, tugging at the basque, Monsieur Dauterive said quietly, "I hope I am not discomforting you and the Picard heir, madame."
"Oh, no. I feel fine. The material is firm but not restrictive."
"If I have reason to be more careful, please tell me." Monsieur Dauterive arched an eyebrow at her, and then called to Heloise, who had dropped off to sleep in the corner, "We require some libations. I believe Madame Picard is somewhat thirsty. Can you fetch us something?"
Heloise stirred and nodded sleepily, hauling herself out of the short-legged chair and nearly stumbling out of the room. When she was gone, Dauterive turned to Catherine.
"There is no heir, is there?"
She knew it was fruitless to lie. She replied, simply, "No."
He nodded.
"I had to tell—"
"Please. There is no need to share your secrets with me. I am an only the dressmaker, and I will be gone long before your ruse is discovered. I only mention it because it is obvious in our close quarters, and I fear that if it is important certain people believe you to be expecting, you may encounter some difficulties in carrying out your little charade."
"I must confide in you, or you will think me the villain in this piece!"
Dauterive inclined his head in assent, but looked at the door to make sure it was closed fast. Jacques was busy in another corner, so Catherine began her tale sotto voce, adjusting for the dimensions of the room to keep from being heard.
"I have been misled. My husband does not love me; he only loves the idea of my being an incubator for his heir. He was angry with me, and I feared for my safety. To save myself, I told him about my condition. You do not know the terror of trying to act it out. I fear Heloise as well. She is a nurse, not just a servant. She will surely find out before my husband. But her loyalties are to him, and I know that once she discovers my secret, I will be in more danger than ever." Catherine's quiet relation of the facts of her predicament impressed Dauterive. He nodded, this time in understanding.
"Your story inspires my pity, even though tales of this kind are more common than you know. Pity will not help you, though. What can I do to help?"
Catherine knew the folly of acting on impulse, but she acted anyway. "If I can write a letter, will you deliver it?"
"I will not be leaving until the day after the dinner. Will that be soon enough?"
"Two days? I hope I can hold off any suspicions for two more days. I have no access to paper or quill right now, however."
"I am sure that I can send Heloise on enough useless errands to secure the necessary tools for your use here in my studio," he said. "I think you should wait until the last possible minute to write the letter. If it were lying around, it might be discovered."
"Then I shall continue to meet with you each morning just as we have been. The day after tomorrow, the morning of the dinner, I will pen my note and you can pack it along with all your tools. No one will know of it and you can deliver it to my parents with impunity." Catherine wanted to clap her hands in triumph over laying out such a clever plan. She repented of the cynicism she had recently felt and wondered at Monsieur Dauterive's willingness to help her. "They may have had no news of me at all, and I have to let them know of my plan to escape."
"It is done," Dauterive said just as Heloise returned with a collation tray filled with a heavy silver service as well as a basket of tender muffins still steaming from their sojourn in the oven.
"The dress is done? How quickly you work!" Heloise placed the tray on a table. Jacques abandoned his task in the corner to join the others for refreshment.
"No, I only used a shorthand phrase
to affirm that I will, indeed, include the bees and thistles that decorated madame's wedding gown in the stitching on this one."
"I venture that the day of our great dinner party is as auspicious as the Picard's wedding day," Heloise said, sipping her tea. "I know the master is very excited that Lac d'Or may once again become the center of social intercourse here in our little corner of the world."
"He does not flatter himself in wishing it to be so, as it is all too likely his wish will come true. You know of the Duchess de Conti, of course? One is supposed to value her opinion quite highly, I'm told," Dauterive said, teasing Heloise with a bit of the gossip she so relished. With her eager nod, he continued, "I will say that she was quite complimentary of the plans the master has made to entertain. Quite complimentary."
"What had she heard?" Heloise knew gossip about the dinner was gossip about what she had planned.
"She heard the meal was to be quite extensive and would include some treats rarely seen in these parts. Chef is reputed to be an artist with sugar, and the Duchess and her friends are all looking forward to what creations he will reveal at the end of the meal."
"Yes, he is very talented that way," Heloise agreed.
"If his sugar work mirrors current fashion in feminine coiffure, I'm sure the desserts will reach unexpected heights, both literally and figuratively."
The laughter that Dauterive's jest inspired was cathartic for Catherine, who was already excited about the plan the two had discussed. Knowing that a person she could trust would get word to her parents about her impending escape from Lac d'Or, she could focus on the means to achieve her freedom.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning of the dinner party, Heloise and Catherine made their way down the stairs as they had every morning and met Monsieur Dauterive in his workroom. Once he was gone, Catherine thought, the room, although returned to its original appearance, would never seem as festive as it did when the odd foursome met and worked on the dress.
The dress was astounding. The underskirt was loose, but gathered in by the tight waist that had prompted Dauterive's inquiry into Catherine's condition. The material peeking out from beneath the waist was embroidered with tiny bees and thistles. Catherine could not imagine how someone had completed the intricate little figures in so little time. The threads had not been there on Thursday, when she had last seen the ensemble.
Once Heloise and Dauterive had Catherine in the dress, she stood in front of the three-paned mirror, her eyes widening in disbelief. Even with her natural hair hanging in a loose tail over her shoulder, even with her face bare of any cosmetics, the dress made her beautiful. Dauterive had selected the fabrics carefully to enhance her natural complexion, knowing that her hair would be piled and powdered for the dinner party. Even more, he had chosen the materials framing her face so that they cast a golden light that made her skin glow and her eyes sparkle.
"I can't imagine what impact this dress will have in our ballroom if it stuns me in this poorly lit cave of a room." Catherine turned back and forth, trying to get a glimpse of the back.
"The back is quite innovative, madame. The collar stands up at the nape of the neck, and the material flows from the shoulders without restriction. I'm sure you won't find anything about the dress uncomfortable in the least."
"You are a true artist. Thank you for letting me wear your masterpiece," she sighed, ceasing her fidgeting to face the dressmaker.
"It has been an honor to have another masterpiece to dress. Sadly, I must begin my preparations for my trip home. We will hang this dress in your room, and then after your bath, I will come assist you in dressing. In fact," he said, turning to Heloise, "you may carry it up as soon as we have Madame Picard disrobed." Without waiting for her assent, he began to remove the dress and hand it, piece by piece, to the servant.
Peering at her feet and taking careful steps so as not to trip over the dress, Heloise left the room.
"So simple it was almost no challenge at all," Dauterive said under his breath. Then louder, "Jacques, try to find that simple manservant who helped us set up our workroom. We'll need him now to disassemble everything." At his words, another security risk left, and Catherine and Harcourt were alone in the room. Pawing through a box that sat on the long table by the bolts of material, he found a sheet of paper, a bottle of ink, and a pen, all of which he handed to Catherine. She took them and pushed material on the long cutting able aside and began to write the letter she hoped would bring her freedom.
My dear Parents:
I do not know whether the previous letters I have penned have reached you. I write to tell you that the marriage we all had such hopes for is not what it appeared to be, and my husband is keeping me prisoner and dominating me in word and deed to the extent that I must seek release from this terrible life. I plan to make my escape and find my way back to you.
She signed her name and folded the paper. "My father advised me to emulate the butcher when writing and cut to the bone."
Heloise's entrance found Dauterive and Catherine laughing. She joined in, saying, "I always find you a jolly pair when I return from a little errand. You must assure me that I am not the mark of your laughter."
"No, we are not laughing at you," Catherine assured her. "We were simply reviewing the grand times we've had here in the salon. I do not know what we will do for entertainment when Monsieur Dauterive leaves."
"I warrant the child that will be arriving won't let you think of entertainment, madame," Heloise said.
"I only tried to make a good impression so that you would be sure to invite me back for another visit," Monsieur Dauterive commented. "While you are enjoying your dinner, madame, and Heloise hers, I will be packing. I shall gather my possessions and steal away like a Bedouin folding his tent and moving on."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The five couples dining at Lac d'Or with its master and mistress found a dining room transfigured by candlelight. Every surface that could hold a candle held one, and there was so much light, the shadows lost the battle. In the flickering gaiety, Catherine once again examined the elaborate friezes over each mantel. Before, she had seen Psyche twisting away from Eros as playful; now, she saw the grimace on the girl's face. She tried to make her own face blank so as not to betray her true feelings at being the mistress of this entertainment.
Even with a blank face, Catherine made so remarkable a figure that several of the guests commented on the exceptional beauty the master of Lac d'Or had taken for a wife. The dress Monsieur Dauterive had crafted for her not only fit her perfectly, it shone in the room like no other woman's costume. Catherine was a torch among the women who had affected ordinary blue and gray silks, and the precious metal colors of her gown warmed her skin so it glowed with health.
"Picard, how did you manage to grab the most beautiful rose in the garden? How did the rest of us miss her?" an especially florid-featured guest, the Duke of Cray-Hubert, asked.
Robert shook the man's hand as he made his way into the dining room, responding with a short nod, his lips briefly turning up at the corners to acknowledge the bon mot.
Madame Cray-Hubert offered her cheek for Robert to kiss and the same to Catherine, leaning in to whisper, "You do brighten the room tonight, my dear. Your husband must be so proud."
Catherine did not see pride on Robert's face. She saw a tension she could not explain. She wondered if the need to impress the august guests had made him nervous. His terse responses to their company as he welcomed them to the table belied the excitement he had professed to as he went over and over the details of preparation leading up the event.
Berdine had refused the invitation to the party, protesting that an odd number unbalanced the table and that it was Catherine's role to sit as mistress.
Once all the guests had been seated, a subtle signal brought in the servants with the first course. As Robert had promised, the ratio of servant to guest was such that each diner enjoyed personal attention, beginning with a bowl of a velvety seafood concoctio
n borne in by a separate manservant. After lifting the cloche that covered each serving, the servants stepped back and waited against the wall until it was time to clear away and bring in the next course.
The conversation around the table was convivial, but Catherine listened more than she spoke. The knowledge that a letter would soon be on its way to her parents lightened her spirits, but she didn't know enough about the guests to indulge in anything but the most superficial exchanges, and her concerns kept her from their enthusiasms about the current court gossip and the difficulties of their idle lives.
As important as the dinner was for Robert's fortunes, given the presence of the esteemed advisor to the king and his wife in addition to more familiar aristocrats, his manners lacked the polish he usually displayed. Catherine saw his face cloud every time he looked at her and noticed when he had to ask his most honored guests to repeat themselves.
Soon enough, a second course arrived. Once the soup plates had been removed, a plate with a mousse de foie gras was placed in front of each guest.
"The selection of wines is delightful," the woman on her right commented. "Where did you find something so light? Not a touch of acid in it, very smooth, almost breathing it's so alive."
"You'll have to ask my husband. He is the master of such matters." Catherine tried to remember the woman's name. Her emotional state had distracted her during the introductions. It came to her when she saw how the candles on the mantle made a halo around the woman's head. Lucie! The bringer of light.
"A knowledge of wine is the true hallmark of a truly sophisticated person," the woman continued. "I don't allow a wine to be served if I don't know its complete history and provenance. Of course, my husband does the buying, and I trust him implicitly, but I cannot enjoy a meal if the wine remains anonymous."
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