Thomas wrapped his arms around his daughter, visibly relieved that she was unharmed. Though Édouard Barré had been gone for quite some time, the sight reminded Rose of how much she still grieved for his loss. Other than during the brief period before her uncle’s true nature was revealed, she had not had the luxury of mourning for her beloved father. Since that time, life had not allowed for her to indulge her emotions. As she saw the exhausted girl enfolded in her father’s loving arms, she felt a slight twinge of envy for that same embrace and protection she’d longed for so often over the past nine years.
CHAPTER 30
Nicole
September 1671
Needing a break from the preparations for the ball, Nicole took her carriage out to see her family’s new farm. Thomas Deschamps looked out over virgin fields gifted to him by his son-in-law with a glint of excitement in his eyes. In the years before she left France, Nicole had seen those warm eyes filled with defeat and exhaustion far too often. Now, she delighted in the potential and possibility he saw.
The growing season was short and he couldn’t grow the same variety of crops that he could in France, but her father would learn and adapt.
Thomas draped his arm over his daughter’s shoulders and squeezed her close.
“You’ve given me so much, my girl.” Emotion was thick in his throat. “I didn’t think I had it in me to start over, but I feel like a boy again in this new world. Thank you, my sweet girl.”
“Papa, for all you’ve given me, I wish I could do more.”
Nicole looked over the rolling fields, so unlike her native Normandy, but now just as familiar and beloved. She had gained so much from New France—a husband and children she adored— and now, she had the gift of her past as well, in the form of her family.
She had lost much, too. She thought of Luc and Manon.
But with her father’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, the knowledge that her mother and sisters were ensconced in their new house, thirty minutes away by carriage, warmed her heart as it hadn’t been for months. Years, if Nicole were truthful to herself.
Though I have a husband, children, dear friends . . . nothing seemed like home until my family was here. Perhaps Manon has someone who will make her feel at home again.
Nicole offered up a silent prayer that this could be true. There was no part of her heart or soul that didn’t wish Manon every happiness, but she still ached. She ached for the months when only Manon’s selfless love gave her comfort in the gloom of the days after Luc’s death. The sweet child who stole into her bed on the coldest winter nights and stuck her frigid toes against Nicole’s leg.
But the future bore down upon them all, like a runaway horse, prepared or not. Nicole considered the tiny secret in her womb. One she had not announced, wishing to keep the delight to herself for just a little longer. This baby would never replace the darling girl who had rescued Nicole in so many ways, but the child would be cherished and welcomed all the same. Still, the fact that Nicole could not give the same love and acceptance to Manon dealt a blow to her heart she feared would never mend.
Nicole entered the foyer of the Lefebvre house in a velvet gown the color of an evergreen resplendent with health, like the boughs that festooned every bare surface, owing to the want of flowers in autumn. Alexandre escorted her, standing tall, almost regal in a black-and-gold justaucorps that coordinated with, but did not match, his wife’s ensemble. The detail was no mistake. The candles, the china, each ingredient in the myriad dishes the impeccably clothed staff would serve . . . not an element was left to chance. Nicole oversaw it all, and surveyed the room with satisfaction
Whatever happens now, you must act as though it was the plan all along. Do not fuss with the greenery. Do not shift a candle placed an inch too close to the other. Don’t fuss with the odd wrinkle on a tablecloth. You are above the minutiae now and must enchant your guests.
“You’re a miracle worker,” Alexandre whispered as the first guests entered the hall.
“I did as the situation required,” Nicole purred with a wink after she’d curtsied to a lesser deputy of the governor. “If I must conjure up a miracle, what else am I to do?”
“I cannot tell you, but will say I’m the luckiest man alive,” Alexandre said as the deputy’s stodgy wife departed for the drawing room.
“I’m sure it’s convenient having a capable hostess for a wife,” Nicole said, her tone absentminded. Who would have ever expected me to be a society wife? Her mother’s face, aghast at the mountain of linens and the stacks of china, would stay with her for the rest of her days.
“Don’t ever think that’s why I married you,” Alexandre whispered.
“Not once,” Nicole said, her voice brimming with solemnity. “Since you had no reason to suppose I’d have any skill at it when you asked me for my hand.”
Alexandre threw back his head in a full-throated laugh. He seldom laughed, but when he did, Nicole could not help but share in his mirth.
The last guests arrived, and Alexandre escorted his wife to the dining room that gleamed with polished glass and clean china. They sat down to a meal befitting the finest houses in Paris. The staff, instructed as to how every portion of the meal must be served, missed not a step. From the crisp linens to the rich soup, presented with a flourish, Nicole could not find fault.
Henri tasted the creamy soup, thick with the earthy flavor of squash and seasoned with precision. “You’ve hosted the event of the season and it’s only a half hour in. She’s a triumph,” he whispered, but the truth of his words was evident.
Henri sat to the left of his uncle. The governor sat at the head of the table, his rank sufficient to dispossess even the host.
Nicole, rather than engage in the conversation, listened and noted. What sort of liquor did the governor prefer? To which seamstresses did his wife offer her custom? Noting. Filing away for later use. No detail was worth overlooking.
Without her interference, Rose and Alexandre managed the conversation with grace. The governor and Rose discussed a comedy of Corneille’s that he had seen in Paris during a visit the year before. Alexandre mentioned Henri’s efforts on the estate, but not in detail. No one would ever conduct business at a social event. From the expression on the governor’s face, he was entertained by Rose’s wit and pleased with Alexandre’s and Henri’s labors. And not at all disappointed in the meal.
“So much wonderful food, Madame Lefebvre,” said the governor, as one of Elisabeth’s delicate cakes was set before him, the capstone to the repast. “I can’t imagine where I’ll stuff another mouthful, I’m afraid.”
“Many thanks, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” Nicole said. “But it would be such a shame if you did not at least sample the dessert.”
“I could not bear to disappoint you, my dear Madame Lefebvre.” The cake was a perfect tribute to autumn, apples and toasted almonds encased in Elisabeth’s signature pastry—an elegant marriage of buttery and flaky textures that did not impede the flavor of the fillings, but withstood their robust consistencies. The governor took his fork, anticipation plain upon his face. He savored the first small morsel for several moments. The six people closest to him sat silent in suspense.
“A masterpiece,” he declared. “An absolute masterpiece.”
“I am so glad you think so, Monsieur le Gouverneur. The artist who created it, Madame Beaumont, sits not three places from you.” Nicole gestured in Elisabeth’s direction.
The governor looked surprised that Elisabeth, refined as any lady, attired in a rich cornsilk-blue damask, could have created such a pastry. The Beaumonts looked like established members of society, not humble bakers.
“Beaumont . . .” said the governor. “Yes, I remember your name. My staff buys my bread and cakes from your bakery. You’re an asset to the settlement, madame and monsieur.”
“I thank you, Monsieur le Gouverneur.” Elisabeth’s voice was strong, but she said no more.
Alexandre had coached her to leave things here. The governor
had witnessed both her skill and her gentility. Their problems would be presented later, and in the proper fashion.
“Seigneur Lefebvre, might I claim the privilege of opening the ball with your lovely wife?” The governor’s expression in Alexandre’s direction was of a man who did not expect to be disappointed.
“Of course, Monsieur le Gouverneur. Such is your right,” Alexandre said. And so we intended for you to do from the instant this ball was conceived.
Nicole consented for the governor to lead her to the dance floor, and followed his steps with more poise than he showed, but not so much flourish as to make him look too far inferior.
“I’m impressed with my own ability to walk, let alone dance, after so fine a meal, madame,” the governor said, laughing at his own joke. The smell of the meal, paired with what had to be a rotting tooth on his breath as he guffawed, turned Nicole’s stomach, but she retained control of her countenance.
“I’m so pleased you enjoyed our little feast,” Nicole said, the smile plastered on her face. “I thought the dessert was especially nice, myself.”
“Indeed,” the governor agreed. “Your friend is rather talented. Am I right in thinking that she has something to do with the Giroux family? I remember the good Father prattling on about them. Can’t say I followed all the details. He does tend to go on, you know.”
“You’re correct as usual, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” Nicole said, pleased for the direction of the conversation with so little need for manipulation. “The Beaumonts have apprenticed the eldest Giroux boy and have taken the eldest daughter in as a sort of assistant since their father passed on.”
“A kind gesture, to be sure,” the governor said, his hand on her back wandering an inch too low for comfort. “Though I seem to remember Father Cloutier thinking the arrangement wasn’t all that suitable. He wanted the girl for the Church, if memory serves.”
“I fear Father Cloutier is an unhappy man. I think he pines for the bustle of the city,” Nicole said, doing her best to feign concern for the loathsome man. “Not all men are robust enough to appreciate the rugged beauty of our settlement, are they?” She allowed her fingers to trace the ridge of his shoulder. A bold gesture, but from the expression on the governor’s face, a welcome one.
“No indeed, my dear.” The governor’s hand inched lower. Nicole averted her gaze for a split second to see Alexandre watching from the sidelines, attentive but subtle. Just keep your calm, I don’t like it any more than you do.
“Indeed, in a settlement such as this, I feel our spiritual leaders must understand and support the needs of our political leaders, don’t you agree?” Nicole returned her gaze to the governor’s watery-blue eyes.
“Of course,” he said, though Nicole suspected he barely registered her words.
“It surprises me that an astute man like Father Cloutier would advocate for a young, healthy girl like Mademoiselle Giroux to be taken in by the Church when there is a family willing to bear the expense of bringing her up,” Nicole continued. “Doesn’t the settlement have a greater need for wives than for clergy?”
“You’re completely right, my dear,” the governor said.
“I’m so glad you agree,” Nicole said, offering him a wide smile. “Would it be too bold of me to suggest that you bring this to the bishop? I’m sure he’d be glad of a young priest who is more willing to learn our ways and support our fine leaders. And poor Father Cloutier would be much happier to retire in his homeland. I do so worry about him.”
“Your kindness does you credit, my dear,” the governor breathed. Nicole hoped her grimace was none too evident. “Of course I’ll speak to him.” The old man’s hand slipped just a hint lower as the strains of the quintet came to a stop.
“All my thanks, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” she said, stepping out of his grasp with a deep curtsy. “And I’m so sorry our dance is over. I could not bear to deprive the rest of the assembly of the pleasure of your company.”
Nicole made her way back to Alexandre, but spared a wink for Elisabeth on the way.
Social event of the season, indeed.
CHAPTER 31
Elisabeth
September 1671
Gilbert raised his glass, brimming with fine French champagne worth more than he would earn in three weeks of baking.
“To the Lefebvres and the finest social event of the season,” Gilbert said, wrapping his arm around Elisabeth, who clinked her glass against his. How fine you look in your elegant suit of clothes, my love, but your plain wool jacket and breeches covered in flour become you even more. She smiled up at her sturdy husband, appearing well rested and happy for the first time since Gabrielle’s injury. Please God that the governor makes good on his promises to Nicole and I can keep my sweet-natured husband for good.
“An unqualified success, my dear,” Alexandre said, nodding to his wife. “You’ll find yourself flooded with social calls for months. Any woman in attendance is going to want all your secrets for throwing such a party.”
“How thrilling,” Nicole said, her tone dry. “But if tonight’s efforts improve things for the Beaumonts, I won’t complain about a string of wasted mornings.”
“Amen to that,” Elisabeth said. “If that odious man gets shipped back to France, I can’t imagine that our problems won’t ease.”
“With regard to the Giroux girl, certainly,” Alexandre said. “No one but Cloutier has any interest in seeing her removed from your care. But the bakery is another matter. If another official takes a notion to enforce the royal edict, you’ll find yourselves in the same predicament.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Gilbert said. “But I can’t think that there’s anything we can do. The edict makes perfect sense for a baker in Paris, but if we can’t set the prices to allow for the cost of flour, we can’t do business.”
“And I’ll continue to speak on the matter to the governor, even the Intendant, if I’m ever in his earshot. In the meantime, there is a way around the regulations. Have the patrons deliver their flour to you and order what they want to be made from it at whatever price you agree to. If you conduct things like this, the law can’t touch you. Even the King can’t dictate what you make under commission.”
“It will complicate some things,” Gilbert said. “And it may be an inconvenience to the customers.”
“They’ll adapt,” Elisabeth assured him, making mental calculations she would share with her husband when they were alone. “And we could expand the business to more of the outlying farms. Pascal can be sent to collect flour one day a week and deliver the finished products the next.”
“I believe your wife is as talented a businesswoman as she is a baker,” Henri said, accepting a refill of the sparkling wine from his uncle. “You may count us among your first customers in your new delivery service. Mylène has some skill in the kitchen, but her bread is nothing to yours.”
“Done!” Elisabeth said, shaking Henri’s free hand. “And count on a platter of pastries every week for being the first to offer us your custom.”
“My waistline won’t thank you for that,” Rose said, laughing as she traced the lip of her glass with her pinky. “But I’m sure I’ll suffer through it.”
“It will be a sacrifice, but I’m sure we all will,” said Henri, patting his flat stomach.
Warmth enveloped Elisabeth as she looked at the faces of her husband and dearest friends. What would have become of me if I’d ended up in Trois-Rivières or Ville-Marie? Or worse, if Maman had found a way to keep me prisoner in Paris? Sometimes fate can be kinder than our fondest wishes. Elisabeth squeezed her husband’s hand and laced her fingers through his. He took the signal, and it was less than a quarter of an hour before they found themselves entering the bakery in as much silence as they could so as not to disturb Pascal, Gabrielle, or baby Pierre.
Rather than going above stairs, Gilbert lit a candle, sat on Elisabeth’s stool, and pulled her into his arms.
“Just twelve hours ago, I knew with every fiber of my bei
ng that we were going to lose this place,” Gilbert said, resting his chin on her head. “And now I feel, I honestly feel in the pit of my gut, that we might have a chance to keep going.”
“And keep Gabrielle,” Elisabeth said. Over the past week she saw the shadow that crossed Nicole’s face whenever someone mentioned Manon. She would be every bit as haunted as Nicole if Gabrielle were taken from her.
Gilbert’s embrace tightened around her. “I couldn’t even bear to think of that.”
“You’re a good man, Gilbert,” Elisabeth said. “And a good father to our children. All of them.”
“Well, nature hasn’t been too helpful giving us a family in the usual way, so it just made sense to collect a couple more, didn’t it?”
“Indeed, my love,” Elisabeth said, thinking of the growing babe in her womb who caused her worry each day. She would not be convinced there would be a child until he or she was screaming lustily in her arms. “Though I wish more than anything that we’d have more luck in that area. We ought to have our own tribe by now.”
Gilbert cupped his wife’s face in his hands, forcing her to look in his eyes. “Sweetheart, don’t you waste a moment fretting on all that. If we’re meant to have more children, we will. If not, I have the most loving family in all the settlement, and don’t need a dozen babies to prove that to the likes of Father Cloutier.”
Elisabeth leaned her face in to reach Gilbert’s, her mouth finding his. She parted her soft lips and yielded to his hungry kiss.
Three weeks later, the Beaumont bakery was a place transformed. Word of their delivery service spread to the homesteads, and farmers arrived every hour with their sacks of flour in tow, grateful to be free of the task of baking their bread each week. While Elisabeth knew how to stock a traditional bakery, the organization of the delivery business was foreign to her. Pascal took on this task, showing a remarkable capacity for management. He devised systems for organizing the flour deliveries, the orders, picking up flour from farther afield on Thursdays, and delivering the baked bread no later than Friday morning. Gilbert saw to the majority of the bread baking, Gabrielle kept the shop, and Elisabeth saw to the cakes and fine pastries that the authorities had yet to regulate.
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