‘You support the republican cause?’ Isabelle whispered, as her uncle would consider such sympathies treasonous.
‘Freedom and equal rights for all men . . . only aristocrats and high-ranking clergy would not find such a cause worthy.’
Isabelle was a little affronted by his view; if the republic got its way all French nobility would be forced to flee!
‘I see.’ She abruptly stood and collected her basket, heading back towards the trail to the castle.
‘Lady Isabelle?’ He stood as she departed. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘None taken,’ she assured him coolly as she swung back around to address him. ‘But as you are clearly eager to have me gone, I shall oblige.’ She continued on her not-so-merry way.
‘Isabelle!’ He grabbed her arm to waylay her, but immediately let go once his goal was achieved. ‘I meant only to suggest that, in a republic, a man such as I could aspire to court a woman like you.’
Isabelle’s anger receded into a whirlwind of shock, delight and trepidation. Jacques’ eyes bore into her own awaiting a response, but she couldn’t speak — her deepest desire was to revisit their kiss and she acted on that impulse. This was not the sweet, innocent act of pre-adolescence that she recalled, however. They merged into one ravenous being for a moment and when they drew apart, they were both left reeling from the pleasure and horror of what they’d just done.
‘That was ill-conceived,’ Isabelle felt she should apologise. ‘If anyone saw us you could lose your livelihood.’
‘Now who is reducing a fond memory to a mistake?’ Jacques grinned.
‘I . . . I should go.’ She felt overwhelmed by passion she had no control of, and fearful of what might happen if she stayed, Isabelle picked up her basket and made a hasty retreat.
Jacques outran her and jumped out in front of her. ‘Why are you running?’
Isabelle wasn’t very good at playing games, she only knew how to be forthright. ‘I fear giving you the wrong impression. I don’t really know you any more, and I am way out of my depth.’
‘I’m a very good swimmer,’ he appealed in a cheeky fashion.
‘I’m sure you are.’ For the first time Isabelle found herself wondering how many other women he had seduced. ‘But I am not permitted to go swimming with you any more.’
‘I didn’t ask you to swim,’ he pointed out. ‘It was you who dived in.’
‘It was a nostalgic, childish whim—’ she wanted to apologise again, but Jacques drew away.
‘Because I am beneath you.’
That assumption made her furious. ‘Because you are not my betrothed.’
‘You are betrothed?’
He appeared so devastated by the notion that her heart melted into her stomach.
‘No,’ she informed him, rather horrified by the prospect. ‘I’ve only just escaped the convent.’
Jacques was very relieved to hear this. ‘In that case, please stay.
I promise I shall behave honourably, if you do.’
‘Therein lies the problem,’ she uttered as she allowed him to take her hand and lead her back towards the clearing.
* * *
It was quite late in the day by the time Isabelle sauntered back into the castle courtyard. Lost in a little dream world in which she relived that kiss over and over, she was oblivious to everything going on around her. Today had been most enjoyable, and she could hardly wait to do it all again. Still, as Jacques had been promoted to Master of the Horse at Pornic, it was rare that he had a day to be at leisure. It was only that he, and his under-coachmen, had manned the carriage that had transported her uncle and herself out of Paris two days ago, that Jacques had been given a day’s grace to recuperate from the nights of sleep he had lost on the errand. It staggered her imagination that she could have failed to notice him at the time she’d been collected; but it warmed her heart to think he’d been the one to deliver her home safely. It also meant that Jacques had been fully aware of her return to Pornic, so perhaps his interest in shipping was not what had drawn him to their spot this morning — perhaps he had been waiting for her. The supposition made her feel like she might explode with joy.
The front door was opened by the steward before she’d even knocked.
‘Thank you, Bernard.’ Isabelle entered to confront her uncle, and found him with one of the men she’d seen disembark from the pirate ship — presumably Blackheart himself.
‘You are not the only privateer in my acquaintance, I will make other arrangements.’ The lord sounded most annoyed.
‘Have it your way.’ The captain was unfazed. ‘But your canal project will be dead in the water once the revolution arrives.
Private investment is the only way forward, and I know everyone who might have an active interest in expanding this port, both here and abroad.’
‘Your price is inappropriate. I bid you a good day—’
‘Why Lady Isabelle.’ The captain spied her crossing the foyer towards the stairs and moved to intercept her. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’
It alarmed Isabelle that such a scoundrel should know her name. He may have been young and easy on the eye, but he exuded a sinister and unsettling quality. So when he approached and took her hand, of the mind to kiss it, her repulsion compelled her to withdraw from his touch.
‘Stay away from her.’ Her uncle came to stand between her and the pirate.
‘For now,’ the captain allowed, backing up a few steps. ‘You consider my proposal, Baron.’
‘I will not,’ her uncle insisted.
‘I’ll be back. Ah,’ the Captain paused to address Isabelle. ‘Was that you I saw on the point today with a young lad?’
Isabelle couldn’t help but gasp.
‘What lad?’ Her uncle’s bad mood turned her way.
‘Best keep her under lock and key,’ Lachance suggested. ‘Lest that convent education you paid so much for be wasted on a stable boy.’
He left them both gaping, as Bernard closed the front door in his wake.
How did he know so much about them all? The pirate made her blood boil and her skin crawl all at once.
‘What boy?’ The lord turned to Isabelle.
‘I ran into Monsieur Delafonse out on the point,’ she explained. ‘He was curious about the pirate slave ship anchored on our doorstep.’
‘He should not be concerning you with such matters.’ Her uncle headed back towards his office.
‘Why does a pirate know my name?’ she demanded to know.
‘Why are you dealing with him?’
‘I am not dealing with him,’ her uncle insisted, appearing to have a very bad taste in his mouth. ‘The man has been in the skin trade too long, he has no moral compass. And you! You are to remain within these walls unless escorted by your maid.’
‘What?’ There went her chances of today ever repeating itself.
‘But Jacques is my only friend—’
‘I know you and Monsieur Delafonse were friends when you were younger, but you are not children any more, your association is no longer appropriate.’
‘But your association with my maid is?’ Isabelle regretted the words the second they spouted from her mouth and her uncle ensured she did, with a sharp slap to her cheek.
‘How dare you!’
Her cheek stinging and her heart shattered, Isabelle turned and ran for her chambers.
‘You are confined to your room until I receive an apology!’ the lord hollered after her.
She slammed closed the door and shed the tears welling in her eyes. She could hardly believe she’d been so disrespectful to her guardian, but she could not bring herself to apologise for pointing out the fact that her uncle was a hypocrite — he was!
* * *
Two days later when Jacques was summoned to the house at the request of the baron, he had a horrible sinking feeling that someone had seen him with Isabelle the day following her arrival and that he was about to be unemployed, if not flogged first.
Bernard
showed Jacques into the lord’s study — where he conducted all his official business. The last time Jacques had been summoned here, he’d been promoted. He did not expect today to conclude so happily.
‘Sit down, Monsieur Delafonse.’ The baron pointed to a chair with his quill, not looking up from the letter he was scribing.
Jacques complied quietly and awaited his lord’s word, hoping to gauge the mood — the baron didn’t seem furious, but he wasn’t happy either.
‘I hear you met with my niece on the peninsula a couple of days ago?’
Jacques swallowed hard, as his fear seemed to be shoving his beating heart up into his throat. ‘A chance meeting, my lord; the Lady Isabelle remembered the spot from her time here as a child.’
‘It was very lucky for her that you were there.’ The baron appeared grave.
Although glad to not be the cause of his lord’s woes, Jacques’ heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. ‘The lady did not appear to be in any peril, Lord?’
The baron served him an odd look of uncertainty. ‘My niece fails to understand the perils a young woman might run into, running about in the wilds on her own.’
Jacques was mentally transported back to the first time he’d ever been called to this office, at the age of eleven.
‘That is why I have decided to entrust Isabelle’s safety to you once more.’
His young heart was now pumping so hard he felt sure his lord would note it jumping out of his shirt.
‘You are a sensible young man, good with a sword, and I trust you as well as I did your father. Keep her safe, Monsieur Delafonse. And should anything happen to me while Isabelle is still in my charge . . . revolution, imprisonment, or worse . . . I trust you will get my niece to safety by any means available.’
‘Of course. I am honoured to be entrusted with a charge so precious to my lord.’ Although Jacques couldn’t ask for her hand in marriage as yet, as her bodyguard he could at least fend off other suitors — well-meaning or no. ‘But why me? You have knights—’
‘Because she trusts you and in a crisis she will listen to you,’ the baron stated forthrightly. ‘Assure me that my trust is not misplaced, and that you will treat my niece with all due respect at all times.’
‘Your will is my will.’ Jacques felt the baron was hiding something. ‘But I sense there’s a threat to the Lady Isabelle that as her bodyguard I should be aware of.’
The lord appeared wary, yet compelled to confide in him.
‘Captain Lachance, you know of him?’
‘He is the privateer they call Blackheart.’
‘I spoke with him, among other such privateers, about passage for my family to elsewhere, and his price for safe passage was Isabelle.’
The news was shocking. ‘But how does he even know about your niece?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t wish to know. I refused his disgusting proposal, he has left our port, and we shall be gone before he returns.’
‘We are fleeing France?’
The lord nodded. ‘Quite possibly, once I find a captain and vessel I trust to deliver us safely to our destination. But tell no one any of this.’
‘You have my word.’ Jacques was most sincere.
‘Good lad.’ His lord chanced a smile. ‘There is no harm in being a little cautious with precious things.’
‘I shall do all within my power to keep the Lady Isabelle safe.’
‘I know you will.’ The lord made a shooing motion with his hand. ‘Go then, inform my niece, lest she continues to avoid me forever. I believe she is sulking in the library today.’
‘The library, my lord?’ Jacques had no idea where that was.
‘Bernard will show you.’ Jacques was dismissed into a whole new level of privilege, with a wave from his lord’s hand.
As he exited the lord’s study, Jacques felt he must be the luckiest man alive.
* * *
Isabelle expressed her heartfelt apologies and gratitude to her uncle. She vowed to never again repeat the frightful allegation she’d made against him, and all was forgiven between them. She had no proof of his indiscretion in any case, although her uncle’s adverse reaction had rather confirmed it. But henceforth, she intended to mind her own business.
For the next two weeks, Isabelle got to see Jacques any time she chose, all she had to do was request to go out somewhere. She had been fabric shopping with Marianna several times already. For although the dresses Marianna had bought her were the very height of ‘Marie Antoinette’ fashion, with their huge hooped petticoats and numerous layers, in these turbulent times there was simply no occasion to wear them. Quite apart from the fact that they were restrictive and impractical, it was downright dangerous to be so openly ostentatious. Isabelle had learned to sew as part of her education and had liked the freedom it afforded her to design clothes more suited to her own specific needs and likes. Thus she had taken to designing and sewing once again. Jacques assured her that her efforts were far more becoming than what women of her rank currently wore, and was encouraging her to consider starting her own business — an idea that did rather appeal.
As her bodyguard, Jacques accompanied her for a stroll around the castle every day, and was far more cordial than he’d ever been when they were children. Her uncle appointing Jacques her guardian was proving both a blessing and a curse as Jacques was taking his position very seriously. He paid no heed to her flirting whatsoever, and she feared they would never again have an intimate moment.
Outings were curtailed when news reached Château de Pornic that the starving populous of Paris had stormed the Bastille, and as the French guards had joined the cause, the rebels had seized the huge weapon stores therein. The governor, the Intendant de Lyon and the Archbishop of Paris had been beheaded, and their heads perched atop pikes and paraded around the city. A huge reward had been offered for the queen’s person, alive or dead! The houses of the aristocracy and the churches had been ransacked, and the representatives of the people were demanding that the king sign a decree to abolish the feudal system in France entirely.
If the decree passed, her uncle’s estates would be seized, along with all their income, and they would be homeless. That was if the local people did not revolt and kill them as sympathisers to the Crown first.
The baron was not confident that his involvement in public works would ensure their safety and had arranged passage to Spain for his family and servants with some of the local privateers in Pornic. Thankfully for Isabelle, Jacques was included among those accompanying them to their new destination. Even the lord’s wife and daughter would be arriving in the morning to accompany them, which only underlined how dire the situation really was. Yet her uncle had no intention of giving up on his project, and planned to return to Pornic as soon as the revolutionary wave had ebbed; how long that might be was impossible to predict.
* * *
Isabelle was restless that night, and could not fall asleep. She’d never been on a long voyage before. What would Spain be like? She wasn’t at all trepidatious, for she knew Jacques would be right by her side.
It was stuffy and still in her room. She longed to fling wide her windows, but a strange encounter that day was preventing her from acting on that whim.
An elderly scullery maid had been scrubbing the exterior stairs as Isabelle was returning to the house after a stroll with Jacques.
Isabelle had never seen the maid before, but said a polite ‘Good afternoon’ as the woman looked to her on her way past.
‘That may be, Lady, but this night could be a very different story.’
The comment stopped Isabelle in her tracks, as it sounded rather ominous. ‘Do you refer to revolution?’
‘Revolution can be a mask for many illicit deeds.’ The old woman raised a brow. ‘Lock all your doors and shutters tonight.’
Not the usual tête-à-tête you had with a scullery maid. ‘Do you mean to frighten me? I am not a child.’
‘Tomorrow you will be gone from this place.’
The maid slapped her rag in her bucket, and stood up. ‘It would pay to be a little cautious in the final hours of peril.’
‘What is the peril you speak of?’ Isabelle wasn’t sure if she was humouring a mad woman, or questioning an informant. ‘If you have any information pertaining to our family, you should convey it to my uncle at once.’ She looked towards the front door as it was opened by Bernard, and he appeared curious.
‘Are you addressing me, Lady Isabelle?’
‘No—’ She looked back to find the old woman had fled, along with her bucket, and there was no trace of the wet marks she’d made on the stairs. The fact had left Isabelle with chills.
It still made her shudder to revisit the moment, yet she had been doing so all night. Whatever or whoever the old woman was, the encounter had been so odd, Isabelle was now suffocating in the heat for fear of the caution. Maybe the old woman didn’t know how high in the castle her room was placed? There was a good chance she was not of sound mind, or that Isabelle might have imagined the meeting altogether.
Her door was bolted from the inside as advised, but if she didn’t have a burst of sea air soon, she was going to die of suffocation.
The full moon hung high in the sky of the still night, but the true beauty of the coast was that there was always a sea breeze, however slight, and Isabelle breathed it deep, as it cooled the sweat on her skin.
* * *
The quarters for the Master of the Horse, under-coachmen and stable hands, extended off the stables, and Jacques’ quarters had only one window that faced inland, making for many a still, hot night in summer. Ensconced in dreams apropos to the adventure that lay ahead, he was at last blissfully unaware of the heat.
The Delafonse family owed their livelihood to Alexandre de Brie, who had been a good and fair lord since he’d bought the Duchy of Retz nine years earlier. Still, even if he fled to Spain, if the king signed the decree abolishing feudal titles, the two estates the baron still owned would be seized, and he and his family would be noble no more. Lamentable as his lord’s predicament was, it would not prevent Jacques from proposing to Isabelle at the first given opportunity. Perhaps the baron was planning to marry his daughter and Isabelle off to Spanish aristocrats to preserve their nobility, but Jacques liked to think Isabelle would reject all suits until her uncle agreed to his. She might even elope with him back to France. Once the revolution was over, and all men were equal and promoted on merit, he imagined that he and Isabelle could carve a place for themselves in such a society.
The Immortal Bind Page 16
