Tomorrow, she would address the problem with Pierrette. Speak with Nicole.
Tomorrow, she would let herself feel. Mourn her losses. Find a way to heal, and forge a path forward.
But the rest of this day belonged to Gabriel and Montague.
The moment her carriage pulled up to the front of Nicole’s hôtel, she noted the toppled stone planter at the bottom of the steps. Purple flowers rested on the ground, surrounded by dirt, and two large pieces that had broken off the planter.
It was odd. Not something easily toppled. Definitely not something Nicole’s staff would have left on the ground.
An instant uneasy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.
As soon as the carriage stopped and the door opened, she practically leaped out, and raced up the stone steps. She’d just reached the front door when it was flung open.
Delphine greeted her, sobbing hysterically.
Isabelle grabbed her hands. “What is it? What has happened?”
Delphine pulled her inside, crying uncontrollably. Sounds that were meant to be words emitted from her mouth, but Isabelle couldn’t make any sense of them.
“Oh, good God. She is trying to tell you your son is gone.” Pierrette’s voice pierced the air.
Isabelle shot her gaze up to Roch’s wife standing in the vestibule, four sizable men with her. It took three rapid heartbeats before the words sank in.
“…your son is gone.”
Her heart thudded in her throat. And for a moment, she thought she couldn’t possibly have heard correctly.
“What do you mean, gone?”
It was then she noticed two male servants on the floor, with facial scrapes and cuts. The majordomo, Joseph, sat on the bottom stair, holding his head, blood streaks on his hand.
And Annette, dear God, Annette, Gabriel’s nurse, was in the far corner, weeping into her hands much the same way Delphine was. Both women looked disheveled as though they too had been in a physical altercation.
“They…they took him,” Delphine sobbed.
Isabelle’s limbs went cold. She screamed out Gabriel’s name. And again.
She was met with wild barking from Montague—in the distance. Sounding as though he were locked in Gabriel’s room.
But no Gabriel.
She raced toward the stairs. But someone caught her by the waist, lifting her feet off the floor and dragging her back to the center of the vestibule.
“Where is MY SON?” she demanded, trying to break free from the crushing grip of Pierrette’s man, digging her nails into his arm to no avail, kicking her captor in the shin. She heard him grunt, but his grip never slackened.
Oh God! She’d walked in without Yves and Serge. The men had driven away—gone to attend to the carriage and horses. She’d left herself vulnerable.
She’d left her son vulnerable having taken them with her in the first place.
“Where is he?” she shrilled, frantic. The other servants leaped to her aid despite their injuries, only to be grabbed by the other men and easily tossed aside.
Pierrette stood silently, looking bored.
“What have you done with him? Where is Gabriel? Let go of me!” She was screaming and fighting, beyond panicked. Managing to twist around, she curled her fist and landed a blow to the side of the brute’s face.
“What on earth is happening?” Through her hysteria, Isabelle clearly heard Nicole’s voice.
“Wonderful, the other harlot is here,” Pierrette stated blandly to herself.
Ignoring Pierrette, Nicole addressed the brute. “Unhand her!” But he didn’t comply. Nicole spun around to face Pierrette. “Who the bloody hell are you? How dare you intrude into my home, harm my staff, manhandle my friend.”
“She has done something to Gabriel!” The anguished words tore up Isabelle’s throat. She landed another swift kick to the man holding her in an iron grip around the waist.
Nicole visibly blanched. “What—?”
Miffed, Pierrette waved a hand. “Oh, no one has done anything to your brat. Do calm down… Everyone!”
Isabelle stopped fighting for a moment. The more she exerted herself, the tighter the goon squeezed. She was having problems catching her breath, and she needed to focus. Be strong.
To help Gabriel.
She shook down to her very entrails. “What have you done with my son? Where is he?”
“He is safe,” was all that Roch’s wife offered.
“Where is he?” she said through clenched teeth.
“He is in my possession until the trial—should there be one.”
“Trial? What trial? For what? And what do you mean, should there be one?”
“A trial for custody of my husband’s son.”
None of this was real. This couldn’t be real. Her mind was spinning. “What are you talking about? Roch was not Gabriel’s father.”
Pierrette smiled. “That is to be determined.”
“The only matter that need be determined is your madness. And that should be easy,” Nicole shot back. “Return that boy at once!”
Pierrette cocked a brow at Nicole. “You have played everyone for a fool with this daughter of a dead playwright. I would be careful if I were you. Now then, the King has decided that the boy should be with me, a woman of good standing and elevated bloodlines, instead of a common prostitute. I have in my possession a Lettre de Cachet. If you are unaware of what that is, it is an Order of Confinement, signed by the King under royal seal.” Pierrette looked over at Isabelle, her next words directed solely at her. “These men are here to remove you from this home, just as they removed the child, and will escort you to the prison that awaits you.”
“Lettre de Cachet is often for an indefinite confinement. Without trial!” Nicole exclaimed.
“You are having me arrested?” Isabelle laughed without mirth. “What for?”
“You can’t be trusted not to interfere with this matter and would try to kidnap the boy.”
Tears blurred Isabelle’s eyes. “You can’t do that to him. I’m certain he’s terrified. If you wish to hurt me—”
“I have. I have the most precious person to you.”
“What about Luc? I thought you wanted him for your daughter,” she all but spit out.
“I couldn’t care less about him. And I don’t have a child, you fool. I was never able to give Aubert one. Mind you, he was rather busy with you. It’s your son I want. I only used the Marquis de Fontenay as a way to ensure that you and your two brutes wouldn’t be here. It’s the reason I had you followed. I told you you were nothing but a worthless whore. The promise of promiscuity sent you running and allowed me to easily gain access to the boy. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
Tears spilled down Isabelle’s cheeks without restraint and her measured tone dissolved as she raised her voice and shouted, “How evil must you be to hurt an innocent child just for your twisted sense of revenge!”
“You will finally truly know, as you sit in your confinement and rot, what it is like to be kept from someone you love. Day after day. Night after night. I have done society a favor—every woman married or about to marry—in having you removed from our midst.”
“You will not do this!” Isabelle screamed, her voice reverberating in the vestibule. “You will give me back my son!” She lunged at Pierrette.
Then everything went black.
*****
Footsteps approached Isabelle’s room.
They had placed her in a convent in the country. Yet it was still a prison. She’d been there one week, two days, and at least nine hours. Longer than that since she’d seen Gabriel.
A small bed in the corner. Simple linens. A small window that let in some light. A washbasin. And she had access to a small sale de bain.
Small and narrow was what her life had become. She existed with a singular purpose.
Escape.
She’d find a way to get out of here. Because they were not keeping her from Gabriel. Fear and worry for him and his well-bei
ng battered her heart. She didn’t sleep. Barely ate—just to keep her strength. And paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Surreptitiously observing everything, looking for any weakness in her captivity to gain her freedom. Once out, she would retrieve Gabriel.
Then they’d leave France. Forever.
Footsteps stopped outside her door. She heard the key in the lock. Then the thick wooden door creaked open. One of the older sisters from the Convent of Mont-Dieu entered, followed as usual by a large man with a weapon in hand. It was so Isabelle wouldn’t attempt to overpower the nun and obtain the keys to her freedom.
The male guard was not allowed to be alone with her.
Given her “corrupted soul,” according to Mother Superior, Isabelle was likely to trade sexual favors for freedom.
And she’d be correct on that score.
It was the reason, she’d been told, that they hadn’t put her in a regular prison—with all male guards—choosing to confine her to a convent instead.
If given the chance, she’d surrender her body. Endure it. Then scrub it from her mind and never think of it again. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to get Gabriel out of Pierrette’s hands.
Not once since her confinement had she allowed herself to cry. She refused to weaken and give in to despair, no matter how dire the circumstances were.
While there was breath in her body, she’d save her son.
The nun’s expression was stern. Her disdain toward Isabelle was the same as that of the other women at the convent. The nun stepped aside, and then the man lumbered to the corner of her room. He was least ten years her senior. His skin and hair were dirty from physical labor. She didn’t miss the way he ogled her breasts repeatedly.
She suppressed a shudder of revulsion.
“That will be all. Thank you.” The familiar voice made Isabelle’s heart jump with joy.
Nicole… Thank God!
Instantly, a knot welled in her throat. She raced across the room and threw her arms around her dear friend and squeezed her tightly.
“I’d like to be alone with her,” Nicole said, returning her embrace.
“No, Mother Superior specifically stated that you may have a brief visit in our presence only,” the nun replied.
Isabelle pulled away. “Have you seen Gabriel? How is he? Where is he? Have they harmed him? Is he all right?”
Nicole gripped her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. “I have not seen him, though I have been working to that end. However, I have been assured that he is fine. He has been visited by my lawyers. That witch will not allow me to see him personally.”
Isabelle squeezed her in an embrace again, all too aware of the nun and guard watching them. In her ear, she earnestly whispered, “Get Gabriel out of France. Anywhere away from Pierrette. I will escape this place and join him.”
Once again, Nicole pulled away and looked her in the eye. “We are going to get him back to you. I am doing all that I can.”
God, what did she ever do to deserve this woman in her life?
“How do I thank you enough for all you have done for me and Gabriel? I would need several lifetimes. You have done so much, and I have done nothing in return but bring you grief.”
“Nonsense.”
“Pierrette has threatened to harm your reputation—if she hasn’t already.”
“Yes, by revealing your name, which she has done. And yes, she has attempted to harm me as well.”
“I am so very sorry…”
“For what? You are not responsible for the vindictive actions of another. There are people who are simply riddled with contempt. They live their lives in self-imposed misery and wish to inflict that on others. You needn’t worry about me. I have encountered my share of Pierrettes in my life. This is not the first person who has attempted to diminish me in society. I doubt she’ll be the last.”
“Have you lost any friends or acquaintances because of this?”
“No one that matters. She will not succeed in shaming me for the way I wish to live my life and for the alliances I choose to keep. Do not let her shame you for the life you’ve led.”
“I will not allow her to take Gabriel away from me.”
“That’s it, my darling. That is the very attitude we must maintain. Now then, they can hold you here indefinitely, without trial—which is what Roch’s widow wants. But I have been to see a number of judges at the Palais de Justice—Paul de Brilhac and Nicolas de la Toison, to be exact—and have pushed for a resolution to this matter. They will not simply return Gabriel to you. There will have to be a trial for custody. Since Pierrette is claiming that Roch is Gabriel’s father, you will have to convince the judges that she is lying. You will have to tell the truth about his mother and father. I have campaigned for this trial so that Pierrette can no longer have claim over you and your son. Give me your word that you will not do anything to anger the judges I have spoken to in the meantime.”
Isabelle understood what Nicole was talking about. She didn’t want her to risk everything on an escape plan.
“You have my word.”
“Good. A trial will get you out of here—for good. Is there anyone who knows the truth? Anyone who knew Gabriel’s mother?”
“Delphine. She worked with me at the Moutier château where Virginie would come begging for food. She knew her.”
“That’s good.” Nicole offered her an encouraging smile.
“No, it is not. Pierrette is of noble blood. Delphine and I are not. Her words have more weight.”
“Allow me to keep working on this matter. I am not without influence. I have been able to gain entry here, and that was virtually impossible.” Nicole smiled. “Together, we will get Gabriel back—using the law.”
“Please push to visit Gabriel. To see with your own eyes that he is well. Tell him that I love him. That I have not abandoned him. Tell him to look at the stars each night and that I will do the same and we will gaze upon them together.”
Nicole clasped Isabelle’s hands and squeezed. “I shall.”
“What of Luc?” she couldn’t help but ask. She deeply regretted her parting words. He’d already had his share of anguish without her stirring more. Even if he never wanted anything to do with her again, she wished she could apologize to him. Know he was all right.
Nicole shook her head. “He is gone, to one of his châteaus, I think. He is not in the city. He’s unaware of what has happened.”
“He isn’t coming back.” At least not to her. “I am not permitted to send any letters. Would you write to him and tell him how sorry I am about how we parted last and to have caused him distress? I simply want to know he is well. And you are correct. We must focus on Gabriel. We must win this trial.”
No matter how impossible it was.
Because losing was not an option.
Chapter Seventeen
Isabelle was placed in yet another locked room, with a simple table and chair.
She was mere feet away from the Chambre de Justice—where three judges would assemble. Where she would fight for Gabriel’s return.
The trial date had arrived—three weeks from the day she’d last seen Nicole. They hadn’t allowed her dear friend to visit again.
Yet Nicole had managed to cause this trial to occur—in a world dictated by men. And Isabelle remained indebted to and in awe of the most incredible woman she had ever known.
Thankfully, she was no longer in the convent garb she’d been given there. Thanks to Nicole, one of Isabelle’s finer gowns had been sent. Her hair was neat but adorned with no embellishments. She knew, as well as did Nicole, that her appearance had to be on par with Pierrette’s.
Even if her bloodlines were not.
Elegant but demure.
For Gabriel’s sake.
Again, Nicole had managed to perform miracles. Lord knows, Isabelle was in need of a significant one today.
She smoothed her skirts for the
tenth time, struggling to keep her fidgeting fingers still. She prayed they’d come take her from this room soon and get on with the matter.
The anxiety was suffocating.
The sound of a key turning the lock grabbed her attention. Finally!
Pierrette swept into the room with a swish of her green gown. She was smart enough to keep a male guard with her.
Isabelle balled her hands into fists. An almost blinding rage shot through her. She’d never had a physical altercation with anyone in her life. But at the moment, that guard and her promise to Nicole were the only things that were keeping her from pummeling the woman before her.
“Get her out of here,” Isabelle demanded, addressing the guard.
“That’s a lovely gown, my dear.” Pierrette responded as though they were at a soiree, ignoring the order Isabelle had given the guardsman. He didn’t seem inclined to follow it. “You do know it doesn’t change the fact that a whore wears it. That harlot friend of yours may have forced this trial, but you will not win against me.”
Isabelle took three sharp, quick steps toward her, deriving only a small measure of satisfaction in seeing the woman’s smug expression change. And her quick steps back.
Isabelle stopped inches from her face.
“Your lies and sheer heartlessness will not win against me. You have allowed yourself to become hardened and hateful because you pine for the love of a cruel man who willfully withheld it from you. Wasting years of your life. And for that, you have already lost. If you have done any harm to my son, I promise you—no, I swear it—you will rue this day and every single one thereafter until you finally take your last breath on this earth and go to hell.”
She had to turn away to keep from strangling the life out of her.
“You little bitch. You have no idea what you put me through. You bewitched him. Denied me his love, and now that he is dead, I shall never know it again, for he wasted it on the likes of you,” she hissed out at her as Isabelle continued to walk away, putting distance between them. “I have always wanted a son. And you have raised a whiny, insolent little creature who cries and screams ceaselessly. I will show them I am the better choice for him—a parent who will curb his discourteous humor.”
Three Reckless Wishes (Fiery Tales Book 10) Page 25
