Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Johan pointed to the entrance door. “Let’s go inside.”

  Sarah peered up at him with those clear blue eyes so much like her father’s. “Come sing for me, Uncle Johan, in here.” Sarah pulled him into the small sanctuary.

  Rustic, nothing like Aachen Cathedral. But he wondered how the sound would be in the space. He looked around the empty building and when satisfied there was no one listening, he began his vocal exercises, the sounds vibrating in his throat and sending a warm feeling through his entire body. As he offered up his first song of praise, he closed his eyes. The words resonated in the cozy nave and came back to his ears.

  The door to the sanctuary creaked open, revealing the Frenchman surveyor. “Are you ready to hear the truth?”

  ~*~

  After an unusually quiet evening meal, each in their own thoughts, Sarah and William had gone upstairs to prepare for bed while Suzanne awaited her visitor.

  Soon, Christy’s ancient servant found her in the parlor. “Etienne LeFort here to see you, miss.”

  “Merci.”

  “Colonel Christy got him in his office.”

  After following him out into the hallway, and walking the first few steps to the office, Suzanne paused and sent up a short prayer. Fear not. But she did fear this moment.

  Inside the room, Etienne stood with his back to her in front of the fireplace, his attire perfection in French tailoring, the fabric extravagant. When he turned, what would his face reveal? For an instant, she recalled him in such array, for their imagined wedding, and for just a moment, she was hopeful that he’d be her wonderful childhood friend. He swiveled, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Onboard ship, during the marriage ceremony, she’d thought the groom had been Etienne, attired as he was now, but then he’d been erased, replaced by a taller, more virile man—one with golden-brown hair and sea-blue eyes.

  Palms damp, she took another step toward him, glad she’d worn a modest gown, recalling a crushing kiss that she hadn’t been able to break free from.

  His face revealed none of the joy she’d hoped to see there. A frown formed between his dark eyebrows, and his lips twisted in distaste.

  No matter whether she was adorned in fine silk or covered in pig slop, Johan’s eyes had always caressed her with love—unlike Etienne’s judging eyes.

  Johan would never abandon me—he’s here somewhere. He must think she wished this meeting with Etienne. How hurt he must have been to realize she’d sent her old fiancé a letter.

  Etienne’s handsome face no longer stirred her. She pulled herself up, almost rising upon her toes. “We need to talk, my old friend.”

  “Indeed we do, if you think my fiancée will be attired in inferior clothing such as this.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his blue wool coat, he retrieved a narrow box. He unsnapped it and removed the contents. Crooking a finger at her, he motioned her forward. “Your grandmother’s necklace. At least let’s put these jewels upon that fair neck of yours.”

  A cold pudding could have been dumped into her stomach. The topaz necklace had been left at the DeMints’ chateau. She sank into an upholstered chair and brought her hand up to touch the cool stones as he draped them around her. Maman had done so the last time she had worn them. Tears trickled down her face.

  “Where did you locate the necklace?”

  “Paul DeMint gave it to me before I was sent packing to Martinique. Days after you’d abandoned me. Said it was all I’d ever have of you.” His fingertips brushed against the back of her neck, and he lifted up a tendril of hair, twisting it between his fingers. “Said you were to belong to my brother, not me. That was why you ran, wasn’t it?”

  She allowed this to sink in. Why hadn’t Etienne come after her, tried to help her? She knew why. He was a coward, always had been.

  He laid a sheet of paper on the table. “Your mother left a letter saying you were to stay with Madame DeMint and that she consented to our marriage. I have it here.”

  Maman’s handwriting…

  Tears streamed down her face. She missed her mother so much. But Maman had told her to come on to the colonies, not to return to Etienne.

  Etienne’s hard as diamond eyes averted. “But when I went to find you, no one could tell me where you were.” His was the face of an actor. “I tried to shake it out of Jeanne, but she refused to tell me, that little…”

  “She didn’t know,” Suzanne whispered.

  It sounded as if Etienne expected to enforce Maman’s permission to marry, as though it was an order. And if he believed that, then to what lengths would he go to accomplish his aims?

  “I expect you to pack your belongings and be ready to sail home within two days.”

  What if she didn’t want to? They spent an hour talking stiffly but politely, as though she’d never known him.

  Etienne dismissed most of her questions about the plantation in the Caribbean, not that she wished to go there anymore. Tomorrow, she’d take action.

  32

  A sundial in a courtyard she passed revealed that Suzanne made good time on her walk. The din and hum of building so prevalent in this New World city dissipated the further she journeyed up Third Street. The echo of work activities at the busy Quaker Almshouse replaced the construction noise. In the shadow of its tallest brick building, the rectangular structure of St. Joseph’s Church hid. She pushed the heavy entry door open.

  Holy incense surrounded her, bathing her in its spicy aroma. Adjusting to the dim light, Suzanne moved forward into the sanctuary. About eighteen feet wide, the interior resembled the Huguenot church in the countryside near Grand-mère’s. She moved forward and settled herself on the plain wooden bench and bent her head over her hands. Lord, what do I do now?

  A new church, beautiful in its rustic simplicity, yet nothing like the cathedrals of France. Was her life in these colonies to be the same way? Lord, could I have a simple but lovely life with Johan? She pressed her eyes closed and waited.

  You chose. Tears welled in her eyes as God gently spoke to her heart. As though painting a canvas in her mind, God showed her that onboard that ship as she lay dying, He’d allowed the vision of the sea waiting to swallow her up. You chose life. A new beginning. One where she lived with her own faith and relationship with God. You chose your life partner.

  A man’s soft English voice carried to her ears. He approached, arrayed in Jesuit raiment, from the back of the sanctuary. The young priest held sacraments. “Might I help you?”

  “I have questions.” She swallowed back her nervousness.

  “Let me set these down. We have a couple renewing their wedding vows this evening.” His voice was soothing but his words sent a tremor through her.

  How she wished she and Johan were doing the same. “I’ve come to ask about marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant.” She tensed, anticipating the scathing look Grand-mère’s priest would have given her.

  Instead, only concern lit his kind face. “What’s your opinion? If a man and woman both have Christ as Savior and ask a fellow believer to witness their vows—is it a valid union?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Search your heart. I think you know.” His eyes seemed to pierce hers and to look to her very soul. “But if you ask whether a Protestant and Catholic may marry, we have many such marriages here. If a man and a woman both have Christ as their Savior, then this can be granted…at least from the Jesuits’ perspective.”

  Smoothing the folds of her skirt, Suzanne took a deep breath. Her father would have agreed and welcomed Johan as son. More than anything, she wished for him to be her husband.

  The priest raised his eyebrows. “I caution you that those marriage vows might not be recognized should you return to France.”

  She planned never to cross that ocean again.

  ~*~

  Suzanne turned to the cherry sideboard in the Christy’s dining room and touched the bouquet. Oversized late roses and early fall camellias clustered in the tall Chinese porcelain vase and
lent their fragrance to the beeswax candles. Servants had pressed the finest linen tablecloth and laid it out earlier in the afternoon. Two sterling candelabras flanked the flowers, their candlelight glistening on the shiny cherry surface of the table.

  Now if only William would stop the dreadful scraping on his violin for Christy’s friend, Colonel McCready, who sat watching in rapt attention.

  Suzanne’s nerves were strung tighter than William’s violin strings. This dinner and what she hoped was her final meeting with Etienne need to be over with—done.

  “Bravo!” The auburn-haired man clapped as William ceased his racket.

  Suzanne caught the boy’s arm before he left the wood-paneled room. She whispered, “Why do you pretend to be so bad a musician?”

  The boy’s dark eyes seared her as he shrugged away her touch and disappeared from the room.

  She’d stifled her gift of art because she hadn’t been able to bring to life the young man from the woods near Grand-mère’s—Johan. In actuality, he was a much better man than she could have imagined or painted. Yet she’d driven him from her by her own idiocy. Where was he? Must she endure the evening ahead alone?

  When would Etienne and that woman arrive? She no longer cared if the islander was his mistress. But poor Wyatt—he’d chattered incessantly the night before about the woman’s incomparable beauty. He couldn’t answer a single question about his impression of Etienne other than commenting that he was “not worthy of Evangeline.” There was heartbreak ahead for Monsieur Scott.

  ~*~

  Johan returned, as he’d been instructed to do and watched as the Frenchman lit the candles on the altar of St. Joseph’s. “You’re a Jesuit priest?”

  “Oui, Father Francois. That’s why I asked you to promise me onboard ship. That you would keep secret that I was a priest.”

  Circumstances were as Vann had suggested. “So although there’s acceptance of many faiths in Pennsylvania, there’s fear of Catholicism?”

  “Oui, and a little fear of the French, also.” He gave a wry smile. “Some fear we’ll force conversion. But here in this parish, we minister to all God’s children, German Lutherans or French Catholics. I’ve been very busy since I arrived, even though I must do much of my work in secret for Catholics are barely tolerated in this area, although some would say otherwise. And your wife’s needs, monsieur, were my first official act. I wasn’t supposed to risk anything onboard but…God spoke to my heart. And I obeyed Him. Fortunately my superior is a tolerant man.”

  Johan pulled at his high neck cloth, unaccustomed to its snug fit. “Is our marriage recorded in your book?”

  “Oui.”

  The church door burst open, bringing cool air and Phillip, who bent over panting as though he had run the whole way from the shop.

  “What is it?” Johan went to his friend’s side. “Is it Vann?”

  “No.”

  The priest came forward and touched Phillip’s arm. “Calm yourself and tell us what’s wrong.”

  Phillip shook his head twice then sucked in a long steady intake of air. “Yesterday, Suzanne came looking for you. I told her Vann released you.”

  “Ja?”

  His friend looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell her, Johan? About Vann and his offer?”

  Johan shrugged. “Was going to tell her later. Überraschung.”

  Phillip’s mouth dropped open. “A surprise all right. Like it will be when that snake, LeFort, abducts her and sails off tonight!”

  The news hit like a punch to his gut. “Nein!”

  Phillip huffed, “LeFort’s carriage driver came to the shop for a repair. Said it had to be done tonight. But the man was scared. Etienne was in a hurry to get his mistress to the ship but couldn’t find her. Planned to locate her and lock her in their room if need be. And was going to be bringing another woman on board with him, too. Suzanne Richelieu, he said.”

  Johan was halfway out the church door before he turned to the priest. “Thank you.”

  As they dodged carriages and horses, crossing several streets, Johan balled his fists. “You go to LeFort’s driver and tell him not to come until very late, and I’ll get ready and go on to Christy’s.”

  ~*~

  A beautiful woman with dark eyes and elaborately coiffed hair slipped from behind Etienne. Her powdered face contrasted sharply against darkly rouged lips and cheeks. Ivory satin set off her dark hair, as did the sheer netting floating around her shoulders.

  Suzanne blinked and tried not to stare at the woman who held her former beau’s interest…if not his heart.

  One corner of Etienne’s lips moved upward in a half-smile. “May I introduce Evangeline Favret. She’s the widow of my plantation’s former owner.”

  As she sank into a curtsy, the island woman’s heavy scent overpowered even the roses.

  Suzanne blinked and then whispered to Christy, “Should we open the windows?”

  Christy’s silver head ascended slightly, his lips barely tipping up in a smile that she recognized—one of amusement and disgust covered with a veneer of civility.

  Colonel McCready lifted the window at the far end of the room, almost as though he had heard her words.

  Christy grinned at her.

  The fabulous mistress was being presented on Etienne’s outstretched arms. This close, the woman’s eyes didn’t seem to focus. What was wrong with her?

  “Enchanté, Evangeline.” Suzanne prayed her voice didn’t sound like a croak.

  As the woman kissed her cheek, Suzanne held her breath. The cut of Evangeline’s bodice dipped low to the point of vulgarity. Suzanne touched her own modest topaz-filled neckline, her ecru lace ruffles dropping back against her three-quarter sleeves.

  Etienne’s eyes grew cold as he appraised Evangeline. “I brought her away so that she might begin to overcome her grief.”

  A pang of guilt squeezed Suzanne’s chest. She’d been judging this woman who had lost her husband.

  Christy bent and kissed her hand. “Please accept my condolences, Madame Favret. We hope you enjoy your dinner with us this evening.”

  Evangeline’s head lifted and her eyes became more alert, then her gaze darted about the room.

  Wyatt emerged from the shadows near the hall stairs, startling Suzanne.

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  Evangeline merely lowered her dark eyelashes and raised one hand languidly for the young man.

  Suzanne exhaled as Wyatt drew her away from them and pulled a chair out for Evangeline at the far end of the long table, near McCready.

  “Offer you some strong libation, LeFort?” McCready’s deep voice carried across the room. He removed the stopper from a crystal decanter of sherry. “Think you might need it.”

  Christy chuckled and shook his head. “Colonel McCready, one would think you resided here.”

  Etienne ignored the two English officers and kissed Suzanne’s cheeks before quickly releasing her. Nothing in his brief touch indicated he’d ever been her intended.

  Her heartbeat slowed to a dull, hard thumping. How could she ever have been so naive?

  A servant brought in a tray, accompanied by the delicate aroma of seafood mingled with more seasoned fare.

  Christy motioned toward the long table. “Suzanne and Etienne, would you mind taking your places at the table?”

  Wyatt’s sensuous grin indicated that he was already seated exactly where he wanted to be—close to Evangeline.

  McCready brought the sherry to the table and pulled the Chippendale chair out next to Evangeline, where Etienne’s gaze had settled.

  A dark head popped up from underneath the dining table.

  “William!” Suzanne jumped, but then began to laugh as the boy, dressed in buckskins, ducked back under the table, apparently scrambling further down.

  Christy sighed. “My pardons.”

  “No need,” McCready jovially insisted. “Got five girls at home myself, and they all enjoy a good prank on their father.”

  Her o
ld beau stared at the back of McCready’s ginger head.

  Christy stepped forward and held her chair for her.

  A servant placed shrimp and crab pâté on Wyatt’s, and then Evangeline’s creamy china plates. Butter and herbs wafted up, mingling with the enticing scent of fresh seafood.

  Christy celebrated evensong earlier.

  Suzanne was surprised when, after he was settled, he didn’t ask a blessing upon the meal. Two giggling children may have distracted him, she surmised, as their small bodies brushed past her legs en route to him. She closed her eyes. Lord, bless this meal and bring peace to me and this household.

  Another servant placed small rounds of toasted bread upon their plates. Taking a bite of the crackers and the seafood, each pair seemed perfectly suited.

  Suzanne’s stomach hurt. She pushed the wonderful food around her plate as Christy and Etienne discussed the market for sugar.

  Etienne cleared his throat. “Monsieur, Suzanne has a long-standing betrothal to me.”

  Colonel Christy’s thin lips tipped up only slightly and his silver eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid her contract was redeemed, and she’s desperately needed in her current situation.”

  His dark eyebrows raised, Etienne sputtered, “Surely you cannot be serious?”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  Why was the colonel telling this falsehood? Suzanne’s fingers closed around the topaz necklace, a choking sensation building in her throat.

  Two small forms flew from beneath the table.

  Sarah, dressed in a short deerskin dress, chased William, who brandished a small hatchet. “Drop it, William!”

  “Monsieur, I can see why you’d need help with that little savage, but…”

  Christy stood as the children fled the room in a blur. Other than the rapid rise and fall of Christy’s chest, Suzanne could discern no emotion in him. “He’s my son, Monsieur LeFort, and he is no more savage than you.”

  “Here! Here!” McCready agreed from the other end of the table, pouring himself another glass of sherry. “Boy looks no more Indian than his father nor…me.” He cleared his throat.