Sins of Omission

by Irina Shapiro

  “I’m going to write to Clarence,” Hugo said suddenly. “Jane might have poisoned him against me, but I’m still his uncle, and would like to think that we can have a close relationship once we return to England.”

  “Clarence probably thinks that you are in the West Indies, serving your sentence,” I replied, wondering what Hugo was going to tell the boy.

  “Well, it’s time he knew the truth. He’s old enough to understand, and to judge for himself. I can’t put everything in writing, but I will ask Brad to call on him and explain. Perhaps he’ll hate me a little less then.”

  Hugo raked his hand through his hair in agitation. If I knew anything about teenage boys, it was that they weren’t easy to reason with, especially when led to believe that the person in question was a traitor. It was anyone’s guess what Jane had said to him about me, if anything, but if Clarence believed Hugo to be bewitched, he might be nursing a grudge against me as well. It was reasonable to assume that Clarence blamed Hugo for his mother’s death, which was indirectly true, so his feelings wouldn’t be easily soothed.

  By the time we returned to England and Hugo could speak for himself, Clarence would be nearly eighteen, a grown man, and the master of Three Oaks. I hoped that his previous relationship with Hugo would speak for itself and he would welcome his uncle home, but it was hard to predict how he would feel and what influence his sister and her husband might have on Clarence while he remained with them. I had never met Magdalen, but from what Jane had told me, she’d never cared for her stepdaughter and had been happy to marry her off. Perhaps Magdalen would help Clarence deal with his loss, but then again, she wouldn’t know the truth about Hugo or myself, and naturally assume the worst.

  The biggest issue, however, was that legally Clarence was still Hugo’s heir, a fact which Hugo was acutely aware of. If anything befell Hugo, Valentine and I would be at Clarence’s mercy for our survival, yet another reason why Hugo desperately needed a male heir. I looked away from his tense expression, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

  Chapter 21

  Blood-red ribbons of a spring sunrise were just becoming visible above the rooftops of Paris as our carriage rolled into the city. We’d left Versailles sometime after three a.m. and had been traveling since. What would have taken less than an hour by car took several hours by carriage, and although we had been invited to spend the night at the palace, had to politely refuse in order to be at home by the time Valentine woke up for her morning feeding. I forced myself to unclench my fists and relax, which took something of an effort. I could practically hear the baby howling with hunger since she was usually up by this time, hungry and wet. All I wanted was to hold that sweet-smelling warm body against me, bury my face in her chubby shoulder and cry.

  Hugo was dozing with his head against the padded side of the carriage; his features relaxed in sleep. He’d been unusually tense after we left the palace, but the motion of the carriage had finally lulled him to sleep. I didn’t want to add to his anxiety, so I put on a brave face and told him it had been a magical evening, when, in fact, it had been one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. I’d dreaded the visit to Versailles, knowing that I couldn’t possibly hold my own among people who’d spent most of their lives as courtiers. I was a woman raised in the twenty-first century, taught to be independent, straightforward, and proud of my accomplishments, not a simpering, flattering, forked-tongued sycophant whose only goal in life was to get as much as I could from my position and sex appeal, not that those would have gotten me much here.

  Luke had spent hours over a period of several days tutoring me in the ways of Louis’s Court. I took copious quill-scratched notes on who was married to whom, who was sleeping with whom, who had discarded whom in favor of someone with more social-climbing potential, and who was scheming against whom in a military-worthy campaign of taking them down. Luke had warned me of topics which were not to be discussed for fear of appearing vulgar. Speaking of Valentine was completely off-limits.

  “Most women farm out their children to a wet-nurse and forget about them until they are at least two,” Luke admonished me with a stern look. “Maternal pride is unheard of, not to mention utterly misplaced at Court. Nor are you to gush about your husband. French women regard their husbands with barely hidden contempt. They marry to improve their prospects, not out of any sense of misguided affection, so your love for Hugo would be a source of derision to them, particularly since they would be jealous enough to scratch out your eyes.”

  “Versailles sounds like Heaven on earth,” I said sarcastically, “can’t wait to visit.”

  Luke ignored my cattiness and continued unperturbed. “You will not be seated next to Hugo at supper, nor will you be anywhere near him for most of the night, so you will be entirely on your own. The best you can do is respond when spoken to, but not too effusively, smile mysteriously, and for God’s sake, don’t stare at anyone. Lower your eyes as often as possible, lest someone take offense at your gawking.”

  “Ease up, Luke,” Hugo drawled from his place by the fire. “She’s not a simpleton.”

  “I do beg your pardon, Neve,” Luke said immediately. “I just want to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment. One mistake can seriously cost you at the Court of Louis XIV.” Luke turned to Hugo, eyeing him suspiciously. “I’d still like to know how you managed to wangle an invitation to Court. Sir Trumbull is fuming, you know. Now he will be forced to acknowledge you, despite his desire to behead you himself. Whatever favors you called in, Hugo, I hope it was worth it.”

  Hugo just smiled indulgently, but chose not to reply. I had to admit that I had been wondering the same thing myself. One moment we were virtually invisible, and suddenly we’d been summoned to Court to attend on one of Europe’s greatest monarchs. The notion of being presented to the Sun King made me giddy with nerves, but a more detached part of me couldn’t help gloating at meeting such a famous historical figure.

  “What is he like, Luke?” I asked, suddenly realizing that all I knew of the man I’d learned from history books, which, if I had anything to go on were not always accurate.

  Luke looked around to make sure we were quite alone and then shut the door to the parlor to be sure that he wasn’t overheard by the servants. They didn’t understand English, but Luke’s position would be severely compromised if anyone heard him say anything even remotely negative about the king.

  “Louis is a spoiled child,” Luke began. “He adores flattery, and surrounds himself with people who gush over him at any opportunity. The clumsier the attempt, the more flattering he finds it, since he believes it to be more heartfelt. He particularly craves praise of his military prowess, and will gladly start a war if only to show off his skill as a leader. Of course, he also fancies himself quite the lover, and has bedded many of the women of the Court over the years. Many of them are now too old and undesirable to still be received, but there is plenty of new blood. If he takes a fancy to someone, a refusal is paramount to social suicide. The woman is simply expected to grace His Majesty’s bed at the appointed hour. He doesn’t bother with wooing or playing the gallant.”

  “Stay out of his way, Neve,” Hugo advised me with a wary glance. “I wouldn’t want to have to call out the king of France.” The chances of Louis inviting me to share his bed were mercifully nonexistent, but the mere thought was abhorrent. Would Hugo stand aside and let a monarch bed his wife as other men did? I wondered.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Hugo replied as if I’d spoken out loud. “You are mine for better or for worse, and mine you shall remain.”

  I liked the sentiment, but I didn’t care for the tone. I gave Hugo a withering glance as I continued to scratch away. “Ah, Luke, I have a rather delicate question,” I stammered. This was something very basic, but I didn’t think I would be able to ask one of the ladies for fear of making a fool of myself. “Where does one answer the call of nature?”

  “There are several rooms set aside for that very purpose. There are chamber pots behi
nd screens for the ladies. The gentlemen don’t require such measures since they don’t share your delicate sensibilities,” he joked. “I will discreetly point out the room to you once we get to the palace.”

  “Am I allowed to seek you out, if I can’t talk to my own husband?” I asked, feeling even more nervous.

  “You and I may exchange some pleasantries, but you cannot appear to purposely attach yourself to me. You can casually stroll by and stop for a second should you need assistance, but otherwise, you’re on your own, Neve.”

  Hugo rose to his feet and took my clammy hands in his. “I know you’re nervous, and you have every right to be, but it’s only for a few hours, and I know that you can hold your own among those women.”

  Hugo might know a great deal about politics and religion, but he knew very little about the cattiness and duplicity of women. I felt a little guilty for that stray thought when I remembered how Hugo had suffered at the hands of his sister. Perhaps he did know something of women’s capacity for deceit now. I smiled into his eyes and nodded in what I hoped was a reassuring way. Yes, I would be all right no matter what, as long as I didn’t get milk stains on my gown. I would have to put thick wads of folded linen into my bodice, and change them every few hours to make sure that I didn’t embarrass myself. The women of the Court didn’t nurse their babies, so this was a problem unique only to me. At least there were screens in the ladies’ rooms, so I could have a little privacy when I changed my milk-soaked pads.

  I nearly tumbled from the coach when we reached the house and ran up the path, my skirts bunched in my hands. Hugo was right behind me, but I was already pounding on the door, desperate to get to Valentine. I could hear her cries as I flew up the stairs, my fingers tearing at the laces of my gown frantically. Frances was still in bed, but Marthe was in our room, rocking the baby and singing to her in French as Valentine screamed, her face red, and her little fists shaking as if she were spoiling for a fight. Her toothless gums shook with rage as she tried to make her needs known. I grabbed the baby from Marthe and put her to my one exposed breast, as the maid went about unlacing me and carefully removing the parts of the gown without disturbing the baby. Valentine gave me the gimlet eye as she latched on and began to suck furiously, her eyes closing in concentration.

  “How long has she been crying?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  “Not long, milady,” Marthe answered. I knew she was lying.

  Finally, I was free of the gown and able to sit down in my nursing chair. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as hot tears slid down my cheeks. I didn’t want to remember what I had overheard as I stood frozen behind the screen, but the tittering voices of the women were hard to forget.

  “I must admit that he’s rather handsome, in that typically English way,” one woman said. “He’s powerfully built; I always like that in a man.”

  “Mm, he is indeed,” another one purred. “He’s one I’d like to see without his wig,” she giggled, clearly implying something else.

  “He can keep on his wig as long as he takes off his breeches,” the first one replied.

  “Oh, he will soon enough,” a third woman said. “Did you see that wife of his? What a disgrace. She’s no better than a peasant. I hear they are recently married.”

  “Probably married her in the hopes that she would give him an heir, but I hear she had a girl. What a bitter disappointment it must have been for our charming Lord Everly. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get her full in the belly again soon and take a mistress. At least that silly cow won’t be invited to Court if she’s pregnant, so he can have free rein.”

  “Hmm, he’d have to actually lie with her to get her with child again. What a chore that must be. She’s got the face of a pug. And that hair….” I had refused to allow Sabine to do anything drastic, wearing it piled as high as my natural hair would allow. Some of the women had rather elaborate hairstyles, which were so high and powdered that a family of canaries could live in the depths, mistaking the hair for a nest.

  “He doesn’t need to look at her face. What possessed him?” one of the women asked. “She has no title, no family, and from what I hear, no money.”

  “Perhaps he plucked her out of some brothel. A certain kind of talent goes a long way.” The women burst out laughing as they finally exited the room and made their way back to the musical performance which was in progress. I strongly suspected that they’d known I was there all along, which made their comments even more spiteful. I had no doubt that something along those lines would be expressed to Hugo in short order, if it hadn’t been already.

  I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand, suddenly angry with myself. I promised myself that I would remain above all that, but I’d let their cattiness get to me at the very first opportunity. Those women had accomplished precisely what they set out to do; they made me doubt myself and my husband. The fact that I had no title, family, or money signaled to them that it was a love match, something none of them could claim, and it was enough to make their tiny little hearts burn with envy. Had Hugo been short, homely, and pasty-faced, no one would have given our marriage a thought, but his attractiveness was sure to get the attention of the women and make me a target.

  I smiled brightly as Hugo came in; already divested of his evening clothes and looking like the Hugo I loved. His hair was disheveled; he needed a shave, and his shirt was open at the throat to reveal a glimpse of crisp black hairs curling on his chest. He reached out and took the now sleeping child from me and after kissing her head put her in her cradle. Valentine smiled in her sleep, a little dribble of milk still on her chin. Hugo wiped it away with his finger and licked it off, his eyes never leaving mine. I just walked into his arms and rested my head on his shoulder, my equilibrium finally restored.

  “That bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It was fine, really.”

  “Neve, the king was seen watching you across the room. That’s enough to make women despise you on sight. He was probably nothing more than curious about you, but any sign of interest is enough to mark you as competition. Don’t take anything they said to heart.”

  “Are you disappointed that Valentine is a girl?” I blurted out. I knew it was a silly question, but I had to hear it from his lips. I knew he wanted a son, but was sure that he loved Valentine as much as he would have a boy. Was I wrong?

  Hugo held me away from himself and stared at me, his face incredulous. “Do you really believe that?”

  “No, but I had to ask.”

  “Neve, I thank God every single day for sparing you from dying in childbirth and granting me a precious little girl. Of course I’m not disappointed. Besides, there’s still time to have a boy.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Then Clarence will inherit, and perhaps history will go on as it was meant to, with me dying without producing a male heir.”

  Hugo carefully maneuvered me toward the bed, but I planted my hands on his chest, making him pause. “Hugo, I know that you hope I’ll change my mind, but I’m not ready for another child, nor will I be for some time to come.”

  “I know,” he replied in a soothing manner. “I would never go against your wishes. We will plan for it when the time is right.”

  “But we hadn’t planned Valentine,” I protested.

  “No, but we never not planned her,” Hugo replied soothingly. “I think perhaps you wanted to get pregnant; it made it easier for you to justify staying with me.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but realized that perhaps Hugo was right. Choosing to stay with him and go back had not been an easy decision, and being pregnant certainly made it easier for me to justify leaving everything I knew behind and returning to a century rife with disease, religious intolerance, and a lack of plumbing. Baby or no baby, I would have stayed with Hugo, but perhaps, subconsciously, I needed that extra reassurance that we were meant to be together.

  I climbed into bed and snuggled up against Hu
go, who’d given up on the idea of getting me into an amorous mood. His eyes were half closed, his breathing even, but I wasn’t done with him yet.

  “Hugo?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why were we really invited to Court? We’d been treated like lepers for months, and suddenly the king himself is welcoming us to Versailles. What’s changed?” I wasn’t fool enough to believe that Hugo didn’t have a hand in whatever was going on, but he’d remained tight-lipped so far, no doubt to spare me worry. But I was worried, more than I was willing to admit.

  “Go to sleep, my sweet,” Hugo mumbled, even though I was sure he was still wide-awake. I felt my stomach clench. I’d been in the seventeenth century long enough to understand something of the way things worked, although I was still a novice at anything having to do with politics. If Hugo was suddenly welcome at the Court of Louis XIV, it wasn’t because the king suddenly felt like showing generosity toward a traitor in exile. A deal had been struck, but what did it entail, and how would it affect us if it didn’t play out as planned? I was exhausted, but lay awake for at least an hour before finally drifting off to sleep, my mind still in a whirl.

  Chapter 22

  Frances watched from her chair by the fireside as the door handle turned quietly, and Sabine poked her face into the room, her smile full of mischief. Frances felt tired and languid, and not really in the mood for company, but she pasted a smile of welcome onto her face for fear of offending her friend. Sabine quickly entered the room and shut the door behind her with her foot. She set a small carafe of brandy and two cups on the small table where Frances kept a book of poems, and a flagon of perfume Neve had given her for her birthday in December. Frances loved the scent, but it was the book of poems that was a favorite, since it was a present from Archie. The book looked as good as new despite daily handling, the pages crisp and the binding intact. Frances turned the pages reverently when she read, and never opened the book all the way for fear of creasing the spine. Frances jumped to her feet and snatched the book off the table before Sabine spilled brandy on it, and slid it beneath her pillow for safekeeping.