Isabelle turned her to face the mirror where her image was reflected, too.
“Look at us. You could easily be mistaken for me, while I look like a painted doll taken directly from the halls of Versailles.” She turned Sophie to gaze directly into her eyes. “No matter what happens tonight, don’t let anything said or done upset you. Don’t contradict anything the countess, Colbert, or anyone else says. If we’re willful in any way, we’ll be punished, and things will be far worse for both of us. If I can find a way out of this for us, I will, but Sophie, in the end, we can’t disobey the king.”
“I know. It isn’t as if I’ve got a future here now, but I’ll miss you so much.”
“And I you, but we have to do our duty. Papa would expect it of us.”
Isabelle felt a twinge of guilt, knowing she was planning to do the opposite. She turned back to the mirror and stared at the images reflected in the glass.
At a knock on the door, she moved to the side behind Murielle to pick up her small bag and handkerchief while Sophie stood her ground, mesmerized by the reflection in the mirror.
“Come in,” she called, expecting to see the countess here to make sure her orders had been followed.
Vincent stood just inside her doorway as if he had every right to enter her room. The chevalier wore white satin knee-britches, a white silk shirt with enough frills and ruffles to satisfy any dowager, and a dark green coat matching Isabelle’s gown as if it had been cut from the same cloth. His white wig had been combed and powdered, and he’d shaved and had his mustache trimmed. A king’s ransom in jewels adorned his fingers. Pristine white stockings and black-heeled leather shoes with bows at the toes completed the ensemble.
Isabelle stifled a giggle. Would any of the other men at dinner be dressed like this?
He stood in the open doorway and frowned, the ridges on his forehead deep, his eyes cold.
“Madame,” he said, moving toward Sophie, his jaw clenched, his empty hand fisted at his side. “While you look wonderful as always, I am disappointed. I left specific instructions that you were to wear the green gown.”
“But I am wearing it,” Isabelle answered, realizing he’d mistaken Sophie for her.
His head snapped around at the sound of her voice. A myriad of emotions played across his face—surprise, recognition, lust, humor, and intrigue. He stared at the two women, first at Sophie and then at Isabelle and shook his head, a smile playing at his lips and eyes.
Stepping toward her, he stopped a few feet in front of her and bowed deeply.
“Isabelle, you take my breath away. I never realized how closely you resemble the queen and your cousin. Navarre women are indeed beautiful, more beautiful than I imagined. I can hardly wait for the moment when you become my bride.”
Don’t hold your breath.
Turning towards Sophie, the chevalier smiled, resembling a cat playing with a mouse, the lust in his eyes obvious.
“Perhaps we should have reconsidered sending you to the colonies. Imagine. As besotted as I am with my future bride, I mistook you for her. I wonder how many of your other cousins are graced with such beauty? Louis could easily have played you in another role. If there wasn’t so much at stake, I’d do my best to convince him, but unfortunately, things must go ahead as we’ve planned. C’est dommage.” He reached for her right hand and brought it to his lips. “You’ll be a prize for any man, mademoiselle.” He turned to Isabelle. “Now I understand why your father and your husband chose to keep you away from court. You’re magnificent, a rare treasure, my dear.”
The lust and greed on his face nauseated her.
“Your grace is too kind,” she answered, swallowing the bile rising in her throat and threatening to choke her.
“Call me Vincent.” He smiled wickedly. “I have a gift for you.” He reached for her left hand, removed her wedding band, and handed it to Murielle before Isabelle realized his intentions, and replaced it with another—a large square emerald surrounded by diamonds.
“This ring was given to one of my ancestors during the Sixth Crusade when he helped Frederick II bring about the diplomatic surrender of Jerusalem. Some believe it was a gift to Solomon from the Queen of Sheba. It’s been in my family for generations, yet it matches the de Caen Emeralds perfectly. The jewels were fated to be worn together, and since they’re mirrored in your eyes, they were destined to be yours.” He kissed the ring on her hand. “This is my troth to you.”
Isabelle stared at the large stone and fought the panic eating at her. Had his dead wives worn this same ring? It was too big for her. She would have to wrap string around it to keep it in place. “Thank you, Vincent.” She was surprised she hadn’t choked on his name. “It’s a beautiful ring, but it doesn’t fit properly on that finger. Could I wear it on another?”
“An engagement ring should be worn on the ring finger,” he said, scowling, his brow furrowed heavily. “But my love, for tonight, you may wear it where it fits best. I’ll take it with me in the morning and have it resized.” He reached for the ring he’d given Murielle.
She fumbled with it momentarily before handing it to him.
Isabelle slipped the ring onto her middle finger and smiled. It was still loose, but it was unlikely to fall off.
“It seems secure enough here.”
He nodded. “The guests await. Shall we?” He offered an arm to each of the women. “I look forward to seeing Solange’s face. I’m sure she has no idea what treasures this old house has held secret for so many years.”
* * *
Guy stabled his horse and entered the small house, her gift from the viscount when she’d retired from his service. His mother stood in the kitchen, stirring the contents of a soup pot hanging over the fireplace. Most of her belongings had been sold along with the house, and those things she wished to take with her to New France were packed in crates and trunks. If she wanted, she could be a woman of leisure in the colony; his status as a landowner and nobleman would allow it, but Aline was a stubborn woman. She wouldn’t accept charity, not even from her son. For more than twenty-years, she’d worked as the vicomte’s housekeeper rather than live off his generosity. Guy sniffed the air appreciatively and smiled. His meals in Ville-Marie would definitely improve with her there.
“You’re just in time for supper.” She reached for bowls and spoons to set the table. “It’s good to have you home, Guy. I’ll enjoy seeing you each day. How was it?”
“Good evening, Maman.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. “It was as I’d expected—very solemn. The church was full. A number of courtiers and other nobility attended. The priest spoke well of him, and there were many mourners from the area to comfort the family. The king’s finance minister, Colbert, was there as well as d’Angrignon.”
“Two of the king’s closest men, I’m impressed. Of course, the count was of royal blood. How was your interview with the new countess? You did get to speak to her, didn’t you? Will she sell you the land?”
“I spoke to her, yes, but she isn’t the countess. Her step-mother retains the title until the new governor takes a wife.” He sat at the plain wooden table and released the sorrow he’d bottled inside. “Isabelle didn’t remember me.”
His mother wiped her hands on the apron hanging at her waist. She walked over and stood beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder in a gesture he found comforting.
“Did you really think she would? It’s been years since she last saw you. She was only a child. She didn’t care for you the way you cared for her.”
Guy started. How had his mother known?
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. A mother can tell when her son’s in love, even when she knows it’s hopeless. She may yet be the countess. Rumor has it the king plans to have her marry the new governor, the Chevalier d’Angrignon as soon as her time of mourning is over. As a member of the royal family, she’s his to command. Apparently d’Angrignon will be elevated to the rank of count.”
Jealousy and anger stabbed him—d’Angr
ignon? That pig wasn’t fit to clean her boots. How he’d wormed his way into the king’s good graces was beyond him. Louis was too smart to be taken in by a man like that. The chevalier’s reputation was well known among the soldiers of Guy’s old regiment. He was a cruel man who’d risen to prominence on the backs of others. He had peculiar tastes, dangerous ones, and Guy had seen one of the courtesans who’d almost died from his tender mercies. He couldn’t imagine his sweet, gentle Isabelle married to that monster. Such a travesty would have his old friend and her father turning over in their graves.
“Maman, it never ceases to amaze me how much servants know of the affairs of others. Tell me what happened to Pierre. I spoke with those who would talk to me in Paris, but they weren’t forthcoming with information. I know he was accused of treason before the lit de justice, but not for what. How did he die?”
“Servants learn a lot because no one notices them. The upper class speaks more freely than it should, and gossip spreads on the wind. Let me get dinner on the table first, then I’ll tell you what I know. It was a sad day for his parents. The shock killed his father, I’m sure. Cedric sent his step-mother away within days of the funeral. That boy never had a heart. As a child he tortured the small animals he caught. I swear he got more pleasure hurting things than was right.”
Aline walked over to the hearth, took the kettle of water she kept hot there, and poured the steaming liquid over the mint leaves she’d placed in each of two cups. As the brew steeped, she ladled soup into bowls and placed a loaf of fresh bread and a crock of butter on the table.
Guy’s stomach rumbled, and he laughed. “I’ll have to keep a close eye on you in Ville-Marie. Once a man realizes what a fine cook you are, he’ll steal you away from me.” He spread a generous amount of butter on his bread.
“Go away with you.” His mother chuckled, and her cheeks reddened. “As if any man would want an old woman like me.” She sat down across from him. “I don’t know the whole story,” she started, taking a moment to test her herbal tea. “The charges were very serious. Shortly after Pierre returned to France, he was ordered to Versailles where he was accused of selling weapons to the king’s enemies—savages of some sort—and conspiring with the English to help them invade the colony and seize it from France. There was talk of missing furs and tax money as well.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Guy interjected. “Arming the natives is the last thing Pierre would do. He was almost killed this time last year when he saved me from a Mohawk ambush. He’s the one who discovered the theft of guns from the armory at Ville-Marie. Why would he do that if he were the thief? As for the furs, Pierre turned over every illegal pelt to the Sulpicians as instructed. Taxes collected were given to Jean Talon by the good friars. He never touched a cent of it.”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “You asked me what happened, that’s what I was told.”
Guy shook his head. “As far as conspiring with the English to invade the colony, that’s ludicrous. It’s true there are rumors, but none have been substantiated. Pierre was concerned with the number of coureurs de bois trafficking with the Massachusetts colony to the south. He confiscated a lot of illegally trapped furs, but he didn’t keep any of them. I know. I often worked with him when the fur trappers came into the settlement. Not all the fur traders are happy about the restrictions placed on them. I’m sure some of them would be happy to see the colony fall into English hands, especially when their trapping laws are less restrictive, and exploration is encouraged.” He frowned. “Perhaps some of them and their supporters are behind this. They still seek a passage to India.”
“Be very careful,” she said, pursing her lips and frowning. “We both know the power behind all trade in the colonies is in the hands of the French West India Company, controlled by influential men, including d’Angrignon. Accusing them of treason could get you killed, especially when you have no proof of any such conspiracy. At the lit de justice, the count spoke in Pierre’s defense, and asked the king to show mercy since all of the evidence against him was circumstantial, based on allegations and innuendoes. The king has always respected the count’s opinion. He agreed to give Pierre a chance to exonerate himself. He was demoted in rank and banished to the colony to face his accusers and try to clear his name.”
Pierre ran his hand through his hair. This was crazy. None of it made sense. How could the accusations stem from the colony?
“Apparently, Pierre was upset with the loss of his commission,” she continued. “He went out and got drunk, got into a fight over cards, and insulted one of Paris’s most infamous duelists. He was found the next morning, a rapier thrust through his heart, in an alley not far from the inn where he and the count were staying. Isabelle’s father brought the body back to Caen where Pierre was buried in the family plot. The shock of the charges of treason and his son’s death were too much for the vicomte and he collapsed. The poor man died in his distraught wife’s arms the following day. Wanting to disassociate himself from his disgraced half-brother, the new Vicomte Gaudier disowned him. Since Cedric has no heirs, Pierre was next in line for the title.”
Guy nodded. How could a man hate another simply because they shared the same father?
“I don’t understand this. It makes no sense. The king’s sentence was no punishment at all. The regiment was already disbanded as the king should’ve known since it was on his orders. As for getting drunk, in all the years I’ve known him, never once did Pierre over indulge on l’eau-de-vie. Like myself, he was planning to return to New France with Isabelle and claim his lands and title. I have to find out what really happened in Paris. Pierre was on important business for the governor-general.” He huffed out a breath. “De Courcelle won’t be happy when he hears of this.”
“That I don’t know. After the funeral, Isabelle and Sophie went into seclusion at the abbey. She returned to the lodge only a day or so ago when her step-mother sent for her after her father’s death. Your love has suffered deeply, but I don’t think her pain is over yet.”
“If she has to marry the chevalier, that’s certainly true. I have to find a way to talk to her alone, away from a house where the walls have ears.”
His mother bit her lip. “Perhaps there’s a way. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Isabelle attends Prime each morning. The countess rarely appears at any of the early masses. Your best chance to see her alone will be after the first service. Be careful, my son. Two visits within two days might attract unwanted attention.”
She stood, and took his empty bowl to the soup pot, refilled it, and placed it in front of him before sitting again to continue her tale. “There’s something else you should know. Some of the count’s servants believe his death was suspicious. Three months ago, he was healthy as an ox, then suddenly he began to have serious stomach trouble and the bloody flux. The countess had some doctor from Paris come and bleed him, but the poor man wasted away.”
“What do you mean?”
“The count fell ill only days after Pierre’s funeral, after Isabelle and Sophie went into seclusion, and he began questioning his son-in-law’s death. The few remaining servants the countess hasn’t replaced in the three years she’s been here believe he was cursed. Rumors abound that those who practice the dark arts have fled from the Nordic countries seeking refuge in France. The countess has entertained many guests from Sweden this past year. Strange that this coincides with so many flux related deaths this winter ... You know I don’t hold with witchcraft, but there are many poisons that cause symptoms similar to those of dysentery, including the arsenic the nobility uses to lighten their skin. When the count worsened, she insisted on attending to her husband herself. Be careful you don’t put yourself or Isabelle in danger. Both the countess and d’Angrignon have powerful friends. She goes to court to wait on the queen once the new countess is in place. She won’t be happy if anything ruins this opportunity for her. If you suspect the charges against Pierre are false, who stands to gain from his death as well as that of the count?
”
Pierre looked into his mother’s worried eyes. Only one name stood out.
“If what you said earlier is true, one man comes to mind—d’Angrignon.”
Chapter Five
Isabelle stepped into the dining room, her arm in Vincent’s, his hand holding hers in place, making it impossible for her to let go. Sophie walked ahead of them. The rustle of gowns alerted the countess to their arrival, and she spoke before turning around to look at them.
“Ah, Vincent, I see you brought the guest of honor.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, his oily voice grating on Isabelle’s raw nerves.
Solange turned, her eyebrows almost vanishing under the fringe of hair on her forehead and her eyes narrowing when she saw Sophie. Her jaw clenched only to gape open when Sophie stepped to the side and she spotted Isabelle. She snapped her jaw shut, as pleasure bloomed on her face.
“You look ravishing, my dears. Your gown, Isabelle, is truly superb. I must ask her majesty for the name of the dressmaker she used. It was so kind of her to send you a few court garments. Clothing worn in a convent may be appropriate for life there, but not at court. And, such bloom in your cheeks ... Vincent, you naughty boy, what have you done to make her blush so prettily?”
The chevalier laughed. “Countess, a gentleman does not kiss and tell, but alas, I merely conveyed my compliments to my lady. You know how shy she is.” He turned to face the men and women who were Solange’s guests. “Mesdames, allow me to present my fiancée, the future Countess de Caen and d’Angrignon, Isabelle de Caen, the count’s youngest daughter. For the last three years, she’s lived at the Madelonnettes Convent in Paris, awaiting the king’s pleasure for her future. I brought her here this morning to attend the funeral.”
Isabelle fought to stay calm. More lies. When would they end? If she was supposed to be the woman in black, where had that woman gone? Disappearing into the crowd of mourners would’ve been easy enough. All she would’ve had to do was remove the veil and cloak. No one would’ve questioned a woman alone at a funeral. Who was she? How many people were involved in this travesty? More questions than answers. It all made her tired head ache.
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 5
