Vincent continued his introduction. “This is her sister, Sophie Gaudier, widowed a few months ago.” His gaze bored into hers and Sophie’s, the threat of violence in his eyes warning them to stay quiet. “You know most of the others here, but may I present out newest arrivals Duchess Thérèse Givogue and her sister, Sister Irene, a young nun from the convent of the Ursulines in Troyes.”
Isabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew the duchess. They’d exchanged a few words over the years. She was one of the biggest gossips at court. Papa had been careful to avoid prolonged visits from the dowager for that very reason. If she believed this farce, everyone would. That’s why tonight had been orchestrated and the resemblance between Sophie and herself made greater than ever. It was exactly what the king, the countess, and the chevalier needed to disassociate Isabelle from Pierre, and by sending Sophie to the colony, no one would be any wiser.
Since Papa hadn’t wanted to expose them to the deplorable morals of the court, he’d kept them isolated here at Caen. Once she’d married Pierre, as the wife of the second son of a viscount, she had no reason to attend Versailles, and after Papa had remarried, Sophie had joined her at their country estate. This was a clever plan. Few people would understand they’d been duped. She thought of the edict Colbert had read at midday. It made sense now. Isabelle de Caen—not Isabelle Gaudier.
Nice play, your majesty. You’ve rid yourself of a traitor’s wife just like that.
Within forty-eight hours, everyone in Paris would know the chevalier was engaged to be married. No one would realize his future bride, the exquisite doll decorating his arm, no differently than the many gallants he wore tonight, was actually Pierre Gaudier’s widow. A few words from the court to the Benedictines and the Madelonnettes would ensure no one ever learned the truth, either.
The duchess lifted her lorgnette to her face.
“Solange, Sophie and I have met briefly over the years before your marriage when I’ve stopped to pay my respects to Caen, but I’d forgotten all about the younger girl. Ladies, you both have your mother’s beauty. You, Isabelle have her extraordinary eyes, while you, Sophie have your father’s. The last time I saw you together, you were barely out of the nursery. Vincent, you’ll have to be careful some young lord, or perhaps the king himself, doesn’t try to lure her from you.” She laughed.
The sound grated on Isabelle’s fraying nerves.
The duchess sobered, turned to her cousin, and reached out her hands, taking both of Sophie’s in them.
“Madame, I know we do not know one another well, but you have all of my sympathies. So young to be treated so cruelly. Bad news travels swiftly. Word of your husband’s unfortunate affairs has spread as far away as Marseille. It’s a shame women have to suffer for the misdeeds of their men. While you could’ve stayed here with your step-mother, your decision to go to New France with the king’s wards is an admirable way to put this nightmare behind you and start a new life. Not only are you supporting the king, you’re ensuring there’ll be women of quality and good breeding in the colony.” Her gaze fixed pointedly on the chevalier. “So Vincent, when are you presenting this enchanting creature to the court? I want to be there to watch the vultures circle.”
Isabelle stared in surprise at the duchess’s disrespect. Vincent’s loud guffaw startled her.
“Is that any way to describe French nobility? At the king’s request, we’ll be married at Notre Dame in a fortnight. I realize it’s soon, given the circumstances, but there are forces at play that must be stopped. I’ll enjoy the envy on the faces of several young dandies. I’ll assume my new titles then as well. My bride and I are being sent on a diplomatic mission, an errand for the queen. When we return, we’ll settle at Caen. As much as I’d like to keep my lovely bride with me in Paris, Isabelle prefers the quiet life here.”
A wedding at the cathedral, a state visit at the behest of the queen? How could all of this have been arranged so quickly? Papa must’ve given his consent. Why hadn’t she been told?
The chevalier raised Isabelle’s hand to his lips. “The church’s loss is my gain.”
The young nun spoke up. “Excuse me, mademoiselle, but did you not want to pursue your final vows?”
Vincent squeezed her hand. His rings dug into her fingers.
“While I might’ve wanted to take the veil, my life in the convent was always temporary. The king controls my fate. I do as I’m bid,” she murmured and cast her gaze down, relieved when Vincent released the pressure.
“Well answered.” The duchess nodded her head. “As a woman with royal blood, I understand your choices are limited. I’m surprised the king is allowing Sophie to leave France.”
“She renounced her claim to the throne when she married Gaudier,” Vincent answered.
“I see.” The duchesse gasped and all eyes turned to her. “You’ve given her the Angrignon Emerald!” Her exclamation drew everyone’s attention to Isabelle.
Vincent released her hand and held it up for all to see.
“Magnificent. You’re very fortunate, Isabelle. Vincent’s generosity is legendary among the ladies of the court, but though several tried to take his late wife’s place, none claimed the emerald. It matches the de Caen necklace and your eyes. It’s as if this joining was meant to be.”
Isabelle shuddered. The duchess’s words echoed Vincent’s.
Dear God, please don’t let this be Your will.
“Thérèse, I have eyes for no one now but Isabelle.” He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips once more. He gazed at her, his unspoken order to be humble and pleasant, or face the consequences of her disobedience, sounded loudly in her head.
“My lady, I have much to learn before I’ll make a suitable wife for so noble a gentleman as my fiancé. I’ll defer to him in all matters pertaining to my instructions.” Her cheeks heated not from modesty as those nearby would assume, but from suppressed fury.
The countess laughed. “Well, my dear, I’m sure Vincent will prove to be a more than adequate teacher. His skills in that area are legendary.” The other diners laughed at her crude joke. “Shall we? Dinner is served.” She led the guests into the dining room.
Isabelle approached the table on Vincent’s arm. The countess moved to her usual place at the foot of the table. In a reversal of what was customary, she sat with the chevalier and Isabelle on her right, Colbert and the duchesse on her left with the young nun next to Isabelle and Sophie across from her. The other half-dozen guests assumed the remaining chairs. The place at the head of the table and the prime seats beside it were left empty out of respect for her father—a false show of grief on her step-mother’s part, Isabelle was certain. To the best of her knowledge, Solange hadn’t shed a single tear for her husband.
The oak table, covered with a fine, white linen cloth, was loaded with heavily laden silver platters of meats, carrots and the pickled green beans Solange liked, three different cassoulets, as well as the white potatoes that grew so well in Caen’s rich soil. Instead of the usual bread and butter, the cook had provided both oat and maize cakes. Brandied fruit and cheese would follow. Silver and crystal flagons of wine and beer sat on the sideboard waiting to be served to the thirsty diners.
“I’ve chosen to eat simply tonight.” Solange signaled to the servants to begin filling the glasses. “It wouldn’t be proper to host a large formal dinner party the night I bury my husband. Isabelle agreed and so, although we celebrate her engagement, we do so knowing one dear to us is watching from above.” She raised her handkerchief to her eye. “I hope you’ll forgive this modest fare.”
“Nonsense, Solange. Of course, we didn’t expect you to hold a banquet; in fact, we’re grateful you didn’t cancel completely.” The duchess turned to Colbert. “My sister and I are on our way to Paris. We arrived this afternoon after the funeral. I must say, I was surprised to hear of Caen’s passing. He seemed so healthy the last time we met, but you never know when the Good Lord will call you home. I mean, no one was surprised
to learn of Deneuve’s death late last week. The man had been an invalid for years.” She forked chicken onto her plate.
“I hadn’t heard of his passing,” Vincent said, his eyes conveying his sympathy—false, no doubt.
Isabelle swallowed, grateful to be seated. Eleventh. Just like that, she was now eleventh in line for the throne. Solange’s words from earlier in the day screamed through her mind.
“How did he die?” she asked. “I haven’t seen my cousin in many years.”
“I really don’t know,” the duchess answered, intent on loading her plate. “Aquitaine is full of rumors about witches again, but I doubt any sorceress would bother to curse that cantankerous old man.” She chuckled. “He simply worsened and faded away within days. Old age I suppose, although he was younger than the Princess Henriette, and she seems to be doing well. I heard she attended the service.”
Isabelle nodded, unable to speak.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” Vincent whispered, reaching for her hand, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Your cousin lived a full, rich life, as did your father. We’re simply that much closer to the prize.”
Isabelle swallowed and turned back to her plate, but she had no appetite now.
“I’d like to propose a toast to Michel, Count de Caen. Long may he dwell in the hearts of those who loved him best!”
Isabelle took a drink as expected, but the wine tasted bitter in her mouth. She fought hard to swallow the emotions threatening to choke her. Solange’s suggestions earlier might not be farfetched after all.
After the formalities, more toasts, and a long, drawn-out Grace from the young nun, dinner began, peppered with gossip from the court and Paris, topics holding no interest for Isabelle. She didn’t care who had worn a scandalous gown or who’d been caught in another man’s bed. She let her mind wander until Solange addressed the man beside her and brought her back to the here and now.
“Vincent, Colbert has solved all of our problems,” she said, beaming at the man to her left. “He’s offered to share his carriage with you. You can travel to Paris with him, and I can take yours to Marseille to attend to that matter we discussed. The de Caen carriage can remain here for Sophie and Isabelle.”
“That would solve our problem nicely. Thank you, sir.” Vincent grinned and nodded to Colbert.
“I’m only too happy to help.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we can play Piquet. You beat me the last time we partnered.”
Vincent chuckled. “And I’ll do my best to do so again.”
Isabelle didn’t understand the card game well, but it was all the rage at court and across France. Fortunes were won and lost on a hand of Piquet. Apparently, it had been the last thing Pierre had done, although he’d never mentioned he played, preferring chess to cards. He’d started teaching her the game of strategy before he died, but she was still better at checkers.
Solange laughed. “You’ll have to teach Isabelle to play. It’ll help her pass the time. This matter in Marseille will be my last official act as Countess de Caen.” She turned to Sophie. “I hope you’ll forgive me since I’ll be unable to see you off,” she said, her face mirroring her disappointment. “Your father should have dealt with this matter, bless his soul. I don’t know how I’ll manage without him.” The handkerchief climbed to her eye once more.
She’s really an excellent actress. Molière should write a comedy about this farce.
“I understand,” Sophie said softly. “You must do what you must do. We can say our goodbyes in the morning before you leave.”
The fact that the countess would be gone pleased Isabelle. She wouldn’t have to worry about the woman discovering her plans—if she made any. That somber thought erased the flash of joy. With her misery carefully hidden behind a false smile, Isabelle let her mind wander once more, ignoring the drone of conversation around her.
She’d given up all hope the meal would ever end. Her mind was full of conflicting thoughts and assumptions. Her resemblance to Sophie was one thing, but making her cousin Pierre’s widow was another. She needed time alone to think and put things into perspective.
“So, you know a lot about New France?” Sophie asked.
Mention of the colony snapped Isabelle out of her lethargy.
“Not a lot, no, but enough,” Sister Irene said. “Monsieur Colbert and the chevalier know my brother, an agent for the French West India Company, whose responsibility it is to see to the populating of the colony. I’ll meet him in Paris and accompany him to Dieppe to assist in the transportation of ninety of the king’s wards. By the end of the season, more than two hundred women will have been sent to the colony to join the more than three hundred already there.”
The chevalier nodded. “I know your brother well. He’s undertaken a number of important tasks for me.”
Now sober and wide awake, Isabelle glanced at the man beside her. She’d forgotten about his connection to the company. He’d have known all about the charges against Pierre. Afraid to let her thoughts go down that road, she joined the conversation.
“Won’t sending so many young women to New France affect the prospects of young men here?”
Colbert wiped his chin with the linen napkin and smiled at Isabelle.
“Not really, since there are plenty of eligible women here, but, when all is said and done, France must make sacrifices to ensure the growth and vitality of its new empire. New France, which consists of Acadie and Canada, is just one of the many colonies we have in the west. There’s also Martinique, Guyenne, and Louisiane. Now that your sister is leaving France to become a colonist, perhaps you would like to learn more?”
“Can you share some general information with us?” Sophie asked before she could.
“I know very little about the colony,” Isabelle admitted.
“It would be my pleasure, madame,” Colbert said, holding up his wine goblet to be refilled. “There’s far more to New France than most people suspect. It’s true that, to date, it’s wealth has been limited to the richness of its furs, but we plan to change that which is why we dissolved the charter of the One Hundred Associates, and formed the French West India Company instead, giving them the sole rights to commerce in New France—minus the king’s taxes of course—for forty years, in exchange for their help populating the colony. The land is incredibly fertile. While we have much territory, our population is low, barely thirty-five hundred—much lower than that of our competition, the Dutch and the English to the south of us in New France. Encouraging immigration is difficult, but with the right incentive ... Since the treaty with the Mohawks was signed, peace has come to the colony, and so the king opted to disband the Carignan-Salières regiment and offer land grants to any soldier who chose to remain in New France. More than four hundred accepted the king’s bounty, but a colony populated by men alone won’t grow very quickly.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Sophie frowned. “And how have you enticed women to solve that problem?”
Colbert rubbed his hands together, warming to his topic.
“We’ve created the king’s daughters. These young women have been selected to go to New France to serve as brides for the retired soldiers and the colonists living there now. Women are in short supply, and although the government rewards the birth of all children, even those born of native brides, gentlemen and officers prefer French women. The more children a family has, the more money they get from the crown.”
“I see,” Isabelle said. “Essentially, his majesty is paying women to do their God-given duty.”
Colbert nodded. “Most of the women willing to go to the colony are penniless orphans, farm girls with few prospects, daughters of impoverished merchant families, girls who have found themselves unsuited to convent life, and young widows such as yourself, Madame Gaudier. While the women must be of impeccable character, in New France, everyone makes a fresh start, and leaves loneliness and poverty behind.”
“It’s certainly an ambitious project. Will you be going to the colony, Sister?” Isabelle a
sked.
“Me?” Sister Irene replied nervously. “I’m afraid my constitution is too weak for such an endeavor. Instead, I help here. While in Paris, I’ll interview and select girls for the ship from Dieppe next month. I’ll do the same for other ships leaving this season. I understand your sister leaves from Le Havre on Friday aboard the refitted military ship to chaperone the mariées whose husbands eagerly await them in Quebec.” She sipped from a goblet of watered wine.
Isabelle chewed her lower lip. Wasn’t that Guy’s ship? Hadn’t he mentioned the brides? If he was aboard that ship, then Sophie would have at least one friend, and he could ensure she got to Ville-Marie to claim the house and land, something far easier to do if everyone thought she was Pierre’s widow.
“Quite right, Sister,” Colbert confirmed, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “I arranged Madame Gaudier’s passage myself. It was fortuitous that her services were needed. The brides were my idea. Select gentlemen and officers were asked to provide the type of knowledge and ability they required in a wife. We went through the women available and matched them accordingly. To make sure they reach the right husbands, they’ve been married by proxy. If this venture succeeds, we’ll try to meet specific requests next season. We may expand the program to include other colonies as well.” Colbert held up his cup to be refilled once more.
Frowning, Isabelle searched the man’s face. How many goblets was that? Five? Six? At this rate, the Minister of Finance would soon be in his cups. He’d had quite a few at lunch, too.
“Farm girls are plentiful, but those from minor nobility or bourgeois families are reluctant to go. They fear the unknown, including the dangers of an untamed land and its rigorous climate. Though there may be noble husbands waiting for them in Quebec, few are prepared to leave their families and the comforts of our beloved France forever.”
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 6
