by Jenn LeBlanc
Every word he spoke drove her heart faster, but at that moment Stapleton announced Mr. Shaw and everyone turned.
“Your Grace, my lord,” Shaw said, looking from one to the other.
Gideon stood and spoke quietly to Mr. Shaw, who then took the chair next to Francine and began signing.
The Larrabees watched the silent exchange, astounded, as Gideon looked on intently.
“Where did your daughter learn to speak with the deaf?” he asked quite bluntly.
M. Larrabee stood. “She did not, she does not. I do not know what this is. This is our Madeleine, but I do not know this,” he said with a dismissive wave.
Francine’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest.
Gideon wasn’t sure what to think.
Shaw stood and, leaning toward Gideon, began to quietly explain to him what Francine had said. But M. Larrabee interrupted.
“If she has said something, we have every right to know it.”
Gideon looked at him, then nodded at Shaw, who sighed and began to explain.
“Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee? Miss Francine has said that she does not know you,” he said.
“Is that all?” M. Larrabee asked.
Shaw glanced at Gideon, who nodded. “She was quite empathetic.” Shaw paused. “More specifically, she said she doesn’t recognize you at all, in any fashion. She feels no sort of connection with either of you. She doesn’t speak French and she doesn’t know who you are or what you want, and will not go anywhere with you.”
M. Larrabee looked directly at Gideon. “I would like to speak with Your Grace in private.”
Perry started to shake his head, but Gideon waved him off. “Go find Marcus,” he said, holding his brother’s attention.
Shaw was confused, then seeing the crooked smile on Perry’s face, comprehension dawned. Then Gideon turned to him.
“Mr. Shaw, would you mind attending the ladies?”
Shaw nodded and glanced between the women, who were examining each other carefully as though each wished to know their opponent before waging battle.
Gideon looked at M. Larrabee and motioned to the door. “My study is this way. We can speak privately there.” M. Larrabee nodded, following Gideon from the room.
As soon as they were out of sight, Perry followed.
Francine looked at Mme. Larrabee. She held a certain familiarity for her; her face held a reminiscent countenance that she couldn’t quite place, like a long lost relative you have only seen in old photographs. Before her panic could set in, she placed her hand on Mr. Shaw’s to get his attention.
He looked at her as she began to sign. “Madame Larrabee, Francine says she is saddened by your grief. She wishes she could help somehow. She doesn’t remember much before the accident, but she remembers her name, and feels as though if you were her mother, no matter what had happened, she would feel something when she saw you. But she has felt nothing, just as she has felt nothing for any—” Mr. Shaw stopped when she did, gesturing for her to continue, but she didn’t. Mme. Larrabee looked at her.
“Nothing for what, ma fille?” Mme. Larrabee asked.
Francine shook her head, not wanting to finish the thought. She did feel something after the accident—she felt a very distinct pull toward one person: Gideon. She was desperately drawn to him, as if a memory of him had been born with her. She was irrevocably his, no matter where she had come from or where she was going. That bond could not be broken.
It must be what had drawn her from her own time, brought her here. She was suddenly terrified that she might be taken away by the Larrabees, more so than before, when she’d worried that she would awaken from this life to be spirited back to Denver and the 21st century, where she had come from.
She looked at Shaw, shaking her head, and Shaw nodded. “I beg your pardon, madame. She is quite tired, and still recovering.”
“Je comprends, eu, I understand. I only want her to find comfort, eu, to find herself. I believe dans ma cœur, eu, my heart, that she will remember,” she said as she gazed at Francine. “Your name is Madeleine Adelais Larrabee. You are born le cinq Février mille huit cent soixante-deux. You are the second of our quatre belles filles,” she said as she held up four fingers, pointing at the second. Then, pointing at the first finger, she continued. “Votre sœur Aisling is the plus vielle, and Amélie and Maryse are at home in Lisieux, prés du Port de Havre. Your fiancé is Lord Hepplewort, the Earl of Shropshire, and he also look for you. He will expect us to arrive with you soon.”
Francine’s heart beat rapidly. Something about that name sent it pounding against the inside of her ribcage. Her hand stole to her chest, pressing back against the heavy beats. Madeleine, she thought, Madeleine Adelais. She was the girl from the portrait. Shaw glanced at her and she started signing rapidly: I have no sisters, there are no sisters, I have no family, please don’t listen, don’t believe her. Her hands shook, and her breath quickened. Francine panicked.
“Madame, please. I must beg of you to stop. I must protest. She is obviously distraught,” Shaw said, catching only part of what she tried to tell him.
Francine sat quietly, her mind racing. She didn’t have sisters. Her parents were dead. They carried her family’s name—Larrabee—and the only other facts of significance were the rambling words of her father’s thesis. She shook her head, looking down. He had been right all along and it was one thing to believe something in theory, quite another to believe it in truth.
Gideon walked into his study, motioning to the sideboard. “Can I offer you a brandy, Monsieur Larrabee? I believe this situation warrants. I happen to have an exceptional 1864 Raynal Cognac,” he said as he poured himself a snifter of the fine French brandy. He turned to Larrabee, who smiled and nodded. Gideon handed it to him and poured a second, then walked to the chairs in front of the grate, gesturing for Larrabee to sit. “What is it you would like to discuss?” he asked.
Larrabee warmed the brandy, swirling it in the glass between his palms. “Perhaps I should explain, more clearly, my position on this situation. My daughters are raised most of their lives in convent, for garantie leur chasteté et leur innocence. You understand? I make a promise to the betrothed, and in return, they make une promesse, eu, a pledge to my family, for our dedication.”
Gideon was beginning to understand. Larrabee sold his daughters’ maidenhead for profit. He stifled a groan. Grotesque, Gideon thought as he cleared his throat and steadied his features.
“It is not different from your girls here being chaste for marriage,” Larrabee said defensively.
“Except for a few details. My understanding of your practice is that there is a complete lack of explanation, none whatsoever, to the young girl of what will happen to her. She’s not even instructed in basic anatomy. Girls raised in this manner are led much as lambs to slaughter. I imagine it would be a terrifying position to be in,” Gideon said coldly, rolling the balloon between his palms to avoid crushing it with his fingers.
Larrabee glared at him. “The difference is not important,” he ground out. “But the fear of her duty may be causing my daughter to be untruthful. The fact remains that she owes the obligation to her family. Les femmes ne sont rien mais des machines pour produire des enfants,” he spat.
Gideon tensed as he understood why M. Larrabee felt it necessary to talk to him privately. “There is no reason to quote Napoleon to me, on this land, under these circumstances.”
“Napoleon understood the place of women.”
“And Napoleon has been put in his place.”
Larrabee’s eyes widened and Gideon stared into the brandy, endeavoring to calm his temper before responding again. Was she so terrified by the prospect of marital relations that she bolted and is now lying about who she is? What then of her behavior in the maze today? He shook his head and narrowed his eyes at Larrabee.
“Regardless, if Francine is in fact your Madeleine and she felt threatened by what Lord Hepplewort said or did, then she is still to be protecte
d. No peer of the realm should behave in such a cowardly fashion. If he had prepared his fiancée appropriately, she would have no need to run scared. He either intentionally terrified the girl, or he did something unconscionable, otherwise your scenario is unfounded. In either case, she still needs protection.” He took a deep breath. Holding Larrabee’s gaze, he continued, enunciating every word carefully. “I will not stand for barbaric behavior. It is one thing to demand chastity and claim one’s wife’s maidenhead. It is entirely another to terrify an innocent.”
Larrabee put the snifter on a side table and stood. “Non, monsieur, actually you do not have a choice in the matter. As Madeleine is my property until married, you have no right to say anything about the way I treat her. As for her future husband, you would need to speak with him. However, as of this moment she belong to me.” He turned for the door.
“Larrabee.” Gideon’s jaw tensed as he concentrated on the light from the fire filtering through the swirling brandy, willing the motion to calm his nerves. “There is one thing I can do,” he said.
There was a loud thump against the wall behind the fireplace and Larrabee stopped, looking at it.
“It’s nothing. The manor is old. Possibly a bothersome squirrel in the chimney,” Gideon said.
Larrabee turned on him. “What exactly do you propose?”
Perry fell out of the passageway and into the great entrance, calling to Stapleton.
“Yes, milord?”
“Get Roxleigh out of there,” he said, pointing at the study.
“Pardon, milord?”
“Get him. I don’t care how. Tell him the kitchen is on fire, tell him his horses are out, tell him I jumped from the roof, tell him anything, just get him out of there!” he yelled.
Stapleton knocked once before entering. “Your Grace, I must implore you, your attentions are required on a matter that is most urgent?” he said in a confused tone.
Gideon glanced up, raising one eyebrow, then looked at Larrabee. “I beg your pardon, monsieur, I shall return momentarily. I am sure there is something that indeed requires my immediate attention or my man would have waited for a more opportune moment.”
Larrabee nodded and Gideon rose, handing his brandy to Stapleton as he passed, giving him a look that promised retribution. As he walked from the room he thought he heard Larrabee say, “Perhaps squirrels.”
Gideon stormed into the hallway, knowing full well who was going to suffer the interruption. “Peregrine!” he boomed. Everyone within earshot jumped at the sound as it echoed through the great entrance. Perry turned away from the door to the green parlor, striding quickly to meet Gideon beside Marcus’ table. “What do you need?” Gideon asked angrily.
“Are you about to do what I think you are about to do?” Perry asked.
“That depends. What exactly do you think I am about to do?”
“Oh, hmm, let me think. Could you be considering purchasing a bride?”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
“Don’t give me cause, brother. You cannot be part of this ridiculous farce! You cannot be involved. You must think of the dukedom. This is an absolutely impossible situation, but you cannot be part of it.”
Gideon’s face fell. He looked down and shook his head, putting his hand to his forehead and massaging his temples. “I cannot in good conscience allow this man to proceed with this arrangement,” he said quietly.
“Yet you cannot become involved in a scandal like this, either.”
“I understand that, Perry, but if I allow him to take her I may never see her again. If she leaves with them tonight, I just cannot—” Gideon stopped.
Perry watched his brother’s countenance break. “You cannot be part of this situation,” he said again, taking his brother’s shoulders. “But I can.” He turned and stormed into the study with Gideon close at his heels. Perry didn’t give Gideon a chance to stop him, but strode directly to M. Larrabee.
“Monsieur Larrabee, I am here to break your arrangement with Lord Hepplewort. I will make reparation with him. Furthermore, I would request you break your arrangements for any other daughters as well. I will provide payment to you and serve as guardian. They will come to England and I will provide for their education, and a proper dowry, and will provide them a proper marriage,” he said definitively.
Gideon’s jaw dropped.
Larrabee looked dumbfounded. “My lord, you cannot—”
“I most certainly can, and I most certainly will,” Perry cut in.
“But the girls are already promised—”
“Not for long. You cannot possibly think there is a better arrangement. You will receive the money you have requested, the girls will be well taken care of, and the bescumbered sods you sold them to will be left wanting. I cannot think of a better solution.”
Larrabee fumed. “I must speak with my wife, privately.” His glare rested on Gideon, who realized Larrabee never had believed in bothersome squirrels. He nodded and called again for Stapleton.
“Your Grace?” he said, sounding slightly exasperated.
“Stapleton, please take Monsieur Larrabee to the green parlor and retrieve Miss Francine and Mr. Shaw. Then bid as Mr. Larrabee requests, until further notice.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said as moved to the doorway. M. Larrabee nodded to the brothers and followed. Moments later, Francine rushed in. She shook off Shaw and dodged Perry, going straight to the arms of Gideon.
“What the devil is going on?” Shaw exclaimed. “Larrabee has Stapleton standing guard outside the parlor like a gargoyle. Larrabee told him to bang on the door if any of us dare leave the study.”
Perry smiled.
Gideon wanted to know how Francine was, frustrated by their break in communication. He looked at Shaw, who relayed the conversation they had with Mme. Larrabee while the brothers were in the study.
Perry caught on the number of daughters included in the tale and not much else. “Four?” he choked.
“Well, presumably the eldest is already married,” Gideon said with a grin.
“Roxleigh, you—uh. I cannot… When I—” Perry grabbed the two snifters of brandy that had been abandoned on the sideboard and drank one right after the other, then turned and reached for a glass and the bottle of whiskey. He raised the bottle by the neck without turning to the others and gave it a decisive shake.
“No, thank you,” they replied.
Shaw turned to look at Gideon. “Dare I ask?”
Gideon chuckled, shaking his head. He was thoroughly amazed by his younger brother’s actions on this night. He was also still drawn as tight as a hunter’s bow, awaiting the results of the conference between the Larrabees, but he felt he was as close to a settlement as he could be.
Mrs. Weston walked into the study. “Your Grace, I wondered if I could help—” She broke off as her eyes came to rest on Miss Francine, who was standing in the duke’s firm hold. Her eyes were closed, her hands held up against his lapels, breathing quietly as he slowly patterned a circle on her back with his hand.
He nodded, placing his other hand under Francine’s chin, lifting her face to his. “I want you to rest.”
She shook her head angrily. “No!” she tried, holding her throat as she whimpered from the burn, trembling from head to toe in anger.
He caught her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Francine, please calm yourself. Don’t damage your voice further, I implore you. I will see to this,” he whispered tenderly so only she could hear. “Please, go with Mrs. Weston. We will speak on the morrow. Believe me when I say nobody will disturb you, and you will not be leaving this manor. I promise you I will protect you, only trust in me.”
She nodded. He could see she was overcome by frustration, but his gentle words had soothed her. He held her face, looking into her eyes, and Mrs. Weston moved to her.
Francine fought the departure, her gaze fierce, and Gideon took her hands.
“Please,” he said again, placing kisses in both of her palms, “please go with Mr
s. Weston and let me take care of this for you.”
She allowed Mrs. Weston to lead her from the room, not taking her eyes from his until she was gone.
“Shaw,” Gideon said, still watching the doorway. “I feel I owe an explanation.”
“No, Your Grace, you most certainly do not owe me anything.”
Gideon turned and smiled. “My gratitude for that. However, it is hardly possible that you do not want for one.”
Mr. Shaw smiled in return. “You have me there, Your Grace, but please, do not include me in your affairs out of some sense of guilt or—”
Gideon cut him off with a wave. “No, no, not guilt. An explanation is due. It would suffer to save my reputation, as I have no idea what strange ideas must be battling in your mind.”
“There are a few, Your Grace, but none seem plausible, considering the fact that your reputation for honesty and your sense of propriety and justice are infallible.”
Gideon laughed. “I am far from infallible, but I do appreciate the thought. Lord.” Gideon sighed heavily. “Let us sit.” Shaw nodded and followed him to the chairs.
Perry was sprawled across a settee with three fingers of whiskey still in his glass and the half-empty bottle in his other hand. Gideon and Shaw sat across from him.
“How are you feeling, brother?” Gideon asked carefully.
“Not drunk enough yet— Still feeling, thank you,” Perry replied with a raise of his glass.
“I see,” Gideon said, then turned to Shaw, who looked astounded. “I believe it is my brother’s reputation that may be further in need of repair than mine at this juncture.” He then set out to explain the events that had transpired before Shaw was brought over.
Francine was shaking like a carriage on a washboard road. She curled up in bed, holding herself tightly, attempting to subdue the tremors. That woman downstairs was certain she was her daughter. Francine could see in every inch of her demeanor that she believed it to be true. Francine knew deep inside that she was right, even though in some small sense she wasn’t.
