The Lost Castle

by Kristy Cambron

  Aveline ignored the barb that she shouldn’t bring her brain to dinner, nor use it afterward, save for card playing or book reading with her mother and the other ladies in the literary salon. If the truth were known, she’d been reading every newspaper proclamation she could get her hands on in recent weeks, and she wanted nothing more than a real inquisition on what it all meant.

  “I’ve been listening to no one but the voice of my own conscience, and it begs for an answer. I would like to understand why we are not required to pay taxes. Neither does the clergy, nor any other member of the peerage living in a grand estate along the Champs-Élysées. The formal groves of the cabinets de verdure must require ample money to maintain, and those gardens border the privacy of our own. And what of the king’s court and grand palace? Who supplies the luxury afforded him there?”

  Papa started, flabbergasted out of his former amusement. “You question our king?”

  “Non. I am merely inquiring as to who pays for the upkeep of such finery, and therefore supplies the view we enjoy outside the windows of this very room. Does it fall upon the backs of the bourgeoisie?”

  “Aveline,” Félicité gasped.

  Aveline ignored her sister’s vexation. “Has not the king summoned a convocation of the clergy and nobility in the First and Second Estates, to meet on 5 May of this year and discuss matters of the Third Estate’s taxation? And as a member of la noblesse, I assume you will be called upon to attend with the other nobility of the Second Estate. Mère said you are bound for Versailles in a matter of days. I wondered if you had an opinion on the matter, that’s all.”

  His face hardened, turning steely in a heartbeat. “Where have you heard such a thing? Surely not in Le Journal des Dames?”

  “I do not read fashion magazines, Papa. And the Journal de Paris is censured by the royal court.” Aveline pulled a copy of the Moniteur Universel newspaper from behind her sheet music and crossed the room, presenting the printed headline to him. “There are new journals established nearly every day, it seems, to print the truth in Paris and beyond. So the people can stay apprised of events as they occur.”

  His eyes were sharp, looking from the printed words up to her face. “And who gave you permission to read all the newspapers of Paris and beyond?”

  “No one. I didn’t think it a matter of wrongdoing.” It hadn’t crossed her mind that any permission should be required. “Félicité and I have been tutored from a tender age, brought up to read and reason and apply logic when it is needed. You can’t think that to become educated on the world we live in a misapplication of that knowledge.”

  “Knowledge.” Évrard crumpled the paper in his fist, rose, and stalked to the fireplace. Gripping the mantel with his free hand, he sagged his head rather than look at her and stared for long moments at the wooden inlay in the floor.

  Aveline looked to Félicité for support but found none. Her sister appeared thoroughly discomposed, her complexion having turned white as a sheet behind the safety of golden harp strings.

  “You will not speak of this again.” His words were cold. Direct and biting, as if she were some stranger in his midst instead of his very own flesh and blood. “Do you understand me? Not in public. And not even in the privacy of this salon. I will keep this blemish upon your character from your mother, as it will only serve to injure her further should these misdeeds become known. I daresay your sister will also keep your shame a secret.”

  “Shame? But I am political, Papa.”

  “You are a disgrace!” He slammed the accusation with such a shout, he fairly shook the crystal drops hanging from the chandelier.

  Félicité yelped and plucked a rogue harp string in her fright. And Aveline, though so afraid she was near to shaking in her satin slippers, stood resolute in the center of the room. Waiting. Expecting she didn’t know what, as she’d never in all her life heard her father raise his voice louder than a song.

  “This is”—he turned and tossed the newspaper in the fire—“a barbarism. And it ends here.”

  “Papa, I—”

  “You have a new life coming to you, Aveline.” He cut her off and turned, composing himself with a ramrod-straight stance and hands that adjusted his waistcoat back into proper place. “One which you will embrace with the same fervency you attempt to sully this family’s reputation.”

  It was one statement Aveline had been dreading.

  Somehow, it struck more fear in her insides than the threat of his physical presence ever could. For as a baron, her father had the power to make good on any threat he made—especially one in which he’d bind decisions of her very livelihood. And that discussion had been going on for some time.

  Aveline was to wed. And if she understood him rightly, that arrangement must have been brokered.

  “We were planning to celebrate at the evening meal, but I see that you should like to receive the joyous news now.”

  “What news is this?” Félicité’s singsong voice wavered from across the room, her flighty nature evidenced by the ever-present activity of sweetly prying into Aveline’s every affair—at least the ones that didn’t drift near politics.

  Évrard stared into Aveline’s eyes as he said, “Why, your sister is to be married. It is assured. I’ve come to an arrangement with the Duc et Vivay. He wishes to add to his family’s property holdings, and her dowry will see to that. So, Aveline, you will marry his eldest son this summer and be elevated in rank to near a princess of his castle in the Loire Valley. You will provide heirs for one of the most important dynasties in this country.”

  A girlish shriek floated from across the room, causing Aveline’s heart to sink.

  “A duke?” Félicité’s slippers tapped across the room, and she swung her arm around Aveline’s waist, dancing a circle around her at the prospect of such a glorious match. “And I thought becoming a viscountess one day was nothing short of a dream. This is magic!”

  “It is, Félicité. Your sister will also need a bridal gown. And a portrait commissioned in all due haste. She will need your advice, as the elder sister and soon to be wed yourself. I daresay your mother was so enlivened with this news, she has already taken the coach to the clothier with my missive, to ensure ample funds are available for the most fashionable trousseau in all of the king’s court.”

  Aveline swallowed hard. What had been a vague inclination was assured now. There was to be no argument. No future life in Paris, and certainly no further interest in the nation’s political affairs. She imagined her parents were sending her as far away as they could manage to improve her station—removed from the city streets and the world of the people in it.

  “You have been graced with the life of your dreams, Daughter. And I mean to do everything in my power to ensure you accept it.” Évrard leaned in and pressed a prolonged kiss to Aveline’s forehead.

  She slammed her eyes shut, unwilling even to look at him.

  She was to be his petite fille no more.

  AUGUST 7, 1789

  LES TROIS-Moutiers

  LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

  “What’s all this?”

  Fanetta had arrived at the cottage that evening with an armful of deep-jade linen. It turned out to be a round dress piped in delicate rows of ivory at the bodice and an azure scarf she’d brought to weave through Aveline’s chignon.

  “Trust me.” She winked and set about primping for what, Aveline hadn’t a clue. “It will be dark by the time we reach the vineyards. There is to be a great celebration tonight. All of the men will have their wives in attendance, and the eligible ones who are unattached shall be free to dance all night.”

  “But I am not unattached.”

  “You are if you’re my cousin from Bordeaux, come to stay for a few weeks’ time.”

  Aveline bit her bottom lip, holding in a laugh. “Your cousin, hmm?”

  “Yes, cousin.”

  “I don’t know, Fan. Robert was against this very thing. Men are still checking the road to Paris. And you said yourself th
at while tempers have cooled, the townspeople are still carrying the rumor that the Duc et Vivay’s princess is hiding in the Loire Valley. What if someone should recognize me?”

  “Who would recognize you? I was the only lady’s maid in your attendance at the castle, and I won’t say a word. By the time you’d made your way into the ballroom, the party guests were dancing so no one could see a thing but the backs of wigs and feathered heads. All the footmen recall is the sight of boats and torches on the water. Without powder and rouge and wearing a common dress, you look quite different. Very much yourself.”

  Aveline nodded. The memory was vivid for her too.

  “No one will inquire. But if they should, I will tell them there was an accident at my uncle’s farm and you’ve come here to convalesce.”

  “And they will believe that?”

  “They will. If I say it is so, and if Master Robert agrees, no one will question it. Because no one would dare question him.” Fan reached for Aveline’s hands, clutching them in hers. She squeezed, gently, until Aveline lifted her eyes to her. “Shed memories of that night, if you can. Instead, determine to make new ones. I want you to dine and dance all night long. Without fear that anyone should recognize a woman of the people. My cousin shall be merry, for she deserves it. And one day, when Philippe returns, you will remember this celebration. That this became the night in which you truly belonged on this land. With these people. They will accept you as their lady even before they know you as her.”

  Gratitude warmed her heart.

  Aveline hadn’t any other friend like Fan, not even her sister, if truth be known. But there they stood, in a quaint cottage room, happy as queens for the bond of friendship.

  “But what if someone should think that I—?”

  “No one will think anything but that you are the most graceful and beautiful woman in attendance.”

  Aveline summoned a nod, forcing herself to believe she could go without notice, both for who she was and for what she looked like. Either way, the risk was palpable that she’d be in danger of being hurt.

  “In attendance of what?”

  Fan winked. “You’ll see.”

  They quit the cottage, taking the long way through the grove, past flowering trees and vast arbor rows and the ridge overlooking the abundant valley below. The sun had tipped beyond the horizon, just as Fan had said it would, streaking the sky in lavish ribbons of indigo and gold.

  Aveline basked in it, grateful for the wide-open skies when all she’d been used to was the covering of trees in the thicket and, before that, the soot-laden air in the streets of Paris. Here, the air was clean. The sky vast. The world . . . new. Just as her father had once said. Only this view she now welcomed instead of feared.

  Torches had been struck into the ground around the perimeter of a great feast, glowing on the ridge above the vineyard.

  Tables, rustic but clothed in fine ivory linen, and benches on all sides were in a semicircle around a great feast of breads and fruit, bowls of lentils, and roasted chicken with parsnips and turnips. And, of course, pitchers and goblets for wine. A breeze blew, tickling the edges of the table linens and drifting with the aroma of abundance.

  It was nothing like the grand engagement ball Aveline was to have attended.

  There were no crystal flutes or grand carriages pulling up to a front gate this time. Instead, people walked up the hill. Musicians played mandolins and pocket pochettes, lilting their stringed melody in light tunes as dancing set in. Children teetered, weaving in and out of the frolic, laughing and chasing one another around the tables.

  “What is this grand fête?”

  Fan smiled and took a single bloom from the small bouquet of wildflowers she’d collected on the walk from the grove. She tucked it in the waves above Aveline’s ear and pecked a kiss to her cheek.

  “This, my dear cousin, is the délicieux party that should have been yours.” She slipped her arm around Aveline’s elbow, drawing her toward the center of the activity. “Shall we see what kind of amusement we can procure?”

  It turned out to be a grand celebration—food and fellowship in abundance, the simple nature of sitting at a table under the stars, alongside the hardworking people on the Duc et Vivay’s estate. And though her mother surely would have swooned at the thought of Aveline dirtying her slippers in a field of vines, clapping and smiling as the people danced off full stomachs, it mattered little.

  Fan was right; this was the fête she’d have chosen over the grand affair of an engagement ball. The star-splashed sky and unencumbered joy all around became a setting far more lavish than one under the gilded ceilings of a castle.

  “Bonsoir. I hear you are Fan’s cousin, come to visit our humble vineyard?”

  Aveline turned, finding Robert had eased in beside her. He tipped his head in a congenial nod, hands braced at his back. He, too, was watching the combination of melody and smiles playing out before them.

  “You don’t mind that I defied you by leaving the cottage to attend tonight?”

  “No doubt it was Fan’s idea.”

  Aveline captured the edge of her bottom lip with her teeth and shook her head, unwilling to allow Fan to absorb the blame in full. “But I made the long walk with her.”

  He nodded again and tendered a semi-restrained smile in return. “Past the road to the castle, I see.”

  Aveline instinctively raised her hand to the sprig of petals adorning her temple. “Yes. Some of the wild plum trees are still flowering—quite late this year, she said.” Aveline pulled the blossom free and twirled it in her fingertips. “But wildflowers blanketed the road along the arbor rows. I thought nothing could rival the sight of the gardens in Paris or the grounds of Versailles . . . and then she brought me here. To see all of this. Though, I must admit, I’m still not entirely certain what we’re celebrating. I don’t remember seeing a couple exchange vows tonight.”

  “Wedding celebrations are tame affairs compared to this.” He smiled, watching the people dancing in the firelight. “As it is, their frolic tonight is to mark a death.”

  “You jest.”

  “Not at all. You said you’re familiar with the Third Estate.”

  She nodded. “I am. What has that to do with this celebration?”

  “We received a missive by courier just this eve. The National Constituent Assembly convened the night of 4 August in response to the growing number of revolts in Paris and around the country.” Robert held up a piece of folded parchment, to which Aveline held her breath.

  “And?”

  “The ancien régime is dead. No more land tax. And goods’ taxes like the gabelle—salt, or wine—the people won’t have to take a loss to cultivate and sell them. Seigneurial rights of the nobility have been abolished, and the dîme tithe to the clergy is wiped out. This means that nobleman, peasant, and clergy—all inhabitants of the provinces are in equal standing before God and king. All is eliminated as of this declaration.”

  Aveline exhaled and wrapped an arm around her middle, shock reverberating through her. She absorbed the news, then realized what it would mean to the nobles—to him, the son of a duke, standing beside her.

  “The feudal system is dead. And yet here you are, celebrating your own noble demise along with the people who used to be subservient on your land?”

  “The old order is dead and the bourgeoisie will have a new future. Why wouldn’t I celebrate that?”

  A rush of happiness flooded her cheeks. She pressed her palms to the sides of her face, the blossom still grasped in her fingertips. “I’m sorry. I just feel what this means. The people in the cities . . . in the countryside . . . they will have the ability to sell all they want. To work for themselves. To live and die in peace, and not to be taxed into their graves. I can’t help but feel hope that this decision will lead to a reversal of the course of their lives. I pray it is a lasting, peaceful change for the people of France. And one day, Philippe will return and restore this land. The people here could be treated as equals
, and if we rebuild, the castle could serve as a symbol of that. Restored from ashes. Walls rebuilt from what’s been broken. There is even a stone wall at the back of the castle—you know of the one that keeps the garden in separation from the outside?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I know it well. It was my mother’s garden.”

  “Maybe it could be opened up. Fashion an arch and gate right through its center? Let the children come in to explore the space as they will. Let them take flowers like this from the castle grounds. Aren’t we in a position to do that, to give them something that will color their world? To make it a better place? No doubt your mother would be honored in something like that.”

  Robert remained silent.

  She looked to him, expecting perhaps she’d lost his attention in the fervor of her explanation. He hadn’t drifted to watch the dancers move through the firelight as she had. Instead, his gaze had drawn in and settled, readily taking in the contours of her profile.

  Suddenly exposed, scars and all, she turned away on a weak laugh. “I suppose it’s an abhorrence to find a woman’s interest in politics. Perhaps I should keep to discussing gardens instead.”

  Robert shook his head and, through a sideways glance, kept his gaze fixed upon her. “On the contrary, mademoiselle. I told you before—nothing about you is an abhorrence. Leastways not to me.” He cleared his throat, the tenderness of his reply stepping over a faint line of propriety. “As it is, I’d come to speak on another matter.”

  “Very well.” Aveline nodded, blocking the endearing sentiment from embedding in her heart. “What is it?”

  Robert’s profile was solid, and his manner composed at all times. It was odd, then, to see the tiniest flicker of indecision on his brow. He looked as though he wanted to tell her something but was left considering whether to broach it or not.