Lirienne put her hand on his arm. When he stroked her fingers, she was glad he understood now that she shared his grief.
“Philadelphia seems to be doing well by you also,” Monsieur de Talebot said. “I recall your wife being thinner.”
“That is because of the good news I wish to share with everyone tonight,” Philippe replied, smiling again as he could not hide his delight. “Lirienne is giving me a child.”
As Madame de Talebot congratulated her enthusiastically, Monsieur de Talebot’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “An heir to your title must be quite gratifying.”
“For now, the child is heir to my share of several hundred acres along the Susquehanna.”
“I’m glad you are coming with us.”
“You’re going north?” asked Lirienne before she could halt herself.
“Of course.” He looked down his nose at her. “After all the work I have done to convince Girard, Morris, and Nicholson to see that we can handle the investment they have made in our plans, I want to be sure nothing goes amiss with the future I intend to have there.”
Philippe smiled at Lirienne. “He speaks of some of the gentlemen, including John Nicholson, Pennsylvania’s comptroller general, who have been generous enough to put up a portion of the money toward our future.”
Why would strangers help them build a town in the wilderness? She had other questions, but guessed this was not the time to ask them. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m glad to know some of our neighbors.”
“But you must be acquainted with many of us,” Madame de Talebot said. “Most of us are from France, although a few have come from Santo Domingo to escape the slave uprisings there.” She appraised Lirienne again. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
“Lirienne has led a very secluded life,” Philippe replied with a chuckle. “Until now.”
“Philippe, why don’t you send your lovely wife with Cornélie to meet the rest of the guests?” Monsieur de Talebot suggested. “That will give us time to speak of the challenge ahead of us.”
Lirienne struggled to keep desperation from her voice. “I’d like to hear more about where we’re going.”
“Such devotion is exemplary,” Monsieur de Talebot said with a terse laugh, “but run along, and let Cornélie share some feminine gossip with you.”
She had no choice. To stay here like a frightened child would draw too much attention. “Thank you. That sounds lovely.”
Lirienne walked in Madame de Talebot’s shadow. She did not look back, but knew Philippe was watching her. Not only Philippe, but his friend who still stared at her. As she listened to Cornélie de Talebot prattle about the various guests crowding the room, she tried to pay attention. Some of the gossip might be important later.
Madame de Talebot introduced her to three women standing near a tall window. All of them attempted to ingratiate themselves with her, and she realized that the guests were impressed with her title. Maybe she was fretting needlessly, for, noticing that she did not carry a fan, the women set theirs on nearby tables, wanting to copy the style set by the vicomtesse.
Slowly she began to relax. The skills she had learned in the kitchen worked in the fancy parlor. She needed only to ask a few pertinent questions and listen. The guests were delighted that a vicomtesse was interested in their opinions.
Lirienne smiled when she saw Veronique, who was dressed in a simple dress of white crepe. Her hair was crimped up from her forehead with only a pair of ringlets dripping along her bare neck.
“Veronique, how pretty you look!” she exclaimed as she held her hands out to her friend.
Veronique’s eyes widened. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Not after what—”
“Philippe had plans I wasn’t aware of. I shan’t be helping with your gown.”
“I’m so glad. It would have strained our friendship, and I value that far more than the fancywork on my wedding dress. You must tell me all about the vicomte’s plans.” Her eyes twinkled. “Do they include coming with us north to the new settlement?”
“Yes, but how—”
“Percival told me that he had discussed the plans with the vicomte when we last spoke with you.” She smiled. “I’m so glad you are coming with us. I know no one else among these ladies.”
“Then allow me to introduce you.” As she was about to turn, a finger tapped her shoulder. She smiled at Madame de Talebot. Her smile faded as she stared at the handsome man with her. She tried to breathe. She could not. She must leave. Now!
No one seemed to note her horror as Madame de Talebot gushed, “I don’t believe you have met the Vicomtesse de Villeneuve, Monsieur Jullian. Can you believe that Philippe finally decided to marry?”
“How do you do, Vicom—” The man scowled. “Vicomtesse?”
She took a step back and bumped into a table.
“What’s amiss?” Veronique asked, steadying a statue that rocked on the table.
She shook her head. How could she explain that she knew this man? That Monsieur Jullian was one of Madame Fortier’s lovers? Sickness churned through her as she remembered the last time she had seen him. Monsieur Jullian had been sneaking out of Madame Fortier’s room, hoping not to be seen, in the moments before Philippe’s arrival on the day he had asked her to marry him. How could she forget that others would know what she had been until a few months ago?
When she turned to flee, he shouted, “Stop her!”
A hand clamped on her arm, and she looked up at Percival Goyette. “Please release me, sir. I have to—”
He looked past her. “Monsieur Jullian, is there a problem?”
“Why is she here?”
“She’s a guest. She’s the wife of Vicomte de Villeneuve.”
“His wife?” Monsieur Jullian snickered. “Are you jesting? Don’t you know who she is?”
“Vicomtesse de Villeneuve,” answered another guest.
In dismay, Lirienne saw she was surrounded by curious guests. Where was Philippe?
Madame de Talebot frowned. “You should apologize to—”
“You must be joking! Don’t you recognize this woman? She was a lower servant in the Fortiers’ country home.”
“She’s a servant?” Veronique cried in astonishment, looking at Monsieur Goyette who was frowning. “No wonder you’re skilled at sewing!”
“Veronique, let me explain—”
Monsieur Jullian’s laugh swallowed her words. “Do you think Charmaine sent her with Philippe so she could report back on whom he slept with?” He pointed at her waist. “It appears very obvious whose bed he’s been sharing recently.”
A woman tittered behind her hand, but Lirienne said, “If you’ll excuse me, Philippe—”
“What possible excuse can you have?” His comment set off more laughter among the guests. “Do you think your husband cares about anything but the pleasure you can give him in his bed when he can’t be with Charmaine Fortier?”
Her hand rose, but she faltered. To strike one of these people was unthinkable. She was what she was. She could not change them or herself.
Monsieur Jullian grasped her arm. Giving her a push toward the door, he snarled, “Why don’t you go back to the sty where you were born?”
Monsieur Goyette said, “Now see here. This—”
He was shoved aside as all laughter faded. Philippe spat through clenched teeth, “Don’t touch my wife, Jullian.”
The offensive man’s nose wrinkled. “I’ll leave enjoying her animal touch to you, although how you can endure it after—”
Screams buffeted her ears as Philippe shattered his wine glass on the hearth. He grabbed Monsieur Jullian by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. She stared at the murderous rage on Philippe’s face, the same rage she had seen when he’d punched a hole through the wall in Madame Fortier’s bedchamber. Philippe’s fist drove Monsieur Jullian’s head back. He collapsed to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. A woman shrieked and swooned.
Lirienne could
not scream. She could not move as she stared at Monsieur Jullian. When he woke, he would be even more determined to spread the truth.
“Philippe, calm yourself,” Monsieur de Talebot said.
“I shall if this man is removed.” He turned to Lirienne, and she could not pull her gaze from the fury in her husband’s eyes.
“Of course, mon seigneur,” murmured someone. She was not sure who, because she continued to stare at Philippe.
He walked to her and took her hands in his. Lifting them to his lips, he kissed each one gently. His rage was vanishing as quickly as it had exploded. “Did that beast hurt you, ma petite?”
“No,” she whispered. “He recognizes me.”
“Say no more.” Looking back at the man who was being carried out by a pair of footmen, he chuckled. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to do what I’ve wanted to do for years.” He raised his voice and said, “Cornélie, forgive me for distressing your guests.”
“But if what he said is true,” Cornélie murmured, “then she is—”
“My wife.” He placed Lirienne’s hand on his sleeve.
She watched the guests exchange uneasy glances, but smiled as Monsieur Goyette stepped forward to say, “You will be glad to know, Madame de Villeneuve, that Monsieur Jullian has decided to remain in Philadelphia.”
“Veronique …” She looked for her friend, but saw her leaning over the woman who had fainted.
Monsieur Goyette’s smile broadened. “I know she is looking forward to your call tomorrow, madame.”
She wanted to hug Monsieur Goyette and Veronique, who smiled in her direction. Their kindness was unexpected. Maybe she had been wrong to label all aristocrats as being as evil and selfish as Madame Fortier.
After the other guests followed Monsieur Goyette’s lead and offered apologies which Philippe accepted with a genteel smile, Lirienne drew him out into the hallway. He smiled as he pulled her beneath the stairs, where the shadows had fled from the glow of the lamps. His kiss stole her breath from her, and she wanted to forget anything but the pleasure she had found in his arms.
He tilted her chin up. “I know what you want to say, but, ma petite, do not let this concern you. Jullian has a reputation for opening his mouth without thinking first. He often finds himself in trouble for being where he shouldn’t be.”
She gnawed on her lower lip. How could she tell him the truth about Monsieur Jullian and Madame Fortier when Philippe had come to her rescue tonight? Just as the prince had come to Cinderella’s aid in the fairy tale.
As his arm brought her into his arms again, she let her fears sift away beneath his kiss. Maybe, it was still possible for dreams to come true.
Eleven
“I’m sorry.”
Vachel de Talebot waved Philippe’s apology aside. “No need to say anything.” Pouring two glasses of wine, he held one out to Philippe who was sitting by the hearth. “I only wish you had let me know who it was you had married when you stayed with me that night. I might have been able to ease the situation for you.”
“Goyette handled it well.” He tried to smile, but his head was aching as if he had already swallowed too much of this wine.
“He did, didn’t he?” Vachel laughed as he sat. “The young pup might have inherited his father’s good sense.” Taking a sip of the wine, he grimaced. “I miss France, if for nothing else, our exquisite wines.”
“Someday, we shall enjoy them again.” Philippe set his glass down untasted. “For now, we have our new homes to look forward to.”
“I have been told they will be waiting for us when we arrive.” Vachel chuckled. “If all goes well, you need not be bothered by your wife’s pregnancy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You aren’t thinking of bringing her with you, are you?” He took another cautious sip. “Cornélie has no interest in spending the winter there.”
“But Cornélie has this lovely house to stay in.” Philippe shook his head, then wished he had not. Every motion aggravated the pain behind his eyes. “I cannot ask Lirienne to stay here in that hovel alone.”
“She will be fine. She probably lived in worse. Peasants live like dogs.”
Philippe frowned as he thought of how she had worked to clean their disgusting rooms. One day, she had even found some flowers to put on the table. She had as much pride in their first home as if it had been Château de Villeneuve. And, he reminded himself, the stairs would be a challenge when she grew round with his child.
“No,” he said. “My wife will go with me.”
“And will she go with you as your wife when you reclaim your château?” He leaned forward and smiled. “You know that is not what you want. How many times have you spoken to me of your plans to wed Charmaine Fortier as soon as her husband does everyone a favor and dies?”
“I never mentioned that to you.”
Vachel’s face grew pale, then reddened. “I guess I simply assumed—”
Philippe stood. “You simply assumed what everyone else has, including myself.”
“And now your peasant wife stands in the way with her claim on your estate?”
“No, she has no claim on my estate. In the midst of the chaos before we left France, I had no time to change any of the paperwork that would grant Lirienne a claim on anything other than my title. Charmaine remains my heir.” He smiled in spite of his aching head. “I need to get that changed. My child should have no worries about claiming its legacy.”
Vachel again gave a diffident wave. “That can be handled easily. I will have my lawyer speak with you before we leave for the settlement.” He raised his glass. “To the future.”
“To the future.” Picking up his glass, he added, “May it bring us everything we want.”
“Everything.” Vachel chuckled as he tapped his glass against Philippe’s.
Philippe swore as his fork dropped to the floor. Cradling his head in his hands, he leaned his elbows on the table. He should bend over to pick it up, but the thought of moving sent his pulse racing. All day, his heart had pounded like a farrier’s hammer on an anvil, each beat resonating through his skull.
A church bell rang somewhere. Each clang was a separate agony. He swore under his breath. He should be on his way to see Vachel’s lawyer to make sure all his papers were in order for the child to receive what he had offered Charmaine in the hope of her leaving her husband to marry him. Twice already, the appointment had been canceled. He did not want to miss this one. He tried to stand, then slumped back in the chair with a curse.
“Philippe, what’s wrong?” The words came through the waves of heat.
Exerting all his strength, he lifted his weighted head. He struggled to focus his eyes. Was it Charmaine standing there? How many lifetimes had it been since he’d held her in that mirrored bed? The scent of her perfume filled his senses, taunting and tormenting.
Desperately he fought to speak her name, but the answer came in a voice which was softer and more delicately husky than Charmaine’s.
Lirienne. Gentle, caring Lirienne who was giving him what Charmaine never would. An heir to his title. A child to continue the line that had died one by one until only he was left of the name.
Only he and Lirienne, who had dared to cross the sea with him and was ready to start anew in the wilderness while they waited the chance to return to Château de Villeneuve. There they would …
Charmaine’s voice rang through his head. He winced. Yes, he had promised to return to her. He wanted to return to her, but why did she have to intrude each time he thought of fulfilling his promise to Lirienne to see her family settled on his estate? Why did she have to send guilt racing through him whenever he began to imagine sitting in the great hall of the Château with his children playing by the massive hearth and Lirienne by his side?
To your marriage, Philippe! May it bring you what you desire from it. The memory of Charmaine’s sarcastic toast repeated over and over in his head, along with his saying that he could not imagine telling her goodbye.<
br />
But Lirienne … He blinked and saw Lirienne standing beside him. She wavered as if her body had become as disconnected as his. Delectable coolness caressed his forehead when her palm pressed against it.
“Philippe?”
He clutched her waist. Only her solid being could keep him from being swept into the chaos of fired pain.
Lirienne swallowed her gasp as his head sagged against her. Heat seared his skin. “Oh, no!” she whispered. For the past week, stories of yellow fever had filled the marketplace. Only when the merchants discovered she was not from the Caribbean had they been willing to sell to her.
She stroked his shoulders and fought her panic. They could not afford a doctor, for all the money he had borrowed was spent on supplies for the journey north in two weeks. He must get well by then. If they spent the winter in Philadelphia, they would starve.
Bending, she whispered, “Philippe, can you stand?”
“Of course!” he replied, but his voice was faint.
He wobbled as he tried to rise. When he gripped her shoulders, she almost collapsed. Swallowing her moan, she helped him regain his balance.
With a weak smile, he muttered, “We did it, ma petite. Shall we dance now?”
“I think you’re fit only for bed.”
“Fine idea. How—?” He swayed against the wall as she tried to steer him into the bedroom. With a curse, he rubbed his shoulder. “Who struck me, ma petite?”
“Just walk,” she ordered through clenched teeth. The twinge that had been bothering her off and on returned to settle in her lower back.
She helped him into the bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed. The anguish cut across her back. She rubbed it as she leaned over him. He mumbled something, but it made no sense.
Again fear spiraled through her. She lifted his feet onto the bed, wishing she could ease his discomfort. She knew he must drink as much as he could while waiting for his temperature to drop. It would, but the danger came if it rose again, for then he would be fighting for his life.
Pulling off his shoes, she drew the blankets over him. His face was too flushed. Her fingers trembled as she untied his queue and freed his ebony hair to flow across the muslin.
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