Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  I looked at them. The coolness that had existed between them when I came home three years earlier had dissolved in their mutual adoration of my son.

  "He is a demon," I said coldly, "and he needs to be beaten."

  "No!" they cried in chorus, shielding the culprit behind their skirts.

  "Yes!" I said in a voice like thunder. They trembled. "No wonder he's so spoiled. You both let him run wild, and when he's wicked you never, never punish him. He could have killed someone with that crossbow! Three years of age and a little warrior! I shall never be able to control him. Shame on you, Savannah, for filling his head with stories of Indians and voodoo—and God knows what else! And you, Françoise! You used to beat me often enough, as I recall, for misdemeanors much less serious than—attempted murder! Poor old Derain. I'm surprised he didn't die of shock, right there on the spot. Now stop protecting him. Etienne, come here, please. Mama wants to talk to you."

  "I want my Papa," said a small voice from behind the bulwark of his two nurses. "Papa is coming today."

  I sighed deeply and sat down. "What on earth has gotten into the child?" I demanded. "He's been like this for weeks. He has asked every man he has seen if he is his Papa, even old Derain and the stable lads. I don't know what to do with him. I am at my wit's end."

  The two women exchanged glances. Françoise spoke. "A boy needs a father," she declared. "I don't know why you don't marry that poor Marquis. You've caused him enough trouble, don't you think?"

  "Pooh. Armand Valadon can take care of himself," I said. "I don't feel responsible for him. Besides, if he really wanted to be married he would have chosen a wife long before he met me."

  "Now, child, you know that's not true," Savannah put in. "A man don't marry until his heart tells him to. That boy of yours needs a man." Françoise nodded agreement.

  "What are Philippe and Uncle Theo, if not men?" I demanded. "He has all the men he needs." I knew that wasn't really true. My brother and uncle were far too indulgent with their nephew. They doted on him, spoiled him with gifts and toys, and instead of curbing his wild behavior actually seemed to be encouraging it as the mark of a true Lesconflair. I threw up my hands. "You are all against me. What can I do?"

  My son ran towards me and threw himself into my arms. "I'm not against you, Mama! I love you!"

  I brushed the fair hair away from his face. He was beginning to look more like Garth every day, with his blue eyes and his golden curls, his strong, determined chin and his sturdy frame. The old hunger crept up on me and I pushed it down. Perhaps I should marry Armand. What was I waiting for?

  We had met at Marseilles, where the Etoile de France docked after her voyage from New Orleans. Savannah and I were making our way through the crowds on the docks, trying to find someone who could take charge of our baggage and hire us a carriage. France! I felt dazed and rather overwhelmed at being back. Marseilles was so busy, so dirty and noisy and congested. Much different from the gracious, lovely city we had left a few weeks earlier.

  "Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

  I looked up and saw a dark-haired gentleman of about forty smiling down at me. He was bowing slightly, holding his hat in his hand. His clothes were beautifully cut but plain, and his face was lean and ascetic, longish, and perhaps a bit sorrowful-looking. But his eyes were warm and kind, like his smile.

  "No, thank you," I said a trifle stiffly, "we will be able to manage. Come, Savannah."

  I can imagine how we must have looked: two frightened women, one obviously pregnant, both looking wide-eyed and apprehensive as they moved along the docks, trying to ignore the rude stares and coarse remarks of the stevedores and sailors and messengers. When we reached the street a huge dray pulled by an enormous workhorse bore down on us. Savannah shrieked, and when I tried to pull her to one side she tripped over an empty crate that lay crushed and broken in the gutter. The two of us would surely have fallen under the wheels of the conveyance as it rumbled by if the stranger hadn't called to the driver and stopped the horses himself.

  He pulled down his cuffs and brushed off the tails of his coat. "I think you do need help, you know," he said with a kindly smile. "Please, let me introduce myself. My name is Armand Valadon, Marquis de Pellissier."

  I blinked at him. I could feel the blood draining away from my face, and with a little cry I fainted dead away. He carried me to a nearby inn and revived me with a glass of brandy. I choked and opened my eyes. Savannah was chattering nervously in English and clumsy Creole French.

  "Be quiet, Savannah," I said briskly. "Forgive me, Monsieur, but your name is not unknown to me."

  "So it would appear, Madame," he said, "but for the life of me I cannot remember where or when we have met. How could I be obtuse enough to forget such a lovely face—"

  "We have never met, but we were married." He looked astonished. "My name is Elise Lesconflair, Monsieur. Have you heard of me?"

  He blew out his breath in a long whistle. "I have indeed, Madame. When I returned from Russia for the last time—when was that? Three, four years ago?—I heard the most amazing gossip about a wedding I was supposed to have taken part in in one of the northern provinces. Lesconflair. Yes, that was the name of the girl. What a remarkable coincidence this is, Madame. I am—I am charmed to meet you at last."

  "Indeed," I said wryly, "you have my sincerest apologies for any embarrassment I might have caused you, my Lord. And I apologize for having troubled you today. I think we can—"

  "But no!" he cried. "You cannot escape before you have satisfied my curiosity about this affair. Who was the impostor? Do you know?"

  I stood up and smoothed down my skirts. "Yes, I know. He was an American adventurer named Garth McClelland." My hands lingered for a moment on the mound of my stomach. "Good day, my Lord. And many thanks for your kindness."

  "Ah, Madame, it is I who should beg forgiveness for having embarrassed you," he said, resting his hand lightly on my arm. "I beg you, don't be angry with me. It all becomes clear to me now. You—you are just returning home from America, are you not? Ah," he shook his head, "this is remarkable, incredible! McClelland, eh?"

  "You knew him, then?"

  Armand Valadon laughed. "Oh, yes, I knew him! We were both concerned with the same problem, only we had opposing points of view. I should have known—! God, the man was clever. And the audacity of his scheme!" He saw my pinched expression. "But how unfeeling you will think me, Madame, for taking delight in an incident which has undoubtedly caused you so much pain. Won't you let me assist you? To make reparation for the discomfort caused you by my, ah, American counterpart? I know an inn, not too bad for Marseilles, and we can proceed by easy stages to Paris whenever you feel ready to travel."

  I studied him. He was genuinely kind, and he sincerely wanted to help. I knew better than to think he was attracted to me in my present condition; his intentions could only be honorable. I smiled and gave him my hand. "Thank you for your concern, my Lord. I am most grateful to you."

  He bowed over my hand and smiled up at me. "And I am most grateful to you, Madame, for resolving a mystery that has plagued me for quite some time. Do you believe in coincidence? I do not. I believe in destiny."

  He arranged everything for me: clothes, hotels, travel, and he never permitted a word of protest. Armand Valadon became my friend and protector. He seemed to think that the gods had intended for us to meet. I decided it would be best if he did not accompany me to the Chateau.

  "One shock at a time, Armand. Who knows? Uncle Theo might throw me out. If he does, will you take me in until I find a suitable place to live?"

  I said it facetiously, but his answer was serious. "If I took you in, Elise, I would never let you go."

  I laughed. "Dear Armand, what a scandal that would cause! A pregnant woman, unmarried, recently returned from exotic places! We would be the talk of Paris."

  "My dear, at my age one no longer concerns himself with avoiding scandal, but with rejoicing in it when it comes. Just remember, I am at your servi
ce, Elise. Forever."

  He traveled with us as far as Orleans, then hired a carriage to take us to the Chateau. Savannah and I arrived one warm night in April. A new footman opened the door to us and gave us an icy stare. Then old Derain, the butler I had known since I was a child, came out of the dining room.

  "Ah, Mademoiselle Elise!" he cried. And he literally ran back to the dining room, calling, "My Lord! My Lord!"

  Françoise heard the commotion and raced screaming down the marble staircase. Without a moment's hesitation she swept me into her arms and wept noisily.

  Then Uncle Theo and Philippe approached us. Françoise stepped back and Philippe embraced me and kissed me warmly. He was crying, too. He had lost an arm, I saw, and his empty sleeve was pinned up on his shoulder like some grim hero's medal.

  "Oh, Philippe," I whispered, "what happened? What happened?"

  He gave a gallant little laugh. "I left my poor arm in Vilan, during the Russian campaign, my dearest. Oh, Elise, Elise, it's so good to have you back!"

  "The prodigal returns," I said sadly. I turned to Uncle Theo. "Well, Uncle, have you a word for your errant niece?" I removed my cloak so that he could see my swollen figure. "I'll go if you want me to, Uncle Theo. I have no desire to bring you further shame and scandal. But I wanted to see my home again—"

  He came towards me. I was surprised to see how little he had changed. His hair was a little whiter, his clothes a bit shabbier, but he was the same in every other way.

  "Oh, my child, my child!" he murmured, taking me in his arms. "Thank God. Thank God." He was weeping softly, everyone was weeping, even Savannah and the new footman, who couldn't take his eyes off her. "You have come home to us, Elise," Uncle Theo sighed, holding me away from him. "That's all that matters. The Lesconflairs have provided France with her greatest heroes, but they have also given her her most exciting scandals. In either case, posterity has much to thank us for. And who is this fine-looking woman?" He turned to Savannah.

  "This is Savannah, my maidservant from America, Uncle Theo." Savannah and Françoise eyed each other suspiciously.

  "America! Dear God, child, no wonder we never found you! America! Oh, Elise, you never wrote, never sent word," he said sadly. "We thought you were dead."

  I pressed his hand. "I'm sorry, Uncle," I said. "I meant to write, many times, but things happened, bad things. I didn't want to disgrace you, to cause you any more pain. I suppose I thought it would be best for you to think I was—dead. But I have had many adventures, and I have survived them all. I think you will be proud of me. But wait? Where is Honoré?" I looked around the vast hallway. "In Paris? Has he married?"

  Uncle Theo looked suddenly tired and old. Philippe said, "Honoré was killed in a duel, Elise, not two months after we lost you."

  "Oh, no," I whispered, "it was my fault. Someone said something about me and—Oh, his temper was always so wicked!"

  "No, no," Philippe assured me hastily, "nothing like that. It was a girl. You know how he was. We didn't hear anything about it until it was all over, and it was too late."

  "My poor dears," I said slowly, "I wish I had been here. I know how hard it must have been."

  Françoise spoke up. "It's been hard enough all around, I expect," she said briskly. "But the wheel turns. The wheel always turns. You're looking entirely too pale and thin, Elise. Do you want that baby of yours to be a puny weakling?"

  I laughed. "No, Françoise, I do not, and I don't think there's any danger of that as long as you have anything to say about it."

  "You should have heard her when I came back from Russia," Philippe said. "She tore into me as if I had deliberately starved myself."

  "Hmmph," Françoise grunted. "You can be sure that that runt Bonaparte wasn't skinny when he got back to Paris. And he didn't have frostbite and other pitiful diseases, either. I declare, I'm glad he's gone!"

  "Françoise, for once I am inclined to agree with you," Uncle Theo said. "Come, Elise, you shall have your supper with us and Françoise will see to your Savannah. What a pretty name. America! I have always wanted to see it. Your great-uncle Pierre-Claude settled in America, you know."

  "To escape the bailiff," Philippe explained dryly. "Why, Elise, you're crying!" He put a brotherly arm around my shoulders. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing!" I dried my eyes. "It feels so good to be back, so very good. Nothing has changed—and yet, I feel that everything must have changed. I feel like a foreigner, but everything is so familiar, so dear. I'm so glad I came home, Philippe. So very glad!"

  My son was born in June, 1815. I named him Etienne, for Stephen McClelland, Garth's grandfather. Uncle Theo recalled that Etienne Lesconflair had distinguished himself at the Norman invasion of England in 1066, so that name was perfectly acceptable to him. I was in labor for a whole night and day, and in the sweat-drenched intervals between the tearing, agonizing pains I thought of Garth. His handsome face seemed to dance seductively in front of my eyes, and I could almost hear his voice saying my name. And when I heard the first cries of our son, I wept with joy and with sorrow. I would never lose Garth now. Part of him would belong to me until I died. But I would never see him again, either, and that knowledge almost drowned the delight I took in the birth of Etienne.

  No, nothing had changed—and everything had changed. The Chateau, at least, was still the same. A bit dustier, a little shabby, like its owner, but still filled with the wondrous objects that had enchanted me as a child. But I worried over the state of Uncle Theo's finances when I noticed one day that the portrait of me as Diana was missing from its accustomed place above the fireplace in the library.

  "Oh, Uncle Theo, you didn't!"

  "Didn't what, child?"

  "Sell the Diana! Oh, this is awful! We could have borrowed. Armand would have been delighted—"

  "I am sorry, Elise." Uncle Theo's tone was grave. "I know how much you liked it. I did, too. But Davids are fetching splendid prices these days—" He shrugged. "I had no choice, my dear."

  "You don't sound particularly upset," I observed coolly. It was my painting, after all. I supposed I had forfeited my right to it by disappearing. But he could have kept it.

  "Money is often an acceptable alternative to sorrow," he said. "Someday when you're older, Elise, you'll understand."

  Really, men could be most annoying.

  "Mama! Mama!" The small hand that tugged at my skirts was insistent. "Please, may we go out? Please, Mama?"

  I swept him up in my arms and held him struggling on my lap. "Out? Etienne, my darling, you have been in and out of the Chateau all day, and you find trouble wherever you go! Why do you want to go out?"

  He smiled. "I want to go out with you."

  "The crossbow! The Lesconflair crossbow!" Uncle Theo burst shouting into the room. "Missing! Stolen! Where is Derain? Where is—?"

  "The crossbow is here, Uncle Theo, wrested from the hands of your infant nephew before he managed to do any real damage. Derain is resting in his room, secure in the knowledge that this little rascal might have failed to decapitate him today, but that he will surely try again tomorrow. Poor Derain. Poor Uncle." I kissed his cheek. "I am taking him out now—"

  "Where?" Uncle Theo asked quickly. "Where are you going, my dear?"

  I looked at him, puzzled. "I don't know. Perhaps to the forest." Etienne shrieked delightedly when he heard that. "Why?"

  "Oh, nothing, nothing. If someone comes to call—"

  "No one will call. Armand is in Rome this week, remember? Come, little demon. Well, Uncle, what shall we do with the culprit? Shall I spank him?"

  "Spank him!" Uncle Theo's brows rose alarmingly.

  "Certainly not, Elise. The child can't help his natural high spirits."

  I smiled ruefully. "And neither could I help mine, but I remembered you encouraged me to try."

  "Bah! Etienne is a true Lesconflair, an adventurous boy. You mean he really figured out how to work that bow all by himself? I can't believe it!"

  "Then you may ask Derain to co
nfirm it. Let's go, Etienne." I held out my hand and Etienne shoved his grubby fist into it. "Say good-bye to Uncle Theo, and to Françoise and Savannah." They all bent their heads so that he could kiss them. He was a demon, but he was also very loving and affectionate. "Where would you like to go, dearest?" I asked him as we walked with unaccustomed restraint down the great staircase.

  "To the forest," he said quickly. He tugged impatiently at my hand. "I am going to kill Indians today, I think. I want to show Papa lots of dead Indians."

  This Papa business again!

  Victor, the footman, who was now married to Savannah, beamed at us and opened the front door. We stepped from the coolness of the hall into the warm sunshine. I released Etienne and he raced down the stairs and across the drive to the fountains.

  "I wish I had half his energy!"

  "Oh, Philippe." I smiled at my brother, who was just coming up from the stables. "I know, I think mothers should be endowed with twice the energy of their children instead of only half. Did you hear what he did today?"

  "The crossbow?" Philippe laughed. "Yes, Derain couldn't wait to tell me. Said he'd never been shot at before! I don't think he liked the experience. I'll confess that I didn't either. Is that a dreadful thing for a war hero to say? Don't tell Uncle Theo. Lesconflairs never whine."

  "How are you feeling today, Philippe?" Philippe had never completely recovered from his battle wounds and sickness. "I wish you could be well. I wish I could give you my health."

  "No, my dear, I would refuse it. You'll need it all to keep up with him." He nodded at the demon, who was splashing in the pool at the bottom of one of the fountains, trying to catch goldfish in his bare hands. "I am quite well enough, thank you, and I daresay I shall outlive you and your son. And how are you, Elise? You look beautiful. Are you happy here?"

  "Of course I am, Philippe! What a question."

  "I would feel better if you were settled, sister. If you had a man to love and care for, a man who would love and care for you." I thought he was going to pressure me to marry Armand, but he said, "Elise, do you ever think of Garth?"