The Duchess

by Bertrice Small

  “You are absolutely right, my lord,” Captain Grant said.

  Just before sunset, although the entire day had been gray, they could just make out the outline of the French coast in the hazy distance. The duke explained to his companions that the captain would fetch them a horse and a cart for their journey. They would leave as soon after the dawn as they possibly could. They ate ham, bread, and cheese for their evening meal, drinking a rather good wine which warmed them and eased them all into sleep.

  Bobby, the cabin boy, awoke the duke as soon as the captain departed the ship to row himself ashore. Awakened, the women stepped out onto the deck of the yacht into a chill and dank darkness, allowing the gentlemen to change into their costumes. They did not speak. The three men exiting the cabin some minutes later did not look at all like three English milords. The women returned to the cabin to change into their own garments. When they were dressed but for their mobcaps, Honor loosened their hair, tangling it, and rubbing dirt from a jar she had carried with her into their tresses. Then she passed the jar around, suggesting they dirty themselves on their faces and about the neck where their collars rested.

  “Plain folk don’t bathe as much as your fine ladies do,” she told them in her perfect French.

  “She truly can speak French,” Caroline squealed.

  “And you had better, lady, from now on,” Honor advised. “Sound carries over the water, and we don’t know who is listening.”

  As the maidservant’s words died they all looked at one another, realizing the game, this dangerous game, was now truly on, and a careless slip of the tongue could destroy them all.

  Eunice, Countess of Aston, swallowed visibly, suddenly shaken, but seeing Allegra’s look of alarm, said calmly in her rather good French, “It is all right, Allegra. I am afraid, but ready to do my part.”

  “We cannot call ourselves by our own Christian names,” Allegra said softly. “We will need simple French names. I will be Marie. Honor, you are the only one who can keep her name. Honneur. Eunice, you are now Jeanne, and Caroline, Prunelle. We must tell the men, and rechristen them as well.” She pulled her mobcap over her long snarled black hair. “Allons, mes amies!” The four women exited the cabin.

  The name change explained to them, the gentlemen became Joseph, the duke; Pierre, the earl; and Michel, Lord Walworth. Then they waited. When the captain returned they exchanged places with him in the rowboat.

  “Gawd, your lordships, I wouldn’t have recognized you, but that I know it is you,” he exclaimed softly. “You will find the cart and the horse at the top of the path. How long should I wait?”

  “Until we return, Captain Grant, unless you find yourself and my yacht in danger,” the earl said. “I do not know how long it will take us to retrieve the comtesse and her family. With luck we shall be back by nightfall.”

  “I’ll keep a single light burning at the stern of the vessel, my lord,” Captain Grant said. “God bless you all, and bring you safely back to us quickly, and madame countess with you.”

  The duke rowed their little boat to the shore. Getting out, they pulled it up upon the beach, the sand crunching beneath their wooden shoes, then began the climb up the hillside. They were in France. The game was indeed on!

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Comtesse d’Aumont stared disbelieving at the man before her. He was stocky and of medium height. There was enough of her late husband in his face to make his words unreal. She could not believe what he was saying.

  “You were his brother,” she finally managed to say. “You are a d’Aumont.”

  “Half brother,” he corrected her. “I was our father’s bastard.”

  “You were raised with him. You were with him your whole life,” Anne-Marie d’Aumont cried. “He loved and respected you.”

  “We were five years apart in age,” the man replied. “I was raised to be his servant. I was the older, and yet he was the heir, only for an accident of birth. Now I shall have what rightfully belongs to me.”

  “This estate belongs to my son, the Comte d’Aumont,” Anne-Marie said, her voice shaking. “Jean-Robert is the heir to Le Verger.”

  “Did I ever tell you how I was conceived, madame? My mother came into this house as a servant at the age of twelve. My father raped her when she was thirteen. I was born when she was fourteen. She died shortly thereafter, and I was raised by my grandmère.”

  “Do not think to shock me, Reynaud,” the comtesse said. “I know how you came into being, but your father was drunk when he attacked your mother. That does not excuse his crime. It was bestial, but he never touched her again. And he paid your grandmère to care for you. She wanted to put you out on a hillside for the wild animals. Did you know that? He would not permit it, for you were his very flesh. He paid her very generously to look after you, although she used precious little of his coin for your care. That is why when you were four he brought you into the house to be raised by his wife, along with the baby she was carrying. Rachelle d’Aumont was good to you, Reynaud. And your father tried to make up for what he had done to your mother as best he could. And my husband, your brother, treated you as an equal all his life.”

  “Yes,” Reynaud said. “Jean-Claude was a good brother, I will admit. That is what made it so hard for me to betray him. But alas, I had no choice.”

  “What are you saying?” she gasped, going pale, her heart beating violently against her chest. My God! My God! It could not be.

  “Once we were in Paris it was very easy for me to put a note in one of those boxes the Committee for Public Safety scattered about the city to give anonymity to those wishing to expose traitors to the new regime. They are very efficient in Paris. Jean-Claude was quickly arrested. I, of course, was fortunate to escape the authorities, and I knew my dear little brother would not expose me as his companion. I went to see him beheaded, and even walked alongside the tumbrel as it took him to the guillotine. He begged me to see to your safety, and that of his children. He had absolutely no idea that it was I who had betrayed him.” Reynaud smiled, and the smile was so like her husband’s that Anne-Marie cried out as if in pain.

  “Monster!” she accused.

  “Then I returned here, and joined our local Committee for Public Safety. I became so invaluable, so skilled in hunting out the enemies of the people, that the authorities in Harfleur gave me total authority over the committee in St. Jean Baptiste. I am the one responsible for your arrest, Citizeness d’Aumont. Your fate is in my hands entirely.” He laughed aloud.

  “God will punish you, Reynaud,” she told him. “You cannot hide from God.”

  “I am arranging,” he continued as if she had not spoken, “for your son to be sent to the army.”

  “He is ten years old!” she shrieked at him. Then she began to tremble as the realization of how helpless she was penetrated her consciousness.

  “Old enough to carry water, or ammunition, or if he pleases the men in his unit with his elegant behavior, he might even become a little drummer boy for his regiment. You need not worry, citizeness, my nephew is a pretty little fellow. He will find friends to protect him.”

  His meaning was very obvious, and the Comtesse d’Aumont was unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion. “No,” she cried weakly.

  “And as for your daughter, I have arranged for her to be apprenticed to a glovemaker in Paris. She will learn to be useful, Citizeness, and not grow up to be a worthless little aristo. The glovemaker told me that he likes young girls.” He smiled again. “He will take good care of my niece, I am certain.” He chuckled knowingly.

  “Please,” the comtesse pleaded, “please, I beg you! Do what you will with me, but leave my children alone. We will leave Le Verger. It is yours. I have family in England that I can go to for shelter and aid. I will do whatever you want. Just do not harm my babies!” She fell to her knees before him, and clutched at his jacket. “Please!” The tears were streaming down her pretty face.

  He looked on her dispassionately, his brown eyes cold,
cruel. “Anything, Citizeness?” he said softly. Loosening his breeches he pulled out his flaccid manhood. “Anything?” he repeated.

  “Anything,” she sobbed brokenly. She would do what she must to save her children.

  “Very well then, open your mouth, Citizeness, and entertain my rod. If you please me we will speak further on these matters. Now, suck, you aristocratic bitch. Suck!” His fingers cruelly dug into her head, threading themselves into her thick brown hair.

  Anne-Marie d’Aumont closed her eyes and obeyed as she prayed that God would forgive her; her dead husband and their parents would forgive her; that she would one day forgive herself. But she had no other choice. She had to save the children! Why, oh why, had she not taken her English uncle up on his offer to shelter them when he had first made it? She knew now that she could not trust Reynaud d’Aumont, but she had to hope his desire for Le Verger was greater than his need to punish the legitimate branch of the d’Aumont family for their existence. That if she let him have his way with her, he would let them all go. She felt his flesh growing thicker in her mouth, and sucked harder on him.

  “Ahh, yes, you little bitch,” he groaned, his eyes closing with the pleasure she was giving him. “You are skillful indeed. That’s it. That’s it! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!” His fingers loosened their grip on her tresses, and he sighed with his release.

  She continued to kneel before him, her head drooping with her shame. She had swallowed every bit of his juices, struggling not to vomit them back at his feet. That, she knew, would not please him, and she had to please him if she was to save the children from his power.

  Reynaud rebuttoned his breeches. “You have hidden talents, Citizeness.”

  She looked up at him. “My children?”

  “I may reconsider my decision, Citizeness. Leave your bedchamber door open tonight, and we shall converse further on the matter,” he told her. “Now get up, and see to the dinner. I wish to go over my brother’s accounts.”

  Anne-Marie d’Aumont stumbled from the library where they had been speaking. The house was quiet.

  Only two of the servants had remained after her arrest. They hadn’t wanted to go, but she had sent them away, fearful for their safety under the circumstances. She had paid their year’s wages so they would not starve. The old cook had remained, and her maid who was now with the children. She hurried to the kitchen. “Thérèse,” she said in what she hoped passed for a normal voice, “do we have anything for supper? Monsieur Reynaud is remaining.”

  “That one!” Thérèse spat. “What does he want, madame?”

  “Le Verger,” the comtesse answered softly.

  “Oh, the wicked devil,” the old cook cried. “If the monsignor were alive he would not dare. He cannot take Le Verger from the petit monsieur Jean-Robert, madame.”

  “He can, and he means to do it. He wants to send my son to the army, and my daughter to a glovemaker in Paris, Thérèse. I am trying to reason with him. We must please him. Help me, I beg you!”

  “Finely ground glass in his soup, madame,” the cook muttered balefully. “Or,” she made a slicing motion across her throat.

  “We cannot kill him, Thérèse. He is the head of the Committee for Public Safety in St. Jean Baptiste. He is well known in Harfleur. If he disappeared we would all face Madame la Guillotine, I fear.”

  “I can make a rabbit pie, and I have a chicken I can roast,” the cook said grudgingly. “I will do what I can to help, madame, but it will not please me to see Reynaud le bâtard sitting in monsignor’s place at the head of the table tonight.”

  “Nor will it please me, Thérèse, but the times have changed. It is no longer the world we knew. If I can persuade Monsieur Reynaud to simply take Le Verger, I intend to make my way to my uncle in London with the children. I will see you have your wages, and a bit more I can spare.”

  “Madame! Madame!” The old woman threw her apron over her face, and began to sob. “If you go, take me with you. My granddaughter, Céline, and I have no one but the famille d’Aumont. We will not serve Reynaud le bâtard. Take us with you.”

  “Are you sure Céline does not want to remain here? What of that young man she was walking out with, Thérèse?” the comtesse asked.

  “He was taken to serve in General Bonaparte’s army, madame, and has not been heard of since,” Thérèse said.

  Anne-Marie sighed softly. “If Monsieur Reynaud does not object, Thérèse, then you and Céline may come with us, but I do not know how we shall survive in England. I have little money, I fear.”

  “Money.” The cook spat scornfully. “We will go with you, madame, for no money at all. Our family has served the d’Aumonts for centuries. A revolution will not change that for Céline and for me.”

  The comtesse hugged the old cook, her blue eyes filling with tears. “Merci, Thérèse. Merci. We will all survive … somehow.”

  “Oui, madame, we will, and we will be together,” the cook declared, as she hugged her mistress back.

  “Feed the children here in the kitchens, Thérèse. I do not want him near them. And tell Céline to remain with them tonight. They are to sleep in the nursery as they did when they were younger,” the comtesse instructed the cook. “I will go now, and set the table.”

  “Très bien, madame,” the old cook said, understanding more than her mistress would have believed she did.

  To Anne-Marie’s amazement Thérèse managed to present a wonderful dinner. The countess had set the table in her salle à manger, and then changed her gown for something cleaner. She dressed her hair herself, twisting it into a neat chignon. She needed to give Reynaud the idea that she was not entirely helpless, or afraid, and was ready to bargain with him for her children’s safety. And Thérèse certainly did her part.

  They began with a wonderful soup of onions and red wine. Next Thérèse brought forth trout, broiled in butter. There followed the rabbit pie with its thick brown gravy, petites carottes, and little shallots; a roasted chicken with an apple and bread stuffing, petits pois, bread, and sweet butter.

  Reynaud d’Aumont ate heartily, smacking his lips, mopping up every bit of the winy gravy with bread. “The old lady hasn’t lost her touch,” he said, “but I have a younger woman to take her place.”

  “Then you will not mind if she comes to England with me,” Anne-Marie said softly.

  He grinned. “We have yet to come to a final arrangement, citizeness,” he told her.

  “You may have whatever you want of me, Reynaud,” she said. “You may have Le Verger, and everything in it. Just let me go with my children. We will take nothing but the clothing on our backs. Just let us go. Surely you must have some feeling for the brother you betrayed. Marie-Claire and Jean-Robert are his children. They have loved you. Does your need for vengeance really demand the destruction of innocents? Have mercy, I beg you!”

  “Go up to your bedchamber and wait for me,” he said. “We will see how well you can bargain for your children, Citizeness.”

  She arose from the table, and curtseying to him left the room. Upstairs there was not a sound to be heard. Céline and Thérèse had obviously fed the children, and they were now in bed, sleeping, she prayed. Her bed, the bed she had shared with Jean-Claude, was turned back. She undressed without any help, leaving only her chemise on for a night garment. These days with no one to do the laundry, many of her garments did double duty, and were only washed when absolutely necessary. Undoing her hair she brushed it out, starting as the door to her bedchamber opened, and Reynaud came into the room.

  Wordless at first, he removed his own clothing and boots. Finally clad only in his shirt he turned about and said to her, “Take off your chemise. I want to see what it is you have to offer me, citizeness.”

  She quickly obeyed, and stood naked before him. He walked around her, stopping behind to press himself against her, his big hands moving to cup her breasts.

  “Very nice,” he murmured his approval, “especially considering your age, and the fact you have whelped two brats.�
�� He squeezed her breasts hard, smiling when she winced. He was surprised to find that the mere thought of fucking this aristo was very exciting. He rubbed himself against her, his manhood sliding against the split between her bottom. “Did Jean-Claude ever give it to you there, Citizeness?” he whispered into her ear, “or will I be the first to taste that pleasure?”

  She couldn’t answer him. Her heart was beating so fast, and she could feel the bitter fear rising in her throat.

  He laughed nastily. “First things first, however, Citizeness. On your knees again, and suck. I will tell you when to stop, and you had best be as skillful tonight as you were earlier today. Ahh, yes, bitch, that is good. Very good!” He closed his eyes, and when he was hard, but not yet ready to loose his juices, he said, “Now, my pretty little citizeness, on your back, and open your legs. Then I want you to tell me how much you want to be fucked by me. How long has my brother been dead now?” He pushed her back onto the bed. “He was a virile man, Jean-Claude, and you’re not so old yet that you didn’t enjoy his husbandly attentions, are you?” He fell atop her. “Now tell me, Citizeness, how much you want me to do it to you!”

  “Reynaud! In the name of le bon Dieu,” she pleaded.

  “Tell me, you aristocratic bitch, or our discussions are over, and your children are gone on the morrow!” he snarled, slapping her.

  “Please,” she begged him, and realizing that wasn’t enough, she continued, “please fuck me, Reynaud. Oh, do it to me. I want it. I need it. Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Ahhhhhh!” she shrieked as he rammed himself into her cruelly. His mouth mashed down upon her lips, kissing her hungrily, his tongue stabbing at her tongue as she struggled not to gag. She realized almost immediately that if she didn’t exhibit a measure of enthusiasm he was not going to be satisfied. She groaned beneath him, her nails raking down the broad back beneath his shirt. She wrapped his torso about with her legs. “Oh, yes,” she murmured into his ear. “Oh, yes, Reynaud! Do it to me hard!” And he did.