Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  She glanced at the clock but saw to her dismay that it was nearly eight o’clock. She had given her promise to Alexandre that she would not wait. A little restless, she thought of calling Chloe to check minor details in her gown, and she slipped out of the library to the stairs. At the landing she saw Pauline calmly checking for dust on the balustrade.

  “Why, hello, ma’m’selle. I had thought you already gone with your aunt.” Her eyes grew sharper. “Are you not well tonight, ma’m’selle?”

  “I’m fine, Pauline, thank you. It seems that my escort is late.”

  Gabrielle proceeded up the stairs to her room after directing a departing nod to the servant. Aimlessly, she wandered over to her vanity and peered at the reflection cast back from the gilt-edged mirror. She took a perfume bottle and dabbed a few more drops on her neck and in the décolletage of her gown. Then, setting it down, she walked over to her window.

  There was still some frost that formed a pretty pattern on the glass, and she traced it dreamily with her fingers, her eyes seeing nothing in particular as she gazed out at the serene stillness of the night.

  But suddenly, as though her mind was only reacting, she focused on the dim light that shone from a candelabrum in the room directly opposite hers. She straightened quickly and rubbed at the frosted window in order to see better. Yes, there was a light, although the rest of the house opposite was still shrouded in darkness. How odd, she thought, puzzled that her guardian had mentioned nothing about his neighbor being at home. But of course, the marquis had been preoccupied with his son’s behavior for the past few nights. She watched the room curiously for a few moments until a dark shadow passed in front of the window and stood there, seemingly watching her.

  For no reason that she could think of, Gabrielle felt a shiver pass through her, and she withdrew quickly in behind the curtain. Certainly she had not been very polite, spying into another person’s bedroom. But then again, could the shadow belong to a burglar? Why else would the rest of the rooms be unlit?

  She waited some seconds before peeping out again from behind the curtains. But to her disappointment she found that the candles had been blown out and she could no longer see anything. She supposed that the light could have been a servant’s tidying up before his master’s return.

  In any event, she noted that the clock on her night table was showing ten minutes past eight o’clock, and she was bound to send a message to Alexandre immediately, or else Isabel would be most upset Hurrying a little, she went downstairs and proceeded to the library where she had left her scarf and gloves. Upon entering the room, she found herself drawn up sharply by a figure most elegantly attired in dress uniform, seated comfortably in an armchair.

  “M’sieur Charles! I—I—” she stammered in her abrupt confusion.

  His face did not change its marble-set expression as he rose and bowed correctly. “Good evening, ma’m’selle. Are you ready to leave?”

  Gabrielle felt her cheeky grow hot, realizing that her curiosity upstairs had prevented her from hearing his entrance. She had obliged him to wait, no doubt setting his temper further on edge. “Of—of course, I—”

  “Good. Might I suggest, then, that we leave now, or I’m afraid we will be unforgivably late.”

  She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and picked up her gloves and scarf, while he, with a magnitude of unconcern, held out her cape for her. She soon found herself outside and bundled into the carriage, her escort seated opposite her, his face turned away as though he found the window infinitely more entertaining than her presence.

  Cautiously, she made an attempt at conversation. “You must forgive me for keeping you waiting, m’sieur. I did not hear your arrival. No servant announced—”

  He turned to her quickly, allowing his temper to flare for a moment. “Do you think I have to be announced in my own home, ma’m’selle?” he questioned, his voice tight with anger.

  Gabrielle did not reply, realizing that her attempt to draw him into conversation was futile. He would only badger her for her discourtesy. Suddenly the beautiful dress had lost some of its magic for her, and she felt unsure of her own loveliness. He seemed not even to have noticed her attire, and his eyes dismissed her coldly.

  She sat quietly, galled at his silence and glad that the ride to the de Montforts was not long. They arrived to find that a number of guests had preceded them.

  Upon entering the wide hallway, Gabrielle found her aunt eyeing her with some relief, and then Isabel hurried over to draw her into the welcoming line. A servant took her cape and gloves, and she smiled softly at the compliments she received from Isabel’s father and brother. There were others who certainly appreciated her, and she would take great care to keep a distance between herself and her escort.

  The guests began arriving in force now, and Gabrielle was busy for a long while smiling and allowing her hand to be kissed, exchanging pleasantries with friends, and murmuring polite phrases to the people she did not already know.

  Finally, when the last of the guests had arrived, the company went into the huge ballroom, which was lit splendidly with blazing candles in every corner. Evergreen and pine boughs were strung everywhere, and even a few bunches of mistletoe hung in conspicuous places. The musicians began to play, and Gabrielle found herself swaying delightedly to the music in Alexandre’s arms.

  “Is everything all right between you and Charles?” he questioned.

  She smiled. “Perfectly. He has ignored me most of the evening, and I like it much better that way.” She related how she had kept him waiting, and the story brought a smile to Alexandre’s lips.

  “A military man is not used to waiting on women, Gabrielle, my dear.”

  She danced most of the dances, stopping now and then to visit with acquaintances of Alexandre’s and friends of her own. She danced a lively tune with Henri, an old-fashioned roundelay that caused her breathing to quicken and a few curls to tumble delightfully from her coiffure. Afterwards, he brought her a cool drink and was proceeding to entertain her with stories of the front, when Isabel rushed up, her cheeks red with exertion.

  “Goodness! Stealing my fiancé out from under my nose, Gabrielle!” she laughed, her dark eyes snapping with excitement.

  Gabrielle laughed graciously, protesting her innocence. But she was secretly relieved that Isabel had rescued her from the Duc de Gramount. He was terribly bold, the type of man that Gabrielle had always associated with the military.

  She stood for a moment with her back leaning slightly against the pillar where Henri had led her, still a little breathless and watching the dancers with evident enjoyment. To her utter amazement, she looked up to see Charles bowing deeply before her, an unspoken question in his gaze. She curtseyed formally and wordlessly, and Charles swept her out onto the dance floor. For some reason, Gabrielle found his hand at her waist annoying. It was certainly not that he held her too tightly. On the contrary, she recalled Alexandre holding her more closely than his son was doing. But he held her almost gingerly, as if he were loath to feel her flesh. His hand that held her own was damp with perspiration, a fact she attributed to the heat of the room under the blaze of candles.

  “Smile, ma’m’selle, we are passing our friends,” he suddenly spoke between his teeth, and Gabrielle saw Isabel and Henri laughing and talking with a few other people, but glancing almost casually at herself and Charles.

  She smiled reflexively, annoyed as her partner’s hand tightened a little on hers.

  “You must look as though you’re enjoying yourself, ma’m’selle. It wouldn’t do to have Henri think we are still spitting at each other.”

  They finished the dance and a few moments later, Pierre, Isabel’s brother, bowed before her. Gabrielle hurriedly accepted his offer to dance.

  “You have outshone all those other wax dolls who smile woodenly and accept any offer a man makes to them,” he said to her after the dance was ended.

  Gabrielle thanked him for the compliment, and he took her into the dining
hall where tables were laden with food that was virtually untouched. Gabrielle accepted a glass of wine. .

  “Perhaps you should eat something, Pierre,” she suggested hopefully, attempting to direct him to the mound of cold ham as she watched him twice refill his own glass.

  He shook his head. “No, Gabrielle. Tonight is my sister’s engagement ball, and I think I should drink liberally to the occasion. A headache in the morning will, no doubt, make me regret my decision. But the night is still young, and, who knows, perhaps one of those wooden dolls will share my bed tonight.” He gazed woefully out towards the ballroom. “And now, ma’m’selle, I must return to the field of battle.” He bowed a bit clumsily and walked away, the wine glass held firmly in his hand as though it were a banner.

  Gabrielle glanced at the clock in the hall as she passed it on her way back to the dancing and saw that it was close to one o’clock. Suppressing a yawn, she hesitated at the threshold of the room, searching for Charles’ blond head. As she expected, he was talking with a group of men, all wearing uniforms and airing their views on the war.

  “Mon dieu, I will never get him away,” she thought, irritated because she knew he would enjoy her having to wait for him. Someone asked her to dance, and she accepted out of sheer caprice, even though her feet were beginning to ache and her annoyance made it impossible to enjoy the dance. She continued dancing for a quarter of an hour until, passing the group of soldiers, she succeeded in catching Charles’ eye.

  Instead of excusing himself as any gentleman would, he smiled arrogantly at her and continued the conversation. Stung, Gabrielle finished the dance in a grim mood, much to the chagrin of her unfortunate partner.

  The time began to drag on. It was not until after three o’clock, when only a very few guests remained and she was seated wearily in a chair, that she saw Charles making his way slowly towards her.

  “I am ready to leave, ma’m’selle,” he informed her curtly.

  Gabrielle felt like screaming at him, telling him to go to the devil for all she cared. But with an effort she calmed herself and rose to walk next to him into the hall, complimenting Isabel on the success of her party.

  She shivered as Charles went to get their carriage, the chill of the outdoors hitting her like an awakening blow. It seemed endless moments before he returned, blowing on his ungloved hands.

  Contrary to his earlier mood, Charles relaxed, stretching his legs out in front of him and pushing his cape back a little. “Did you enjoy the evening?” The question was as icy as the weather.

  “Yes, yes, I did,” Gabrielle replied, determined not to let his demeanor dominate her. “And you?” she inquired

  “I have never liked too much frivolity. I can remember, when I was a child, my mother going to endless parties and balls. I grew to hate the thought of her going out"

  “If you hate such gatherings so much, you should have told me. I would not have had you escort me no matter what anyone might have demanded.”

  He looked at her, and his gaze was so cold she wanted to shrink away from it. “It was a duty. A soldier never shirks a duty—no matter how disagreeable.”

  “Do you mean that taking me to the party was so disagreeable? Let me assure you that I took great pains to stay as far away from you as possible all evening.” Her voice rose with disgruntled vanity.

  “And do you imagine I enjoyed being badgered into escorting you because Henri listened to the pleas of that vain little bitch whose reputation for bed partners precedes her even to the battle front!” His own voice cracked with rage. “If I had had my way, I would have gone to one of the little inns along the river bank and enjoyed the company of a warm-fleshed whore tonight. Instead, I am obliged to escort a young woman whose dress cries the tart, but whose face remains as innocent as some tarnished angel’s. I can only suppose that you wear your many lovers’ victories a bit more easily than your good friend does her own conquests.

  Striking blindly in her fury, Gabrielle felt her palm sting against Charles’ cheek. “How dare you say such a thing!” she half-screamed at him, breathing hard. She made as though to strike him again, but his hand came out to catch her wrist, the fingers biting painfully into her soft flesh.

  “A whore does not strike the prospective customer,” he laughed hoarsely. “I suppose you’re an adventuress just like your aunt.”

  “M’sieur, you forget yourself,” she went on, a little more breathless with the pain, but still defiant. “Would you break your future cousin’s arm?”

  “Cousin!” his voice was hardly more than a whisper. “A harlot for a relative—”

  Completely outraged, Gabrielle drew herself up as well as she was able. “I do not enjoy your continued use of such words to describe me. I swear that I am not what you think and that no man has ever—”

  “No man has ever touched you? Is that what you expect me to believe?” he flung at her. And suddenly he thrust her away from him as if he had sickened of her. “You lie with such sincerity, ma’m’selle. Surely you can do better than that?” His voice was tight with sarcasm. “I have had nuns in cloistered convents scream those very same words at me, and I have found too many times that even such holy women have spread their legs for a man!”

  Gabrielle, still rubbing her throbbing wrist, looked at him with disgust. “You have raped a nun, m’sieur, so I can only suppose that nothing is sacred to you. Is that how you embellish the ‘sport of war,’ as you call it?”

  She knocked hard on the panel, obliging the driver to stop. “I will return the rest of the way home on foot. I would not wish to detain you from your other pleasures.” She drew her cloak around her like a cocoon of dignity. “It would please me very much if you and I were not obliged to meet again. But circumstances being as they are, I suppose that is too much to hope for. Nevertheless, I will not subject my person tonight to any further insult from you.”

  After quitting the considerable warmth of the carriage, Gabrielle shivered in indecision for a moment as she watched the vehicle move down the street. She was thankful that at least the footwalk that ran along the fronts of the houses was virtually free of ice, and she began to make her way with little difficulty. She passed several imposing edifices, all nearly alike, before she came to the right number. Stamping her feet, she blew on her gloved hands and was about to call for the gatekeeper, when out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadowy movement to her right.

  A figure slipped into the gate of the house next to Alexandre’s, and Gabrielle remembered seeing the light in the lone window earlier in the evening. Could this be the person who had been inside the house before? She listened for further footsteps but heard nothing. Finally, taking her courage in both hands, she approached the neighboring gate carefully, seeking to reassure herself that there was no one there. As she rounded the stone pillar, a cry nearly escaped her, for she could see a wavering light in one of the second-story windows of the house. So, the shadow had gone into the house—but for what purpose? Her curiosity pulled her forward, but her common sense told her that now was the time to call for the gatekeeper and to hurry into the safety of her own home. She backed away from the gate, her foot treading suddenly on brittle ice that cracked loudly even as it caused her to slip backwards and lose her footing.

  Almost before she had hit the ground, a tall, dark shadow loomed up in front of her, scaring her nearly witless.

  “What are you doing snooping around here? Who are you?” The voice was deep, arrogant, and somehow strangely familiar with the faintest alien accent in the French. The man bent to pick her up, setting her on her feet effortlessly.

  “I—I live here,” she managed between chattering teeth, nodding her head towards the other gate.

  For a moment, she could sense the hesitation in the man whose hands remained on her shoulders. Then a low whistle came clearly through the crisp, chilly air, and he released her. “Be on your way then, wench,” he admonished her gruffly.

  Gabrielle was only too eager to obey and hurried back to
the gate, calling for the keeper with an urgent note in her voice. Old Antoine, his face a mask of surprise, shuffled to the gate to let her in, but she avoided his questions and hurried up the drive to the house.

  Everyone was asleep, and she made her way with as little noise as possible to her own room, finding that she was breathing hard and that her heart was beating like a drum beneath her bodice. On an impulse, she approached her window and drew back the curtains. A silhouette was etched against a dim light in the window opposite her own, and the figure seemed again to be watching her. With a mixture of fright and anger Gabrielle let the curtain drop.

  Chapter Five

  Charles did not make an appearance in the house the next morning, a fact that caused Gabrielle considerable relief. She was dreadfully tired and had caught a cold. Certainly she did not feel up to another confrontation with a man who seemed to enjoy causing her temper to flare. She hoped he would not stay too much longer, but would rejoin his regiment with all due speed.

  Unfortunately, such was not to be the case, as Aunt Louise informed her the following day. Still fighting the sniffles, Gabrielle had elected to stay in bed and was reading a novel when her aunt came in carrying her lunch tray. Gabrielle put the book aside, realizing that she had not been concentrating on the words but was allowing her mind to continually stray to the strange meeting with the shadowy figure the night before.

  “Feeling better, Gabrielle?” her aunt asked her. Gabrielle was not deceived by her aunt’s false cheerfulness and asked if anything was the matter.

  Aunt Louise looked utterly crestfallen as she told her niece that Charles had requested a leave of absence from his troops through June. “This upsets our marriage plans considerably, and Alexandre wants to postpone the ceremony until this summer.”