The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) Read online

  ****

  Catherine’s hands were still shaking with anger and relief as a groom helped her down from Flamme. D’Oronte glared at her again, and she glared back before looking away, trying to get control of her desire to slap the man. Again.

  It was supposed to be a short ride, near to the palace, and yet when she had tried to turn back, d’Oronte grabbed her mare’s bridle and led her further away, laughing and ignoring her protests. And when they were off in the parkland, watched only by the king’s dairy herd, he helped her down and…

  Catherine shuddered and decided to think about it later. Someday, she would corner Madame Philinte and convince her that her beloved grandson was, contrary to her doting opinion, not a gentleman.

  A groom led Flamme away. A carriage pulled up nearby, and Catherine heard a lady’s voice call out, “Manu! My favorite brother!”

  D’Oronte had his back turned, so Catherine strode away to get a better look. The Comtesse de Bures was up on her toes, kissing Monsieur Emmanuel’s cheek, while the adults and children of the family and a swarm of servants and guards milled around.

  “Mademoiselle de Fouet,” said a man at her elbow, and she turned and curtsied to the Comte de Bures.

  “Oh, Mademoiselle! Have you been out riding with Manu?” The comtesse came bustling toward her as children swarmed out of the carriage. “He’s so good with horses and would never let anything happen to you.”

  Monsieur Emmanuel looked at her, eyebrows up in surprise. His eyes darted to d’Oronte, who stood off to one side, his face neutral as he surveyed the chaotic family group.

  “No,” Catherine said, but the comtesse was turning back to her brother again.

  Monsieur Emmanuel, though, appeared to have other ideas than to talk with his sister. He whistled sharply and a horse at the back of the pack snorted and pulled away from his rider’s control. The Baron de la Brosse threw one arm out, but managed to stay on, then laughed as the horse—a huge bay with a white nose, delicately but firmly wended its way through the people.

  As Catherine watched, Monsieur Emmanuel put his arms around the huge stallion’s neck as the horse butted his master’s chest. There was no question this was his master, even if the baron was astride. Emmanuel patted his pockets, but the horse distracted him by nibbling at his shoulder.

  The baron jumped down, laughing, and kissed Monsieur Emmanuel’s cheeks flamboyantly. “My own son who would say hello to his horse before greeting me.”

  “I’m sorry, mon père, but I…”

  The baron hugged him and chuckled. “We’ve been taking turns, and we agree he’s the best-tempered horse any of us have ridden. His mouth might even be too soft and his flanks too sensitive, because he seems to turn before we’re ready. I was going to offer to buy him, but I see he loves you best.”

  Monsieur Emmanuel smiled softly, and Catherine was fascinated by the fatherly pride she saw in his face. “I reared him by hand. His mother had twins and rejected him. We had to milk the mares who would tolerate it and I fed him from a bottle.”

  “You never mentioned this before, mon fils.” If anything, the baron’s face was even softer with fatherly pride than Monsieur Emmanuel’s as he smiled at his youngest son.

  Catherine held a hand to her heart, clasping her mother’s brooch, slightly teary-eyed at the display of emotion from both men.

  The baron dabbed at his eyes and clapped his son on the shoulder before turning and greeting her, his face sliding into an unreadable mask. She curtsied politely and wished she could be a friend to this man.

  He turned away to consult with the Comte de Bures and to greet the various people who wandered by. Catherine reached into the pocket of her riding habit to find the pieces of turnip she had meant to give Flamme at the end of her ride. She went to Monsieur Emmanuel’s side and set the turnip in his hand. He glanced at her in surprise, then smiled as he turned back to his stallion and the horse accepted the pieces with a snort.

  “Did you really raise him by hand?”

  Monsieur Emmanuel shrugged but scratched his horse’s ears. “He was a tiny foal. We tried to put him in with another mare with a newborn and she wouldn’t take him, either. I couldn’t afford to let him die. It was my first spring.”

  And you saw yourself in him, Catherine thought. Abandoned and unloved. She set her hand on his arm, and he nodded as if she had said it.

  She turned to go in, suddenly embarrassed to be in this big family when she was under the protection of someone who had treated them all terribly. She found herself face to face with the baron, who must have seen her with his son. He sized her up as if meeting her for the first time.

  “Mademoiselle de Fouet.” D’Oronte was striding over, smiling smugly. “Surely I should see you back to the baronesse after our long ride.”

  The baron’s expression turned hard as he turned away, but he smiled and greeted the younger man as if there weren’t anything wrong.

  Catherine had no desire to go anywhere with d’Oronte ever again, but she only hesitated a moment before going back into her role as the invisible companion.

  ****

  Manu went down to the stables with his father, Cédric, and Dom. They saw to the horses and grooms and talked about the journey. Finally, Manu said, “Your coach will be here tomorrow, mon père.”

  “My…didn’t you to bring it from Paris?” The baron raised one eyebrow, puzzled.

  “I…we had an accident two leagues from here. The roads were muddy, and we had to get past a farmer’s cart. I told Charlot to pass, but there wasn’t enough room. I had the wheels and axle repaired. In fact, I was just coming back from there when you arrived. It will need to be repainted, but I didn’t want to have them do it because I thought you might have plans. I’ll pay for the paint.”

  He finally got the courage to look into his father’s face when he asked, “Was anyone hurt?”

  “A few bruises and scrapes among the grooms. We pulled Mademoiselle de Fouet out while it was tilted at the edge of the road. Everyone got muddy, but there weren’t any injuries, no.”

  His father grinned, relieved. “Not much of a disaster, then, was it? Why didn’t you write me? I would have paid for the repairs.”

  “I wanted to take care of it before you found out.”

  His father clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Feeling guilty?”

  Manu looked down. “Oui, mon père.”

  The baron squeezed his shoulder. “You shouldn’t. If Charlot hadn’t thought he could get past the peasant’s cart, he wouldn’t have tried. I don’t blame him, either. From what I’ve heard, half the court ended up in a ditch after all the rain. That’s a terrible stretch of road.”

  Manu felt a burden lift from his shoulders. “You’re not angry?”

  The baron shrugged. “Barely inconvenienced. Even less because you took care of it.”

  Manu looked away. “I… Merci, Papa.”

  “It was nothing, mon fils. Though you should have written right after it happened.”

  “I am sorry. But it was only three days ago. And…” Manu winced at what he was going to say next.

  “And?”

  Manu sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I need to borrow some money because now I don’t have enough to get back to Poitou.”

  His father’s shout of laughter made several horses and grooms around them jump. From halfway down the long aisle Manu’s oldest brother, Cédric, turned his head with a smile, eager to hear the joke.

  Manu returned to his mother’s apartment a short time later, eager to pack his things and move in with his father, who promised him a mattress and possibly a bed to raise it from the floor, once he had worked it out with the grandchildren. Manu didn’t want to be lumped in with the grandchildren.

  Manu was still cheerful about being reunited with Vainqueur and relieved his father had not been angry about his carriage. In fact, his father had given Manu what he had spent on having the axle fixed, insisting it was not Manu’s price to pay. Manu had
tried to insist it would be just a loan until he sold the gray mare, but his father was adamant.

  He knocked at the door of his mother’s apartment, but there was no answer. Not surprising, since the few servants were usually elsewhere in the afternoon. He unlocked the door with his own key and stepped in, pulling off his gloves and setting his hat on a low table.

  He stopped short, surprised to see Mademoiselle de Fouet seated on a chaise longue, hunched over, her face turned away.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  She shook her head slightly.

  He walked to her, but she turned her face from him. “Catherine?” he said, his voice softer. His heart clenched. “Are you ill?”

  She shook her head and lifted her handkerchief to her face with a trembling hand.

  He knelt beside her and took her free hand. She froze. He pressed her hand between his, wanting to kiss it, but not sure she would allow it. “Was it d’Oronte?”

  She sniffed. “Yes. No.”

  “What did he do?” Manu released her hand. “I will call him out.”

  “No!” She finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale but her usual glare in place. She sniffed and looked down at her hands.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  Frustrated, he stood and threw his hands up. “I will kill him.”

  “You will not.”

  “What did he do?”

  “You are not my father. Or my brother. Or even my cousin.”

  “I’m not your husband or lover, either, but I won’t let that idiot do anything to you.”

  She stared at him for several tense seconds, her surprise overwhelming her other emotions. Her expression crumpled, and she covered her eyes with her handkerchief.

  He went back down on one knee and took her hand again.

  “He took the reins from me. Flamme had to follow. I had to go along, or it would have made a scene. We went into the park on the other side of the Grand Canal. I told him I had to come back, but he pulled me down off Flamme’s back anyway and said we would walk for a bit.”

  Manu gritted his teeth.

  “He…”

  “He what?” Manu said, teeth still clenched, reining in his anger.

  “It doesn’t matter. I slapped him and climbed a fence to mount up. He only caught up with me when I was back in the gardens.”

  Her hands shook, but she sat up straight again, ready to fight.

  Manu gave in to his urge and kissed the back of her right hand, then turned it over and kissed the palm. She inhaled sharply.

  Manu spoke softly, tamping down the vicious anger churning his belly. “We will go to Madame Philinte first, since we know her. If she won’t believe it, we will tell my mother. She won’t hesitate to blacken his name.”

  “Non!”

  Catherine yanked her hand away from him, and Manu wanted to grab it back.

  “What will it accomplish? Your mother will throw me out if she thinks anything happened. She loves gossip, but not about anyone close to her. If anyone hears of this, then what? They’ll laugh at me. D’Oronte will say I led him on. He will say more happened than really did. I will be ruined, not him.”

  “You won’t be invisible anymore? Is that the problem?” Manu shoved back onto his feet, hands on his hips.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  “I wanted to leave court anyway. If this comes out, I’ll leave. I’ll ask the gentleman renting my property to take me in. He and his wife were friends of my mother’s. Maybe it’s time to call on my mother’s friends instead of my father’s.”

  His heart sank. She was going away. “Maybe d’Oronte won’t say anything. You refused him. Maybe his pride will make him mute.” Even as he said it, though, Manu was sure d’Oronte would ruin a woman who refused him, not let her get away with it.

  Catherine nodded. “Maybe. Maybe I don’t have to run.”

  “If you do, let me know. My family… My sister would take you in. Or my brother’s wife in Paris. Could you get to Paris alone? I mean, hire a guard or two, not ride alone.”

  He puzzled for a moment as to how a lady could travel alone. “You could rent a carriage and guards, if you didn’t want to ride the five leagues on horseback.”

  She shot to her feet and stepped away from him, her face angry again. “It is not your problem, Monsieur Emmanuel. It is mine. I take care of myself.”

  Manu stared at her, his mouth open. He snapped it shut, for once not angry but sad.

  He nodded. “I am here to get my things and move to my father’s apartments.”

  Mademoiselle de Fouet looked him in the eye for a moment, then shrugged.

  Manu wanted to apologize. “He has a bed for me. And my mother’s maid would like her little square of rug back.”

  She turned her back on him.

  “I’ll be by every day to see my mother and you. I’ll see you at meals and plays and…”

  She didn’t move, just looked down at her hands.

  “Will you go riding with me tomorrow?” He felt like he was begging.

  She still didn’t move, but just as he was ready to give up, she nodded. “Oui.”

  The relief was like a blow to the chest.

  Mademoiselle de Fouet strode to her room and slipped inside.

  Chapter Seven

  Emmanuel carried his box of swords in both arms as he followed the footmen with his small trunk. The swords were heavy, but he would rather hold on to them himself, what with the Vicomte d’Oronte around. Truly, the vicomte was unlikely to attack him in the halls of Versailles. He was more likely to deliberately ruin Catherine de Fouet’s reputation and then try again to make her his…mistress, maybe? Manu shook his head.

  Catherine was not the sort to be a glittering, laughing mistress to rich, powerful men. Not in the genre of Madame de Montespan, the king’s vivacious official mistress. Manu vaguely remembered the king’s first official mistress, a weepy woman who seemed to not have two thoughts to rub together. According to Aurore, the Duchesse de la Vallière had been sharply intelligent and madly in love with the king, though Louis XIV was known to have seduced dozens—or even hundreds—of other women.

  He supposed if Mademoiselle de Fouet ever became a man’s mistress, she would do it out of love. Though if she were desperate enough… No, he couldn’t see her as any man’s whore. He winced at the word.

  Then he winced again at the thought of his own mistress in Poitou, a widow with a small property nearby. Theirs was a casual arrangement. Other than a few small gifts and the loan of a horse from time to time, he was in no way supporting her. He wondered if he should be. She probably had a better income from her rents than he had from his horses.

  He wondered if it made him the whore.

  He was smiling when his father’s man opened the door of the apartments.

  Inside was chaos. Children—Manu thought they were Cédric’s, but there were too many of them—chased one another. His father had a small girl, Cédric’s only daughter, Françoise, clinging to his neck, and he shifted her from side to side as he directed two footmen moving a bed. Françoise caught sight of Manu and called out to him, smiling hugely.

  “Manu! Excellent!” His father grinned at him. “We’re putting all the boys in one room and Françoise will sleep in with her parents. Your room’s the smallest, I’m sorry to say, but you can close your door and even lock it to keep the infidels out.”

  A boy—Manu had to bend down to determine that it was Alex, as he and Sébastien were similar in height and looks—tugged at the sleeve of his long coat. He said something Manu couldn’t understand over the shouts of the other four…five?…boys—there were definitely too many boys—and ran off.

  His father wove his way among trunks and bags. “Cédric and Sandrine are in the room that communicates on that side.” He waved vaguely at one wall with a nearly invisible door propped open a few inches. “Dom and Aurore are over there.” He waved toward the other wall. �
��We got lucky this time with the three apartments in a row, eh?”

  Manu took his swords into his new bedchamber and set the box against a wall. It was small, but probably no smaller than Mademoiselle de Fouet’s bedchamber. A maid fluttered a curtsey from where she had been tucking in sheets. He nodded to her and went back out.

  “Mon père, are you going to bring Marie, your young maid, back here?”

  The baron frowned and took a moment to figure out who he was talking about. “Does she want to come back?”

  “I have no idea, but I doubt Maman or Mademoiselle de Fouet will pay her salary and continue feeding her. I didn’t think to ask what they planned to do with her.” He hadn’t thought about it because he was too worried about abandoning Mademoiselle de Fouet. “She’s taking care of Mademoiselle de Fouet.”

  “Well, then I’ll send a note over asking what she wants. There’s always more than enough work with this crowd.” The baron’s hand shot out and caught Aurore’s son Dario by the arm as he dodged past and turned to throw something. “Maybe as an extra nanny. All right, children. Enough! Assez! From this point forward, every voice will be properly modulated so as to be pleasing to the ear. Feet will be used to walk indoors, never to run or climb.”

  His father continued to lay out his rules of conduct for children at court—so different from the stifling existence Emmanuel had as a child—and then sent them out with two maids and a footman with the command that they run.

  The silence that descended was a blessing. The baron wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and grinned. “I do love them, but four of them at once after confining them to carriages for two days is too much for me. And to meet up with the de Ligny twins as soon as we set foot in the palace…”

  De Ligny: those were the extra boys. They had been darting around and he had seen both and thought it was only one, as they were identical. He wanted to study them closely, wondering how twins were with each other. He had the old pang of wishing his twin sister had survived past birth. As a boy, sitting alone in his mother’s apartments, he had invented games and conversations with his missing sister, Eve. He had wondered more than once if his mother would have taken him from his father if there had been a little girl to take instead. Would his parents have divided them up? But then he felt guilty for wishing his own boredom on someone else. He wished he had been raised with his older brothers and sister, even though they were much older and would not have been his playmates.