The Indispensable Wife Read online

  She could never measure up to that. Instead of turning away, she stepped forward and put her hand on his arm, distracted for a moment by the corded muscles in it. She sighed and met his troubled eyes—so dark and mysterious. “It was supposed to be the same for me. I was in love with the idea of the perfect knight who would worship me forever. He would combine the best aspects of all of my brothers, and love me, and I would never be sad, never be hurt.”

  He slid his arm away from her, but only to take her hand and turn it palm up. He stood staring down into it before lifting it to his mouth to kiss. He set her palm against his stubbled cheek. He was traveling without a valet, alone, just to find her. There was nothing of the court gentleman in him except his accent and his bearing. She smiled slightly, knowing there was nothing of the court lady in her, either.

  She nudged his chin slightly, lifting his face up until he was looking her in the eye again.

  “What do we do now, Dominique?” she asked softly.

  “Would you be terribly disappointed if we never get back my lands? If the king were to give them to those bastards or someone else? If we were to live forever in exile and on whatever funds your family would give us or that I could earn? I don’t know what I could do, because all I know is my lands and combat, and I would never train soldiers for France’s enemies.”

  She stared at him. “You have thought a lot about this.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I had a lot of time to think, trying to track down a band of travelers who sang in village squares and who never went where they said they would. Maybe you don’t know how many musical gypsies there are within a hundred miles of Paris, but I have seen them all.”

  Her stomach knotted with guilt, as she and Michel had purposefully not kept anyone apprised of their route. She wondered if she had meant to make him prove he wanted to find her, or if it had only been the panicked fear of being found by Saint-Ange and Poudrain or their allies.

  But he smiled at her, and she felt lighter. “But no other singers asked to drink from my gourd or sang saucy songs about lost husbands. Or wore odd head scarves. You told me to look at the flowers, so I have looked and still don’t understand.”

  “Do you see the green ivy? There is an H for Henri on one side and an M for Michel on the other because green is their favorite color. There are bluebells grouped as an E for Emmanuel and JL for Jean-Louis.”

  “They like blue?” asked Dominique, squinting a bit as he tipped his head to one side, intent on her forehead.

  “They have blue eyes. I don’t think they have thought about what colors they like, have they? Though Jean-Louis looks so divine in blue. I asked Michel and I think he made it up that he liked green. There are pink roses in a G for Gabrielle, my mother, and some brown wheat in a JX for my father’s eyes and a C for Cédric’s. There is a red rose for every baby we’ve lost.”

  “And the yellow?” he asked, his brow wrinkled, squinting at the letters she had already described.

  She shook her head slightly, and he looked into her eyes again. “You told me once that you liked yellow. They are buttercups.”

  He looked back at her forehead again, concentrating. “Then that’s a D?”

  “It’s a great many letters. Dominique Pierre Louis Beaulieu, Vicomte Dumouton, Comte de Bures. The yellow makes it hard to see, though.”

  He frowned at her forehead. She was sorry he hadn’t been more flattered.

  “But why?” he asked.

  “Because if I am to be branded, I would choose the brand.” Tears leaked out again.

  “But why all my initials and only one or two of theirs?”

  She glanced at him and wiped her tears away. “Because I’m a romantic fool and kept hoping my perfect knight would come to my rescue.”

  He looked at her head scarf for a few more seconds and then into her eyes. “And have I? Even if I have lost all my land?” His voice was plaintive.

  She smiled at him sadly. “Of course you have. Living simply and moving around and singing for my supper for more than a month gave me a lot of time to think, too. It’s not to say that I think we shouldn’t try to get your lands back, if just to pass the land to our children or to whomever you want if we never have children. We have to keep the bastards from winning. But if we never get it back and we have to flee the country, then I flee with you.”

  He took her hand. This time, after he kissed her palm, he set it against his chest, which expanded with every breath.

  “Everything I have is yours, mon âme, my Aurore,” he said. “Mon coeur ne bat que pour vous.”

  His heart beat only for her. She looked at her hand. She couldn’t help but ask, “Have you ever said those words to anyone else?”

  He sighed deeply. “I said them once to another girl when I was seventeen and found out that I was to be married, against my wishes, to a little girl.”

  She tried to pull her hand away, but he trapped it against his chest with one hand as the other went to her shoulder.

  “But I never meant it the way I do now. Back then, I was young and so stupid. I thought I was spouting poetry and that my heart was breaking. I was ready to throw it all away and flee with her. She, however, was horrified. She couldn’t imagine not living at court for most of the year and not having pretty dresses, even if it would only be temporary, until my father died and I could claim my inheritance. She wanted to be rich, to be a comtesse. She rather abruptly found an old, widowed baron and got her wish. Not the comtesse part, but her place at court, and her money,” he said.

  “And later she got you back,” said Aurore, yanking her hand away. Now she knew just whom they were talking about. His mistress. The one he had gone to when she asked him to bring her a baby. It was her fault as much as his that he had strayed.

  “I… No, she didn’t get me back. She never had my heart. I hoped she would have a baby and give it up to me. But it wasn’t my baby. She enjoyed the attentions of quite a lot of men.”

  Aurore would have laughed if her heart hadn’t hurt so much.

  “You told me to bring you a baby,” he said.

  She had told him that. In her immense grief at the death of a baby who had grown for longer than any other inside her and allowed her to hope, she had practically thrown him at his old love. “I was desperate.”

  “I thought I couldn’t raise a child if he weren’t mine. But after the initial rush of desire, the feeling that I had finally gotten what I’d wanted ten years before, I found I didn’t even like her very much. Now I am sure I couldn’t raise a child if he weren’t yours.” Dominique stared at her.

  It felt like a challenge. She tilted her head to the side, thinking she could be coquettish. But the thought that was always with her came back, and she frowned. “What if we never have any children?”

  He blinked at her a few times. “I don’t know. I need a strong son to become comte after me. A daughter as beautiful and happy as her mother. I can’t help but think we will have them someday.”

  “But we’ve tried and… My face and body are scarred,” she said.

  He stepped close to her again and took her hands. “Maybe le bon Dieu has decided we should not yet have children. I was impetuous, and we were both too young. I shudder at the way I have treated you.”

  She shuddered in sympathy.

  Dominique’s arms were around her again, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Can we try again, mon âme?”

  Aurore wanted desperately to believe that this time was different, that, if she allowed herself to love him again, he would love her. She sighed against him. Only for the chance of children, she thought. But she said out loud, “Yes. Let us try.”

  He squeezed her close to him and then pulled back enough to lower his mouth to hers.

  She felt the fire burn inside her, but fear doused it. She pulled away. “I cannot take you to bed, though. Not yet, Dominique.”

  He looked angry, but maybe it was confusion.

  “I cannot be sneaking about or fleeing when encein
te. I just cannot. I am always so ill and so tired and…” And she felt she would scream if any man touched her legs, no matter who it was. Just the thought of a man inside her after what she had suffered made her heart pound.

  He turned away from her, and silence reigned. “You are right,” he said. “If we were to be executed, what would happen to the child?”

  She had been thinking of how difficult it would be to wake in the night next to a man and not immediately try to escape as if from her rapists. She nodded.

  ****

  1661, The Palace of Fontainebleau

  It was nearly dawn when Dominique staggered back into their chambers as quietly as he could. A shadowy form hopped up from the chaise longue and rushed at him. He grasped the handle of his thin court sword, ready to defend himself.

  It was his wife. He sighed and scratched his head. His silk breeches squeezed his waist too tightly and he wished he was in his simple linen trousers and tunic. He wished he were at home, riding over his lands or training with his guards, training the young men with swords, lances, and muskets. He wished he were in his wife’s bed.

  “Oh, Dominique! Where have you been? I was so worried. I wanted to tell you right away that I sat with the king for about half an hour, and we talked about wool and silk and how the feather headdresses seem to go higher this year. I asked him about when you were boys together, because you do not like to talk about it, I think, or at least you have never told me much about it. He doesn’t talk about it either, did you know that? I think I bored him, but at the end, he dismissed me, and he told me that when I was older I should seek him out. I wore the stays that make my chest look all flat, so I looked like a little girl.”

  Dominique’s head swam. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He should have gone out for a morning ride—and might have, if he had worn the right sort of breeches.

  “I think he had a lady waiting at another door, because right before he dismissed me, there was a light knock and one of the lords of the chamber went to it. Lusard? Lucene? He wasn’t introduced to me properly, but I think that is what he is called. He whispered a few words to the king and then a minute later, he was thanking me and Lousane…de Lusane? was showing me out. I came back as quickly as I could, but you weren’t here, so I told Amélie I would wait up for you. She helped me out of that awful corset.”

  Dominique shook his head. Was Albert de Lucenay still close to the king? It sounded as if his old rival was procuring for His Highness. Or maybe it was his father the Baron de Lucenay. But why would he fix on Dom’s wife of only two months, who hadn’t even fallen pregnant yet, much less borne him an heir or two?

  “She’s right, I should throw it out, but I will keep it just in case, well, in case something like this comes up. The king told me I looked like a little girl; he didn’t mean it cruelly. I told the king I was so newly married that I couldn’t possibly consider dressing more provocatively for three years or maybe five, and then I wished I had not opened my mouth, because he has been married only a year, hasn’t he? Poor Marie-Thérèse.” She sighed deeply. “If only she were able to speak French. And be witty. But I guess she’s a good, demure Spanish princess, though she does tend to disappear in gatherings. Like a ghost, don’t you think?”

  There was a short silence as Aurore stopped in front of him and set her hand on his arm.

  “But where have you been? You smell like wine and like…”

  He cleared his throat, his head aching worse. “Perfume.” His voice rasped in a way that sounded completely unlike his own. If only he were not himself.

  In the flickering light from the single candle on a side table, he saw the knowledge hit Aurore’s face like a slap. She stepped back and raised a shaking hand to her mouth.

  “I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes to her stricken expression.

  “Madame de Belaile,” she whispered.

  It was a statement, and he didn’t do anything other than clench his teeth harder. He finally opened his eyes, and she was still standing there, her hazel eyes huge and her hand still over her mouth.

  “She’s as old as my mother.” Her whisper was as raspy as his.

  He could also add that he was probably the last of the gentlemen and most of the servants to have taken her to bed. He raised a hand toward Aurore, but she took a step back and stumbled over her hem. He stepped forward to grab her arm to keep her from falling, only to have her pull away from him.

  She stepped back again, fear and pain in her face, and his guilt doubled. Quadrupled. She was sad already, and now he had frightened her.

  She spun away and rushed toward her bedchamber. Where he had slept with her every night. The door thumped and the key turned in the lock.

  He dragged himself to his own bed and dropped his clothing on the floor. He would tell Paul, his valet, to burn them.

  When he awoke at noon, his mouth dry and his head throbbing harder than before, Paul informed him that his wife had left.

  “Left?” he croaked, his muscles grating in pain as he sat and drank the cup of watered wine that Paul extended to him.

  “La comtesse said she was going home,” said the man softly.

  Dominique leaned over and vomited into the chamber pot, vomited until all that was left inside him was bile and shame.

  ****

  1666

  Henri came in the middle of the morning and collected Aurore in a shabby carriage requisitioned from the Finance Ministry. He had been assigned to check on the fresh horses waiting every ten miles along the king’s route from Fontainebleau to Vincennes. Most of the courtiers were expected to scramble for their horses. “I cannot think about all of them.” Henri waved his hand dismissively when she asked. “I have already to think of stabling and feeding and caring for two hundred horses for the king and his entourage. Luckily, his have priority. The stable master outlined the king’s stops, and we have horses waiting all along the way.”

  Aurore blinked. “It has always seemed chaotic to me, when we have processed with the king, but I suppose that since we all get to the next palace within a few days of each other, someone like you has it all in hand.”

  Henri blushed slightly at the implied compliment.

  They settled back against the lumpy squabs for the four hours it would take for them to reach the inn where Louise de la Baume le Blanc was to stop for the night and where Aurore hoped to get an audience with her. She watched her brother absently as he sifted through papers, making notes with a little pencil as they bounced along the rutted road.

  Henri wasn’t the most handsome of her brothers; his face was more narrow and his mien sour. Cédric and Jean-Louis were bigger and stronger and more manly. Emmanuel was a pretty boy, the very image of Jean-Louis at the same age, though his sour expression, learned from their mother, drove everyone back.

  Henri… No, it wasn’t fair for her to say he was smaller, because he stood as tall as their older brothers, and his shoulders were good, though thinner. But he was so much younger than their bigger brothers—barely a year older than she—that when they had been growing up, he could never catch up. He had hidden himself in books and had soon outstripped them all in his studies. He had also mastered the musket and the crossbow instead of the swords favored by the bigger boys.

  Aurore had an awful thought. What if Henri were somehow involved in the crossbow attack on her husband? She couldn’t imagine it, and yet Henri had the best aim of anyone she knew.

  “Henri? Whom do you know who would have shot at Dominique with a crossbow?”

  Henri looked up, startled. “Could be any one of a number of men. Not many of the courtiers have practiced it much, but there are hundreds of guards and soldiers around the court. Dozens who trained in the de Bures château, even.”

  She nodded, still looking at him.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re the best shooter I know. Didn’t you win a competition at court, even? About five years ago?” she asked.

  “Y
ou’re not… Aurore! How could you?” Henri looked hurt and then angry.

  “You’ve never really liked Dominique.” She shrugged.

  “I liked him well enough when he and Cédric weren’t knocking me down. I’ve always tried to get along with him, especially once you married him.” He scowled at her and went back to his papers.

  She looked out the window for a minute, guilty yet relieved.

  Henri slapped his papers down. “Really, Aurore! I can’t believe you would think I would do that to anyone, much less to him. To you. Besides, if I wanted to kill him, I wouldn’t nick him on the arm, I would aim true.”

  Aurore couldn’t help but smile. “So like a man to brag about something he would never do.”

  “Well, you’ve injured my pride.” He narrowed his eyes. “Really, Aurore.”

  “I’m sorry, Henri-chéri.” She called him by the teasing nickname from when they were little. She slid closer to him and entwined her arm with his. “I feel awful that I could have doubted you. I only meant to say you might know someone who is as good a shot as you.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he sighed.

  “I used to hate it that you got away with everything by a pretty smile and a sweet apology.”

  “Got away with everything?” She sat up straight, indignant.

  “We boys would be spanked or our knuckles rapped. You would slink away looking downcast, and Papa would let you go.”

  She tilted her head. “If Papa accepted my apologies and let me go, it was because he knew I would be punished ten times by Maman. He also knew that my apologies were sincere. Unlike yours. Like when you cut off half my hair, got paddled, and then laughed the next day that it was worth it.”

  He grinned. “It was worth it.”

  She pinched him on the forearm through the folds of his plain white shirt.