Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (24 page)

Sérolène glanced again at the empty chair. She began to worry that something might be amiss. Perhaps the strains of yesterday’s exertions had affected Nicolas after all? “Is Monsieur d’Argentolle not joining us for breakfast, Madame? I worry that the exposure to the rain and the long walk may have affected him. I was surprised he missed supper last night as well.”

Before Madame de Blaise could reply, a lackey approached the marquise and whispered urgently in her ear. The look on the marquise’s face as she conveyed her instructions back to the servant only heightened Sérolène’s concerns.

“I’m afraid our little idyll is at an end, dear children. Madame de Salvagnac is here to take you both home. I’ve instructed the servants to make ready your things and take them out to her carriage at once,” the marquise explained.

Julienne and Sérolène exchanged worried glances. The Salvagnac plantation was southwest of the Cap, on the opposite side of the city from Caracol. The baronne must have left her own plantation in the middle of the night to arrive so early at the Blaise estate. What calamity had befallen the family to require Madame de Salvagnac to appear at the marquis’ doorstep so early and without forewarning?

Sérolène’s mood was already somber because Nicolas was absent. Now it turned ashen as she realized she would not even have a chance to say goodbye to him. She glanced forlornly at Madame de Blaise, hoping for a look of reprieve, but finding none.

The marquise rose from table with graceful dignity. “Come, let us go and greet our guest.”

Sérolène lent her support to Julienne as they followed behind the marquise. As the trio entered the
salon de compagnie
, the baronne still was on her feet, pacing back and forth in obvious agitation. Madame de Blaise curtsied to her guest, a politeness which was acknowledged with just the barest of nods by the baronne, despite her much inferior rank. Sérolène flushed with embarrassment, appalled at her aunt’s lack of courtesy. Julienne also seemed shamed by her mother’s behavior. Madame de Blaise was a titled marquise of France. Such a snub by the baronne bordered on outright insult and could not be overlooked. Madame de Blaise, however, bore the slight with calm dignity and forbearance.

“Madame la Marquise de Blaise, may I have the honor of presenting to you my mother, Madame la Baronne de Salvagnac,” Julienne said quickly, apparently just remembering that the marquise and the baron had not yet been formally introduced.

“I regret to receive you so unprepared, Madame de Salvagnac. Forgive me, but neither Monsieur de Blaise nor the Comte de Marbéville is here to do you honor themselves…”

“I have come only to collect my niece and my daughter,” the baronne interrupted, adding further insult by omitting the customary politeness of addressing the marquise as Madame. “The carriage is ready. Let us depart.”

The baronne turned her back on the room and everyone in it and walked haughtily back toward her waiting coach. Madame de Blaise fought down her rising anger, standing stiffly as she watched the retreating back of the baronne, who even in parting, had offered her neither appreciations for the care taken of her daughter and niece, nor any standard courtesies, or other obligations of etiquette.

Sérolène was dismayed at such open and intentional rudeness. She adored Madame de Blaise and it pained her to see the marquise so willfully wounded. Julienne’s relationship with Madame de Blaise was not yet so advanced as Sérolène’s, but even she understood the influence and respect the marquise commanded within her own household. Both regretted the baronne’s conduct. Not only was it hurtful, but it was also patently unnecessary.

Unable to erase the slight, Sérolène did the only thing she could. She placed her arms around Madame de Blaise and embraced her tenderly. “My dearest Madame, I will miss you so. You are the kindest and gentlest person I have ever met. How ashamed I am for my aunt’s behavior. I beg you most humbly for your forgiveness, for myself and for all of us. You have been as precious as a mother to me. I now understand why Monsieur de Blaise treasures you so dearly…as do I,” Sérolène said softly.

Julienne lent her arms as well to the embrace. “Sentiments well-spoken and equally shared, Madame,” the future Comtesse de Marbéville agreed.

The marquise exhaled, her anger slowly dissipating with her breath as she returned the hugs of each. “My dear children, a thousand kisses would not be enough to convey how much we shall miss you. I most of all.”

Julienne curtsied as deeply as her injury would allow. “Farewell, Madame, and thank you again for everything.”

An attendant had been sent in by the baronne to hurry Sérolène and Julienne along. Julienne nodded toward Sérolène then turned and made her way toward her mother’s coach on the arm of the lackey. Sérolène, however, remained behind a moment longer to speak to the marquise in private.

“Madame, you of all people must know how dearly I love your son. Will you embrace Nicolas for me and express my most sincere regrets that I was not able to take of him a proper farewell?”

Madame de Blaise inclined her head in response. Any other girl would have said something much more politic and constrained, but the vicomtesse wasn’t any other girl. She carried within her the unspoiled beauty of truth and was fearless and good enough to speak it.

“Of course, dear child.”

“And may I be so bold as to write to you as well? I have so many things I should like to seek your wise counsel upon.”

The marquise caressed Sérolène’s cheek. Another lackey from the Salvagnac retinue entered the vestibule to come and fetch Sérolène. The marquise’s icy glare ensured that her own servants kept the baronne’s man in the foyer where he belonged.

“Of course you may, my child. Go now, dear angel. Your aunt awaits you.”

Sérolène gave the marquise a final hug and then curtsied to take her leave. She made it almost to the foyer, then turned around and ran back to kiss the marquise on both cheeks. With a final forlorn glance, Sérolène turned again and went out alone into the front hall.

Madame de Blaise watched Sérolène go. She would have liked to have seen her guests off, but the baron’s rudeness did not warrant this or any other consideration. As she heard the carriage pull away, she fought to rid the troubling encounter from her mind. She glanced toward the mantle and the read the hour on the clock face. It was
indeed
long past the time when Nicolas usually rose. She began to wonder if Sérolène had been right in her concerns.

“Madame come quickly! It’s the young master!”

The marquise’s head turned. The look on Solomon’s face twisted her stomach into a writhing ball of knots. She hurried down the hallway to see what had happened, all thoughts of the baronne’s intolerable rudeness, immediately expunged from her mind.

***

Julienne stared across the carriage at the tip of her mother’s fan, which struck the polished walnut of the coach’s inner sill in sharp, repeated cadence. Behind it, the baronne stared silently out the window. She seethed about something, but wouldn’t even look across the coach at the passengers she had been in such a hurry to claim. Julienne could take no more silent brooding. She had to find out what had transpired to put her mother in such a state.

“What has happened, Maman, has Papa fallen ill?”

The baronne turned to look at her daughter. Her eyes were red with fury and lack of sleep. Julienne was appalled. She’d never seen her mother in such a disagreeable state. The baronne pointed her fan across the coach in accusation.

“There is no trouble to your father’s health. What mischief there is, is to be found much closer afield, and I believe I see plenty of it. You would do better to look to your own circumstances. Both of you!” the baronne spat.

Julienne glanced at Sérolène, waiting for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. The only response was the continued angry tapping of the fan against the sill. Her mother couldn’t know about Sérolène and Nicolas. That was a secret she herself had only just discovered. So what was her mother so upset about?

“I don’t understand, Maman. If Papa is well, then what
is
the matter? You must know Monsieur de Blaise and Francis will take very ill the manner in which we have departed…”

Before she had a chance to say another word, the baronne reached across the carriage and slapped her daughter hard across the face. Sérolène recoiled in horror, as Julienne’s mouth gaped open in shock.

“I would render the same salutation to you too, you stupid little slut, if I thought it would do you some good!” the baronne shouted at Sérolène.

Julienne wailed in shock, tears falling down her cheeks more from the fact of actually being struck by her mother than from the genuine force of the blow. “Maman, what have I done? What have
we
done to displease you so?”

The baron shook the point of her fan at her daughter. Sérolène looked on in stunned silence, aghast at her aunt’s conduct.

“I sent you here to watch over things, not to make us the laughingstocks of the island!”

“I don’t understand, Maman. What precisely do you believe we have done?” Julienne pleaded.

In reply, Madame de Salvagnac revealed the letter from Madame Dupluie, holding it up before her daughter as if it were the secret bloody evidence of an assassin’s blade.

“How could you have allowed your
cousine
to become infatuated with that
Nègre
? You were sent here to protect her, not to allow such an unconscionable liaison to take root!”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Julienne said with defiance.

“Nor have I!” Sérolène added.

“You vile, disobedient little strumpet!” the baronne shouted.

Unable to restrain her anger any longer, the baronne aimed several corrective blows toward Sérolène, all of which the vicomtesse managed to deflect with her long arms. Hats were knocked askew, carefully fitted dresses and coiffures disturbed. The interior of the coach was a scene of utter chaos, despite the elegant exterior of footmen and lackeys on the riding boards, who of course pretended to hear nothing.

“Stop it, Maman! Stop it!”

Julienne used her own body as a shield for Sérolène, taking her mother’s blows bravely on her back and shoulders until the force if not the object of the baronne’s anger had at last been fully dissipated. When the gale of her temper blew over at last, the baronne’s face was left beet red with choler. Tremors of unexpended rage shook her body as she struggled to control her emotions.

“I’ll not be made a laughingstock by your foolishness! You are not to see or speak to that black beast d’Argentolle ever again! Do you hear me? Do…you…hear…me!?”

Sérolène nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. The stains looked like rivulets of blood on the pink fabric of her gown. Julienne held her close, but the vicomtesse found no comfort in her
cousine’s
embrace. The baronne looked on coldly, unmoved by the piteous wails of her niece’s suffering.

The morning was bright and calm, but inside the coach the storm had broken in earnest. The driver gave the horses the whip and the carriage surged forward, mercifully masking the anguish of Sérolène’s slowly breaking heart.

****

Five days later, the Marquis de Blaise and the Comte de Marbéville returned from Port-au-Prince, where they had gone to finalize the niceties of the comte’s marriage arrangements. They found a household still churning with unease. A gloomy pall hovered over everyone’s mood like a shroud. But no one would say the reason why.

The marquis made inquiries, discreetly at first and then with more insistence. He wanted to know who or what had upset the tranquil balance that had always marked the disposition of his household. But for once, his efforts yielded no success. Their guests had gone, and Nicolas had suffered a brief but serious relapse, which Doctor Boisvert had been summoned to come and treat. It was all Madame de Blaise would say. She made no mention of the troubling circumstances of the departure, nor complaint about how poorly she herself had been treated.

The Marquis de Blaise perceived Ouragon was withholding something from him and pressed Nicolas for more detail. It would be like his wife to accept the bitter taste of ill treatment in silence, rather than open a rift between the Salvagnacs and her own family. But the marquis had had enough of turning the other cheek. For fifteen years he’d played the lamb, but now it was time to show that the lion wasn’t dead. This time he would not allow his gentle wife to be martyred again for the cause of family interests.

The marquis pressed Nicolas for details of what had happened, but due to his relapse, the chevalier knew little more of what had occurred than his father. Unwilling to be stymied in his quest for the truth, the marquis summoned Solomon, the Chief Steward, and demanded to know the truth. Solomon had been instructed to silence by the marquise, but he was now free from her order because his master had commanded him to speak and there was no word or law above that of his master’s. He entered the marquis’ study, and informed his the marquis in detail, and with visible indignation, of the baronne’s visit and her deplorable conduct toward the marquise.

Incensed by the slights offered to his wife and by extension, to his house, the marquis, unlike his gentle spouse, was inclined neither to forgive nor forget. Even within the family, the prerogatives of honor were always defended with rigor. On that account alone, he was resolved to teach Madame la Baronne de Salvagnac a lesson she would not soon forget.