Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (3 page)

Suzanne fought back the bile in her throat. This room seemed darker now, the candles lower, and the crowd ominous.

“There are other solutions for you than marrying Etienne. Suzanne, he has come under his brother’s influence.”

“He hasn’t.” Not yet, she hoped. “I love him, Grand-mère wished this marriage, and Maman and Papa have agreed.”

Guillame’s black hair fell across his face as he bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back. Look for me.” He strode off, his bearing already that of a general.

Rubbing her arms from the chill she suddenly felt, she returned to Etienne, moving close enough to inhale his spicy fragrance.

As the orchestra struck up a lively tune, Etienne pulled her onto the dance floor and into position. “You’re so petite; I can sweep you up off your feet in this minuet.”

When their turn came to dance together, Etienne whirled her round instead of clasping hands. Her pinched toes thanked him as her feet floated above the dance floor. Crystal chandeliers adorned with hundreds of candles glittered overhead. Dizzy, she clung to Etienne. Time suspended as he held her in his arms above the floor. The onlookers applauded their altered version of the minuet steps but Suzanne’s knees trembled beneath her pantaloons.

The music ended, and the musicians began to set their instruments aside.

Etienne still held her aloft.

“Release me, please,” she whispered.

“Of course.” He lowered her with great care.

She arched away so that she wouldn’t be dragged against his body.

Etienne’s ragged breath, hot against her forehead, begged her to come closer.

Dread whispered in her ear,
He’s not the same—he doesn’t know you or your family, not really
. One word from him and she and her family could all be killed.

Etienne kissed her cheeks then transported her across the parquet floor’s fantastic, inlaid multicolored designs to a dark corner of the ballroom, near the wide wall of windows.

Multiple shadowed figures touched in intimate ways. Such lewd behavior, and in a public place.

She backed away but bumped into Etienne, effectively stopping her. Suzanne blinked to clear her vision. Outside, in the garden, the greenery had turned to blackness, punctuated by pinpoints of candlelight. She longed for its freshness. “I should go home soon.” How much longer until Guillame returned?

The duo in front of them might make love right there on the brocade chaise. The couples on the other side of the windows were too involved in their own trysts to notice, or perhaps they wished an audience.

Suzanne waved her fan near her chest and placed a tentative finger on the cool pearls.

Etienne laughed. “The ball lasts all night,
ma petite
, even if their passion doesn’t.”

That was all he had to say about this outrageous behavior? She had to get out of here, but he hadn’t yet given her his promise.

Quelling the desire to confront him right there, she resigned to wait. She’d spent so little time with him in recent years, but she refused to believe this was his normal behavior. “Let’s get fresh air.” She would talk to him outside, under the cloudless sky.

His damp hand covered hers as he thrust the glass door open and led her out to the gardens.

A cool breeze blew away the fetid air and the sensation of filth.

“Come with me—by the wall.” Etienne’s hand closed over hers like the clasp on a lock.

A year ago, the image would have comforted her, but tonight her beloved friend seemed a stranger. The alteration likely resulted from the time he was spending with his brother. Once married, she’d keep him away from Pierre.

Etienne smiled at her with the same sweet, reassuring expression he’d always used to talk her into mischief when they were children. “It’s more secluded back there.”

A rest on the stone bench nearby enticed, but his hand imprisoned hers. While she wished to be further from the ballroom’s crush, she didn’t want to be isolated.

Candles, like fairy light, nestled everywhere in the garden. White tulips glowed above the ground. The orange blossoms enchanted with their luscious scent.

The loveliness lightened her steps as Etienne led her through the maze of gardens. When her aching feet protested and she resisted going any farther, Etienne stopped and wrapped her in his arms.

“Can you imagine it?” His breath tickled her ear. “Us—in the cathedral?”

Her heart missed a beat. The chill in the air revived her, but she couldn’t speak. This could be the moment.

“Who would you invite?” A serious question, but his tone teased.

If he kept this up, she wouldn’t be able to breathe. A shame that they’d have to invite Pierre.

“Etienne?” She licked her lips. Afraid to ask, she forced herself. “Did Madame DeMint speak with you of this?”

His arched eyebrows drew low. “Of what?”

Her mouth went dry. She shouldn’t have said anything. Maman would say she affronted him with her boldness. Etienne must propose. Goodness, his cologne was so strong he may have bathed in it. “Nothing.” Why did his meaning have to be so obscure?

His smile crept back, and she touched his mouth with her fingertip. His lips were so beautiful. She couldn’t let him think her a complete prude. Perhaps tonight she should let him kiss her. Exhaustion began to muddle her mind. She closed her eyes. Should she wait until they were officially engaged, the announcement made?

Etienne’s hungry mouth settled on hers. She tensed. His kiss, rough and insistent, frightened her. He clutched her so hard, she counted the buttons on his vest as a dozen of the offenders speared her chest. She wriggled, trying to loosen his hold. When his hand slid low on her back, nestling in the folds of her gown, she tried to pull away, but he forced her to still as he yanked her against him. He wasn’t stopping, but was taking indecent liberties with her, as his brother had tried.

Suzanne had to jerk hard and slam her foot on his.

Startled, Etienne released her.

Her hands shook so hard, she couldn’t raise one to slap him. She wiped her bruised mouth with the back of her hand. Smelled the rose perfume Maman had dabbed there.

Etienne stared over her shoulder.

Suzanne whirled around to spy her brother, her body singed by shame. Trying not to panic, she took a deep breath. This was her fault. Her brother had tried to warn her. Intensified by her rapid breathing, the sweet oranges’ scent cloyed.

“We’ve known each other a long time, Etienne, or I’d challenge you for my sister’s honor.”

Her brother didn’t blame her. Gratitude washed humiliation away.

“Suzanne?” His brow covered with perspiration, Guillame panted as though he’d been running. “It’s time to go.” His command left no room for negotiation.

“I can accompany her home.” Etienne’s voice was smooth, but the edge razor sharp.

Guillame’s lips twitched. “Unnecessary.”

Relief mingled with regret to form a potent but deadly elixir, one she despaired of tasting.

Etienne’s hands fisted.

“This way.” Her brother hauled her along the candle-strewn path to the end of the
allée.

She tried to keep up with him.

Guillame’s boots crunched on the pebbled path. “He’s a pig, like his brother. You’re much too genteel for either of those swine.”

Her brother led her to the hidden gate in the wall, holding back the greenery so they could get through. The heavy metal structure screeched as the ancient iron unhinged. He expelled her from the garden.

Beyond the thick perfume of the tuberoses, a horse neighed in the blackness.

Guillame hugged her before he gazed up at the full moon, its light revealing his grave countenance. “We’ve been betrayed. Someone has informed the king that we worship as Huguenots. Get home to Maman as quickly as you can.”

2

Palatinate duchy, Eastern Germany

Johan Rousch adjusted his heavy leather hunting bag over his shoulder before trudging on. He took only what his family needed, but more on this day since he was to travel. Soon he could fish in the river, which he much preferred.

Exhaling loudly, he gazed at the crumbling ancient castle ahead in the clearing, his ancestral home, bestowed by the Holy Roman Empire and long abandoned. Sometimes, he allowed himself to imagine the dark-haired girl there, a young lady now, Suzanne. He pictured the castle new and bright and the two of them together, happy. How grateful he was that his family retained rights of ownership to the woods. No one could run him out of here. He hefted the bag to his other shoulder, glad that he was strong, healthy. Emerging from the tree line, Johan headed across the fields toward home.

As he neared, Mama waved her scarf at him from the front door. “Dinnertime!”

After taking care of his bag’s contents, Johan washed at the well, pouring the cold liquid over his hands and wiping them dry. He strode to the house and entered the kitchen.

Mutter
handed him a pork-laden platter and he brought it to the table. She followed him, carrying a wooden bowl piled high with rolls, which she set before his father, who beamed up at her.

Johan lifted one leg over the trestle bench to sit adjacent to his father.

“Son, are you ready to go to Aachen Cathedral again?”

He paused for a moment before he brought his other long leg over and sat.
The holy shrine for Catholics—yet his family was Lutheran.
But with his great-uncle a priest there and with Aachen a meeting point for Protestants heading to the American colonies, the ancient cathedral stood as a welcoming beacon. “
Ja,
Vater
, why?”

His older brother, Nicholas, mumbled something.

The two of them almost hadn’t returned from their last foray. Then again, they weren’t supposed to have journeyed on from the shrine to their great-aunt’s home in eastern France.

“We’ll speak of it later. Bow your heads.” Papa blessed the meal.

Mama passed a bowl of turnips to Johan. “You’ll go on horseback with a pack, as we discussed.”

He’d never gone alone. His brother had been furious when the French soldiers almost caught them.

“This is important.” His mother patted his hand. “I need to send word to Father Vincent now that the roads are sound.”

“We know we can trust you.” His father beamed approval.

Knowing his father relied on him filled Johan with warmth.

Nicholas scowled as Papa handed Johan a mended halter.

Taking the halter, Johan ran his hands over the sturdy leather. “
Danke
—you fixed it well.”

Papa cut his meat into small pieces. “Tomorrow you go to our kinsman.”

“Johan, your great-uncle is an old man.” Mama’s own hair had begun to show streaks of gray. “Aunt Louisa and I are his only family left. She hasn’t been able to send anything in a great while.”

Aunt Louisa—he longed to check on her. To see if the French girl still came riding to her cottage in the woods.

Nicholas shoveled a forkful of mashed turnips into his mouth and glared at him, as if he could read his mind.

Every day Johan prayed for the peasant girl. Sometimes he prayed that she was a Protestant, like himself. Other times, he prayed, for her sake, that she wasn’t.

~*~

“Suzanne!” Maman’s voice called out from shadows adjacent their building. “Come.”

Heart hammering, she went to her mother and embraced her. “Maman, what do we do?”

“Chin up. Act normal.” Maman took her hand and pulled her onto the walkway, handing her a small travel bag.

Six metal cage baskets flamed adjacent to the drive as they strode alongside. Firelight illuminated the gold markings of her godmother’s own brougham.

A burly man jumped down from the carriage and Suzanne gasped as he hoisted both Maman and her bag up inside the coach and then Suzanne.

Her mother opened her mouth, as though she meant to protest something, but said nothing as the doors were closed on them. “Madame DeMint takes too great a chance, letting us use this coach,” Suzanne whispered to her mother as she settled onto the dark leather seat. She prayed the King’s guard wouldn’t harm her dear godmother.

A muscle jumped in Maman’s cheek. “The DeMint carriage will ensure our safe exit from Versailles—as we get past the guards.”

Suzanne tried to settle back, but the cushioned bench was so deep that her trembling legs dangled. She set her bag beneath her feet so they could rest atop her few possessions.

The carriage creaked, the wheels crunching steadily over the cobblestones, its lanterns casting eerie shadows on either side. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears in time with the horses’ hoof beats. A short distance ahead, she saw the closed gates, with several guards posted.

“Cover your face.” Her mother handed Suzanne a loo mask and raised one to her own eyes. “Act like you drank too much of that punch you told me about.”

“You expect me to act intoxicated?” How nonsensical. Suzanne was more likely to have a seizure, she shook so hard. And she was so furious with Maman and Papa. She wanted to run from the carriage and scream that her parents’ Protestant beliefs were a mistake.

“Here, lean against me.” Maman’s command and her firm hand stilled her, brought her against the fragile frame, once so strong.

A guard yawned and then peered in. His prominent nose was red, likely from drinking on duty. He affected a slight smile at her. She could run, jump down, and go to Etienne. She’d beg him to protect her, to keep her there.
Oh, Lord, I don’t want to die.

“First ball—too much excitement, I fear.” Her mother’s laugh tinkled. Maman was a far better actress than Suzanne had realized.

The soldier grunted in amusement. This was their great protection at Versailles? Suzanne grasped the loo mask with both hands, the one hand shaking so hard she had to calm it with the other.

“
Bon chance
!” He tipped his hat toward them before calling up to their driver, “Not too many people leaving yet, so take care on the roads.”

“We will.” The coachman called down in a gruff voice. “
Bon nuit
, or rather I should say
bon matin
?”

Pale pink light would soon rise in the east and jeopardize their journey.