Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (30 page)

Vann coughed and removed his sleeping cap. “I want to talk with you about something.”

Johan helped Vann sit up and offered him water.

His master raised his bushy eyebrows. “Are you afraid of living in the wilderness?”

30

Finally he’d been able to go see Suzanne and Sarah. He’d failed to visit with the priest yet. Perhaps she’d forgive him. Scott would have shared about the attack on his master. Twisting his hat, like his gut was doing, Johan waited at the mansion’s side door, birdsong echoing from the nearby trees.

Sarah rushed out and hugged him. “You’re here!”

“Ja.” Johan patted his cousin’s soft cheek. “Can you come play in the garden while I talk with Suzanne?”

His beloved, wearing a light floral gown, stepped through the doorway and stopped. “Oh, Johan, you are covered in bruises. And cuts. Wyatt said you could have been killed.”

“I’ll be fine.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and she ran a finger along his swollen jawline.

“You two are like lovebirds.” Practically flying from them, Sarah ran to the maze of gardens

Suzanne shrugged. “Sorry, we’ll have to work on her manners.”

“Ja, we…”

Her dark lashes lowered. “I want to talk about us.”

Her flashing golden eyes and her lips so close to his put indecent thoughts into his head. Another kiss, this one longer, with his arms wrapped around her so tight that…they needed to be properly wed. “I have to tell you something difficult. Suzie, the man who married us is definitely a fraud.”

She pulled away. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve seen him dressed as a Quaker minister, and he also travels the Jerseys as a surveyor.”

All the ardor in her face disappeared. “I’m not your wife?”

He hung his head, shame heating his cheeks. “It doesn’t seem so.”

Her pretty features bunched together as confusion and fear washed over her face. Pressing one finger to her lip she said, “I see.” She opened her mouth as though about to ask him something.

“Mademoiselle Richelieu!” Wyatt Scott appeared in the doorway. “What good fortune!”

Suzanne blushed prettily at the attention. “Why thank you, Monsieur
Scott. I’m glad you’re so happy to see me.” She opened and waved her fan, turning her eyes to briefly give Johan a look of irritation before smiling back at the other man.

“A gentleman by the name of Etienne LeFort has arrived in port looking for you, and I’d remembered how you’d been introduced by Johan.”

Johan’s mouth seemed stuffed with linen.
The one she called her fiancé.

Suzanne’s face suddenly drained of color, and then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Perhaps you two aren’t man and wife?” Wyatt’s crooked smile vanished. “But that’s none of my concern.”

Both he and Suzanne said nothing.

Bees buzzed as they feasted on rose nectar in the nearby bushes.

“LeFort said he was overjoyed to receive your letter. And he brought the most beautiful creature in the world along with him.” His high cheekbones flushed.

How could Johan have imagined Scott had feelings for Suzanne? His entire body seemed charged with his affection for this new woman.

“Who is she?” Suzanne’s voice cracked.

“Daughter of French plantation owners in Martinique. Descendant of some island ancestors, too, by the looks of her luxuriant mane of hair and tawny skin.”

If Johan hadn’t been so distracted by Scott’s intense demeanor he’d have asked something about Etienne.

“I am to rendezvous with her tonight.” Wyatt winked as he ducked out the door. “Wish me well!”

~*~

The hurt on Johan’s face broke Suzanne’s heart. She’d been prepared to tell him that it made no difference to her which man of God had married them as long as they both looked to the same Savior for guidance in their life together. But with an imposter having performed the ceremony onboard, where did that leave them? “Johan, I…” She wanted to tell him that she loved him. That she wanted to marry him.

Wyatt crooked a finger at Johan. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride in the carriage back to Vann’s.”

“Ja. Danke.” Johan stood before her, his hands knotted.

Wyatt clapped him on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about her.”

She stood in the doorway watching them go, wanting to throw herself into his arms and tell him she wanted him and not Etienne. Certainly not with what she remembered about him. Suddenly chilled, she rubbed her arms and went in search of Colonel Christy.

Now in his paneled office, Christy fixed his silvery eyes upon her. “How can I help you?”

Suzanne’s chest, neck, and face burned in embarrassment. Her mouth seemed to work of its own volition, and Suzanne heard herself spilling out her story to this stranger.

Colonel Christy pulled his chair closer to her, listening to her intently. When she was done, he nodded, then rose and went to a tall bookcase.

He reminded her of her father in many ways. Tears rolled down her cheeks with the remembrance of that wonderful man’s love. She hadn’t allowed herself to mourn these months since she had lost Papa.

Christy gave her a gentle smile, a deep crease forming on one side of his face. “Don’t worry, God has a plan for you.”

Just what Papa would have said.

Christy returned with a leather-bound Bible and opened it. “I often find comfort in this book.”

Oui, just like Papa.
Only she’d never listened before. Not like she should have.
Forgive me, Papa. Forgive me, Father.

31

The surveyor’s large leather case had been saved for last in Johan’s week’s work. He was so angry with the imposter, he hadn’t been able to focus on the job until several days had passed. Catching his friend Phillip’s eye, he gestured to the lawn beyond the shop. “I’m going to move this over to the shade to test the new fittings.”

After lifting the surprisingly heavy trunk up and down several times to determine that the new handle held, he hauled it over to the grass and set it down. Then he tested the top to ensure that it closed correctly with the new clasp and hinge. When he reached in to adjust the edge of the top surface, a mechanism released.

A false bottom.
Johan lifted the wooden tray with one finger. What was the Frenchman hiding?

Rays of sunshine broke through the long branches of the leafy oak trees overhead and illuminated a battered chalice, a cut-crystal decanter, and a silver container for wafers—items that a Catholic priest would need for the sacraments.

Johan sank to one knee. Could it be the Frenchman hid his activities and identity as a Catholic priest? Was that why he’d demanded Johan say nothing about him being a priest, before the Frenchman performed the ceremony on board ship?

Had Johan not been Lutheran, he’d have crossed himself, so great was his relief. A booklet under the box for the consecrated host caught his eye. He opened the pamphlet to the middle. Row after row of German surnames were listed with baptisms notated by name and date, some only weeks earlier. Might his and Suzanne’s names be recorded in this book? Or another like it?

“
Pardonez moi
, but please close my case.” The young Frenchman’s dark eyebrows rose in alarm.

“Father?” The same dark eyes that had sympathized with Johan on the ship now pierced his own. Intense happiness battled with anger. “Isn’t that what I should call you?”

“You don’t wish me harm, do you?” The young man’s gaze darted around to look at two nearby customers.

Johan bent forward and whispered, “Are you a Catholic priest?”

He gave only the slightest of nods. “I cannot talk with you here. But come to St. Joseph’s tonight.”

~*~

Suzanne’s morning passed in a blur of breakfast and squabbling children.

William and Sarah chased each other around the house before she sent them out to the gardens and then for quiet reading time ordered by Colonel Christy. Now the two little troublemakers were napping, and she and Christy retreated to the parlor for their daily chess match.

The maid slipped in behind them, setting up their afternoon tea service. Bohea or gunpowder tea today, by the faint aroma.

“Let’s battle there by the window, we’ve got such good light.”

“Oui. And I have a concern I wish to share.” Colonel Christy flipped up the end of the cherrywood table, holding the edge as he swiveled the support out from beneath to hold it up. “What is it?”

“My…Johan says he wishes to buy land someday in the mountains of Virginia. Do you think that is safe?”

He arched his eyebrows. “I would think not, but I’m a military man…”

“My brother, also.” She’d sent word to the Huguenot parish in New York explaining where she was and her circumstances.

The colonel’s eyes widened. “Your brother serves in the French army?”

“Oui.” Behind him, she glimpsed the portrait Sarah had mentioned of a woman who resembled herself. Madam Christy was reported to be part Indian, but her picture recalled one put away in an unused guest room at Grand-mère’s chateau—Tante Isabelle’s when she was young.

Christy secured the opposite side of the table and pulled up two heavy Queen Anne chairs. “Your brother taught you to play?”

“Oui. Shall we use this set?” Suzanne procured the hand-carved wooden chess pieces and board from the rectangular dining table.

William and his father had played long into the evening the previous night. Candle nubs sat squat in puddles of wax atop the candelabra, and had dripped more than a few hard lumps onto the damask tablecloth.

She’d need to speak with the maids.

When she struggled with the heavy set, Christy’s gray eyes lit with amusement as he realized her quandary. Effortlessly, he secured the chess set and brought it to the gaming table by the window.

“Merci. Let me at least pour us tea.” Her heels sank into the thick woolen carpet as she went to the sideboard. Drawing closer, steam redolent of bergamot and orange emanated from the delicate, and expensive, teapot. She poured each of them a cup. A silver bowl of sugar cubes with tongs tempted her to sneak just one and pop it into her mouth, but she resisted. She placed two in her teacup and three in Christy’s and stirred with the silver teaspoon left there.

Johan would have tossed a half dozen sugar cubes back and thought nothing of it. Would have smiled at her and said, “Ja
,
they’re good.” She held back a laugh. And Etienne, he’d have put only one or two in his coffee and then pilfered another five for his pocket for later. She frowned at his deceptive nature.

Tonight, he’d visit them here.

Fear forced her heartbeat to quicken. Trying to dispel her anxiety, she inhaled deeply, drawing in the sweet scent of the fresh lemon pastries as she plated the dessert, and brought the tray to the table.

“You don’t have to see LeFort, you know,” Christy intoned, as he removed his cup and saucer. “He’d have no claim over you here.”

If only Guy could advise her. In truth, she knew what he’d say. She set her tea and their dessert plates on the table, and then returned the tray to the sideboard.

Christy cleared his throat. “Wyatt has taken some strange notions about the woman who accompanies LeFort.” The slight change his voice’s timbre notified her of his serious concern.

Having experienced a quick growing-up period during the past year, she’d learned to better read facial expression, tone of voice, and body position. Otherwise, Colonel Christy would be completely undecipherable. She had changed. Six months earlier, she’d have dismissed any alarm. “I’m not so naïve as I once was, Colonel Christy.”

His pale face colored. He must have misunderstood her meaning.

She settled in the chair across from him. Suzanne clarified. “It’s not that I condone a man taking a mistress, nor flaunting that woman before his intended wife.”

He cleared his throat. “I fear not only for you but for Wyatt and his newest infatuation.”

They exhaled at the same time.

Chewing her lower lip, she watched as he placed the last of the chess pieces in the perfect center of its space. Christy lifted his teacup, his eyelids lowered as he drank. “Yours must be a good brother to teach you this challenging game.”

She ran one finger around the smooth edge of the fine china. “Yes, he loved the battle of wits.” Suzanne frowned, pictured Guy as a soldier, saw him in her mind with Rochambeau. How could he have burned Johan’s family out?

“Mine, also.” Christy’s voice was low, his brow furrowed.

She looked at him, hunkered down over the board. Would he think her impolite if she asked? “Your older brother, what kind of man is he?”

Christy sat back and his chair scraped the floor. He exhaled as though sorrow and disappointment resisted showing their presence. “Everything a gentleman is and everything he should not be. Including that of philandering. In line to become a duke.”

Suzanne sat up at the edge of her chair. “What do you think a gentleman should be?”

“What I think and what comes to fruition are two different things.”

“What about for all men?”

Christy’s lids closed halfway over his almost transparent eyes. “Hmm, well, we should all try to be kind and thoughtful of others, generous with our time and resources, and willing to fight for what we believe is right. That would be a start.”

Etienne LeFort, a supposed gentleman, possessed none of those qualities. But she knew someone who did. Could they somehow make a life together? Would Johan marry her? Last night he’d shown no inclination to fight for her.

Suzanne stared at Christy, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. “Please excuse me…I…there is something I must do.” She pushed away from the table.

“I think I understand.”

She headed down the hall and quickly exited the house, then fled down the walkway to the street and onto the pathway adjacent it.

People cast curious gazes as she stepped by, alone, dressed in her fine clothes. She should have asked Lee Christy to accompany her. But she needed time to think, to rehearse what she’d say to Johan. How she would ask him to marry her.

Before long, she arrived outside Vann’s building, the scent of burning metal almost comforting. But Johan wasn’t among the wheelwrights, nor the blacksmiths, so she returned to where she’d spied his friend.