Brocade Series 02 - Giselle (13 page)

The waterfall of sapphires fell to the juncture of her new cleavage
. She knew she looked desirable. Giselle could
hardly wait to see Navarre again, so she could gaze into his eyes, feel the flickers of heat, tremble, and even pretend to kiss him.

She danced down the hall, listening as the rustle of her new
finery accompanied every step. It wasn’t until she reached the top of the staircase that she felt shy. Giselle lifted the front of her skirts as
she walked, and was glad her new shoes had heels. She wasn’t used
to wearing them, however, and she had to take the stairs carefully.
She couldn’t even bend forward enough to see where she put her feet.

Such strange fashions the aristocracy wears
. Menservants awaited her at each set of double doors opening them wide for her promenade. If they hadn’t been there, she’d have had to stop, turn sideways, and take little, mincing steps to proceed. It was silly. Wasteful. She’d
rather wear the plain
dresses of my incarceration than such nonsense as this.

Oh
. That last was a lie! And she knew it. She had never felt more beautiful, or looked more eye-catching. It was the most important thing in
her world at the moment that Navarre thought so, too. Giselle couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he considered another woman was more fair.
Her steps halted at the entrance to the large dining room, while the menservants bowed on both sides of it.

Navarre and another woman
?

Oh no
. No. That would be terrible. But likely. He could never be hers. He was
probably betrothed. Aunt Mimi said nothing
of it, but that didn’t mean anything
.
The agony of thinking he
belonged to another made Giselle catch her breath with stifling the cry
. He couldn’t belong to another woman!

Giselle lifted her head
, and focused on the ceiling high above, blinking rapidly to stop the
moisture in her eyes. Love was too new, fragile, and illicit. She was barely coming to terms with how it felt to experience it. This new emotion was too raw.

“Madame
Giselle, the
Duchesse
du Berchald!”

Giselle was announced and immediately
noted that Navarre wasn’t there. But
Etienne was.

“Ah, Giselle,”
her husband spoke loudly. “You are looking splendid. I see
you wear Navarre’s sapphires, though. I must speak with the boy.”

Navarre
’s sapphires?

“Come
closer, my little wife! I certainly can’t come to you.”

Etienne laughed at
the end of his words. Giselle watched as Esmee tried to
humor him by laughing, too. It didn’t help.
Etienne was obviously drunk. If nothing else, the condition of his clothing announced it. Giselle watched Aunt Mimi approach, pleasantly surprised to see they were of a like height due to the new
heels.

“Giselle
. Dearest. You look wonderful. I’m certain there was never a
more beautiful
duchesse
in the entire line. Perhaps that’ll be
enough….”

She bit off the end of the sentence, while Giselle smiled.

“Merci. “
She inclined her head at the flattery, and felt the egg-shaped sapphires bobbing against her ears. “But tell me, Aunt
Mimi, how my appearance can be enough to help?”

Her mouth was
speaking, but her mind was leagues away.
What did Etienne mean,
Navarre’s sapphires?
she wondered.

“Etienne
is being…difficult,” Aunt Mimi said softly. “We were hoping
you might be able to…soothe him somehow. The guests will arrive
soon, and….”

The words stopped.

“Perhaps I can keep him from drinking
more wine?” Giselle supplied.

Aunt Mimi
’s lips tightened and she nodded.

“I’ll do my best
,” Giselle whispered.

The other woman
smiled.

“
Come here, Giselle! Let me look at you! You look much different when you’re awake!”

Etienne slurred the words, and Giselle blushed at the crude comment.

“You are looking handsome also, Etienne.” She bent at the knees and held the sapphires in place with a hand while she dipped a curtsy. It wasn’t to hold the necklace in place as much as shield her décolletage. She felt his gaze anyway, and detested it
. He wasn’t to look at her like that. It made her queasy. His gaze felt
evil and disgusting and wrong.

It also dissipated the heavenly aura she’d been experiencing
. And all of it was so wrong. She wasn’t to feel anything for Navarre. She should feel it for Etienne. But how could she force her heart to listen? Perhaps the thought of Etienne touching her was her punishment.
The
Bon Dieu
was certainly making it vile. She couldn’t allow it. It would be wrong.

She loved
Navarre.

She might be
legally
bound to Etienne in a ceremony from almost fifteen years in the past. Nothing
could change that, but her heart would never accept it.
She couldn’t let Etienne touch her. She’d never be his, because she knew
now she belonged to—
Navarre was announced behind her, stopping
everything. And a moment later, came another announcement, this time of
the
Comtesse
d’Antillion. Giselle took her time turning around, hoping to compose herself before letting her mama see her. It would never do if
the
comtesse
thought the marriage unsuccessful.

There was too much light in the room of a sudden, and Giselle
felt her face frozen in dismay as Navarre approached, her mother behind him.

“Navarre
!” Etienne said loudly. “I see you talked my wife into
wearing your sapphires. Is there nothing my dearest brothers won’t
take from me?”

Giselle
’s eyes went wide and she gasped.
Navarre narrowed his eyes. Beyond that glance she didn’t dare look again. It
was too dangerous, especially with her mother watching.

Giselle gestured for a chair to be brought
for her, so she could act the
part of adoring wife. She hoped she was doing the right thing.

“I’m pleased to see you looking well,
Monsieur
le
Duc”
the
comtesse
said. “And Giselle, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look splendid. And I must tell you, my dear, how your dear papa pines for word of you.”

Giselle smiled
. She
longed more to weep. Her face felt ready to crack.

“The
comte? “
Etienne burst out laughing. “Set his mind at rest,
Madame le Comtesse.
My wife is
pleasantly surprised by her new, so-virile husband. Aren’t you,
Ma
Cherie?”

His
fingers touched her arm, sending an unpleasant chill through
her. Giselle swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“Of course
,” she murmured and smiled glassily.

“Why do they call the sapphires yours, Navarre?”

Navarre gestured for her to wait
as he finished chewing his mouthful, but it was a wasted movement. She knew every breath he took, every bite he put into his mouth, and each time he swallowed.

Etienne
was at the far end of the table, behaving better, probably due to Navarre’s
influence. The wine decanter at the
duc’s
elbow had been refilled with
grape juice splashed with a touch of vinegar. Navarre and Giselle had tensed the first time
Etienne drank from it, and then relaxed at the same time. Giselle didn’t need to
look toward him to see it, she felt it. It was strange how attuned they were
.

Her mama was midway down the table, out of
conversation range. Giselle was grateful. The meal she’d been dreading hadn’t turned out that way, at all. She knew why. Because
Navarre was on her left again. Close. Almost intimate. The evening was actually
quite wonderful. Giselle hardly tasted the courses before sending them away. She could’ve been served straw for all she knew. It was impossible to eat much in her ensemble, but she wasn’t hungry for food. And
Navarre gallantly said nothing.

Giselle knew what she was hungry for
. Her thoughts must’ve
interpreted themselves more than once, because sometimes Navarre flushed becomingly
against his lace jabot. Giselle placed her elbows on the
aged lace of the tablecloth and waited for him to answer her question.

“The sapphires have been known as mine
, ever since I bought
them as a gift for my intended bride. Almost four years ago,” he
replied.

His answer created instant pain
. And then it burned. Why had she been so stupid? She didn’t want to know. She longed to rip the
necklace off and throw it to the floor. Tears flooded her eyes, and
she blinked rapidly to stop them. She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not with h
er mother attending.

“I
didn’t mean to make you cry, Giselle.”

“I’m
…not.”

She had to look away
and watched the crowd of diners blur and clear with each blink
. This was stupid. Of course he was betrothed. What aristocrat wasn’t?
She’d suspected as much already. And it really shouldn’t matter. It
shouldn’t make her heart ache or her throat dry. She was
married, anyway. She had no right to him.

“Do you want me to finish my story?”

Giselle watched as the woman at Navarre’s other side dipped
her fingers into her goblet and stroked her eyelashes. Perhaps she wanted Navarre’s attention or the man at her other side. Giselle
wondered how she could watch something as mundane as another
woman primping, when it felt like Navarre held her heart in his palm
and was squeezing it.

“No
.” Giselle sniffed quietly, fortified herself, and looked back
at him. “Yes.”

“
Je t’adore,
Giselle.”

Navarre
said it softly, reaching for his wine glass with an
arm that blocked the others from view.

Giselle’s heart
stopped, and then it felt like it moved, lodging near the sapphire waterfall at
her throat. Her eyes went wide. Stunned.

He adores me
?

She couldn’t comprehend that she still sat upright, while the murmur of conversation flowed about
them. She should be soaring. No. She must have heard it wrong. That was the only explanation.

“Did you hear me?” he whispered.

She moved her gaze to his. She couldn’t speak. She watched him smile and then hide it behind his lace-edged napkin. She’d been wrong. Her spirit wasn’t just soaring. It was rocketing.

“
About the sapphires. My fiancée threw them at me, making certain everyone near her
apartments in Versailles Palace knew how much she hated me. Do you know
why?”

His fiancée hated him
?

Giselle
shook her head, the only movement she felt capable of
making, and then she looked past him. The woman at his other side toyed with
her gown, pushing the shoulders farther apart to exhibit more of her bosom.
The effect on her dining companion was to be expected, because he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Giselle was disgusted at what she was
watching, and tried to turn the emotion on herself.

She was little
better.

She
moved her gaze, looking beyond the elaborate centerpiece of fruit to find
Etienne watching her. Giselle swallowed as
Etienne
raised his wine glass toward her. Even as inexperienced as she felt, Giselle recognized the gesture
as a mark of ownership. She felt ill. Chilled.

Perhaps she should talk to
her mother and tell her how intolerable the
duc
really was. Perhaps the
comtesse
would save her. But how could Giselle
annul the marriage that saved this family? And after her father’s action of sending the bill for her
clothing, why should she?

It was a
vicious quandary. With but one answer. She couldn’t speak to anyone
.
Too many lives would be altered…but what
a horrid price she had to pay! She watched
Etienne dribble the grape juice on his jabot, and
Giselle shuddered.

“What is it?” Navarre asked. “Is it something I said
? Pray f
orgive me. I shouldn’t have spoken as I did.”

Giselle turned back to him
, tensed for the effect his gaze
would have, but he wouldn’t look at her. He was carefully staring at
a spot over her head.

“The woman who turned down your
…gift? She must have been
possessed, Navarre. If only…it had been…”

Giselle was near tears again
.
If only it had been me,
she finished in her thoughts. She’d have wed him a hundred times over. It would be a heaven she could barely comprehend to know that at night, when the moon cast its spell, it
would be Navarre with her….

Dark blue eyes drilled into her
s. Giselle
gasped at the intensity in his. She couldn’t finish her thought. She
was amazed she wasn’t swooning.

“Perhaps my
littlest brother can enlighten you,
Madame
la
Comtesse!”

Etienne’ s loud voice came through the
spell about her.
Navarre snapped his head around. Giselle used the opportunity
to hold her own lace-edged napkin to her lips.

“The
comtesse
asks why I’ve been secluded,” Etienne
explained. “Perhaps you have an answer for her?”

Giselle looked to her mother
. It didn’t appear the woman hadn’t asked any such thing, or if she had, she had quickly recanted. Giselle had never seen her mother looking so
uncomfortable.

“Perhaps it’s time you retired, Etienne.”

Navarre pushed away from the table, flinging down his napkin.

“Why should
I?” Etienne continued. “Is it my fault Jean-Claude
tried to kill me? Well? Was it?”

No one spoke in the shocked silence that followed.

“Excuse my brother, Ladies and Gentlemen.”

Navarre
gestured toward the wine, and Giselle heard polite chuckling at the
inference.

“Drunk
, am I?” Etienne shouted as he shoved his chair
away from the table. “Well, dearest brother,
I’m
not so drunk that I
can’t remember how my saddle was tampered with. I would have to be very drunk indeed, to forget that.”

“Say farewell, Etienne
. I’ll have you taken to your chamber.”

Navarre stood over him, his voice low, yet filled with
authority. Giselle was surprised to see Etienne’s chin fall forward.
He looked like a little boy being punished.

“Forgive us, please.” Navarre bowed to the group, but his gaze
didn’t seem to reach
Giselle’s end of the table. “Come Etienne. I’ll fetch a
footman.”

He pushed the wheeled chair toward the stairs
. Giselle stared
at them like everyone else, and then she moved.
She realized her place was
with her husband, and Giselle walked quickly to catch up.

“Footmen!”
Etienne complained, slurring the words. “I hate being carried, Navarre.
That has to be the worst. How did I ever let you talk me into this?
I’m
sorry.” His shoulders slumped. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to
walk there by myself, just once more. Is that too much to ask?”

Giselle’s eyes filled with tears at the agony in his voice
. And she realized he
was crying, just like the first night when she’d eavesdropped.
Navarre must have sensed her presence. He turned with such
misery in his eyes, Giselle stepped back.

“Go back to our guests,
Giselle. Now.”

“Giselle
? Tell her to go away! At once! I won’t be pitied!”

Etienne’s voice was raw with torment, making his command even
more hurtful.

“
So. Salvage the party, Giselle,” Navarre said softly. “I’ll be back
shortly.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something held her back
.
It wasn’t her husband. Etienne was slumped forward in his chair
with his arms humbly folded across his lap. It was the sum total of all that was happening. She shook her head, but Navarre wasn’t
looking.

She had no choice
. Again. She turned back.

~

There was something strange about her room when she woke.
Giselle couldn’t quite place it. She wondered if it was the
hairstyle Louisa refused to dismantle. She needed a more malleable
companion.

Giselle sighed.

Such a thing would never happen. She loved Louisa, and the
woman knew it. Louisa had been there for her when her own mother
wasn’t. Louisa listened, argued, cajoled, and made Giselle see sense
a thousand times over.

There was nothing sensible about the monstrous turban she
’d
wrapped about Giselle’s head, however. Louisa had clicked her tongue as she’d arranged the covering to make certain, ‘
Monsieur
Poinre’s
artistry isn’t disturbed.’ That was stupid. Where
was she supposed to go with such a coiffure? She couldn’t even find
her way out of the castle on her own
.

Giselle
rubbed at her eyes and scowled into the darkness.
The cage above her head was probably responsible for her sore
shoulders, and her bad temper.

And Etienne’s door was closed.

Giselle lifted her head to study the connecting door. It wasn’t much, but she was grateful Etienne hadn’t come into the room the
night before. It was bad enough she had to play-act through what felt
like hours while her mama questioned her. The
comtesse
hadn’t come right out and asked if Etienne and Giselle had
consummated their union, but she didn’t have to. Giselle had known
what she meant.

Giselle groaned aloud at the memory
. It didn’t stop it.

“Tell me Giselle, my d
arling one,” her mother had addressed her.

Darling one
?
Giselle had stared at that. Her mother never would have spoken such an endearment
if the
comte
were present. For the first time, Giselle felt
the immense distance that was between them. She wondered how could a woman allow her only daughter to be treated like Giselle had.

But she already knew
the answer — her father.

“How goes your marriage?” the
comtesse
had continued. “Things are sometimes difficult for two people…wed as young as you were.”

Giselle had sat stonily and waited for Mama to embellish her
words. Navarre hadn’t returned, and she wasn’t sure how she
was supposed to salvage the evening.