Before the Storm (19 page)

‘Mademoiselle! Are you hurt?’ A blond haired young man who had been sitting on the river bank sprang to his feet and ran towards her, his round slightly pock marked face full of concern.
 

Clementine looked up at him, caught between amusement and mortification. ‘I think the only thing that is hurt is my pride,’ she said between gusts of laughter. ‘Thank you, monsieur but I think that I am quite unharmed.’

He smiled uncertainly and offered her his hand. ‘Nonetheless, may I help you to your feet?’ His manner was shyly awkward, not at all like the confident worldly poise of all the other young men she had encountered in France and he was dressed in plain green velvet breeches and a white linen shirt so Clementine immediately assumed that he must be the housekeeper’s son, who she had mentioned had gone fishing that morning.

‘Of course.’ She gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her up. ‘There, see, no damage done,’ she said with a laugh, doing a little jig to demonstrate. ‘Thank you for coming to my aid.’ She brushed grass from her skirt and straightened her pale pink silk sash.

He bowed. ‘Not at all.’ In silent accord, they walked together down to the river bank. ‘I don’t think that I have seen you here before,’ he said with a shy look, admiring her pink cheeks, wide hazel eyes that shone with mirth and long tumbled auburn ringlets that fell down to her waist.

‘No, I have never been here before today,’ Clementine replied with a smile. ‘My governess brought me here for a visit. We are staying nearby.’

He nodded. ‘I see.’ They strolled along the river bed then stopped to look back at the château, which gleamed like ivory in the sunshine. ‘I think this must be the loveliest sight in all France,’ he said with a sidelong look to see if she was also appreciating it.

‘Oh yes,’ Clementine agreed. ‘I have seen only one other place that could rival it.’ She turned to him. ‘Do you know Mon Clos? I went there once...’ her voice trailed away as, with a bittersweet pang she remembered that day.

He smiled. ‘Ah yes, Mon Clos. Well, if we are to have a rival, I am glad that it is there.’ He offered her his hand as they went up some steps to a small temple with a weatherbeaten statue of the goddess Diana inside. ‘Do you like history, mademoiselle?’ he asked shyly and a little hopefully. ‘I like it better than anything.’

Clementine turned to him and smiled. ‘I love it. Madame Blanchard said that she would show us around inside later on and I am longing to see the royal portraits that my governess has told me about. When we are at home in London she takes me to see the tombs in Westminster Abbey. Have you ever seen them?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but we have something similar at the Basilica of Saint Denis just outside Paris. All of the royal tombs are there.’ They went into the temple and he stood aside and silently watched as she walked all around the statue, gazing up into the goddess’ pale, serene face.

‘I think that Mademoiselle Roche has mentioned Saint Denis before,’ she said. ‘She told me that the tombs have the statues of the people in life above and then underneath sculptures of them dead and covered in worms.’

The young man laughed. ‘It is not quite so gruesome as that, but yes that is right.’

They walked together around the beautiful gardens for almost an hour before he brought out his watch and offered to return Clementine to her governess. ‘I hate to lose your company but know from bitter experience just how angry Madame Bonnard can be if luncheon is delayed by so much as a few minutes,’ he explained with a smile.

Clementine laughed and immediately bundled up her skirts and ran off. ‘I will race you back!’ she called over her shoulder.
 

‘Careful!’ he shouted after her before shrugging and taking chase. He was not the most athletic young man but could easily have beaten her, however something told him to slacken his pace and let her win. By the time he had caught up with her, she was standing with an older dark haired woman in a pale blue cotton dress with a fine linen fichu drawn across her shoulders and tied with a loose knot at her breast. ‘I am not renowned for my athletic prowess,’ he said with a shy laugh, shaking back his shaggy shoulder length blond hair as they both watched him walk towards them.

‘This is the young man that I was telling you about,’ Clementine said with a smile up at Sidonie. ‘Only, I’m sorry but we’ve been walking together all this time and I still don’t know your name,’ she said to him apologetically.
 

He bowed uncertainly, not wanting the magic to be broken, which it most assuredly would be as soon as he opened his mouth to reply. Relentlessly pursued by ambitious
mamans
and sharp eyed, flattering young ladies ever since he had left the school room, he had enormously enjoyed the novel sensation of being utterly unknown and liked only for himself. He looked at Sidonie in mute appeal and with a small nod she turned Clementine away and reminded her that they would be late for luncheon if they didn’t hurry.

‘But wait,’ Clementine pleaded as she was hustled away. ‘Can we meet again?’ she asked him with a smile that made his heart sore. ‘Perhaps Madame Bonnard will let you look at the paintings with us?’

He bowed again. ‘Perhaps.’ He stood and watched as Sidonie, with one curious look back over her shoulder, led Clementine away.

‘Do you know who he was?’ Clementine whispered to her governess as they hurried up the sweeping stone staircase that led up to the imposing entrance hall of the château. ‘He was so very kind to me when I fell by the river. I think that I must have interrupted his fishing.’ She looked at her governess’ unusually unsmiling face. ‘Are you cross with me? I know that I ought not to walk with strange young men but he seemed so nice that I didn’t think you would mind.’

Sidonie shook her head. ‘It isn’t that, my dear...’ She would have said more but was interrupted by Madame Bonnard who bustled towards them, her cheeks crimson and eyes wild with panic. ‘Ah.’

‘I am so sorry, my dears, but Monsieur le Duc has just arrived without any warning at all and we’re all thrown into confusion!’ the housekeeper cried, flapping her hands. ‘He always does this! It’s his house of course so he can come and go as he pleases but a little warning would be most welcome...’ She led them up the wonderful double staircase, which was designed so that people could ascending and descending could pass without ever actually meeting. ‘And now he has thrown the kitchen into uproar by asking that luncheon be served to you both in the main dining room and not my little parlour as I had planned.’

Clementine cast her governess a confused look but Sidonie wouldn’t meet her eyes and so they followed the chattering housekeeper in silence, looking about themselves in wonderment at the huge vaulted light filled rooms that they went through. There was hardly any furniture but every wall was covered with sumptuous tapestries and old paintings either of mythological scenes or portraits of dark eyed men and their thin lipped wives in splendid clothes and furs.

Finally they arrived in a long white stone room with a huge table in the centre. A swarm of footmen and maids were rushing around, laying three places at the table and arranging silver platters covered with fruit, freshly baked white bread, cheeses and cold meat. In front of the fireplace stood the young man from the garden, his cheeks turning pink with self conscious embarrassment as Madame Bonnard led them to him.

‘I am sorry for disrupting your plans, ‘ he said with a low bow, hardly daring to meet Clementine’s eyes. ‘I would be honoured if you would eat with me.’

Clementine’s mouth dropped open as realisation struck her that he wasn’t Madame Bonnard’s son at all, but the Duc de Coulanges and she instantly thought back over everything that she had said in the garden, worried in case she had said something that might possibly have offended him.
 

‘We would be delighted,’ Sidonie replied for her pupil as three footmen stepped forward to pull out their chairs.

‘I am sorry for the subterfuge,’ the Duc said in a low voice as he took his place at the table. ‘I was afraid to ruin everything by telling you who I am.’

Clementine looked at him. ‘The truth wouldn’t have made any difference to me,’ she said gently. ‘I am not the sort of girl to be impressed by titles, monsieur.’

He looked back at her, thinking how often he had heard rouged, pretty lips say those very words. ‘I believe you,’ he said at last with a smile. ‘And I am sorry for lying to you.’ He drank some white wine then cleared his throat. ‘I have been courted my whole life long not for myself but because of what I am. It has made me sadly wary.’

After they had eaten, he took them around the main rooms of the château himself, listening patiently to Clementine’s questions and telling amusing stories about his ancestors and the subjects of the portraits that hung on the walls. Sidonie discreetly walked a few paces behind them, watching her pupil carefully as she turned her face artlessly up towards the Duc’s, watching him as he talked and blushing prettily whenever he clumsily complimented her.

Unlike the impoverished Clermont-Choiseuls, the Duc de Coulanges was well known to be one of the richest men in all France and certainly not in desperate need of a rich wife to revive his family’s withered fortunes. It would be a splendid match for Clementine and Sidonie allowed herself a wry smile as she imagined Mrs Garland’s joy if it came about, but all the same she wasn’t convinced that it was the right one for her young pupil.

Chapter Twenty

It was a blissfully warm day. The worst of the heat wave was now over and a light flower scented breeze blew leaves into the pavilion where the party drowsily lazed against cushions, idling listening as Eugène d’Aigueville played his guitar, his eyes fixed on Venetia, who smiled lazily back at him.

Comte Edmond reclined in between Phoebe and Eliza, none of them spoke but the air around them shimmered with tension as both girls subtly did their best to claim his attention for themselves. Phoebe had long since realised that she was fighting a losing battle though and that although he very much enjoyed flirting with her, it was Eliza that he looked for first whenever he walked into a room.

Eliza did not share this view though and kept thinking about Venetia’s wedding day when Phoebe, radiant with sexual confidence had told her that she wouldn’t let her chastity stand in the way of making a good match for herself. She curled her hands into fists every time Comte Edmond and her friend left the room together and tried not to think about what they might be doing. He’d tried to kiss her once, but she’d shoved him away. Perhaps that was a mistake?
 
She looked across at him now as he gazed up at Phoebe and her heart sank.

‘Who is that woman?’ Phoebe said suddenly, shielding her blue eyes as she looked back towards the house.

Venetia followed her gaze and gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s your landlady, Eliza,’ she said, with a quick look at Edmond, who immediately sat up and automatically began to retie his loosened cravat. ‘Madame de Saint-Georges.’

They all stood up and instinctively, Eliza, Phoebe and Venetia stood close together as Corisande de Saint-Georges hurried across the lawn towards them. She had dressed to impress in a shimmering, rich lace trimmed blue and white striped silk gown, with wide skirts pulled back from flounced flower sprigged white silk underskirts. A huge muslin
fichu
was arranged around her shoulders and on her elaborately curled, ringleted and backcombed powdered hair was a vast ribbon and flower bedecked white straw hat.

‘Goodness me, she really means business,’ Venetia murmured as they watched this vision of elegance and high fashion approach. She looked back over her shoulder at Edmond, who was standing uneasily behind them, looking as if he desperately wished he could run away. ‘I wonder what she wants?’

‘Well, it is rather odd that we have never met before,’ Eliza remarked, trying her best to hide her nervousness. Suddenly the pretty pale pink cotton dress that she had thought so charming when she had put it on that morning seemed mortifyingly gauche and childish. ‘It’s only natural that she should want to pay us a visit.’

Eugène had put aside his guitar and an uneasy silence fell over the group as Corisande ran lightly up the steps to the pavilion, a wide smile that showed all of her teeth on her pretty face. ‘How do you do,’ she said in English. ‘I am sorry for interrupting your delightful party but I happened to be in Versailles today and so couldn’t resist the opportunity to come and see the lovely English girls that all of Paris is talking about.’

‘That is very kind of you,’ Venetia said with a smile, welcoming her into the pavilion. Eliza and Phoebe didn’t say a word - they had both instantly recognised Corisande to be an enemy and a threat and had moved close to each other. ‘It must be strange to see someone else living in your house,’ she remarked conversationally.
 

‘Yes, but not for much longer, ‘ Corisande said, her gaze sweeping around the company, noting each and every face and lingering for only a few moments on Comte Edmond’s palely terrified countenance. ‘That’s the other reason that I am here today - thanks to a great stroke of luck, my sadly diminished fortunes have taken a turn for the better and so I am afraid that I am terminating your lease,’ she paused and flashed that dazzling smile again, ‘with immediate effect.’

‘Surely not,’ Venetia protested as the others looked at each other in horror. ‘I am delighted for you of course, but we thought we had the house for another month.’

Corisande shrugged. ‘Sad isn’t it, but that’s how it is.’ She looked past the trio of girls at Edmond. ‘How charming to see you here,
mon cher
,’ she said to him in a caressing voice, this time in French. ‘I did wonder how you had come to forget our appointment to meet for dinner last night but now, of course, it all becomes quite clear.’