Brocade Series 02 - Giselle (3 page)

“It is?” Giselle couldn’t imagine that. Papa was so tall, she barely reached his waist. She had no idea what Louisa meant.

“It’s wonderful, Giselle. I can’t wait to see Chateau Berchand, and all its riches.”

“
I can’t wed, Louisa. This is stupid. You’re wrong, and Papa
will stop it.”

“Your papa? He doesn’t like it, but I assure you, he can’t stop
the
duc
from marrying you today.”

Giselle remembered that day, all right
. And how it ended. She’d cried in her new chambers until late into the night. Papa couldn’t bear the sight
of her anymore. She was a Berchald, and Papa cursed them all.

She looked at those same chamber walls in the daylight,
knowing and hating each and every stone. But she had to admit it. Louisa might be right. She
was
being set free.

“You do remember, don’t you, Giselle?”

Louisa sat on the
edge of the bed and took Giselle’s hand.
She nodded.

‘Then how can you worry? You’re the
Duchesse
du Berchald!
Even your Papa can’t take that away from you. Always remember
that.”

“What does he look like?” Giselle tried to keep her voice
steady.

“Who?”

Isabelle even looked heavenward, and Giselle giggled at her maid’s expression. “My
husband!” She slapped the bedding.

“Who cares how he looks? He’s the hereditary Master of His
Majesty’s Wardrobe. Your position at Versailles is assured, and he’s
the key to your escape from this prison. Just think of it.”

Giselle had never known Louisa to be so
vague before. She
narrowed her eyes. “Louisa! You’ll tell me this instant, or I’ll…”
The threat ended as Giselle gasped for breath.

“Don’t upset yourself, so
! Isabelle, assist me!”

Giselle didn’t want assistance
. She wanted
answers. Was he ugly? Was that why he never came to claim his
bride? Worse, was he deformed? Was he a simpleton, with an
over-large head?

She was gasping for breath, as the women fluffed the
pillows behind her, and made her sip at a goblet of wine.

“Forgive me, Giselle. I didn’t know
how much it mattered to you.”

Giselle looked away from the speculative gaze
. Of course it
mattered. She had dreamed of him, thought of him — when she dared
— but she’d never let anyone know. The thought was enough to give
her further vapors. Papa hated the Berchalds. It would have been
disloyal.

“He’s very handsome, Giselle
,” Louisa said softly. She
lifted Giselle’s hand and waited until she looked at her. “So much so,
that Janelle pouted at him throughout the ceremony, and he was but fifteen then.”

Giselle felt her heartbeat quicken at the words. It was everything she dreamt about, like a fairy tale.

“He’s very tall. All the Berchalds are tall, Giselle. He’s fair, too, lighter even than you. But that’s to be expected. They are of Norman descent, after all.”

“They are?” Giselle hadn’t known that.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The Berchalds
proudly list their antecedents in the court heraldic lists, and now you’ll take your place among them. Just think!
It’s a new beginning, and you’ve been a ghost
for far too long.”

Tall and blonde?

She pictured him in her mind
and felt a shiver. Her husband. Etienne Berchald. A man so handsome even
Janelle had flirted with him. It was exciting,
dangerously so. Giselle closed her eyes and shut out the sight of her stone
-walled prison, and ignored the unasked question.

If it was so perfect
…why had he never come to claim his bride?
Why?

“He’s here! Isn’t it exciting, Giselle?”

Giselle had to admit that
Louisa’s excitement was infectious. Ever
since the Berchald family had replied to her papa’s summons, she had
listened nonstop to excited chatter. Her bedchamber was beginning
to look heavensent. And if Louisa’s emotion was bad, the seamstress was
worse.

So much had happened in one week that Giselle could scarcely
catch her breath. The
comte
had engaged a seamstress from Paris to clothe her.

From Paris!

Giselle was ecstatic. The
comte
wouldn’t allow her to go to her
legal family poorly clothed. It was the closest he’d
ever come to showing he thought of his only daughter in any way. So, he’d ordered
a new trousseau, because his pride was at
stake. No nobleman clothed his children poorly. Giselle’s mouth opened more than once at the thought of new clothing, even as she’d come to dread the fittings. The seamstress,
Madame
Broussard, had more than once
commented on Giselle’s fifteen-and-a-half-inch waist as if she wasn’t
even there.

“The petite
duchesse
will cause a riot in Versailles! The king has an eye for the ladies, he does, especially one as lovely as she. Why…I
understand he’s looking for another
maitresse en titre,
too.”

She and Louisa
had laughed, while Giselle huffed in silence. It mattered little to her if the king had an official mistress, or
not. Giselle wasn’t being outfitted for the king. She was being
clothed for her husband, the tall, handsome, blond Etienne.

It had taken what seemed like forever, but now, he arrived
!

“It’s the
duc
?”

Giselle held in her breath as Isabelle finished hooking the corset.

“I don’t believe so,” Louisa answered. “He must be near thirty years old by now. The man awaiting you is barely your age,
but he’s definitely a Berchald.”

“How do you know?”

“Please, Giselle, grant me some eyes. The Berchalds are very
handsome. And he’s definitely that. Isn’t he, Isabelle?”

The maid shrugged.

“Let me see him!” Giselle begged. “Please? You’ve already peeked at him from
the balustrade. It’s not fair.”

“You’ll meet with him soon enough.”

Isabelle lifted the new day gown as she spoke
.
Giselle turned to Louisa.

“Oh, please
? You can’t imagine how
much I’ve longed for
this
!
S’il vous plait
?”

Giselle put her best innocent, guileless expression on. She
knew it had worked when Louisa smiled.

“Very well.”

The woman sighed afterward, but Giselle knew it was an
act. Louisa would give in. She always did. It was Isabelle
who was the tougher one.

“But not until you’ve finished your toilette
.
Come, Giselle. You must be perfection, itself. Isabelle and I expect
nothing less.”

Isabelle had never been so slow
!

Giselle watched the mirror as
the maid fussed and fidgeted with the folds of the new gown. Minutes passed. Giselle heard every tick of the clock
. It was all she could do to keep the
agitation from showing. Her hair had been dressed the previous day,
and the mass of curls atop her head gave her some much needed
height. The white streak along her face was theatrical, and she toyed with asking
Louisa if she’d powder her
coiffure
like the
comtesse
sometimes did.

Giselle du Berchald had never looked so spectacular.

The
gown was peach-colored satin, and it skimmed atop a mass of yellow
lace petticoats. The skirt was slit open from the waist, allowing a froth
of yellow to catch the light every time she moved. The sleeves
skimmed her arms just to the elbow, where more yellow lace was sewn on.
Madame
Broussard hadn’t allowed one bit of excess room
in the waist, however. Giselle wasn’t sure she could breathe once
Louisa took the final stitch and pronounced her ready.

“Madame
Broussard was right, Giselle,” Louisa remarked as
she met Giselle’s gaze in the looking-glass. “I’ve never seen anyone
to compare. Your waist is small enough for a man to span it
with his hands. The
duc
will be pleasantly surprised, won’t he,
Isabelle?”

Giselle watched as Isabelle simply shrugged, but she knew the
woman was pleased. It was in her heightened color.

“Now? Are
we finished?
Oui?
Come! We must hurry.”

Giselle followed the maid and governess she should have long
since outgrown. They were all acting like schoolgirls. Louisa was right, though. It was exciting! Giselle was already having trouble
breathing, and she hadn’t even seen him yet.

She lifted h
er hem to keep it off the steps leading to her
tower, but she couldn’t stop the noise. The satin rustled no matter
how tightly she held to it or how slowly she tiptoed. She didn’t want to tiptoe, she wanted to run. She wanted to see him right away.
Giselle hoped Isabelle wouldn’t notice the noise and put a stop to the entire affair.

“Shush.”

Giselle stopped moving, and waited as the satin dropped back
into place. She was smoothing it down to take the worst of the
wrinkles out as she neared. She was also hoping Isabelle wouldn’t
notice.

“There.” Louisa stopped Giselle with a hand to her wrist as they reached the top landing. “We dare not go closer. He’s standing by the fireplace. Do you see him?”

She did.

Oh my
.

Giselle caught her breath
. She’d seen knee
breeches on Papa and the manservant. It hadn’t been preparation
enough. She had no idea a man’s legs could be so long or muscular.
Nor that his shoulders would be so wide. He looked extremely masculine
, and she could only see the back of him!

“
Is he handsome enough for you?” Louisa whispered.

“
Hush,” Isabelle said.

Giselle didn’t answer
. She couldn’t stop looking. She
caught her lower lip between her teeth as she looked him over. She
could only pray her companions weren’t watching her. The queue
that grazed his back was definitely blond, a shade or two lighter that hers. His jacket was of dark maroon material,
while the tightly fitted breeches on his legs were light green. He
looked lean, strong, and very much a man, although she had little to compare him with.

He was also tall.

Good heavens!

Papa walked up to him and spoke, and
Giselle’s eyes widened when she saw that her papa barely reached the
man’s chin. Giselle would be a dwarf among such people. She barely
ducked in time as the
comte
gestured toward the stairs and they both
turned.

In that moment, Giselle saw his face and her heart sent
reaction through her. She was afraid she might swoon. Louisa
hadn’t been specific enough. This man wasn’t just handsome, he
was beautiful.

“They’re sending for you
!’ Louisa whispered. “Quickly!”

Giselle ran the steps and tripped on some lace, hearing it rip
.
The first such clothing she’d ever owned, and she’d already ruined it!
Isabelle would be upset and she deserved the scolding, but Giselle didn’t waste time worrying over that. Her mind was racing
with other thoughts
A Berchald
was here for her! And if her husband favored this man even
slightly, she was a very lucky woman.

They reached her room before the summons came, but it
hadn’t been enough time to recuperate. Giselle was holding her
hands to her cheeks when there was a knock.

“Madame
la
Duchesse?”

The manservant bowed, and Giselle smiled at first Louisa and
then Isabelle. The former winked, while Isabelle simply folded her arms and looked strict. Giselle had to admit Isabelle’s stance had a
calming effect and it was a good thing. She needed to portray a calm, unruffled composure. That is what her father would expect.

Giselle
hands trembled as she held her skirts, walking
sedately to the receiving hall. She followed the manservant, but not too closely. She
spent some time perusing his stocking-covered legs as they walked,
sucking in her cheeks as she did so. She had been right in her earlier
assumption. She giggled and clapped a hand to her mouth. This
manservant wouldn’t even compare favorably to the Berchald that was waiting for her.

Her new relative still stood by the fireplace
. Giselle’s glance
went to him just as he turned. And then she dropped her eyes and bit her lip. Oh, how she wished she
could whisk away this shyness. It was impossible! She’d never met
such a specimen before.

‘‘Monsieur
du Berchald? My daughter, Giselle.”

Papa
came for her, and took her
elbow to draw her closer. Of all her new experiences, that contact felt the strangest. She guessed it showed on her face as she neared
her relative.

And then she was there, but still
unable to look up. Giselle swept into a curtsy, watching the skirts billowing out elegantly. Then she stood to greet
him.

Le
bon Dieu,
but he‘s immense!
She barely
reached the lace on his jabot, and she dared not look higher.

“
This is Giselle?” he asked. “You’re certain? She is much too
small. This can’t be her.”

Giselle’s
welcoming smiled dropped and looked up. He
wasn’t addressing his words to her. He seemed to be ignoring her
completely. That was rude and arrogant of him. As if she could help her size
.

“Pardon?”

The
comte
finally said, breaking the silence.

Giselle was very proud of the way her Papa asked that, adding
a slight edge to the word. He conveyed everything she wanted to
shout at the man before her in one simple word.

“Enchanted,
Madame
la
Duchesse.”

The man reacted
from the rebuke quickly and she watched with wide
eyes as he lifted her
hand to his lips, although he had to bow in order to reach her.

“Navarre du Berchald
. At your service.”

His lips touched her hand, and she snatched it away
. Her mouth dropped open. She
didn’t enjoy how gauche and naive she felt, nor the heat that rushed
to her cheeks, either. Someone should have warned her.
How dare
he be so charming? How dare he have such a deep voice? How
dare he have such a lyrical name?

She longed to stomp her foot and rant the questions, but remembered finally to close her mouth.

It was embarrassing, but it was more than that, too. Giselle
dared a glance up at him, and as she did so, she felt the strangest
whisper of movement within her.

His nose wasn’t small enough to grant him the handsome
visage she’d thought at first — for it was quite long and narrow.
His skin was dark-toned and his
eyebrows were a dark brown. And his eyelashes!

She was stunned into envy at his eyelashes. They were so
thick, her own wouldn’t compare favorably. When the light touched on them,
they resembled small butterflies fluttering about his cheeks. He
blinked and moved his glance to her. Eyes the color of a stormy sky
met hers and Giselle gasped. She couldn’t look away fast enough as
another blush heated her cheeks.

She couldn’t explain how strange it felt
. It was almost like
she’d stepped onto
an icy spot during her winter walk and fallen
without warning.