Promised to the Crown (23 page)

Nicole paid the sum, plus a handsome bonus, and dismissed the woman from her chamber. The ball was an hour away, the dress finished just in time for their departure.

Margaux, the servant who acted as Nicole's personal maid when the occasion warranted, saw to her hair and a dusting of cosmetics. Just as the maid was about to take her leave, Alexandre's knock at the door startled Nicole from a reverie she didn't know she had fallen into.

“Come in,” she said.

“You look beautiful,” Alexandre said. “This dress will be the making of young Madame Babineaux. Once the ladies see this, she'll be the most sought-after seamstress in New France.”

“I hope so,” Nicole said. “That's why I hired her. I hoped to give her business a boost. The way she dresses and carries herself, I thought she would be capable.”

“That's my bride,” Alexandre said. “An eye for talent. The dress is as perfect as the lady in it. It only wants one thing.”

Alexandre removed a small leather case from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal a strand of creamy white pearls. He removed them and clasped them around Nicole's neck, then turned her toward the mirror to admire the effect.

“Lovely,” he said.

“Thank you,” Nicole said, her hand rising to her throat. The simple strand of pearls had to be worth the price of a small farm.

“I thought they would accentuate the brooch you're so fond of,” Alexandre said, playing with a tendril of chestnut hair that draped on the creamy skin of her neck.

“My good luck charm,” she said, fumbling with the gem at her bosom. “It was my mother's. She asked me to sell it for money to buy land, but the jeweler said they were just imitation pearls. Since it was worth so little, it wasn't worth selling. I do like having it, though.”

“You did well to keep it, my dear,” Alexandre said. “Because those aren't glass pearls at all. Perhaps not the finest specimens in Paris, but they are genuine, I assure you.”

Nicole choked on her emotions as Alexandre's words registered. She had been swindled . . . and her family had been deprived of a much-needed source of income.

“Do you think I could sell the brooch here?” Nicole asked.

“Why would you want to be parted from your keepsake, dearest?” Alexandre's brow furrowed as his wife's expression grew more absent.

“The money would help my family,” Nicole said. “I would never have kept it if I knew it would fetch a price.”

“Don't worry about it, dear,” Alexandre said, handing Nicole her shawl. “I will make it right.”

Of course he would,
Nicole thought to herself.
So many problems are so easily solved when you have money.

“Just do me one small favor,” Alexandre said.

“Of course.”

“At least
pretend
to have fun this evening,” he said, his smile teasing.

“If I must,” Nicole said, returning his smile with less vivacity. “But only for you. May I have just one moment?”

Alexandre nodded and left Nicole before the mirror. She hardly recognized the woman who stood before her in the reflection. She was not born into a life of silk and pearls, but here she stood. Perfectly dressed. Perfectly coiffed. Though she did not feel the part of a society maven, she knew she looked it.
I don't want to be a part of this world, but I will try for you, Alexandre.

 

The governor's mansion sparkled as though made of diamonds. Gemstones shone on the ladies' necks, and the chandeliers glittered with crystals.... The beauty dazzled Nicole into silence. She had never seen such opulence, which rivaled her grandest visions of the finest salons in Paris. The majority of the colony's functions occurred during the social season, just after Christmastide, but the arrival of the King's advisor and a top civil authority from France required an exception. Thankfully, the late August evening was cool. The satin gown would have been stifling a month before.

“Breathe,” Alexandre reminded her, seeing his wife's discomfort.

“What am I doing here?” Nicole asked in a whisper. “I'm a farmer's daughter. I don't belong here. I feel as if, any second, someone is going to shout ‘Imposter!' and throw me into the street.”

“Half the people here aren't nearly as highborn as they would have you think. The other half have plenty to hide, I assure you. The trick is to think you fit in with this despicable crew, and you will.”

“If you dislike them so much, then why are we here?” Nicole asked.

“The governor has the ear of the Intendant and the Intendant has the ear of the King,” Alexandre answered, his expression matter-of-fact. “It's all about influence.”

Nicole nodded. Alexandre's business was complex, and she had little interest in it, aside from assisting him as best she could, but it didn't take business sense to know that nothing but good could come from knowing the right people.

Nicole plastered a smile on her face and followed Alexandre's lead.

“. . . and do you think the King's ministers understand what that law will mean for the colonists?” Alexandre was deep in conversation with one of the governor's underlings, a small, sniveling man whose name had escaped Nicole.

“You look positively radiant,” said the deputy's wife, Ursule.

She scrutinized Nicole's figure, with a lingering glance at her midsection. There was a trace of either disappointment or jealousy in her face. “I've always been partial to pink. . . .”

Nicole listened as Ursule prattled on. She responded politely as needed and kept one ear on Alexandre's conversation. Any information Nicole could glean might be of use to Alexandre later.

Nicole felt a wave of relief as the butler announced dinner and the party dispersed to the massive dining hall.

Outside in,
Nicole thought, remembering the rules for flatware.

Shortly after they were married, Alexandre had started coaching her in the etiquette of the aristocracy.

“Remember,” he had said. “The upper class knows itself through mannerisms. Eating a certain way, speaking a certain way, and acting a certain way are ways to let the elite know you are one of them.”

Nicole's mother had been adamant about good manners at the supper table, but her directives were nothing compared to the list of rules to which Nicole now found herself subject. Fear loomed in her brain that someone would see her use a fish fork for the appetizer and have her flung out for her deception.

The food was elaborate, the presentation exquisite. Quail,
foie gras,
creamy sauces, delicate pastries, and more, all served in abundance. The best wines from France flowed freely. Nicole tried to choose her flatware by sneaking a glance at her husband's hands before she ate. Despite her nerves, she had to admit the food was beyond any meal she'd ever eaten before. However, she understood that ladies did not eat overmuch at these occasions, so she was careful to sample the dishes but little more.

“Dancing next,” Alexandre whispered in his wife's ear.

Nicole groaned to herself and longed for the warmth of her bed.

As couples made their way to the ballroom, Nicole took Alexandre's arm and followed. The strains of a minuet sounded from the small orchestra. Couples took their places on the dance floor. Nicole had practiced the steps for two weeks and hoped against hope she would not fall on her face. Alexandre was more than adept at dancing, however, and she found it easy to follow his lead.

“It's not that bad, is it?” Alexandre asked after several minutes.

“Not as long as you lead. I can manage the steps, or at least pretend.”

“You're catching on to the whole charade marvelously,” Alexandre said with a laugh. “You're one of us now.”

“I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

“Nor am I,” Alexandre said. “But I'm happy you're trying.”

“My pleasure.” Nicole was mostly telling the truth. The evening had not been quite as torturous as she imagined it might be.

“Ah, Lefebvre,” said a buoyant voice, approaching.

Alexandre broke from dancing to shake the governor's hand.

“Let me congratulate you on such a lovely bride,” the governor said, “as I haven't yet had the chance.”

“Thank you, monsieur gouverneur,” Alexandre said with a subtle inclination of the head.

“The King has not failed to send the finest flowers from his kingdom for our poor settlement, has he?” the governor asked in a grandiose voice.

Nicole could not hide her blush, but did not avert her eyes.

“Better than that,” Alexandre said. “I ought to send him a letter of thanks, for I'm certain he has sent me the finest jewel from his treasury.”

Nicole wasn't sure whether to grimace or laugh. She despised these courtly manners.

“In that case, Lefebvre, you must allow me the pleasure of a dance with your breathtaking bride,” the governor said. “You could not deny an old man such a rare pleasure.”

“Indeed, I could not. Please enjoy yourselves.”

Alexandre bowed and handed Nicole to the governor's hands. He led her to the center of the dance floor. Despite his considerable size, the governor was not without grace. He was as accomplished in dancing as her husband, no doubt the product of a social education that had started in the earliest days of childhood.

“And how long have you been in New France, my dear?” the governor asked, looking down at Nicole with interest as he led her about the dance floor.

“Not yet three years, monsieur,” she answered.

“That long?” he asked. “What a pity we have just now met.”

“A shame indeed, monsieur,” Nicole said, trying to emulate the manners and expression she had seen in the other ladies. She did not hint at the truth that until she had married Alexandre, she was well beneath his notice.

“Your husband has quite the mind for business, madame. You must be proud.”

“Immensely so,” Nicole said, with a genuine smile. “I've never met his equal.”

“It's good for a wife to be so generous with praise for her husband's accomplishments,” the governor said.

“As all wives should be. But then, I am fortunate to be married to such a praiseworthy man, monsieur,” Nicole said. “It makes the task much easier.”

The dance was coming to its end, and Nicole gave what she hoped was a graceful curtsy to her partner. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alexandre bowing to a gray-haired, elegant woman not far away. She hoped to make her way back to him but was tapped gently on the shoulder.

“Might I have the pleasure?” asked a balding man in his forties or fifties. Nicole nodded her assent and was not left without a partner for the next two hours.

“Will you allow an old man to dance with his wife?” Lefebvre said as another of the governor's deputies led Nicole to the dance floor.

“In one night you've become the
grande dame
of New France society,” Alexandre whispered, with mirth in his shining gray eyes. “I've never seen the like of it.”

“Very funny,” Nicole said. “I've never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. My feet are killing me.”

“Then we'll escape back home once this dance is over,” Alexandre promised. “But you must tell me what you said to the governor.”

“He commented on your business skill, and I agreed with him, as any good wife would do,” she said. “I hope I haven't said anything I oughtn't.”

“Quite the contrary, dearest,” Alexandre said. “I believe you said all the right things. He wishes to see us in his offices on Monday.”

“Us?” she asked. “Both of us?”

“Yes,” he said. “I believe you have bewitched him. And I don't blame him for wanting to see more of you. You are the most beautiful woman here.”

“Then keep your promise and take me home,” Nicole said, smiling as the song ended.

“A distinct pleasure, madame,” said Alexandre, offering his arm.

 

Though Alexandre claimed the meeting was likely a social formality, Nicole had never seen her husband so anxious. The governor, however, had grander plans for Lefebvre, as Nicole suspected. When they returned home, Nicole saw to it that the dinner was a meal of special magnificence. The finest hens, well seasoned and roasted with a careful eye, graced the Lefebvre table along with creamed potatoes, Elisabeth's good cakes, and a bottle of champagne that Alexandre himself had brought over from France. It was becoming popular with the elite in Paris, though Nicole had yet to adjust to the shock of bubbles bursting in her mouth, releasing a tidal wave of flavor.

“To Seigneur Lefebvre,” Gilbert toasted.

“Seigneur Lefebvre,” the others chorused.

Alexandre beamed a radiant smile and raised his glass to his guests and family. Nicole knew this was the day he had hoped for since setting sail for the New World six years before. He was now a lord in his own right, with land to rent, tax, and govern like any of the landed gentry in France.

Nicole beamed back, knowing her husband would be the kind, fair landowner he had always longed to be.

C
HAPTER
23

 

“H
ow shall we spend the day, my beautiful Madame Lefebvre?” Henri asked, his tone buoyant at the breakfast table. “I cannot bear to face a day of work on one of the last fine days of the year.”

Rose offered him a smile, pleased to see the furrow of worry absent from his brow. Their reserves were dwindling and they needed income. She knew it pressed on him, but she didn't want to add to his burden by bringing up the subject overmuch. “As long as I spend the day with you, I'm happy to set aside my needlework for a spell.”

“I honestly don't know how you ladies manage that awful stuff,” confessed Henri. “It looks so boring.”

“It's knitting I loathe,” Rose said. “But I've always been partial to embroidery. It's refreshing, in a way.”

“I suppose I can see that,” he said. “I feel the same way about riding. I'd sooner go without my arm than my horse.”

“Will we be able to keep him?” Rose asked. “I imagine it's expensive.. . .”

“Never fear, darling, Abraxas is safe. Uncle Alexandre will keep him in hay for us if the need arises.” Rose nodded her approval. The palomino gelding was a source of pride and pleasure for Henri and she hated the idea of seeing them separated.

“He's a good man,” Rose said.

“That he is,” Henri said, a grin appearing on his lips. “And, what's more, he hates my father, so my disinheritance infuriates him.”

“Why does he hate your father so?”

“It began as nothing more than the second son's resentment of his older brother,” Henri said. “But Grandfather was so determined to keep his estate in one piece that he left Alexandre with nothing other than his God-given wit. Thankfully, he has plenty of that.”

“That he does,” Rose said. “How unfeeling of your grandfather not to leave
something
for his son.”

“To make matters worse, Alexandre is thirteen years my father's junior. He was still at university when Grandfather died,” Henri said. “Had Grandmother not insisted, I'm sure Father would have pulled his funding.”

“You honestly think so?” Rose asked. “How terrible.”

“I would not put such a thing beyond my father's capabilities,” Henri said. “He is more concerned about money than any man I ever met. My brother, Lionel, is just like him. I think, ultimately, Father would rather leave the estate to Lionel. I have always been too independent, too adventurous with my money, for Father's liking.”

“I'm so sorry, Henri,” Rose said. “There is no way he would change his mind?”

“I doubt it,” Henri said. “And in my heart of hearts, I'm glad. We would have had to return to France when he died, and I much prefer the freedom here. France stifles me.”

“I'm sorry it was all because of me,” Rose said. “I don't want our marriage to be the cause of discord.”

“It makes no difference,” Henri said. “You are worth a dozen fortunes.”

“You flatterer.” She gave him a playfully scornful look. “The sad part is that if they knew who my family was, they probably would have approved of me.”

“Which lends credence to my idea that he was looking for reasons to disinherit me,” Henri said. “I am out from under my father's thumb, and it doesn't suit him, but it suits me well. Don't think any more on it.”

“I agree, not today. Not while the autumn sun shines.”

“Indeed, Madame Lefebvre,” Henri said. “We should spend the day out-of-doors. A picnic. I know just the spot.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Rose shared her husband's love of the mountains and woods of Quebec. After three years of clean air in New France, the thought of returning to Paris, even without the confinement of the Salpêtrière, sent Rose into a cold sweat.

Agathe was given orders to prepare a basket with the finest lunch she could procure, and the couple took off, both mounted on Abraxas rather than bothering to hitch the horse to their small open carriage. Abraxas was a massive horse, with a thick golden coat well suited to the climate. He bore the extra passenger with ease and seemed elated with the chance to exercise his legs in the fine weather.

“Here we are,” Henri said.

“I can see why you love to ride,” Rose said, rubbing the horse's nose and offering him an apple from the picnic basket. “Abraxas is such a sweet animal.”

“Best horse I've ever ridden,” Henri said, patting the gelding's golden shoulder. Turning to his wife, he asked, “What do you think of the view?”

They stood in a large clearing that allowed a view of the Saint Lawrence to the south. Mountains loomed to the north and east. The odor of the evergreens wafted heavy in her nose. “It's stunning,” Rose said, setting out a blanket on the grassy field. “How did you find this place?”

“It's ours. Or will be. This is part of Uncle's estate. He will rent this to us and he's agreed to make some vast improvements to the existing farmhouse, just there.” He pointed to a small, but sturdy-looking stone building off in the distance. “It will be infinitely cheaper than our place in town. It won't be a luxurious life, but it will be a comfortable one. If you consent, of course.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Rose said, looking up as she set out Agathe's inviting dishes. “Do you think you could be happy as a farmer?”

“I wasn't made for manual labor, I admit,” Henri said, as he took a seat on the blanket. “I will help manage Uncle's lands on-site and make sure that the tenant farmers do their part for us and us for them. Like most of the
seigneurs,
Uncle prefers to live in town, but knows the absence of the
seigneur
does not inspire the farmers to hard work. Between Uncle and me, we'll have the most successful estate in all of New France.”

“And you hope they'll make you a
seigneur
as well,” Rose speculated.

“Well done,” he answered. “It will probably be several years before the governor thinks of me, but my uncle's influence can't hurt.”

“I imagine not,” Rose said. “Is this what you want?”

“Without question. To make my own way without my father trying to control every aspect of my life? It's what I've always dreamed of.”

“Then how could I object?” Rose asked, looking over the landscape. “I would love nothing more.”

Rose looked out at the vast expanse of land and admired the stately mountains and proud pines. They would make for lovely scenery in the coming years. Whether they could provide equally good companionship was a thing far less certain.

 

The plans for their removal to the estate took time. They would need a crew to renovate the old farmhouse and to make their plot of land welcoming. Their plot of land was small, with the majority reserved for the tenant farmers. The terrain was too precious to be wasted for anything other than cultivation. Henri decided it would be the following spring before they took residence—perhaps summer, if luck was not on their side. Rose feigned indifference to the delays, but was happy with anything that prolonged their removal to the country.

“You aren't too unhappy to leave town, are you?” Henri asked one night as they snuggled in each other's arms in the moments before sleep. Tonight was one of the nights where his closeness was comforting rather than stifling.

“No,” Rose answered, idly tracing patterns on his chest with her fingertips. “Though I will be sad to be so far from Nicole and Elisabeth. I'll miss them terribly.”

Henri kissed his wife's forehead. “The distance isn't all that great.”

“With household duties and winter weather, our visits won't be frequent,” Rose said. “But one cannot have sweetness in life without sacrifice. I'll manage, darling. Don't fret for me.”

“Fretting about you is one of my fondest pastimes,” Henri said with a teasing grin. “You wouldn't deny me the pleasure.”

“No,” Rose said. “I've denied you all the pleasure I ever plan to.”

“That's what a man likes to hear,” he said.

 

A few weeks later, Rose sat in her favorite chair by the window, embroidering frills on a small dress.

“And what has my lady so engrossed?” Henri asked, startling his wife, who shrieked at the unexpected sound of his voice.

“Heavens, you scared me,” Rose said. “Just my sewing.”

“Remind me to wear a bell 'round my neck like a cow for the next time you sit transfixed with your fancy work,” Henri said. “I was in the room for a full three minutes at least.”

“I get absorbed, that's all,” Rose said.

“Well, wake yourself from your reverie for a few moments,” Henri said. “We're going for a walk.”

“It's rather chilly for a stroll.” She looked out to see the limbs of the evergreens swaying in the bitter September breeze that had settled in overnight.

“We won't be out long,” Henri said. “Come, I've something to show you.”

Seeing the excitement, near giddiness, on her husband's face, Rose could not bring herself to object, no matter how comfortable her seat nor how warm the fire.

They walked to the stables, not far from the house, where Henri lodged Abraxas. A sturdy-looking mare, not advanced in years but old enough to have mellowed, stood in the stall beside Henri's beloved horse. She had Abraxas's shining golden coat, but stood two or three hands shorter.

“This is Amethea,” Henri said. “Abraxas's sister. I thought she would be perfect for you.”

“She's gorgeous,” Rose said, nuzzling the horse's soft nose with her own. “But can we afford her with all that is going on?”

“It's a necessary expense,” Henri said. “You'll need a sound horse of your own when we move out of town. Getting her now allows you time to learn to ride.”

“Thank you so much,” Rose said, sliding into her husband's embrace. “She's wonderful.”

“You have to promise to ride her faithfully,” Henri said. “Horses need exercise.”

“I'm not sure it's the best idea in my current condition,” Rose said, moving his hand to her belly. “We wouldn't want to risk the health of your future heir.”

It took a few moments for Henri to comprehend her meaning, but then he lifted her into his arms.

“No, we most certainly don't. We”—He twirled Rose once gently and placed her back on firm ground. “We'll find a stable boy. Borrow Pascal Giroux when he needs a break from the bakery.

“How far along?” He cleared his throat against the threatening tears and kissed her cheeks softly.

“Not more than two months. Early days yet.” Rose smiled up at her husband, biting her lip at the sight of his feeble attempts to keep his tears at bay.

“Promise me you'll rest, my sweet one. Promise me you'll have the servants attend to whatever it is you need. I'll hire you a maid if we need to.” His embrace was gentler than usual, already protective of the new life they were responsible for. Rose knew Henri was eager for a family, but he'd refrained from discussing it since the early days of their marriage. At first, her reluctance to join him in his bed made the topic unnecessary and painful. Later, her revelations about her uncle must have made him nervous to press her about any aspect of intimate life. Rose tightened her arms around him, grateful that he'd tempered his enthusiasm and happy she could finally give that measure of happiness back to him.

“I think I'll be able to manage as we are, darling.” The cost of a personal maid couldn't be borne for years yet, as much as Henri wanted to give her that luxury. “But I promise I'll take care of this little one as best I can.”

“Thank you, my love.” Henri finally gave in to the tears and let them spill down his cheeks as he held Rose against him.

“I'm just sorry it was such a long road to get here.” Rose reached up and kissed his cheek, oblivious to the passersby who might see the display.

“But we got here, my dearest wife, and that's all that matters to me.”

 

The following afternoon, Rose took her usual seat in Nicole's parlor, armed with her sewing. Though only a few stitches from complete, she brought the small gown she'd been working on the previous day.

“I've never seen you take such pains for a baby gown,” Elisabeth said, taking her eyes from the star-patterned quilt she had fashioned from odd scraps.

“I thought I'd make a special effort this time around,” Rose said, not looking up from her work.

“I've heard the Laurier woman is expecting again,” Nicole said, her knitting needles not missing a beat. “I know you were there for her last time. Has she asked you to come again?”

“No,” Rose said. “My days of midwifery are over. Unless either of you need me, of course.”

“Rose—are you?” Elisabeth's voice betrayed her reluctance to broach the subject.
God knows they probably think Henri and I can't have children by now.

“Yes,” Rose said, looking up at her friends with a soft smile.
They'll never know what our troubles were. Let them think it was just a problem of nature and not my reluctance to be a proper wife.

The trio stood and embraced, not without a few tears.

“Oh, I am so happy for you!” Nicole exclaimed. “Our babies will be such dear friends.”

“Let's hope so,” Rose said. “I don't know what I'd do without either of you. What I
will
do without you when I am out on the estate, for that matter.”