The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (5 page)

“That’s a lot of metal for a soldier as young as you are.”

“And how do you know how old I am?” Laviolette hadn’t moved his gaze from her face. She felt it heavily searching her every feature.

“Because I know your family, I know of you, and I know you’ve only just received your first commission as a captain. You told me that yourself.”

He nodded amiably at her explanation.

She decided to press further. “You should know that there is no reason for you to be here.”

“And why is that?” He was openly amused, something that Marguerite did not take kindly to.

“Because the whole evening is intended to find me a
suitable
husband and entertain our neighbors. You are not a neighbor or a suitable suitor.”
Suitable suitor? Did I really just say that aloud?
“Besides, my father would never consider giving my hand to a man of the military.”

“And why is that?” He was still smiling, but Marguerite detected the faintest hint of annoyance in his question. She was getting through.

“Because he served in the Navy and he knows what military men are like.”

“Because he is one?” Jacques smiled.

“Yes, well, no. He was with them, but not one of them. My father is a decent and well-bred man.”
Well-bred? Who talks like this? I sound like Pomphart!

“I believe you. No need to defend his honor, especially to a scallywag like myself.”

Marguerite was growing impatient with her inability to break Laviolette’s good mood.

“And you have nothing to fear, m’lady. I’m not here to be your husband.” He pulled her hand into his face and kissed it as they turned quickly to the beat. “This little hand, while dainty and delicious, is the last thing in France I’d spend my time chasing.”

“Then why are you here?” It came out faster than she’d intended it to. He was winning again.

Laviolette looked into her eyes. “The food, my dear. Finest food on the western coast, or so I’ve been told.”

Insulted and weary of the entire night, Marguerite was grateful to hear the final bar of the song. She pulled back a bit too quickly and curtseyed, taking her leave without looking at her partner again.

She wished Vivienne had been old enough to attend. She needed someone familiar to stand next to for the remainder of the evening. Even Vivienne’s twittering would be welcome at this point. She wandered for a few moments, unable to locate even her father, when someone grabbed her elbow.

She turned to see a sentry had reached out to catch her attention. He was a man she recognized from the fields, he must have drawn an extra assignment. She dared not look at him any longer as she extricated her arm., “What do you want?”

“It’s Claude, he wants to see you. He’s leaving in the morning.”

“What are you talking about?” This was not the sort of news she needed to hear at the moment.

“His orders have been changed, he is reporting at dawn to the commander in town. Claude asked me to let you know and to ask you to meet him in the gardens, m’lady.”

“Is he still there? How long has he been waiting?”

“I’m sure he is, miss.” The servant dropped his voice even lower. “He’d not leave if he thought you might come.”

Marguerite smiled at a few guests that were passing from one room to another and then turned on her heel to walk as quickly as decorum would allow toward the gardens, her hand instinctively nestled in her pocket and wrapped around the cricket hidden there.

The garden was dark except for the bright yellow squares of light from inside painted on the ground and pouring over the manicured hedges. One laid itself delicately over a fountain that tinkled and sang over the orchestra inside. Marguerite knew just where to go; a hedgerow on the south side of the rose arch had a perfect little bench tucked away beside a lilac bush. She and Claude had spent many afternoons hiding in this corner reading books Marguerite had stolen from the estate library. When they were quite young they liked to suck the nectar from tiny lilac blossoms, pretending they were hummingbirds.

“Claude?” She dared not call too loudly for fear of drawing attention from other garden lurkers. “Are you there? Claude?”

“Boo!” A hand reached out and poked her cheek.

“Oh! You scallywag!”

“Scallywag? Ha! What sort of a name is that?” Claude was obviously amused with his little joke.

“It’s nothing, just something I heard from a sailor.” Marguerite was irritated that she’d let Laviolette’s conversation follow her here. Her heart beat rapidly from Claude’s joke and the frustration of the entire evening seemed to press down upon her. She grasped for his strong hands.

“Why are you hiding here? I heard you are leaving tomorrow!”

“It took you long enough to come out.”

“I only just ran into your messenger. I’ve been paraded around like a stuffed guinea hen and danced till my feet would fall off.”

“And you’ve loved every minute being the center of attention. Don’t try to fool me. I know you.”

“It’s not like that. You should see them, Claude. They are horrible!” Marguerite didn’t enjoy defending herself.

“Who? The old ladies lined up to evaluate your education and upbringing?”

“No, the men. The pawing young ones and the lusty old ones. It’s disgusting. You’d think I was a prize pig at the harvest fair.” She waved her arms dramatically and huffed at her friend.

“You’ve not set a foot inside a fair in your life. You are the princess in the palace annoyed at her blessings.”

This was too much. Marguerite felt tired from dancing and frustrated with Claude. Why couldn’t he see her side?

“You make me sound horrid,” she whimpered. “And I have too set foot in a fair. I followed you and the other smithies to the bazaar a few years ago.”

“Marguerite! Your father would have killed us all if he’d thought we took you there.”

Claude scolding her like a big brother was not helping her mood. She decided to get the conversation back on track.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Claude took a deep breath. “Yes, I leave tomorrow. Why else would I sit out here on this cold slab of stone waiting for hours to say goodbye?”

“No!” Marguerite couldn’t help herself. She did something she hadn’t done since they were children. Leaning with her whole self, she laid her head on his chest and let all her hopes and fears and stress slide onto him through her tears. He wrapped his heavy arms around her and she returned the gesture.

She sobbed for what seemed like an eternity while he held her in the dark, patient as ever, strong and tall and capable of holding all the emotions that she could not. Eventually Marguerite took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the estate on his rough clothes; grease, animals, and sweat filled her nose, bringing back all the comfort of home and best friend.

This was her type.

How could she have ever thought of anyone else? Claude was her companion. He was the one she wanted to be with for the rest of her life. Now that she tried, she couldn’t imagine life without him.

She leaned back and peered into the dark for his face, hoping to see the same kind of revelation filling his features. When all she could make out was the glint of the stars on the bridge of his nose, she quietly whispered: “Why can’t it be you?”

“What’s that?” He was just as soft spoken.

“Why can’t I choose you? Why can’t you be the next Lord Vadnay?” Her heart raced at the thought of Claude in her father’s chair, Claude holding their children and teaching them to build, Claude walking hand in hand with her across their home as an equal, not just a smithy.

“Because, my friend, it’s not allowed.”

“Of course it hasn’t been in the past.” Her thoughts raced faster than an aership. “But things are different today. Things are changing! My father is an open-minded man and he loves you, Claude.” She hesitated for a moment, then, “And I love you too.”

Claude was silent. Her heart felt like it would burst. She tried and tried to see his face, one glimpse of his face would tell her what she wanted to know, but it was too dark.

“Marguerite.” His voice was serious now. “You know I love you, and you know that it doesn’t matter.”

“But — ” She started to argue. He cut her off.

“You do not love me in the way that you should love your future husband. You love me because I am safe and dependable. You love me because I’m always here when you need something. You love me because I break the rules for you and I follow you wherever you want to go.”

“No, Claude. Listen—”

He cut her off again. “No, you listen. I love you, but you are so far above me, in intellect and status and manners. You would never be happy living the kind of life I would give you—and I can guarantee it would not be a life on this estate with your father’s blessing. He is a good man, and has been like a father to me, but that does not mean that I get to marry his only daughter. You do not understand the ways of men, especially rich men with pretty daughters.”

This final statement squashed her heart without mercy. That hope she was searching for wouldn’t be found in his face in broad daylight, much less in a dark garden on the eve of his escape. And he was escaping, she could see that now. He was beholden to her and her father and their way of life. He was beholden to Mother France, but she’d given him a way out and he was jumping on it.

Her arms slumped to her sides and she let her forehead rest on his chest. “So you leave at dawn, then.” It was a statement for herself, an adjustment of expectations and reality once again.

“Yes.” He was not unkind. He was never unkind. He did love her.

“But, Marguerite, I want you to promise me one thing.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself for another blow. “If there is no one that you want to marry, if you find no one, tonight or any other night, promise me that you won’t.”

“Won’t what?” Her head was still down, she was only half listening to his words.

“That you won’t marry.”

She looked up again. The moon slid from behind the manor house. Its crescent sliver poured out just enough light for her to discern his features now. His eyes were shining, not with pity or embarrassment at her declarations of love, but with hope.

“Do not marry anyone you don’t love.”

Hope rang in his voice, a hope for the future, their future. Marguerite was sure of it. She drew in a deep breath filled with that hope.

“I promise.” She said it with as much sincerity as she could muster. In fact, it was probably the most sincere thing she’d ever said in all of her overindulged life.

“Good.” The moment had passed, he was back to business. “Now get back to your party before someone notices you’re gone and they call out the hounds.”

“And you will go to your commanding officer and learn to shoot and march and live with foul-mouthed men eating even more foul food.”

“Please don’t remind me of the food. Giving up the goodies here is a small price to pay for my own piece of the world.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I will write to you, you know. They have post in New France. Wireless telegraphs even, or so I’ve heard,” she offered.

“Not anything reliable, but I would appreciate news from home whenever I can get it.” He seemed suddenly despondent.

“Be careful,” she added. “Don’t let anything happen to you out there. Don’t follow any fool commander off a cliff.”

“You too. Don’t go traipsing through the woods without me to protect you. Take Outil at the very least. And the cricket, do you still have it?”

She reached into her secret pocket and pulled it out. “Right here.”

“Ahh! My little magician!” He was genuinely surprised. “I don’t think I told you, but that could be my finest work to date. Keep it safe would you? I haven’t made another and I didn’t write up the plans. I will need it back one day.”

“You did tell me, and of course I will!” She marveled that he might think she didn’t treasure something so finely constructed by his hands.

“The Chinese believe that crickets are good luck. You might need a bit of luck to go with your money and beauty in the future.”

Beauty. He thought she was beautiful. He’d never said that before. Marguerite felt as light as a feather.

“Claude”—she was treading on very dangerous ground now—“would you do me one last favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Would you kiss me?”

If she thought her heart had raced its fastest when fueled by anger she was sorely mistaken. The pace of the poor organ could scarcely be slower than that of a hummingbird's in this moment. She held her breath immediately after uttering the request and almost closed her eyes except she couldn’t resist watching for his reaction.

Claude stiffened a bit, seeming to consider her motives, but then leaned forward slowly, his hand reaching up to find her face in the shadows. Her cheek brushed against his and she could smell his breath, warm and spiced, before his lips ever touched hers. They were dry and rough and large, just as she thought they would be. Pins and needles danced all over her body and an ache grew in her belly that was almost unbearable. It was slow and agonizing and awkward, but the moment it was over she wished it would never stop.