Chapter Two
Isabelle stood by the fire, her back to the door, her hands held out in front of her, working to compose herself. The cold filling her, an iciness born of despair, was unlike anything she’d ever endured, unlike any chilliness commonly found in the province she called home. She’d always loved Normandy, despite its harsh climate. Yes, it rained frequently, but without it there wouldn’t be the lush forests and farmland of the region.
The Château de Caen, reputedly built over William the Conqueror’s own castle, was the largest such structure in Normandy, and stood sentinel-like, its towers and ramparts overseeing the vast lands of the estate, promising a bastion of safety within its slowly decaying outer walls should the English, a perennial enemy, try to invade.
The governor’s lodge itself had been added two hundred years ago, built of roughhewn basalt stones carefully mortared together. Her home had been renovated extensively in the last fifty years and boasted leaded-glass windows which allowed the sun to penetrate the four-foot thick walls. Since the house maintained the same temperature year-round, its fireplaces saw regular use. Caen, with its own individual climate, rarely suffered the sweltering heat of summer or the frigid temperatures of winter common to the rest of Northern France. Normally, the coolness suited her, but today, it froze her bones.
“Madame, le Seigneur Guy Poirier,” Jean said, entering the room, pulling her out of her head as the countess would say.
A seigneur? Hadn’t Jean said a soldier wished to see her? She turned to face her guest and curtsied.
A wave of desire swamped her at the sight of the uniform, Pierre’s uniform, not the man wearing it, although there was something familiar about the tall, broad-shouldered nobleman who stood just inside the room. She swallowed her shock, prayed her face didn’t betray her, and begged her knees to hold her.
“Please, countess, rise. My peerage is far below yours,” he said, indicating Jean should deposit the small trunk he carried near the door and moving toward her.
Isabelle rose and stared at the man who bowed deeply as if she deserved the honor. He wore the regiment’s long brown jacket identical to the one Pierre had worn. His knee-pants were black, his stockings red, and his shoes dark brown leather adorned with brass buckles. A red sash girded his waist and a pristine, white lace jabot filled his neckline. Snowy wide lace protruded from the wide cuffs of his jacket. His brown hair fell smoothly just below his shoulders, and in his hand, he held a slouch hat similar to the one Pierre had preferred.
As he approached her, Isabelle noted a slight limp, no doubt the result of an injury sustained in battle. He was lean with a deftly trimmed beard and mustache, and sunken cheeks suggesting he’d been ill. A long, recently healed scar ran down the left side of his face and disappeared into his beard, but it didn’t affect his handsomeness. If anything, it gave him an additional aura of mystique. He had a generous mouth with a smile that reached eyes filled with sympathy.
Something about him touched her deeply, kindling feelings she’d believed as dead as her husband. Ashamed of this unexpected yearning, she forced her contrary emotions to the back of her mind. It had to be a subconscious reaction to the uniform, nothing more. She turned to her step-mother’s servant who lingered at the door.
“Thank you, Jean. Could you bring another glass for his lordship?”
“Right away.” He left, closing the door behind him.
“Won’t you sit, my lord?” she invited, indicating a chair in front of the fireplace. “What can I do for you?” She sat in the chair next to the one she offered.
“Please call me Guy, in memory of our old friendship and our mutual friend,” he said, taking the seat she’d indicated. “Allow me to express my deepest sympathy for your losses.”
They’d been friends? Something about him tickled her memory.
“Thank you, Guy, but you must call me Isabelle. I’m not the countess.” At least not yet and never if she could manage it. “My step-mother currently holds the title.”
“As you wish.” He nodded his head, but his wide-eyed look indicated his surprise.
“Since my father has no male heirs, the estate and the titles revert to the king. As soon as the new governor marries, he and his wife will become the Count and Countess de Caen.” She just prayed it wouldn’t be her. “My step-mother will relinquish the title and return to court.”
“I wasn’t aware of that. After everything that’s happened, losing both your home and your father must be a crippling blow.” He smiled, his deep brown eyes filled with sadness. “You don’t remember me, do you? It’s been more than twelve years since we last saw each other. I’m a distant cousin to Pierre. When my father died, the vicomte opened his home to my mother and me. I sometimes accompanied him here.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t quite place you, but no doubt you’ve changed over the years and my memory fails me in my grief.”
“To be expected. I was dismayed to hear of the viscount’s death. The man was like a father to me.”
“Unfortunately, the accusations against Pierre and his sudden death were too much for my father-in-law. His mother is in seclusion at her sister’s home outside of Paris. Cedric is viscount now. Sadly, the king has ordered an end to all mourning for my late husband.”
Guy nodded, his jaw tense and lips pursed.
While Isabelle could read grief on his face, she couldn’t deny the anger there, too.
“That will suit that snivelling bastard well, pardon my language, but Cedric and I never saw eye to eye. I empathize with you and my aunt. Don’t believe the allegations and charges made against your husband, Isabelle. Pierre was an honorable man. While I can’t share the details with you, rest assured that those in power in New France will not believe it either. Pierre was an excellent officer, a dedicated quarter master, and the best friend I ever had. He was a hero in the truest sense of the word. I’ll miss him.”
Jean returned with the wine glass she’d requested. He filled it from the carafe on the table and collected the glasses Solange and the chevalier had used.
“Will there be anything else, madame?” he asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.
She shook her head, trying to hide her dislike for the man.
“No, Jean, that’ll be all. Thank you.”
He nodded and left.
She glanced at the closed door. No doubt her step-mother’s lackey would have his ear pressed to the keyhole.
After handing Guy his goblet, she reached for her own.
“To Pierre,” Guy said, raising his glass. “An officer and a gentleman.”
“To Pierre,” she repeated.
This time, the wine slid down her throat without effort. She set her empty glass back on the tray and refilled his.
Guy nodded his thanks.
His intense gaze on her face sent the butterflies in her stomach into motion. Her cheeks heated.
“Forgive me for staring, my lady,” Guy said, bowing his head and then raising it again. “You were all Pierre talked about. He carried your miniature with him everywhere. He had an artist in the colony create a larger portrait of you from it. The artist didn’t do you justice. The promise of beauty you carried as a girl has been more than manifested in the woman you’ve become.”
Isabelle lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with the compliment.
“Thank you, you’re too kind, but please call me Isabelle. It’s been a long day, one that promises to be longer still with so many mourners staying with us. What is that?” She indicated the small trunk on the floor. “Speak softly if it’s confidential.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “We may seem alone, but the walls have ears in my step-mother’s house. What’s in there?”
Guy lowered his voice to match hers.
“Contrary to what you believe, my lady, you do have the right to that title. Allow me to explain. Before leaving Ville-Marie, Pierre made plans to return to New France with you by his side. I should have sailed with him, but an injury prevented it.” He traced the scar along his face, seemingly unaware of the gesture. “If I had been, he would still be alive. I blame myself for not being there to watch his back.”
“Had you been there, no doubt you would’ve been killed as well,” she uttered, clenching her fists, unable to hide her anger. “I doubt it was a fair fight, although few details have surfaced. My husband was an excellent swordsman. It’s hard to believe he could’ve died that way.”
Guy scowled. “I agree. No one could’ve bested him in a proper duel. I heard about his death and the accusations when my ship landed. When the news reached me of your father’s death, I knew you would be here. This small trunk contains the personal effects Pierre asked me to bring when I joined him. I’ll arrange to send you the rest of his belongings. I’d anticipated giving him welcomed news, but now that news is yours. Did he tell you the regiment had been disbanded since peace has come to the colony?”
“Yes, he did. It was the last thing we discussed before he left to answer the king’s summons, but Pierre was concerned about that. My husband thought disbanding the regiment might be presumptuous.”
Guy nodded. “It’s a concern many of us share, but each man is part of the militia and will defend his land and the colony if need be. While the governor-general, the intendant, and the archbishop, represent the king and the church, seigneurs are the nobility in the colony and it is our responsibility to keep the colonists safe. While many of the seigneurs still reside in France and act as absentee landlords, their representatives maintain the land. Talon seeks to change that by encouraging the new seigneur to live in the colony. Four hundred men from the regiment have opted to stay in New France, most of them in the region along the Saint Lawrence called Canada. As a reward for his services, Pierre has been made a seigneur, like myself, and granted a large estate on the mainland near Ville-Marie. Close to six hundred souls live in the settlement, which continues to grow. One day, it will be the backbone of trade between France and the regions farther to the west. While furs, specifically beaver pelts are still the colony’s primary export, agriculture has grown considerably as has the timber industry. We may not be rich in the same way as the nobility in France, but we and our tenants fare far better than many doing the same thing here do. By right of préciput, the rules governing the disposition of a man’s estate, it’s yours. If you decide not to come to New France, I would like to buy it from you since it abuts my land. Pierre also built a fine house in the settlement itself. I can arrange its sale for you as well.”
He looked at her expectantly and took another mouthful of his wine.
Isabelle frowned and bit her lower lip. The charges against Pierre stemmed from New France, yet Guy seemed to think there was nothing there to implicate her husband in treason. If she could get to the colony to claim her land, would she be able to find supporters to help her clear Pierre’s name?
But there was still his majesty’s edict. Would the king allow her to renounce her claim to the throne and move to the colony? That glimmer of hope faded almost before she’d finished the thought. As long as she lived, the chevalier would never let her go. Had he not said, only death could stop this marriage? She huffed out a breath. While this couldn’t help her, maybe it could make life easier for Sophie.
“Guy, this comes as a surprise, and I’m overwhelmed. While I may not be able to go to New France, Sophie has been chosen as one of the Filles du Roi leaving for that colony in five days. Perhaps she could have the house in town, and we can make some arrangement concerning the land? Must I give you my answer now? When are you returning to the colony?”
“The house is yours to do with as you please. My ship sails within the week. I’ll gladly take care of our property until you make your decision. If Sophie ends up in Ville-Marie, I’ll help her claim the house, but most of the king’s daughters are snapped up in Quebec. My ship carries the king’s brides, one of Colbert’s new ideas, women already contracted in marriage to men who await their arrival. It’s unusual, but officers and seigneurs have specific requirements for their brides and these girls were selected specifically for the skills they bring with them.”
Isabelle nodded, impressed with the idea. If a man was going to run an estate, it made sense to have a wife who understood those responsibilities. Given Sophie’s background, she could be a boon to such a man.
“There’s no hurry for you to decide,” Guy continued. “In my absence, life carries on as it should. Fields are cleared and planted, and I’ll be back before the harvest.” He smiled sadly. “Pierre loved New France despite its challenges. The land is rich and untamed, and it was his hope you would love it, too.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a leather pouch and some documents. “Here’s his last pay and the financial gift which accompanies the granting of the title and the estate. The provisions and livestock must remain in the colony, but this money is yours now to do as you wish. The key to the trunk is in the pouch.”
Speechless, Isabelle reached for the items he offered her.
Guy stood, placed his empty glass on the tray, and bowed.
“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” he said, reaching for his hat. “You may send me your decision through the intendant’s office. They’ll get word to me. Communication is slow between France and its colonies, but eventually messages do get through.” He moved toward the door. Just as he reached it, he stopped and turned to her once more, sorrow etched deeply on his face. “Adieu, Isabelle, may God comfort you.”
“Have a safe journey, my friend. I’ll be in touch.”
After the door closed behind him, Isabelle opened the heavy pouch he had given her. It was filled with an assortment of coins—an unexpected fortune compared to what little money she had. She pulled the drawstrings on the pouch to secure it. A knock on the door had her hiding her unforeseen bounty in the large pockets of her skirt.
“Come in.”
She prayed the hope she felt didn’t show on her face. Sebastien, one of the footmen, entered the room.
“The countess would like you to join her. She’s in her sitting room.”
“Of course. Will you have this trunk taken to my room, please?”
“Yes, madame.”
Feeling like a condemned prisoner, one with no hope of reprieve, Isabelle followed the man up the stairs.
* * *
Guy stepped out of the governor’s lodge, put on his hat, and started down the steps as the door close firmly behind him. The message, goodbye and don’t come back, was obvious. Poor Isabelle. He shook his head. The sound of merrymaking, especially this early in the day, grated on his nerves, and he clenched his teeth. How much worse it must be for her. Did courtiers have no sense of respect? He’d seen Colbert at the funeral and that pompous ass, d’Angrignon. While he couldn’t be positive, he thought the king’s aunt had been the older lady surrounded by liveried men and a couple of women. Isabelle’s father had been a popular man with the court, probably more so because he spent very little time there. That might’ve changed with his marriage, but he doubted it. The count had loved the land and preferred Caen to Paris.
He pursed his lips. The chevalier and the countess seemed rather friendly considering the occasion. Of course, the woman’s name had been linked with his and half a dozen other courtiers, before she’d married the Count de Caen, no doubt planning to bear him a son and cash in on the riches of Normandy. It wouldn’t surprise him if those two had kept up their relationship. Solange de Poitou had tipped her skirt for anyone who’d asked. She would’ve inherited the Count’s fortune, if not the land and the titles, making whatever sacrifice she’d made leaving the court well worth her effort. It looked as if she would be returning there a very wealthy widow. Why the count had ever married her would no doubt remain a mystery. Guy shook his head. Would she set her cap for the chevalier now? He was one of the king’s closest advisers.
Guy walked to the stable where he’d tethered his horse. His leg ached from the cold and all the time he’d spent on horseback since he’d returned to France via Martinique, well ahead of any ship from the colony itself. While he’d enjoyed his time in the tropics, attending to trade matters for Talon, he’d given his heart to his new home with its varied seasons.
Images of Isabelle filled his mind. God, she was beautiful, far lovelier than he’d expected, and the ravages of grief couldn’t change that. The slight puffiness and shimmer of tears still in her incredible green eyes had touched him. Her pallor bespoke her grief and something more. A flash of hope had crossed her face when he’d told her about Pierre’s estates, but it had died almost as soon as he’d seen it.
As a young girl, her energy and compassion had awed him. She’d been the daughter of the Count de Caen, Governor of Normandy, a potential contender for the throne of France, while he’d been Pierre’s poor cousin, much as Sophie was hers, dependent on the generosity of his uncle. At seventeen, he’d been attracted to the vivacious child of thirteen. She’d been as unattainable as the stars, and yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself from losing his heart to her. Seeing her today had brought back the love he’d forced deep inside him years ago. While it hurt to know she didn’t remember him, he clung to the precious memory of the last time he’d seen her.
It had been the day before her fourteenth birthday, and he and Pierre had come to say goodbye since they were leaving for military college in the morning. Isabelle had worn a pale green gown and looked as lovely as a summer’s day. He’d offered her a small bunch of violets and pansies which grew wild around the castle and had hurried away before she could say anything. While he’d hoped to return one day, until today, that hadn’t been possible. He’d envied Pierre her hand, had been surprised the king had allowed it, but never would’ve said anything to ruin his friend’s happiness.
There was nothing Guy wouldn’t have done for the vicomte or Pierre. The charges of treason had been trumped up—they had to be—but by whom and why? Pierre had been on a mission of some urgency for de Courcelle, the governor-general of New France, and Jean Talon, its intendant. There were forces at work in the colony that threatened its viability, and someone wanted to prevent the king from learning the truth. What exactly that was, even he didn’t know, but as soon as he returned to the colony he intended to find out.
Rumor had it some of those involved with La Compagnie des Cents Associés whose charter was revoked in 1663 were unhappy with the efforts to increase agriculture in the colony. Some continued to work for the French West India Company that had replaced it and lamented the restrictions put on their trapping and exploration. If they were to find a route to India, how could they do it without exploring the west? So far, the large body of water some had believed to be the Pacific Ocean had turned out to be nothing but an enormous lake. No ship would be able to navigate the river beyond Ville-Marie because of the rapids. As far as Guy was concerned, even if they found the ocean, they would never be able to make trade that way profitable—but a focus on agriculture and lumber to supplement the fur trade could make them very rich indeed.
He huffed out a heavy breath. Cedric. The name left a bad taste in his mouth. Pierre’s older half-brother would have jumped at the chance to discredit him and if he could, he would’ve added to the rumors and accusations that damned him. Even as a boy, he’d resented his younger half-brother and the affection the vicomte had lavished on his second son and his young wife. Perhaps this was his revenge. Not content with the fortune and title, he’d wanted to strip Pierre of the respect of family and friends, something he could never do in the colonies.
Should Isabelle choose to take her place there, it would be one of honor. The chances she would were remote, considering she carried royal blood, but a man could dream. If she were able to accept her husband’s lands and follow Sophie to the colony, she would have to marry, since all women of child-bearing age did, but her bloodline wouldn’t be an obstacle for him there.
Guy mounted his horse and trotted out through the city gate. The rain had stopped ensuring his ride back to Rouen would be drier and far more comfortable than his ride to Caen.
The allegations and charges against Pierre had stunned him. Whoever had falsely accused him needed to be punished for his slander. Had he arranged the ambush that had ended his best friend’s life? If so, Guy would do everything in his power to see the man hung for murder. He would restore Pierre’s honor and do whatever he could to make sure the woman they both loved was happy and safe. It was the least he could do for the man who’d saved his life.