Chapter Seventeen

Isabelle was placed in yet another locked room, with a simple table and chair.

She was mere feet away from the Chambre de Justice—where three judges would assemble. Where she would fight for Gabriel’s return.

The trial date had arrived—three weeks from the day she’d last seen Nicole. They hadn’t allowed her dear friend to visit again.

Yet Nicole had managed to cause this trial to occur—in a world dictated by men. And Isabelle remained indebted to and in awe of the most incredible woman she had ever known.

Thankfully, she was no longer in the convent garb she’d been given there. Thanks to Nicole, one of Isabelle’s finer gowns had been sent. Her hair was neat but adorned with no embellishments. She knew, as well as did Nicole, that her appearance had to be on par with Pierrette’s.

Even if her bloodlines were not.

Elegant but demure.

For Gabriel’s sake.

Again, Nicole had managed to perform miracles. Lord knows, Isabelle was in need of a significant one today.

She smoothed her skirts for the tenth time, struggling to keep her fidgeting fingers still. She prayed they’d come take her from this room soon and get on with the matter.

The anxiety was suffocating.

The sound of a key turning the lock grabbed her attention. Finally!

Pierrette swept into the room with a swish of her green gown. She was smart enough to keep a male guard with her.

Isabelle balled her hands into fists. An almost blinding rage shot through her. She’d never had a physical altercation with anyone in her life. But at the moment, that guard and her promise to Nicole were the only things that were keeping her from pummeling the woman before her.

“Get her out of here,” Isabelle demanded, addressing the guard.

“That’s a lovely gown, my dear.” Pierrette responded as though they were at a soiree, ignoring the order Isabelle had given the guardsman. He didn’t seem inclined to follow it. “You do know it doesn’t change the fact that a whore wears it. That harlot friend of yours may have forced this trial, but you will not win against me.”

Isabelle took three sharp, quick steps toward her, deriving only a small measure of satisfaction in seeing the woman’s smug expression change. And her quick steps back.

Isabelle stopped inches from her face.

“Your lies and sheer heartlessness will not win against me. You have allowed yourself to become hardened and hateful because you pine for the love of a cruel man who willfully withheld it from you. Wasting years of your life. And for that, you have already lost. If you have done any harm to my son, I promise you—no, I swear it—you will rue this day and every single one thereafter until you finally take your last breath on this earth and go to hell.”

She had to turn away to keep from strangling the life out of her.

“You little bitch. You have no idea what you put me through. You bewitched him. Denied me his love, and now that he is dead, I shall never know it again, for he wasted it on the likes of you,” she hissed out at her as Isabelle continued to walk away, putting distance between them. “I have always wanted a son. And you have raised a whiny, insolent little creature who cries and screams ceaselessly. I will show them I am the better choice for him—a parent who will curb his discourteous humor.”

Isabelle saw blood red.

She whipped around and lunged at Pierrette. The guard caught her by the waist, but not before she managed to crack her palm across Pierrette’s face.

The stunned look on Pierrette’s face wasn’t enough to dim her ire or diminish her anguish.

“You will pay for what you have done to that innocent boy!” Isabelle said.

Pierrette left the room in a rush, holding her cheek.

*****

The courtroom was warm and filled with spectators.

A hush fell over the room as Isabelle paused at the threshold and steeled her courage. She would not fail. She would not fail Gabriel.

She entered, poised, with elegance. Her chin up. Her steps strong.

And she looked at no one. Though, from her peripheral vision, the bright colors told her that most observers were from the noble class. The wave of whispers upon her entering the room was instant. It rippled through the mass.

She ignored it. Didn’t even attempt to decipher what they were saying. Focused simply on reaching the opposite side of the large courtroom without her knees giving way under the crushing weight of her fears.

Grasping her skirts, she climbed the two wooden steps into the defendant’s box, then turned to face the crowd. It was Vannod’s face she happened to notice first. He looked her in the eye, then looked away. The same thing occurred with a number of men who’d openly vied for her at every social event.

Clearly, word of who she really was had spread. They were all here for entertainment.

Not support.

Quickly, she scanned the crowd until she found Nicole, needing one friendly face in this horde. In a deep purple gown, she looked regal and beautiful as always. She smiled at Isabelle.

She mustered a sliver of a smile in return and a nod. Schooling her features, she relied on the acting skills she’d attained since childhood to give the outward appearance of calm. Assuredness. While doubts gnawed at her confidence.

Isabelle squeezed the wooden railing before her and took in a fortifying breath.

You can do this. You can.

“Mademoiselle Laurent?”

She looked down at the elderly gentleman before her dressed in black robes. “Yes?”

“I am Félix Tabart. I will be representing you today at the request of Madame de Grammont.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We are only permitted a few moments to confer. I am told Delphine is prepared to attest to your story of Gabriel’s mother, Virginie. But Delphine isn’t here. At least not yet.”

Isabelle’s gaze shot up and scanned the crowd again, searching for Delphine’s face.

“Where is my son?” she asked.

“He is in Madame de Roch’s care.” She wanted to object that instant, because Pierrette was not giving Gabriel the care he needed. “I have seen him myself. He has no signs of physical harm and he bears a proper weight.”

Isabelle could offer just two words. “Thank you.” Knowing he wasn’t being beaten and was being fed gave her some comfort.

He continued, “You will have to give your testimony first if Delphine is not here by the time we begin. I should warn you that I have it on good authority Madame de Roch will have servants claim you had no child when you came to live in Château Mayenne.”

She wasn’t surprised Pierrette had managed to coerce the servants to lie where she’d once lived with Roch. “I have had much time to think on this matter, Monsieur Tabart, and I believe that proving the existence of Gabriel’s birth mother is difficult.” She scanned the mass once more, looking for one particular man. Even if he too came for the entertainment of this matter and not to support her, at least she’d know he was well. “Especially without the Marquis de Fontenay to verify that she is buried on his lands. Also, I fear if I admit that I did not give birth to Gabriel, he will be taken from me nonetheless.”

“That is a possibility.”

“Then I am going to tell them of my wanton ways. Of my untamable desires. If I muddy the waters enough, there can be no finding that Roch fathered Gabriel.”

“I’m afraid I cannot encourage you to lie.”
“I won’t. I will take care to choose my words carefully.”

Tabart gave her a nod as the three judges entered. A spike of excitement fluttered through the crowd.

Pierrette’s lawyer, a pot-bellied older man of similar age to Monsieur Tabart, addressed the three judges. “Most honorable lords,” he began, and told them the tall tale of a boy, born out of wedlock, whose best interest it was to be with the widow of his highborn father rather than his common mother of ill repute.

Isabelle swallowed down her screams of denial as he went on to describe the widow’s “loving nature.” Her willingness to “open her heart and home to the boy.”

She glanced at Pierrette, expecting to see her smug look. Instead, she sat near her lawyer, looking sullen. Seemingly lost in thought. One of her cheeks slightly more pink than the other.

“I tell you,” Pierrette’s lawyer continued, “the boy’s behavior and manners are at present those of an untamed little beast.”

Isabelle blinked back the sting of tears. For her sweet son to be behaving in any hysterical fashion at all was only because he was confused and terrified.

“We are urging that custody be granted to Madame de Roch, a woman of standing. Of nobility in her pedigree that can be traced back in all four bloodlines for many generations. Whereby the boy would benefit in having private tutors and proper lessons in etiquette…”

Gabriel had an excellent tutor and proper lessons in etiquette. She’d seen to it. Each lie he told about Gabriel battered her soul.

“…We will show, through a number of witnesses, that the male child in question, the Vicomte de Roch’s only male issue—”

The doors slammed open, making Isabelle jump.

Luc stood on the threshold, a scowl on his face. Without hesitation, he stalked toward the front, his tall, powerful body dressed in black boots and breeches and a costly light green doublet. A perfect match to his eyes. He moved with masculine grace, carrying himself with his usual inherent authority gained from being a former naval officer, seasoned in battle and a man of superior birth.

At least a score of people filed in behind him, some carrying books, others journals. And Isabelle recognized each person, one by one. Marc, then Delphine, who flashed her a large smile, as though she knew some wonderful secret. And others she hadn’t seen in years who’d been servants, like her, to Luc’s father.

Her heart began to fill with hope.

She tried to quash it, afraid of any devastating disappointment.

“What is this intrusion about?” one of the judges asked over the rush of whispers around the room.

“I have a matter before this court relevant to this proceeding,” Luc stated.

Pierrette’s lawyer exchanged whispers with his client, then interjected, “The Marquis de Fontenay can wait to be called as a witness for the defense if that is his wish.”

“No, I cannot wait. Sit down,” Luc’s order was sharp, as was the look he gave the man.

The lawyer complied, his face reddening.

Isabelle saw Nicole nod to Tabart. He spoke up. “My honored lords, I have no objection to allowing the Marquis de Fontenay to speak. If he feels what he has to say is relevant, he should be permitted to relay his information.”

The judges conferred a moment before one said, “Very well, what have you to say, sir?”

Luc tossed a look over his shoulder and gave a nod to a man holding two volumes. The servant approached. Isabelle instantly recognized her old journals in his hands.

Her cheeks warmed. Good God. What is he going to do with those?

“There once was a young woman who had an affinity for me. Years ago, she keenly watched my every move, every expression from the darkened corners of her father’s theater. And she noted it all down, her every romantic sentiment, every passionate yearning—for me alone—recorded in those volumes.” Luc gestured toward them as the servant held them up. “You may review them, two hundred pages in all.”

“What does this have to do with this matter of the legal custody of Gabriel Laurent?” the judge asked.

“The woman I speak of is Isabelle Laurent.” He cast her a glance.

A murmur erupted from the spectators.

“Silence!” the middle judge commanded the crowd.

“Several years ago, she left her family and came to my château to work, just to be near me. There are twenty servants behind me, ten more outside—if that is not enough—all of whom worked with Isabelle at Château Serein and can attest not only of her employment but of her affections for me.”

Once again, more murmurs arose.

Before any of the judges could object to the noise, Luc continued, his voice raised above the din. “Gabriel was sired and born on Moutier lands. He belongs to me.”

Isabelle’s soft gasp was eclipsed by the eruption of the throng.

Again, Luc didn’t wait for the calming of the crowd. “Any suggestion that Gabriel was sired by the late Vicomte de Roch is a lie.” He looked pointedly at Pierrette.

Pierrette looked away.

“Quiet! That will be quite enough chatter,” the judge demanded.

“Everyone has heard of what happened to my family, thanks to Leon de Vittry and his accomplices,” Luc continued. “Isabelle Laurent tried to save my life and those of my family at the time—writing letters to warn them. She tried to warn me too, though I did not get her note—all of which put her own life in peril. Vittry purposely burned down the servants’ outbuildings at Serein while both Isabelle and Gabriel were in it. She escaped with the babe, keeping herself, Gabriel, and her family safe from Vittry until she learned of his death only recently. She was in hiding on one of Roch’s properties, having come to him with the babe already born. Once again, Roch could never have fathered the boy.” Again, he looked at Pierrette. She stared at her folded hands clenched tightly on her lap. Never lifting her gaze.

“I was not about to allow Gabriel to be held captive by a delusional woman bent on some misguided revenge. This morning, my men and I entered Madame de Roch’s hôtel after she left and reclaimed my child, who is now safe in my custody.”

That knocked the breath from Isabelle’s lungs. She placed a hand over her lips to muffle her sob of relief.

And elation.

A roar from the spectators reverberated around the room.

This time, Luc waited patiently for the judges to quiet the throng before he continued.

“Now, you have been made aware that Isabelle’s and my lives have been intertwined for many years. And everyone knows Isabelle and I are lovers. We have been since the moment we were reunited at the Comtesse de Grandville’s masque.”

Marc nodded. “Yes, that is my sister, and this is true,” he interjected with a smile and then patted Luc on the back.

Isabelle mentally flinched for Luc over Marc’s touch. She saw Luc stiffen, then nod to his well-meaning friend. “Yes,” he said. “Our affair has kept the gossipmongers’ tongues wagging. But here is something you don’t know.” Luc took a book from one of the men near him and held it up. Then he turned to her. “You wrote The Princesses’ Adventures novels, didn’t you?”

She moved her gaze to the book in his hand, then returned her attention to him. “Yes.”

A chorus of gasps ricocheted around the room.

“And I am one of the princes in these books, am I not?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She gazed into his eyes. The room and all its occupants fell away.

Tell him the truth. There is no point fighting it any longer.

“Since the moment I first saw you at my father’s theater, I have wanted you. Longed for you. You have been in every beat of my heart. In every breath of my body. I would not have survived all that has happened had I not known you. I see you every time I close my eyes. You are in all of my most cherished dreams. You are my Fair Prince. I love you. I always have. I always will.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He turned to the judges. “I’ve spoken to the King. I have a letter from His Majesty.” Luc reached into his doublet and pulled out a small scroll with the royal seal on it. “His Majesty has rescinded his original Lettre de Cachet. Isabelle Laurent is free to leave. And I demand the court’s official ruling—an official incontestable recognition—as to Gabriel’s sire—me.”

The judge looked at Pierrette and her lawyer. “Have you anything to say?”

The lawyer shook his head and glanced at his client. By his expression, he prompted her for a response.

From Pierrette came only five words: “I don’t want the brat.”

The judge nodded. “It is hereby officially recognized that Luc de Moutier, Marquis de Fontenay, is the sire of Gabriel Laurent. That is all. In the name of his Majesty, King Louis XIV of France, this matter is closed.”

The three judges stood and left as the crowd erupted. Cheers and some applause echoed through the room. Isabelle leaped out of the defendant’s box and raced to Luc, dodging through the crowd, frustrated by the obstacles that were in her way. At last, she broke through and threw herself against his hard, muscled form. Jumping up onto the balls of her feet, she fisted his doublet and crushed her mouth to his.

He tasted like heaven. And happiness. And that delicious, sumptuous heat that was uniquely Luc. Her body ignited for him. His fingers laced through her hair. Tilting her head, he slid his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply. She felt his emotions travel through her, telling her of his affections for her in the best way he knew how. She drank it in, thirsty for more.

He’d leveled the walls she’d built to the ground.

And she was overjoyed that he had.

“Isabelle, we must stop. We have a significant number of spectators, and this is about to become rather carnal,” he murmured against her mouth. But she could hear the smile in his voice. “Once we get home, that sweet little sex of yours is all mine.”

Home. Where her son awaited her. Where Luc lived.

Out of her multitude of mistakes, she’d managed to do some things very right. She had her son and Luc.

Nicole came up to her. Isabelle threw her arms around her and showered her with thanks and love. She could hear Marc clearing the room of the spectators, encouraging them out onto the street. With a final kiss to her cheek, Nicole and Marc were the last to leave.

She was alone with Luc. “Is Gabriel all right? Did Pierrette harm him? Can we go see him now?”

“He’s fine. We found him locked in one of the bedchambers. He was frightened and upset, but he was not harmed.”

Tears blurred his beloved face. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He sat on the edge of the wooden railing that divided the room for the spectators. “That’s odd. I was going to say the same thing to you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“That isn’t true. You’ve affected me in more ways than I could have ever imagined.”

She looked down briefly. “Not all positive, I fear. I should not have caused you distress the last time we spoke. I should not have expected you to do the impossible by obtaining a ship. Sometimes the desires of my heart have been too grand. I certainly should not have mentioned your brother. I’ve been worried about you.”

He cocked a brow and stretched out his long legs. “Why?”

“Because of how upset you became…”

He reached out and grasped her hand. Turning her palm up, he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on her inner wrist. The light sensation sent a thrill through her. “I survived Charles, Bellac, war, and imprisonment. I can easily manage any comment you wish to make. And your comment about my telling Jules the truth was, as much as I hate to admit it, correct. I’ve thought about your words a great deal since we parted. Jules deserves the whole truth about what Charles and Bellac did to me. My brother doesn’t deserve my disdain because he was treated…well, differently than I. I want to speak to him. I don’t want Charles to cause any more ill effects in my life. I wish to heal the rift between Jules and me. As to doing the impossible and obtaining a ship, I have done just that.”

Isabelle’s heart lost a beat. She couldn’t have heard him properly. “You…you are going to take me to see Sabine?”

He grinned. “I am.

Stunned, shocked, she managed one single word. “How?”

“After some negotiations with His Majesty, I will be renting one of his warships. I had already begun to assemble a crew. Mostly men who have served with me. Some are at my hôtel preparing for departure. They helped me retrieve Gabriel.”

Emotions tightened in her throat. She grabbed his doublet and rained kisses all over his face, tears of pure joy slipping down her cheeks. He laughed and captured her face between his palms.

“Wait. There is more I wish to say before I take you to Gabriel.”

“I can’t imagine what you have to say that could make this day any better. First your tale about being Gabriel’s father, then saving him from Pierrette, then the added assurance you’d brought—the letter from the King. And now the voyage…”

“I told our story because I wanted people to know that it was special. That it spanned many years. And as to the tale of being Gabriel’s father—that isn’t necessarily a mere tale, unless you wish it to be.”

Then he released her face and lowered himself down on one knee. A squeak rushed up her throat. Her hands flew to her heart. She began to tremble.

She dropped to her knees, cupped his face again, and kissed his lips. “Yes!”

He chuckled. “Chérie, I haven’t asked you anything.”

“Oh yes, of course. Please proceed.”

He shook his head, amused. “Isabelle Laurent, will you—”

“YES!”

“—marry me?” he finished, chuckling again.

“Well, I suppose I should think about it—yes! Yes, I will marry you! I love you.” Then she kissed him, reeling with joy. And love.