Page 44 of The Winter Husband
François had been there again on the return trip, when the young orphans were weary, and the bright day was coming to an end. He’d changed into a fine blue coat with silver braid and stood in the street, resting his gloved hand on the hilt of a sheathed sword. The man she’d glimpsed on the balcony was a musketeer, a soldier of the king’s guard and thus of noble blood. Her heart had climbed into her throat when his gaze met hers.
His face lit up, as if she’d been expected.
“You dropped this earlier, Mademoiselle,” he’d said, stepping into her path. He handed her a folded square of lace much finer than any she’d ever owned. Not wanting to attract the attention of the nun walking ahead, she mumbled her thanks, took the gift, and moved quickly on. Inside the lace, she felt the folded edge of a note.
Thus their secret courtship began.
“Marie, I’m uneasy about all this.” Cecile stood up from the cot and wandered to the leaded window. “You don’t know him, really.”
“It has been six months, Ceci.” They’d had this conversation before, she couldn’t seem to convince her friend of the certainty of their love. “He’s never touched me, not once, not even a hand through the gates.” Though how she wished he would! “He’s been loving and generous.” What a trove of ribbons and lace she’d hidden beneath her mattress. “He’s been respectful and so very kind—”
“I know, I know, I do want you to be happy.” Cecile’s freckle-dusted face tightened as she cast her gaze beyond the rooftops of Paris. “But I’m so scared. Are we really going through with this mad plan?”
“Yes.” A thrill went through her at the audacity of it all, but Ceci was a bundle of worry. “Oh, please don’t fret. Genny has planned everything perfectly.”
“Wouldn’t be better to ask Mother Superior again—”
“She won’t change her mind. You didn’t see the horror on her face when I asked to refuse the king’s offer, or how appalled she was when I suggested another girl take my place.” Marie pitched her voice like Mother Superior’s. “‘Marie-Suzanne, a boon from a king can’t be given away like an old dress.’”
“Still. I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Cecile fretted with her fingers. You’re really going to sneak out, meet Genny, and switch clothes with her tonight?”
“Yes.” The hours couldn’t pass fast enough. “Tomorrow, Genny will board the ship swathed in my cloak, a King’s Daughter in my place.” Marie crossed the empty room to grasp her friend’s hands. “And I’ll leave the convent to meet François in Paris.”
Cecile pressed Marie’s hands against her chest. “Are you sure, in the deepest,deepestpart of your heart, that this man is honest and good?”
“Yes.” As sure as anything she’d ever known in the whole of her life.
“But…” Cecile choked down a sob. “But you’ll be here, in Paris. And I’ll be across an ocean. I’ll never know…”
Marie’s eyes grew damp. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of the adventure she forgot the sacrifice they were both making. Cecile wasn’t really worried about François or the marriage. Cecile wasn’t even worried about playing her small part in this adventure. Her friend was only thinking about the price they’d both pay for the choices they were making.
Tomorrow, they would forever go their separate ways.
“I’m being selfish,” Cecile conceded, dropping Marie’s hands. “I’ll just miss you so much.”
“I wish we couldbothescape tonight. I wish you’d fallen in love with someone in Paris, too.” She embraced her friend and spoke softly in her ear. “But you won’t be alone during your grand adventure, my friend. Genny will be beside you all the way. In Quebec, you’ll find a husband who’ll love you, I’m sure of it. Once I’m settled, I’ll write.”
That evening, Marie slipped away to meet Genny, and everything went as planned. Set free of the convent walls, Marie raced through the streets of the city, sharp gravel scattered under her feet as she traveled by the light of the moon. She navigated purely by memory of the route she’d taken half a year ago. Her feet hardly touched the ground until she found herself in front of the public house with the painted red stag.
The windows of the Paradise tavern were ablaze with candlelight despite the late hour. She burst through the doors, pausing as a dozen pairs of eyes fell upon her. She had a moment’s hesitation. Was this really François’s home between military assignments? She’d seen it only from the outside. Groups of ill-dressed men gathered around tables, quaffing wine and playing cards. Women carried platters and pitchers, sashaying among the tables in shortened skirts and low bodices. Everyone seemed to be in a very good mood.
She heard her name shouted from a corner, and the tendril of worry withered.
“Marie-Suzanne!”
François swung up from a chair, toppling it in his eagerness. His mustached face beamed. She wound around the tables to meet him halfway, where he swept her up. His lips found hers. That first kiss was better than any she’d pressed into her pillow in practice. His thin mustache tickled her, though his breath tasted of strong wine.
“Mes amis, my true love is here at last!” François turned to face his friends—Benoit, Julien, Yves—who applauded from their corner, bowing their heads as each was introduced. “I must end our night’s revels, for my love is here!Á bientôt!”
François hurried her up a set of stairs to a second-floor room. Dizzy with giddiness, she recognized the window, swung open to the street, and the balcony beyond, where she’d first glimpsed him all those months ago.
“My darling,” he murmured, cradling her. “I knew you would brave all terrors to be with me tonight. I’ve wanted you at my side so badly.”
He set her on the bed. She hardly had a moment to absorb the shock of where she was—in a man’s lodgings!—before he started kissing her as she’d always dreamed he would, soft, gentle kisses that made her insides warm like she’d drunk a gallon of the nun’s special broth. A sweet April breeze drifted over them, carrying the scent of flowers. She became aware of a tugging upon her clothes and realized his roving hands had already unhooked her skirt, unlaced her bodice, and now he was pulling everything off her body with deft hands.
“François,” she gasped as she found herself wearing only a shift. “Shouldn’t we wait—”
“Wait?” He gripped her cheeks and looked deep into her eyes. “Did I not make you a promise, my love?”
