Lion of Languedoc (12 page)

‘But Jeannette tells me you have no intention of returning at all,' the Duke said, his eyes lingering on the gentle face of the young widow.

‘True. My place is here, at Chatonnay, not Versailles. I'm not suited to the life of a courtier.'

‘You are not subservient enough for one,' the Duke agreed drily, ‘but if Louis wants you back you have no option. I return at the end of the month and he expects you and your wife to accompany me. You will like Versailles,' he said, speaking to Elise, ‘Languedoc is no place for a beautiful woman. At Versailles there are balls and masques and plays…'

‘And intrigues and rivalry and adultery,' Léon added.

Raphael took time from flirting with Marietta to raise an eyebrow in his friend's direction. Léon was not known at court for his aversion to rivals and adultery.

‘You can't be serious in your decision to remain in Languedoc?' the Duke continued. ‘ It would be a flagrant disobedience of the King's will.'

At the thought of disobeying the King Elise's hands fluttered so nervously that she spilt her wine. Cécile hurried forward with a napkin and the Duke solicitously poured her a fresh glass. The girl was like a piece of fine china. It was crazy of Léon to keep her in the harsh south when she could be cosseted and pampered at court.

‘The King has my absolute loyalty,' Léon replied, wondering what the devil Raphael was saying to Marietta. ‘Should he need it, I could summon half the men of Languedoc to fight for him. He has only to ask and I am at his disposal. But my value to the King is as a soldier, not as a fawning courtier. The King is a man like any other. He can command my loyalty, but he cannot rule my life.'

‘But that's where you're wrong,' the Duke said heatedly. ‘ Louis is no ordinary man. Such talk is utter treason, and it's a good thing it is to me you speak such idiocy, and no one else, or you'd end up in the Bastille. The King is the Lord's anointed, an absolute ruler whose word is law. Why, he's semi-divine, and you're treating him as an equal!'

Léon gave a crooked smile, ‘Not as an equal, Henri. Simply as a man.'

The Duke groaned and turned to Elise for support. ‘Wouldn't you prefer life at Versailles, madame?'

Elise licked her lips nervously. The conversation was completely beyond her. She had understood that after the wedding they were to return to court and she had been looking forward to it. She enjoyed pretty clothes and jewels and music and dancing. The thought of remaining at Chatonnay appalled her, but how could she say so in front of so many people?

The Duke, reading her mind clearly, said triumphantly, ‘There, your future bride is all eager for Versailles! She's been buried down here long enough.'

Léon looked across at Elise. ‘Is that true? Have you been looking forward to life at Versailles?'

‘I … yes…'

‘But Chatonnay needs you.'

Elise looked at him blankly. ‘ But what would I do here? Of what help would I be?'

The question hung painfully in the air. Beneath Léon's piercing gaze Elise was growing more and more uncomfortable. He was talking in riddles, and she did not understand and when his black brows drew together like that he frightened her. She had no way of knowing what he was thinking. He had ridden roughshod over her request for a decent period of mourning. He had not even told her they were not returning to Versailles, and now he said that Chatonnay needed her, and Elise had not the faintest idea of what he meant by such an extraordinary remark. Surely all Chatonnay needed was a
châtelaine
?

‘Then it
was
you this afternoon,' Raphael de Malbré was saying, his voice full of laughter, his shoulder touching Marietta's as he leaned towards her in the intimacy of a shared secret. His leg too was brushing her skirt. Damn Raphael, but he could be an insolent young pup! Léon thought bad-temperedly, frustrated at Elise's apparent incomprehension of the life they were to lead together and at the way Marietta was responding to Raphael's inanities. The fool had known damn well that it was Marietta driving the cartload of goats, and now he was pouring her wine and their hands were touching…

‘No one but a madman would incur the King's wrath for such a triviality,' the Duke continued, unaware that he didn't have his host's full attention. ‘There isn't a nobleman in Versailles who wouldn't regard being in the country as a fate worse than death!'

‘But they aren't de Villeneuves,' Léon answered quietly.

The Duke leaned his elbows on the table, cradling his silver goblet in his hands. ‘The King will not take your disobedience lightly, Léon. For years he has had trouble with the south, uprisings, disturbances. Half the population of Languedoc scarcely regard themselves as Frenchmen. That's why he called you his lion. You have the heart and mind of the south, and if the men of Languedoc are loyal to you, they are loyal to him. It is you they follow to war, not Louis, and he knows it. If he thought your loyalty was in question …' He shrugged expressively.

Elise gave a frightened cry. ‘But Léon
is
loyal to the King. Look how he has fought for him!'

The Duke smiled at her reassuringly. ‘And the King knows it, madame, and is appreciative. Nevertheless, he commands Léon to return to Versailles, and that old devil Colbert will fill his mind with all sorts of suspicions if Léon disobeys him.'

‘But what suspicions?' Elise asked bewilderedly.

‘Perhaps that Léon is considering strengthening the hold he has over the men of the south. After all, he must have over two thousand men at his beck and call, and Languedoc with its pestilential Huguenots is a thorn in Louis' flesh. The only Catholic cities are Toulouse, Carcassonne and Beaucaire. A dangerous situation for any King.'

‘But Léon is a good Catholic,' Elise protested. ‘He would never take advantage of the Huguenots' loyalty to him.'

‘I am well aware of that, madame, but they have followed Léon to war, and such loyalty to a man of different faith is enough to make even a king lose a night's sleep.'

‘If you had lived in Paris I would surely have seen you,' Raphael was saying softly at the other end of the table as he leaned towards Marietta, his blue eyes caressing hers.

‘Perhaps, monsieur, we lived in different parts of Paris,' Marietta responded, the mischief in her voice belying the ache in her heart. If only it were Léon gazing at her with such adoration! Whose eyes were gleaming with desire, who was so carelessly yet purposefully brushing hands with her as he refilled her glass. But Léon was deep in conversation with the Duke, his betrothed protectively by his side.

‘My own father fought for Louis XIII and was in Montpellier when the city walls were pulled down in an effort to keep the Huguenots in check,' the Duke was saying, thinking he had never seen such an angelic face as that of Elise Sainte-Beuve. She brought out in him feelings he had thought long dead. If it wasn't for the fact that she was to be Léon's bride, he was damned if he wouldn't have paid court to her himself.

There was a ripple of laughter from Marietta as Raphael insisted that the only possible reason she hadn't been seen in Paris was because the King had been keeping her to himself. Léon's dark eyes smouldered. Raphael's blatant flirtation with Marietta was bad manners enough, but that she should respond to it …

Jeannette, seeing that Elise was growing more and more unhappy with talk of the King's displeasure, gently suggested that they leave the men to continue the discussion alone while they sought the comfort of the drawing-room. Raphael rose to escort Marietta, but a piercing glance from Léon restrained him and he sat down again, repressing a smile. The girl
was
Léon's mistress. There could be no other reason for his friend's obvious jealousy. To seduce her would not only be the greatest pleasure imaginable, but would also settle a few old scores. He hadn't forgotten a particularly enchanting Marquise who had forsaken him after only one delicious interlude as soon as Léon had shown an interest in her.

Jeannette sat by the fire with her tapestry, her mind full of Henri's grim warnings as to the King's wrath if Léon stayed away from court. She had no desire to see him leave for the north again, but perhaps it would be for the best. She felt that her son was not seeing his future at Chatonnay clearly. He was envisaging a life with Elise that could never be; Versailles and Paris would suit Elise better than Chatonnay. Perhaps it was better that Léon should recognise that now, even if it did mean saying goodbye to him, perhaps for the last time.

The two young ladies sat together on the settle, Elise only too happy to have Marietta's company, while Céleste sat on the window-seat, fuming at Raphael de Malbré's total disinterest in her.

‘Oh, what will happen if the King is displeased with Léon?' Elise asked Marietta pathetically, ‘and how will we live here? Without the King's favour Léon will have no money, and the land brings in nothing. And I don't
want
to live here. I have no friends, Marietta, no one at all, since my husband died. I was so looking forward to court, and seeing La Vallière and the King!'

‘But Versailles is no place to bring up children,' Marietta said gently. ‘I know, for I have lived in Paris.'

‘Children!' Elise stared at her horrified. ‘I can't have children, Marietta. My husband, the Mayor, absolutely forbade it. He said it would kill me!'

Marietta stared at her incredulously. How could she marry Léon and not intend to bear his children? To have Léon's child … The mere thought made Marietta feel faint with longing. To rear his sons at Chatonnay, to hunt and hawk with them. To teach their daughters lacemaking. What would she not give to have the chance that Elise was rejecting with such horror?

‘And
why
Léon should want to stay here, I can't imagine,' Elise continued, near to tears. ‘I thought everything was going to be such fun, with balls and parties.'

Marietta curbed the impatience she felt, remembering that Elise had spent the last six years married to a man old enough to be her grandfather.

‘But you will have Léon,' she said, wondering how much more in life any woman could possibly want.

Elise bit her lip. Not even to her new-found friend could she confess that her future husband intimidated her. When he had left Chatonnay he had been a boy, gauche and adoring, now he was supremely self-assured and confident. His zest for life exhausted her, and the traces of the warrior he had become frightened her. As for his lovemaking … She had protested weakly after his first passionate kiss that it was wrong for her to behave thus with her husband barely cold in his grave, and Léon had reluctantly respected her wishes. But when they were married he would be able to kiss her whenever he pleased and more. Much more.

Elise trembled. How was she to tell him that even after six years of marriage she was still a virgin? That though she craved protection and affection she was unable to respond with any sort of pleasure to more physical advances? And Elise, sheltered though she had been, had wit enough to know that Léon's demands would be very physical indeed.

Tears sprang to the back of her eyes and she twisted her fingers nervously in her lap. It had been so much easier when her husband had been alive. He had only wanted to show her off, to be proud of her, to treat her as a father treats a child. Yet she must marry, for she knew better than anyone else that she was totally unsuited to living life alone—and the instant he had heard of her husband's death hadn't Léon come hot-foot from Versailles to be at her side? He loved her and she would have to strive harder to feel at ease with him. At least this evening they were not alone together. There was Marietta, and the Duke and his son.

When the gentlemen rejoined them, the Duke sat near her and Elise felt herself relax. It was almost like being with her husband again. He made no demands on her and his eyes were kind as well as admiring.

Raphael ignored the warning look Léon gave him, and continued his conversation with Marietta. The more he was with her the more aware he became of something stronger and more elusive than the desire he usually felt when with a beautiful woman. She had an allure that he had never encountered before. No wonder Léon had had the audacity to bring her to Chatonnay with him, to enjoy her company for as long as possible.

With every passing moment Raphael de Malbré's desire for Marietta Riccardi increased and Léon, his friend since childhood, knew it and felt an irrational desire to thrash him. If Raphael de Malbré seduced Marietta it was no concern of his. She could sleep with the stable boy for all he cared. He wasn't in love with her. He was in love with Elise and with difficulty he turned his eyes away from the sight of the fiery red hair and powdered wig indecently close together, and towards her. She was listening entranced to an anecdote of Henri's, and Léon tried to give them his attention. Ever since he had returned he had been cooped up at either Chatonnay or Lancerre. Tomorrow, after visiting Elise, he would go hawking, and if Raphael preferred to play the lovesick fool rather than accompany him he would go alone.

No one noticed Céleste sitting in the window, ignored by Raphael whom she had hoped to charm; ignored even by the Duke. Her mouth was set in a sulky line and she clenched her fists in her lap, determined not to let her disappointment show.

The next morning Marietta was up at dawn, picking coltsfoot and angelica to make into medicine to take to Ninette Brissac. These few hours every morning, before the rest of the household was awake, were the happiest of Marietta's day. For a short while it was possible to forget Elise and Léon's forthcoming marriage. To forget that soon she would have to leave. Her southern blood loved the rolling sun-baked plains and shrub and stone-covered hills that surrounded Chatonnay. The orange and terracotta earth, the deep green of the cypress trees as they languished beneath the blazing sun, pleased her far more than the cool greenness of Northern France. Here she felt at home. Here—given a chance—she could have been happy.