Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (12 page)

The door to the house opened, then banged closed behind Johan. “Ready?”

~*~

Mama left to talk with Papa, leaving Johan alone in the kitchen with Suzanne.

“We need to finish measuring you.” Suzanne gestured for him to raise his arms up and out.

Such intimate contact felt awkward, but he complied. Her lip was twitching. Was she nervous? He cleared his throat. “You’ve done this before?” He desperately needed a new frock coat. He’d not be a laughingstock at the christening of Noel’s new babe.

She shook her head and passed the paper strip behind his back with her right hand. She leaned in.

When her chest pressed into his, he tensed and sucked in his breath. He took hold of her shoulders and gently pushed her away from him even as he imagined pulling her closer.

Pink spread across her pretty face.

“You should have walked around me, Suzie.”

She seemed speechless.

“Here. Let me have the end.” He held the strip to his chest. His heart pounded against the fragile paper.

Her head bent low. She closed the end piece and cut the paper. Standing only inches from him she looked up, the centers of her eyes wide and dark against the amber rim.

He inhaled her sweet scent. What a good wife she would be. A good mother. His face heated as his mind followed that thought. Ja, but her face was as flushed as his probably had to be. Did she share his feelings?

A life together as husband and wife required more than strong emotions, though. What a shame the poverty she’d endured had left her lacking simple skills. Tonight, she’d prepare dinner again. Suzanne’s mother must have been ill for years and neglected her training. But thank God, Mama had taken her under her wing.

Maybe they did have a chance together, after all. Only time would tell.

9

Finally, Suzanne had prepared dinner without any disasters.

The Rousch men sat at the table, staring up, reminding her of baby birds waiting for a worm to be dropped in their mouths.

She stifled a laugh. Suzanne offered the tray of poultry to Johan and he flipped a piece onto his plate. The right side of his mouth lifted up in mischief.

His mother wagged a finger at him and shook her head.

Nicholas ladled out his portion of roasted chicken and vegetables. A muscle in his face twitched. “Nothing burnt, Suzanne.”

Suzanne glared at the handsome wretch as she pulled the pan away and brought it to Johan’s father, her head lifted high.

Johan grabbed the wood cutting board, knife, and a loaf of rye and began to slice large portions. His gaze met hers as though they both felt the tension in the room, which was thicker than the heavy bread he now cut.

Nicholas made room on his plate for the cabbage Maria moved from her plate to his.

Adam cleared his throat. “You did a fine job delivering the baby goats, Johan.”

“Danke, Papa.” His cheeks grew pink at the praise.

She smiled at him.

“Your best meal yet, Suzanne.” Johan passed the bread.

“Merci.”

“Ja, it’s good. Tender. My teeth aren’t in danger tonight.” He opened his mouth and clicked his teeth together.

Of all the nerve! Easing onto the trestle next to him, Suzanne stomped his toe with her boot.

“Ow. Why did you do that?”

She dropped her voice. “You know why.”

Nicholas snickered and placed bread onto her plate. “He knows. Don’t let my brother’s innocent face fool you.”

Suzanne rolled her eyes in exasperation. “How is my horse?”

Johan wiped his mouth and set his napkin in his lap. “Do you miss riding?”

Miss riding? Is he crazy?
Perhaps he’d not realized how far she’d ridden across France.

After he swiped another bread slice, Johan slathered it with butter that she and Maria had churned.

Suzanne rubbed her still-aching arms.

Adam smiled indulgently at her. “Perhaps another week, then a practice ride.”

Suzanne tried to ease the dismay from her face.
A week.
“I see.” She clamped her teeth together trying to prevent a scream of frustration. Might she take their little-used horse?

Adam brushed his hand across Maria’s cheek.

The woman blushed, and Suzanne’s face grew warm with pleasure at their simple display of affection. She’d never see such acts of devotion between her parents again.
I’m an orphan.
She must fulfill the vow she’d made to her mother. She must discover if her brother had survived. Suzanne turned toward Johan. “What part did you do delivering the goats, Johan?”

“I saved the smallest baby goat—she’s a feisty one.”

Adam beamed. “I’m proud of you.”

Nicholas’s handsome face twitched as though in insult.

“I pulled her out. She was stuck.” Johan combed his fingers through his beard. “That’s what it took, Suzie.”

His familiarity caused her spine to jerk up as though a string pulled her from the top of her head, like the marionettes she’d watched as a child. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed into his ear before adding, “
s’il vous plaît
.” It was improper to use a diminutive name with her—she of the noblesse ancienne. Yet this man she’d allowed into her room, into her bed the night he’d sleepwalked. Regardless of the fact that she wasn’t in bed
with
him, intimacy was there. Warmth spread across her chest under the ties to her blouse. She felt like tugging the garment up over her head and tying it there.

She’d been here much too long—Johan was becoming much too close. But could she really leave them with no horse? Nothing for transportation in the event of an emergency? She smoothed out the full apron over her costume. She was playing the part of a farm girl in a theatrical performance, but she wasn’t on a Paris stage. And she was developing alarmingly real feelings for Johan.

Nicholas tore off a huge chunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. From beneath heavily fringed eyelashes, Johan’s brother seemed to take her measure. “Where did you say you grew up, Suzanne?”

“She lived near Aunt Louisa, remember?” Johan glared at Nicholas.

“French—probably a Catholic and not a Huguenot at all,” he muttered.

Suzanne stiffened.

Maria shot him a stern look. “Nicholas! Don’t be rude. Why would she be here if she were not a Huguenot?”

Her stomach clenched.

“Perhaps she didn’t realize Papa would never tolerate a Catholic under his roof.”

Only a few more weeks’ shelter before the group leaves.
These good people wouldn’t put her out, would they? Suzanne dropped the pewter utensil to the blue stoneware plate and brought her napkin to her lips.

Nicholas pointed his knife at Johan. “Suzanne needs a female friend.”

Yes, she needed a friend in the village. Someone who could help her get a message out without these people knowing the letter was going to Versailles.

“Someone her age?”

Johan stopped chewing and set his fork down. “Greta is older—ready for marriage. Right, Nick?” He winked at him.

Nicholas’s face flushed. “Too bad she has to wait.” Jaw clenched, he bent his head back over his food.

Suzanne exhaled in relief. A large hand crept over hers.

“Are you all right?” Johan whispered.

His touch felt like a warm cloak had been arranged around her shoulders.

But she had to resist the emotions he stirred in her. She’d get to town, somehow, and get a message out.

~*~

Johan hoisted the full bag over his shoulder. These rabbits would make a fine stew. Mama would be so happy that he had caught so many, especially with another mouth to feed. But he didn’t want Suzanne to see what he’d caught in his traps, didn’t want to go through yet another explanation.

Somehow, she didn’t seem to understand that they owned their woods. Insisted that they couldn’t. She couldn’t grasp that the copse of trees by the river was their portion of family-owned lands, passed down for generations. He sensed her presence even before Suzanne spoke, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

Her voice was soft. “I need a favor.”

Wiping his hands, he took a deep breath. He avoided looking at her. Mama’s cooking and the country air seemed to agree with her. The former angles on her body were now womanly curves.

“What is it?”

“I, uh…for heaven’s sake, Johan, why won’t you look me in the eye anymore?” She lodged one fist against a newly rounded hip.

His gaze settled there, sensing the flush in his cheeks. Her amber eyes were wet. He hated the sinking feeling he got in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw her distressed. Cupping her face with his hands, he wiped the wetness under her eyes away with his thumbs.

“What is it?
Leibling
, what can I do?”

“I need to go to town.” Her words carried away with the breeze.

He clutched his hat to his head. “Tomorrow I go to market. Come with me then. What’s so important?”

“There’s something I must do.” Suzanne adjusted the scarf around her neck, covering the skin exposed by the dip in the neckline. Soft ivory skin.

He took a deep breath before escorting her back to the house. Her words stayed with him through the milking, the plowing, and at night as he helped Suzanne clean up from dinner.

“What do you so desperately want from town?” He knew what he wanted. The blacksmith had promised to let him watch and learn a new technique. He wanted to master this skill and go to the village himself.

“I…need a friend.” Her words saddened him.

“You have friends here.” That came out wrong. He sounded jealous.

She ran her tongue over her lips, a movement that unsettled him. “Your brother mentioned Greta—I wish to meet her.”

“Ja. I’ll take you there. And Mama knows?”

She barely nodded, but he decided to take that as an affirmation. He couldn’t help feeling that he should be concerned. So he prayed. For the remainder of the day he struggled with the notion of exactly why Suzanne needed a friendship with Greta, the merchant’s daughter. And as he settled into bed, across from Nick, he wondered what Greta saw in his brother other than his handsome face. Was that all a woman wanted in a mate? He’d grown up knowing Nick was the handsome brother, not he. But with Suzanne, he felt as though he was more appealing. And something inside him changed.

His eyes seemed to have just closed when the rooster crowed. Must have slept uneasily again. Beneath him, the bed seemed larger, softer than usual. He spread his legs wide but couldn’t feel the edge of the mattress.
It can’t be.
But it was. He was in his grandparents’ bedroom.

Suzanne’s chamber. Opening his eyes, he spotted her, curled into a ball in the chair, a blanket wrapped around her. He must depart before Mama caught him, but he couldn’t leave Suzanne in the chair. She’d get a crick in her neck.

Slipping from the bed, he lifted her. Inhaling her sweet fragrance, he placed her yielding body under the covers on the bed as her golden-brown eyes opened.

“Johan…”

He exited as fast as he could, afraid of his wandering thoughts. Ja, he wanted a wife, one that smelled like flowers and felt so good in his arms. But not yet.

10

With Suzanne’s soft body pressed against his in the small cart, thoughts of talking with her about his plans flew from Johan’s mind. He tugged at his collar. “A little hot today, ja?”

“I think it’s cool. Damp, too.” She pulled Grandmother’s shawl up higher around her smooth neck. “But you look flushed.”

When her hand settled on his forehead, he leaned back in the seat, and then breathed in her floral scent. “I’m fine.” He enfolded her hand, keeping his reins in the other hand. It felt good, wrapping her small fingers in his own.

Under her cap, Suzanne’s cheeks turned pink.

He’d been wrong to do that. He released her hand. “I’m sorry about last night—coming to your room again.” He removed his hat, his scalp burning.

Silent, Suzanne stared at the floorboards before they hit a small bump and she grasped the seat. “No harm done. Your parents warned me. I shouldn’t let you into the room, but…”

Why did he always have to be different? Sleepwalking, his difficulty learning to read. He sat up straighter. He waited for her to begin her usual chatter, but today she was silent.

The sun warmed the earth as they rode onward. Soon they passed the markers for the village.

They hit a rut and she bounced, but he threw an arm around her shoulders and held her in the seat. Was she the one? The answer to his prayers? How could someone who mangled the easiest of household tasks make a home for him? He couldn’t help chuckling, remembering how her roast was so overcooked it could have been brought into town and given to the shoemaker for leather.

“What are you laughing at? Do I look funny?”

“No, you look fine.” She looked pretty in his grandmother’s green dress. “Was thinking about something I forgot to bring for Greta.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He whistled. “I don’t think she would have wanted it anyway.” Johan maneuvered the horse close to the hitching post, planning to tie it up.

Suzanne grasped his forearm. “Please, I’ll go by myself. Don’t worry.” She gave him a tight smile as he held the horse in check for her to get down from the cart. “Merci!” She picked up her skirts and almost ran.

Why was she in such a hurry?

He slackened the reins and clucked his tongue for the large horse to move on. Before long, he was at the watermill. Johan removed the baskets of new wheat from his cart, running his hands over the varying textures—so different, yet all part of one plant. He toted them into his cousin’s mill.

Cousin Phillip turned, his eyes red and his face puffy.

Dropping the containers to the floor, Johan grasped his older cousin’s shoulders.

Phillip pushed him away, and then began patting the many pockets in his vest, as if trying to locate a handkerchief.

Johan handed his own cloth to Phillip. “What’s wrong?”

“I got terrible news about Aunt Louisa. She’s gone, Johan, we got word this morning.”

“Gone? Aunt Louisa is dead? How?” His words echoed inside the stone building, along with the dripping of water.

His cousin’s worker, the young man at the grindstone, glanced up.