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| Monsieur le duc de Malbourne lost everything in La Grande Terreur: his family, his home, and the woman he loved. By escaping to England, he saved his own skin, but he has reached the end of his patience, waiting for his reinstated king to reward his efforts on behalf of the Bourbons. But will everything go as he wishes? |
Excerpt:
Preoccupied by the weight of his
own history, he managed to sit comfortably in the fauteuil chair behind the desk, one ankle crossed over his knee.
His riding attire was immaculate, not a stitch out of place, from the Trone d’Amour knot in his black silk
cravat to the shine on his Hoby boots.
Were this unpleasant business
complete, he could take one of his two remaining riding horses to the hidden
cave in the cliffs at the back of his lifeless formal garden, the spot with the
best view of Calais. He had sat there so many times that he could see and hear
the docks in his mind, even if the city were obscured by fog, as it would be
today.
He tapped his riding crop on the
heel of his boot as he observed, “You look shabby, Michelle. Did you leave your
bourgeois husband and the money he
stole by guillotine?”
She flinched as if slapped. “Non, Monseigneur, he died many years ago and
his money with him. I am untidy because it has been a long journey, and I came
directly from the harbor.” She glanced at the bag just inside the door. “I did
not even stop to arrange lodging, for I knew you would want to hear my news
without delay.”
“You look like you serviced a boat
filled with sailors to pay for the crossing,” he sneered. “Did you plan to service
me to secure your bed for the night?” When her head ducked away from his
vicious tone, he added, “Perhaps if you go down on your knees for my stableboy,
he will share his haystack.”
Her face flushed, but she only
said, “I have important information, Monseigneur.”
“It must be vital,” he said with a
mordant jeer, “to bring you all the way from Épinal. What will your information
cost me this time? I have no more family for your fiancé to ransom.”
“Monseigneur, as always, I wish only to serve your interests.” She
failed to keep the reproof from her tone when she said, “You recall it was I
who told you of the duchess’s betrayal, and I who aided in your escape, at
great danger to myself. I have been loyal to you since we were children, Monseigneur, and always a friend to your
sisters before the—” Her voice broke. “I had hoped my long devotion to la famille Fouret would serve to assure
you of my intent.”
His face and voice remained cold,
but he asked, for the first time without derision, “What has brought you so far
from home?”
“It is about the duchesse, Monseigneur.”
He sat up swiftly, his knuckles
white on the edge of his desk. “Amelia?” His lips were drawn in a thin line,
eyebrows a dark slash in a face suddenly drained of color. “What information
can there be about her?”
“There was a man asking questions,
seeking out servants from the château.
Of course, very few remain in Épinal, but he was quite determined to discover
the circumstances of her death.”
“La maréchaussée?”
“Non, Monseigneur, not the constabulary, nor the king’s men. Un Anglais. He said he knew her as a
child.”
He sat back to consider what
Englishman might be asking questions after thirty years. Amelia’s family was
long dead, and once he had disposed of the peasant with whom, according to
Michelle, his wife had betrayed him, she’d had no friends to make inquiries. He
had never taken her to Court, nor made his marriage known there, and she had
never been allowed the freedom to become known in Épinal. Aside from the few
servants who had attended her at the château,
most also now dead, he couldn’t think of one person in England or France who
would even remember his wife’s name.
“Who is he?”
“I do not know, Monseigneur,” she winced, turning her
face away as though expecting a blow. “He paid well to ensure no one spoke his
name, and did not find me before he returned to Paris.” Implied in her tone: of
all his servants, she was the only one who had kept her silence about him,
though he knew that was probably why no one gave her the man’s name.
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Author Bio:
Mariana
Gabrielle is a pen name for Mari Christie, who is not romantic--at all.
Therefore, her starry-eyed alter ego lives vicariously through characters who
believe in their own happy-ever-afters. And believe they must, as Mariana loves
her heroes and heroines, but truly dotes on her villains, and almost all of her
characters' hearts have been bruised, broken, and scarred long before they
reach the pages of her books.
Keep in touch with the author:
Website: www.MarianaGabrielle.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mchristieauthor
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/marichristie/
Amazon Author page: http://www.amazon.com/Mariana-Gabrielle/e/B00OMGO4UU
I loved this book. Le duc is positively cringe worthy :)
ReplyDeleteYes. He is!
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