Love Entwined (22 page)

“Oh, the soirées you will attend, there are still some very fine ones anticipated this late in the Season.”

At the Madame’s words, Jacqueline frowned. “I have not had a Season.”

“Oh, you won’t enjoy one of those,” Roman said.

“Why not?”

“Because there will be lots of dancing and primping…”

“But I love to dance,” she interjected.

“Your dance card is full,
mademoiselle
.”

Her husky laughter dispelled the storm in his eyes. She pulled on his waistcoat, bringing him closer. “Don’t be a grim bear,
mon cher
, I was only joking.”

“Minx.” He followed behind while the Madame showed Jacqueline fine lawn dresses, woolen capes and colorful hats on stands.

The dressmaker pressed Jacqueline for news of France. They spoke in their native language about the uprisings against the monarchy. She gave the dressmaker a more palatable tale of her reason for coming to England, her impending marriage to her betrothed. They both turned toward him.

Roman winked at Jacqueline and said to Madame Girard, “She must also be fitted for her trousseau.”

The seamstress brought tea for him while Madame Girard led Jacqueline to a fitting room.

She stood for what seemed like hours while being poked and prodded, measured and fitted. Silk, satin, cotton and cloudy gauze in glorious hues were strewn across tables and chairs. When the Madame and her assistants were finished with her, Jacqueline went out to Roman, and laughed at his expression.

“Want to do this again tomorrow?”

He lifted a brow. “Do I have a choice?” When she grinned at him, he said, “I was afraid of that. Well, I have been doing some research.” He showed her various dress designs from sketchbooks open on the table in front of him. “You would do justice to these, my love.”

“You have an eye for couture,
capitaine
. How did you know I would like these styles?”

“I know every line and contour of your body, from your delicious little toes to those auburn curls that rest on your hips when you are naked for me.” In his eyes was an unspoken promise of the night to come.

* * * *

Jacqueline was lying under the fluffy comforter in nothing more than the sapphire necklace cool against her skin.

Outside on the streets below, the shops had closed for the day and the silence lengthened as everyone sought their own hearth. The rumblings of carriage wheels on cobblestones dwindled to the clip clopping of the occasional lone rider. A horse neighed as it was led around the back of the inn to the stables, signifying the arrival of a late night traveler.

After dinner, Roman had taken her upstairs where a steaming hot bath waited. A quiet handmaiden washed Jacqueline’s hair with a gentle massaging motion that put her to sleep. She had experienced something she would never have thought possible just one day earlier: a peaceful, dreamless nap.

Suppressing a vision of the blaze that took her family, she wiped away an errant tear and burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. She would not think such thoughts tonight.

She had a new life with Roman now. She would soon be Jacqueline Cardiff, the captain’s wife. They would travel to all the places she had read about in her father’s books.

Several months ago, she had felt such despair, resigning herself to a betrothal with the Marquess of Alsborough. That seemed like another lifetime now and her world was filled with possibilities, filled with Roman.

A key sounded in the lock. The door swung open and he walked in.

“Still awake?” He took off his waistcoat and hung it on a stand in the corner. “I thought you would be sleeping by now, tired from the journey and a full day of shopping in London.”

“It is the strangest thing.” She stretched and the comforter rubbed against her nipples. She looked at him beneath lowered lashes. “I had a long nap, yet I am not at all relaxed.”

He strolled over to the bed. The black curls on his chest peeked through a white cambric shirt opened to his waist. His dimples completed a knowing smile.

Heat unfurled in her belly. It spread through her like a bonfire consuming dry brambles at a Saint Jean Baptiste Day celebration.

Neither of them could go very long without a taste of the other.

He lifted the quilt and stared as if he were choosing a sweet meat from a banquet. “Is this for me?”

“Aye, Aye,
capitaine
.
”
She moistened her lips with her tongue, and with that, Roman was undone. She opened her arms and he covered her, as she so loved him to.

Windsor Castle, Berkshire County, England – July 23, 1789

Jacqueline tugged on Roman’s sleeve and he followed her gaze to the castle’s gold columns.

The castle reminded her of Versailles with its exquisite architecture. There was intricate gold leaf on the walls where paintings from the masters hung. The finest handcrafted furniture in the world adorned the crowded halls.

Ladies in glittering gowns waved gaily-painted fans. The men’s waistcoats rivaled the brilliant colors the ladies wore, trimmed in silver, gold and ermine.

She wore a wine-colored velvet gown Madame Girard had altered for her while a new wardrobe was being sewn. She blended in well with her English counterparts, and yet she never felt so conspicuous.

With a shaking hand, she smoothed the French braid the handmaiden at the Gunwalers Inn had fashioned for her.

Superimposed over the nobles in attendance were wild, dirty faces contorted in rage. The men who had killed her family could surely feed their families for years with what the teardrop diamonds dangling from her ears were worth, gifts from Roman. She squeezed his hand. He was with her through this final show of ceremony, before they went on with their lives.

“Are you nervous,
ma petite
?” He spoke in her native language, calming her. She could almost believe this was any other day with him on the ship, or in her mother’s beautiful garden in Asnières-Sur-Seine.

“Is it not splendid,
mon cher
?”

“It is, my love, though I’ve never quite gotten used to it. So much bother, but the first time I attended court I could hardly take it all in.” He smiled down at her.

He stood out from the crowd with his un-powdered black hair. Taking her arm as they moved forward in the receiving line, he murmured, “I must confess, I am a country boy at heart.”

“
Très bien
, monsieur, for I want nothing more than to be your country girl.”

“Captain Roman Cardiff and Mademoiselle Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair,” the announcer called.

They stepped up to the dais.

Jacqueline curtsied and Roman bowed to the king and queen.

King George kissed her hand in greeting. “Mademoiselle Jacqueline, welcome to England. You have my deepest condolences for the untimely death of your father and mother, and little Marguax. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”

Jacqueline steeled herself against the tears. “Yes, your Highness,
The Raven
is a fine ship. I wish to thank you for all you have done for my family.”

“We are thankful for your safety, my child. You must stay with us for a while, we have much to discuss.”

“Thank you, your Highness.”

“Roman, it is good to have you back. We shall talk in my study shortly.”

“As you wish, your Highness.”

They followed the line of guests into a music hall for the entertainment, a ballet performed by a Russian troupe.

Roman ushered her to a seat in the front row.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle St. Clair,” the lady seated next to her said.

The woman’s blonde curls were as bright as a halo and bobbed with enthusiasm.

“Lady Rebecca Forsythe, may I introduce Mademoiselle Jacqueline St. Clair?” Roman said.

“Lady Rebecca, it is a pleasure.” Jacqueline studied the woman. “Have we met before?”

“Oh no, Mademoiselle. Why, you’ve only just arrived, haven’t you?” Lady Rebecca’s gay laughter turned a few heads in their direction as the performance started.

Jacqueline kept silent. How had the queen’s lady-in-waiting known she had just arrived? But, of course, Captain Cardiff’s return to England would indeed be news. Her captain was a good friend of the English king.

She was soon engrossed in the magical interpretation of William Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
The ballerinas swirled gracefully, looking heavenward. Their gauze skirts were a riotous whirling storm of forest colors, blending as they danced on stage and breaking away in time to the lilting melody.

“It is so exciting to have another lady my age at the castle. We shall be great friends. I have been in residence for several months, you know.” Lady Rebecca hardly stopped for breath. “I promise to show you all there is to do and see.”

“That is very kind of you,” Jacqueline whispered, praying Lady Rebecca would leave it at that.

“Your accent is intriguing.” That started another discourse on numerous questions about France.

Jacqueline promised to tell the lady how it was to grow up in France later, hoping she would cease her banal chatter and watch the wonderful ballet in quiet.

“His Highness will see you now, Captain Cardiff.” A guard stood next to Roman, who nodded.

“I will be back soon, my love.”

Jacqueline squeezed his hand, entranced as the two lovers twirled gracefully on stage in celebration of their love.

* * * *

“Claude and Simone gone, little Margaux, it is tragic.” The king shook his head, his eyes fixed on some point outside the window on the east lawn. “I advised him to leave with all haste.”

Roman sat in a wing chair.

The heat of the inferno had forever branded him. He could still hear the agonized cries of the family and servants trapped in the burning château…

The king turned back from the window. With a sigh, he sat down at his desk. “How does Mademoiselle Jacqueline fare?”

“She is devastated, but I am with her always to comfort her. Time will heal her heart. She is young and still hopeful for the future.”

King George sat up, resting his arms on the desk. His eyes searched Roman’s. “You care for her.”

“Your Highness, there is something I must ask of you.” He was surprised at his hesitation. He felt as if he faced a court of law and in truth, he did. King George was the law in England, with a far-reaching hand.

“Yes, I can see that. Go on,” the king said.

How would he tell the king what had developed between him and Jacqueline without sounding as if he had stolen her right from under Lord Alsborough’s nose?

The sticking point was that Alsborough was distantly related to the sovereign. In the end, he decided on the truth. On the strength of their friendship, he was counting on the king’s support in this matter.

“Your Highness, I love Jacqueline.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes, we wish to be married,” he confided.

“There we have it, then.” The king smiled wide and sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. “The Cardiff is in love. This new Roman is something to behold. Did you know there is a quiet calm about you now that has taken the place of your restless spirit?”

Roman did not offer an answer, nor was one expected. Now the sovereign raised his hand, and he knew what was coming.

“The captain I know has no use for women other than a moment’s pleasure. Why, you have never brought anyone to court. You stay away from the ladies for fear of entrapment. You prefer what is freely offered in the foreign countries you haunt, with no ramifications. But now you,” the king wagged a finger at him. “You want Mademoiselle Jacqueline badly.”

He waited, forcing himself to sit still under the king’s scrutiny. King George was an unpredictable sort, as many absolute rulers are. Whatever the king’s decision, he should not go against it.

For one insane moment, he thought he might, if his sovereign ruled against him. He would take Jacqueline some place untouched by the laws of this land.

No, he quickly dismissed that thought. Jacqueline belonged here in England with him. Although they would travel the world together, she would not want to live anywhere else because England was his home.

God’s bones, he would think of something if the king denied him Jacqueline. He was not an untried boy, after all.

Just when it seemed the grinning king would say no more, he cleared his throat. “You are aware of her betrothal to Lord Alsborough?”

“Yes, I am aware of it.” He got up from his chair and paced the floor. “Your Highness, she could not possibly be happy with that young fop who was not bothered enough to visit his intended in a ravaged country.”

“There now, Roman,” the king chuckled. “I have no love for that blackguard. After all she has been through, Mademoiselle Jacqueline deserves happiness. Pray God, some good comes of this tragedy.” The king leaned forward. “Would you say this comfort you have bestowed upon Mademoiselle Jacqueline would ensure Lord Alsborough must look elsewhere for a more…virtuous hand in marriage?”

He stopped pacing and turned back to his sovereign with a repentant smile. “She is well and truly comforted, your Highness, day and night.”

The king’s laughter rang out. “I shall write to the House of Alsborough and make known my decision to nullify Mademoiselle Jacqueline’s engagement. What of her dowry?”

“Still intact, save for the property in Asnières-Sur-Seine,” he said.

The king nodded. “You will re-build.”

“I want no part of it.” Roman shook his head. “We are done with France.”

The king stood up and came around his desk. “You have my blessing.” He shook Roman’s hand. “Take care of her, my friend.”

* * * *

Roman found Jacqueline on the east lawn with several of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. They were sipping refreshments under a canopy in wrought iron chairs.

He stood out of her line of vision, watching her expressive hand motions. She was speaking in her sultry accented tone of the famous cathedral the Notre Dame de Paris and its beautiful gothic architecture. The graceful curve of her neck as she turned toward Lady Danvers started a pulse in his groin.