Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (19 page)

But just now, Nicolas needed to decide on what to do about his future sister-in-law. He glanced toward Julienne and tried to think of something interesting or clever to say, but nothing popped into his head. The idea of leaving her alone while he retreated to join his brother and the vicomtesse briefly crossed his mind, but Julienne looked so miserable standing all by herself, that he couldn’t simply abandon her. He took a few steps toward her, leaning on his cane for support, then cleared his throat as he searched for something to open the conversation.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle, for putting yourself out so on my account. I hope the exercise hasn’t exhausted you,” Nicolas began.

Julienne glanced toward Nicolas, her eyes masked and unreadable. It looked to Nicolas as if she were on the verge of tears.

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done and suffered, Monsieur d’Argentolle,” Julienne replied. Her tone was aloof, the words formulaic and rehearsed. She took a clumsy step back to regain the distance between them which Nicolas’ approach had consumed, as if the closeness of their current position was more than sufficient.

Nicolas’ gaze simmered, as did his temper, but he was trying to build a bridge to her, so he said nothing about it. He kept his tone soft and conciliatory.

“Please, call me Nicolas. After all, we’ll soon be brother and sister.”

“Yes, of course, Monsieur. Forgive me. It will take a degree of time to accustom myself to…to our new relationship,” Julienne said.

“Well you needn’t feel so obligated if it embarrasses you so, Mademoiselle.” Nicholas chose to speak bluntly. “I have several titles. You may choose whichever one pleases you.” 

Julienne felt the sting of the chevalier’s reproach. Feeling herself already browbeaten by Francis, she was determined to resist Nicolas’ harangue. Her back stiffened out of reflex. “It is wrong of you to subject me to such accusations, Monsieur. I have said nothing to give offense, nor have I intended any. Besides, why should such a thing embarrass me, Monsieur le Chevalier? I mean…Nicolas.”

Nicolas grinned, but there was steel in it, the deep pit of a dimple beginning to show on one cheek. It was not a joyful look at all. He found it far easier to talk to horses than to weave one’s way through such a twisted morass of words and falseness. Nicolas’ left hand was on the hilt of his sword, his right leaning on the cane he had used to help him in the climb.

“I will be blunt, Mademoiselle. It is my nature, especially with regard to things of importance. I hope you can forgive me for speaking so plain, but I have not the talent for lengthy dissimulation, which is nowadays so prevalent among even the well-bred. I am not unaware of the things whispered of me and said in the open about my mother. I fought my first duel over such things at the age of nine, when I was sent to school in France, and my last just a day before I sailed for home.”

Julienne stared at Nicolas. “You dueled at age nine, Monsieur?”

Nicolas’ grin widened, but this time there was some delight in it. “Three times that year, in fact, but I was big for my age. Four more times through age eleven.  Once I reached the age of twelve, there was one almost every month, but only because I looked older than my years and therefore had greater likelihood of having my challenges accepted.”

Julienne was plainly astonished. It seemed incredible for anyone so young to have engaged in so many affairs of honor.
Is he a saint or a devil to fight so many duels? Does he fight to defend honor, or tarnish it?

“I find it difficult to comprehend what might cause so young a person to engage in so many quarrels. I do not desire to call your word into question, Monsieur, nor your motives, but I should like to apprehend why you were involved in so many arguments, to the extent honor allows you to divulge the causes,” Julienne said with care.

Nicolas’ lips were still smiling, but his eyes were as hard as stone. “My reasons, Mademoiselle? Have I not already made them quite plain? Ask yourself whom a young boy adores most of all and you will have your answer.”

Julienne considered but a moment. “A boy admires his father but adores his mother most of all…”

“Et Voila! A touch to you, Mademoiselle.”

“But you were so young, surely they couldn’t have…”

“I see you are unaware of the habitual cruelty of young boys to each other, Mademoiselle de Salvagnac. Let me assure you it is even more pronounced in boarding academies, and particularly those of a military nature. Am I also to understand in your extensive experience of the salons and society of the Colonies, you have never heard mention of the abhorrent things said of my mother, the mockeries made of my father, and the stories many were so fond of telling which proclaimed I was prone to manifest all manner of vile characteristics—horns, crooked back, hooves—from the beasts I am purportedly descended from—of course, through my mother’s side. My valet used to pull the curtains shut of my carriage when we drove through certain portions of the Cap. He told me there were too many immoral scenes on the common streets for the eyes of a young boy, but I later found out he didn’t want me to see the ditties scribbled about my parents on some of the walls. Who would blame anyone, Mademoiselle, for regarding the subject of such views as an embarrassment, or perhaps worse?”

Nicolas moved toward Julienne until he was very close, imposing the force of his immense physical presence upon her. She leaned back out of instinct, took a step backward, almost stumbled. The line of a sneer formed along the left side of Nicolas’ face. He tried to force down his rising bile, but some of its bitter taste slipped passed his tongue nonetheless. “A thing to be suffered if necessary, but not at all acknowledged. An object one keeps at a distance, lest one be corrupted by close proximity.”

Julienne began to wilt under the force of his scrutiny. She looked so afraid, Nicolas wondered if she was going to turn and flee. He didn’t care.

“Not too high now, Mademoiselle!”

The sound of his brother’s voice reminded him the lady wilting beneath his scrutiny would soon be his sister-in-law.
Francis cares deeply for this lady—almost loves her though they are yet strangers to each other. And this woman also has a cousine whom you love beyond desperation.

The vicomtesse’s gleeful laughter rang across the space of the clearing. All the bitter anger which had risen up within him was immediately expunged with one long exhalation. Nicolas’ gaze softened. He let the captured prey slip out of his jaws. He wasn’t hungry and there was no need to kill just for sport.

“But I see in your case you are of course not so afflicted. Forgive me, Mademoiselle de Salvagnac. The tumble I took in the Cap left a large wound on the top of my skull which causes me to be ill-tempered when I am tired. Perhaps I’ve exerted myself too much today. I hope, in the soft folds of your heart, you can find it in you to ignore the ramblings of this poor convalescent. Tomorrow I promise I shall be my old self again.”

Nicolas took his leave with a bow, limping away to go and admire the view in solitude.

Julienne felt her face color by the sting of truth. How many times had she not only heard the vile things said about Nicolas, but passed them on herself, when she found them particularly amusing or picturesque? It had been so easy to spread the poison of such casual unthinking calumny, when the chevalier had not been a real person of flesh and blood to her, but an abstract about whom anything could be said or impugned. Was she no better than the gossips and snipes she’d always despised? A feeling of self-loathing crept over her, twisting her insides with revulsion. Nicolas turned back to look at her. His gaze was warm and gentle and she wondered how it could still be so. She could hardly bear to meet the undeserved kindness she found there.

“Shall I tell you a secret, Mademoiselle? The day after we came to pay our call at your estate, my father began to reconsider his choice. He went so far as to ask
me
if I thought you’d make a suitable bride for Francis—though I assure you, more from my knowledge of my brother than any insight I might have of the gentler sex.”

“And how, pray tell, did you answer him, Monsieur?” Julienne asked, her tone bearing equal parts defiance and apprehension.

“I told my father I was convinced no other would suit Francis as well as you. I had no doubts about the rightness of the choice.”

Julienne’s shoulders slumped. The hardness in her eyes softened. It wasn’t the answer she expected. She stared into the deep green depths of Nicolas’ gaze—confused, intrigued, even dazzled by this strange and fascinating enigma before her.

“I don’t understand. How could you be so certain just from the brief time we spent in each other’s company?”

“I knew it from the moment I first met you and you offered me your hand, though your mother did not. Everything you knew of me compelled you not to make such a gesture. When you acted contrary to Madame de Salvagnac, I saw you had the judgment and selflessness to put your husband’s interests above your own, though you might not have understood or agreed with them. I also believed from the consideration you showed me then, that you had acted out of instinct and not calculation. Your actions revealed the genuine goodness of your heart. If you were willing to concede on faith alone, the possibility of one of Satan’s purported imps having some small degree of merit, then you were more than worthy of my brother’s trust, and more than that, his love.”

It was a beautiful thing to say, and it was a kindness Julienne very much needed at the moment in order to erase the doubts which had threatened to overwhelm her.

“Besides, Mademoiselle, it was clear from the way Francis looked at you that he adored you, and his esteem only grows the longer he is in your company. Were he indifferent to you, he would not display his temper with such freedom. It is a gift he reserves for those he holds most dear. I assure you I have been on the receiving end of it many times. Look at how he stands there so forlorn, pretending to be greatly enjoying himself. He wishes to come to you, but his pride prevents it. Go to him now and you will find him compliant, remorseful, and determined to make it up to you.”

“Nicolas! Come this way and see the view!” Sérolène called out, laughing as she arced back and forth on the swing.

“Coming, Séro. Just a moment!” Nicolas called back.

Nicolas pointed to the wound above his forehead. “Forgive me, Mademoiselle de Salvagnac. I hope my candor has not offended you. If it pleases you, you may regard all I have said as the peculiarities of a man and a mind not yet fully recovered from his injuries.”

A flood of conflicting emotions roiled inside Julienne as she watched Nicolas walk away on his cane.
If I am ever to be a part of this family, I must make peace with Nicolas and with myself. I promised Francis I would try. Now it’s time to live up to my pledge.

“Dear brother, will you not wait and give your sister your arm?” she called out.

Nicolas stopped. He turned toward Julienne with a grin. “I’d be delighted to, Mademoiselle.”

Nicolas escorted Julienne to the swing. Francis was busy pushing Sérolène, who laughed, with giddy pleasure.

Sérolène turned her head back to look at Nicolas. “It feels as if I’m flying off into space!”

Francis exchanged glances and then places with his brother and began to show Julienne the full view of their lands while Nicolas began pushing Sérolène. She seemed to be enjoying herself so much that even though he felt drained by the walk and the effort of pushing her, he carried on until she noticed the strain on his face and made him stop to rest.

Nicolas smiled bravely through his fatigue, though in Sérolène’s view it looked more like a grimace. “I’m sorry, my love. I suppose you were right. I still have some recuperating to do.”

Sérolène glowed to hear Nicolas address her with such affection. “It’s my fault. I forgot you’ve not quite recovered yet. Even though I took pains to remind you of that very fact. I suppose I was swept up and away by the view.”

Sérolène let her toes drag across the long grass beneath her feet to bring herself to a stop, then took a quick look to check the position of Julienne and Francis. Satisfied they had strolled far enough away to suit, she stood up from the swing. The tree to which the swing was attached had a trunk twice the width of a man. Sérolène pulled Nicolas behind it, using the width as a barrier to conceal them from prying eyes.

Nicolas looked at Sérolène with concern. “What’s the matter, my dearest?”

Sérolène pressed a finger to his mouth to silence him, then leaned forward and exchanged her lips for the finger.

“I love you so, Nicolas.”

Sérolène drew back to look up at him. Nicolas watched her in silence, floating in the grey-blue swells of her eyes. He stared down into a vast ocean of adoration. A sea in which he was content to either swim or drown.

“What are you thinking, Nico?”

“If I tell you, Séro, you’ll laugh at me.”

“Possibly, but I shall love you no less for it and perhaps I shall even love you more. So tell me you must.”

She lay her head on his shoulder. Which was not as easy a thing to accomplish as might be imagined, with a volume of hair twice the width of her head and nearly a foot high, to manage. Nicolas lifted her chin up and kissed her, awed anyone or anything could please him so, or seem so beautiful.

“I was thinking I know the answer to the meaning of life, and how simple it proved to be.”