Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (21 page)

The driver stood on the riding board, waving his hat to attract Nicolas’ attention. Mustering up his last reserves of strength, Nicolas ran hard to reach the coach. In his current weakened state, it was not much faster than a trot, and it took him several minutes to make it to the vehicle. By the time he reached it, he was thoroughly drenched and out of breath, his boots covered in mud, breeches splashed with it—chest, side and head throbbing from his exertions.

The coach carried a female passenger, but she did not appear familiar to Nicolas. Nicolas spoke to the black driver, as it would be both impolite and presumptuous of him to speak to a lady without a proper introduction. Nicolas nodded with courtesy to the shabbily dressed driver, though it was clear that there was a vast social gulf between them. Still it was Nicolas’ way to be courteous with everyone, regardless of station or hue.

“I thank you for stopping. I am Nicolas de Montferraud, Chevalier d’Argentolle. I became stranded in the storm with my
cousine
, Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire. She’s up the hill sheltering in a shed to avoid the storm. I gave her my coat to keep her dry. Would your mistress be so kind as to do me the service of conveying the vicomtesse back to our estate in your carriage?”

The black driver dismounted and walked around to the other side of the coach to explain the situation to his mistress, though this was of course just a formality, since the lady had heard the entire conversation. Nicolas bowed to her in greeting. The lady was as poorly turned out as the coach and horses, her garments well-worn from overuse. She stared at him with open curiosity, as if she knew him, though his salutation was not in any way returned or even acknowledged.
So much for my vaunted celebrity
, Nicolas mused. Of course Sérolène wasn’t really his
cousine
. At least not yet. But there was no other tactful way to explain how they might have come to be out of doors alone and unchaperoned, without calling the honor of the vicomtesse into question.

The driver motioned to Nicolas as he returned from speaking with his mistress. “Mount up, Monsieur.”

Nicolas hid his surprise at the driver’s offer, his concern for the vicomtesse outweighing for the moment, the discourtesy of the carriage’s owner, who had refused to offer him a seat inside the coach, despite his explanation of who he was and the sword hanging from his left hip, which denoted his rank as a gentleman. Such conduct would be understandable if the lady were young and unmarried, but it was clear that the lady in the coach was neither. Nicolas filed away the slight. The welfare of the vicomtesse trumped all other concerns, including his injured pride. Hauling himself up with help from the driver, Nicolas pointed the way back to the shed.

The driver turned the pair of old nags around, setting off at his best pace, which was not much faster than Nicolas had been able to jog. They approached the lightning strike, the tree still burning despite the rain. As they passed the trunk, Nicolas became anxious for Sérolène’s safety. He wished the driver would hurry his horses, but then considered that going any faster with such poorly conditioned livestock might kill the beasts outright.

“Lucky for the fire, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen you, Monseigneur. My name’s David, your magnificence,” the driver said.

Nicolas couldn’t help but grin at David’s oddly constructed salutation. But though the chevalier tried to project an air of undisturbed calm, he was beginning to feel the impact of his exertions. His mother had been right, he wasn’t yet as strong as he had hoped. 

“May I ask the name of your mistress, David?”

“Madame Dupluie, Monseigneur.”

“How fitting. She fears not the element whose name she takes,” Nicolas quipped.

The driver laughed.

“Straight up the hill,” Nicolas directed, quickly surveying the ragged retinue of his hostess.

Madame Dupluie traveled without a footman or any other type of escort. It was very unusual for any lady of quality to go out without at least a maid and an escort of footmen. He filed the information away.

“You see the slight rise over there? The shed is just behind it. Please hurry. My
cousine
has only me for her protection.”

The driver nodded, inspecting Nicolas out of the corner of his eye, as he hurried along his team.

“You the one who saved them ladies back in town, Your Lordship?”

“Yes.”

“I was there that day. Damnedest thing I ever saw! Beg pardon, Your Worthiness,” David said, tipping his hat to excuse his swearing. “Helped ’em lift the wagon off you. So much blood. Figured you was dead for sure. We done ran you in a stretcher three blocks to find the doctor. Never did think you was gonna live.”

Nicolas looked at the man, trying in vain to suppress a grin at the string of unusual honorifics, and to jog loose a memory of his face. “Sorry. I don’t remember much about it, but fortunately most of the blood belonged to the dead horses. Thank you, though, for coming to my aid.”

David grinned, proud to be thanked by such a man as sat next to him—a genuine hero, and a real gentleman—not just another white man with a fancy title and a head full of pretensions. He applied the whip in earnest to his tired horses, eager to hurry them. They pulled up as near to the shed as they could manage with safety, the coach remaining at a suitable distance to allow for the slope of the hill.

“Have you any cloak or shawl I might use to shield the vicomtesse?” Nicolas asked.

David shook his head, drawing attention to the soaked-through nature of his own threadbare clothes. His wide brimmed leather hat provided the only protection he had from the elements, which in the driving rain, was none at all.

Nicolas dismounted and began to walk up the slope toward the shed. “Very well, then. I shall go and bring her out. Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire! It’s Nicolas. I’ve returned with help!”

Nicolas moved past the flimsy half-open door and found Sérolène standing in the back corner of the shed to avoid the leaking roof. The vicomtesse was avidly laying about her with Nicolas’ cane, attacking the webs which dangled overhead and stabbing at anything that skittered near her from below. Nicolas wondered if the many-legged crawlers had eyed Sérolène’s voluminous skirts as a vast dry haven in which to take shelter from the rain. As soon as Nicolas entered the shed, Sérolène rushed into his arms.

“Nico! At last you’re back.”

Nicolas kissed Sérolène’s brow in greeting. The shed concealed them from the prying of outside eyes. “It seems the day is yours. The spiders have beaten a retreat. Come now. I’ve brought help.”

Nicolas was completely soaked and exhausted. Sérolène’s eyes filled with concern.

“I was beginning to worry. I saw the fire and feared something might have happened to you. Oh dear. Just look at you, Nicolas, you’re soaked through and through and you look feverish.” Sérolène pressed her hand to Nicolas’ forehead, as though to gauge his temperature, but he shrugged away her concern.

Nicolas took his jacket from Sérolène’s shoulders, shielding her with it as he prepared to lead her out. “I’ll be fine. We need to go out now and get you into the carriage. Your hostess is a Madame Dupluie. Come, I shall do my best to keep you dry.”

Sérolène walked carefully in his footsteps as Nicolas led her around to the door of the coach, holding onto his waist so as not to lose her footing. After helping Sérolène into the dry but very bare confines of the third-rate vehicle, Nicolas then made the introductions between the vicomtesse and her hostess.

“Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire, may I present to you Madame Dupluie.” Nicolas bowed to both ladies before closing the coach door and rejoined David on the driver’s seat.

“Thank you for your generosity in sharing your coach, Madame. I do believe you have saved us from drowning!” Sérolène said to her hostess.

Madame Dupluie nodded with courtesy to Sérolène, no doubt thrilled to be in the unexpected company of her social betters. “I am pleased to be able to render you a service, Mademoiselle.”

Madame Dupluie tapped twice against the side of the coach to signal the driver they were ready to move off. David put the whip to his nags and the coach lurched forward through the mud. Madame Dupluie eyed Sérolène up and down. She seemed to pay particular attention to the state of her guest’s dress and demeanor, her gaze raking across the vicomtesse, alert for anything out of place. “Have you no other company than that person? I trust you have not ventured this way alone, with no one else to rely on for your surety?”

Sérolène found the question both impertinent and insulting.
She sniffs the air like a street cur, in search of a morsel of scandal to chew on. I suppose Nicolas was right to insist he remain outside the shelter.

“My
cousine
, Mademoiselle de Salvagnac, and Monsieur le Comte de Marbéville were also with us. We had all gone for a walk to admire the grounds, but my
cousine
injured her ankle and Monsieur de Marbéville was forced to send for a calèche to take them back to the château. The chevalier and I were surprised by the storm, which prevented another vehicle from reaching us and forced us to descend from our walk by this alternate route. I was able to take refuge from the rain in the shed, while the chevalier attempted to find someone to come to our aid. I’m sure by now, the steward has sent riders to look for us, but it is likely they may also have been delayed by the weather.”

Madame Dupluie appeared to accept Sérolène’s explanation, though like any true meddler, she was not to be satisfied until she had either uncovered or made all the mischief she could. “You would do well to better mark your society, Mademoiselle. The malicious are inclined to talk. How fortunate you were it was I who came upon you and not someone who perhaps might wish you, or your reputation ill.”

Sérolène was appalled at the nerve of her hostess to speak in so judgmental a manner. The garment her hostess wore as an overcoat against the weather was frayed and patched in places and the whole thing looked to have been scavenged and sewn from a swath of old drapery. There were visible holes in her faded white stockings, and Sérolène could even see the outlines of a toe which poked out from a hole in her shoe. She seemed the last person with the right to put on airs of any kind, and the falseness of her profession of friendship was only too apparent to Sérolène. The vicomtesse felt her stomach turn in disgust.

“Tell me, Madame, do you not find it inconvenient to travel with so small a retinue of attendants, and in such a small coach? Are the rest of your servants ill, perhaps?” Sérolène filled her voice with feigned concern. “I hear there is a terrible fever circulating in the Cap.” Madame Dupluie flushed scarlet.
There, take that! You’re too poor to afford more than this, yet you dare look down your nose at others? Even without his fortune, Nicolas is worth a thousand of you and your kind.

“Monsieur le Chevalier!” Sérolène called out, aiming to drive the stake a little further through Madame Dupluie’s provincial heart.

“What is your pleasure, Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire?” Nicolas answered back.

“I know you love to journey in the open, but wouldn’t you prefer to join us here instead? Madame Dupluie is such a delightful and charming hostess!” Sérolène spoke with contrived sweetness, delighting in the look of abhorrence which flashed across Madame Dupluie’s face. “You are so very hospitable, Madame. I shall have to tell my uncle Baron Salvagnac all about you,” the vicomtesse added.

Madame Dupluie’s face lit up with eagerness. The obvious desire of her shabby and condemnatory hostess to be favorably recommended to her rich uncle filled Sérolène with disgust.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” Nicolas replied, “but we are almost at the château. I believe the rain and I have already inconvenienced Madame Dupluie enough for today, though I am thankful for her consideration and yours. Please convey, as only you can, the heartfelt nature of my gratitude.”

“He is such a gallant gentleman, isn’t he? Would there were more like him, don’t you agree?” As Sérolène expected, Madame Dupluie kept silent. They were able to complete the remainder of their journey without another word being spoken, which suited the vicomtesse perfectly. The coach passed through the outer hedge which led to the main house. It couldn’t proceed quickly enough for Sérolène, who was eager to be relieved of the very disagreeable company of her hostess. “Ah, we’ve arrived at last.”

The coach pulled up to the front of the house. The servants poured out to meet the carriage, bringing parasols to shield the passengers. They were aghast to find Nicolas riding up front, exposed to the weather with the driver and also soaked through to the skin. Nicolas, however, paid little attention to his own condition, insisting on escorting Sérolène from the carriage himself and into the dry confines of the house, where he saw her to a comfortable chair and ordered a fire to both warm and dry her.

Only when satisfied that the vicomtesse was well attended to, did he then return to the carriage to speak to Madame Dupluie. A servant came forward to try and shield the chevalier from the downpour with a parasol. Nicolas waved him away.

“Madame,” Nicolas began, his hands clasped behind his back, indifferent to the rain.

“I regret that my family is not prepared at present to receive you. Rest assured you have my deepest gratitude for your kindness toward the vicomtesse, whose delicate constitution was not meant to be exposed to the severity of such weather. I know you acted out of the goodness of your heart alone, but permit me to offer this small sum to your driver in recompense for the inconvenience we have caused you.”