Before the Storm (20 page)

He cleared his throat and stepped forward to take the hand that she imperiously extended towards him. ‘I am sorry, madame.’ He briefly glanced at Eliza, who was staring at him in confusion then looked shamefacedly away.

‘Well, you can come with me now and make up for it.’ Corisande tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him towards her. ‘It’s about time that our lovely young English maidens realised that you don’t come with the house.’

Venetia stepped forward. ‘He came of his own free will, Corisande,’ she said agreeably, gently placing a warning hand on Eliza’s arm. ‘No one forced him to visit.’

Corisande stared at her, no longer smiling now, while an angry flush flooded into her face. ‘I don’t care how or why he comes to be here,’ she hissed from between gritted teeth. ‘The point is that this little arrangement that you have all been enjoying so much and at my expense is now at an end.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Eliza said in a little voice, looking from Corisande to Edmond.
 

The other woman gave a brittle laugh. ‘Of course you don’t. Honesty has never featured highly in Monsieur le Comte’s expansive repertoire.’ She looked up at him then very deliberately kissed him on the mouth. ‘Isn’t that so, Edmond?’

Everyone else was too shocked to say anything, except for Phoebe who stepped forward and looked Edmond in the eyes. ‘Is that so, monsieur?’ she demanded, the colour flying high in her cheeks and her eyes blazing with anger. ‘Have you been dishonest with us? With Miss Garland?’

Everyone held their breath as Edmond looked across at Eliza, who had gone very pale and still. ‘I didn’t mean to...’ he faltered as she stared at him with very wide, frightened eyes. He looked at Corisande and gently removed his hand from her grasp. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply as she took a step back, the colour vanishing from her face so that the twin circles of rouge at the tops of her cheekbones stood out starkly.

‘Don’t you think it is about time you were honest about the understanding or whatever it is that you have with Miss Garland?’ Phoebe said as everyone stared at her, their mouths open with mingled astonishment and admiration. Only Corisande was unaware of the rivalry between Eliza and Phoebe and what it cost the latter now to give up and push her friend into Edmond’s arms.

‘Understanding?’ Corisande turned furiously to Edmond, but he ignored her and instead went to take Eliza’s shaking hands in his.
 

‘Miss Knowles is right,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t you agree that it is about time we were honest with each other and everyone else?’ he asked, a little uncertainly, lifting her fingers to his lips. ‘That is if you will do me the honour of bestowing your hand on me?’

Eliza raised her eyes to his. ‘Of course,’ she whispered. ‘How could you ever think otherwise? You have had my heart since the first moment that I saw you.’ She sighed as he put his arms clumsily around her and put his mouth to hers.

Corisande stared at them both in horror, finally realising that she had gambled everything and lost completely. ‘Edmond...’ she whispered as she watched him gently kissing Eliza’s eyelashes, the tip of her nose and then finally her lips.

‘I am sorry, my dear,’ Venetia said, the only one present to think of the rejected mistress as she stood alone and awkward at the edge of their group. She went to put her hand comfortingly on Corisande’s arm but the other woman angrily shrugged her off.

‘Don’t you dare pity me,’ she said loudly as she turned away and shakily left the pavilion. ‘I’m not the one that you should be feeling sorry for.’

Chapter Twenty-One

Eliza, blushing and fair in lace covered cloth of silver and pearls with hot house orange blossom and the Clermont family diamonds in her powdered hair was married in the middle of a snow storm on the last day of 1788. The beautiful wedding took place in front of a large crowd of aristocratic guests in the huge stately church of Saint Sulpice by the Palais du Luxembourg in Paris. Most of the aristocracy was present, including the stout, red cheeked Duc d’Orléans, who was Comte Edmond’s godfather and the King’s handsome brother, the Comte d’Artois with his pinch faced little wife, the Comtesse who ignored everyone and fed chocolate to her fluffy white dog throughout the ceremony.

The King and Queen had been invited as well, as etiquette demanded but had declined the invitation - preferring instead to send a magnificent wedding gift of a beautiful rose and cornflower painted
Sèvres
dessert set. The royal couple were currently avoiding their capital due to the rioting mobs who roamed the freezing streets, smashing windows and attacking well dressed passersby. They were starving, cold, frightened and furious thanks to the harsh winter that had followed an arid summer.
 
Standing with Phoebe, who was also acting as Eliza’s attendant at the side of the huge marble altar in her lace and fur edged blue velvet dress, Clementine shivered as she remembered Madame d’Albret’s words - ‘
It’s the calm before the storm, and when the storm comes, nothing will ever be the same again
.’

‘The calm is over,’ she thought as she looked around the church, at the podgy, self satisfied, highly rouged faces of the French nobility as, glittering with wonderful jewels, their silks and taffetas rustling, they dozed and whispered through the ceremony. ‘The storm is on its way.’

The ceremony came to an end and pretty Miss Garland, who had converted to the Roman Catholic faith a few weeks earlier thanks to the instruction of her mother in law’s pet priest, arose Madame la Comtesse Edmond de Clermont-Choiseul. She smiled in triumph at Phoebe and Clementine before placing her hand on Edmond’s with a loving look up into his handsome face and allowing him to lead her from the church.

‘And that’s that,’ Phoebe remarked to Clementine with a sigh as they picked up their huge fur muffs and prepared to follow. ‘This leaves only you and I to be married now.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to be married,’ Clementine said with a mischievous look. They were walking past the pews now and she blushed as she caught sight of Antoine sitting beside Cécile. He smiled at her and raised his hand in friendly greeting.

‘Who is that?’ Phoebe asked, turning her head to look at him.
 

‘That’s the Vicomte d’Evremond,’ Clementine replied after a pause, feeling suddenly sick with dread, her hands twisting together anxiously inside her muff. What if, thwarted of Comte Edmond, Phoebe decided to go after Antoine instead? She didn’t think she could bear it.

‘Evremond.’ Phoebe nodded. ‘I have heard of him - handsome but poor? Is that right?’ She looked back at him again. ‘Pity.’

‘I don’t know if that’s so,’ Clementine stammered. ‘I hadn’t thought of it.’

Phoebe gave her a mocking look. ‘Nonsense. I can tell by your face that you think of little else.’ She laughed and took the other girl’s arm. ‘I had no idea that you had fallen for someone, Clemmie. Does he know? Have you kissed? Where did you meet?’

Clementine shook her head. ‘I haven’t fallen for anyone,’ she protested, with an anxious look around. ‘And even if I had, I wouldn’t do anything about it.’
 

Snow had fallen heavily while they were in the church and they emerged into a winter wonderland. Everywhere looks better under a thick blanket of snow, but in the case of Paris it transformed an already heartbreakingly beautiful city into the most sublime place on earth. A final flurry of snow blew over the guests, making them gasp with delight and snuggle into their furs as they crowded together on the church steps to watch Edmond and Eliza climb into their carriage and depart for their wedding party at the Hôtel de Clermont on the nearby Rue de Grenelle.

‘We meet again,’ a voice said behind Clementine and she turned to see Antoine standing behind her, smiling down into her eyes.

‘I was beginning to think that I would never see you again,’ she said without thinking, before blushing and looking away.
 

‘I had no such doubts,’ he said, still smiling as her heart began to beat a little faster.

‘I hoped that you would come to La Rosiere,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Why did you never come?’

Antoine sighed then. ‘You lead a charmed life, Mademoiselle Garland,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I am afraid that I do not have the resources to make myself agreeable at Versailles.’

‘You have no need of anything to make yourself agreeable to me,’ Clementine replied before a gentle touch on her arm from Phoebe reminded her that her parents were waiting in their carriage and so she reluctantly bowed her head and walked away from him.

Mrs Garland was flushed with triumph and chattered non stop in the carriage about how beautiful Eliza looked, how envious everyone in England would be when they heard of it and how charming Edmond’s mother, the Duchesse was until Clementine’s head throbbed and she longed to scream at her to be silent. In contrast, her father was silent and almost morose as he kept to his corner of the carriage and stared out gloomily at the snow covered Paris streets.

‘Are you not delighted, Mr Garland?’ his wife demanded for the fourth time since they had set out. ‘Our lovely girl is going to be a duchess! Fancy that! I always said that she was too good to be a business man’s wife.’

‘I’m in business,’ Mr Garland remarked with an irritated look. ‘How long will it be before you decide that you are too good for me, I wonder?’ He looked across at Clementine and smiled wanly. ‘Are you to be next, my dear? Have any of these pallid Versailles gentlemen caught your eye?’

She thought of Antoine’s honest sun tanned face and blushed. ‘No, papa.’

Her father sighed. ‘I am glad to hear it. I had my doubts about this Paris adventure of yours and although it seems to have worked out fairly well for Eliza, I would be loath to lose you across the Channel as well.’

‘Fairly well?’ Mrs Garland’s voice was shrill. ‘Things have worked out fairly well for Eliza? You have no idea what you are saying! Our girl has made the most splendid match imaginable!’ She twitched her fur cape closer. ‘Oh how I would dearly love to see everyone’s faces when they read about her wedding in
The Times
. Did I tell you that it was going to be in
The Times
and
The London Chronicle
,
Gentleman’s Magazine
and the
Morning Post
?’

Mr Garland winked at Clementine. ‘I believe that you may have done so once or twice.’
 

Their carriage turned through the snow topped gold painted gates into the sweeping semi circular courtyard in front of the beautiful Hôtel de Clermont. ‘Well now,’ Mrs Garland breathed as a crowd of green velvet liveried footmen sprang forward to open the carriage doors and let down the steps. ‘This will be Eliza’s home from now on. Imagine that.’

Mr Garland looked around. ‘It certainly puts our house at Highbury Place to shame,’ he remarked with a smile as they went into the mansion’s huge lofty entrance hall.
 

‘Well, as to that...’ Mrs Garland said as they went through to the reception rooms at the rear of the house. ‘Oh come now, Mr Garland, don’t pull that face. Surely you can’t be expecting us to stay at Highbury Place when our darling girl is going to be a duchess one day? No, we need a house in the smartest part of town and a country estate too.’

‘You hate the countryside,’ Clementine reminded her mother with an impudent look. ‘You’re always saying that it is full of mud, smells, insects and staring poor people.’

Mrs Garland looked angry. ‘Pish, not at all, child! I like the countryside very well.’ They had arrived at a large yellow salon, where the Duc and Duchesse were waiting to greet them. Edmond’s parents hadn’t known what to make of the Garlands at first but much to everyone’s surprise the two families seemed to get along very well. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, my girl,’ she hissed over her shoulder at the giggling Clementine. ‘It is all for your benefit after all.’

Clementine immediately stopped laughing. There was no point asking what her mother meant - after all, it was obvious to everyone that Eliza’s triumphant match meant that Mrs Garland had very high expectations of making an equally splendid marriage for her younger daughter. Clementine also knew that nothing would please her mother more than for her to marry into the English nobility who had once snubbed them.

After an extravagant wedding breakfast of lobster, champagne and the traditional spun caramel covered
croquembouche
, the party moved into a large
salon
overlooking the snow covered gardens. A string quartet played as Edmond and Eliza walked from group to group, smiling graciously as they accepted the congratulations of their guests. Venetia and Jules were standing together in front of a fireplace, giving the appearance of marital unity even though their expressions said quite otherwise, while Phoebe and Mr Garland were beside one of the windows talking together in an undertone.

Clementine wandered uncertainly through the room until she found Sidonie, who had just arrived and was dressed in a new gown of prettily sprigged white cotton with an embroidered
fichu
arranged around her shoulders. Aware that they owed everything to the little governess, Eliza had insisted that she be invited to her wedding party, much to Clementine’s relief.
 

‘How grand everything is,’ she said, looking around the
salon
with approval.
 

‘It’s giving Mama ideas,’ Clementine whispered with a laugh, tucking her hand under her governess’ arm and walking with her. ‘Highbury Place is apparently too small for us now.’