Before the Storm (23 page)

By the time the fashionable
accoucher
arrived, Eliza had been moved with difficulty to a bedroom upstairs and was rocking herself on the bed, moaning and crying with pain as Clementine and some maids did their best to comfort her. ‘I am going to die!’ she screeched as they tried in vain to make her lie down and patted her hot forehead with pieces of cloth doused in refreshing lavender water.

‘You aren’t going to die,’ Clementine replied as calmly as she could, even though she felt mad with panic. ‘The midwife will be here soon and then you will have your baby and all will be well. The only thing you need to worry about is Mama arriving post haste from London as soon as she hears the good news.’

‘You promise?’ Eliza clutched at her swollen stomach, her eyes wide and wild with pain. ‘You won’t leave me will you, Clementine?’

‘I promise that I won’t leave your side,’ her sister replied, kissing her cheek. ‘Now please try to drink this orange flower water, my love. It will make you feel calmer.’

Eliza laughed. ‘It won’t. Nothing on earth could make me feel calm.’ She obediently bent her head and drank from the glass that Clementine held up to her lips though and then allowed them to place her back against the pillows.

Eliza’s labour lasted for several more hours and as she gripped her sister’s hand and wiped her brow, Clementine reflected several times that she had never felt so useless or frightened in all her life. She found herself eyeing the door longingly, thinking of her husband and Edmond who were both waiting in the
salon
downstairs, drinking coffee and pacing anxiously as they waited for news.

‘How fortunate men are,’ she thought to herself as Eliza rolled from side to side and screamed on the bed as another terrible pain ripped through her body. The pains were coming closer together now, leaving her sister no respite at all. ‘They think that they do their best to shield we women from the unpleasant brutal things in life while blithely ignoring the fact that the most terrible task of all is exclusively a woman’s work.’

Another scream. Louder this time. ‘Oh help me, Clementine,’ Eliza implored, straining with all her might. ‘I cannot do this. God help me, but I can’t.’

‘Her time is coming, Madame la Duchesse,’ the midwife murmured, wiping her hands on a white linen apron. ‘Take her hand for she will need you now more than ever.’

Clementine took a deep breath then pinned a reassuring smile to her face and took her sister’s hand. ‘You’ve been so brave, Eliza,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘All of this pain means that your baby is almost here.’

‘Is it almost over?’ her sister gasped as the maids re-plaited her long fair hair and swiftly changed her into a fresh linen chemise as the old one was soaked with sweat and blood.

Clementine looked across at the midwife, who gave a swift nod. ‘Yes, dearest. It is almost over.’

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes as Eliza pushed and screamed and gasped on the bed until finally her son, small, red and furious slipped into the world. ‘Madame, you have a son,’ the midwife announced as Clementine kissed and hugged her exhausted sister.
 

‘A son...’ Eliza murmured with a weak smile as the governess quickly washed the baby and wrapped a clean blanket around him. ‘Georges.’ She reached out to touch the baby’s almost impossibly soft cheek, then turned to Clementine. ‘Please tell my husband straight away and bring him to me.’

Clementine kissed her forehead. ‘I will,’ she said, immediately going to the door. She was relieved to be out of the birthing chamber and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, leaning out across the banisters and breathing in deeply as she collected her disordered thoughts before she went downstairs to announce the new arrival.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Venetia reached up to trace the familiar but beloved outline of Eugène’s face before she took hold of his head and brought his all too willing lips down to hers. ‘It’s been so long,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘How could you stay away from me, my love.’

Eugène laughed and kissed her again. ‘It’s been a week, Venetia,’ he said, kissing her eyelashes, nose, chin and forehead. ‘And I thought of you every moment while I was away. The countryside is very dull - are you sure you won’t come with me next time?’

She led him to the pink satin sofa that had been such a focal point of their ardent meetings that it featured in most of his dreams. ‘You know that I would if I could.’

He laughed again. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’ He kissed her lips. ‘You hate the countryside, remember?’

She sighed and leaned her head against him so that her curled and rose scented crimson hair tickled his nose. ‘Ah yes, it is such a trial having to pretend to enjoy dressing up as a milkmaid and traipsing around farmyards admiring the sheep and chickens. That’s one thing I won’t miss about Versailles.’

‘But you did it so charmingly,’ Eugène reminisced with a fond look, remembering Venetia in a particularly becoming outfit of a loose white muslin dress pulled in at the waist with a wide scarlet watered silk sash and with forget me nots and red roses in her hair.

‘Flatterer.’ She sank into his arms but then sat up again a moment later when they heard the front door close. ‘Heavens! I hope that isn’t Jules.’

Eugène pulled away from her. ‘I thought he didn’t come to see you any more?’ he asked with a frown.

Venetia shook her head. ‘He hasn’t been here for many months now,’ she said. ‘He pays for this apartment though and he is free to see Alexandre whenever he pleases, even if he rarely chooses to do so.’ She thought sadly of their son, currently fast asleep in his nursery at the back of the house with his adoring nurse watching over him. ‘I have surrounded him with as much love as I can,’ she said. ‘I just hope that it is enough.’

The door opened and her footman, Dubois came in with a harassed expression. ‘Madame la Comtesse,’ he said. ‘A Mademoiselle Knowles is here to see you.’

‘Phoebe?’ Venetia looked confused then burst out laughing as Eugène stared at her. ‘Oh, typical Phoebe. The whole country is rioting and in uproar and she decides to come here for a holiday.’

‘Not just a holiday,’ Phoebe said with a grin as she swept into the room. She was dressed in a tight red and white striped silk
redingote
dress, teamed with a huge black hat and sable muff.
 
‘I’ve come to do some shopping as well. The shops in London this season are terribly dreary.’

Venetia sprang up and embraced her friend. ‘How good to see you. Are you going to stay with me? Is your mother with you?’

Phoebe sighed and cast her muff onto the sofa before sinking down next to it. ‘Yes, she’s with me. We’re staying a hotel near the Louvre. It’s rather charming really.’ She looked up at Eugène with a smile. ‘Monsieur le Comte, what a pleasure to see you again.’

He bowed then turned to Venetia. ‘I feel decidedly
de trop
,’ he said with a smile. ‘Shall I leave you to your gossip?’

‘Do you mind, monsieur? Phoebe is such an old friend and we haven’t seen each other for a long time.’ Venetia replied with a smile. ‘I will repay you tomorrow.’

He lightly kissed her lips. ‘Be sure that you do.’

‘So he is still madly in love with you then?’ Phoebe asked with a laugh as the door closed behind the Comte.
 

‘Yes, he is.’ Venetia smiled a little coyly and went to sit next to Phoebe on the sofa, moving the muff so that it was on her lap and idly stroking it as she spoke. ‘Only now, I am madly in love with him too.’
 

‘How romantic,’ Phoebe said a little ironically. ‘And where is Jules in all this?’

Venetia stopped smiling and shrugged. ‘Oh, Jules...’ She didn’t even know where he was most of the time but something stopped her saying so. ‘I thought he loved me. How foolish I was back then. I know better now.’

Phoebe looked at her friend in surprise. She had never seen the usually cheerful and laughing Venetia look so downcast before. ‘How do you bear it?’

Venetia shrugged again, hardly able to meet Phoebe’s concerned eyes. ‘I distract myself. What else can I do?’ She didn’t need to explain what form those distractions took: Eugène, cards, shopping and, increasingly, wine.

Phoebe sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ She squeezed the other girl’s hand before releasing it. ‘Don’t you think you deserve better?’

‘I have Eugène.’ Venetia laughed and shook her head in amusement. ‘He says he will marry me as soon as I am free of Jules. He thinks that it’s only a matter of time before he either gets killed in a duel or drinks himself to death.’

‘How very morbid of him,’ Phoebe said with a roll of her eyes.

Venetia sighed in a languishing manner. ‘It is, I suppose.’
 

Phoebe took a deep breath. ‘And what of the Garlands?’ She didn’t really want to ask, but knew that her mother would demand gossip when she returned to the hotel that evening. The grand marriages of the two Garland girls had done nothing to abate Mrs Knowles’ contempt for their entire family - if anything it seemed to have increased it.

Venetia shook her head. ‘I don’t really know. I see them so rarely these days.’ She fluttered her small hands in a vague manner. ‘Clementine spends most of her time dancing attendance upon the Queen at the Tuileries and Eliza is completely occupied with her baby.’

Phoebe nodded. ‘How old is the little Comte? It’s six months now isn’t it?’

Venetia sighed. ‘Yes. Of course he has knocked my little Alexandre out of the succession but I find that I don’t care very much. Jules is furious, of course as it puts him another step away from the title as well, but it’s just some big mouldering old houses and a mountain of debts as far as I can tell.’ She pulled a face. ‘That’s not how Eliza sees it of course. She is very keen that everyone should know that she is mother to the heir to a dukedom.’
 

Phoebe laughed. ‘She’ll turn into her mother if she’s not careful.‘ She helped herself to a pale green iced cake from the dish that stood on the table beside her. ‘Is she happy?’

Her friend shrugged. ‘Not really. She sees Edmond slightly more often than I see Jules and all the world knows that he went back to Corisande de Saint-Georges as soon as the sainted heir was born.’ She stood up and poured them both champagne from an open bottle on the table. ‘Eliza bears it with a not so cheerful stoicism. I tried to persuade her to take a lover but she was so appalled that she hasn’t spoken to me since.’

‘I knew all along that Edmond would go back to that woman,’ Phoebe said with a nod.

Venetia sighed. ‘I think that we all did. Do you recall the day that she came to La Rosiere?’ She laughed. ‘How brave you were, my dear.’ She remembered Phoebe standing tall and proud, her blue eyes blazing as she relinquished Edmond and effectively pushed him into Eliza’s arms.

‘I already knew that Edmond and I wouldn’t suit.’ Phoebe shrugged and sipped the champagne. ‘What about Clementine? Do you remember when she announced her engagement to us?’

Venetia laughed at this now distant memory. ‘Oh yes, she ran into the
salon
and said ‘
I am going to marry the Duc
’ before bursting into tears and fainting onto a sofa.’ She nodded sagely. ‘I knew then that it wouldn’t end well.’

Phoebe looked surprised. ‘Hasn’t it? He seemed to love her very much.’ She thought back to Clementine’s wedding day, when the young Duc and Duchesse, both dressed in matching cream satin and cloth of gold and bedecked with fragrant orange blossom had seemed almost inseparable.
 

Venetia was also thinking about the wedding and gave a little wistful sigh as she remembered the huge Coulanges family pearls that had hung from Clementine’s small ears. ‘He does. She however...’ She gave a tiny shrug, knowing exactly who had really captured Madame la Duchesse’s innocent heart. ‘She doesn’t know how fortunate she is. Ah well, she will learn.’

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. ‘As you have done?’

‘As I have done.’ Venetia patted the fur muff thoughtfully. ‘She still has Sidonie, of course. I see her sometimes in the gardens of the Palais Royal with her new charges, the daughters of some obscenely wealthy farmer general.’ She sighed and rolled her huge eyes. ‘It’s just not fair that some people have so much money is it?’

‘Perhaps you should become his mistress?’ Phoebe suggested helpfully.

Venetia sighed sadly. ‘I’ve considered it but I have enough to do with Jules and Eugène.’ She drained her glass and jumped up to refill it, pretending not to notice that Phoebe was watching her with a concerned frown between her eyes. ‘So how long are you planning to stay in Paris?’

‘For a month, while Mama does her shopping and then it is back to boring old London for me.’ Phoebe drawled. ‘While you all enjoy the excitement and Revolution here in Paris.’

Venetia turned excitedly to her friend. ‘Then don’t go,’ she said, waving her champagne glass. ‘Send your Mama packing at the end of the month then come and stay here with me.
 
There’s plenty of room for you plus I’m a respectable married woman, you know, so able to chaperone you should you require it.’

Phoebe laughed. ‘Respectable?’
 

‘Respectable,’ Venetia repeated airily. ‘And well able to find you a husband should you so desire.’
 

‘The thing is that I don’t know if I do,’ Phoebe replied with a shake of her head. ‘Desire a husband, I mean. I expected to feel furious when I was the only one out of our little group not to be married but actually I just felt relieved. Is that strange?’