Broken Legacy (Secret Lives Series) (23 page)

“One more thing, Marc
Pierre.”

He said nothing, but looked back at her. She smiled. “Leave. Go to America as Luc planned. Start a real life. For Luc.”

He said nothing, but turned and walked out of the chamber
.

By late afternoon, Lenister admitted to himself he was concerned. Although yesterday an agreement had been met that his children would be released in his care, the fate of Miranda and her young son would be decided at trial. The odds weighed heavily against their release. Moreover, he had yet to see evidence that his children would be freed.

Aggravation raged within him. Though
that man, Bernard, denied it, there was an undercurrent of discontent even in this chaos. On his last visit to Paris, the tension had been thick, but this…this had become a never-ending nightmare. His only solace was the knowledge that Eloise was on her way back to England.

He spent his morning waiting in the
courthouse for Miranda’s case to be called. He watched twenty-three names called…twenty-three prisoners promenaded in front of the court’s jesters and convicted of being enemies of the Republic…twenty-three souls that were destined to ride in a tumbril along the streets of Paris and die on the scaffold. There were no cries of leniency or mercy, for there was none in this room of death. The only cries heard were those that called for the heads of the accused.

In all his years serving in
His Majesty's army, he had never seen such atrocities carried out in the name of justice. He had fought in a revolution, but nothing like this…genocide. He could not make out any rhyme or reason to this madness.

The vengeance against the wealthy aristocrats had evolved to death to any
who had been denounced, no cause or evidence needed. No one was safe…not even the ones who called for this revolt. Two of the leaders of this revolution, one-time friends of Robespierre, George Danton and Camille Desmoulins, had been guillotined upon his last visit to Paris, less than a month hence.

Five judges
in feathered hats sat high above the court proceedings in the crowded room. To their side, the jury of men with their red caps and tricolored cockade looked they had been dragged out of the cesspool of the city. The room stirred with one commotion or another. Women sat knitting; others drank openly. The whole of the room had a carnival atmosphere and it sickened Lenister.

His seat underneath the judges did not give him sight of the prisoner until well after the name had been announced. Lenister kept his eyes on Bernard
, who sat at the end below the jury. Suddenly, Bernard stood.

Lenister took a deep breath
, preparing for the moment. Time was of the essence, and then his mouth opened but no words did he utter. Instead, he stared in disbelief at the woman walking in the quieted room. All eyes fixated upon her, not knowing who she was but she walked beside one they all knew, Citizen Giarden.

Go
od Gawd! Eloise! What the hell was Eloise doing here?

Giarden held tightly to Eloise’s elbow. He needed not bother. Eloise was unlikely to forget he was by her side, nor could she avoid her husband’s glare. She felt his eyes burn into her with each step she took. To her horror, Giarden gestured for her to sit a chair down from Lensiter as Gairden took the seat between the married couple.

She lowered her head, but Giarden nudged her. He would have
none of that. With great reluctance, she raised her head, but kept her eyes in front of her. How she hated the smug look on Giarden’s face. He smiled toward the prosecutor and the look exchanged between the two did not go unnoticed by her. He made a great effort to ensure her introductions to the men who would be presiding over the trial: Prosecutor Antoine Quentin Fouquier de Tinville and sitting above her, the President of the Tribunal Council, Martial Joseph Armand Herman, a man without mercy, it was said. Giarden was nothing if not thorough and scrupulous to know the men’s names alone would inflict terror into her soul.

The chamber itself was overly large, but Eloise felt
smothered. The room overflowed with patriots to the Republic—observers eagerly awaiting the guilty verdict. Women, carrying knives and daggers in their belts, and the men eating and drinking, gave the impression of an orchestrated play. Painted words
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
stood as a backdrop to the audience to the tragedy being played out in front of them.

Then the door opened. Mumblings erupted into shouts and
cries. “Take off her head! Enemy of the Republic!”

“
Citizeness Miranda Ralston!”

The name rang out over the loud roar. In the midst of the clamor,
the president rang his bell to reclaim some semblance of control. Prosecutor Fouquier de Tinville read aloud the charges against her. “Suspected and denounced enemy of the Republic, having kept company with a renowned aristocrat, Comte Alexande de Dubois...”

The words merged together
, for Eloise’s attention turned. Miranda emerged from the door, followed behind by the small one, Louie Frances. The small one stood near his mother, but was not allowed to stand with her. He cried for a moment, but his mother looked at him harshly and he hushed.

The gown Miranda had
worn the previous day had been replaced by a simple plain working skirt with a gathered white blouse tucked in neatly. Her hair hung loose around her. Gone was any glitter around her, yet she looked impressively lovely as an angel that descended from the heavens. Her head bowed down as if in repentance.

Hardly the stance Eloise had expected from her outburst yesterday. She had
suspected Miranda to be haughty, with her head held high, defying all around her. Then Miranda looked at her and gave a small smile.

Miranda knew. She
knew she had a chance. One chance if she played her part.

President Herman rang his bell once more and the room
silenced. “Citizeness Miranda Ralston, accused of abetting a traitor to our country. The law clearly states it is high treason to do so, punishable on the pain of death.”

The crowd erupted in
a great uproar. Miranda paled and trembled. For a brief moment, Eloise thought she would fall to her knees. Instead, Miranda gripped tightly to the railing in front of her.

The bell rang
again, silencing the crowd briefly. Prosecutor Fouquier de Tinville stepped forward. His voice boomed across the room. “Citizeness Ralston, were you not kept in company of the Comte de Dubois, who has already been condemned and put to death?”

Miranda waited
until the court quieted. “Citizen Prosecutor, I was kept in his company under duress. Comte de Dubois was an evil man. He tricked me. I was forced and held against my will. I am English. My father is a poor, simple man. I am the only family he has. I only wish to return to my home.”

Prosecutor Fouquier de Tinville arched his eyebrow. “How so? What proof do you have?”

Miranda’s eyes lowered to the ground. “I have none except my word. I was frightened beyond measure. I was afraid for my life and the lives of my children. The children I had before I was kidnapped. They are English.”

Prosecutor Fouquier de Tinville walked around her and played to his audience. “I beg
your pardon, Citizeness, but you will understand the need to confirm such a story. Have you any to stand up for you?”

Miranda’s head
rose and looked straight at the prosecutor. Without hesitation, she announced, “I have one. Citizeness Eloise D’Arcy Ashwin.”

A confused silence
encompassed the court. The name meant nothing to any, except to Lenister, who sat with a stunned expression on his face. Eloise saw it well, for she mistakenly looked in his direction as she stood on trembling legs.

Frantic cries
emerged, this time for her head. President Herman rang the bell endlessly for an endless minute to calm the inhabitants. “Let the witness come forward and give testimony.”

Her eyes closed
briefly. For the first time in years, she prayed. She could take no comfort elsewhere, nor would she ever be comforted after the words she would utter. Eloise opened her eyes and looked toward Prosecutor Fouquier.

“Your name
, Citizeness?” Prosecutor Fouquier asked directly.

“Eloise D’Arcy Granville Ashwin.” Her voice shook uncontrollably.

“Citizeness, speak louder or there will be no testimony,” Prosecutor Fouquier demanded in a harsh tone. “Say it once more and the reason it is of importance.”

Eloise glanced around the room. Her
eyes fell upon Louie Frances, whose large eyes looked back at her. She turned back to the prosecutor and swallowed hard. In a loud, calm voice, she said, “Eloise D’Arcy Granville Ashwin. My mother was Marguerite D’Arcy of Calais. She was an actress. My father was His Grace, Percival Rotheward, the sixth Duke of Rotheward. My husband is Lord Gerard, the fifth Earl of Lenister.”

“Ah, a mouthful, Citizeness D’Arcy Ashwin
.” Prosecutor Fouquier gestured to silence the audience when all in unison cried out against her. “Please, Citizens, I implore you to listen. Patience. There is a story to tell.” He turned back to Eloise. “Tell us, Citizeness, why all of this is important. Tell of your life. You lived well and comfortably across the Channel as the Duke of Rotheward’s daughter?”

“No. I was not acknowledged as the
duke’s daughter until my seventeenth year. I grew up as a bastard child, shun by my father. My life was spent in my mother’s family outside Calais. A simple, yet loving existence. My mother died giving birth to me. I was raised by Nana Adele Castel under my grandfather’s, and then my uncle’s, supervision. I had sparse contact with my father’s family.”

“The reason?”

“I believe I was told it was because my father felt as if my mother tricked him and there had been no real marriage. After it was established there had been a marriage, I believe he tried to get the marriage annulled. He refused to acknowledge the marriage until I was seventeen.” Eloise repeated the words as she had rehearsed them with Giarden. For in reality, she had no knowledge whether her father had sought an annulment.

“All the time he denied this
marriage, it meant little except to you, for your mother was already dead. Am I correct? That in all the seventeen years you were treated worse than a bastard child. You had no support and relied solely upon the goodness of your relatives.”

“It is the truth.”

“And you had no desire to reconnect with your father, but you did. Why?”

Eloise fought back a wave of nausea
and tears welling. Every instinct within her had no desire to relive that time in front of strangers, but she hadn’t a choice.

“I did not. My cousin wrote to
my father at the time and begged him to acknowledge me or I would most certainly die. I believe he threatened my father with exposure of my past treatment.”

“This danger? How could a young
woman be in such danger? Please explain fully and in detail.”

“My life was in danger because the Marquis
de Mortiere swore to revenge his son’s death. As it was I who was responsible for Henri, Vicomte de Calognac’s death, there was no choice but to reach out across the Channel. I would have certainly disappeared in the night, never to be seen again.”

“So, it is your claim you killed the
marquis’ son. Was it with reason?”

“I had no choice in my actions. It was an accident, but I was responsible for the death of the Vicomte de Calognac.” Her eyes fell upon Gairden
, hating him for turning this into a show…his show. She continued, not varying from the script ordained. “I was in love with Luc Mondeville Bernard. He was a sailor, an excellent swordsman, a dreamer, and a commoner. To escape a circumstance I could not live with, I ran back to Nana Adele. Luc protected me.”

“And that circumstance, Citizeness? Come. Do not make me guess the truth
,” Prosecutor Fouquier pressed unmercifully. “Who were you running from and why?”

“The Marquis de
Mortiere,” she answered in a shaken voice. “I was withdrawn from the convent I had been placed by the marquis when his daughter, Giselle, came of age. I went with her as a companion…or so I thought. It was not as it seemed. I was not at the Chateau de Chlodio long before the marquis made clear he had another purpose in mind for me…”

“And that would have been?”

Eloise lowered her eyes and stared down at the floor. “The marquis told me he had bought me.” She kept her eyes lowered until the roar of the crowd subsided. Pressing her lips together tightly, she waited only until prompted by Prosecutor Fouquier once more. “He made clear his intentions. I was to be for his son, the Vicomte de Calognac. He told me only he was in negotiations that would decide my status.”

“Status?”

“Whether I was to be the Vicomte de Calognac’s bride or his whore, Prosecutor Fouquier.” She stared up at the man. Anger replaced the shame of the circumstance; she squared her jaw, daring any to challenge her.

“Who was the
marquis negotiating with, Citizeness?”

“I do not know. I assumed it was my father. The
marquis was relentless in his questioning me about my birth. Until that time, I thought myself a bastard. It was the marquis who told me he thought I was legitimate. It did not matter to me. I…I could not stay there…not with the thought of enduring what the Vicomte de Calognac would do to me…to be under his will. Calognac taunted me…” She stuttered. Shaking her head, she reminded herself she was only recounting her past.