Madeleine's Christmas Wish (4 page)

The house wasn't huge, nor was it too small. Comfortable was the word that came to mind. Lanterns flanking the front door lit the building revealing red brick that had mellowed over time. Lights shone in the windows. It had a homey feel.

Madeleine gasped. Intricately woven straw stars hung from red ribbons in the windows of the bottom floor. Would her mother have put theirs up yet? Madeleine hoped so, if only for her sister and the servants.

“What is it?” Georges asked as the carriage stopped.

“The Christmas stars. I did not expect them. I have not seen any decorations for Advent since I've been here.”

“There is a German woman nearby who makes them, and taught my sisters.”

The front door opened. A tall man, whose most prominent feature was his beaklike nose, stood aside as three women hurried past him. Madeleine was startled to see how much younger Georges's mother appeared than her own, especially as Maman could give Madame Cruzy-le-Châtel more than five years.

Unsure of her welcome, Madeleine fixed a smile on her face and allowed Georges to hand her down.

“Oh!” Lady Cruzy-le-Châtel's palms flew to her cheeks. “You are so like your mother.” Suddenly Madeleine found herself enveloped in a perfumed embrace. “Come in, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us. It will not matter what occurred before, Georges has a special license and once you are married, all will be as is should be.”

“
Maman!
” Georges roared.

“
Married!
” Madeleine glanced at his face, now darkened with anger. Where had his mother got such an idea?

Madame Cruzy-le-Châtel's eyes widened. “I'm sorry, but it was what your fathers planned, and you are here. Was I not supposed to have mentioned it yet?”

Georges ran his fingers through his hair, knocking off his fine beaver hat. “I refuse to have this discussion outside.”

He grabbed Madeleine's hand and stalked into the house. She briefly considered digging her heels into the dirt drive until they came to an accord, but rejected the idea as childish. Still, they must talk, and she fully intended to tell him what she thought. As soon as she figured out what that was.

“I apologize.” His tone was a low whisper. “It is just that Maman wishes me to marry, and . . .”

He did not strike Madeleine as a gentleman who lived under his mother's thumb. “What is a special license, and do you have one?”

“May we please wait until we are private?” he asked repressively.

“Yes. I think that is an excellent idea. As long as we can arrange it immediately.”

“Georges, stop. You cannot drag Madeleine around as if she were a child.” They turned. Madame Cruzy-le-Châtel stood with one hand on her hip and a stubborn cast to her mien. “Dinner will be served in half an hour.” She glanced at one of Georges's sisters. “Pauline, you will take Madeleine to her chambers.”

“Yes, Maman.”

Madeleine fought the urge to frown at him as she shook off his hand. “Thank you. I will be glad to be able to wash a bit and change.”

She followed Georges's sister up the stairs, then down a corridor to a large room overlooking an expanse of lawn down to a lake. The chamber itself was decorated in light soothing greens and cream with touches of gold. “It's lovely.”

Pauline grinned and pointed to the right. “There is a dressing room there, and on the other side is a bathing chamber.”

Andrews came out from the dressing room holding a silk gown. “I got this one out for this evening, my lady.” When she glanced up she stopped. “Beggin' your pardon, my lady. I didn't know you had company.”

Pauline laughed. “I'll go now, and see you in the drawing room, Madeleine.” The girl hesitated for a moment as if she would say more, but decided against it and left. “Don't forget, half an hour.”

Madeleine removed her bonnet and cloak. “Come, we must hurry.”

Even though she felt as if she'd scrambled into her gown, she was the last one to arrive. When she entered the room, Georges was scowling at his mother, who appeared completely unrepentant.

Oh dear. The sooner she and Georges had their discussion, the better. At least then she'd know how to go on, or if she should leave in the morning. Though she had no idea where she would go. He could not truly wish to marry her, and how would she feel if he did? No. It would create more problems than it would solve. She must return to France to her family, and his duties were here with his.

“Good evening,” Georges said, strolling over to her as if nothing had been going on. He lifted her hand, kissing her fingers one by one. Warm tingling spread over her hand and up her arm.
Mère de dieu
. She'd never experienced anything like that before. Madeleine stiffened her resolve. What she felt did not matter. Her life was no longer hers to do as she wished.

T
hankfully, Georges's sisters kept up a lively conversation during dinner. Madeleine tried to keep track of the discussion, but it included so many people she did not know, she gave up. A few times, when the talk veered too close to her and Georges's plans, his mother changed the subject. It must be difficult for his family not to know what was going on with them. After dinner, Georges and his future brother-in-law decided to join the ladies. Fortunately, his mother and sisters retired early.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Madeleine placed her cup down. “We must speak.”

“Indeed.” He sauntered to the sideboard, poured two glasses of wine, and gave her one, placing the other on a small side table.

His eyes warmed, and her heart began to flutter. Then he dropped fluidly to one knee, and took her hand. “Madeleine, will you do me the great honor of being my wife.”

It was as if all the breath had been sucked from her body. “
What!
We . . . I cannot. You know I must first see to Maman and Genevieve.”

“And you shall.” He met Madeleine's gaze, and she was unable to break his spell. “I will fetch them and bring them here.”

“No, I must go with you.” Just because his father left their estate did not mean she would do the same. Georges could escort her mother and sister to England, where they would be protected if another revolution started. She would remain in Beaune.

His lips thinned to a straight line, yet his tone was gentle, as if he was speaking to an idiot. “I will not allow you to put your life at risk.”

“You cannot stop me.” She raised her chin. Let him try. She had enough money to travel on her own if need be.

Georges was silent for several moments. “Very well. You may accompany me.”

She swallowed the sarcastic remark on her tongue. A victor does not rub the opponent's nose in the dirt. “Thank you.”

“Under one condition.” His tone was unrelenting, and his face could have been carved from stone.

“What provision?”

“We wed before we leave.”

“
No!
” Madeleine wanted to pummel him, but the blasted man was still on one knee. She tried to pull her hand away, yet he held it firmly. “You are mad.”

“Probably.” Georges grinned. “Still that is the only way I will take you with me.”

Why was he being so difficult? “I do not understand your reasoning.”

“Unless you plan on bringing your English maid, and we can find a chaperone, I can protect your reputation only if you are my wife.”

The thought of dragging Andrews through France did not sit well. Madeleine might be in danger and she would not involve the maid. When she had left Beaune, Jeanne, her mother's lady's maid, had come with her. She was middle-aged and the least likely to be molested. She also had enough sense to find her way home. “I see your point. I would like Andrews to continue to work for me, but I doubt she will wish to leave her home.” Madeleine took a breath. “I shall wed you before we leave as long as you meet my stipulation.”

Leave it to Madeleine to throw his words back at him. “Which is?”

“We will not consummate the marriage until my family is safe.”

Bloody hell.

That didn't matter in England, not that she would know the English law, but in France consummation was required for the marriage to be finalized, or it could be annulled. Was that what she had in mind? He studied Madeleine for several moments. Her eyes flashed with resolve. If he didn't agree, she would no doubt find a way to travel back to France herself, alone. It made him ill to even think about what could happen to her. On the other hand, he knew how to seduce a woman, even an experienced one, and Madeleine was anything but.

What could be easier than convincing an innocent? “I agree not to force you to consummate the marriage until you are ready.”

Her eyes rounded. “I—I thought you would argue more.”

“I have no desire to fight with you.” He rose, and took her into his arms. It was time to discover if she felt anything for him at all. “What I do wish to do is kiss you.”

Eyes wide, she stared up at him, confusion writ on her lovely countenance. “You do?”

“But, of course.”

“I suppose once would be all right.”

Georges smiled as she closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Ah, so innocent. Slowly he traced her full lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Cupping the back of her head, he feathered kisses along her jaw to the corner of her mouth. He waited a few moments for Madeleine to pull back; when she didn't, he tilted his head, pressing his lips softly to hers. She gave a breathy sigh, and her arms slid over his shoulders and around his neck.

Georges's body tightened as Madeleine's full breasts pressed against his chest. His groin ached. He'd never wanted a woman like he wanted her. He ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. She tasted of lemons and honey. When his tongue caressed hers, she responded tentatively at first, but soon, the intensity increased as their tongues tangled, and explored.

Georges needed to touch more of her. He stroked Madeleine from her shoulders to the curve at the top of her derrière, stopping before he gave in to the urge to caress her lush bottom. She trembled slightly and moaned.

Whether she admitted it or not, she was his. “Shall we tell the others?”

Madeleine's long brown lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Desire lurked in their blue depths. “Others?”

“I'll wager you, my sisters and mother are at the door trying to eavesdrop.”

A pink blush rose from her breasts into her cheeks. “But they retired for the evening . . . Didn't they?”

“I would not count on it.”

“We should stop this kissing.”

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Does it matter? We will be wed soon.”

“Yes but . . .” She drew a breath. “I suppose if they are waiting we should call them in.”

“In a moment.” Placing one finger under her chin, he tilted it up, and took her lips swiftly with his, then he strode to the door and jerked it open.

If he hadn't caught her, poor Liliane, his youngest sister, would have fallen. He wanted to laugh, but schooled his countenance into a stern expression, nodded at his butler, who was, for no reason Georges could see, standing in the corridor, then said, “Come in. There is something Madeleine and I wish to say.”

His family sat on the sofa next to his betrothed. Whether to help her or harangue her, he didn't know. They glanced from Madeleine to him, waiting. Georges snoodled up to her, she put her hand in his, gracefully rose, then turned to face his family.

“We have agreed to marry.”

When she gazed up at him, she looked more beautiful than ever. “
Oui.
”

Pauline was the first to hug Madeleine. “Will you wed before I do?”

He answered. “Yes. Unfortunately we must journey to France immediately after your wedding breakfast.”

Liliane hugged him next, then Madeleine. “You will return with Madeleine's family?”

She nodded. “That would be best.”

After Maman had kissed them both, she said, “I will pray all is well. Do not worry about anything else. Georges will take care of you.”

Later that evening, as Madeleine lay in her warm bed, she touched her lips. She could still feel Georges's mouth on hers. Merely thinking of him made her warm and tingly all over. Nothing this wonderful had ever happened to her. She rolled onto her side and groaned. What had she been thinking agreeing to marry him? Had she suddenly run mad?

If they were staying in England, Madeleine could believe Georges more than capable of handling everything. After all, he'd made his way in this country and had done well, but what would he do in France? And how would he feel living in Beaune, only a day's ride from his family's former estate? It would gnaw at him to see another own it, and he'd grow bitter. Her title and lands would go to their son, but Georges would have nothing of his own. A man cannot live that way.

If only her brother was alive, Madeleine would agree to stay in England, but the longer Armand was gone, the more she'd allowed herself to be convinced he was dead, even if she didn't feel he was. She rose, and flopped onto her back.
Nom de nom!
Why was this happening to her?

There was nothing for it; while they were traveling she must insist on separate bedchambers. That was the only way she could control her own desire to let Georges make her his, and she could not allow that to occur. She must be able to annul the marriage so he could find a more suitable wife.

 

 

The next morning before breakfast, Georges sat at his desk in the study, reading over the betrothal papers his father and Madeleine's had drawn up years ago. It was fortunate that he could never bring himself to dispose of them. Most of the provisions would do.

He had amassed a fortune on the Exchange and had seen to it his lands in France prospered even during the war. He thanked God for his retainers and dependents, which had come from the same families who'd served the Marquis of Cruzy-le-Châtel for generations. And for one of his ancestors who'd married a woman from Württemberg. She'd convinced her husband to follow Eberhard I of Württemberg's example of caring for his dependents above all else thereby ensuring his people would love him. That was most likely the only thing that had saved the estate and castle from being taken by others.

The last time he'd been there was before the war ended, posing as a peddler, but he'd maintained a regular correspondence with his steward.

The only item of concern was Madeleine's properties in Beaune. He scribbled a clause telling his solicitor to make sure they were left to her. If he was lucky, Armand would show up. Though, truthfully, Georges couldn't imagine her brother not going home if he was able.

He tugged on the bell-pull, and a moment later his butler entered.

“My lord?”

“Have this packet sent to Mr. Benton. I shall need the document tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The door closed, and Georges ran his fingers through his hair. He'd wanted to wed to-day, but none of the women had agreed. They were to await the packages from Madame Lisette. Plans for the wedding breakfast had to be made, the ceremony must be arranged, and so on, and so on. In the end, he'd left it to the ladies.

Madame Lisette must have had her seamstresses working around the clock, as the first package, containing a gown suitable for a wedding, arrived late the next afternoon, followed quickly by many others. His marriage couldn't come soon enough for Georges.

 

 

Three days after Georges and Madeleine were betrothed, their wedding was finally coming to fruition. His mother planned a ceremony that most English would consider unusual. The local rector and a French priest living with a family in the area agreed to perform the service together. Georges was taking no chances that anyone could contest their marriage lines.

In the meantime, his mother had been even busier than he'd thought.

Georges came down the stairs the day of his wedding to find Rutherford and his new wife entering the house.

Rutherford grinned. “You could have warned a friend.”

Friend? Georges hadn't had many of those lately. “It was sudden.”

“I was asked to stand up with you.”

His throat was abruptly tight. “Thank you.”

Finally Rutherford turned to the dark-haired lady next to him. “My love, may I present the Marquis Cruzy-le-Châtel?”

The lady's lips tilted up. “You may indeed. My lord, I'm very pleased to finally meet you.”

As he studied her, an image of a small man entered his mind, and his jaw dropped. “You?”

Her smile broadened. “Our local fishermen were quite happy with your donation.”

It could not be. She was the smuggling gang's leader? Yet the man had been about her height and slightly built, as was Lady Rutherford.

He glanced at Rutherford, who was clearly trying not to laugh. “She is extremely talented.”

Georges shook his head. “If I had not spent so much time attempting to discover who you were, I never could have guessed.” He bowed over her hand. “Welcome, my lady, and thank you for helping save my betrothed.”

Any other lady of his acquaintance would have blushed, but Lady Rutherford was as composed as if he'd complimented her garden.

She only inclined her head. “I'm so pleased everything has turned out well.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” He stepped over to his butler, and said in a low voice, “Tell Lady du Beaune that a friend from Kent has arrived, to stand up with her during the ceremony.”

A few minutes later, his butler returned and addressed Lady Rutherford. “My lady, Lady du Beaune requests to see you.”

Lady Rutherford's brows drew together slightly, and she glanced at Georges.

“My betrothed, the Comtesse du Beaune. She inherited her father's title.”

“I see.” Lady Rutherford grinned. “I shall go to her now.”

Once she disappeared up the stairs, Georges turned to Rutherford, motioning him to follow. “You look amazingly fresh for having traveled so far. Do you need to change?”

He shed his greatcoat, handing it to a footman. “We arrived in the area late last night and stayed at an inn.”

They entered the drawing room. “Wine?”

“Please.”

Georges handed him a glass. “Do you have any advice for a man about to be married?”

Rutherford took a sip, then cradled the goblet in his hand. “I can't imagine you marrying anyone insipid. If she is anything like my wife, don't try to ride roughshod over her. You will not like the results. Women are the very devil when they get the bit between their teeth.”

“I'm finding that out.” Unable to be still, Georges twirled his glass. “Her family is in danger, so we must travel to France after my sister's wedding.”