Promised to the Crown (12 page)

C
HAPTER
11

 

R
ose gritted her teeth as she carried the tray of cakes into the common room to meet with the weekly contingent of suitors.
Last week, I escaped on an errand; the week before, a cold. Of course my good luck wouldn't hold for a third week.
She'd played Sister Mathilde's game and sat week after week, pretending to be open to letting the young gentlemen of the settlement pay her court, but in truth she hid behind the safety of her embroidery and mending basket, biding her time until she could take orders.

“Ah, there you are, Rose. Monsieur Henri Lefebvre, I wish you to meet our Rose Barré.” Sister Mathilde presented a young man of perhaps twenty-five, with wavy dark-brown hair and hazel eyes.

The young Lefebvre had to be some relation to the Alexandre Lefebvre whose lecture to Nicole was infamous within their little circle. To Rose's relief, Henri's expression held quite a bit more humor than Alexandre's.
A good thing, too. I don't think I could endure an hour of Alexandre Lefebvre's sarcastic manner.

“You must try one of her cakes, monsieur. She has become quite the cook,” Sister Mathilde said, eyes piercing Rose as the nun retreated to the comfort of her chair. Her meaning was clear:
Be polite. Be charming. Make an effort.

“Cold spruce beer, monsieur?” Rose asked, noticing Sister Mathilde's stealthy retreat. “Cider, perhaps?”

“Cider, please,” Henri replied. “You have finer cider here than the best Norman orchards.”

Rose showed Henri to a rigid wooden chair near a window that afforded a view of the narrow street outside. Beyond the panes, passersby bustled along, keen to take advantage of the fine weather.

“I'm glad to finally meet you, mademoiselle,” Henri said, looking up from the froth of his cider.

“Finally?” Rose asked.

“I've been here the last three weeks, hoping to meet you,” he confessed. “I noticed you at Mass when I first arrived, to visit my uncle, and hoped to make your acquaintance.”

“I had no idea. I am sorry I kept you waiting, monsieur.”
Polite, as you wanted, Sister.

“Beauty's privilege,” Henri said with a smile.

Oh spare me! No more Peltier-like flattery.
Rose frowned, but willed herself to keep control of her countenance. She saw his eyes darken.
Try harder, Rose, or you will never be allowed to take orders.

Her inner voice barked a hearty laugh.
I have to be one of the only prospective nuns in history to bide her time before entering the postulancy by courting men, I'll wager.

“Tell me more about yourself,” Rose said. She glanced at Sister Mathilde and saw an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

“Not much to tell, actually,” Henri said, taking a sip from his mug and causing a drop to inch down the side. Rose longed to wipe it away before it reached the wooden tabletop, but forced her eyes to Henri's face. “I grew up near Amiens. My family has an estate there. I help my father run his affairs. I came to Canada to confer with my uncle Alexandre before moving on to my father's holdings in Martinique.”

“You do not plan to stay?” Rose asked, tracing her finger along the ridge of her own mug to divert her hands from reaching over with her thumb to dry the bead of cider on his. “How long are you here for?”

“Another few weeks, before I sail for the islands. I needed to regain my legs before heading back to sea.”

“I cannot fault you for that.” Rose remembered her own crossing without affection.

“May I visit you while I am here?” Henri looked away at some unknown object instead of making eye contact with Rose. “I would very much like to see you again.”

“Of course,” Rose said, setting her mug aside and folding her hands on her lap. “Though I must be forthright with you, monsieur. I have plans to enter the Church, very soon. I can offer you nothing other than friendship.”

“I confess I couldn't have asked for more with my departure so imminent. But I am surprised that you still accept callers.”

“My arrangement with Sister Mathilde is unusual. All the same, I will welcome your visits,” Rose said. Henri kissed her hand with the elegance of a courtier and bowed his leave.

Not for me,
Rose thought, wiping the side of the discarded mug and the tabletop with her apron,
but at least he has more humor than his uncle to temper that affectation.

 

A week later, Rose arrived mid-morning at the Beaumonts' bakery, armed with her usual commissions from Sister Anne.

“Sit and have some cider,” Elisabeth offered. “Gilbert will get your order ready. We've got fresh stock in the ovens.”

“It smells like heaven, but I came to work rather than rest.” Rose crossed to the flour-doused work surface in the kitchen, bypassing the small table reserved for refreshment and gossip. “I'd like to take a try at your almond pastries if you've time for a lesson.”

“Always, for you.” Elisabeth gave Rose a quick squeeze and took her place across the table, but grabbed a stool to rest her throbbing ankles.

She ordered Rose about, making the younger woman gather ingredients and measure them out with painstaking precision. While Rose worked, Elisabeth asked about the boardinghouse. Engagements made, engagements broken, and successful weddings were the most coveted news in the settlement.

Rose answered patiently—thoroughly, too—until Elisabeth voiced the real question she wanted answered.

“Why the sudden interest in pastry making?” Elisabeth looked away as if to downplay the question's significance.

“Just something to do.” Rose didn't look up from the dough taking shape beneath her fingers.

“Not a common occupation for a nun.” Elisabeth's nonchalance was betrayed by a telltale squeak. “However, they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“Excellent point.” Rose's blue eyes shot Elisabeth a freezing glare. “A good skill to have when I am a Sister in a convent full of courting women, don't you agree?”

Elisabeth nodded and continued the lesson. “So Alexandre Lefebvre's nephew has nothing to do with this?”

Rose punched the innocent dough with an angry fist. “Merciful heavens, there are times when I miss city life. You can't use the privy in this settlement without everyone knowing how long it took.”

Elisabeth's laugh resonated from every surface in the kitchen. “First of all, don't overwork the dough or you'll be left with a mess. Second, if you want to refute idle gossip, don't steam like a boiling kettle.”

“It isn't funny,” Rose said, rolling the dough back into a respectable ball, hoping to make amends.

“I suppose it isn't, but I thought you ought to know.”

“You're right, I'm sorry,” Rose said.

“So is it true he came to see you?”

“Yes.” Rose nodded. “He saw me at church, and wanted a friend. He's leaving in just over a week now.... He only wanted to get to know me.”

“Do you really think that's true?” Elisabeth asked. “With so little time, why would he go to the trouble?”

“Maybe because he's been traveling and he's been lonely? How would I know? I've spent an hour in his company.” Rose took the rolling pin and spread the dough with skill enough that Elisabeth arched her eyebrow in appreciation.

“Really? The reports I've heard are far more romantic, but I doubted the truth in them.” Whether she wanted it or not, Elisabeth heard the gossip from every corner of the settlement.

“It's a mercy you can tell the truth from an overembroidered fable. I told him I'll be taking the orders soon,” Rose said. “He knows this can be nothing more than a friendship. If he wanted more than that, I doubt I'll see him this afternoon. He seems a man of good sense, not one to waste his time.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Elisabeth said. “But what if he did want more? Would nothing change your mind?”

“No.” Rose placed the pastries in the oven. “I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to have children.” She looked down at Elisabeth's rounded bump and did not feel the pang of jealousy the childless woman was meant to feel. Childbirth could be so brutal. She could hardly welcome it. Why so many women did, she knew not.

“Then I'm going to ask a hard question: Why did you come here? You knew what was expected of us.”

“I thought I could do it,” Rose said, accepting the almost-forgotten mug of cider and seat at Elisabeth's side. “But I know now that's not the life I was meant for.”

“It's not easy being a wife,” Elisabeth agreed. “And I can only imagine the challenges of being a mother. But I think there are few women who would give up their families, despite all the hardships.”

“I know . . .” Rose said.
What do I know? That I've been treated so badly by my aunt and uncle that the idea of loving anyone else frightens me? That I miss Papa so much that the thought of marrying without his blessing makes me ill?
The lewd images of her uncle's advances mingled with the sensation of a walk to the altar without her father at her side, and it was all she could do to keep from curling into a ball on the flour-dusted floor. “I just can't do it.”

“Rose, I can't pretend to know your heart better than you do,” Elisabeth said, caressing her friend's arm. “But I know you are capable of a great many things. I hate to see you trade a chance at happiness for a life of bland contentment.”

“It's all I need,” Rose said, wondering if the words would become true if she spoke them often enough.

“The people in town think you're using the Church as an excuse,” Elisabeth said. “They think you're being overparticular.”

“I'm sure Rémy Peltier has nothing to do with that rumor.” Rose's tone dripped acid. She'd feared hurting Rémy when she refused him, but his spiteful behavior since had banished whatever remorse she originally felt.

“He has,” Elisabeth said, “but plenty of others have tongues of their own. My advice is to deal with Henri honorably and take your vows—if that's what you want to do.”

“Of course it's what I want. Prayer, study . . . it's fulfilling. It's interesting. I've even thought of asking about doing some teaching for the native girls as I was being trained to do . . . back in Paris.” Rose refused to say the word
Salpêtrière,
as though the name of the prison might somehow summon her previous misfortunes.

“I think you mean what you say,” Elisabeth said. “You'd be a marvelous teacher. I also think the people in the settlement will think better of you once you've taken vows or a husband.

“But, as a friend, tell me,” Elisabeth said, rescuing the pastries before they burned to a crisp. “Why did you come here for baking lessons?”

“If I'm going to be a nun it's not like I have to keep an eye on my figure, is it?” Rose asked.

The women burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Even Gilbert's shaking shoulders betrayed what he thought was his expert eavesdropping from the shop.

“I suppose that's true,” Elisabeth said, wrapping up the warm pastries with the order for Sister Anne. “But put these to good use.”

 

Henri Lefebvre arrived at four, despite Rose's predictions to the contrary.

“Monsieur Lefebvre, what a pleasant surprise.” Rose crossed the room and curtsied before him.
Some skills are never truly lost, are they?

Sister Mathilde glanced up from her seat, surprised at Rose's cheerful greeting, as the young man bowed in response.

“I asked last week if I might come again.” Henri's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked down at Rose.

I never realized how tall he is. I must look idiotic next to him,
Rose thought.

“I just thought . . . considering . . . No matter,” Rose said. “Would you like to have a seat?” She gestured to the spot by the window they had occupied the week before.

“If you don't mind, Sister Mathilde has given permission for us to take a stroll. It's such a lovely day. It seems a shame to not take advantage of the sun.” Henri's hazel eyes looked hopeful. She ignored the tingling in her stomach.
Just eager for an excuse to be out-of-doors, nothing more.

After months on a chilling ocean and several more months of travel before him, it seemed cruel to deny Henri the sun on his face and firm ground beneath his feet.

“That sounds wonderful,” Rose said. “Will you permit me one moment?”

Henri nodded. Rose rushed into the kitchen, wrapped up the almond pastries, and placed them in the basket the Sisters used for light errands. A moment before leaving, she turned back and added a smaller bottle of spruce beer from the cellar and two wooden cups to her bounty.

“A refreshment,” Rose said as she rejoined Henri, indicating the basket.

“Brilliant idea,” he said, offering her his arm.

She accepted, and they headed out to the streets of the settlement, alive with activity on the warm day. They wandered around town and to the edge of the river. There, they sat on a patch of dewy grass and enjoyed the crisp, fresh liquid and soft pastries while they watched the water rush by.

“I can see why my uncle is so fond of the colonies,” Henri said. “Father doesn't understand him, but then again, they never agreed on much.”

“I don't know your uncle well, but I see he might not be the easiest man to get along with.” Rose stretched her legs out before her and brushed the crumbs from her white canvas apron. Her jacket and skirt were plain gray and black linen, but they were new, thanks to the Sisters' generosity. Her rough woolen dress from the Salpêtrière had retired to rags months before. Rose considered the garment better suited for dusting than it had ever been for clothing.