Angel Of Windword Read online

  * * * *

  Madame Justine Belen-Suarez handed her sister a cup of steaming dark chocolate, then smiled mischievously as she placed a plate of assorted cream-filled pastries on her sister’s lap. “Don’t look so horrified, Victoria. By the time our visit is over, you’ll have eaten them all. These are your favorites.”

  “Justine, I’ve missed you. I wish that Spanish husband of yours would stay put and not take you from me for such long periods. Five years is much too long for sisters to be separated. You belong in the Loire.”

  “I’ve missed you too, but I would not trade my years in Madrid for anything in the world. Don’t look so worried, ma soeur,” Justine said, smiling. “Emilio and I will remain in France for some time.”

  Victoria let out a breath of relief. “Good. I need you. You can’t imagine what it’s been like living with that girl and her aunt. She said nothing when I first approached her with the news of her engagement this morning. But later, her angry tirade filled the halls. Those Dussac women, how I loathe them! But no matter. Lorraine is dead and Nicholas Kent will rid me of the other two soon enough.”

  A reproachful glare marred Justine’s delicate features. “Tell me truthfully, chérie. Did Julian Beauvisage mean anything to you? Julian left his daughter in your care, entrusting you with her happiness. Were his last words spoken in vain? Or is it that you simply don’t remember them?”

  Beginning to become bored, Victoria Montclair took a cream puff to her mouth and swallowed most of it between sips of chocolate. She wiped the cream from her lips, responding with an exasperated sigh, “Julian meant everything to me. You know that better than anyone.”

  “I also know that his daughter cares for Henri Bertrand. Victoria, why marry her off to some horrid Englishman solely for revenge?”

  Victoria Montclair replied with cold hauteur, “It is not for revenge that I burden her upon the Englishman. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? This is a business transaction and nothing more. Can I help it if the little brat is miserable for the rest of her days?”

  “Victoria, you might as well wipe that innocent look off your face, along with the cream and chocolate on your lips. We both know Angelique’s misery is the answer to your prayers. I find it deplorable.”

  Frowning, Victoria put down her cup and plate. Quickly gathering her belongings, she stood up. “I did not come here for a lecture, Justine. I came to share my good fortune with my dearest friend. A sister, I was most eager to see. I think I shall go now.”

  “Don’t go, chérie. I’ve missed you too much and there is much to talk about. I only wish you could show some compassion. After all, the girl never knew her mother.”

  “The girl came breech,” Victoria spat out, still clutching her purse and hat. “She was cursed from the start, she caused her mother’s death. Surely you’re not going to blame me for Lorraine’s death.”

  “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” Justine responded, reaching for Victoria’s sleeve. “Chérie, Julian was kind to your boys. He did not resent that they were from your previous marriage. Even though they were Guillaume’s, Julian showed no preferences. He embraced Jean-Claude and Pierre as if they were his own sons.”

  “That was his choice,” Victoria remarked blandly, lifting her shoulder and releasing herself from Justine’s grasp.

  Justine’s voice escalated to an admonishing hiss, as Victoria made her way to the door. “Victoria, you are as stubborn as ever. Angelique was only three when you married her father. This year, she will celebrate her twentieth birthday. Surely, you could have grown to love her by now.”

  Jaw clenched, Victoria stood in the doorway, glaring at her sister in disbelief. “Love her? The brat has managed to turn my own sons against me. And I can see they are not the only ones. My own sister. You, better than most, know what I have suffered because of that girl and her slut mother, Lorraine Dussac.”

  Justine walked across the room and took Victoria’s hands. “Oui, chérie,” she said softly. “I know you have suffered, but you must not blame Angelique. It was Lorraine who stole Julian from you. He was your fiancé, but he married Lorraine instead. It was awful for you, but after Lorraine’s death, he married you. Your dream came true, after all. N’est pas? Angelique must not suffer because of what Lorraine did to you. And Matilde is just as innocent as Angelique in this.”

  “Matilde! That prissy excuse for a spinster should have returned to the convent once Julian married me. Why did he have to offer our home to Lorraine’s sister? He is gone now, and I’m still burdened with her.”

  “Julian would not hear of returning Matilde to the convent. After Lorraine’s death, did not Matilde rush to Julian’s side to help raise Angelique? At three, his daughter loved the aunt who had nurtured her from birth. Victoria, Matilde is a kind and generous person, a benign soul. Must you always think ill of her?”

  “A benign soul? Matilde Dussac? Surely, we are not discussing that plain, odious creature whose presence in my household has driven me to distraction for years. A benign soul? I say naught.”

  Justine threw up her hands. “The years have not dulled your bitterness, Victoria. I’m tired of listening to such nonsense. Lorraine was spoiled and pretentious, but Matilde is nothing like her.”

  “Rubbish!”

  “It is a fact that you were jealous of Lorraine, that many a man had sought her hand in marriage before she finally settled for Julian. Do not blame Matilde for that.”

  “Settled for Julian? The slut stole him from me.”

  Ignoring her sister’s remark, Justine went on, “Angelique may have inherited her mother’s beauty and quick temper, but her Tante Mattie made certain those were the only traits that Angelique would inherit from Lorraine.”

  “Her mother’s beauty? I refuse to be subjected to any more of this. Let go of my hands, I’m leaving,” Victoria cried out. She stepped into the hallway with Justine trailing behind her.

  “Victoria, I beg you, please do not leave this way,” Justine pleaded. “I apologize. Let us not discuss Angelique. It has always been a sore subject between us.” Grabbing the reluctant Victoria by the arm, Justine brought her back inside the drawing room. She sat on the couch and patted the seat beside her, motioning Victoria to join her.

  Victoria stood stubbornly, but the delicious treats on the pastry table tempted her to stay.

  “Please sit, chérie,” Justine insisted, noticing her sister’s hesitation. “Tell me more about this Nicholas Kent, the Englishman you have chosen for Angelique. The name sounds familiar. Somehow I feel I’ve heard it before.”

  Somewhat appeased by her sister’s interest in her favorite topic of conversation, and not able to resist another cream puff, Victoria relented. Smoothing her skirts behind her, she sat down.

  “Very well,” she said, reclaiming her cup and saucer. “I’m sure you have, my dear,” Victoria whispered with mock coyness. “Our viscount is known throughout Europe. His amorous exploits have been the talk for years. Scandal seems to trail his shadow and notoriety precedes his name. Women flock to his bed.”

  “Women flock to his bed?” Justine gave out a shout of laughter. “Really, chérie, you mustn’t believe everything you hear. Gossips have been known to exaggerate.”

  Patting Justine’s delicate white hand, Victoria lowered her eyes demurely. “They do not exaggerate, my dear. It is awful, truly scandalous. The viscount is warm in bed, but cold of heart. He is marrying my stepdaughter solely for profit.”

  “Victoria, such talk!” Justine gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “I do not want to discuss this awful man anymore. Poor Angelique, I feel for her. I truly do.”

  “Oui, poor girl,” Victoria agreed. Ignoring her sister’s dubious look, she added, “I’m afraid he will make her miserable. Simply miserable.”

  “How terrible for her, Victoria,” Justine mumbled softly under her breath.

  Oui, but how wonderful for me, thought Victoria, feigning concern, as she stifled a chuckle of delig
ht.

  * * * *

  The pregnant woman looked up from the gardenia bush. “Help me up, chérie. As you can see, it is becoming more and more difficult for me.” Clutching a bouquet of recently clipped gardenias against her swollen belly, Giselle Bertrand, with Angelique’s assistance, rose awkwardly from the ground. A bit out of breath, she smiled and whisked the dirt off her skirts, then pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to pat the beads of perspiration from her neck and brow. “Henri left this morning. He’s out with Alain, fishing. You sound upset, Angelique. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, Giselle, I’m afraid there is nothing anyone can do. I must speak with Henri. It’s important. Please tell him I’ll be back later.”

  “Oui, chérie, I shall tell him.”

  This can’t be happening to me, thought Angelique as she waved goodbye to Henri’s sister-in-law. No, this can’t be happening. It is much too awful, she thought as she led her horse away from the Bertrand estate. Riding into the cool April wind, she urged the animal to a rapid gait.

  The mare sped through the countryside, but Angelique took little comfort in the sights she beheld. The cumbrous beating of her heart matched the sound of the horse’s weighty hooves as they pounded the ruddy terrain. There was evidence of spring everywhere; new beginnings and a sense of harmony that seemed to clash with the turmoil inside her.

  Stopping at a clearing, she slid from her horse and sank down on the cool grass below. For a few minutes, she lay on her back and stared motionless at the cloudless blue sky, inhaling the distinct scent of orange blossom. But her reverie was soon interrupted by a quashing, chomping sound.

  “Shame on you, Champagne. Must you always chew your food so loudly?” Angelique admonished. The horse, enjoying a hearty meal of newly grown grass, had been her father’s last gift to her before his death.

  She fought back bittersweet tears when recalling the day her father had summoned her to the stables and had surprised her with Champagne. She remembered the look of love on Julian’s face as he had handed her the reins. But, most of all, she remembered the pleasure that had engulfed her at the realization that the splendid animal was to be hers and only hers.

  Now she would have to leave Champagne and her lovely valley behind. She would never be able to enjoy afternoons such as these again. Instead, she would have to endure an eternity of rainy, gloomy days in England with a man she did not love. Last year, she had fought tooth and nail against marrying the widower D’Amaury, and she had won. But something told her this time was different. This time there was a fortune to be made. She had seen the hopelessness in her stepbrothers’ eyes and, this time, she had sensed defeat even before stepping on the field of battle.

  Despite all her talk of bravery, deep down inside, she knew she was doomed. Angelique’s marriage to the viscount would join Victoria to one of the most powerful and noble families in Europe. Victoria would never relinquish being associated with the blue-blooded and unapproachable Kents of Windword.

  * * * *

  Upon returning to the château, Angelique went directly upstairs. She entered her bedroom and was surprised to find Tante Mattie sitting on her canopied bed, weeping silently into a pillow. Her elderly aunt’s rotund body shook convulsively and, although her sobs were muffled by linen and fluff, the anguish emanating from her quivering form was unmistakable.

  Two pairs of woeful eyes met in mutual frustration as Tante Mattie looked up from the pillow. “Oh, my poor, sweet child,” she cried out. “My sweet little angel,” she continued brokenly. Raising her flabby arms, she beckoned, “Come here and let me hold you, ma petite.”

  Angelique rushed over to her and was immediately encircled within her embrace. “Tantie, please don’t cry. Oh, please don’t cry,” she soothed as she gently wiped the tears from her aunt’s swollen, weepy eyes. “Do not worry for me.”

  “But, chérie, Victoria has burdened you with this man,” Tante Mattie replied. “According to your father’s testament, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “At the moment, I’m more furious than burdened. I rue the day he signed the dreadful document and gave Victoria this much power over me. Now he will never know the consequences of his actions.”

  Placing one hand to her forehead and the other at her chest, Tante Mattie sobbed. “C’est fini, your life is over!”

  “Tantie, don’t dramatize so. You make it sound as if I were Marie Antoinette on my way to the guillotine,” Angelique replied with a faint smile. “Nonetheless, I’m afraid if I don’t do as I’m told, Victoria will indeed have my head. She is convinced I am now engaged to—how did she put it—a salacious libertine.”

  Her eyes wide with disbelief, the elderly spinster nearly jumped from the bed. “Victoria told you? Sacré Coeur!” she shrieked. “What did she say? Never mind, it is not for a maiden’s ears. Do not listen to Victoria, ma chérie. She is the devil incarnate. It is all lies. Your fiancé is a man of title. You must pay no attention to the awful things credited to your libertine.”

  In spite of her despair, Angelique could not help but suppress a grin.

  Tante Mattie made a futile attempt at smiling. But her smile soon arched downward in a dispirited sigh, and the dismal frown upon her face left no doubt as to the inconsolable sorrow that tattered her heart. “I do not possess the strength to pretend, not even for you. It is hopeless. I know you will be shipped away to England, lost to me forever.”

  Angelique rose from the chair and smoothed the creases of her riding attire with the palms of her hands. She bent down to kiss Tante Mattie’s cheek. “I want to marry Henri, Tante Mattie.”

  Tante Mattie resumed her weeping. “Chérie, Henri is penniless. Victoria would never agree to a marriage between you, even if he were to ask you. Ohh, that terrible, horrid woman!” Clutching Angelique to her bosom, she continued with her endless lamentations, predicting between sobs, “She is sending you away and I’m to be left here without you. Ma petite, you have been cursed with the viscount, whether you like it or not. C’est fini! I tell you, your life is over!”

  Although her aunt’s words rang true, it was heart-wrenching for Angelique to have to admit their veracity. She tried not to think about leaving Tante Mattie. It was much too painful. “Tantie, I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  Tante Mattie seemed uncommonly flushed. Concerned for her aunt’s state of health, Angelique struggled to lighten the mood. Taking out a lace handkerchief from her pocket, she gently wiped her aunt’s tears away. Then, adjusting a lock of gray hair that had fallen from Tante Mattie’s usually well-groomed coiffure, she announced, “Let me show you what Justine’s coachman brought by this morning.”

  “From Paris, chérie?”

  “Oui, from Madame Caron’s shop. Justine even brought me knickerbockers and a trilby hat for riding the bicycle. Look at all these dresses. Madame Caron insists that lace is the latest vogue. Come see,” Angelique beckoned, as she took the new garments out of her armoire and placed them on her bed. “For every occasion there is an outfit, and for every outfit there is a hat to match.”

  Blouses, skirts, party dresses and ball gowns lay in splendid disarray with all sorts of other female paraphernalia on the bed. Made of the most expensive materials, they came in a variety of shades to complement Angelique’s coloring. In spite of her doleful mood, Tante Mattie exclaimed, “Angelique, they are exquisite! Have you thanked Justine?”

  “I haven’t seen her, yet. Victoria is with her at Château Rosette. I’ll stop by later to thank her. I’ve missed her terribly.”

  “Oh, ma petite, if only she were your stepmama and not Victoria. Justine would never force you to marry a man like Kent.”

  Angelique placed a finger on her aunt’s lips. “Hush, Tantie.” Smiling, she took a flat hat shaped like a pancake and placed it on her head, slanting its brim forward. “I hear it is considered chic to pile one’s hair up high on one’s head, like this. How do I look?” Knowing that Tante Mattie had always been interested in the latest styles
and fashions from Paris, Angelique tried to distract her aunt a bit longer. “Look at the corset she brought me,” she said, giggling. “I’m afraid I’ll burst if I wear it.”

  “Bosh!” declared Tante Mattie, rolling back her eyes in exasperation. “Why torture yourself with the ridiculous undergarment? Victoria tortures you enough. Oh, Angelique, if only Victoria was more like her sister, you would not be in this predicament.”

  Angelique gathered the garments to place them back in the armoire. “I would not be in this predicament if I were to marry Henri.”

  “My dear girl, I fear you are only infatuated with the boy. He is, after all, the only man you have ever known. Tell me, does he know about Kent?”

  “No, Tantie, but he will know soon.”

  * * * *

  It is of no consequence now if you are infatuated with Henri, ma petite. You must forget this silly crush of yours. You mustn’t see him. Victoria will not have it any other way. Tante Mattie’s words of caution echoed in her ear as Angelique rode toward the neighboring estate. Crouching to avoid being smacked in the face by an impending tree branch, Angelique told herself, “Tante Mattie is wrong. It is not a silly crush.”