Distant Fires (5 page)

It appeared that, following our separation, Armand enrolled in the same military college as Felippe. Despite the fact that Felippe, as the elder son of the Duc de Belaise—an old and wealthy family in the province of Loiret—sprang from a much higher standing, and was older by three years, they forged a camaraderie, which had ended with the sudden death of Armand’s father.
 

According to Felippe, Armand, as eldest son, was called upon to maintain the family business for a number of years, whereupon he left the operational side
to his brother, Gilbert, and began his studies for the bar. Upon obtaining this objective, he acquired a small partnership, which, in time, led him back into the sphere of the military. In what would appear to be a series of skilful manoeuvrings, he came to the notice of the Secretary Of State for the Marine, and was subsequently offered the post of Intendant to New France.
 

“I grant we shall do very well together,” Felippe had offered earnestly, pausing to pour a glass of brandy and adjust himself in the opposite armchair. “In his youth, Armand was much admired for his bravery and intelligence. He is the sort who is needed for the post; neither an addle-headed fop, nor a conniving hypocrite. From what I recall and would indeed believe, he is a man of spirit, enterprise, and integrity—guarded, though not unapproachable. And possessed of a keen willingness to understand all aspects of his new station. In short,” he spouted merrily, “I can see no reason why his term should not prove to be of benefit to us all.”
 

I winced at the final remark, but gave no indication, other than to say I approved his judgement, and hastened to add my apologies at not being present to welcome our new Intendant and his Madame.
 

Lowering his glass to the tea table, he released an infectious laugh, causing his wig to shift against his reddened face. “Why no, Madame. You could not be further from the truth. I am sorry to say, we have another ‘lone wolf’. But,” he added, as another roll of mirth rocked his jocund frame, “a wolf can be tamed, and if the ladies at our early reception have their will, he shall doubtless be ensconced before the bishop in no time!”
 

Much as I heartened at these words, I realised that, had he been sometime married, the object of seeing him would be far less difficult. Paradoxically, I secretly clung to the notion that he might still hold some remnant of our former love. Through the years, I took comfort in the belief that we were each safely wedded. Now, I could only speculate as to the feeling which might be unleashed upon seeing him, though nothing, I upheld, would induce me to permit the whiff of a scandal or defile my husband’s good name. Unless otherwise altered by the king, we had two years left on our tenure and should Armand’s company prove strained in the interim, I would commiserate in silence.
 

Over the next few days, I was visited by this ponderous distraction through every waking hour, while busying myself in preparation for the ball to be held in
his honour. Standing before the mirror in my bedchamber as Marie helped me to dress, I could see, while no longer the tempestuous and adolescent maid he once had known, neither had the bloom faded in my thirty-nine years, and he might well be pleased. I had chosen a dove-coloured gown of crisp taffeta, with the addition of my diamond and sapphire necklace—a gift from Felippe, on the birth of Nicholas.  This ensemble, at the very least, won the approval of Felippe.
 

“You look positively radiant, my dear,” he exclaimed, admiringly. I hesitantly took his arm, my insides turning taut with anticipation as we descended the staircase.
 

A steady stream of guests filed in; among them, members serving political office in the superior council, the Prevote, lesser officials, merchants and their wives, and the elder sons and daughters, all bedecked in such fashion and finery to rival any patron of court, assembled in the Great Hall. Greeting each in turn, expressing pleasantries and humour, my mind was suffused with indecision and expectancy. What if he should react with open surprise, or worse yet, grudging civility?  Surely, he had not known of my marriage to Felippe, for they had each gone their separate way before our engagement, and subsequently travelled in
different societies. Felippe may have cited my Christian name, but that would shed no light.
 

And so, while I complimented Madame Clouet on her gown of turquoise damask, and braved the attention of the hawk-faced Monsieur Meulles, Comptroller of the Marines (who possessed the odious habit of spitting whenever he spoke), Felippe hastened to my side, with the announcement that our guest of honour had arrived.
 

All memories I had held of the inelegant, yet charming young man who first captivated me dissolved the instant he approached. This was no besotted lad, whose careworn clothing and faulty manners did much to enhance his rugged appeal. Clearly, the years had been kind to him—more than kind, in fact. His movements were purposeful, polished, in the style of a gentleman officer: More handsome in his bearing than I had formerly known.
 

He wore a coat of deep blue serge, which, even in its loose-fitting fashion, seemed to hug his broad chest, hinting at the fine figure beneath. His face had not changed with the passing of time; the dark brows still framed the slate-grey eyes, penetratingly lending a look of disquieting scrutiny, but something in the mouth
and jaw revealed a diffident expression, brought on, I supposed, by the shock of my reappearance.
 

Felippe, of course, remained singularly engaged in introduction; his usual, uninspired nature noticeably brighter in the presence of his old companion, blissfully unaware of any untoward sign.
 

 “Welcome, welcome, my friend,” he gushed, extending a hand and turning to me with great pride. “May I present my dear friend, and new Intendant, Armand Comte Leger...My wife, Duchesse de Belaise.”
 

Armand removed his tricorn with a flourishing bow, and made to kiss my hand. “Enchanted, Duchesse, with the pleasure of your...acquaintance.”
 

That voice, its low, velvety tone, sent the flutter of intoxication right through me, and so insistent were the memories thus associated that, to my horror, I could feel a pleasurable heat rising from my lower body, spreading like a tingle to my fingertips. My cheeks flushed hotly.
 

“We are pleased and honoured to receive you...uh...ah…” I faltered, ridiculously, overcome by the effect of his nearness. Sensing my strain, he rallied to cover my blunder.
 

“Madame, your husband and I are old friends. Permit me to suggest we dispense with protocol and formality.”  He smiled, slightly. “I would be pleased if you would address me by my Christian name...Armand, or Comte, will do nicely.”
 

As he said these words, I found myself unable to meet his eyes. Luckily, Felippe took up the conversation, and we ushered him into the Great Hall, where I made my escape to a group on the far side of the room, hoping to remain unobserved.
 

Unfortunately, this little side-step was of short duration, for following a brief welcoming speech by Felippe, the orchestra commenced, and I was, accordingly, called upon to share the first dance. Taking to the floor amid a sea of smiles, I caught sight of Armand, captivating a group of young ladies and their mothers—the latter employing every ruse to beguile this most eligible newcomer.  
 

Then, as he swept by, I caught his glance, with a look I took to read as subtle...scorn?
 

Had he artfully hidden his contempt, under a guise of magnanimity, or were these merely my own imaginings, based upon inner torment?
 

Whatever the cause, I was instantly stricken with an awkward sense of self-consciousness, causing me to lose my footing, several times throughout the session, which, were it not for subsequent crowding on the dance floor, would have been made more apparent.
 

Thankfully, the evening came to a close, and as we bade the last of our guests adieu, I lifted my skirts—which seemed as heavy as my spirits—up the staircase, said cursory goodnight to Felippe, and closed the door, taking small comfort in the knowledge that at least the tension of the evening was over, and would not be repeated again, for some time.
 

Though I may have sought a haven from this attachment, nothing that evening could have foretold the extent of interaction I was to encounter with Armand, and the monumental effort it took to sublimate my feelings. If anything, Felippe was held responsible, for he undertook to offer his friend our unlimited hospitality, often without notice.  
 

In consequence, Armand visited our table frequently. While my initial trepidation began to ease on the strength that, judging from his attitude, our secret
would remain, it was also apparent that there lay, behind that genial exterior, a hidden misery for which I was held accountable.
 

It was this truth that resounded back, as I caught his eye in an unaffected pose, or felt the tremor of his hand in greeting. Much as I dismissed the possibility of a privately shared moment, I yearned to disclose the reasons behind our parting, and the outside pressures, which had forced me to relent…
 

                                                   ................
 

           Louise wiped her eyes, rising from her desk to the small oak bookcase near her bed. Unlike other gentle-born ladies, who could neither read nor write, she had been tutored from a rather early age by her father, Baron de Charlevoix, a former military man and noted scholar, who expected a similar aptitude in each of his daughters.
 

Of the four, Louise had shown not only the need to balk convention, but the keenness for learning, which seemed a natural extension of that, for reading was considered a lone indulgence; not encouraged in ladies of refinement.
 

Therefore, only in the quiet of her room did she enjoy the freedom of her all-too-limited selection.
 

Scanning the small oak cabinet, she selected a slim volume of French verse, and in her haste, sent another thudding to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, she looked down, and noticed that the book had fallen open, on a page with the words “but where are the snows of yesteryear,” marked by several greyish-red petals, which lay within the fold.     
 

She lifted one and brought it to her nose, eyes closed. It was aromatic. The pressure of the book could not diminish it. The exterior had changed with time, but not the essence. Her beloved sister, Celeste, had picked the flower on the day of her departure for Italy, when Nicholas was three years old.
 

Yearning for simpler times, the odour of these relics now transported her...back to their family estate near the little village of Boissons, along the waters of the Seine. Life was full and easy then...oh, but she had been a rebel...climbing trees, which often as not, ripped her dainty dresses...teasing her sisters unmercifully...tearing off into the fields unchaperoned—forever chastised, for one misdemeanour or another...
 

But that was long past. She was a lady now, the wife of an important man; the Governor of New France, and in time had become as frivolous and vapid as the women she had once scorned. Until...
 

Shoving the volumes back into place, she resumed her seat at the desk, seeking release in the written word:
 

For the past two years, I have often sought the counsel of Mother D’Agoust, superior of our Ursuline convent, a woman whose patient ways and sensible teachings I found to be a source of inspiration, for my faith. Through our monthly meetings, we discussed the many aspects of our religious community, such as the placement of young novices, and local instruction.
 

Since our first introduction, I had come to regard her as my spiritual mentor, and, although I could not confide in her my recent dilemma, I nonetheless kept to my scheduled visit; proceeding from there to the seclusion of the cathedral, for a moment of quiet prayer. As ever, my mind was struck with the beauty of this place. And, indeed, of all the chapels and cathedrals that graced the colony. Each steeple-roofed stone building was erected in the same proportion and line as those I
had seen and known in northern France, although the decoration within easily out-dazzled its counterpart. Cream-coloured ceilings, appliquéd gilded wood carvings, gold and silver vases, chalices, chandeliers and organs all brought to light the supreme craftsmanship and wealth of private donation accorded the church in this colony—so worthy of admiration.
 

Whilst kneeling before our lady for some moments—the stillness altered slightly by the priestly vestments of Father Brulette, who set about his tasks in his peculiar, studied manner, seemingly unaware of my presence—I heard the murmur of a voice behind my back.
 

Wondering if I was being visited by nothing more than a strong imagination, I turned and found, to my shock, Armand, seated in the pew directly behind.
 

 “You startled me,” I exclaimed, clutching my cloak and instinctively turning an eye, to see if anyone else were within earshot.  
 

  Father Brulette appeared to have temporarily vacated. Noticing the gesture, Armand chuckled, throatily,
 

 “I assure you, Madame, for the moment at least, we are quite alone.”
 

Pretending not to hear, I once more lowered my head in prayer, hoping the action would either silence his tongue, or cause him to take leave. He was not to be outdone.
 

 “I was in the vicinity, to pay call on Bishop Langvois, when I chanced to see you here.”