The French Bride (8 page)

‘James.' Katherine touched her husband's arm. ‘Have you been watching them?'

‘There's little point to it, the thing is done.' He smiled at his wife, trying to give her reassurance. ‘It was a splendid wedding, and if my son can resist a bride like that, then he's no Macdonald!'

‘He won't resist her,' Katherine said. ‘Poor child, I only wish he would! James, James, what have we done? Even for Dundrenan and Clandara, isn't the price too high for that unhappy girl to pay?'

‘Her heart was set on it,' he answered. ‘You know it was; she loves him. She was determined to have him, in spite of you and Jean,' he added. ‘Nothing was forced upon her and our son certainly revealed himself in his most unattractive aspects long before today. We're going back to Paris tomorrow and we'll leave them to themselves. Nothing will make Charles behave worse to her than knowing you are watching!'

‘I cannot bear him,' Katherine said slowly. ‘Can you imagine what it means to a mother to detest her only son? To look at him on his wedding day and not find a single warm feeling towards him in my heart.… Why couldn't he have been like you?' she demanded. ‘Why must he take after your brother? Whenever he looks at me, it's Hugh I see; whenever he laughs, it's Hugh I hear.…'

‘Yet he's your son, my love,' Sir James reminded her. ‘There must be some of you in him, he can't be all Macdonald.'

‘If there is, it's too well hidden for anyone to find it,' she said bitterly. ‘I'm not sure we ought to go to Paris; perhaps we should stay for a time in case Anne needs us.'

‘We are going tomorrow,' Sir James said gently. ‘It will be best for Anne, I promise you.'

‘And where is my eager bride? In bed already – not
asleep,
I trust?'

Anne had been waiting alone in her room for three hours after they had retired from their guests. She had been dressed by her maids in a white nightgown trimmed with four layers of priceless lace, her hair had been brushed out over her shoulders, and she had spent the first hour walking up and down her room, waiting for the sound of steps, waiting for him to come. At last she climbed into the big canopied bed and wept as she had not done since the night after her mother died. Worn out with tears and emotional fatigue, she fell asleep and that was how Charles found her when at last he came into her bedroom. She looked very childish and innocent lying in the middle of the ornate bed, holding one side of the satin pillow in her arms. He stood beside her, and as he watched she moved uneasily, and the movement exposed her pale breasts under the thin gown. He was in his dressing robe and breeches, and he was just drunk enough to be dangerous to anything or anyone that crossed him.

‘Wake up,' he said loudly. Anne's eyes opened and then she sat up, drawing the sheets over herself. She looked into the pale mocking face and the narrowed green eyes, and she flushed to her hair.

‘I have waited hours for you,' she said slowly. ‘Now, I hope you'll be gentleman enough not to disturb me. I am very tired!'

‘Oh, really so?' The narrow eyes became slits and there was an angry glitter in them. ‘I married you this morning, my dear cousin, don't you remember? And I've a
mind
to disturb you, as it happens!'

She made a movement to escape him but he was too quick for her. For a few desperate moments she tried to fight him, and he felt the scorching pain of her nails on his skin. ‘You little vixen,' he said. ‘You damned shrew—' He tore the magnificent nightgown from neck to waist and ripped it off her. Then the full weight and strength of his body stilled her struggles and she submitted and was mastered, the tears streaming down her face as the moment of possession came, bringing with it unbearable pleasure and pain. She lost consciousness for a few seconds, and then the crushing arms released her. When she opened her eyes his hands were in her hair, not hurting her except when she tried to turn away.

‘You're my wife,' he said softly. ‘I'll trouble you very seldom, but when I do, by God I hope you've learned not to say no to me!' Then he withdrew from her and turning on his side he went to sleep.

There were no tears left in her then; she was bruised and hurt, trembling with weakness; exalted and horrified at the same time at the nature of the lesson he had taught her. Before the dawn came, the touch of his hands awoke her again, and she knew better now than to draw back from him. His second love-making was so different from the first that she could hardly believe the lover who possessed her then was the same man as the jeering violater of some hours before. Not a word did he speak; he took her in silence and he subjected her to the expertise gained in the arms of many women until her senses swam and incoherent cries came from her lips as they were opened by his own. When the culmination came it was a shared ascent, explosive but controlled, completely different from that other brutal act of domination.

Anne put her arms around his neck and fell asleep against his breast, not daring to speak for fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have encompassed them. In his arms she felt very soft and light, very pliable compared to the stiff, resistant body that he had overcome by force the first time. She was different from Louise; Louise entwined herself like a serpent when they were in repose together, unwilling to lose the slightest contact or abjure the last faint sensation of enjoyment. His wife slept in his arms like a child who had been loved and comforted. He felt content himself at that moment; surprised, but contented and very much inclined to hold her close and sleep. All his life he had taken what the moment offered. She was a change after Louise. While the month's honeymoon lasted, she would serve well enough.

‘Madame is very happy,' the little maid Marie-Thérèse whispered. The senior girl frowned at her. It was not proper to discuss their mistress but she could not resist it that morning. She had helped to put the pale-faced bride to bed; she and the others had listened for hours in the anterooms for the bridegroom who had not come. And when he did, the word had reached them through his servants that he had already been drinking. And yet this morning the marquise was transformed. Her beauty bloomed; she smiled and sang as they dressed her.

‘Yes,' Marie-Jeanne whispered back, ‘yes, she is happy; how it is possible with that foreign brute, God knows. At least we can be glad for her. For me, I'd as soon lie with the devil!'

When Anne awoke he was gone; it was already late and the sun was streaming through the curtain cracks. She had slept on for hours; his pillow was cold when she touched it. She slipped out of bed and saw the ruined nightdress lying on the floor; she hid it in a drawer and put on another. It was the only time in her life that she had dressed herself without help. The thought made her smile, but then everything was touched by the overwhelming happiness that filled her heart. She had forgotten nothing; there were marks on her arms and shoulders that would take many days to fade, but of what consequence were they when she had gone to sleep cradled in his arms, nursed as gently as if she were a little child.…

‘Marie-Jeanne, where is monsieur?'

‘I do not known, madame. But Madame his mother and sister have been asking for you. They would not permit us to disturb you, and so they left an hour ago.'

‘Oh.' She was disappointed; she would have liked nothing better than to tell them both how wrong they were when they feared for her happiness. All had come right, and sooner than she had ever dared to hope. She had dressed with great care, having chosen one of the simple morning dresses that had been made by the Versailles dressmaker. It was of pale-blue broadcloth, severely cut with a crisp frill of white linen outlining her throat and circling the narrow sleeves. A short pelisse lined with dark fox made it a dress in which a great lady could walk comfortably through her gardens or take a drive out through her park.

‘Marie-Jeanne, go down and see if Monsieur is in the house.'

‘Yes, Mme. la Marquise.'

‘One moment,' Anne said. ‘You must remember not to call me that. I am Mme. Macdonald now.'

The girl curtsied; ‘Yes, madame, I will try to remember.'

It seemed a very long time to Anne before she returned but it was only a few minutes. One of the hall footmen had answered her question with a grimace. Monsieur had been out riding early. He was in the library if Madame wanted him.

Charles was reading when she came in; he was sitting on top of the tall library steps, turning the pages of a book.

‘Charles.'

He looked up and then turned another page.

‘I am reading,' he said curtly. ‘What do you want?' For a moment she could not answer him; she felt her colour changing and all her happiness disintegrated in the second when she looked up at the cold, disinterested face.

‘You have a very good library,' he remarked. ‘Thank God, I shall have some means of passing the time here.…'

He put the book back and came down the steps; he was still in riding dress, his boots were covered with dust and the crop was thrown on a chair. ‘That and your horses,' he went on. ‘I've taken the black gelding for myself. No one is to ride him in future.'

‘No,' she said at last. ‘No one will, if that is your wish.'

‘It's my order,' he snapped. ‘Well, I asked you what you wanted?' She came towards him; she felt sick, sick and desperately near to tears, and she knew instinctively that it was not the moment to cry in front of him.

‘Has nothing changed between us then? Last night – you meant none of it?'

He sat down and stretched his legs out and laughed at her. It was not a pleasant laugh and there was no humour in it.

‘What exactly do you mean by that; to which incident are you referring? The little lesson in obedience I taught you?'

‘No,' she said desperately, ‘I accept that, it's past. But the other time. You were so gentle, I thought …'

‘My dear Anne, I am not responsible for what you think,' he sneered. ‘Are you so ignorant of men that you suppose they always behave in the same fashion? One must have variety, even with one's wife. Come, don't let's embark on a sentimental scene; it would bore me to death. And I'm an unpleasant fellow when I'm bored. I shall see you at dinner. There's a letter for you from my mother and one from Jean. I opened them, naturally, in case there was anything of interest to me. Both made me feel profoundly glad that they had the tact to take their leave so quickly.'

‘How dare you! You have no right to open my letters!' There was no danger of tears now; she was angrier than she had ever been in her life, her anger was that of a woman whose will had never once been thwarted, hereditary mistress of herself and the great château and its thousands of acres of land. Not even her guardian, the comte, had ever committed such an outrage. She came very close to him.

‘You have the manners of a lackey,' she said. ‘If I were not your wife, I'd call my servants and have you whipped out of the house. If ever you do such a thing again, that's exactly what I shall do!'

Before he could answer, she picked up the letters and left the room, slamming the door after her. For a moment Charles stayed on in the chair; he whistled a little tune to himself and smiled. Bad-tempered. Spoilt. But quite helpless in spite of her threats. She could do nothing and he could do what he pleased. If any servant laid hands on him he had the power in law to have the man hanged. He laughed out loud. His insults hadn't roused her, any more than his indifference, or his brutality. But the infringement of her privacy – at least she had some spirit in her. It would be amusing to see how much she had left at the end of the honeymoon. Still whistling, he climbed the library steps again and resumed his inspection of her books.

CHAPTER THREE

The atmosphere in the Salon d'Appollon was stifling; the King held his evening reception in the magnificent hall, one of the most splendid in all the superb salons and halls of the
grand appartements
of Versailles, but much of its beauty was hidden by the crowd of more than three hundred courtiers, who pushed and trampled their way into it, fighting for place at the front where they could see the King and be seen by him.

The same scenes were repeated every day, beginning at the Salon de l'Oeil de Boeuf, which was the antechamber to the royal bedchamber; to be received by Louis while still in his shirt was a mark of outstanding favour. Ladies and gentlemen elbowed and trod on one another from the moment the King rose in the morning until the hour when he retired on the Du Barry's arm at night. To be at Versailles without being noticed was nearly as bad as not being there at all. Hundreds flocked to Versailles every day from their homes in Paris and the surrounding country, enduring the nightmare roads in the early dawn, risking the attacks of thieves who waited in the woodlands, and suffering the rigours of a particularly bitter winter rather than miss the court for a single day. Others, richer and more privileged, lived in Versailles itself, but so many were the applicants for rooms, that even the vast palace could not accommodate them with any degree of privacy or comfort. Comtesses and marquises fought like cats over the smallest chamber with a bed and a chair in it; owners of great châteaux contented themselves with sharing a room with two or three others; their servants disposed themselves as and where they could; nobody cared about them when the plight of their masters and mistresses was so miserably uncomfortable.

The life at court was incredibly arduous; the highest standard of dress was required, and there were few who could lay legitimate claim to a cupboard in which to keep their clothes. Etiquette was pitiless. The King's courtiers witnessed every moment of his day; he sat and gave audience, hunted, went to Mass, and amused himself in public, but spectators stood while he sat, and it was nothing for great ladies to find themselves ten hours or more on their feet. The highest mark of royal favour was to be given a folding stool on which to rest while in attendance on His Majesty, and it was not a privilege that he gave to many.