Louisa Rawlings (48 page)

“You’re wrong, my dear. That girl wasn’t
Véronique
, true enough. But she was as much daughter to me as Véronique had been. Perhaps more so. While I knew you were an impostor, I knew your love was genuine. You were such a joy to me. Such a gentle, sweet girl.”

Tears burned her eyes. “Please, Fleur, I owe you so much…”

“Not another word about it. You’ve given me a lifetime of happiness in these past weeks. It’s I who owe
you
gratitude for that. My dear…” She frowned. “What
is
your name?”

“Topaze Moreau.”

“A pretty name. My dear Topaze, don’t you understand? You’re the daughter I wish I’d had.”

“Oh, Fleur,” she sobbed.

“Come to my arms, child.”

She flung herself on Adelaïde’s bosom. “Can you forgive me?”

A gentle laugh. “There’s nothing to be forgiven. Though I wondered how you’d managed the charade, I never doubted the sincerity of your affection for me. And then, of course, when Lucien appeared, I realized he was the dark genius behind your deception. I wanted so often to confront you both with the truth. I wondered if you’d ever tell me.”

“I should have known I couldn’t keep the secret.”

“I guessed at Lucien’s motives. But I didn’t know yours. Not until I saw the way you looked at him.” She lifted Topaze’s head from her bosom and smiled into her eyes. “You love him very much, don’t you?”

She stared at Adelaïde, blinked back her tears. “You played matchmaker. The picnic, the talk of marriage…”

Adelaïde chuckled. “Of course. And I invited those two fawning idiots to visit at every opportunity. Hoping to push you and Lucien together.”

She stood up and crossed to the window. “We’re already married. Lucien found me in Bordeaux and was struck by my resemblance to Véronique. But my…guardian wouldn’t let me go without a proper marriage.”

“Good gracious! Then why in the name of heaven did you allow him to leave?”

Her voice shook. “How could I keep him here? He doesn’t love me.”

Adelaïde clucked her tongue. “You silly goose. I thought you had more sense than that. Of course he does!”

“No. It was just a civil marriage. He tore up the paper when he left. I’m sure he’s already begun to forget me.”

“Do you really believe that? Tell me, what was the purpose of this whole masquerade?”

“The birthday inheritance.” She couldn’t look at Adelaïde.

“Yes, I thought so. I shouldn’t be surprised if the money was in his possession the day after the birthday.”

Her face burned with shame. “Less than a week after.”

“Yes. I guessed, the day Lucien turned up, that the money was long gone.”

“You should have denounced us both!”

“Strangely, my pet, it was because of Lucien that I first began to have doubts. Even before he returned, I was struck by your concern for his sufferings. How different you were from the child Véronique I’d known. I had mourned her loss, but I wasn’t blind to her faults. She didn’t have your generosity of spirit. She was quite thoughtless to Léonard, in point of fact. Sometimes cruel. I was delighted at the change, of course, thinking that my vain and frivolous daughter had grown into a young woman of depth and compassion. But I suppose that’s when the seeds of doubt were planted.” She smiled gently. “And then, your toe. Your telltale toe. I don’t think I was completely surprised to know you weren’t my daughter.”

“And you didn’t care that Lucien and I had swindled you out of the money?”

“I should have done the same myself. Given it to him.” She studied Topaze’s face. “And now you think he doesn’t love you.”

“Isn’t it clear enough? He took the money and now he’s gone. Back to his plantation. And his woman.”

“And contentment? Do you understand him so little?”

“What do you mean?”

“I should have thought that Lucien wanted more than the money.”

“Yes,” she said with bitterness. “Revenge. It blinded him to everything else.”

Adelaïde nodded. “Yes. Revenge. It’s fitting. His mother’s vindication. Yet he left. He rejected the ultimate revenge. The ultimate triumph. When he might have had so much more.” She smiled at the questioning look in Topaze’s eyes. “The one thing most precious to him. His birthright. Grismoulins.”

“Oh, but…”

“Hasn’t it dawned on you yet, my dear? It’s yours. All of it. The lands, the château, the title that goes with it. You’re the only heir now. There was no reason for Lucien to think we doubted your identity. And you’re already married to him, you said. He could have had it all. Yet he left.”

Her eyes were dark with confusion. “Perhaps he thought the money was enough.”

“I see he didn’t tell you that part either. He told Bonnefous of the deception—though he made it clear that you were Véronique and entirely blameless. Then he promised to give back the money.”

She gasped. “Ave Maria, why?”

“Perhaps because he loves you.”

“And left me?”

“He left me a note, you know. He begged me to encourage you to marry Denis de Rocher.”

“Why?”

“He wants you to be happy. He thinks Denis will give you that happiness. Quite frankly, I don’t think he feels worthy of you, my dear.”

“Not worthy? But I’m nobody. I’m nothing! While he…”

“He sees himself as a bastard. A man who’s lost his heritage. I’ve watched him, talked to him, these past weeks. For all his proud insouciance, his bravado, he’s not the Lucien I remember. Only Grismoulins would restore his self-worth. But he gave it away, in favor of your happiness. Now, my foolish child, if
that
doesn’t show his love for you, I don’t know what does!”

She began to weep and tremble at the same time. “Lucien…”

“Good heavens, there’s no time for that! Where has he gone?”

“Home to Guadeloupe.”

“By what means?”

“Martin…his partner…sailed from Bordeaux. But Lucien left this morning. Before ten, I think. By the time I could get to Bordeaux…find the ship…”

“Well, then, you’ll go tomorrow, with the fastest carriage I have. He’s taken the public coach,
n’est-ce pas
? Very slow. You can make up half a day, at least. You should be on time to arrange your passage on the same ship.” She smiled. “I’ll tell the neighbors that my daughter Véronique has run off again. This time with her mother’s blessing.”

“Oh, Fleur. I can’t remain your daughter. Your heir. It wouldn’t be right.”

“To me you’re Véronique. To Monsieur Bonnefous, to the world at large, you’re Véronique. Don’t you see? I
want
you to have it all. Then it will be his, as it should be. As it was always meant to be. As Bernard Renaudot wanted it to be.”

“I can’t take it, Fleur. I
can’t
.”

“You have no choice, my dear. Unless you wish to expose your imposture—a needless bother for us all, don’t you agree?—you’re a Marcigny now. And the Marcigny holdings
must
go to you and your heirs.”

“Oh, but…”

“If it will ease your conscience, I’ll will the rest to Lucien.” She smiled. “I should like that, I think. Grismoulins was entailed to the family Chalotais. Lucien, repudiated by Simon, by the law, was forbidden to inherit
as a Chalotais
. But with Hubert’s death, I’m free to dispose of it as I please. I’ll have to speak to Bonnefous. I won’t tell him of your masquerade, of course. Only of your marriage, and that I want Lucien
Renaudot
to inherit everything else but the Marcigny entail, rather than going to you. I think Bonnefous will understand. He’s shown a great deal of sympathy for Lucien’s plight. I’m not sure, but I think that there’s something we can do in the courts to restore Lucien’s legitimacy. Particularly since he was raised a Catholic. I’ll have to speak to Bonnefous about that as well. He can work it out with Monsieur Gourdin when he arrives.” She looked at Topaze, who had been watching her with a dumbfounded expression. “Well, what are you standing there for, my pet? Go and bestir your maids to pack your things for the morning!”

She knelt at the older woman’s feet. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Fiddle-faddle, girl! Forget me? I expect you and Lucien to visit me at least once a year! To see how I’m managing his legacy. I’m sure, with a little thrift and care, I can do a great deal better than Hubert did. I think I’ll keep Monsieur Bonnefous on, to advise me. Oh, and you might tell Lucien he needn’t pay back the birthday inheritance. Tell him to consider it as a dowry.”

Topaze jumped to her feet and hurried to the door. Her heart was singing. “What would I have done without you?”

“You would have languished here and driven us both quite mad. Then given me that ass de Rocher for a son-in-law!”

Topaze blew her a kiss. “God bless you, Maman.”

Tears sparkled in Adelaïde’s eyes. “God bless
you
.” She smiled sadly. “I suppose I’ll never know what happened to Véronique.”

Topaze retraced her steps and took Adelaïde’s hands in hers. “Yes. You should know. Hubert told me, on the cliff. Véronique is dead.”

Adelaïde closed her eyes. “Oh, alas.”

There was no reason for Fleur to know the precise truth. “Léonard killed her by accident. They were playing. Poor Moucheron didn’t even realize what had happened. Hubert wanted to protect his son, and so he…buried her. And killed Narcisse Galande to make it seem they’d run away together.”

“All those years ago,” she whispered. “All the years I lived in torment, scanning the faces in the villages, thinking that one of those faces—by the grace of God—might be hers. And all the time he knew she was dead.” She opened her eyes. “I never hated him. For all his cruelty, his unfaithfulness. But now, God forgive me, I’m glad he’s gone. To let me grieve and hope in vain, all those years…” She sighed. “Ah, well. Go along with you. Lucien needs you.”

“I’ll come in the morning to have tea with you, as we always do.” She opened the door.

“Topaze.” She turned. Adelaïde had risen from her chair and stood smiling at her—tall, proud, regal. “Thank you for telling me. There’s a kind of peace in finally knowing the truth. Go with God. Daughter.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Would the pretty lady like to buy a flower?”

Topaze shook her head at the ragged woman who stood before her, clutching a few bedraggle posies in a grimy fist. Retrieved from some trash heap, from the look of them. It wasn’t too many months ago that she’d been on these very streets of Bordeaux, selling whatever she could scavenge for a sou or two. She frowned. Damnation! She
was
getting soft. She didn’t always plan to
sell
. Many’s the time she and Michel… She whirled about to find an equally ragged young man moving stealthily toward her. She smiled and bared her teeth. “If you try to nim my watch, you poxy villain, I’ll have my knife between your ribs before you can blink!”

He fell back a step, his jaw hanging open. “We didn’t mean no harm,” he said.

“I know. But find yourself another fish, or I’ll get the police on you. Wait.” She fished in her pocket for a coin. “Lift a pint for me.”

He touched the edge of his cap. “Bless you, madame.”

“Amen to that.” She nodded as they moved off. She pushed the edge of her black silk hood away from her temples. It was warm this afternoon. Too warm to stay in the carriage, though she probably would have been safer than walking about here on the quay. She breathed deeply of the smells. She’d almost forgotten the stink of the seaport in July. Rotting seaweed and drying fishnets, tar and oakum and bilge water. Cargoes of spices, barrels of tobacco. And above it all, the tangy smell of the sea.

She scanned the line of shipping offices that fronted the quay. What could be keeping Jean-Jacques? How long did it take to make inquiry? Well, there were a dozen ships at this quay alone, riding on the tide, their furled sails white in the bright sunshine. Probably more than one of them was going to the Indies.

But oh, how difficult it was to be patient! Every moment of uncertainty became harder to bear. What if Lucien
hadn’t
come to Bordeaux? She could follow him to Guadeloupe. But who knows what might happen? By the time she located him, he might already be married to Adriane de Ronceray.

Adriane de Ronceray. What a fool she’d been to give way to her jealousy, allow Lucien to leave Grismoulins. She would have told herself, once again, that it didn’t matter. When of course it did! She would have allowed her feelings about the de Ronceray creature to blind her to what Adelaïde had seen so clearly—that Lucien loved her. It was only that he felt he wasn’t good enough for her. She’d had the knowledge of it from the very first, if she’d had the wit to see. Hadn’t Martin told her that Lucien didn’t love Adriane, but wanted to marry her? Hadn’t Lucien spoken often enough of the woman’s aristocratic background to make it plain that he yearned for the legitimacy that a good marriage would bring? He was a bastard, disowned, disinherited. Adriane was titled and respectable. He’d planned to use her to gain the security he wanted and needed.

But he couldn’t bring himself to use
her
, Topaze. Surely that was love!
Oh, my dearest Lucien
, she prayed,
be here in Bordeaux.

Jean-Jacques emerged from one of the stone buildings on the quay. Her heart leaped in her breast: The servant was smiling, though the smile turned to a scowl as he came toward her. “
Ciel
, Mademoiselle Véronique! Why are you out of the carriage? It isn’t safe! And what should I tell Madame la Comtesse when I return to Grismoulins, if something were to happen to you?”