No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (15 page)

He turned to Lily. “Take me to your brother. There is much to be done.”

Lily instantly complied.

Jean-Jacques appeared at the library window that looked out over the chateau’s courtyard, surprised to hear the sound of a carriage coming across the drawbridge. He had not had many visitors since departing Paris three years before; the word had gone around quickly that he was out of funds and out of fun as a result. Life had grown unbearably dreary, and he was excited that one of his old friends might have decided to stop by to give him a little pleasure.

But the carriage that pulled up was not familiar to him. There was nothing to distinguish it, no coat of arms, no livery, the two horses not showy. With a start of surprise he heard his sister’s unmistakable voice coming to him, and he peered harder out of the window. It
was
his sister, and she was sitting on the driver’s box, of all things.

He couldn’t believe it. He had half a mind to bolt the front door and hide in one of the turrets, for Lily and her ambitious schemes were more than he felt prepared to deal with at the moment. He’d been secretly relieved when she had disappeared late one night and hadn’t returned, and he imagined from the note she’d left that she must have gone back to England for her “solution.” He hadn’t heard a word, but that was typical of Lily, and he thought it meant that her father had gotten his hands on her and she wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Yet here she was. Furthermore, she was in the company of a man he’d never laid eyes on before—and unchaperoned. Jean-Jacques closed his eyes and groaned. Wherever his sister went, trouble was sure to follow, and he shuddered to think what might result from this latest escapade. He had no desire to tangle with Lily’s father ever again.

The knock inevitably came and Jean-Jacques sighed and went to open the front door, for Olivier, who acted as butler, valet, footman, and general dogsbody, was nowhere to be seen. Hardly surprising. He was probably upstairs in bed with the chambermaid. It was the usual state of affairs. He cautiously pulled the enormous door open, having no idea what to expect on the other side.

“Jean-Jacques!” Lily flung herself at him, her arms flying about his neck as she rained kisses upon his face. “Oh, Jean-Jacques, how wonderful to see you—it hasn’t even been a month yet, but it feels like at least a year. How are you? Are you well? Have there been any changes, any good news?”

Jean-Jacques’s gaze traveled over his sister’s head to the tall man standing quietly behind her. “Nothing new, Lily,” he said, detaching himself from her. “And you? Where have you been? What have you been doing? And who, may I ask, is this gentleman you have arrived with alone?”

“This is Pascal LaMartine—my husband—and he’s come to be your steward,” she said brightly.

Jean-Jacques didn’t move for a moment, and then he bent his head and rubbed his eyes. He finally looked up at her again. “Your husband?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose your father knows anything about this, Elizabeth?”

“Oh, yes, he does. He gave the marriage his full approval. You see, Monsieur LaMartine is a Catholic.”

“Oh, of course he is. Naturally that explains everything.”

“Well … not everything, but don’t worry, for Papa gave me away with complete enthusiasm, then washed his hands of me, so there’s no trouble from that quarter. The good news is that we’ve come here to live, and my husband is a gardener, and he has offered to be your steward, and isn’t it marvelous?”

“This
was your solution?” Jean-Jacques asked, raking a hand over his face in exasperation. “You went and married a gardener so that I could have a bloody steward? Are you out of your mind?” His voice had risen to a shout.

“No, I’m not out of my mind, and that’s not what happened at all. It is mere coincidence that Monsieur LaMartine is a gardener. He was kind enough to offer to help when he discovered your troubles.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” Jean-Jacques shoved his hands onto his hips.

“I’m hardly surprised,” Pascal said, speaking for the first time. “I’ve found that your sister has an interesting approach to telling a story. Perhaps we could sit down together? I might be better able to explain the situation to you, and there are things I need to know about your situation here to determine what can be done, if anything.”

Jean-Jacques nodded abruptly, then stood back and gestured inside. “Please. Do come in. Lily, I will speak to Monsieur LaMartine alone. Take a walk or something.”

Pascal turned to her. “Bean could use a good exercise. Take her on her leash, and don’t forget what I told you yesterday. Be firm. And Elizabeth,” he added as an afterthought, “don’t worry. I’ll get everything sorted out with your brother. Have a nice time; there’s a beautiful sunset to be enjoyed this evening. Surely you have a partiality for sunsets?”

He smiled at her, his eyes teasing, then disappeared into the depths of the chateau with Jean-Jacques.

Lily was left looking at a closed door, and for the first time in her life she decided to leave well enough alone. She went to fetch Bean, whose little face was anxiously pressed against the window of the carriage, where she’d been safely shut away.

“Never mind, Bean,” Lily whispered against one velvet ear, holding her tight. “You heard what Pascal said. Somehow it will all work out. Somehow. Now let’s go for that walk. Down, Bean.” She slipped the leash on. “No, sit. Sit!”

But the command didn’t work the same as when the wretch gave it. Bean took it as an immediate invitation to run, and Lily was forced to run after her, the leash and Lily jerking about in every direction.

Pascal noted the almost empty great hall, the places where paintings and tapestries must have hung at some point fairly recently, given the disparate coloration of the stone. The place was not falling down anywhere to the degree that his wife had implied, but it was obvious that money was being funneled out of, rather than into it.

Jean-Jacques showed him into a library that was comfortable, and the furniture there, at least, had not been depleted.

“So,” Jean-Jacques said, pouring them both cognac and handing Pascal a glass, “you have married my sister. Why?”

“Because her father desired the match. It was my impression that he felt your sister had tarried long enough. He wants heirs, if I am not mistaken.”

Jean-Jacques smiled bitterly. “He wants nothing else in life save what he perceives as his deserved award in heaven. I sincerely hope he is refused it, if he even gets that far. Why were you picked for the heir-giver?”

“Because I was convenient.” Pascal met Jean-Jacques’s eyes squarely.

“Convenient? I find that extraordinarily easy to believe, but I confess, this is the first I have heard of you. LaMartine? I do not believe I know any family of that name.”

“I’m not surprised. My parents didn’t travel in elevated circles.”

“Ah, the bourgeoisie, is it?”

Pascal didn’t bother gracing that with a reply.

Jean-Jacques scratched his cheek. “I am surprised that my stepfather consented, then. Do you claim to love my sister?”

“No,” Pascal said bluntly. “I hardly know her. I no more desired the match than she did, but there was no way to avoid it. Montcrieff had made up his mind.”

“He does that, doesn’t he?” Jean-Jacques said snidely. “And for what reason did he make up his mind?”

“As I said, it was convenient to him. He used a promise I’d made to a dear and trusted friend to force my hand. I’d rather say nothing more on that subject. As for your sister, she had no choice but to obey him. He—or rather Father Mallet—locked her in the chapel for ten days to ensure her obedience.”

Jean-Jacques turned a slow red, remembering his own imprisonment—and the methodical beatings that had gone along with it. “Did he? Damn his eyes! Damn both of them to hell! My God, the two of them—they deserve each other.”

“Regardless, Lily survived her incarceration and we are now married.”

“Yes. And you are here, which seems ridiculous, given all of Lily’s estates and the money that came along with her dowry. You did well for yourself, monsieur. So. Did my sister cry on your shoulder and beg you to come and rescue me?”

“Actually, I heard about your predicament from my brother, in whom Elizabeth had confided.” Pascal put his untouched cognac down on the table next to him. “By virtue of marrying your sister, I was displaced from my last job. Your situation seemed an interesting challenge, so I offered to come and see what could be done.”

“I can’t think you can do anything, Monsieur LaMartine, unless you are here to offer me money at Lily’s urging.”

“No, I’m not,” Pascal said. “Quite the opposite, for I will require a salary.”

Jean-Jacques gave a harsh laugh. “A salary? With my sister’s entire fortune at your disposal? You must be joking.

“Not in the least. I refuse to touch your sister’s money, and I must work for a living.”

Jean-Jacques met this announcement with stunned silence.

“I must also make it clear that I cannot take the position until I have had a chance to examine the vines,” Pascal continued. “Should you and I come to an agreement that I will work for you, then you must—and this is without question—you must commit yourself to doing whatever is necessary. I insist on your promise, or we can go no further.”

Jean-Jacques stared at him. “I—I beg your pardon? You
insist
? Do you know to whom you are speaking, monsieur?”

“Oh, yes. I’m aware that you’re the Due de Saint-Simon. It doesn’t matter to me who you are, other than my wife’s brother and the keeper of this land, of dying vineyards.”

“I know what I am keeper of, monsieur. There is no need for you to remind me,” Jean-Jacques said, his color flaring.

“But there is,” Pascal replied evenly. “Because if your vineyards can be saved, not only will they save you and your pockets but they will also save the village that depends on you. It does, does it not? I looked carefully as we drove past. What I saw was brave poverty. I also saw despair. The people have the look of those who live from hand to mouth and have for years.”

“That is no doing of my own,” Jean-Jacques snapped. “It was like that long before I came.”

“Nevertheless, if I can find a way to make your crops produce,” Pascal said calmly, “then a great many people will be enriched. You need the faith and goodwill of the villagers as much as you need anything else. Are we clear on the matter, then?”

Jean-Jacques blinked several times. He had never been spoken to in such a way before, at least not by anyone other than his stepfather and Mallet, and he’d been more than happy to escape them both. But this man was different. He looked at one with a pleasant enough expression, yet Jean-Jacques felt as if he had just been run over by an army battalion. This Pascal LaMartine obviously had no respect for rank, nor for money, nor for any of the other things his betters took for granted. He swallowed and drew himself up. He would not be intimidated by a mere commoner.

“As you say,” he intoned imperiously. “Examine the vines. See what you think. Should you feel you can do something, then by all means, take over. I have no one else. But I warn you, I can afford almost nothing in pay.”

“We will work out an arrangement that pays a minimum salary for now, but should the crop come in as I hope, then I would like a small piece of the profits from it—let us say fifteen percent. That seems equitable to us both. Should I fail, you are not required to pay me anything more.”

“I hope you don’t expect to live here?” Jean-Jacques said, nervously fidgeting with his glass.

“No. Actually, I would prefer to live elsewhere, although I must be close to the fields. If you have any outlying houses that are empty, I would be very grateful. We need nothing elaborate.”

Jean-Jacques stared at him again. “You mean to say that you don’t
want
to live here?”

“I don’t think it would be wise.”

Jean-Jacques couldn’t believe his good luck—he couldn’t get the man out of his house fast enough. “Very well. There is a cottage,” he said with alacrity. “It is just down the hill before the final approach into the town. Take the small road that leads off to the right. You cannot miss it. It has a barn attached on the west side and a patch of garden on the south. It is nothing grand, and not in the best of repair, and I’m not sure how much furniture there is…”

“We will manage.”

“You, perhaps. But Lily?”

“Your sister will live wherever I live.”

Jean-Jacques’s face broke into a grin. “Ah …
The Taming of the Shrew,
is it? I see. Good luck. Many have tried before and failed, her father and his familiar most particularly.”

Anger sparked in Pascal’s eyes. “It’s nothing of the sort, and please do not refer to my wife in such a manner. She’s been ill-used enough by her family, as you’ve just pointed out.”

Jean-Jacques shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. “Yes, of course she has. I meant nothing by it.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll meet with you tomorrow morning, after I have had a chance to walk the land. Shall we say ten o’clock?”

“Ten?” Jean-Jacques said, thinking that sounded hellishly early. “Ah, yes. I can make myself available at ten.”

“Very good. I shall see you then.” He reached out his hand and Jean-Jacques shook it.

“I—I, ah, well … this is all quite unexpected.”

“Yes, I understand. Tell me, is there anyone, anyone at all, who might be able to give me details on the history of the vineyards?”

“Oh. Well, I suppose old Monsieur Jamard, for he’s always going on. I’ll warn you right now, you’re only going to hear the most absurd tales from the peasants about lost heirs and grieving land.”

“I beg your pardon?” Pascal said, frowning. “Your sister mentioned nothing of this to me.”

“Because it’s a load of rubbish, and Lily believes it no more than I do. They have this absurd legend that the reason the vineyards have failed all these years is because the heir left the land, and the land wouldn’t come back until the heir did. Well, the heir has returned, and they’re still not satisfied. I don’t know what the hell they think I’m supposed to do—wave a magic wand about and make them all suddenly thrive, and the vines too?” He shook his head in disgust. “Ignorant, lazy fools, the lot of them. If you ask me, the typhoid epidemic that decimated the village all those years ago wiped out the manpower needed to keep the vineyards going. That’s what did it, nothing else.”