No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (4 page)

“Sacrilege, my girl, will get you nowhere, and you watch your tongue in front of your father.” Coffey sniffed.

“Why, may I ask, have you held your own tongue for the last few days only to vent it on me now?”

“Because this is the last opportunity I have to speak in private without those two men above to hear.”

“Don’t be silly, Coffey; neither one understands a word of English.”

“Yes, and it’s a good thing they don’t, given some of the scathing comments you’ve made to me about Monsieur LaMartine—and before a monk, no less.”

Lily grinned. “Oh, do you mean what I said about the brute’s probable parentage—or lack of it?”

“It is not nice to imply that anyone is born outside the sanctity of marriage, dear,” Coffey said reprovingly. “We are all the same in the eyes of God, whatever the circumstances of our birth.”

“Not according to Father Mallet we’re not. As for my father, he thinks the only people who are truly equal in the eyes of God are other peers, preferably ranked earl or higher.”

“Nevertheless, it is unkind to imply that any living creature is born unwanted, which is what you said about the man in those very words.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want him, or anything to do with him,” Lily replied acidly.

“Naturally you don’t, and it will all be finished soon. But Lily, child, you really must watch your tongue, for even if the man couldn’t understand, I don’t think it was quite nice to say that you wished he would go back to the sewers of Paris.”

“Well, his accent
is
Parisian.”

“Nevertheless, you mustn’t mock those less fortunate than yourself—and in any case, his speech is perfectly educated. I was quite surprised with you.”

“But Coffey—you forget that he tried to ravish me. How can you defend him like that?”

“I am not defending him. I am saying that your manners could use some improving. Furthermore, it is not for you to judge what the monks of St. Christophe might be feeling at his departure. Really, Lily, where you have learned some of your language, I don’t know. I was shocked.”

“Mr. Smith, the gardener,” Lily said with a grin. “He can be quite colorful when he doesn’t know you’re about. I’ve learned all sorts of things listening to him.”

Coffey covered her mouth. “Elizabeth, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Why? You have always said we should have open and curious minds.”

“I was speaking in terms of a higher education, not meaning that you should go lurking about bushes, spying on gardeners—not to mention monks. Now I want you to stop this nonsense.”

“I have tried to be civil in their own language, despite the violence of my feelings. Surely that is enough?”

“You are a lady and should behave as one at all times, whether you are understood or not. I have told you a hundred times that gentleness of manner, no matter the circumstances, is a sure sign of breeding. The way you have been carrying on, Elizabeth, one would think you were the daughter of a dustman rather than a duke.”

Lily stuck her little chin forward belligerently. “I never asked to be a duke’s daughter. I’d have been just as happy, if not happier, with a dustman for a father.”

“Absolute nonsense, my girl, and I won’t have you speaking with such disrespect. You have responsibilities to your name and birthright, Lily, and as an only child you also have a responsibility to provide an heir for your father, a duty which you have nicely managed to sidestep for five years. It is no wonder his grace despairs.”

Lily shrugged. “If I am ever fool enough to marry, what difference would any of it make? I wouldn’t be allowed to govern what is mine any more than I am now. I’d far prefer to wait until my father dies and I inherit.”

“Child! Bite your tongue!”

“How do you expect me to feel? I am a person who has no freedom, treated as if I had no mind of my own. I have suitors thrown at me as if I should be grateful for their sniveling attentions, and I am chastised for being disgusted by their lack of appeal and intelligence and spirit.”

“Now, now, Lily, you exaggerate.”

“I do not exaggerate,” Lily said furiously. “I am nothing more than something to be exchanged in barter and then taken to bed in order to produce sons to continue the same dreary tradition. What about me? I am an educated woman with a mind and a heart and, as I’ve been told so very often, a soul. My eternal soul and my mortal womb seem to be the only two things that matter to anyone other than myself, and I begin to think my womb is top on that list. Look what happened to my mother.”

Lily paled and snapped her mouth shut, clasping her hands together so hard that her knuckles turned white. She hadn’t meant to say that. She hadn’t spoken of her mother at all, not since that awful day fourteen years ago. She would never forget sitting in the window, numb with shock and disbelief, watching as her mother climbed into the waiting carriage, not looking back. The footman put up the steps and closed the door, and the carriage drove away, taking Lily’s heart with it. She had not seen or heard from her mother since.

On that day Lily realized that she was completely unlovable. The last fourteen years had proved her right.

Coffey patted her clenched hands. “Don’t worry yourself, child, over what can’t be changed. Your mother was a good woman.”

“My father didn’t think so,” Lily said bitterly. “He never forgave her for having produced Jean-Jacques for her first husband and then managing nothing for him but me and a number of disappointing stillbirths. Do you understand now why he resents Jean-Jacques so much? As for me, I am nothing more to him than my mother was—his final hope for a male successor.”

“Lily, you mustn’t upset yourself like this. I am sure it is not so…”

“Oh, it is so. Believe me, it is so. He has as much as told me so. Do you see why I would rather be the daughter of a dustman, who might love me just for myself?”

“Your father is a good man,” Coffey said. “Your father is also a pious man, which is why I want you to listen to me now, and listen very carefully. I want my words to stick in that stubborn brain of yours and not go chasing out the other side as they usually do.”

Lily dropped her eyes, and the fury drained from her face as quickly as it had come. “Forgive me. I did not mean to speak so harshly.”

Coffey reached over and squeezed her hand. “You are distraught and tired and hungry. It has been a bad few days, I know. You have been very brave, being forced to travel in the company of the man who tried to defile you.”

Lily attempted a smile. “And just think, he tried to defile me without even knowing at the time that there was a huge dowry to be had. Of course, he was probably desperate, being locked up in a monastery.”

“You are good-looking enough, my lady, and that is more than enough,” Coffey said darkly. “Men are at the mercy of their bodies. All it takes is being in the vicinity of a female and they lose the little sense God gave them.”

“Exactly my point,” Lily said triumphantly, “for that is exactly what happened to the wretch, and my father will see that immediately. After all, he never ceases to talk about the sins of the flesh and men’s disgracefully base urges—”

“That is quite enough on the subject,” Coffey said firmly. “I will return to my original point, which is your father. Despite the violation done to your sensibilities, you had best deal with his grace with the utmost humility. It probably wouldn’t go amiss for you to get down on your knees and beg your father’s forgiveness.”

“I most certainly will not,” Lily said indignantly. “I will ask his forgiveness for accidentally falling into St. Christophe, but I will never go down on my knees to him or any other man.”

“Then let your pride be on your own head, my lady, and I will pray that it does not bring you down in the end.”

“Oh, Coffey, don’t be such a prig now. Don’t worry, I’ll be humble enough. It will all turn out, you’ll see. It always does.”

“Just you remember your place, Lily,” Coffey said sternly.

“You’ve made it nearly impossible for me to forget. Come now, Coffey dear, stop looking so disapproving and be my friend again?”

Coffey merely pursed her mouth as if she’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon and refused to say another word on the subject. The old nurse wasn’t about to tell Lily, but she had a terrible feeling that she was not going to be able to protect her charge from this latest escapade, nor any escapade in the future. Coffey was certain that his grace was going to terminate her employment and send her packing, and the thought was breaking her heart.

The hired carriage pulled through the great gates of Sutherby at ten that same evening. Lily wondered what the Frenchman was thinking when the house itself came into view, for it was huge and extremely impressive if one wasn’t accustomed to such grandeur. She hoped that he was feeling cowed. She stole a glimpse at him through the deep gloom, but much to her annoyance, he wasn’t even looking at the house. Instead, he seemed to be staring at the floor. The monk was asleep.

Lily swallowed hard, summoning up her nerve as the door opened and two footmen instantly appeared, letting down the steps and opening the carriage door. They bowed deferentially as Lily emerged from the interior, followed by Coffey, and finally the two Frenchmen.

She gathered herself up. “Good evening, Phillpotts,” she said to the startled butler who had appeared at the door. “If you please, fetch my father at once. Tell him I have returned, and there is an emissary from St. Christophe de Montebon with me. He has an urgent message from Dom Benetard.”

“Yes, my lady. May I say welcome home?”

“Thank you, Phillpotts. We will await my father in his study. Coffey, bring the gentlemen, please.” She marched across the huge marble hallway and waited for a footman to open the massive double doors, then marched through as if she had not a care in the world. Lily would rather die than admit that her heart was pounding so hard it threatened to leap directly out of her throat.

She took a seat but offered no invitation to the others. If there was one time that Lily needed to look every inch a future duchess, it was now. But then, her father had been hammering the role into her since the day he’d realized he would have no sons, so she had it perfected.

Five minutes later the door opened again and Lily’s father appeared.

The Fifth Duke of Montcrieff, Eighth Marquess of Banesbury, and Tenth Baron of Northrup and Milton stood in the doorway, regarding the unexpected and odd assembly with a terrible eye, every moment of the past seven hundred years of his impeccable breeding apparent in his stance.

“Elizabeth?” he said in glacial tones. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lily stood. “Papa, there has been a slight problem—a mishap of sorts. Brother Julien has come directly from Dom Benetard with a letter addressed to you, explaining everything.”

“And the other man? Who is this person with you?” Her father scowled darkly at Pascal.

“He is a man who has caused me great personal distress. But the letter will explain everything.”

She shot a quick glance over at Brother Julien, who had developed a faint sheen on his upper lip.

“The letter, Brother Julien,” her father commanded in flawless French, and with fumbling fingers the little monk withdrew it from the pouch at his waist, handing it to the duke.

Lily couldn’t help noticing that Pascal looked impervious to the proceedings, as if he weren’t affected in the least. No one stood in her father’s presence without quaking, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing on the wretch’s face to indicate fear, or much of anything else save an abstract interest.

“Thank you, brother.” The duke took the missive, and without wasting another minute he opened it, scanned the pages, first quickly, then with more care, and finally, with disbelief. “I find this quite extraordinary, to say the least.”

He directed his attention at Brother Julien. “I thank you for your devotion and sacrifice in escorting my daughter here. You are welcome at Sutherby for as long as necessary to see this matter through.”

The monk bowed his head.

“Miss McCofferty, please escort the brother to a footman and request a bedroom for his use. I will see you, Miss McCofferty, at precisely eight o’clock tomorrow morning, when I shall expect a full explanation of your part in this absurdity.”

“Yes, your grace,” Coffey said, managing a stiff curtsy before doing as she was bid, leaving Lily, Pascal, and the duke alone in the room.

“As for you, Elizabeth,” the duke said, riveting his eyes on his daughter, “you are to go to your room. You are not to leave it until I summon you.”

“But, Papa,” Lily protested. “Can I not tell my side of the story? This man has done very badly by me, and I know I ought not to have been where I was, and, oh, Papa, forgive me, but—”

“Elizabeth Mary Bowes!
That is enough! You will leave us now—and on your way out you will instruct Phillpotts to summon Father Mallet immediately.”

Confused and deeply hurt, Lily shot one last pleading look at her father, only to see it was in vain. She leveled a scathing look at Pascal, and then with head held high she left the room.

Lily paced her room, gripped by fear. She had no idea what was transpiring downstairs, but she had not liked the expression on her father’s face, not one bit. She had the dreadful feeling that whatever Father Benetard had written in the letter had not painted her in the best possible light. There had not been one glimmer of sympathy in her father’s eyes or his voice.

She sat down on the edge of a chair and smoothed her skirts over her knees. She had long before dismissed the maid, as she had no wish to have anyone hover about her when she was in such an unsettled state. In any case, it did not seem worth the trouble to undress, for there was no way of telling when her father might call her to give her accounting. Her father was unpredictable, and she suspected that he deliberately drew out her apprehension for effect. Lily had always preferred a swift sentencing, so that she knew what she was dealing with. It was the fear of the unknown that made her sick.

The clock ticked the minutes away, the steady, hollow noise grating on her nerves. Eleven o’clock passed, then midnight, and the small hand was creeping toward one when a light tap came at the door.

Lily nearly jumped out of her skin, then ran to the door and jerked it open. “Yes? Oh, it’s you, Phillpotts.” She swallowed hard.

“His grace will see you now,” Phillpotts said, his ugly face drawn into lines that might almost be interpreted as sympathy.

Lily swallowed again. “Does it look very bad, Phillpotts?”

Phillpotts considered. “I cannot say exactly, my lady. But judging from the lateness of the hour and the length of time your father has been closeted away with Father Mallet and the other gentleman, I would say that this time you have been involved in some very serious mischief.”

“I was perhaps … imprudent.”

“Indeed, my lady? Well, in that case I shouldn’t dally.”

Lily nodded, then followed Phillpotts along the long corridor, down the enormous and ornate staircase, across the marble hall, and over to the doors of her father’s study, which Phillpotts now pulled open. Lily wanted to dig her heels in and refuse to enter, but she knew from past experience that it would be unwise.

“Lady Elizabeth is here, your grace,” Phillpotts intoned and stood back.

Lily walked in, made a deep curtsy to her father and another to Father Mallet, who stood behind her father’s shoulder, his gaunt face stiff with icy disapproval—in fact, he looked almost blue around his thin lips.

“Good evening, Father Mallet,” she said sweetly. “I trust you are well?” She heard the doors close behind her with an echoing click of finality.

“I am deeply disturbed, Elizabeth, as is your father.”

“Oh … yes, I can imagine. It was a very upsetting incident. Have you decided what to do with that—that
brute?”

Lily’s father tapped his finger hard against his desk, then raised it and pointed it somewhere over her left shoulder. Lily followed its direction and turned, then frowned when she saw Pascal standing by the fireplace. He met her eyes evenly, but said nothing.

“Oh,” Lily said and turned back again.

“Sit down, Elizabeth,” her father commanded.

Lily sat.

“You will start at the beginning. You left your brother’s house long before you were meant to and without permission. Why?” He regarded her like a hawk—not a good sign at all.

“Well, Papa, I decided to cut my stay at Saint-Simon short, as I felt homesick and Jean-Jacques was far too busy with business to look after me. I thought I might surprise you, which is why I didn’t write.”

“Surprise me?” the duke said dryly. “Oh, yes, Elizabeth, you have managed to surprise me—and just when I thought there were no surprises left. Go on.”

“Coffey and I left, and as we were passing near Montebon on the way home, I thought it would be interesting to see the abbey to which you have devoted so much of your time and energies. I went for a little stroll in the morning to stretch my legs before embarking, and I was so taken by the beauty of the abbey that I simply could not resist having a peek at the inside.”

The duke passed a hand over his forehead. “You could not resist having a ‘peek’ at the cloisters of a monastery? Cloisters that you know very well are forbidden to those of the world, most especially
females
?” His voice had risen to a roar, and Lily winced.

“Yes, I know, Papa, but you had so often spoken of their beauty—”

“And how, may I inquire, did you manage to get yourself up onto a fifteen-foot wall?”

“I climbed a tree,” she said.

A muffled choke came from behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that the wretch had turned away. No doubt he was having a severe attack of nerves about his imminent punishment.

“And then I fell off the wall,” she said, looking back to her father, “and in a matter of seconds, when I was senseless, he—” she turned and pointed her finger at the wretch accusingly—“assaulted me.”

“What exactly did Mr. LaMartine do, Elizabeth, that would constitute assault?”

Lily flushed. “You can’t mean you wish for me to describe the details?”

“Yes, I do wish for you to describe the details. Every detail, if you please.”

“Could I do it privately, Papa?” she pleaded, overcome with embarrassment.

“No. You may not. You have brought serious charges against this young man. I will have your story, and then Father Mallet and I will decide the next course of action.”

Lily wanted to die on the spot, anything rather than having to enumerate in front of Father Mallet the intimacies taken with her person. Her chest tightened with true hatred for the man who had brought her to this.

She squeezed her hands tightly together in her lap and spoke without inflection, as if she were reciting by rote.

“He opened my bodice and my corset. He put his hands under my skirt. He felt my—he felt my limbs … and then he fell upon me and covered my body with his own.”

Father Mallet moaned, and Lily saw that he had gone quite pink in the cheeks, which made her own cheeks blaze even more brightly.

“But that is as far as it went,” she said quickly, for she didn’t want either of them to think she had actually been ravished. “I fought him off, and then Dom Benetard and Brother Julien came. I was terribly ashamed, but I tried to make myself modest, and then I told them what had happened to me. Dom Benetard was very kind. You know the rest.”

There was a long silence, and then the duke drew in a deep breath and released it heavily. “You swear to all of this, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, I do, Papa. I have told you just how it happened. I am deeply sorry for my own actions, and I truly am ashamed that I climbed the wall, but I cannot be held responsible for what … what that man did to me.”

“I see. Well, perhaps Mr. LaMartine would like to answer your charges, even though he has already given us his version of events. Mr. LaMartine?”

The wretch came forward, not looking at Lily. “I will tell you again what I told your daughter at the time, that I was attempting to see to her welfare. She had taken a bad fall and knocked herself senseless; she might have sustained any manner of injury. I did what was necessary under the circumstances.”

Lily’s head jerked up and her eyes snapped with fury. She stared at him, not quite able to believe her ears. He had just spoken in English—perfect, fluent English, with only the very slightest trace of a French accent.

“You
hypocrite
!” she cried. “You deliberately misled me!”

He flicked her a glance. “I have led you nowhere at all, Lady Elizabeth. You have believed whatever you have chosen to believe in several matters without any encouragement or discouragement from me.”

Lily averted her gaze, knowing exactly what he was referring to, all those dreadful things she’d said about him to Coffey in the carriage, thinking he couldn’t understand a word.

Her father frowned. “Are you saying this man is lying, Elizabeth?”

“But of course he is lying! Why would he tell you the truth and incriminate himself? He has come up with a cleverly constructed excuse for his monstrous behavior.”

“Your grace, I have no doubt that your daughter truly believes I tried to attack her. The story she has told you is accurate in every detail with the exception of my intent toward her.”

“You mentioned nothing about pinning her beneath you,” the duke said severely. “That does not sound like the act of a man concerned with bodily injury.”

Lily breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived when the wretch nodded in agreement.

“Indeed, your grace, at that moment the only bodily injury I was concerned with was my own. I had forgotten to mention it, but when your daughter regained consciousness she boxed my ears and practically concussed me in the process. That is why I landed on top of her.”

The duke chuckled. “I see. Well, that explains it then.”

“Papa, you cannot believe this man’s story over mine?” Lily said desperately.

“It is the same story from everything I have heard. Mr. LaMartine is right, it is now only a matter of interpretation, for his account matches yours exactly.”

“Of course it does, Papa. The man may be wicked, but I don’t believe he is stupid. He’d be an idiot to tell an entirely different story.”

“That is quite enough, Elizabeth,” the duke snapped. “I have heard everything that I wish to hear from you. I believe Mr. LaMartine is an honest man and has told the truth. Further, Dom Benetard sent an excellent character reference along with his endorsement of Mr. LaMartine’s account of the incident.”

Lily wanted to scream with frustration. She had been there—it had happened to her, not to Dom Benetard, or to her papa, or to Father Mallet. She knew the truth, and so did the lying, manipulating brute next to her chair.

“Thank you, your grace,” the wretch said, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and Lily glared up at him.

He stood there, regarding her father with a look of complete innocence on that disgracefully handsome face. Well, at least that was one blessing, since her father thoroughly disapproved of handsome faces. No doubt her father would now toss him out into the street, even if he chose to do nothing else.

The duke tapped his finger on the desk for a moment, then glanced up at Father Mallet, who gave an abrupt nod of his head. “Very well,” the duke said. “I have reached my decision.”

“I am prepared to abide by your wishes, your grace.”

“I appreciate your willingness to do so, Mr. LaMartine. I am distressed that my daughter’s foolishness has caused you this trouble and forced you to leave St. Christophe.” He frowned heavily. “I am afraid, however, that in order to protect the abbey’s newly elevated status, we must do everything possible to avoid even a breath of scandal. A layman seen rolling about on the ground with an unmarried woman…”

“I have accepted the fact that I shall not be returning to St. Christophe,” Pascal said.

“It is a weighty thing to ask a man to forsake a vocation in favor of marriage, my son,” Father Mallet intoned heavily, and Lily stared at the priest with horror.

Marriage?

“Is that your desire, your grace?” Pascal said quietly. “Do you ask me to marry your daughter?”

The duke inclined his head. “I can see no other solution.”

“No!” Lily’s entire body recoiled in shock. “You cannot mean it … you would never be so cruel!”

“I am sorry, Elizabeth, but you have no voice here. You have brought this marriage upon yourself by your own foolishness.”

“Oh, Papa—please. Please do not force me to marry this man!” She covered her mouth with trembling hands, trying to force back the tears burning at her eyes. The world had just upended itself and she felt as if nothing was quite real. This couldn’t be happening to her, it just couldn’t. “Please, Papa,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything … a thousand penances, I’ll go to a convent, whatever you wish—please,
please
don’t do this to me…”

“I have made my decision. I shall not change my mind.”

“Father Mallet, please speak to my father—it can’t be right to force someone into an unwanted marriage? Surely that goes against God’s wishes?”

“I do not believe you are one to speak of what God might wish, Elizabeth,” the priest said harshly. “You have already violated His wishes by violating the privacy of those called by Him.”

Seeing no help there, Lily finally turned her face up to the man her father had just chosen as her husband, the man she despised more than any person in the world. “You,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. His face swam through her blurred vision, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You cannot want this any more than I? Please, won’t you tell them?”

“I gave my word to Dom Benetard that I would accept your father’s decision,” he said. “I will not dishonor him or myself by breaking that promise.”

She looked down at the floor and mutely shook her head.

“Mr. LaMartine, a room has been made ready for you. Attend me here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and we will negotiate the marriage settlement.”

“I want no settlement, your grace.”

“Nevertheless, one shall be made. Elizabeth has an extensive dowry.”

Pascal bowed his head for a moment, then looked directly into the duke’s eyes. “In the matter of your daughter, I will do exactly as you ask until the day she and I are wed. After that time I must insist that, as her husband, I am allowed to act according to my own wishes.”

“You will be her master in all things,” the duke agreed quickly. “It is only fitting.”

A little moan escaped from Lily’s lips, and the duke’s gaze jerked back to her. “As for you, Elizabeth, you will be an obedient wife in every way. Father Mallet will instruct you in your duties. He will also instruct you as to your punishment.”

White-lipped, Lily looked at her father defiantly, her chin thrust forward, her eyes swollen but dry. “Nothing can be more punishment than what you have just decreed. Nothing.”

“Silence!” he roared. “Your rebellious, disobedient nature will be tamed, I promise you this.”

“You may break me in body, and possibly even in spirit, but you cannot touch my soul. That is mine alone.”