Promised to the Crown

Rose and Henri were married one week later, with only Nicole and Alexandre in attendance. Henri beamed as the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Rose smiled more than Nicole had ever seen. Henri had secured a fine stone house just three doors down from his uncle’s home, and the couple retreated there as soon as the marriage was blessed. Rose wanted no lavish meal or throng of guests, but contented herself with the luxury of a very handsome deep-red gown that Henri procured for her as a wedding gift. It must have cost the earth with the fine fabric and three seamstresses hard at work for the entire week, but the bride was so radiant, Nicole thought it well worth the cost.

“Allow me to see you home,” Alexandre said to Nicole as the happy couple disappeared from view.

“Please,” Nicole said quietly.

“A successful wedding, don’t you think?” Alexandre asked.

“Since the couple ended up married, I would say so,” Nicole replied, mirth shining in her eyes. “They did seem happy though.”

“I’ve never seen Henri so pleased,” Alexandre said. “Not since he was a small boy.”

“Rose, too,” Nicole said. “She deserves happiness. The last few years in France were not kind to her.”

“I envy their happiness,” Alexandre confessed. “I was married once before. Has anyone told you?”

“No,” Nicole said.

“I’m amazed. In a place like this, one’s life is hardly his own. I was married two years before you arrived. Her name was Laurence. She was sweet and gentle, with lovely chestnut hair like yours.” Alexandre’s voice was low, almost reverent as he spoke of his late wife. “We had a son, Philippe. That winter was terrible. The consumption claimed them both in two days.”

“I’m so sorry.” Nicole’s mind retraced its steps back to her first month in the colony and her first disastrous encounter with Alexandre and the conversation with Sister Mathilde that followed. She’d called him “poor man,” and Nicole hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask why he deserved her pity. But why had Sister Mathilde kept the secret from her? It would have served to soften her resentment of the proud man. Knowing she would never ask, she pushed the question from her mind.

“That’s why I was so short with you when I saw you out in the snow that night,” Alexandre said. “It was Laurence all over again. It was rude of me, and I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to forgive, monsieur.” The past months had chipped away at the resentment she harbored toward him, but as he spoke of his past, the final shards melted like the last heaps of dirty snow in late spring.

“I know something of your pain,” he said. “I’ve tried not to press, but I still want you for my wife. If you won’t have me, at least let me send you and the baby back to France. I can’t bear to see you alone. A woman needs protection in a place like this.”

Return to France? To Papa and Maman and all the others? The prospect was delicious. For weeks, Maman would dote on her and the baby, feed them, coddle them . . . but then what would follow? The time would come for her to marry and she had nothing more to bring to a marriage than when she had left France. Alexandre’s offer wouldn’t include a dowry to marry another man. Nor could she bring herself to ask. And what could she muster for a dowry for Hélène when the time came? And there was Manon. What future could a native girl hope to have in the old country? In the settlement, people looked askance at her. In France, people would stare, treating her like an exotic attraction from a menagerie.

The alternative was to stay and marry the somber man who stood before her. Nicole touched the pearl brooch her mother had given her and thought of a second wedding her mother would not see. It flashed before her—a quiet affair—just she and Alexandre, perhaps Elisabeth or Rose or one of their husbands standing as witness. He would have her outfitted before the wedding in clothing befitting a woman of means. Fashionable, but sturdy. He’d see her settled in the Lefebvre house within an hour of the wedding, and her life would never again resemble her modest beginnings.

Would the change be welcome? Nicole shook the thought from her head and looked into Alexandre’s gray eyes. She had no choice.

“I envy their happiness as well, Alexandre,” Nicole said, astonished with herself for using his given name. “But I must also think of Manon.”

And of myself. Do I want to marry again? Alexandre won’t leave me to freeze in a shack, but will he be kind? Do I have a choice?

“The Huron child? I know you’re very attached to her.” Alexandre’s eyebrow arched at the odd bent in the conversation.

“I consider her my daughter.” Nicole met Alexandre’s eyes without wavering. “She risked her life trying to save my husband. I will not forsake her.”

“I understand. I would not ask you to,” Alexandre said, taking Nicole’s hand. “Please, I must know your answer.”

“If you don’t object to two daughters in addition to a wife, I accept.” Nicole exhaled as the words escaped her lips. She had made her vow.

“Nothing could make me happier,” Alexandre said, his smile subtracting years from his face. “I’ll take care of you all for as long as I take breath. You’ll never want for anything again.”

Alexandre kissed Nicole’s cheek and her color rose to crimson. The whole settlement would know the news before she reached the convent door.

Nicole looked into the face of her future husband. He had none of the youthful mirth of Luc Jarvais, or even the almost-forgotten Jean Galet. Alexandre Lefebvre was a man who had lived and knew the world. Still, Nicole realized her pain made her a poor companion for a green young man. Alexandre’s experience was what she needed, and the same was true for him. But could she endure his cold manner? Would she ever be welcome in his circles? She had to trust that he would help her find a place in his world, but faith in a husband had been a virtue poorly paid in the past.

At least I can bring him a measure of solace, even if that is all I can bring to the marriage.