AUGUST 20, 1789
LES TROIS-MOUTIERS
LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE
The vineyard had received Aveline’s attention much of the morning.
She’d tended to the arbors with Fan and the others, cutting back the leaves in areas of overgrowth so the abundance of grapes on the vine could soak up the last weeks of precious sunlight before the harvest. The sun was high overhead now, baking down, and she was relieved to spend time in the grove, tending the castle garden under the cover of shade trees.
“I apologize for the intrusion, mademoiselle.”
Aveline leaned her spade against the stone wall and turned with a smile, glad for the sound of Robert’s voice. “There you are. I’ve wanted to show you what we’ve accomplished—”
Her voice was silenced by a man who hadn’t come to help break soil in his mother’s garden, but by the authority of his rank, suddenly on full display.
Robert stood along the hedgerow, turning a cocked hat in his hands. The black beaver skin stood out as formal, as was the rest of his attire—crisp shirt beneath a vest with gold buttons, covered over with a jacket bearing the Renard crest, and black breech trousers. Certainly not attire she was used to seeing on the man who was tireless in laboring upon his father’s land.
With an apron and linen work dress dusted over with earth on the front, Aveline couldn’t hope to match him. She wiped her hands on the apron, then smoothed it out against her skirts. “It appears as though I am unprepared for the formality of this meeting.”
Something told her to reach for her hat. Straw and light-blue ribbons were paltry adornments compared to the nature of propriety he brought, but it would have to do.
Robert shook his head. “I’m not here to work. Not today.”
“Oh. I see. But Gabin has been making plans to break down the stone wall—for the gate we talked about? Over there, by the void in the tree line. I wanted to show it to you. He said we could fashion a wide arch, so it would still be possible to see the arbor rows in the fields behind it. And when visitors come down the hill, they should see the colors bloom on this side.”
She tipped the hat low on her head, smiling under its brim, still trying to find lightness in him. The capriciousness of his features, hardened over and foreign, stirred the flutter of doubt in her midsection. “Unless you think it a poor idea . . .”
Another turn of the hat in his hands caused a flip-flop of her heart.
“No. It’s a fine idea. I’ll see that Gabin begins work on it right away. And Fan will plant seeds so that come spring, the garden will look as you wish it to.”
“I should like to help her. And I thought we’d settled this. You are free to address me as Aveline. You can’t think me that formal when I’m layered under a veil of earth.”
“Not free, mademoiselle. It would not be appropriate now.” He cleared his throat. Shifted his stance a step. “I have brought something for you. It was kept safe until you had need of it again.”
Robert set the hat upon his head, indicating he intended to take his leave momentarily. He tucked a hand in his vest pocket and opened it, revealing the fox brooch glittering in his palm.
Aveline stepped forward, not understanding how he could stand so unaffected before her. With a stark coldness he stood, not flinching as she took the brooch from him, even when the scars on her hand brushed his skin slight as a butterfly’s kiss.
“Robert . . .” Aveline gripped the brooch, precious stones cutting into her palm as she watched him retreat. Step by step, he eased back. “If I’ve done something . . . said something wrong . . .”
“You have done nothing.” He clamped his eyes shut, as if suddenly pained, his back fusing against the stone wall. “Nothing at all.”
“Then why—?” Aveline took a step forward, hoping only to go to him. Eager to resume the warmth of familiarity they’d exchanged in weeks of laboring side by side.
But her path was cut short by another gentleman who’d stepped from the castle road into the garden’s haven.
Sunlight rained down upon the shoulders of Philippe.
The shock of seeing him—as more than the ghost of a fiancé but a real gentleman—rendered her speechless. His was the noble brow she’d seen once before, in a portrait salvaged from the castle. Not as tall as his younger brother but adorned as formally, quite distinguished in a French naval uniform.
“Aveline?” He removed his hat, bowing before her.
Warmth shone in the gentleman’s eyes. Though they were seeking, and surveyed the side of her face in earnest, then fell to the damaged skin of the collarbone exposed above the bodice of her dress. Aveline’s first inclination was to hide her face, so she turned away, chin tucked, hat working as a straw shield over the harsh pigmentation of marred skin.
“No, it’s alright.” He stepped in farther. She heard careful boot falls approaching her from behind. “Robert has already told us what occurred here at the castle. You needn’t hide yourself. This is not your shame to bear.”
“Shame?”
“I meant there is no shame for what’s happened,” Philippe coaxed, his voice tentative as he walked round to face her. “It is evidence of the rabble’s petulance that nearly felled the estate. But thank Providence your life was spared in the midst of it.”
Philippe approached and her gaze drifted over a blue coat and red vest, both with embroidery and buttons of finely polished gold. A uniform of some stature, it seemed. And then—a purse to his lips, in what she hoped was authenticity rather than charity.
“You have joined the king’s forces?”
“Oui.” He flashed a malleable smile and brushed a hand over his lapel. “I am the Duc et Vivay’s heir. As my brother hadn’t the inclination to pursue the military duty of a younger son—this vineyard holds him fast—I will fight in his stead. It is believed by some that officers of noble lineage are not seen favorably by the masses. Nevertheless, I have joined the Royal Navy, to take up that yoke for our king and our family name, and I intend to rise in rank with all due haste. After what’s happened to you here, on my family’s own land, and now with the insurrection in Paris, the navy needs men who will stand up to our enemies, both in France and abroad. I mean to restore my family’s honor.”
“Honor? Isn’t such earned by caring for those closest to you?”
“Events have occurred across the country. Just two days ago, a peasant assemblage forced nobles from their estates at Liège. Even César-Constantin-François de Hoensbroeck was made to leave. Imagine—a prince-bishop of France forced out! Our fathers have attempted to quell the insurrection with others of the Second Estate, but Paris has fallen into disastrous unrest. We are to sail to England where we are assured safety.”
“England? But who will defend your home if you leave? If there is insurrection in Paris and Liège, it will most certainly revisit the Loire Valley. What’s to become of the castle? And the vineyard? What of all the people here?”
“My father lays claim to multiple estates, Aveline. This is merely one of them. I thought it was understood. This is a country château. An amiable place for a wedding no doubt, but not a permanent home. The vineyard is nothing but a . . . provincial amusement.”
“It is not an amusement to the people whose livelihood is rooted in this land.”
“And we will keep the land—Robert may work it for us, if it pleases him. We could even gift it to him one day, seeing as he has nothing to inherit on his own.”
“How easily you discard your family.” Aveline felt her heart drop from her chest. “You never intended to set up residence here?”
“No. And certainly not now that the only suitable residence is in ruin.” His gaze drifted to the castle spires and his jaw hardened, anger bleeding into the lines of his face. “It is a total loss. And a contempt to the king. But the people will pay.”
“The people here?” Thoughts of hiding her infirmity from him faded, and she leaned in, challenging the cold affectations of his manner. “You mean the laborers in the vineyard? You don’t mean to seek reprisal against them. I do not believe it is their doing.”
“I will seek justice against anyone I deem responsible.”
“But what of rebuilding? The castle can be saved. I’ve been inside. Did Robert not tell you? We have been working together to help her rise again. It’s why you find me in the garden at this very moment.” She stepped to the wall, her scarred hand pressing over the stones like a lifeline. “This was your mother’s garden, was it not?”
“I can’t say I remember her ever stepping outside for a jaunt through the woods to know of a garden or not. But you needn’t worry over such things. I’ve come to escort you away from this depravity, to see you to your new home. Your father and sister are waiting in the carriage at the castle gates. We will take you away from here. And once we are married, you and I needn’t come back to the place again. I will not allow this tragedy to haunt us.”
Aveline turned her gaze up to the castle spires, the blackened but beautiful turret rising over the trees. Her family was but a few steps away. They were home, weren’t they? Or had the land around her—the ruins and a grove laden with fox, and the arbor rows teeming with the smiles and determination of laborers cultivating the land—become a home too?
“But I do not feel haunted here.”
“After the beastliness of that night and now with what is happening in Paris . . .” He shook his head. “We haven’t time to waste. What have you to take with you?”
Aveline looked around, as if her meager possessions would be counted somewhere among the trees. “I haven’t much. A brush, a vanity stool, and a stack of books at the cottage. But everything else was lost in the fire.” She pressed her hand around the brooch, holding it like a lifeline. “Save for this, of course.”
His brow edged up. “A brooch? That is of some consequence.”
“The one you gave to me. The night of our engagement ball?”
Philippe’s brow turned quizzical.
Aveline looked to the stone wall, wishing to see if Robert’s eyes would contest that Phillipe had given the brooch that night. But he’d slipped away and the spot lay bare, covered over in earth and underbrush instead of a gentleman’s boots.
“I know the note of warning was penned by Robert, but I just assumed the brooch was from you. A fox of gold and citrine . . . for the Renard family crest.” She slipped her hand into the depths of her apron pocket, burying the sentiment of such a gift.
“Possibly. My betrothed would have any number of jewels at her disposal, selected from those of my mother’s family heirlooms. Who brought it to you?”
“Well . . . it was a lady’s maid.”
“There you are. She would have been instructed so by your mother.” Philippe reached for her hand—not the one that floated freely at her side, but the scarred one she’d buried in her apron.
Aveline released the brooch as a deadweight in her pocket and allowed him to grasp her bare skin.
“I’d have selected a tiara for you, as the future queen of this castle.” He didn’t shudder when he’d taken her hand and pressed scarred fingertips to his lips. “But I promise you’ll never have to wear the brooch here. This chapter will be buried and we can start anew.”
The light kiss was meant to calm any misgivings she possessed. He’d shown intention with the move, a great generosity that he wouldn’t find her scars a revulsion.
Philippe hooked her arm around his elbow, leading her back to the road. She turned for a farewell glance at the garden, the thought pricking her heart that the spade, too, was gone. Robert must have taken it from leaning against the garden wall.
Aveline saw a carriage up ahead, a wheeled prison in which she, too, would be taken away—to till earth in another home.