Fiery Tales: Undone Part 28

"They inform us that Fouquet thinks the king will grow bored of ruling and hand over the responsibilities to him. Fouquet believes Louis cannot rule the realm without him. He thinks he's indispensable. What makes matters worse is that Fouquet has the support of the majority of the n.o.bles. They call him the true king of France. Those who don't support him are indebted to him financially. He has been quite shrewd."

"Captain," began another. "I have a letter from the former commodore, Robert d'Arles, Marquis de Nevelon." He handed Simon the parchment with Robert's family seal on it.

Simon opened and read the note. "The marquis believes that the king grows increasingly displeased with Fouquet and his extravagant ways," he relayed.

Jules shook his head. "And yet Fouquet still thinks he'll be the next First Minister."

The commander nodded. "His ambitions and arrogance seem to have no limits. And his excesses are extreme. It seems every day Fouquet spends funds on his new chateau, making it more and more opulent. He is quite unconcerned about what Louis thinks of Chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte."

Simon drained the brandy in his goblet, desperate for the fiery liquid to counter the ache he felt inside. The news was bittersweet. And monumental.

In his note, Robert wanted Simon's immediate return and advised that Fouquet had given up his post as a Member of Parliament at Louis's request. Though he was still the Superintendent of Finance, this left Fouquet vulnerable. Could it be that their young king had truly opened his eyes and seen the threat Fouquet was to his throne? Could he be planning Fouquet's downfall, drawing him out of the security of his parliamentary protection?

Between the war ending, Mazarin's death, and the king's request of Fouquet, Simon reeled. The very idea of peace seemed unreal. The war with Spain had been ongoing since '48, and before that, there had been the Thirty Years War.

Would the peace last? He hoped so. He was sick of war. Yet now that it was over, so was the opportunity to become an officer. To become enn.o.bled. It was no longer a matter of choice-whether he wanted to chase the dream or not. The door to betterment had just slammed shut in his face, leaving Simon trapped on the outside. Leaving him a commoner forevermore.

He knew he couldn't delay his return now. He wouldn't be given the extra time with Angelica he'd hoped for. This was an opportunity to get out from under Fouquet's hold with his life and the lives of his men intact, and even aid in his downfall, but Simon knew he would walk away with a life devoid of recognition for his naval successes.

And without Angelica.

That thought left him feeling cold. And empty.

She waited for him in his chambers. He had to go upstairs and tell her that he had to leave. That she had to go too. The king was beginning to rule. This was the perfect time for her to return and reclaim her estate. And her life.

What choice did he have but to take her back? She deserved to return to the upper cla.s.s-to all the benefit and privilege that came with it. To all the things he'd never have. France held promise for her, though it held nothing for him. He might have failed to elevate himself, but he wouldn't fail her. She deserved more than he had to offer. She was born into privilege. She deserved a husband who could provide her and her children with a name that carried with it esteem. A name that would grant them the prerogatives that came with it.

He stood, dismissed the men, and walked out of the dining room to the stairs, both his legs and his heart leaden.

Angelica paced.

She'd been advised that the ships were friends, not foes, but that didn't seem to give her ease. Something was happening. She feared Simon would need to leave sooner than expected.

Would she be denied her chance before it had even begun?

The chamber door opened. She turned.

Simon gave her a lopsided smile and closed the door quietly. Her heart leaped to her throat. She hadn't missed the way his eyes flashed regret. Dear G.o.d, no. Not this soon.

"You have to leave, don't you?" The words rushed past her lips. His smile disappeared.

"Yes." The soft word roared in her ears.

She battled back her devastating disappointment. "When?"

He looked as though it pained him to say, "A few days. A week at most. As soon as the ships are prepared for the voyage back."

She sank down onto the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry that you have to leave so soon." She hoped she didn't sound as shaken as she felt.

"So am I."

He walked over and sat down beside her. Taking one of her cold hands in his, he said, "There are great changes that have occurred in France." Lightly, he caressed her hand with his thumb. "France is finally at peace, and our king has for the first time indicated a desire to rule. These are positive changes. The realm will be a much better place for it."

She remained silent, sensing there was more he wanted to say, yet he seemed to be struggling to find his words. He looked heavy-hearted.

"This affair between us has been...beautiful." He gave her a rueful smile. Her heart pounded. She couldn't shake the feeling she was about to hear something worse than his departure.

His gaze caressed her face. "Dear G.o.d, you are so fine. Everything a man could want and more. You deserve the finest life has to offer. You are one of the few n.o.bles who truly belong in the exalted cla.s.s."

"What are you trying to say, Simon?"

"You don't belong here."

Her heart lurched. "Pardon?"

"You must go back."

She jumped to her feet. "Go back, where?"

"France."

Horrified, she took a step back. "Surely you jest?"

"I would not jest about this." He cleared his throat. "I'm taking you back to France."

Dear G.o.d, he was serious! "Why? Why must I leave?"

He rose slowly. "Because you were born to walk among royalty, the aristocracy. Not peasants. This is no place for you."

A laugh erupted from her, void of mirth. "Who are you to decide where I should be and what is best for me!"

He looked down and softly responded, "I am in charge here. I decide who remains and who leaves." He met her gaze, his look determined. "You cannot remain here and teach children of commoners-"

"I refuse to go!"

"Your life is elsewhere. You need to return to the life you were meant to live."

"What about the life I wish to live? I wish to stay here, with my friends, with...you."

He closed his eyes briefly, and shook his head.

She could not believe this! How could she make him understand? "I've told you that my n.o.bility means nothing to me!"

"It should." Maddeningly, he kept his tone soft but firm. "Once you return to France, you'll see all the privileges it grants you. Privileges and honor denied to the rest of us."

"Privileges? Honor? What possible difference can any of that make? By forcing me to return to France, you place me in peril. You know what my stepfather did to me. How can you suggest such a thing?"

"No! He will never touch you again. This I swear. I and every man in my command will protect you with our lives. He will relinquish all that is yours, and he will pay for what he has done."

Stricken, she reeled.

"Mon ange, don't look at me that way. I will not abandon you there. Before we part company, I will make certain you are safe and that the advantages of your birth have been restored to you. The matter will be handled with discretion, for your sake."

He took a step toward her. She took a step back.

"What then, Simon? After my 'advantages' are restored, do I live out my days alone at Beaulieu?"

"No. Once your wealth is restored, you can"-he looked away-"marry."

"Marry? I am not a virgin. What man would want me?"

"Every man in France," he murmured. A little louder he said, "There are men in the n.o.ble cla.s.s who would be willing to overlook the lack of a maidenhead. Especially if a sufficient dowry is provided and"-she saw him swallow and look down-"they see you."

"I will not go back to...that place. I refuse to tell you my stepfather's name!"

He nodded. "I know how upsetting it is for you to discuss him. I don't wish to cause you further distress by demanding his name or any details about him. It isn't necessary. Once in France, it won't be difficult to ascertain the ident.i.ty of the Lord of Beaulieu."

She felt sick inside. Heartsick. He was adamant and determined to take her with him. Tears stung her eyes. "Don't do this, Simon."

"It's the right thing to do. To keep you here when you could have so much more is purely selfish. I've told you before, anything permanent between us is impossible."

She swiped away an errant tear from her cheek. "Because I'm a n.o.ble." Her final word dripped with disdain.

"Because if a man in my cla.s.s were to marry a woman in your cla.s.s, she would be stripped of her status and made insignificant in society. A commoner. A man should bring the woman he marries honor. Not shame."

"Dear G.o.d!" she exclaimed, feeling utterly defeated and completely heartbroken. "I see no shame in it. I cannot understand why you hold n.o.bility in such esteem!"

"It is not just I who hold it in esteem, but society. I've chased it all my life. If I cannot have mine, I will not let you lose yours."

The look in his eyes told her he couldn't be dissuaded. He was taking her back. She thought he had some feelings for her, but his intentions coupled with his words indicated differently.

She was to have had a chance-four weeks with him-to build something permanent, but she didn't get four days. She had to leave the room-right now-before she made an utter fool of herself by making declarations of love or crumbling to the floor weeping and pleading.

She started for the door. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to get out of his presence, to collect herself. To think. To harden her heart.

"Angelica." He caught her hand and stepped closer. "Don't go." His blue eyes were suddenly less guarded. As always, his proximity enveloped her senses. Gently, he brushed back a lock of her hair. "Being with you has been better than a dream."

His look of utter mournfulness surprised her and caused a little bit of hope to swell inside. She tried to push it away, afraid to believe in it.

"We should have had more time together," he continued, "but there is still some time left. Bliss like this doesn't come around every day." Cupping her face, he kissed her softly. She closed her eyes, trying to steel her strength, yet still clinging to the contact. "I, for one, am not ready to let go just yet," he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled away, needing to see the confirmation of his words in his eyes. It was there. Hope swelled a little more.

"If you would allow," he said, her face still cradled between his palms, "we could be together for the remainder of our time on the island as well as the entire voyage. It is a total of nearly two months. More than we agreed upon in our arrangement. What say you? Will you be with me until we reach France, mon ange? I've no right to ask, but I find it impossible not to ask just the same."

She should say no and run. Pick up the pieces of her heart and guard them fiercely, but she'd made her proposition knowing it was risky. He was offering more time together. Would it be enough to convince him that they belonged together? That their stations of birth shouldn't separate them?

He was back to kissing her mouth with a tenderness she felt down to her heart. If she backed away now, she would lose for certain. Her only chance was to see it through to the end.

To the end of the voyage, and hope to change his mind.

"Angelica...say you will be with me."

What choice did she have but to give it her all? That way, in her old age, she wouldn't condemn herself for not having tried all that was in her power to have the man she loved.

Was regret not worse than a broken heart?

In his eyes, she could see how much he wanted her to agree, how much this situation was causing him pain, and she decided to see her original plan through to the end.

"I will."

He drew her tightly against him and buried his face in her hair. "Thank G.o.d."

"But understand this," she said pulling back. "I will not go back to Beaulieu. Ever."

He kissed her again, with more purpose. "Let's not talk about this now. To h.e.l.l with France and all those in it," he murmured between kisses. "While we're together, we will make the most of it. Nothing exists but the two of us and this magnificent bliss we create together."

His words couldn't be truer.

The stakes were raised. If she reached the sh.o.r.es of France and he hadn't declared his love, she would lose everything and everyone she'd come to hold dear-never to return to Marguerite again.

She would never see Gabriella again. She would never listen to Suzette's bubbly chatter or watch her try to catch Paul's eye anymore. She would never see any of these people again, never know what became of her students.

She would be forced to endure endless days without any of them. Without Simon.

So much uncertainty lay in her future. Everything weighed upon the voyage back to France.

And how deep Simon's feelings truly were for her.

Simon sat behind the desk of his study, swirling his goblet of brandy. Merriment went on beyond the doors of his study. A party for his commanders who were leaving to return to France. A party was the last thing he was in any mood for.

He reminded himself, for surely the thousandth time, that he was doing the right thing.

His plan didn't involve bettering himself for a change. But bettering others-not only Angelica, but also his own kind-the lower cla.s.s in France whom he'd wronged by aiding Fouquet's climb to power. May Fouquet and Angelica's stepfather burn in h.e.l.l for what they've done.

But what about him?

Upon his own death, would he join them? Could he ever be forgiven for pursuing his ambitions blindly, to the detriment of so many? Could h.e.l.l be worse than how he felt at the thought of letting Angelica go?

Jules marched into the study and slammed the door shut behind him. "I must speak to you."

Simon frowned. "Thank you for knocking."

Jules's usual smile was notably absent. "You are making a grave error."