Zoe Read online

  “Zoé…” he whispered, but she was so hysterical, she didn’t hear him. So he struggled to speak louder. “Zoé, écoute!”

  She looked up, eyes brimming with tears, her hair in her face and lips quivering. “I’m so sorry—”

  “No!” He shook his head. “Listen.”

  She swallowed and nodded. He smiled at her and his fingertips cleared the hair from her face.

  “You are my Zoé, the beautiful daughter of Capucine Draqcor who was the love of my life.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I am no fool. I raised you to be strong and independent. I encouraged that flame in you that burns so bright even now. I knew how dangerous it was to shelter you from the evil of men and make you believe that everyone had goodness in their heart. I want to apologize for striking you. You are young and innocent and that man took advantage of your trust.”

  Zoé looked up at him, wild-eyed, and shook her head. “But Papa, he loves me.”

  “No, he does not. But I see that you love him.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “I do.”

  “We all do impulsive things for love. Some of us even destroy the ones we desire the most. I loved your mother most of all, but I was arrogant, and selfish. I made her suffer because of my mistakes. I took your stepmother to bed, causing her to bear me Marianne. Your mother was forced to play mistress in a home she thought was hers. I was thoughtless, and I will forever regret how we both suffered because of it.”

  Zoé had heard rumors that Madame had tricked him into marrying her, but she’d never believed them, not because she thought Madame incapable of such trickery, but because she didn’t want to think that he could have betrayed her mother so horribly. To hear the truth deepened her sorrow.

  Bouchard sighed. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you or love you any less because of this.”

  “Oh, Papa…”

  “This is not your fault. My health has been failing for years. You must know that you did not do this. I don’t want you ever to carry one ounce of guilt or regret for daring to be you. My only regret is that I didn’t protect you from that man, that I was unable to defend your honor.”

  Zoé gripped his hand. She had to make him understand. “Papa, please listen. I know that what Gian— what he and I did was wrong. We should have come to you with our feelings, but he is a good man. He is just tortured like most men. I don’t blame you for Maman’s death. She was happy loving you, and told me many nights how wonderful you were to her.”

  She was overjoyed to see how her words, and the memories they evoked, brought a smile to his face.

  “You’re a woman now,” he said, brushing his fingertips against her cheek.

  Zoé kissed his palm. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too. I’ve told Madame to take care of you. I don’t have much to leave for you three. Our business is not profitable, but there’s a policy on me and Madame should be able to sustain you.”

  Zoé nodded, knowing full well that once he died Madame would expel her from the household, but she didn’t dare tell him that. She wanted him to have peace.

  Bouchard gestured for her to come closer. She climbed into bed and snuggled beside him, her wide skirt fanning across his legs as she nestled into his arm. The door opened and Marianne appeared, still crying. Bertrand looked up and beckoned for her as well. She ran to the other side of the bed and climbed in to hug him.

  He smiled. “I love you.”

  Marianne’s hand slid across their father to Zoé, who accepted it and squeezed it as they both rested their heads on their father’s chest. They were both so choked up with emotion that they could hardly speak. Snuggled up next to him on either side, they listened to his weak and erratic heartbeat. When they heard the final thump of his heart, when they saw that his chest rose and fell no more, Marianne screamed and Zoé clung to him. Shattered by their loss, they clung to his lifeless body, shedding the most heartbroken tears of their lives.

  Their father was dead and their world would never be the same.

  EF They buried him on a Sunday. The sky, ash gray and cloudy, offered no hope of sunshine or joy. The grass in the private graveyard was wet and muddy from the morning rain, which continued to fall in large droplets around the mourners. All of Narbonne was in attendance to pay its respects to one of the most beloved men in the village.

  The Bouchard family had always been generous and supportive of the villagers who worked in its fishing trade. This was especially true under the leadership of Bertrand Bouchard. It was why the family fortune was all but exhausted. Bouchard could never turn away anyone in need.

  Standing two steps back from the grave, Zoé wore a long black velvet gown with a matching black rain cape around her shoulders. A mink cuff concealed and warmed her trembling hands. On her head was a black bonnet with a net veil that shielded her tear-stained face. Marianne and Madame were dressed in similar fashion and all three ladies were locked in their own personal hells.

  Under a darkening sky, the priest spoke of God and heaven, telling the surviving souls that death was all a part of the Almighty’s plan. Zoé took in each word with bitterness. Her father deserved better than this. He should not have died broken and poor. Nor should he have suffered even a minute of discomfort because of her recklessness. He’d told her that his illness and impending death was not her fault, but it was.

  Gazing down at the casket holding his remains, her vision became blurred. Vaguely, she noted that the air had gotten heavier. Thunder could be heard at a distance. Tears slipped her from eyes and an irrational resentment swelled in her breast. How could he die on her? How could he leave her? He was all she had left in the world.

  Marianne stood next to her, weeping softly. After he died, the two girls had refused to leave him. After several hours, Madame had gotten the staff to carry the girls away. In the middle of the night, Zoé awakened to find Marianne standing by her bed, her long blonde locks tangled and disheveled. It occurred to Zoé that her younger sister was carrying her own load of guilt. After all, it was she who had told their father of Zoé’s indiscretion.

  Zoé pulled back the covers for her sister to climb in. Marianne lay in her arms as she had when they were little girls after Zoé’s mother died. When Zoé was six, Marianne was four and they were inseparable.

  Whatever anger and disappointment the sisters felt toward one another died with their father. Zoé extended her hand to her sister and Marianne accepted it. The contact brought about the comfort that only sisters could give to one another.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” the priest intoned. Zoé let her gaze drift over the crowd. The grief-stricken faces of the villagers, men, women and children representing a range of social classes and occupations, impressed upon her how widely loved her father had been. She was grateful that Madame, who was always so conscious about status and matters of propriety, had opened the funeral to everyone, and not just the established class.

  As her eyes passed over the familiar faces, she wondered if this would be the last time she saw them. How long before Madame—

  Suddenly, she drew a sharp breath.

  There, standing among the mourners under a large old olive tree, was Sheridan. He tipped his top hat to her and her blood ran cold. What was he doing here? For a moment, one very brief but intense moment, she felt a surge of anger. But then it died and she returned to her grief.. It didn’t matter why he was there. Nothing mattered, now that the two men she loved more than life itself were lost to her forever.

  Madame stepped forward to toss a lily into the grave. Marianne did the same. Then it was Zoé’s turn. She put all thoughts of Sheridan out of her mind. It was time to say goodbye to Father. She stepped up to the graveside.

  There was a clap of thunder overhead and heavy rain burst from the dark clouds, causing many to take shelter under umbrellas and coats. Madame and Marianne rushed back to the family carriage, but Zoé didn’t flinch. She looked down into the grave, rain pouring all around
her, and whispered.

  “I love you, Father. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

  Her gaze went to the neighboring tombstone. It marked her mother’s grave. Bouchard’s will had been specific. He was to be buried next to his beloved Capucine. Zoé was surprised that Madame had honored his wishes. Glancing up at the carriage, she saw that Sheridan was in conversation with Madame. The sight penetrated her despair and grief, reawakening her sense of unease. Again, she wondered, what was he doing here?

  No doubt she would soon find out.

  Her attention returned to her father’s grave. A thought had come to her in the middle of the night, in those long hours between dusk and dawn, when neither her exhausted heart nor fretful mind could find peace. It was the only thought that had given her a measure of comfort or eased her guilt.

  She would make her father a promise, a final promise, and she would make it now. As her tears mingled with the rain, she fell to her knees. Ignoring the beating rain, she raised her head to the sky and spoke to her beloved papa.

  “One day, I shall make you proud of me,” she whispered.

  Strong hands gripped her by her left arm and pulled her to her feet. She turned to find Sheridan standing next to her.

  “Zoé, I—”

  With a cry, she wrenched herself away from him and ran to the carriage, stumbling as her heeled ankle boots sank in the wet marsh and the bottom of her rounded skirt dragged across the earth. By the time she’d covered the short distance to the coach, she was out of breath. The footman bowed and opened the door, and she climbed in.

  “You will catch your death of cold,” Madame scolded.

  Zoé was horrified to find that Sheridan had climbed in behind her. She glanced at Marianne to see that she, too, looked stunned.

  Sheridan smiled at her as the carriage pulled from the graveyard. “I am so sorry for your loss, ladies.”

  Marianne regarded him with unconcealed resentment. “What brings you here? ”

  Zoé’s lips parted in surprise. Marianne had never spoken out of turn and she had never spoken with such venom.

  Sheridan ignored the two girls and addressed Madame. “I am on my way back to America and when I heard of your husband’s death, I just had to come. He was a great gentleman.”

  Before Madame could respond, Marianne spoke up.

  “Now that you’ve had your say, I trust that you will be leaving us soon? ”

  “Marianne, bite your tongue!” Madame said.

  Marianne reached for Zoé’s hand. “We just lost Papa. We need no company at this time. We need to be alone, as a family, to heal.”

  Sheridan nodded, as though this made perfect sense to him. “Oh, I don’t want to impose. I actually came with news.”

  Zoé’s heart skipped a beat. Was she about to hear news of her beloved?

  “I would like to take a bride,” Sheridan announced.

  Two shocked faces looked back at him.

  “I see? ” Madame asked.

  Sheridan put on a magnanimous smile. “Madame, you have just lost your husband. I don’t want to add to your grief. Far from it. As I said earlier I am here to ease your situation, to make your burden easier.”

  Marianne narrowed her eyes. “And how do you propose to do that? ”

  Madame again hushed her, but Sheridan took no offense. He continued merrily.

  “Why, by making a handsome offer of marriage.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Marianne. “I have no desire to marry you.”

  “Bien. It is your sister’s hand I seek.”

  Zoé felt a cold sense of danger grip her. She’d known. She’d seen him under the olive tree and a part of her had known what he was up to. He smirked at her and she had to fight an urge to slap his face.

  “Absolutely not!” Marianne cried.

  “Marianne! That’s enough!” Madame declared. “I understand that you’re under duress, but you will stop with this rudeness.”

  Marianne turned to her sister. “He’s not to be trusted! He sent me to find you. He knew what I would walk in on.”

  Zoé was shocked. She looked at Sheridan and her anger flared. “C’est vrai?”

  Madame raised her hand. “Nothing Monsieur Sheridan did compares to what you did. I am your guardian and I shall speak on your behalf.”

  “Maman!” Marianne cried, “There is no way Papa would have approved—”

  “Enough, I said! We won’t have this discussion now.”

  Marianne swallowed, her cheeks flushed pink. Zoé looked from her to Madame and Sheridan, and felt chilled to the bone, certain that her fate had already been determined.

  Madame gave Sheridan a smile. “We shall discuss your offer over tea.”

  The carriage fell silent. The girls watched Sheridan in disgust the rest of the way home.

  EF “I won’t let her do this to you, Zoé. I swear it!” Marianne said, tears in her eyes, as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.

  Zoé closed her eyes briefly and sighed. She saw no point

  in arguing; she was sick with grief and guilt. She just wanted to get out of her heavy, wet dress and crawl into bed. Zoé shook her head. She didn’t care what happened to her, anymore. She had nothing to offer anyone, anyway. When her father died, she assumed that this would be her fate. The thought of being held captive by that monster did sicken her, but she was resigned to it.

  “Marianne, you have no say in this matter and neither do I. Madame will never allow me to stay and I can’t marry now.”

  Marianne stopped in her tracks. “Are you saying you will give up? Have you not told me that you and La Roque are in love? ”

  Zoé had shared that with her sister that morning as she pinned her curls. She explained how she had succumbed to her passion with La Roque and why she had no regrets. She just wanted Marianne to know that they never meant to hurt her.

  “He doesn’t want my love. I can’t force him to face what he dreads.”

  “How do you know that? Shouldn’t you find out before you let yourself be sold off into servitude with that man? ” Marianne gestured down the stairs, toward the parlor, where her mother and Sheridan had gone as soon they reached the house.

  EF

  “You have a lovely home,” Sheridan was saying. “It must cost a small fortune to keep it up.” He gave Madame his most charming smile, but it was lost on her.

  Madame had learned to despise him. She now knew that it was his conniving ways that had pushed her husband into an early grave.

  “I need the truth,” she said, taking off her wet rain cape and draping it on a chair. She unpinned her hat, freeing her red and gray spiral curls.

  “Truth?” “Why do you want Zoé? Is this some sick game between you and Comte La Roque? ”

  “Why do you care? I’ve asked my questions and I know that you are in financial ruin. There is no way you can sustain all three of you. I offer you a way out.”

  “By betraying my husband and selling away his child? ”

  Sheridan shrugged. “Those are matters of guilt that don’t concern me. I am prepared to give you 50,000 francs. That should more than sustain you and Marianne until you’re able to handle your affairs.”

  “Fifty thousand? That is quite a generous offer, Monsieur Sheridan.”

  “Extremely.”

  “You would give us that kind of money for Zoé? ”

  “Yes.”

  Her husband had made her swear to take care of Zoé and not ship her off, but he’d left no money or resources. Her only hope was to marry Marianne off, but acceptable suitors were few and far between, with so many men lost to their village after the Napoleonic wars. She would have to put her own child first. Zoé was Capucine’s daughter and a woman now, and a brazen harlot at that.

  Marguerite turned around from the laundry, worried. “What is it? ”

  “It’s Zoé! We have to help her! Maman-she plans to sell her!”

  “Mais non!” gasped Marguerite. “I knew this day would come, but I had no idea it
would be the same day as the funeral. Your mother… has she no respect for the dead? But what can we do? We can’t stop her. There is no way.”

  “We must get word to Comte La Roque,” urged Marianne.

  Marguerite shook her head. “Marianne, dear, that won’t make a difference.”

  “It will! I saw them together. He loves her. It’s her only hope.”

  Madame felt a moment of old guilt at the thought of Capucine, but quickly cleared her emotions. She had long ago repaid her debt for her trickery. It was time to move on. “How soon will you be taking her? ”

  “Tonight.”

  Marguerite studied her words. “Bien… I sent JeanClaude on an errand yesterday. He should be back. Maybe I can send word through him.”

  “Oh, yes! Hurry, please! Take me to Jean-Claude.”

  EF EF

  “Marguerite! Marguerite!” cried Marianne, rushing into the servants’ quarters. It was well past midnight when the Bouchards’ fourteenyear-old gamekeeper, Jean-Claude, reached Château La Roque on horseback. He had traveled all day to deliver his mistress’ letter and was exhausted. He hitched the horse to the post at the side of the gate, thinking of his mission and its urgency. He knew this was an inappropriate time for a visit, but Marguerite had said it was for sweet Zoé.

  He had carried a secret torch for her for years. He would do anything to lessen her pain. He knocked on the door and stood back. His white wig was crooked from the ride, so he reached up, adjusted it and brushed himself off. He wore a standard footman’s uniform with a blue topcoat and tail, white tights and black pointed pumps.

  After several minutes with repeated knocks and no response, he was wondering what he could do. He dare not return without having fulfilled his mission. Suddenly, the small panel in the door was unlatched and a man’s face looked out.

  “Yes? Who goes there? ” Jean-Claude identified himself and explained that he had an urgent message for the count.

  “Are you aware of the hour? ” the voice snapped.

  “It is from Mademoiselle Zoé Bouchard.”

  One could immediately hear the gasp from person behind the door. The face disappeared from the panel, which was slapped back into place, and a moment later, the door itself was unlocked and swung open. An older servant stood there, holding a candelabrum and urging Jean-Claude to hurry up and get inside.