To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,59
blinked and wet her lips with hesitation. “Was that why you didn’t attend with us?”
Her cousin nodded slowly. “I am not in a position to favor according to my opinions, unlike others in my country, Henrietta. I cannot risk my family. As such, despite no one in France being particularly pleased with a return to monarchy, many of us will support His Majesty. We will attend Il viaggio a Reims instead of Les Abencérages, not that we will be judged, but simply to remove any questions that may linger about us.”
Hal shook her head slowly. “As particular as all that? Why accept royalty, then?”
“What choice did we have?” Jean asked, the sad excuse for a smile remaining. “We were a country exhausted, ma chère. Between le Revolution and Napoleon, almost no family was left untouched by death, loss, or war.” He glanced up at the ceiling above them, the artistry a nostalgic memoir of the grandeur of France from long ago. “After the emperor was removed, and the Bourbons took over, French subjects were not treated well. It felt like being beat into submission, and those poor souls who had served in la Grande Armée…”
She should have left his trailing off where it was, but curiosity had never settled well with Hal, and so she ventured, “What happened?”
Jean brought his eyes back to her. “I think it was the late Duc de Berry who said, in your tongue, ‘Let us go marshal hunting’. And Napoleon’s marshals were indeed hunted. I do not know how successfully, but…” He only shrugged once more.
For all her devotion to England, Hal suddenly ached for her mother’s country of France, and her family that still lived here.
And she wondered…
“It’s a wonder you do not rise up again,” she said before she could stop herself. “France, I mean.”
Jean shook his head and straightened. “Someone likely will, should this manner continue. But I will not be among them. While His Majesty is not favored, his brother was fair enough. Monarchs come and monarchs go, cousine. You know this in England.”
At this, Hal could only nod.
“And I,” Jean went on with a sigh. “I do not possess the strength of character, or courage of conviction, to stray from the power most prevalent. I value my life, you see, and the lives of my family above les parties intangibles de la vie. For this, I am sometimes judged.”
A furrow appeared between his thick brows, and Hal wondered just what sort of judgments he had faced in recent years, and from which quarters.
“But mon Dieu connaîtra mon cœur,” he murmured almost to himself.
My God will know my heart.
It seemed to be a mantra as much as a prayer, a motto for his family, whatever tradition it had been. Surely, there could be no fault in such a statement. And surely, the Baron de Rouvroy was no traitor to his king or his country.
“And He shall be your judge,” Hal replied, smiling gently.
Jean returned her smile and reached for her hand, kissing it softly. Then, the somber moment passed, and he laughed to himself. “So, I pray you will pardonnes-moi, cousine, if I cannot sing Suspendez a ces murs with you. Though I do not mind if you sing it, for the song is quite beautiful.”
“Yes,” Hal agreed with a laugh and a nod. “Yes, it was quite stirring.”
Something in her mind clicked and spun, playing the song in question at twice the speed, the lyrics echoing with a startling clarity.
That song. Those words.
Vous ne me verrez pas mourir…
That was it.
“Holy blessed heavens…” Hal breathed, reaching for the wall beside her with one hand. She swallowed hard, feeling the color draining from her cheeks and did not need her cousin’s concerned expression to tell her so.
“Henrietta?” he asked, immediately looking her over. “You look ill again. I had hoped your rest would have cured you.” He turned to the drawing room. “Pratt, I fear Henrietta is unwell once more.”
John was to her in an instant, the groans of the children audible.
“Ange?” he murmured, taking her arms and giving her a thorough look. “What is it?”
Hal stared at him in horror and awe, her thoughts not quite concise enough to express, and certainly not before such company. “I think… I think I need to place a candle in our window.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I think you might be the most brilliant mind in England and France.”
“Hardly. I’m married to you.”
John turned in his seat to give his wife an amused look.