Not looking convinced, Marie asked, “Is this château your home?”
“Not anymore. I was very young when I married Jean-Louis and I knew nothing of his legal affairs. I have no idea who the heir is. That’s for the lawyers to decide.” She leaned forward and took Marie’s hand in both of hers. “What I do know is that we are kin and you need proper food and a proper house and Philippe needs medical care. Our home is in England, but we have been recently visiting in Brussels. You must come and stay with us until your husband is well and the situation is sorted out.”
A small sound came from Simon. Suzanne turned and gave him a look that dared him to disagree with her. He gave a short nod of acceptance.
Suzanne rose. “It’s too late in the day to make the whole trip to Brussels, but we can stay at an inn tonight and get some proper food into you.”
Marie bit her lip as she looked at her husband. “Travel will be hard on him.”
“Staying here will be even harder.” Suzanne glanced at Simon. “We can manage in the coach, can’t we?”
“I’ll ride outside,” he said. “We can lay a shutter across the inside seats to create a platform long enough for Philippe to lie on. You and Marie can sit on the other ends of the seats and make sure that he isn’t jostled off on a rough road.”
“That should work,” Suzanne agreed. “Marie, what possessions do you want to take with you?”
Marie was too exhausted to protest being carried off by near strangers. “We have very little.” She stood and pulled a canvas bag from a pile of neatly folded garments. It took only moments to add their pathetically few belongings. As she tucked a stained, folded shirt on top, she said, “The most valuable thing we own is Philippe’s rifle.”
“I’ll take charge of that,” Simon said. “I think you’ll understand that I prefer to keep it out of his reach until he’s in his right mind again.”
Marie nodded and looked around to see if there was anything else to take with her. Despite the couple’s acute poverty, Marie was well spoken and seemed gently bred. Suzanne asked, “Are you French? You have a slight accent I’m not familiar with.”
“I’m from Lorraine, where there is much influence from Germany, but we are still French.” She cocked her head curiously. “And you? You seem entirely French, but you said that you and your husband live in England?”
“I am French and he is half French and half English. He is equally at home in both countries.” Better not to mention that he was an officer in the British army until some later date.
Simon stepped outside and called Jackson in. Together they wrenched a battered shutter about the right size from a window and laid it across the left side of the coach. They padded the top by folding the young couple’s pallet in half and laying it over the shutter.
Then they wrapped Philippe in the remaining blankets and carried him to the carriage. He was unconscious of being moved and his breathing was labored. Marie sat on the forward seat and held his hand—the hand that bore the Chambron signet ring.
Suzanne sat opposite on the rear seat, ready to help hold Philippe on his makeshift bed if the carriage lurched badly. She silently prayed that they’d get this young couple to civilization in time.
They set off with Simon sharing the outside driver’s seat with Maurice and Jackson. It was a tight fit but manageable. Maurice set the horses at a slow pace to minimize jostling of the sick passenger.
Marie was almost as exhausted as her husband. By the time they reached the main road, she was folded over, dozing with her head on her husband’s shoulder, still holding his hand.
Suzanne wondered how all this would work out, but one thing was certain. They couldn’t leave these young people to die alone in a ruined palace.
Chapter 22
They found a clean country inn only a few miles up the Brussels road. Madame Moreau, the grandmotherly landlady, clucked over the condition of Philippe and Marie and called for her grown children to get the young couple settled in a ground-floor room.
Experienced with nursing sick people, Madame Moreau managed to get willow bark tea down Philippe, then warm beef broth and a sleeping draft so he could rest. For Marie, she provided a hip bath, hot water, and a worn but clean shift to sleep in. Marie almost whimpered with happiness. After eating two bowls of hot, nourishing soup, Marie was sleeping as soundly as her husband on the cot that had been brought in. Suzanne was grateful to let Madame Moreau take over the nursing care.
Because the inn was small and everyone ate in the common room, she and Simon weren’t alone together until they withdrew to their small bedchamber. She watched him a little warily, uncertain how he felt about the day’s events. As Simon unfastened the laces at the back of her gown, he said with dry amusement, “I didn’t expect that you’d clutch a pair of Bonapartist asps to your bosom.”
She smiled ruefully as he helped peel the gown off, his hands warm on her shoulders. “I didn’t expect it, either. But they’re kin and they’re in dire straits.”
He folded her gown over the foot of the bed and went to work unlacing her stays. “True enough about the dire straits,” he admitted, before pressing a kiss on the side of her neck that sent tingles to Suzanne’s toes. There were advantages to not having her lady’s maid with her.
As he finished with her stays, he asked, “Do you believe he is Jean-Louis’s son?”
Suzanne inhaled deeply, glad to be down to her loose shift. Turning to Simon, she replied, “He certainly looks like a Duval. Jean-Louis was in his thirties when we married. He could have sired any number of children by then.”
Simon removed his coat and cravat, revealing his broad shoulders so that he looked pleasingly informal. “You’re right about the Duval resemblance. The bigger question is whether Philippe is legitimate.”
“That’s much less likely. The story Philippe told Marie about Jean-Louis having been smitten by love for a beautiful farm girl . . . ?” Suzanne began braiding her hair. “Perhaps, but smitten by lust is much more likely. I’m sure Jean-Louis would never have stooped to marrying a girl so far beneath him. I never heard a hint of rumor that he might have had a first wife.”
Simon stripped down to his loose shirt and drawers, then pulled the covers down so they could retire. The bed was not large, so they would have to sleep close. He was fine with that. “Might he have arranged a false marriage ceremony to get a beautiful girl to lie with him?”
