I hurry to the door, open it a crack, and peer out into the hallway, then nearly gasp in surprise when I spot Madame Hivern lurking outside Duval’s door. Hopefully, the door presented as thick an obstacle to her as it did to me.
I know Duval wanted this meeting to remain secret, but it is my own suspicion of the woman that propels me into the hall. I arrange my face in a flustered look, then step out of the office. “Madame Hivern?” I say, making my voice young and just a bit tremulous.
Startled, she whirls around. “Demoiselle Rienne? what are you doing here?” Her lovely face is wary.
I glance about, confused. “I was looking for milord Duval’s chambers. One of the footmen told me they were in this corridor, but I must have miscounted the doors.”
Her face relaxes and a smile that is pure condescension appears on her face. “Come, my dear.” She reaches out, tucks my arm in hers, and begins leading me down the hall, away from both doors. “Surely you know that the best way to lose a man is to chase him down?” She pats my hand. “Let me share with you the secrets of our trade.”
It is all I can do to keep from correcting her disturbing assumption. Nor do I trust this sudden charity of hers. “Madame is too kind.” I am pleased that I keep any whiff of irony from my words. In truth, the last thing I want is advice from Duval’s mother on how to be a good mistress. However, perhaps I can turn it to my advantage and use the opportunity to learn more about Duval.
The memory of his stricken face the night they argued flits through my mind, and I feel sick at my own deception, as if I am probing a gaping wound. Nevertheless, it is why I am here, and I know just what the reverend mother would think of such misplaced scruples.
Ignoring the nobles and courtiers gathered in clusters in the grand salon, Madame Hivern settles us in a corner away from the others. when we are alone, she turns considering eyes on me. “So.” She sets her graceful hands in her lap. "Where are you from, my dear, and how did you meet Gavriel?”
I lower my eyes — a young country miss would be nervous, would she not? — and begin twisting my hands in my lap. “My family is of modest means, madame, and would not be known to you.”
She tilts her head daintily, but the smile on her face is brittle as glass. “Then how did you come to meet?”
Stick close to the truth to give weight to the lie is what the convent drilled into our heads. “In a tavern, near Brest.” I do not fully trust Duval, but I trust his mother even less and will not serve up his secrets on a platter before her.
Her face blanches and she rears back a little, as if she has just been struck. “Please tell me you were not the serving wench.”
“No,” I say, careful not to smile. “I was passing through on my family’s business.”
I watch as she mentally combs through the coastal area of Brest, trying to determine what business Duval was up to. After another moment, her lovely mask falls back into place. “You must forgive me,” she says, “but my son has kept so completely to himself until now, I scarcely know how to credit your presence.”
I make my eyes wide and innocent. “But madame, clearly the two of you are estranged, so perhaps he has simply not mentioned such relationships to you.”
Her mouth grows ugly and flat at this blatant reminder, but she bites back her retort as a servant places a tray of spiced wine in front of us. By the time the servant leaves, she has composed herself. I pick up a wine goblet, and she leans forward, changing the subject. “Not all men are the same, you know. with someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming.” Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.
She frowns and continues her prattling. "Why ever did you think it would be a good idea to chase him down? Is that what girls do in the village you come from?”
“I was not chasing him, madame, merely trying to deliver a message. It came after he left this morning and I thought to deliver it myself.”
Hivern holds up her hands in mock horror. “You are his paramour, not his servant. Do not follow him like a dog follows his master.”
My hand tightens on my wine goblet, and I am glad it is silver, not glass, for surely it would shatter under the force of my annoyance with this woman. “Madame, I assure you — ”
“Oh, call me Antoinette, won’t you? I think we shall be fast friends, you and I.”
“Do you think that is a good idea, given the breach between you and your son?”
A hint of cold fury flickers across her face, then is gone. “Perhaps you can help us to heal this rift.”
I set my goblet down on the table and give Madame Hivern my most innocent look. “Is that why you were looking for him? To call a truce?”
Annoyance crosses her face, and she casts about the room as if searching for a distraction. Apparently she finds one, for her expression softens and her eyes shine with the first true emotion she has shown. “My darling!” Hivern’s face is alight with pleasure. “Do come here, I have someone I would like you to meet.”
The man who approaches is tall and slender with dark eyes and fine features and is far too young to be her lover, and yet she has called him darling. He gives me a cautious, considering look, then bends to kiss Hivern’s cheek.
“Ismae, I would like you to meet my son François Avaugour. François, this is Ismae, Gavriel’s new friend.”
If he has heard tell of his brother’s “friend,” he gives no indication. He bends gallantly over my hand. “Enchanté, demoiselle. Any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine.”
I murmur some nonsense back, and Madame Hivern pats the seat next to her. “Come join us, my love.”
“But of course.” François takes the chair close to Hivern so that he faces me. “How can I resist the two loveliest ladies at court?”
I long to roll my eyes at his words, but I peer up at him through my lashes instead.
“Gavriel’s friend is not used to such polished manners, François. She has been too long in the country. You should offer to guide her through her first visit to court when your brother is tending to his other duties.”
His liquid brown eyes meet mine. “I can think of nothing that would give me more pleasure, demoiselle.”