Part 31 (1/2)

Fouquet halted his steps, eager to share his intended course of action with his loyal servant. ”Let Louis review the black ledgers all he wants. If he is looking for ways to flex his newly realized power, to answer the cries of corruption from the downtrodden”-Fouquet rolled his eyes-”then I shall serve up the perfect diversion until he forgets his ridiculous idea of ruling France by himself,” he stated dryly, wis.h.i.+ng that Louis was still engrossed in his ballets rather than affairs of state.

”A diversion, my lord?”

”A scapegoat.”

”Who, my lord?”

”Someone who Louis could be made to believe is enough of a threat to him to gain his attention. There's a man who is the perfect choice. He's no more than a peasant who has tried to rise above his rank. He has been useful to us in the past, but now with the realm at peace, he's totally dispensable. No one of any significance would protest the arrest and ultimate execution of Simon Boulenger and his group of rebels, except perhaps the Marquis de Nevelon, but that can be dealt with too. We shall serve Boulenger's head to Louis in a most convincing way. We'll dangle our carrot, and when Louis bites, we will have deflected the attention from ourselves. Then the king will stop obsessing with my accounting ledgers. I, of course, will see to Boulenger's capture. Louis will be grateful that his Superintendent of Finance has once again demonstrated his value and indispensability.”

Fouquet sat back down behind his impressive ebony-and-gold-inlay desk. ”I have the n.o.bles in line, and the king will fall into place too. Since he is easily distracted, perhaps we'll find him a new mistress to occupy his time as well. One way or another, I intend to gain the position as First Minister and rule over France just as Mazarin did. I've more than earned it. Besides, it's about time someone capable and French rules this nation, don't you think? Everyone was sick of that Italian pig, Mazarin. See to the ledgers, Pellisson. Simon Boulenger's s.h.i.+ps are due to arrive soon. Do inform me the moment he returns to France.”

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Tired, dressed in men's clothes and a large hat with a long blue plume, Angelica followed the servant through the grand home of Robert d'Arles.

With each step she took, her stomach balked, still suffering the effects of her trip to the marquis's home. She'd traveled the distance from Simon's s.h.i.+p to Chateau Nevelon on a rickety gravedigger's cart with the putrid smell of rotting flesh emanating from the wooden box it carried. With each new breeze, the stench had a.s.sailed her nostrils and oozed down her throat. It had taken considerable effort to hold down the contents of her stomach.

But she couldn't complain.

The gravedigger was the only one she'd come across who seemed trustworthy enough to take her to her destination. During the entire nauseating trip, Angelica had to force herself not to think about the deceased or wonder, given the relaxed rate at which the gravedigger traveled, how much worse the foul odor would get.

Thankfully, the gravedigger hadn't questioned her attire; he had taken her for a lad and not a woman traveling alone. She'd held her tongue for most of the trip, afraid to open her mouth while she fought down the bile. He seemed quite content to speak with little partic.i.p.ation on her part, telling her just how many bodies he'd buried during the week, month, year.

Seeing the courtyard ahead, Angelica pushed aside the memory of her trip on the gravedigger's cart. Pus.h.i.+ng aside the incessant ache for Simon wasn't so easy.

Dressed in oversized breeches tied at the waist with rope and an oversized doublet wasn't how she had wanted to present herself to her father's friend, but at the moment, her choices were limited, her circ.u.mstances dire.

She was relieved to learn from the majordomo that the marquis was very much alive and in residence, and she'd felt hopeful when the head servant returned to advise that the marquis would see her.

Entering the courtyard, the servant announced, ”Angelica de Castel of the late Comte de Beaulieu.” He bowed and stepped away.

Angelica swiped the hat from her head.

Seated at a stone table was a striking older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and broad shoulders. He was staring at her as if he were seeing a ghost.

”Sir, forgive me for this intrusion, and for my mode of dress,” she began.

He struggled to rise, waving off the a.s.sistance of a servant. He grimaced, then straightened. Standing, he was nearly as tall as Simon, yet he leaned heavily on his cane.

”Come closer,” he ordered.

She approached, wondering for the thousandth time what she would do if he cast her out.

His gray eyes scrutinized her face for what seemed an eternity.

”I thought etienne's only daughter had been dead for some time now. Yet, I see in you a striking resemblance to the late Louise Fourche.” His tone was incredulous. ”You have her unforgettable eyes. Can it be that you are truly Angelica?”

At the mention of her parents, her losses suddenly felt overwhelming. She'd lost them, and Simon. She was alone. Dest.i.tute. Tears threatened to spill. She fought them back, refusing to break. Not now. Not in front of the marquis.

Lifting her chin a notch, she looked him directly in the eyes and said, ”I swear, I am who I say I am. I know it is shocking, my sudden appearance, dressed in this fas.h.i.+on... But you were my father's friend. He spoke highly of you... I have nowhere else to go...” Her predicament was truly desperate, for she was placing her trust at the feet of a man of whom she had only a vague recollection.

”Dieu, you even have her melodious voice,” he said. ”I've never turned away from a woman in distress. However, I have a question. Tell me, out of the many fine attributes Louise had, what was the one that etienne loved so-that first drew him to her on the day they met?”

”Her voice, sir. My mother sang that day, thinking she was alone in the gardens. Throughout the years, she sang to both of us, often at my father's behest.”

He smiled then, his eyes s.h.i.+ning warmly at her.

”Have I pa.s.sed your test?”

”You have.”

Thank G.o.d...

He shook his head in disbelief. ”I cannot believe etienne's daughter lives. Where have you been all these years?”

”In a convent, outside of France. I've been hiding from my stepfather.”

The marquis's eyes filled with concern. ”Why? What has he done?”

She'd come a long way in a short time, thanks to Simon. He'd taught her to confide in others. ”The worst thing a stepfather can do to a young stepdaughter. A shameful act that disgraced her and forced her to flee.” She would have never voiced this to the marquis or anyone months ago.

”Good Lord! I'm so sorry.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. ”You're welcome to stay here, as long as you want. I will protect you as best I can.”

Relief washed over her. ”Thank you for your kindness. I trust you will keep this information to yourself.”

”You have my word,” he a.s.sured. ”Your stepfather has told everyone that you're dead. No doubt he wishes it. You should be aware that there have been changes to his status since you've been gone. He is now the Marquis de Belle-Isle, and, many would argue, the most powerful man in the realm. He's become the Superintendent of Finance.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. The Superintendent of Finance. Dear G.o.d. That was the man Simon had spoken of. The man who was corrupt and was causing so much suffering. Of course, it was her stepfather. Who else could be so unconscionable?

She and Simon shared a common enemy, and he would learn of it soon enough. He was, after all, headed to Beaulieu. It would give him yet another reason not to be a part of her life, for to be involved with the stepdaughter of his foe would be foolhardy.

Knowing her stepfather's cruel nature, she could never endanger Simon by doing anything that might cause Fouquet to discover her whereabouts and link her and Simon together. The best and only thing she could do was to stay away from Simon.

It was what he wanted anyway.

Now that she knew how powerful Fouquet had become, her stay in France would have to be very brief. Despite the marquis's kind offer, she had to find some place to go. Some place to live out the rest of her life.

”Forgive me, you must be exhausted. Have you any other clothes?”

”Yes. They're in my valise. I left it with your majordomo, Monsi-”

”Enough formalities. Call me Robert. I have no less than a hundred questions rus.h.i.+ng through my mind, yet I can see how weary you are. I'll have a room prepared for you and a meal sent to you. Rest. We can talk this evening.”

Simon stood rigid and tense on the deck of the s.h.i.+p captained by Armand while the crew searched it for Angelica.