A Lady Betrayed (Secrets of the Musketeers Book 2) Read online

  A Lady Betrayed

  Leda Swann

  Chapter 1

  Courtney held her arms up in the air as her maidservant dropped the yellow gown over her head, taking care not to crease the delicate silk as it was lowered gingerly over her body.

  She stooped slightly and looked at herself critically in the looking glass that hung from the back of her dresser.

  Her corset was tight, but not uncomfortably so. Her dress would barely do up at the back with her corset as loose as this. She could make her waist seem a good half inch thinner were she to try a little harder. “Lace me tighter, Suzanne,” she instructed her maid.

  “Yes, miss.”

  The maid tugged and tugged at the laces until Courtney was satisfied. That was better - much better. She could scarcely breathe now. Her waist looked as thin as that of a child of seven and her breasts, forced up by the tight corset, made a respectable cleavage.

  She tugged at the neck of her dress, pulling it ever so slightly lower to make the most of her small curves. She would never have a cleavage to be particularly proud of, but tightly-laced corsets gave her sufficient bosom not to be ashamed to be seen out in company.

  With nimble fingers, the maidservant did up the multitude of buttons that ran the length of Courtney’s back. She turned this way and that in front of the speckled glass. With her corsets tightly laced, the gown fitted her like a glove, the smooth silk sliding over her body like a shimmering waterfall of sunshine.

  She shook the lace cuffs down past her elbows with a frisson of triumphant satisfaction. The lace was real Brussels lace which her father had obtained for her at great expense – it had cost as much as an entire new gown just for a few luscious yards. She had loved it the moment she saw it on the counter of her favorite draper’s shop, the delicate white webbing looped and coiled in waves of fine temptation. Her father had proved an easy mark when she went to him a-begging. He loved to see her finely dressed.

  Cream satin slippers, heavy with beading and brocade, slid effortlessly on over her thin silk stockings.

  She twirled in front of the looking glass. Her dress was every bit as fabulous as she had hoped. Justin Legros, the handsome son of her father’s best friend, would be sure to ask her to dance. She liked Justin well enough, but she liked even more the envious glances of her friends when she was dancing with him. Every young girl she knew in Lyons would give her eyeteeth to catch him as a husband, but he cared little for women and never even bothered to dance with anyone else but her. She would make sure to keep it that way if she could.

  She hoped there would be plenty of other good-looking men attending her birthday party. She had made her father promise to ask every eligible young bachelor in the whole of Lyons. She hoped he had been strict in his interpretation of young, but not quite so strict in his interpretation of eligible. On the whole, she preferred the ineligible ones to flirt with. They posed no danger to her – her father would run them off soon enough if they were boring enough to think that her flirting might mean anything serious.

  She flicked a tiny thread off her sleeve with the tip of one long, manicured fingernail. The time had come for the most important part. Trying to contain the bubbles of excitement that fizzed in the pit of her stomach, she sat down on a low stool in front of the glass and gave Suzanne an anxious nod. “Now for my hair.”

  The maidservant stood behind her and began the painstaking job of combing through her waist-length hair until it lay flat and smooth. That task once done, she tipped a few drops of scented oil onto the palms of her hands and ran her fingers through Courtney’s hair until it gleamed.

  With the utmost care, she placed a curling paper over a lock of Courtney’s hair and wrapped it in the curling iron she took from the fire.

  When she drew the still sizzling hot iron away a moment later, the paper was scorched with the heat, but Courtney’s lock of hair lay in a beautiful curl.

  Courtney sighed as she felt the tautness in her neck and shoulders relax with relief. Her first curl was done. The first was always the hardest to get right. The paper had to be just the right thickness and the curling iron had to be just the right heat. Too cold and her hair wouldn’t hold the curl, but too hot and her hair would frizzle into a scorched and evil-smelling mess.

  She smiled at her servant. “Good work.” She wanted to look her best tonight - she would not tolerate a single scorched strand.

  One by one the maidservant laid curl after perfect curl on her shoulders until every lock of hair was in perfect order. Courtney checked her appearance in the glass once again, tossing her hair gently back and forth, but even her own critical eye could find few flaws.

  Her anxiety over her looks soothed, she took a gold coin from her brocade drawstring purse and pressed it into her maidservant’s hands. The servant gave a half-smile and tucked it away safely into her bodice. “Thank you, Mademoiselle.”

  Suzanne would get rich serving her, Courtney thought to herself, as she poked absentmindedly through her jewelry, wondering what to wear around her neck. In another year or two, she would let it be known that she would offer the girl a good dowry when she wed – enough for her to set herself up in business as a milliner or a tavern keeper. Suzanne would have no lack of worthy suitors then.

  There was a knock at the door. Courtney, torn between a pretty gold filigree cross on a chain and a single strand of pearls, gave a slight wave and Suzanne scurried to open it.

  Courtney looked up from her dressing table as her father entered her chamber.

  He stopped in the doorway and looked at her. “Courtney, my dear, you look beautiful tonight.” She could see his pride in her shining out of his eyes.

  She ran to him and gave him a cautious hug – careful not to crease her dress or muss her newly dressed hair. “Thank you, Papa.”

  He held her out at arm’s length and gave a small sigh. “Your mother wore yellow the first night I met her. It suits you just as well as it did her.”

  She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, wanting to chase away the soft chill of sadness that settled on him whenever he thought of her mama. “I know a girl should never ask a man to dance, but will you do me the honor of opening the dancing with me tonight?”

  He grinned at her and chucked her under the chin. “After all the effort I went to inviting all the young blades in Lyons to my daughter’s celebration, and you’d rather dance with your old Papa?” He heaved a mock sigh. “I might as well not have bothered.”

  “Only the first dance,” she hastened to reassure him. “After that I shall abandon you mercilessly for every young man in the room.”

  “I’m not so sure that I’m ready to be abandoned by my only child. Who will look after me in my old age if you do not?”

  “I will always look after you, Papa.” She did not like to think of her father alone and abandoned when his steps became tottery and slow and his hair grayed to silver. He had loved her so dearly and looked after her so well all her life. She owed him more than she could ever repay.

  “I suppose it is the way of the world. Every dog must have his day and I’ve had mine. I will have to surrender you sooner or later to some young blade that you’ve set your fancy on. Just remember,” and he wagged his finger at her to give his words an extra fillip, “I’ll only give you up willingly to a young man who is worthy of you, so don’t go falling in love with a rascal.”

  She had no intention of falling in love with anyone just yet. Even when she did, she would not abandon her papa. He would always be the first man in her life. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  He gave a harrumph. “I hope not. But no more of that. I came to wish
you a happy birthday, my dear child.” He fished in one pocket and handed her a small silver box tied with a yellow ribbon. “This is for you.”

  Her birthday present! Though she was a grownup eighteen years old today, she was still child enough to adore presents. She pulled the ribbon off with an eager hand, and lifted the lid off the box. Nestled inside, on a bed of yellow satin, was a huge sparkling diamond, its cut edges reflecting the sunlight from the windows in a thousand angles.

  She lifted it out with a reverent hand, letting it dangle in the sunlight from its intricately woven gold chain. It must have cost her father a small fortune. Generous as he was to her, she had never be given anything so spectacular before. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, in awestruck wonder.

  He smiled fondly at her enthusiasm. “Let me put it on for you.”

  She handed him the chain and turned her back to him. He lifted her curls with a careful hand and clasped the chain around the back of her neck.

  The diamond felt unusually heavy as it lay on her breast, as if it carried with it all the weight of her father’s love for her.

  Her father’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “You are as beautiful as your mother was. It is fitting that you should have the diamond I had made for her to celebrate your birth.”

  She looked up at him, not knowing what to say. Her mother had been a famous beauty and her father had loved her to distraction. Though she had been dead for eighteen years, he had never thought of marrying again. To tell her that she was as beautiful as her mother was the highest compliment he could pay her. She touched the diamond reverently. She would love it all the more, knowing that it had once been meant for her mother.

  He kissed her on the brow and then offered her his arm. “Come on downstairs now, my dear. Our guests will be arriving shortly and I need you by my side to welcome them.”

  The great chamber was glittering and sparkling like never before. Clusters of cut glass hung from the ceiling, scattering the rays of sunshine from the windows over the walls in a thousand dancing rainbows. Great wax candles stood in sconces on the walls, waiting for the light outside to fade before they would come into their own. The wooden floor glowed with polish. She had to resist the urge to slide across it in her satin slippers as she had loved to do when she was a child.

  She peeked into the chamber set aside for the older guests to play a quiet game of cards. The small square tables were all set up, covered in green baize cloths, with shiny new packs of cards especially ordered for the occasion. She turned them over and took a look through the pack. The Kings all bore the face of their own King – Louis XIV of France – but it was the Queens she was looking for.

  Ah – there it was. The Queen of Hearts was different from the other stylized faces of the pack – as she had known it would, the Queen of Hearts bore the face of her own mother.

  She fingered the diamond on her breast. It was an exact copy of the one worn by the Queen of Hearts in her hair. Her father must love her dearly to give up so precious a remembrance of the woman he had adored. She touched the card gently to her lips, honoring the likeness of the mother she had never known.

  Next stop – the supper chamber. She sniffed at the door appreciatively, her stomach feeling suddenly empty. The long table was already partly covered with cold meats and fruits, candied jellies and spices which the housekeeper was arranging on the white damask tablecloth.

  She swiped a piece of candied ginger and popped it into her mouth, enjoying the spicy tang on her tongue. The cook and her assistants, specially brought in for the night, would be hard at work in the kitchen preparing the rest of the food for the midnight supper. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she suddenly realized what a long time it would be until supper. She swiped another piece of ginger just to keep her going.

  The housekeeper shooed her away with a flapping of her apron. “Get along with you now, you young minx. You’ll spoil your appetite.”

  Courtney blew her a kiss through her mouthful of ginger and skipped out of her way.

  On the dais in the corner in the great chamber, a quartet of musicians was tuning their instruments with discordant wails. She shivered to herself as she swallowed the last of the ginger. Everything was ready for her ball. All she needed was for the guests to arrive.

  In twos and threes, their friends and acquaintances finally started to trickle in. First came the Flemish merchants who, like her father, had made their home in Lyons. Monsieur Legros and his large family, she noted with a smile, was one of the first. She beamed an extra smile at the handsome young Justin and gladly agreed to dance the second of the dances that night with him. She treasured the prospect of the envious glances of the other girls as she led him out on to the floor. Her evening was off to a fine start already.

  The guests started to arrive in ever increasing numbers, until the great chamber was nearly full. Courtney bowed her head and murmured a polite greeting to each of them as they came in. She knew them all more or less – they were her father’s colleagues in the jewel trade and her own friends and companions since childhood. She felt comfortable in their company – they were safe and predictable and good enough company in moderation.

  Only in her most discontented moments would she ever have voiced her most secret thought: their very qualities of safety and predictability meant they were also dull and boring. Though she did not admit even to herself that her companions were little to her taste, she felt some of the sparkle go out of the air as more and more of her acquaintances crowded around her, all talking loudly at the tops of their voices about profits and losses of one kind or another.

  She would not grow up to be like them, she told herself as she curtsied to yet another red-faced merchant and his plump wife, talking about profits and carriages and dowries and remedies for teething babies when they got querulous. She wanted greater things for herself. She longed for the excitement of something new...

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a couple of strangers waiting to be introduced - soldiers in the dashing uniform of the King’s Musketeers. With their black hair and heavy eyebrows they were darker than most of the guests there. She was sure she had never met them before. They looked slightly out of place in their gathering of mostly blonde Belgians – like a couple of exotic and slightly menacing intruders in the midst of their gathering of family and friends. All of a sudden, the comfortable gathering felt slightly alien and dangerous.

  She nudged her father. “Who are they?” she asked, indicating the strangers with a flick of her head. “Do I know them?”

  He grinned at her bemusement. “New acquaintances of mine recently come from Paris. They have come to oversee some contracts I have to supply the royal family, and to guard the more important consignments on their return to Paris.”

  It was unlike her father to welcome French strangers so readily into their house, though he was ever eager to open his house to any Belgian who should pass though Lyons. “Why are they here?”

  “They know few people in town and were pleased to receive the invitation.” He winked at her and grinned. “You did ask me to invite all the young, eligible men in Lyons, did you not?”

  She kept one eye on them as she murmured greetings to her guests. She could feel their eyes on her, as curious about her as she was about them. Slowly but surely, they came closer as they waited their turn to be introduced.

  Finally they were there. She stood in demure silence as her father shook their hands heartily. “Monsieur de Tournay, Monsieur Charent, this is my daughter, Courtney Ruthgard. You’re a lucky pair to have already caught the eye of the most beautiful woman in the house. She has just been asking about you.”

  “Papa,” she complained, scandalized at his teasing in such company. She shot him an evil look out of the corner of her eye. She was no longer a child to be teased so.

  Monsieur Charent winked at her, his dark blue eyes shining with amusement. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Ruthgard.”

  His gai
ety was infectious and she smiled back at him. His handsome face glowed with good humor, putting her instantly at her ease. “I am pleased to meet you, Monsieur Charent.”

  He bowed over her hand, lingering just a little longer than was strictly necessary. “I hope you will do me the honor of gracing me with a dance this evening when your duties as hostess are over?”

  Her smile widened. As handsome as he certainly was and as good-natured as he seemed to be, she was sure he would make a very agreeable partner. “I would be delighted to dance with you, Monsieur Charent.”

  “I shall count the moments until then.” With a final tip of his hat, he moved on into the crowd in the great chamber.

  The other stranger, Monsieur de Tournay, stepped up to her. His face was darker than his companion’s, and not as openly cheerful. Monsieur Charent looked pleasant and uncomplicated, like a settled summer’s day. By contrast, Monsieur de Tournay looked dangerous and unpredictable, like a sudden summer thunderstorm.

  She knew at once that this was the man who had made the air feel different. Monsieur de Tournay was the one who had set the treacherous currents swirling through the room – exotic, musky currents that spoke to her of desires she could not clearly articulate – not even to herself.

  He took her white-gloved hand in his and lifted it slowly to his lips. She shuddered as she felt the heat of his mouth through the thin white cotton of her gloves. She surreptitiously tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too strong and she did not want to make a scene.

  “Enchante, Mademoiselle Ruthgard,” he said, his fingers still holding hers firmly and his voice flowing over her like rich cream. “I used to think Parisian women had no equal. Only now do I realize how mistaken I was.” He turned her hand over and planted a trio of soft kisses on the inside of her wrist. “If only I had known before now that such beautiful flowers grew here in Lyons, I would have paid your fair city a visit long ago.”

  His soft words and the gentle, fleeting touch of his kisses on her wrist were as heady and intoxicating as the best French champagne. She felt her head swimming and her face growing hot and red. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling horribly gauche and embarrassed but not knowing what else to say. No doubt he was used to sophisticated Parisian women who would have a thousand witty remarks to make in such a situation, but she was only a simple merchant’s daughter from Lyons. She looked down at the floor as she shuffled her feet uncomfortably. She was not used to dealing with Parisian introductions or Parisian flattery.