The Chevalier Read online

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  Copyright © Jacqueline Seewald 2013

  First Published 2013

  ISBN 978-0-9923850-0-2

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  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

  either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons living or

  dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at

  www.steamereads.com.au

  The Chevalier

  by

  Jacqueline Seewald

  www.steamereads.com.au

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Jacqueline Seewald

  Also from Steam eReads:

  Dedication

  For my husband Monte

  who supports me in every possible way.

  Skye Boat Song

  Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,

  Onward, the sailors cry

  Carry the lad who was born to be king, over the sea to Skye—

  Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,

  Thunderclaps rend the air,

  Baffled, our foes—Stand by the shore, Follow they will not dare—

  Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,

  Ocean’s a royal bed,

  Rock’d in the deep, Flora will keep watch by your weary head.

  Burned are our homes, exile and death

  Scatter the royal men,

  Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,

  Charlie will come again.

  Anonymous

  Prologue

  Scottish Highlands

  May 1746

  Madeline was afraid; in fact, she had never been more frightened in her entire life. Her heart hammered so loudly against the anvil of her breast that she was certain the soldiers would surely hear it. She glanced at the Prince standing beside her and decided she must control her fear or all would be lost. What was it Andrew had told her? The English had orders to hang Bonnie Prince Charlie on sight.

  If they were found out, the Prince was as good as dead. Madeline didn’t even want to consider what could be done to her. Rape? Murder? Probably both. She shuddered. At best, she could expect herself to be thrown into an English prison. There were stories about conditions in those hideous dungeons: how the chains cut so deeply into one’s wrists and ankles that festering sores led to gangrene and a slow lingering death. The word had spread through the hills and glens. The English roamed in bands pillaging, raping and killing after the Battle at Culloden Moor in April. Although it was a warm spring morning, she shivered. Madeline took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then stiffened her spine and held her head high. She was of an old, aristocratic family who took pride in their heritage of courage. It was necessary to draw upon that now.

  “What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?” the red-coated sergeant asked suspiciously.

  “I am to meet friends,” she said. “I need give no further explanation.” She could only hope she sounded more confident then she felt.

  “Well, miss, we’re lookin’ for the White Chevalier as some call him. He’s a tall, red-haired man.”

  “We have seen no such person. Perhaps he is already far from here, knowing that you hunt for him.”

  “He’s a slippery eel, all right. But we’ve reason to believe he’s somewhere hereabouts.”

  “As you can see, I have only my servants with me. We have no one else in our retinue.”

  The sergeant glanced at them carefully and Madeline tried to keep her nerves under control. “Who are these two men?” he asked.

  “My bodyguards,” she said quickly. “A lady traveling alone must have protection.”

  “I best question them,” the stubborn soldier said.

  “They speak only French,” came her rapid response. “I am the only one here who knows your language. As you can see, my servants do not fit the description of the man you search for.”

  “What’s a French lady doin’ in Scotland?” He was still suspicious. His sanguine coloring intensified and made her think of a rare roast.

  “I am visiting Scottish relatives,” she said and prayed he wouldn’t ask her to identify them.

  “I think we’d best bring you to Colonel Eriksen,” he said, his sharp eyes reminiscent of a fox.

  The mention of Colonel Eriksen made her heart palpitate again, just as the very thought of the man made her stomach tighten oddly. Surely, it couldn’t be him? Not here. Not now. But it must be. If it were him, she feared he would somehow know the truth or discern it. He was far too intelligent and perceptive – he would look into her eyes and see into her soul and he would know. Mon Dieu, he would know!

  “Make up your mind quickly!” she snapped. “My brother is deputy to the French ambassador in London. Rest assured he shall hear of this discourtesy if you do not release us at once. And your King shall know how I am treated. I will have my brother offer a protestation.”

  Felix O’Neill stood ready to fight to the death for his master, as did Colonel O’Sullivan. The two men, who were loyal servants of Prince Charles Edward, touched their hands to their swords in readiness if it should come to doing battle, although they were vastly outnumbered by the detachment of English soldiers. Her young cousin, Elizabeth, dressed as a boy, kept her eyes carefully cast downward and said nothing. None of them were what they appeared to be, nor would they bear close scrutiny. The Prince, disguised as her maid, glanced over at Madeline and gave her a reassuring smile. She thought that he was considerably braver than she could ever be. Saving him was worth any personal risk. Somehow, she had to convince this sergeant not to bring them to the colonel.

  “I must insist that you let us go immediately.” Her spine was stiff, her head held high, but perspiration trickled down her armpits. Madeline prayed her acting ability was better than she thought it was.

  The sergeant rubbed his chin uncertainly. “I’ll have a word with the lieutenant,” he said. Then he hastily gave orders that they should remain fixed where they were and not try to leave. Instantly they were surrounded by armed guards who kept bayoneted muskets pointed at them as if they were otherwise likely to escape.

  Madeline glanced wistfully back to the river where their small boat waited. It was truly lovely here in the Highlands. Natu
re proffered peace while men defiled its beauty with scarring wars and mutilating violence. They stood in a glen of silver birches, green oaks, and mountain crags with luxurious growths of ferns, flowers and moss. Morning mist still rose above the water like a dream-like shroud, a sight, which under ordinary circumstances would inspire her awe. But her mind was too troubled at present. She thought back to how she had come to Scotland and how she had met Gareth Eriksen those many months ago. It all seemed so unreal now. The past was as a shadow in a present moment plagued by the uncertain realities of life and death.

  The wild passion she’d felt for Gareth Eriksen must be forgotten for the sake of those who depended on her strength and integrity for their very survival. But she could not lie to herself: there was very little she would not give to be held, embraced again by those powerful arms and kissed in a way which melted her very bones.

  One

  London

  October 1745

  “Mon Dieu, what a breathtakingly handsome man!” Madeline de Marnay hastily clamped a slender hand over her mouth, aware that her impetuously blurted words had been most inappropriate. She was guilty of a faux pas, especially serious considering she was the child of a diplomat. Hadn’t she observed Papa’s artfulness on many occasions? How could she be so lacking in subtlety? How embarrassed Papa would have been.

  Lord William smiled in an amused manner. “Madeline, you are charmingly ingenuous.”

  Lady Constance appeared annoyed with her husband. She folded her gloved hands over her small bosom with indignation. “You should warn Madeline about him.”

  “Gareth Eriksen is an attractive man, dear. No matter his sins, no one can deny his good looks.”

  “But attractive in a ruthless, dangerous way. There is an aura of barely suppressed barbarism about the fellow.” Constance turned back to Madeline, touching the younger girl’s hand with her own. “My dear, you must understand that the man we are speaking of is utterly unsuitable and totally undesirable.”

  Madeline sneaked another quick glance at the object of her admiration and decided that even if he were unsuitable, as Constance had observed, under no circumstances could he be considered undesirable. The man who had caught her fancy was the most fascinating male she had ever seen in her seventeen years. Of course, she had not been formally introduced at the Court of Versailles and had not seen all the splendid noblemen there. Until now, she had thought King Louis XV must be the handsomest man in the world, and next came her own Papa, and after him, her half-brother, Roland. Her experience of the opposite gender was sorely lacking. She let out a soft sigh. But this man stirred something deep within her, something other than mere admiration, although she hardly understood what these feelings might be.

  Perhaps this man seemed remarkable because he was different from the other gentlemen present. She glanced at him again as he stood across the ballroom from her. Gareth Eriksen towered in height over every other man in the room; he was blond-haired and blue-eyed with a powerful, broad build. She had never seen a gentleman with quite so wide an expanse of chest. Black velvet breeches fit snugly over narrow hips that led down to well-muscled thighs and calves.

  She tried to look away but found herself drawn back to stare at his extraordinary visage, fascinated by the chiseled features of his strong, masculine face: the square jaw, the prominent cleft chin, the well-formed mouth and the straight nose. He was the only man in the room who did not appear to be striking a pretentious pose, neither self-absorbed nor self-aware. He wore no wig as other men did. Unpowdered, unpainted, unpatched, unpadded and needing none of it. This was no foppish dandy. There was a careless quality about the way one lock of gilt hair fell over his elongated forehead. He seemed to scan the room with a defiant almost reckless air of indifference as if he had no concern in the slightest what anyone might think of him. He appeared detached from everyone else.

  How she admired such a demeanor! Madeline had always felt the need for freedom and disliked the restraints society imposed on women. At this very moment, she felt oppressed by the tight stays and hooped gown she was forced to wear. Why she was scarcely able to breathe! She wondered if the bold fellow would understand her feelings and sympathize. Yet how much could one really learn about another person simply by studying outward appearance?

  Just at that moment he caught her eye and one golden eyebrow rose in a patrician expression of amused mockery. Those brightly piercing eyes, gemstones of cool sapphire, surveyed her speculatively. She quickly looked away, her face coloring in embarrassment. Ciel, how dreadful to be caught gawking like a child! She felt foolish and awkward.

  Constance was invited to dance a minuet by an elderly gentleman and Madeline moved closer to her friend’s husband. After a few minutes of watching the stately elegance of the dancers, she summoned up her courage.

  “William, tell me more about this Gareth Eriksen. Why does Constance disapprove of him?”

  William lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “There are those who think him a rake and a scoundrel, partly because of the scandal in which he was once involved. But I have been his friend since we were school chums and I would trust my life to him. I know he has integrity. However, in all honesty, where women are concerned, I feel it best to warn you that the man is a rakehell and travels in the fastest set of the ton. Constance is quite right to tell you not to glance in his direction; he should not be encouraged – not that he would go near a sweet, young thing like you, of course. Gar really does abide by the rules of the game. He knows very well that tender debutantes are off-limits.”

  Constance was returned to her husband’s side as the dance ended. “Were you two still discussing that dreadful rogue?” Her lower lip curled as if she’d tasted bad fish.

  “Really, that is a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

  “Like that duel in which he was involved?”

  The Marquis sighed deeply. “Must you dredge up old tales? Gar was forced into that nasty business seven years ago.”

  Constance’s perfection of a wig did not stir as she snapped her head around to squarely face William. “My dear, he seriously wounded the father of the girl whose reputation he had compromised. I have that on excellent authority.”

  “Lower your voice, dearest. The fact is; Gar had intended to marry the girl. It was her father who refused to permit the match.”

  “And we all know why that was.” Her voice was a hiss of indignation as she snapped open her gilt fan.

  Madeline was about to inquire why the young woman’s father had refused his blessing, but she realized they were in a most public place and bit her lip, aggrieved that she had started an argument between her friends. Instead, Madeline moved between the two, her voluminous hoop skirt making for an instant separation. “William, could you bring us some punch, please? I am very thirsty.”

  The Marquis politely agreed and left the two young ladies standing together. She hoped discussion of Gareth Eriksen would end here, but Constance was not quite ready to drop the topic.

  “Look at him, standing there with Lady Emily Worthington, a brazen hussy. She may be the wife of a nobleman, but she chases after other men as shamelessly as a common tart. It is really quite shocking.” Constance’s face flushed as she warmed to her subject and the fan flapped in consternation.

  “It is not so different at King Louis’s court. There are all sorts of sordid liaisons.”

  Constance frowned, displaying a crease in her forehead. “How would you know about such matters, dear?”

  Madeline shrugged. Obviously she said the wrong thing again. “My brother has spent much time at court. He tells me.”

  “That is most improper of him.” Constance fanned herself more vigorously.

  When William returned with their punch glasses, Madeline thanked him and Constance for their kindness toward her. “You are both very good friends, and it was thoughtful of you to bring me here tonight.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as Constance and William left her to dance a set together.
No one came to claim her. Indeed, her dance card was virtually empty, but she supposed that was to be expected. Her appearance at Lady Grayford’s pre-season ball was not a resounding social triumph. As soon as it was known that she was French, almost everyone shied away from her. The English did not like the French in these strained times. Perhaps a peace treaty was soon to be signed, but still the two countries were far from friendly. As the daughter of a former diplomat, she was well aware of the situation.

  The fact that Madeline’s mother was descended from Scottish Highland nobility meant she was even less popular. Nor did Papa being related to King Louis seem to impress the haute ton in the slightest. English society viewed her with distrust as if they thought her a spy. Constance believed her friend would surely snare a worthy husband if she made her debut, but Madeline was not so certain.

  Even her looks were wrong. She saw English noblemen admiring tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed women as if they were goddesses. Her own hair was black as a raven’s feathers. In stature, she stood a petite five feet three inches, and while her waist was tiny, her breasts were high and full, her curves embarrassingly emphasized by hoops and stays. The English, she thought, liked their young women small-breasted; somehow it seemed more maidenly and modest. With her enormous gray eyes and full pouty mouth, she looked very French and probably too earthly for a young virgin. It seemed as if she were wrong in every respect to make a mark on London society.

  She glanced toward Gareth Eriksen once again. He was decidedly the most desirable man in the room. He exuded an aura of granite strength and raw virility she found exciting. He was handing Lady Worthington to another man now and watching them dance off to join the others on the floor. Then he walked through the double doors out into the garden. Madeline had the irresistible urge to follow after him. Of course, she must do no such thing, especially after her friend’s warning. But she did want to get a closer look at the man. He was the only one at the party that intrigued her.