Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan Read Free Book Online Page A

poorly?”
    â€œWe must take our time and be prudent, that’s all,” Elisabeth answered, stretching before climbing into her own bed.
    â€œSpoken with such confidence,” Rose said with a chortle as she placed her skirt in her trunk. “I suppose you did a fine job selecting from all your suitors in Paris.”
    â€œHa ha.” Elisabeth lobbed a pillow at Rose’s head. “I was too busy working to bother with suitors. Though I can assure you, I rejected my one offer with great enthusiasm. I can tell you, you’ll know the bottom of the barrel when you see it. If you need any help, I’ll be sure to point them out for you.”
    Rose laughed, but Nicole couldn’t summon it.
    â€œCheer up,” Elisabeth said, peering over at Nicole from her bed. “What’s bothering you?”
    â€œI’ve never in my life made such a decision without my parents,” Nicole said. “Papa arranged the match between myself and Jean. I’m sure we’d have been terribly happy . . . if there’d been money at least.”
    She didn’t tell them how much she’d cared for him. How much she was certain he cared for her. Even though the match was arranged, she’d rejoiced in her father’s choice.
    â€œThe Sisters will guide us, I’m sure,” Rose said. “They don’t want to see us settled in misery. You heard Sister Mathilde. We’re the ‘mothers of New France’ and a valuable resource.”
    The image of the cattle auction resurfaced in Nicole’s mind and did not settle her troubled thoughts. Not for the first time since she’d left France, Jean Galet’s face came to mind. The sweetness of his dimples, the mischief in his greenish-blue eyes. Will any of those young men clamoring for brides be as kind as you, Jean? Will any of them make me as happy as you would have done?
    Nicole choked back her tears, but had far less success with her doubts.
    Â 
    A week after their arrival, the benches and podiums of the town hall gave way to a bower of autumn leaves and a refreshment table to welcome the new ladies and their prospective suitors. A group of younger men played melodies on their well-worn instruments off to the side. Though they did not play well, the tunes were lively, which inspired the conversation to be likewise. None danced, however, for the clergy did not approve. The Sisters watched the proceedings with the attentiveness of hawks on the hunt, ensuring any lapse in decorum was rooted out on the spot.
    Nicole lurked toward the edge of the gathering, sipping from a cup of cider, taking stock of the assembly. Rose, having grown up in society, was undaunted by the reception and chatted with a rather tall man with a weak chin. She seemed attentive, but Nicole could not tell if it was due to politeness or genuine interest. An impressive skill, but not something one learns on a farm milking cows. Elisabeth, too, bore a sweet smile as she conversed with two eager men. Nicole imagined at Elisabeth’s father’s side in the bakery was as good a place to learn conversation as any ballroom.
    Be brave, Nicole told herself. The men seem no different from those at home. Smile. Seem friendly. They will come to you. She took a deep breath and placed the cup on the table. She stepped out of the shadows and affixed a smile that she hoped appeared sincere. Within moments, a gangly man in his twenties bowed before her.
    â€œAlphonse Quentin,” the man said by way of introduction.
    â€œNicole Deschamps,” she replied, pleased that no warble of her voice betrayed her nerves.
    â€œYour hair is the color of warm chestnuts,” he said, staring at his feet.
    â€œI—I thank you?” Nicole stammered. Was that meant to be a compliment?
    â€œI grow some of the finest oats to be seen in the settlement,” the man said, appearing to summon some confidence.
    â€œThat’s . . . wonderful for you,” Nicole