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

said.
    â€œMy dear Mademoiselle Deschamps.” Sister Mathilde swooped in, taking Nicole by the arm. “I have need of you. I’m sure Monsieur Quentin will forgive me.”
    Quentin nodded, but his face betrayed his disappointment. Though he might not forgive Sister Mathilde’s intrusion, he would never dare to voice it.
    A few yards away, the old woman leaned into Nicole. “Alphonse Quentin is a good man, but a simple one. A girl with any schooling at all would be wasted on him. I’ve a much better plan for you.”
    Nicole found herself standing before a man who looked about as happy to attend a social event as he would his own hanging. He stood a good six inches taller than Nicole and cut a striking figure. His features looked chiseled from marble, but the fringe of jet-black curls that framed his face did marvels to soften his statuesque visage. Nicole could tell his stormy gray eyes were assessing her, but his conclusions remained a mystery.
    â€œMonsieur Alexandre Lefebvre, may I present Mademoiselle Nicole Deschamps of Rouen,” Sister Mathilde said, pushing Nicole forward. “I thought you two should get better acquainted.”
    Monsieur Lefebvre nodded. Sister Mathilde whisked away to another part of the hall, leaving Nicole alone with the man. She looked to her friends, but saw no polite means of escape.
    â€œGood evening,” Nicole said, after an awkward moment.
    â€œGood evening,” Lefebvre echoed, arching his brow.
    Was I too bold in speaking first? Nicole looked at her shoes, praying the floor would swallow her whole.
    â€œSo you are from Rouen,” Lefebvre said. “I assume your father has passed. That seems the usual tale.”
    â€œVery near Rouen, monsieur,” Nicole said. “But my father lives. He has a farm outside of the city.”
    Lefebvre paused with his mug of cider half raised to his lips. “Indeed. Then how did he allow you to come here?”
    â€œOur land was depleted. I had no dowry.” Nicole willed that words of her family would not trigger the tears that seemed forever pressing behind her eyes. “I preferred to leave than to be a burden.”
    â€œHe would have done better to keep you in France.” Lefebvre’s voice, for reasons unknown to Nicole, seemed laced with acid.
    â€œYou do not like New France, then?” Nicole wondered what on earth could inspire such venom.
    â€œIt is no place for women,” Lefebvre said. “A desolate place. The King is a fool for risking your lives to build his colonies.”
    â€œIf I may be so bold,” Nicole asked, “why are you here, monsieur, if you find this place distasteful?” She grew weary of this man’s scornful tone. Hard enough to accept her new life, without a stranger telling her that she’d made a dreadful mistake.
    â€œThe lot of a second son, mademoiselle,” Lefebvre replied. He offered a barely perceivable nod and left without another word.
    Though she had no particular reason to heed this stranger, Nicole felt somehow wounded by his slight. She admitted an appreciation for Lefebvre’s poise and comportment. He seemed more refined than the men in the Norman countryside, and made Nicole feel somehow backward and crude.
    Quite the introduction to society, Nicole thought. A simpleton and a man too presumptuous and arrogant by half. Why can’t I find a man with Jean’s sweetness and quick wit? Jean’s boyish face and brown curls flashed in her memory, and she knew she could not depend upon herself to keep the tears at bay.
    She sought out her cloak and left the reception, hoping no one noticed her departure. The bitter wind blew, as always, but the snowfall was light and Nicole could see the convent from the town hall even through the falling snow.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing out here?” a male voice yelled.
    Nicole turned to see Lefebvre, who must have left the gathering just before she did,