Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

DAPHNE

September 28, 1765

Chateau de Champs-sur-Marne

I made a deal with the Devil. Damn him .

Monsieur de Noailles or, as he preferred, étienne swore he didn't kill Jeanne. Did I believe him? I hadn't decided. It was true that étienne was a vampire, and in my estimation, a worthless roué, but I felt I owed it to Jeanne to be absolutely certain about his guilt as her murderer. He had, after all, alleged some rather shocking things that I felt compelled to disprove.

Tonight I hoped to do just that.

"Daphne, must we keep drinking this filth?" Charlotte whined, interrupting my thoughts. She wrinkled her nose at her teacup.

"Filth? I'll have you know this is one of the finest teas from China."

"Yes, it's fine and all, but couldn't we have something a bit more fortifying? Some champagne, perhaps, or even a glass of sherry? I mean, what's the good of being married to le Duc Dépravé if you can't enjoy a little debauchery yourself once in a while," she said.

"It's ten o'clock in the morning, chérie . Doesn't Philippe object to you drinking this early?" I laughed.

She narrowed her gaze at me. "We agreed we weren't going to discuss Philippe, remember? Otherwise, I shall have to plead with you to respond to his messages, and we were having such a good time by ourselves."

I winced at her veiled chiding. I'd been avoiding Philippe and the numerous missives he'd sent on behalf of The Order. I knew they'd be furious with me for failing my assignment, but I needed to know if there was even a remote possibility of étienne speaking the truth—not just about Jeanne, but about the unfortunate people of Paris. Thinking of them offering themselves up to the horrible blood-drinking plague just because they had no alternative turned my stomach. It couldn't be true, could it?

"Incidentally," she carried on, oblivious to my wandering worries. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, and I pay my servants assiduously to ensure that he doesn't know." She lifted her periwinkle-colored skirts and slipped a flask from her garter. She poured a healthy measure of brandy into her teacup and, with a saucy wink, into mine as well.

"Is he horribly cross with me?" I asked her.

Charlotte raised her eyes heavenward. "Philippe is cross about everything these days. The war, the grain blight, our estate, les sanguisuges ?—"

"Oh, don't call them that," I admonished, thinking back to my words with étienne. I'd felt a curious sort of shame at his reprimand.

Charlotte's eyebrows rose with interest and her mouth split into a wide grin. "Ah! So, you've been entertaining our handsome royal emissary, have you? Lucky thing! If I were the type of woman to have a lover, he would definitely be at the top of my list. That naughty smile, that muscled body…" she opened her fan and cooled the blush reddening her face. "You must tell me everything, darling. What's it like with a vampire? Is he—you know— well-graced? Do his fangs get in the way when he's licking your?—"

I nearly choked on my brandy. "Charlotte, I am not ‘entertaining' him. We had a conversation at the ball the other night and that's it."

"Daphne, when he approached us, you were so rude to him I find it hard to believe you're not secretly in love with him. I don't blame you, of course. You deserve a little fun, especially after everything with Henri." Her tone was light, but her eyes were full of sympathy.

I shook my head. "No, chérie . I'm afraid that the romantic part of me is simply gone."

"So is he," she added with levity. The room started to close in on me and I forced a wry laugh.

"étienne isn't my type, anyway! He is, perhaps, too handsome, and he struts around like he knows it. I hear he's had so many women—well, one mistress wouldn't be enough to slake his appetite. Henri was just like that. One wife and one mistress were never enough. He had to screw half of Paris with that pathetic little worm of his. If I were to involve myself with another man—which is unlikely, so don't get any of your matchmaking ideas—he would be sweet, soulful, and sensitive."

"And hung like an ox," Charlotte added.

I dissolved in a fit of laughter and threw a cushion at her. She dodged it and drained her teacup. My lady's maid, Eve, came forward to refill it. Charlotte shook her head but placed a hand on her arm before she could leave.

"Eve, darling, do you hear anything from the other servants about the emissary's household? What do we know of him?"

Eve shifted, casting her eyes in my direction. "Madame?"

"Come now, surely you'd be obliged to report anything that might have some bearing on Daphne taking him as a lover," Charlotte pressed.

"Charlotte," I warned.

"Any unnatural proclivities? Any madness or cruelty poisoning his mind and his household?"

An awkward silence settled over the room. Charlotte's light manner belied her penetrating gaze, and Eve finally looked at me thoughtfully.

" Non, vraiment. I don't know any dark secrets—he is a good master. I heard that much from my maman , who knew the cook in the vicomte's employ."

Charlotte seized upon this like a cat on a mouse. "The former vicomte, you mean? The emissary's father?"

Eve nodded.

"Why does the cook no longer work for the family?" Charlotte continued, then slapped her forehead. "Ah! I guess the emissary does not need to employ a cook. He let her go; I suppose."

" Mais non! That was not the case. When Monsieur returned to Paris, he offered the staff a choice. They could stay and work for him, or leave with full references and a small stipend."

"Why would they leave if they didn't have to?" Charlotte asked.

Eve's brows shot up. " Madame , he is a vampire! Most self-respecting servants would not want to serve such a master."

"But the vicomte had already lost his title by then. Isn't that more of a disgrace than succumbing to the blood plague?" I asked in astonishment.

Eve raised a shoulder. "The vicomte was beloved by his servants. The emissary did not expect that loyalty to extend to him after he was turned."

I nodded, lost in thought. " Merci, Eve. As always, I am grateful for your candor. Go on and take your tea, chérie . Charlotte and I will be fine alone."

She turned to go, just as Charlotte called after her.

"Eve, one more question before you depart. How many of the servants stayed on?"

"All but one or two, I believe," Eve said. She curtsied and at my nod, left the room.

Charlotte turned a self-satisfied smile on me.

"You see? I am always right, chérie . Now you can be assured that he isn't some kind of rotten scoundrel. Well, perhaps a bit of a scoundrel, but only in the best way."

"I fail to see how you've come to that conclusion," I argued.

"He had the grace to offer an out to his father's employees, but they all chose to remain with him. He cannot be a monster."

Not a monster, only a possible murderer, I thought.

"That doesn't mean anything. I understand employment is scarce, Charlotte, and lots of people are hungry. The servants probably didn't want to leave a sure thing for some unknown misery."

Charlotte rolled her eyes.

I sighed. "Besides, you don't know how much a person will endure in order to keep a roof over her head."

Charlotte's eyes snapped to mine, but her expression was soft as she considered my meaning. "Your servants stay for you, chérie . You bore the brunt of Henri's temper and shielded them from the worst of his torments. They aren't likely to forget it," she said quietly.

I finished the tea and brandy in my cup, briefly thinking about another stiff drink to hold back the sickening memories. Before I could sink into despair, Charlotte slapped her fan against my knee with a cheerful giggle.

"Well, ma chère amie , I should be on my way. I promised Lisette I'd look in on her since she turned her ankle. She says it was during her dancing lessons, but the rumor is that she tripped over her lover's breeches when the comte came home early. I shall let you know what I uncover!"

She kissed my cheeks and made for the door. For all her inappropriate behavior, Charlotte had a soft heart and a comforting nature. She was unfailingly devoted to Philippe and to me. Her loyalty inspired me to be honest with Philippe, but I needed to find the truth of the matter before I addressed him.

Later that evening, I dressed without Eve's help—I didn't need her worrying over my inappropriate attire. I needed freedom and a degree of anonymity tonight, so I'd donned some of Henri's old clothes—the ones he used to wear when he sought what he called companionship with the unfortunate prostitutes in the direst circumstances. The ones who would not fight back against his demands, I thought bitterly.

I donned the plain woolen breeches and hose, simple linen shirt, dingy brown waistcoat, thick black overcoat, and tattered tricorne hat. I'd taken care to bind my breasts beneath the shirt and hoped that no one would notice the ill-fitting wig, but as I surveyed my appearance in the mirror, I reasoned it would probably be acceptable given the late hour. In darkness, or even dim lighting, I would pass for a man.

In the pockets of my coat, I stashed a dagger, several small wooden stakes, my flintlock pistol, and a vial of holy water. While the holy water wouldn't do much good against vampires, The Order had instructed its agents to carry it for other potential supernatural threats. Since vampires were a reality now, the door to the impossible had been flung open. Monsters, ghouls, demons—it seemed only natural that other unholy creatures lurked in the shadows.

A soft knock at my door made me jump.

"Madame."

Eve poked her head in and blanched when she saw me. I offered her a sheepish grin.

"It's necessary, Eve. Trust me."

"Of course, Madame. Monsieur de Noailles has arrived. He's waiting for you downstairs."

" Merci ." I tucked an errant curl beneath my wig and took a steadying breath.

"Are you…Madame, are you sure you will be safe? Perhaps you should take one of the footmen, or Gaston, with you tonight," Eve whispered. She twisted her fingers in her skirts.

" Non, chérie, " I replied. "Grim business tonight. I'll be fine. I promise."

I smiled encouragingly at her, but she looked at me skeptically before nodding and hurrying back down the hall. Making my way downstairs, I paused by the table in the hall to put an apple in my coat pocket, as well. I'd declined dinner, too anxious to have much of an appetite, and now my stomach churned with hunger and nerves.

"Midnight snack?" étienne's voice carried up the grand staircase from the front hall.

I cursed him softly, but his mouth quirked up in a smile and I knew he'd heard. He was dressed simply, and it seemed at odds with his ethereal beauty. He hadn't powdered his hair but had tied the thick waves back in a simple ribbon. In the candlelight, his locks shimmered like a raven's wing in the sun. Alarmingly, my fingers suddenly itched to touch them.

"I apologize if you've been kept waiting," I grumbled. "Have you been offered refreshment?"

The words flowed out of me reflexively, but it was impossible for me to keep the irritation from my voice. It wouldn't do for the Duchesse de Duras to have an inhospitable household, even if she'd rather tear her beloved chateau down brick by brick than have a lecherous vampire ruining its serenity.

"No, Duchesse, but I doubt your household was prepared to offer me refreshment," he drawled. "Unless you'd care to do so yourself?"

Realizing my mistake, I felt my face burn in embarrassment. Damn it, Daphne, you imbecile .

"I meant water or wine. Perhaps a glass of something stronger. I have seen you drink, Monsieur le Vicomte," I said airily, trying to regain the upper hand.

He winced at my use of his lost title and turned his back to me, marching toward the front door.

"I am no longer Monsieur le Vicomte, Duchesse, and you would do well to remember that. You will call me étienne. And no, I do not require refreshment. We must be on our way—my man at the graveyard will not wait for us indefinitely," he said, ushering us outside.

I nodded. "I?—"

He turned; an impatient look etched on his handsome face.

"I'm sorry," I said. Flustered, my voice faltered. "For using your former title. I hope I did not offend."

He raised a brow at me. A slow smile spread across his lips. The smug bastard .

"What I meant to say was that while I do not mind offending you in many other, justifiable ways, that particular barb was not meant as offense. Just a force of habit. I'm not used to interacting with people who don't hold a title, you see," I said with acid-laced sweetness.

The pompous grin on his face didn't waver an inch, but he bowed politely and helped me into his carriage. I sat as far away from him as possible and stared resolutely out the window. How did he manage to come out on top of every interaction we had? Probably some kind of infuriating supernatural trick. It soured my mood even further, which I would've thought impossible considering we were on our way to the graveyard to dig up the body of my friend.

"Are you certain this is truly necessary?"

" Mais oui, ma chère Duchesse ." His low voice was like velvet across my skin. Goosebumps rose on my flesh.

"You do not believe me," he stated matter-of-factly. "But you will. I will prove it to you, and to do that, you must first see Madame de Pompadour for yourself."

I shut my eyes and leaned back against the plush seat. The carriage pitched roughly over a hole in the road.

"It will be difficult," he continued. "I know she was your friend, but this is essential. We must begin our investigation in the right place, however gruesome it may be."

"I do not faint at the sight of blood, étienne. I will do what must be done in order to bring justice to Jeanne's killer." I stared hard at him—at least, I thought it was him. In the gloom of the carriage, it was hard to tell.

"Is it that you are uncommonly brave, Madame? Or is it that you are used to such brutality?"

"Perhaps it is both," I replied. He didn't respond, but I had the distinct impression he was studying me. I felt at a disadvantage yet again.

We rode on in silence, until about a quarter of an hour had passed and the carriage slowed.

"We've arrived," he said. He'd moved in close to my ear and I caught his scent. Surprisingly, he did not smell of blood and death. He smelled of soap, cedar, and peppermint—putting me in mind of winter gardens and snow-covered pine trees.

"I'm well aware you find my company distasteful, Madame, but for your own safety, I must insist you stay close to me. Your disguise may fool drunkards and blind men, but anyone with two functional eyes and a brain will quickly recognize your— ahem— charms . Keep your hat low, your head down, your hands in your pockets, and let me do the talking."

As he spoke, his breath on my ear encouraged a blush that I felt creep all over my body. My nipples hardened beneath the painful linen bindings. Disgusted with him and with my body's instinctive response, I pushed him away and surged forward, nearly tripping on my way down from the carriage. With supernatural speed, he seized my coat to keep me from toppling into the street.

"Careful, Duchesse," he taunted, his golden eyes flashing. "We wouldn't want The Order to lose one of their talented hunters."

Chagrined, I followed him into the graveyard. Perhaps in another time, in another place, I would have delivered some kind of dressing down, but I found myself flustered by his presence, uncomfortable with my sudden ineptitude, and queasy at the thought of disturbing the resting place of my former friend. Forgive me, Jeanne .

étienne led us further into the cemetery toward the only source of light—a dim lantern near a copse of trees. I'd been here back in the spring when they buried her and it had been beautiful, surrounded by flowers and greenery, flecked with dappled sunlight. Tonight, however, the clearing felt alien and malevolent. I tugged my coat close to me and fingered the pearl handle of my dagger. Its smooth warmth comforted me.

étienne greeted his man, the gravedigger, who stood next to a pile of newly turned earth and poor Jeanne's waiting casket.

"Give us some privacy, will you?" étienne commanded. He flipped the lanky gravedigger a coin. The man nodded and walked some distance away.

étienne bent to pry the lid to the casket open and I braced myself. God, help me. Please don't let it be like last time—like Michel .

étienne looked to me, waiting for my signal. I nodded and he pulled the lid away, letting it crash to the ground at my feet. I held my breath and opened my eyes. I was ill-prepared for the sight.

Oh, God, Jeanne Antoinette! What have they done to you?