Free Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan

noticed the cue came from the painfully obvious way Gilbert eyed the door.
    Sister Mathilde presented them with a hamper of food and a soft baby blanket. “To a happy and productive union, my dears,” she said, and her smile, not a frequent feature of her face, let Elisabeth know she approved of the match. It meant more than Elisabeth realized it would.
    Gilbert’s shop lay only minutes away by carriage, in the heart of the small settlement. Elisabeth had never seen her future home, nor ever been alone in Gilbert’s company.
    â€œHere we are, my darling,” Gilbert announced as he pulled the horses to a stop. He had arranged for a neighbor to see to the horses, and Elisabeth’s things had been sent over earlier, so the couple entered their marital home together.
    The building was simple, and made of wood, not stone. The ground floor housed the bakery, the living quarters above stairs. The smell of baking bread never quite left the air. Just like Papa’s shop.
    Elisabeth surveyed the shop and saw the signs of success: few remaining loaves of day-old bread, a floor showing signs of gentle wear from a steady flow of customers, and a clean, well-ordered working area at the back.
    â€œI know it isn’t much. . . .” Gilbert interpreted her silence as disapproval.
    â€œIt’s perfect,” Elisabeth breathed. And it was. Small, and simple, but theirs.
    Gilbert took Elisabeth in his arms, and took her mouth with his. She did not know how to react to the strange sensations at first, but at last allowed herself to relax in her husband’s embrace.
    I am home at last.

C HAPTER 5
    Rose
    November 1667
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    R ose stood before the looking glass in despair. Thursday had come, and again she was forced to go downstairs with the rest of her companions to visit with gentlemen callers. Every week her dress grew shabbier. Every week, she had to feign interest in the prattle of young men who sought her hand. As she descended the stairs, she thought of Sister Charité, her duty to the Crown—to marry and bear children—but none of it served to raise her spirits.
    You knew what they expected of you and it does no good to let your feelings get in the way of doing your duty. You’ve not been all that successful in making good on your promises as it is. Rose may have failed in her duty to Vivienne, but at least she’d had a letter to let her know Geneviève was engaged and would marry soon. Rose allowed herself to take a small measure of solace in that, at least.
    Now go and be charming, Rose told herself. Or at the very least, don’t embarrass yourself.
    â€œMy dear Mademoiselle Barré,” Rémy Peltier greeted Rose as she entered the common room. “How wonderful to see you again.”
    He hadn’t missed a visit in three weeks, and she hadn’t expected him to miss this one. “Welcome, Monsieur Peltier.” Rose’s attempt at a convivial smile went only as deep as her lips. “I trust you are well.”
    â€œIndeed,” Peltier said. “Never better.”
    Rose winced at his contrived buoyancy.
    â€œI’m glad to hear it,” Rose said, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She could think of nothing else to say. He is going to think me a simpleton. But perhaps that’s what he’s after anyway.
    For a few moments, the silence sat heavy on the pair. Say something, you dolt. But it was Peltier who broke the silence.
    â€œI’m pleased to tell you, my homestead is nearly ready to live on,” Peltier said. “My home will be built in four or five months, as soon as the ground has thawed.”
    â€œYou must be glad for more comfortable accommodations, monsieur,” Rose said, continuing her assault on the wayward thread. What a stupid thing to say.
    â€œYes,” Peltier agreed, “but I hope I will not have to live there alone for long. I had hoped . . . Mademoiselle Barré, I was hoping you would be