The Falling Star (The Trianon Series Book 1) Read online

  Curtsying, Starla left. She knew very well why Guy was coming along and chairs had nothing to do with it. Father Joaquin was sending a bodyguard.

  But surely today of all days those two would have better things to do?

  The air was a bit chilly for late May, but the sky was a brilliant blue, promising heat later. In the stable yard, Liberta and Aurore, two mares, grey and white respectively, were already hitched up to Guy's cart. He flashed her a near-toothless grin as she approached.

  “You have the list?” Guy asked, helping Starla up onto the cart seat.

  “Oui. Monsieur Vivaldo first, for his easels,” Starla recited as Guy got the horse moving.

  “Then, Monsieur Jean, for the chairs. He says his donkey and cart will only be able handle the tables,” she added at Guy's raised eyebrows. Jean was known for cutting corners.

  “And finally, Mademoiselle Ducorte for the most important collection: the rings.”

  ***

  “Be careful!”

  The angel figurine lay in pieces before the altar in the nave of Eglise Saint-Exupere.

  “Please. You need to be more careful with the end of that ladder,” Father Joe said, shaking his head at the young man who was supposed to be attaching lavender and silver ribbons and white flowers to the high-vaulted ceiling of blue and gold along the nave. Already, the chapel looked transformed, and not all of it was due to the broken saints and angels Mia was sweeping away.

  “Clearly, I didn't arrive a moment too soon,” came a nasal voice from the entrance.

  Father Joe tried to turn his cringe into a polite bow, as he turned to face the new comer.

  Slender and straight as a board, Miranda Salso barely nodded her head in acknowledgement of his greeting, smoothing her expensive maroon dress unnecessarily. The gold of her crucifix shone brightly against the dark fabric.

  “Lady Salso,” Father Joe began.

  “I will take point from here, Padre,” she said, cutting him off. “You,” she gestured imperiously to Mia, “why is this not cleared away already? I will not have laziness.”

  Mia raised an eyebrow at Father Joe behind Miranda's back, then, shaking her head, continued sweeping up the shards.

  “Oh! Don't the ribbons look lovely? And so many flowers!” exclaimed a rotund woman, in her middle years, wearing a canary-yellow cotton dress.

  “Sophie!” Father Joe smiled broadly, coming forward to welcome Madame Monge.

  Standing next to Lady Salso, one would be forgiven for taking her for Miranda's maid. She was clearly of rural stock, her ginger hair coming loose from her simple bun under her best head scarf, pure white with embroidered buttercups.

  “Ah, Father, thank you. It looks beautiful. And lavender is Elise's favourite. She will love this.”

  Miranda sniffed delicately.

  “I still say peach would have been better.”

  She eyed the other woman, soon to be mother-in-law to her eldest son, and unconsciously, unnecessarily, patted down her honey-brown hair, ensuring her maroon-feathered hat was in place.

  “But no matter. There is work to be done. No time for pleasantries. Come, Padre, Sophie.”

  Stifling a sigh, Father Joe motioned for Sophie to go ahead of him as Miranda started rattling off orders and claiming that nearly everything would need redoing. The old priest gritted his teeth and prayed for patience.

  ***

  Starla and Guy were back in the stable yard with a full cart by eight o'clock, his services as a bodyguard proving unnecessary. Starla hopped off the cart and smiled up at the bright-blue spring sky. It was going to be a beautiful, warm day.

  “Don't worry about all this. The boys and I will unpack it,” Guy said, shouting for two of his sons to come and help. “Just take these over to Father Joe while I get Liberta ready for you to ride.”

  Carefully clutching the box containing the wedding bands, Starla headed for the church. The Ducortes made the most beautiful jewellery and were second in wealth only to the Salsos. It was no secret that Miranda Salso would have preferred Mademoiselle Ducorte rather than Mademoiselle Monge for a daughter-in-law. Luckily for Elise, Antonio had disagreed.

  Starla couldn't help but stare at the nave as she entered. The vaulted, blue ceiling was dangled with lavender ribbons and white lilies. The walls were lined with flower decorations in the same colours. The pews had been polished and a long, white linen cloth covered the grey flagstones down the aisle.

  “No! Can't you understand me, boy? I said, over there!” Lady Salso's distinctive voice echoed up the nave.

  Starla judged it was coming from the chapel green, where the reception was to be held, on the east side of the chapel. Hurrying in that direction, Starla fervently hoped that Lady Salso was too preoccupied to notice her.

  Spotting Father Joe chatting to Mia, Starla gathered herself to make a dash for him. As she crossed the threshold, she felt something tangle around her legs and send her plummeting head first into a caterer carrying a tray of jam tarts.

  Familiar laughter reached her ears as she hauled herself painfully to her feet. Davan and Orla were fourteen now, but the twins had been making her life a misery for nearly six years. Their constant tricks and pranks had led to many episodes of public humiliation.

  “Starla! Are you hurt, petite etoile?” Mia asked, hands fluttering uselessly around Starla looking for some injury.

  “No,” Starla said distractedly. She was looking back into the church but the twins had made their get away. A piece of thin rope still lay in the doorway, harmless now that one side had been dropped, the other side still tied to a metal ring in the wall.

  Mia looked ready to argue, but Starla spotted Lady Salso striding towards her and tried to reach Father Joe first.

  “Now look at this mess,” scolded Lady Salso, planting herself in Starla's way. “How are we meant to get more ready in time?”

  “Honestly, my Lady, I have spares and can certainly bring them here in—” Mia began, as Father Joe walked past the group.

  “Completely unacceptable and unladylike behaviour,” Miranda continued right over Mia, “and from the maid of honour no less. Really, girl, even an orphan should know how to walk without tripping over her own feet.”

  “Miranda,” Father Joe's voice was as stern as his face, the lack of her title making her stare at him open-mouthed, “I hardly think Starla fell of her own accord.” He waggled the piece of rope he had taken from the doorway.

  Lady Salso's face coloured at being addressed like a petulant child, her grey eyes foretelling a storm descending.

  Starla snapped out of her self-pity. She hated confrontation, especially when it was because of her. Around most, it was usually better if she kept her head down. She was, after all, just the orphan girl, destined to die an old maid.

  “Please forgive me, Lady Salso,” Starla said, stepping between them and curtsying perhaps more deeply than necessary. “I only meant to give Father the—”

  “Never mind your excuses girl,” Miranda interrupted, turning her attention on Starla again. “You are not meant to be here at all. Now go and make sure that the bride doesn't leave my son waiting at the altar.”

  Spinning on her heel, she headed off, yelling orders at caterers and musicians.

  “Starla,” Father Joe began, disapproval tingeing his tone. He had taught her to be stronger than that. He knew fire burned in her.

  “Here, Father, I have the rings,” she said, handing him the mercifully unscathed wooden box, though the aching on her ribs told her that she would regret not breaking her fall, later.

  “Starla,” he held her arm, his eyes searching.

  “Please. Not today. I need to get to Elise, Father. Today is hers.”

  Patting his hand, Starla left the green for the nave at what she hoped was a dignified pace, but began running as soon as she was out of sight.

  Glancing around the corner of the stables, Starla wiped the tears away. Liberta was tied to a hitching post, saddled and ready to ride. Mercifull
y, the rest of the stable yard was empty. With the wind rushing past her, Starla turned her thoughts to Elise and her happiness, as she rode for the Monges' vineyard. Today belonged to her friend. Her own troubles would still be there tomorrow.

  ***

  Father Joaquin was pacing his small office. Mia and Guy watched his progress fretfully.

  “I just don't understand it. They simply will not leave her alone. I had thought that they would have grown out of it by now.”

  “It is a lack of discipline, Father. Their parents should have put a stop to it after the very first incident. Without that, there is little you can do,” Guy rumbled in his bass voice, nodding his head sagely.

  “How are they meant to treat her differently when their mother does not? That woman needs a good dousing in the duck pond.” Mia blushed at the men's stunned looks. “It is true,” she muttered.

  Father Joe nodded. Miranda's treatment of Starla just moments ago was proof of that. Her twin children had taken on her dislike for the “lower classes”.

  “She's just been through so much, our petite etoile. Parents dying—” Mia stopped, biting her tongue. Some subjects were not mentioned aloud.

  “And the worst is they weren't even her real parents,” Father Joe sighed, dropping into his chair.

  Mia snapped her jaw shut. The topic was forbidden. That Father Joe would bring it up himself …

  “Starla has been asking after her aunt again,” Guy offered, taking the given gap into the taboo subject.

  “Again?” Father Joe's troubled eyes looked up at Guy. “I suppose I should have expected as much, with her birthday so close. She never gives up. Truly, an unbreakable spirit.”

  His voice filled with admiration and pain.

  “Will you ever tell her the truth, Father? I think she needs it. She deserves to know,” Mia said, conviction strengthening her voice at the end.

  “And what do I tell her, Mia? We know nothing about her birth parents. Except perhaps that they abandoned her. The Marvous took her in. They raised her until God took them. I know she deserves the truth, but I have no answers to give her, Mia, only pain.”

  In the shadows just outside the office, two figures stood stock-still, not believing their luck. Unbreakable spirit? Not with this news. The sound of footsteps approaching from the nave warned them in time and they slunk away unnoticed.

  The severe figure of Lady Salso strode into the office, the door bouncing against the wall from the force with which it was thrown open.

  “And what are the three of you doing in here?” she demanded, command ringing in every syllable. “Am I expected to organise this whole wedding myself? I said I would have no laziness. Come now, lots to do.”

  Father Joe began to apologise, but Miranda was already out the door and making her way to the nave.

  Shrugging, Father Joe motioned the others to get back to work, though judging by the expression on Mia's face, she was not done pressing her point.

  ***

  “Whoa!” Starla halted the dappled grey mare in front of the Monges' farmhouse. Riding always exhilarated her. She was ready to smile and laugh and help Elise.

  No sooner had she dismounted than Elise's older brother stepped out of the house and stopped short. He had a farmer's deeply tanned skin, strong arms and legs. His face was chiselled but still soft, gentle somehow. He stood a head taller than Starla.

  “Good morning, Mademoiselle Marvou,” he said, bowing deeply, his floppy, chocolate-brown hair sweeping over his shoulder, still loose.

  “Good morning, Monsieur Monge.”

  Starla curtsied just as deeply, then spoiled it by laughing at the lofty expression on his face.

  “How are you, Starla?” he said, closing the distance between them.

  Starla's smile faded.

  “I only ever have two complaints, Raoul.”

  “Did they get you again?”

  Raoul patted Liberta's nose, trying to hide the depth of his concern even as his eyes stopped on the slow bruise forming on her wrist.

  “Nothing major. Is Elise inside?” Starla asked, fussing over the reigns. His gaze had grown too intense.

  When had things become so awkward between them? They'd grown up together, things used to be easy, effortless.

  “Are you busy tomorrow evening?” he asked haltingly, his eyes showing uncertainty.

  That's when. Somewhere along the way, Raoul had stopped seeing her as a playmate, a sister, and now wanted more.

  Starla felt a pang of guilt. She always turned him down. Never for a good reason. She looked up and immediately regretted it. Raoul had moved closer, his chocolate-brown eyes growing hopeful at her delay.

  “If the twins haven't got anything planned,” she joked, moving a little away on the pretext of checking the bridle strap.

  His eyes filled with disappointment at the non-answer.

  “I'll have to make sure they don't then.”

  He reached over to take the reigns.

  “Elise is in her room.”

  His hand brushed over hers as he took the reigns from her. Feeling her cheeks burning, more from guilt than anything else, Starla headed inside faster than would be considered polite. She could feel Raoul's eyes following her, could imagine the pain in them.

  Trying to quell the uneasy squirming in her belly, eyes firmly on the ground again, Starla walked straight into Tomas Monge. He was a gangly man, whose eyes and hair when he was younger would have matched Raoul's.

  “Oh! Monsieur Monge, I am so sorry,” she said, curtsying. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”

  “Not to worry, Starla.”

  His white hair looked odd sleeked down and pulled into a long ponytail, but his ever-present smile was full of fatherly love.

  “Elise has been getting rather worried. Perhaps you should head straight up to her.”

  His gaze had trailed outside and seemed concerned now. His smile faltered a little. One glance from the corner of her eye was enough to show Starla that Raoul was still standing there holding Liberta, staring at the house and looking undecided.

  “You are right. Excuse me,” Starla said, making for the stairs.

  “Bijou, no!” Elise's screech drifted down the stairs.

  As Starla began to rush up, the fat tabby cat, Bijou, came bounding down, a lavender ribbon trailing out behind him.

  “Damn cat. I'll get it back,” Tomas said, giving chase.

  Taking the remaining stairs two at a time, Starla reached the landing, knocked and entered the second of the three bedrooms. Claudia, the youngest Monge girl, was seated on her bed, smoothing her sister's veil. Elise was standing in front of the mirror, with only her corset and petticoats in place, The rest of the opulent wedding gown the Salsos had brought in from Paris seemed tangled around her legs.

  “Starla! What kept you? This is all a disaster! Bijou keeps stealing my ribbons, my dress keeps getting stuck and look at my hair,” Elise moaned, tugging at a strand of curly ginger hair. Closing the door, Starla began calming her best friend. “I shall have you looking the beautiful bride in no time,” she smiled.

  ***

  With her ginger hair finally tamed by a multitude of silver pins and some lavender ribbons, the bride was ready. The dress was brilliant white with catches of lavender flowers across the skirt. Silver lace edged the boat neck and veil.

  “Thank you, Starla,” Elise said, spinning before the long mirror and admiring Starla's work.

  “I'm glad you like it,” Starla said, helping Claudia into her silver flower girl dress, also made of silk and satin, like the bride's.

  “Your turn,” Elise said, opening the dress bag that lay on top of her bed.

  Starla touched the soft fabrics. Silk and satin again. The Salsos had spared no expense. Similar in design, though less opulent than Elise's, it was the most beautiful dress Starla had ever owned. Lavender, it had a sweeping skirt caught on one side by white silk lilies. The neckline was like Elise's and seemed to cling to the shoulders as if on th
e verge of slipping off. It, too, was bordered by silver lace.

  “It is beautiful.”

  Starla slipped it on and turned to the mirror, admiring the new, more revealing fashion.

  “What will you answer to Raoul?” Claudia's big brown eyes fixed on Starla as Elise finished up her hair, piling most of it high on her head with a few red-gold curls loose around her face and neck.

  “Claudia!” Elise scolded.

  Starla froze with one hand extended towards a pin in her hair. Claudia was only six. Perhaps she misunderstood.

  “Elise? What does she mean?” Starla asked, trying to appear unconcerned and adjusting the pin. “You know how I react to surprises,” she pressed when her friend looked unwilling to answer.

  Elise's blue eyes found Starla's emerald-green ones. Sighing, she motioned for Starla to sit and then began redoing part of Starla's hair before she answered, claiming that one of the lavender ribbons wasn't straight.

  “Two nights ago he went to visit Father Joaquin.”

  She glanced up at Starla's reflection. With effort, Starla kept her face smooth and Elise continued in a rush.

  “He has asked for your hand in marriage,” she said, a smile of pure delight lighting up her face.

  “Will you say yes?” Claudia broke in, her brown eyes, so much like her brother's, filled with the same hope.

  “I, uh—” Starla looked at the mirror, shock the only emotion visible in her suddenly pale reflection. She floundered in her head, trying to find a diplomatic answer. She didn't want to reveal that she had never had a monthly cycle, but no other socially acceptable reason came to mind.

  Elise laughed. “Now I am glad that I told you before he did.”

  Starla managed a stiff smile and Elise began prattling on about how Raoul had always known Starla's reluctance came from her lack of dowry but that he didn't mind. About how wonderful it would be that they would soon be sisters. Starla only half heard Elise's words. Her thoughts were on Raoul. He was five years her senior, handsomely built, known for his honesty and decency. Not ambitious or knowledgeable, but kind and trustworthy. Her mind told her she should be thrilled, but her heart yearned for more. Raoul had become a brother in her mind. A fact that pained him as his feelings for her had grown. She hated hurting him. He did not deserve anything other than the love he craved. But she wanted someone she could talk to about stars and theories of other worlds, of mathematics and nature. Or even just to speak to in a language other than French.