The Falling Star (The Trianon Series Book 1) Page 3

  No, she scolded herself, remembering Father Joe's worry over her lack of prospects. He couldn't afford to keep her forever. Raoul will be a wonderful husband. He will be faithful and he will always love me. They could never have children, but if there was ever a man willing to accept that, he would. He is my friend and I will not hurt him any more. Besides, I have time now to get used to the idea. Father Joe will be around for me to talk about other things and perhaps Raoul would be willing to learn.

  “Thank you.”

  She stood as Elise proclaimed her ready. Thinking of Raoul's most recent dinner invitation, Starla decided to accept it at the next opportunity.

  “You still haven't answered,” Claudia said, lower lip jutting out, tugging on a brown curl.

  “Ladies, it is ten o'clock. We must be on our way.”

  Monsieur Monge's voice came from the stairs.

  “It is to Raoul that she must give an answer. Not us,” Elise said firmly, saving Starla from inventing some sort of non-committal answer.

  “Ready?”

  Starla opened the door and led the way down the stairs.

  Along with Monsieur Monge, Raoul, now in his Sunday best with his hair tied at the nape of his neck, and Arnou, the youngest brother at 15, were waiting.

  “Ah, you look beautiful, my daughter,” Tomas said to Elise. His eyes filled with pride as he hugged her, then lowered her veil.

  “And so do you,” Raoul whispered in Starla's ear as he led her outside.

  Blushing furiously, Starla steeled herself.

  Perhaps this new fashion is too revealing, she thought, wryly.

  “Thank you, Raoul. What time should I be ready tomorrow evening?”

  Starla forced herself to maintain eye contact while his eyes widened in surprise. The pure delight in them made her heart twist.

  “Would six be too early?” he said, trying and failing to keep the amazement and joy out of his voice.

  “I will be ready.”

  Accepting his hand, Starla entered the carriage and watched him discreetly as he helped his sister in. Seeing the utter happiness on his face, Starla couldn't help but smile too.

  ***

  The guests had begun arriving shortly after nine. This was considered a mercy by Father Joe, as his priestly duties took precedence over Miranda's continued orders. Not to mention that she had become otherwise occupied with welcoming the Salsos' foreign guests.

  “Everyone appears to be here. Now we wait only for the bride,” Father Joe confirmed, the bells chiming ten.

  “Very well. I shall await her outside,” Sophie said, scurrying away up the aisle, looking every inch the farm wife.

  As Father Joe began laying out the things he would need for the ceremony, he glanced towards the groom, Antonio Salso. Tall, lean and clearly nervous, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. His light-grey suit and lavender cravat were impeccable, his black hair short and sleek, the tips of his moustache waxed. His grey eyes staring straight ahead. Beside him stood his cousin, Pierre, in a similar outfit. He was the best man today. Already, he was winking and making the ladies blush.

  Father Joe frowned disapprovingly at the Salsos' boisterous and worldly cousin.

  “Antonio!” two voices called in unison.

  “Brother, sister, you are ready for everything you must do?” Antonio said, turning to Davan and Orla, their matching honey-brown hair glistening in the light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

  “Us? We hardly have anything to do, brother,” Orla remarked, fluffing out her silver flower-girl dress.

  “Indeed,” Davan said. “Carry flowers,” indicating toward his sister, “hand over the rings,” stabbing a finger at himself, “and put Nicci under the orphan's chair.”

  “What!” Antonio's eyes snapped back from the entrance way. “I really hope you are not serious,” he began, trying to sound firm, but knowing full-well that they never listened to him, anyway.

  “Yes, I certainly hope there will be no more incidents from the two of you today,” Father Joe commented without turning, sounding nonchalant.

  Antonio's grey eyes narrowed, seeming to grow darker.

  “No more? What have you been doing?”

  The twins threw mutinous glares at Father Joe's back.

  “I expect nothing but good behaviour from the two of you.”

  Lord Roberto Salso was larger than his eldest son. His stern words flowed out in his native Spanish.

  “This is your brother's wedding. You will behave like the young lady and lord that are fit for Salso stock.”

  His hazel eyes promised swift punishment for any who failed.

  “Si, papa,” the twins said, their disappointment evident as they trailed their way to the entrance.

  Lord Salso patted his eldest son's shoulder once before resuming his seat in the front left hand pew, the buttons of his jacket straining over his rotund belly.

  “Antonio,” Father Joe said, coming to stand beside the groom, “I am almost afraid to ask, but who or what exactly is Nicci?”

  “Nicci? Oh, she is their pet snake, a python. Pierre brought her back from India for them.”

  Father Joe made a strangled sound and Antonio rushed on.

  “No need to worry, Father. They will not misbehave in front of our foreign contacts.” He indicated the two Indian couples seated in the second-left-hand pew. “Nor against our father's command.”

  Nodding, Father Joe resumed his place at the altar. He hoped Antonio was right. Starla had suffered enough humiliation today, already. Sophie came back into the chapel at that moment, signalling the band to begin the bridal march.

  ***

  The reception green looked stunning. Spring flowers stood on vases all around the tables of feasting guests.

  “Elise, you must let me teach you the harpsichord. It is something no young woman should have grown up without. But I suppose your family wouldn't have had the means to allow such.”

  Lady Salso sighed dramatically, patting her new daughter-in-law on the shoulder.

  Starla grimaced in sympathy for her friend. At least she would not have to endure her mother-in-law for long. Antonio was moving them to London in two months to head up that new sector of his father's vast trade empire.

  “And look at you.”

  Starla jumped as she realised that Lady Salso had moved over to her.

  “If you wiped that grimace off your face, you might actually pass for a respectable young woman in that dress. Perhaps even attract a suitor, despite your age and lack of dowry.”

  Starla opened her mouth, unsure of whether to apologise or give her own backhanded comment.

  “The bride and groom will open the dance floor now. Will you join me, Mademoiselle Marvou?” Raoul asked, stressing Starla's name and ignoring Lady Salso completely.

  “I would love to, Monsieur Monge.”

  Starla had played this game of high airs with Raoul since childhood. She had to remind herself that he would read more in her words than intended, now.

  Joining Elise and Antonio as the song continued, Starla and Raoul spun across the green. They spoke and laughed, dancing to the next song, too.

  “I must help Mia bring the cake,” Starla said, removing herself from his arms as Raoul asked for a third dance. Nodding, he went over to get a drink, promising to wait. Shaking her head, Starla walked off to kitchen with Mia.

  “Young Monsieur Monge is a good dancer,” Mia observed, casually, as they neared the parish house.

  “He is, I'm sure,” Starla said, trying to be just as cool and uninterested. He still felt more like a brother. She needed time to bring herself to love him differently from that. She cringed as her mind declared it impossible.

  “You seemed happy,” Mia prodded, not buying Starla's front.

  “It is a day for happiness,” Starla said, grasping the tray of plates and cake forks. “We mustn't be late.”

  Suiting her words, she made for the green, leaving Mia to follow.

  ***


  The rest of the reception flowed by uneventfully. There were three more dances with Raoul and two with Pierre, who continually made her blush with his string of barely decent compliments before Raoul cut in to claim Starla again. But after Starla noticed Father Joe's intent stare as they danced and spoke, she feigned tiredness. By the end, as the final song played out, Raoul had declined every other eligible lady at the wedding. Too many stares were being directed at Starla, now. She needed time! She didn't want anything to hasten Father Joe into giving Raoul the word he needed.

  “Starla? Hello?”

  Elise waved a gloved hand to reclaim her attention.

  Starla realised other guests were preparing to wave the newly-weds' carriage off. Raoul and Father Joe were deep in conversation.

  “Leaving already?” Starla joked, trying to hide her unease as the bells rang loudly in the tower. Five o'clock.

  “Don't worry, I will see you for supper tomorrow,” Elise said, smiling her approval.

  “I'm glad you finally accepted a dinner invitation. It has made him more hopeful for the future.”

  Starla felt that snarl of guilt wriggle in her stomach.

  “I still can't believe you are going to England,” she said, changing the subject.

  “I will miss you too, my friend. But we still have another two months together,” Elise said, giving Starla a tight hug before accepting Antonio's hand and getting into the carriage.

  As the guests waved their farewell, Raoul was suddenly beside her, closer to her than he would have dared before.

  “Did you have a good time?” he asked as the other guests began making farewells and heading for their own carriages or homes.

  “I did, thank you.”

  Starla concentrated on the feeling as his arm brushed hers. Nothing. Just the touch of a brother. Before she could stop herself, she sighed regretfully.

  “Starla,” Father Joe's voice came from behind her just as Raoul began to say more, “Ah, Raoul, your father needs you a moment.”

  Nodding, Raoul gave Starla one last searching look before heading off to find his parents.

  “Starla, I know it has been a long day, but Jean has said he wants his chairs back today.” Father Joe shrugged, as if to indicate that it was not worth fighting with the old carpenter.

  “No problem, Father. I will find Guy,” Starla said, happy for a reason to keep busy and avoid Raoul's questions, although he was nowhere to be seen now. There would be plenty of questions tomorrow, but hopefully she would be prepared by then.

  “I should change, though,” she said, turning towards the parish house.

  “No,” Father Joe said, and then continued more gently. “There's no time. They must be back before six.”

  Starla's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she curtsied and left.

  Father Joaquin watched her leave through the chapel. She was such a sweet, obedient girl, with a sharp mind and strong spirit. He followed her slowly, heading for the parish house unnoticed, while Mia dealt with the remaining guests. She had been through a lot. As his feet moved forwards along the familiar route, his thoughts moved back to twenty years ago.

  The night had been cold and their breath had steamed in the air when they had arrived at the Marvous' little house. Earth lay scattered across their footpath. A bush smouldered, crackling in the night. Then they saw it. A white stone oval, covered in char marks and gouges, lay in a shallow crater. Inside, a sleeping baby had lain, completely unscathed. The Marvous had taken her in and made her their own, never telling her of that fateful night. One day they might have done but they had died before doing so. Afterwards, Father Joe had decided not to tell her of how she was found. That secret is one he hoped Starla never discovered because the truth might shatter her.

  He shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Perhaps the young man now waiting in his kitchen with his mother and father would finally give her the happiness, respect and safety she deserved.

  Chapter 2

  Make a Wish

  Starla kept tabs as Guy and his sons made steady work of packing the chairs into the old cart, ticking each one off a parchment list.

  “Thank you, Guy,” Starla said as he loaded the last chair. “See you soon.”

  Guy opened his mouth, but Mia, who had arrived at a run, forestalled his farewell.

  “Starla, would you not rather accompany him? I'm afraid he maybe had a little too much brandy. Please?” she finished breathlessly.

  Starla's thoughts, already running in circles thanks to Raoul, could find no reason to bother arguing with the silly request.

  “Of course, Mia.”

  Guy rolled his eyes at Mia as Starla mounted the cart. Soon they were heading to Jean's house along the river Aure.

  ***

  “Guy, I want to know why Mia insisted I come,” Starla asked, as Guy climbed back up onto the cart after unloading the last chair. “You are in full control. In fact, I have never seen you drink more than a glass.”

  Mumbling something incoherent, Guy became very interested in the way the reigns were lining up.

  “Guy?” Starla insisted, a flicker of her inner fire breaking through her careful control.

  Sighing, Guy began, “It must have something to do with young Monsieur Monge. Father Joaquin asked him to remain for a private audience.”

  Starla felt herself turning pale. Father Joe was going to consent, without even asking her first.

  No! I needed more time!

  “Petite etoile, are you alright? You know how Raoul feels. Only a fool would miss it. And you, you seem happy around him.” Guy's brow furrowed in concentration. He was way out of his depth here. “If Father Joaquin has decided to consent, then Raoul will be waiting for your return.”

  If? Of course he'll consent.

  “I am fine, Guy. I … may I walk back? There is enough light left. I need to think.”

  Starla had not meant that last to be spoken and Guy's face became disapproving.

  “He is a good man, Starla. Do not take make him wait too long.”

  With that, he whipped Liberta and Aurore into motion.

  Turning onto the foot path that followed the river along the western edge of the village, she allowed her thoughts free reign.

  He is a good man. He will look after me and love me. And I will be a good wife, help him run the vineyard after he takes it over. She felt herself cringe at the thought of doing nothing more taxing than running a farm. Sighing, she looked up as the sound of distant bells alerted her to the fact that she had been walking too slowly. Surrounding her was a well-tended meadow. In the distance, stood an opulent manor house, and fringing an entire side was the Thorn Wood, so named for its thick brambles and abundance of thorny plants. It ran right up to the western perimeter of the church grounds. She had learned as a child how impossible it was to enter that wood without ripping your clothes or yourself.

  “Oh no,” she muttered, turning around quickly. She had let her feet follow the river and missed the place where she should have turned off towards the village. But she knew where she was. This was part of the Salsos' estate. Not where she wanted to be.

  Walking away briskly, a snapping twig was all the warning she had before a firm shove sent her sprawling into the dirt.

  “Mother won't be happy that you are taking such poor care of that dress, nor the fact that you are trespassing,” Orla said, testing the weight of a pebble in one hand.

  Starla eyed the twins warily as she rose to her feet. They both had pebbles in hand. Not that the ground itself was short of them.

  “We didn't hurt the unwanted orphan, did we?” Davan asked, hazel eyes wide in mock innocence, his tone dripping sarcasm.

  Hitching up her skirts, Starla fled, making a dash for the wood. Flying pebbles and shouts pursued her, sometimes connecting painfully but missing her more often than not.

  Steeling herself, she leapt through the bramble hedge at the beginning of the forest, ignoring the thorns as they tore through th
e soft satin of her dress and scratched at her exposed arms and face. Diving behind a tree a few meters in, Starla stopped, listening for pursuers, angry tears stinging her eyes.

  Just leave me alone! Why? Why won't they leave me alone?

  “Coward!” Orla called, her voice clearly short of the forest. They would not risk their mother's fury by ripping their own clothes in here.

  “You know, Starla, we only wanted to talk. To help you,” Davan said, his voice turning solemn. “We think it would be better if you left Arreau.”

  “We don't need anyone else dropping dead because of you,” Orla added.

  Starla stopped trying to figure out how to sneak away. Surely not? Were they trying to accuse her of murder?

  The idea chilled Starla's blood. No one would believe them, would they?

  “Speaking of the old priest,” Davan continued, sounding more animated, “He told us something very interesting today. Now, I know you're listening so I feel it my duty to inform you that the Marvous were not your first victims … I mean birth parents. It seems your real parents died first. Or maybe they just got sick of you and abandoned you on the Marvous' doorstep. Either way, it seems you were orphaned twice!”

  His voice broke off in peals of cruel laughter, Orla joining in.

  Numb to the core, Starla crept away, the gouging thorns suddenly unimportant. She wanted to burn the words from her mind, but the cold possibility that they might be true held her tight. They had always taunted her, but not like this. This sounded recited. It sounded real. The empty pit in her stomach growing with every step, Starla staggered and crawled her way through the fast-darkening woods.