Read Online Daughters of the Storm by Elizabeth Buchan - Free Book Online

drink,’ he said, steering her over to the sideboard arranged under a fine still-life by Desportes. It was laid with a deep blue Sèvres porcelain dinner service picked out in gold stars and with heavy crystal glasses. At its centre stood a salt-cellar made by Cellini at the height of his fame. Héloïse nodded to Galante, the black servant, to pour her some wine and sipped at it while de Choissy accepted another. She murmured her thanks through dry lips, hardly conscious of what she was saying.
    De Choissy raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps the crush is too much for you, mademoiselle? Certainly this is not the best time to become properly acquainted. But there is time. Plenty of time. I want you to know that I look forward to our union.’
    His words succeeded in piercing her shell. Fear and dislike flooded through her in waves. She struggled for composure, determined not to be outfaced by him.
    â€˜Tell me about your family,’ she said with an effort. ‘I am not yet well acquainted with your circumstances.’
    De Choissy’s face registered approval.
    â€˜Well done, my dear,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘You will not be surprised to learn that on account of my vast age – I am nearly forty – I don’t have many close relations left.’
    He proceeded to give her a cleverly articulated sketch of the de Choissys. He had set out to woo her, using wit and intelligence. Héloïse listened, intrigued despite herself. It seemed inconceivable not to be surrounded by a large and inquisitive family, and she wondered vaguely if it might be an advantage.
    â€˜Come,’ said de Choissy at last. ‘I will make a start and introduce you to my sisters.’
    He led her forward. ‘This is my eldest sister, Madame de Roix,’ he announced.
    Héloïse found herself being looked up and down by a bored woman of some forty years who, for all her fashionable dress and deportment, could not hide the fact that she was ageing.
    â€˜I do not like you,’ said Héloïse to herself as the older woman’s gaze wandered pointedly over her figure with barely concealed envy.
    â€˜And this’, continued de Choissy, ‘is Madame la Duchesse de Fleury, my youngest sister. Adèle, I shall count on you to be kind to my bride.’
    Héloïse curtseyed to a ravishingly dressed and very pretty blonde whose face expressed concern and interest.
    â€˜I knew she would be bewitching,’ cried Adèle, who had been waiting for the introduction. ‘And she is, Hervé. You are extremely fortunate. I shall look forward to my new sister.’
    Héloïse dipped a curtsy. No one could fail to respond to Adèle, as her many lovers and friends had so often exasperatedly concluded. Wild, carefree and, unlike her brother and sister, affectionate, she scattered love and money in equal quantities but accompanied her many sins and omissions with such charming contriteness that few remained angry with her for long.
    De Choissy stood back, well satisfied that, in an unusual display of consideration for his bride, he had insisted that Adèle be present today. She had not been at all willing, being far more concerned with attending some rout or other at Versailles with her latest lover. But when her brother commanded attendance, she knew better than to protest. Adèle was also pleased with what she saw, not the least because Héloïse’s dowry was more than respectable, which meant she might, after all, be able to cajole de Choissy into loosening his purse strings.
    â€˜I wish to talk to you,’ she murmured, thinking of a particularly fine pair of diamond earrings that had taken her fancy.
    â€˜No,’ said de Choissy before Adèle could embark on her crusade. ‘Definitely not.’
    Adèle sighed. Hervé was so tight-fisted when it came to his sisters, and had declared more than once that the honour of paying their bills rested with their