Sign of the Cross
By JeanTre16
Chapter 2
Familiar Ground
Chapter description: Jacqueline fights to find "familiar ground" for her upcoming palace visit.
Shortly after breakfast, Jacqueline went through the carefully layered dresses packed in her trunk. "What should an ex-Musketeer, farm girl wear to visit the queen?" She mused. This palace engagement was way out of her league, she thought. In the past, she had presented herself many times at the palace as Jacques Leponte—Royal Musketeer. But at least she had been on familiar ground as that role. Now, she would be reintroduced to the Queen-mother as Madame Jacqueline d'Artagnan. How strange that sounded. She had no idea where to begin, let alone choose an appropriate dress for the occasion.
D'Artagnan wandered into the room and took up a reclined position on the bed to watch. "So are you finding anything sumptuous enough in that coffer of yours?"
His agitated wife shot him a frown of disapproval, and replied, "You're not helping, you know."
"All right!" He lifted his hands in back-offish manner. "I'll just lie here and watch." D'Artagnan thought how being married had its advantages. At least he no longer felt the need to hide his enticement of seeing Jacqueline undressed. He wondered if he would ever confess to her the times before they were married when he had compromised her modesty and stolen glimpses of her not fully clothed. 'Someday,' he thought, but this was not the time for such confessions.
Captivated, he watched his beautiful wife sort through her clothing. Although he respected her impeccable taste, he had seen her wear some surprises—like the "borrowed" nobleman's suit she had on the first day they had met. Since then he had seen her don a Musketeer's uniform, a bright red dress and blond wig in portrayal of an upper middle-class heart-breaker, and even a work-maid's dress. The enticed onlooker had to admit the most enchanting, yet his least favorite surprises were the dresses she had chosen to wear for the temporarily exiled King Charles II, heir to the throne of England. Those dresses, no doubt, were in that trunk too, but most of what Jacqueline leafed through today had been acquired while in Marseille. D'Artagnan's father had afforded his daughter-to-be a sizable purse as a wedding gift and insisted the young bride establish a sufficient lady's wardrobe. The young married man watched her now as she placed even the most affluent of those gowns aside.
Seeing his wife clearly having trouble, d'Artagnan ventured to her aid. Jacqueline held up a dark green velvet gown in front of her and looked into the cheval glass mirror. While her private admirer approved of her choice, his eyes rested on a royal blue dress with elegant gold cord accent. Leaving his comfortable spot on the bed, he retrieved the dress and brought it over to her. "Why don't you wear this one?" He came up from behind her, circled his arms around her waist and held it before her figure in view of the mirror. "It compliments your hair and brings out your beautiful eyes. Besides, I've grown to admire you in Musketeer blue."
Jacqueline smiled at his last comment and took a long hard look as she leaned back on him with her head resting on his shoulder. D'Artagnan had already changed into his familiar Musketeer uniform for their day in Paris. Together they looked at the complementary colors of their clothing in the mirror. "So you think this is the winner to wear for an engagement with the queen of France?" she said, surrendered to his opinion.
"If it doesn't impress the queen, at least I can assure you I won't be able to get my eyes off you." He removed the dress he held in front of her and put himself facing her in its stead. Affectionately, he gathered her up in his embrace and kissed her.
After a moment of intimacy an unsettled Jacqueline gently pushed herself away. "I don't know. I'm not sure if I'm really up to it." The timid side of her had not wanted to mention it before. She knew the man who encouraged her inner strength would not want to hear it. But she could not help the way she felt. In truth, the recently acquitted woman was not too keen on facing Queen Anne without first knowing what King Louis's opinion of her was. The thought made facing his mother all the less appealing. Jacqueline wondered just how much of the royal business Louis still shared with his mother. Did she know the secret behind her son's note? She looked at her husband with a look of questioning in her eyes.
"Go." D'Artagnan urged her. "You'll be glad you kept the appointment. Let the Queen-mother of France pamper you for the day." His playful brown eyes encouraged her. Maybe she was wrong about this loyal man's response to her trepidation. In his warm, caring tone of voice, he continued, "I know you're a little jittery still. Give yourself some time. Meanwhile enjoy the palace luxuries. You won't be getting that kind of treatment around here, your royal highness." As he teased her with this last comment, he backed off and playfully landed a swat on her rump.
Startled by his ungentlemanly behavior, she raised her fists in mock challenge. Thinking better of it she hastily grabbed the blue and gold dress and disappeared behind the screen to change. Oh, the man could be so endearing one moment and then so incorrigible the next. He made her fears sound so trivial, as if all their troubles were far behind them. He sounded as if all there was left for them to do was to toss all past cares into the wind and embrace their future together. Jacqueline would have loved to believe that. She wanted to believe that. But somehow she did not. Everything was not all right and she knew it. But why, and what was the reason for her doubt? She pondered over these things as she put on the familiar royal Musketeer-blue colors.
Time quickly passed and the queen's special escort finally arrived at the Roget farm. D'Artagnan graciously took his beautiful wife's hand as she climbed into the carriage. Then he took his place inside as well. Both d'Artagnans had appointments at the palace. While Jacqueline had an engagement with the queen, he had been requested to see the king's land steward on official business. Though he was not told for certain what the business entailed, he presumed his father may have bequeathed property for his daughter-in-law and him to settle down on.
D'Artagnan wondered about his father's hasty departure from Paris and marveled that he had managed time at all to see to such matters as bequeathing land. The man had left on a whirlwind. That characteristic, considered his son, added credibility to his legendary status. It had become his trademark to never stay in one place for long. Charles D'Artagnan had been that kind of father to his son as well. The younger man had accepted that. But this time his father's hasty leave puzzled even his son. Jacqueline had said it most likely had been his preoccupation with his new assignment. But unlike everyone else, in the little time the namesake had spent with his father during his lifetime, he seemed familiar enough with him to see through his pretense. His father had left in a rush and it had been in an air of wanting to leave something behind rather than looking forward to something ahead. The son had never known his relation to be so anxious to leave before.
After his father's departure from Paris, d'Artagnan took Jacqueline to her childhood home for recovery. But aside from them temporarily using the place, it could not and would not ever be legally hers. Even if no one stepped forward to claim it, inheritance by a woman was not permissible in France. In the natural course of events, Gerard would have inherited the farm, but her brother had died. Now, the Roget home would be passed down by law to the next of her father's male kin. The problem lie in that, to his daughter's knowledge, Claude Roget had no brothers. As the property waited to be claimed, d'Artagnan suggested that the familiarity of her former home would be the perfect sanctuary for her to regain her strength and perspective.
As the carriage pulled away from the familiar surroundings of the Roget farmhouse, Jacqueline could not help wonder how strange it all looked. Her former life on the farm seemed so distant, despite the fact that she had spent the last three weeks there. It was no wonder that she felt so detached from the place, everyone she had known associated with that former life was gone. There was nothing familiar about it anymore.
Queen Anne's carriage passed cottages and other farm houses along the way into Paris. Sights of families planting and working in the fields gradually gave way to the bustle of the city. Jacqueline loved Paris. While she had fond memories of her farm upbringing, Paris had been her home recently. Everyone she now cared about other than d'Artagnan was there too. As they pulled into the city she felt she had come home.
Shortly, the ride to the palace had come to an end. Upon pulling up at the carriage house, Jacqueline experienced trouble containing her anxiety. It did not help any that while d'Artagnan's presence was summoned at once, his young wife was asked to await the queen's arrival on the garden terrace.
In the opulence of her surroundings, Jacqueline fidgeted nervously. As a Musketeer, when she had become anxious she had developed the habit of fingering her rapier, but she had no such luxury at hand. Nervously, she raised her hand to her pendant and began to finger that.
"I hope this dress was the right choice," she whispered under her breath. Then wittingly she entertained herself with the conclusion, "If not, I can always blame it on d'Artagnan. He picked it out."
Author's Note: Any feedback would be appreciated. I'm honestly wondering how to interpret the silence... Comments honestly are taken to heart.