Bertrice Small - The Duchess

"Do not think to shock me, Reynaud," the comtesse said. "I know how you came into being, but your father was drunk when he attacked your mother. That does not excuse his crime. It was bestial, but he never touched her again. And he paid your grandmère to care for you. She wanted to put you out on a hillside for the wild animals. Did you know that? He would not permit it, for you were his very flesh. He paid her very generously to look after you, although she used precious little of his coin for your care. That is why when you were four he brought you into the house to be raised by his wife, along with the baby she was carrying. Rachelle d'Aumont was good to you, Reynaud. And your lather tried to make up for what he had done to your mother as best he could. And my husband, your brother, treated you as an equal all his life."

"Yes," Reynaud said. "Jean-Claude was a good brother, 1 will admit. That is what made it so hard for me to betray him. But alas, I had no choice."

"What are you saying?" she gasped, going pale, her heart beating violently against her chest. My God! My God! It could not be.

"Once we were in Paris it was very easy for me to put a note in one of those boxes the Committee for Public Safety scattered about the city to give anonymity to those wishing to expose traitors to the new regime. They are very efficient in Paris. Jean-Claude was quickly arrested. I, of course, was fortunate to escape the authorities, and I knew my dear little brother would not expose me as his companion. I went to see him beheaded, and even walked alongside the tumbrel as it took him to the guillotine. He begged me to see to your safety, and that of his children. He had absolutely no idea that it was I who had betrayed him." Reynaud smiled, and the smile was so like her husband's that Anne-Marie cried out as if in pain.

"Monster!" she accused.

"Then I returned here, and joined our local Committee for Public Safety. I became so invaluable, so skilled in hunting out the enemies of the people, that the authorities in Harfleur gave me total authority over the committee in St. Jean Baptiste. I am the one responsible for your arrest, Citizeness d'Aumont. Your fate is in my hands entirely." He laughed aloud.

"God will punish you, Reynaud," she told him. "You cannot hide from God."

"I am arranging," he continued as if she had not spoken, "for your son to be sent to the army."

"He is ten years old!" she shrieked at him. Then she began to tremble as the realization of how helpless she was penetrated her consciousness.

"Old enough to carry water, or ammunition, or if he pleases the men in his unit with his elegant behavior, he might even become a little drummer boy for his regiment. You need not worry, citi-zeness, my nephew is a pretty little fellow. He will find friends to protect him."

His meaning was very obvious, and the Comtesse d'Aumont was unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion. "No," she cried weakly.

"And as for your daughter, I have arranged for her to be apprenticed to a glovemaker in Paris. She will learn to be useful, Citizeness, and not grow up to be a worthless little aristo. The glovemaker told me that he likes young girls." He smiled again. "He will take good care of my niece, I am certain." He chuckled knowingly.

"Please," the comtesse pleaded, "please, I beg you! Do what you will with me, but leave my children alone. We will leave Le Verger. It is yours. I have family in England that I can go to for shelter and aid. I will do whatever you want. Just do not harm my babies!" She fell to her knees before him, and clutched at his jacket. "Please!" The tears were streaming down her pretty face.

He looked on her dispassionately, his brown eyes cold, cruel. "Anything, Citizeness?" he said softly. Loosening his breeches he pulled out his flaccid manhood. "Anything?" he repeated.

"Anything," she sobbed brokenly. She would do what she must to save her children.

"Very well then, open your mouth, Citizeness, and entertain my rod. If you please me we will speak further on these matters. Now, suck, you aristocratic bitch. Suck!" His fingers cruelly dug into her head, threading themselves into her thick brown hair.

Anne-Marie d'Aumont closed her eyes and obeyed as she prayed that God would forgive her; her dead husband and their parents would forgive her; that she would one day forgive herself. But she had no other choice. She had to save the children! Why, oh why, had she not taken her English uncle up on his offer to shelter them when he had first made it? She knew now that she could not trust Reynaud d'Aumont, but she had to hope his desire for Le Verger was greater than his need to punish the legitimate branch of the d'Aumont family for their existence. That if she let him have his way with her, he would let them all go. She felt his flesh growing thicker in her mouth, and sucked harder on him.

"Ahh, yes, you little bitch," he groaned, his eyes closing with the pleasure she was giving him. "You are skillful indeed. That's it. That's it! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!" His fingers loosened their grip on her tresses, and he sighed with his release.

She continued to kneel before him, her head drooping with her shame. She had swallowed every bit of his juices, struggling not to vomit them back at his feet. That, she knew, would not please him, and she had to please him if she was to save the children from his power.

Reynaud rebuttoned his breeches. "You have hidden talents, Citizeness."

She looked up at him. "My children?"

"I may reconsider my decision, Citizeness. Leave your bedchamber door open tonight, and we shall converse further on the matter," he told her. "Now get up, and see to the dinner. I wish to go over my brother's accounts."

Anne-Marie d'Aumont stumbled from the library where they had been speaking. The house was quiet.

Only two of the servants had remained after her arrest. They hadn't wanted to go, but she had sent them away, fearful for their safety under the circumstances. She had paid their year's wages so they would not starve. The old cook had remained, and her maid who was now with the children. She hurried to the kitchen. "Thérèse," she said in what she hoped passed for a normal voice, "do we have anything for supper? Monsieur Reynaud is remaining."

"That one!" Thérèse spat. "What does he want, madame?"

"Le Verger," the comtesse answered softly.

"Oh, the wicked devil," the old cook cried. "If the monsignor were alive he would not dare. He cannot take Le Verger from the petit monsieur Jean-Robert, madame."

"He can, and he means to do it. He wants to send my son to the army, and my daughter to a glovemaker in Paris, Thérèse. I am trying to reason with him. We must please him. Help me, I beg you!"

"Finely ground glass in his soup, madame," the cook muttered balefully. "Or," she made a slicing motion across her throat.

"We cannot kill him, Thérèse. He is the head of the Committee for Public Safety in St. Jean Baptiste. He is well known in Harfleur. If he disappeared we would all face Madame la Guillotine, I fear."

"I can make a rabbit pie, and I have a chicken I can roast," the cook said grudgingly. "I will do what I can to help, madame, but it will not please me to see Reynaud le bâtard sitting in monsignor's place at the head of the table tonight."

"Nor will it please me, Thérèse, but the times have changed. It is no longer the world we knew. If I can persuade Monsieur Reynaud to simply take Le Verger, I intend to make my way to my uncle in London with the children. I will see you have your wages, and a bit more I can spare."