By Honor Bound by Helen A Rosburg Page A

“I know Claud, for one, would be happy to make you his wife. That, too, would assure you a secure and excellent future. What have you to say, Honneure?”
    Some of the old spark suddenly returned. “If I stay, will I be required to marry Claud?”
    This time it was Jeanne’s breath that hissed loudly into the silence. Claud’s pockmarked face reddened. Madame Dupin looked taken aback.
    “Of course not,” she replied finally. She glanced over her shoulder at her portly steward. “I’m sorry, Claud,” Madame Dupin said apologetically. “I would not have mentioned it, but you led me to believe Honneure would be agreeable to this union.”
    Claud looked apoplectic. Honneure smiled grimly. “I would not marry Claud if he was the last man on earth.”
    Jeanne’s hands flew to her mouth, while Paul’s jaw dropped.
    Madame Dupin frowned. “There is no need to be insulting. You need not marry at all, if that is your wish. And you most certainly may remain here with your family. I admire your loyalty. But I would counsel you to think well on this before you give me your final answer.”
    Honneure started to speak but changed her mind and merely nodded. She just wanted to be away … away from the library, Madame Dupin, her parents … Claud.
    Jeanne curtsied nervously. “Thank … thank you, madame. We’ll talk to Honneure.”
    They were dismissed.

    “Honneure,” Jeanne whispered as they hurried down the corridor, “I know how you feel about Claud, and I don’t blame you, but you didn’t have to …”
    “Stop.” Honneure pressed her hands to her ears. “Please stop.”
    Jeanne and Paul exchanged glances, eyes wide with surprise. Surprise turned to shock and dismay when Honneure suddenly bolted out the front door and away from the château. Jeanne started after her.
    “No, let her go,” Paul said, a hand on his wife’s arm. “She needs time to think, time to be alone.” He turned, hearing footsteps behind him, and fixed Claud with an icy stare. “And I’ll make sure she remains alone.”
    Claud clenched his fists to hide the trembling of his hands. It took monumental effort, but he managed to hold his tongue. He would bide his time.
    Like a hungry spider, he would bide his time.

    Honneure was not sure how long she had wandered through the white woods. Aware once more of her surroundings, she realized she was cold, chilled to the bone. Slender tree trunks all around her dimmed in the fading light.
    She was not lost, however. She had only to retrace her footsteps in the snow.
    It was full dark by the time she came to the lane. To her left she saw the lights of Claud’s house. Honneure shuddered.
    That decision, at least, had been an easy one. Arms hugged to her breast, she ran across the lane toward the stable and the family’s cozy rooms above it.
    Honneure’s heart brimmed with love when she entered her room. A candle burned on the small table by her bed. The stove had been lit, and on her bureau were a small pitcher of wine, some bread and cheese, and a slice of saucisson. Though she wasn’t really hungry, she forced herself to eat a piece of bread and cheese. She had grown so thin her clothes fit badly, and she experienced light-headedness from time to time. Honneure took a sip of wine, removed her shoes, and lay down on her bed. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
    She remembered the night, now seemingly so long ago, when she and Philippe had sat side by side on the banks of the Cher, and she had made him promise nothing would ever change. But too much had already.
    Philippe was gone. He had promised to return but had not. Her life had changed in many ways. She could not risk more. She had been so fortunate to find the Mansart family and come to Chenonceau. If she went to yet another new home, would she be so fortunate? She doubted it.
    Honneure also recalled Madame Dupin’s words about the Court and the doomed moths that fluttered about its brilliant flame. She believed Madame. She worried about