The French Encounter

Chapter 1

1863 Le Havre, France

Lady Margaret, Countess of Renwick and widow of Henry William Wiltshire, the Viscount of Rolantry, held on to the rail of the steamboat. As she approached the French shoreline, her long, raven locks blew in the wind and she could feel the fall air on her pale skin.

As she clutched the vessel's edge, she wondered what lay ahead for her. Not only was she afraid, since it was her first time on the open sea, but also because everything was so unknown. She had barely been out of her province in England, and now she was about to step foot in a foreign country. This new place held the possibility of a completely fresh future for her and her newborn son.

She never thought she would leave her homeland of England, let alone run away in the middle of the night because she feared for the safety of her family. But with her parents dead and having no family to protect her, she had no other recourse.

The events that led to her fleeing to France still haunted her. She would never forget the brutal attack on her body by Richard Charles Crawley III, the Duke of Witherton, or how he set the whole ordeal in motion to look like she willingly betrayed her husband. The horrified look of anguish on Henry's face when he saw what seemed to be an unfaithful liaison would not leave her. She had tried to convince him it was not her doing and that she had been trying to protect him because she loved him, but he did not believe her when she told him that the duke had tricked her so he could use her to hurt Henry.

So much mistrust and damage had been done by her naïve belief that she had been in love with the duke that, by the time she uttered the words out loud, saying "I love you" could not fix what had been destroyed. Her husband died in a duel over her honor, believing she never loved him. Margaret could not reconcile her guilt from his death.

As punishment, her late husband's sister, Catherine, enforced the banishment Henry had placed on her, confining her to their London estate. In an ironic twist, two months into her exile, she found out that she was with child. It was only her faith in God and her choice to live for her unborn son that made it possible for Margaret to survive.

Every day had been a battle to live without the love of her life. Basic things like eating and sleeping felt like impossible feats. And the most difficult part was living in fear of the outcome of the paternity of her son. She recalled Catherine saying to her, "Once the baby is born, I will come back and make the decision of what will be done with it. You better hope and pray that it is Henry's child, because if it is not, you will have to figure out how to survive on your own. Additionally, there is the possibility that the duke will want to lay claim to his bastard."

But God protected her. Through her exile, she was given the opportunity to plan her escape. When she gave birth to her son, whom she named Henry after her late husband, she was able to keep Catherine from intercepting her and carrying out her plans.

Even though she had never been to France, Margaret knew more about it than any other country. Her twin brother, Randall, had been lost at sea when his ship went down outside of France. She had vigorously researched everything there was to know about the country, hoping that one day she might be able to take a trip to France to find him. But her father dealt with Randall's presumed death by focusing on anything other than finding out what happened to him, which left no room to allow her to pursue her hopes of finding her brother alive.

Flash forward eight years and Margaret had finally made it to France in the most unexpected way. When she decided to flee the country, she made the decision to go there so she could carry out her long-hidden plan to search for her brother. If she had to leave behind everything she loved and knew, it was not going to be in vain. If her brother was alive, she was going to find him.

As Margaret stepped off the ship, she was greeted by a tall, well-dressed gentleman with a thick French accent. "Welcome to France, Countess. I am so delighted to see you again. I am glad that you have arrived safe, and I have arranged for you to stay at my estate."

Pierre Girard, the Vidame of Demoulin, was an old family friend and had visited her family right before her marriage to Henry. He had approached her father to discuss the possibility of courting her, but her father had declined his offer, opting to keep his promise to Henry's late father instead.

Margaret studied the vidame; he had a chiseled body that was made evident by his tailored, stately suit in light grey. He was quite handsome with his straight, jet-black hair that stood out in contrast against his pale skin. His face was set off by his dark brown eyes that drew her in and held her attention. He was confident but not arrogant, which was refreshing in a nobleman, and there was something about him that exuded sensuality.

She had not been able to see Pierre's admirable qualities when he previously visited because she had been infatuated with the Duke of Witherton. Nothing else mattered to her, and she had no idea who the duke really was or of what he was capable.

When Margaret realized she was in danger from two different directions, she knew she had to leave England to protect her son. She discreetly contacted the vidame, via letter, to ask if he would be willing to allow her to stay with him while she made more permanent arrangements. She explained her travel and stay with him should be kept quiet as there were safety concerns for her family if they remained in England. The vidame had agreed to her request, and Margaret was relieved to find somewhere safe to stay while she figured out what to do next.

"Countess, by title I am a protector of land and people alike. I assure you that you will be safe and I will not allow any harm to come to you or your son while you are under my care." The young man bowed deeply, and as he came up, he took Margaret's hand and kissed the top of it.

She smiled softly at him and spoke in flawless French, "Thank you for your hospitality, my lord."

His mouth formed an appreciative grin. "You speak French beautifully, Countess. Tell me, how is it that you came to speak my language so fluently?"

"I had a deep... interest in your country since I was a young child and wanted to know every detail about it, including how to speak the language. At my insistence, my father hired a French tutor."

He took her hand and put it in the crook of his arm. "Come, I will escort you to my estate, and then we can discuss what your plans shall be while you stay with me."

"I am honored that you have done as much as you already have for us. I am truly grateful."

"After our last encounter in England, you should know by now that I would do anything you ask of me."

She blushed at the compliment. It seemed Pierre's interest in her had not dissipated since the last time they were together. "Your generosity is just one of your numerous admirable qualities, my lord."

Hearing a noise behind her, they both looked at her entourage. With a hint of mirth, Pierre commented, "It does not seem you travel light, Countess."

Margaret looked at her devoted servants, Albert, Sarah, Motty, and Francisca, who chose to follow her to France. Along with her son and several pieces of luggage, she could see that she appeared to be ostentatious. However, what the vidame did not know was that this trip had no return date. There was no going home for any of them.

As they walked towards the nearby carriage, Margaret weighed her options on whether to tell the vidame the full details of her predicament. She worried that, if she told him the entire circumstances surrounding her sordid past, he would look at her differently. She did not think she could handle another person judging her for something that was out of her control. She needed the vidame to remain on her side, so she chose to keep the intimate details surrounding her reasons for coming to France private.

"I hope that France meets and exceeds all of your expectations," the vidame said as he helped Margaret up into the carriage.

She turned her head and looked down at him with her deep violet eyes, replying, "I am sure that it will, my lord."