Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan Page B

bailiff said. “The judge sent me to look at them, if you please.”
    â€œI’ll get them,” Gilbert said before Elisabeth could stand.
    He bounded upstairs and produced her affidavit of good comportment and the copy of her baptismal records.
    â€œVery good.” Duval examined the sheaves of parchment. “And how old are you, Madame Beaumont?”
    â€œAs you can see on my baptismal record, I just turned twenty-six, monsieur,” Elisabeth answered.
    â€œAnd you were how old when you left France, madame?” asked Duval.
    â€œI had just turned twenty-five, monsieur,” she replied.
    â€œGood, good.” Duval leaned against the counter, examining the documents. “Judge Arnaud will want to see these. I hope you don’t mind if I take them. The utmost care will be taken.”
    â€œOf course,” Elisabeth said, puzzled by the request. “For as long as you have need of them.”
    â€œVery well,” the bailiff said. “The judge will send me for you in a few days, I would expect. Good day, madame, monsieur.”
    Gilbert nodded Duval wordlessly out of his shop.
    â€œSelf-righteous ass. What in the world is all this about?” Gilbert muttered, not realizing he had spoken aloud.
    Elisabeth expelled a breath with a sigh. “The only thing that makes sense is that Mother has complained to someone who matters.”
    â€œDoes a widow in her situation have that much influence?” asked Gilbert. For a moment, Elisabeth envied her husband’s rural upbringing. He knew nothing of politics and position. He could not, as he had told Elisabeth so many times, imagine a mother that would put her own interests before her daughter’s. When the farmers arranged for their daughters, feelings might not be the first concern, but they weren’t the last. The picture both he and Nicole painted of the Norman countryside made Elisabeth wonder if her beloved Paris actually was the haven she imagined it was.
    â€œShe was a Clément, and that still means something. Mother alone might not have much pull anymore, but Uncle Roland certainly does if she can persuade him to act.”
    â€œLet us hope he has the sense to see her as the meddling shrew that she is and that he won’t aid her in this whole mess,” Gilbert said, kissing her brow.
    â€œNot likely,” Elisabeth said, her expression grim. “He has no particular attachment to me, and will do anything to silence Mother. She can be—tenacious.”
    â€œLet’s not borrow trouble just yet, sweetheart,” Gilbert said.
    â€œDon’t you see?” Elisabeth said. “It’s already here. We must prepare ourselves. If Mother can cause trouble, she will. If the authorities here adhere to their laws as I’ve heard they do, they may very well send me back to France.”
    â€œNot while I live and breathe,” Gilbert said, his eyes flashing. He grabbed the back of a nearby chair, his knuckles whitened by his angry clutch. “You’re mine and you aren’t going anywhere.”
    â€œLet’s hope so, my sweet,” Elisabeth said. “For there’s nowhere else I’d rather be on this earth.”
    Elisabeth let herself go limp in her husband’s embrace, taking deep breaths to slow her heart. She was happier with Gilbert than she had been in her life. She knew she had found her place and her purpose, but her mother would see her plucked from it in a moment, just for spite. She looked down at her swollen belly. Unquestionable proof that she was no longer a maid. Would Denis Moraud be persuaded to take her, despite the baby, if her marriage to Gilbert were nullified? Probably, dim-witted thing that he was, he could be persuaded by his father to do anything.
    The baby. If she were expelled back to France, Anne would see the child cast aside like a bastard. She placed a hand on her abdomen as if to shield the growing child. But as Gilbert cradled