The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl Read Free Page B

even more of a reality.”
    “What do you mean more of a reality?”
    “I don't want to parade myself around like some sort of automatic scythe.” She motioned to the sharp instrument in the nearest window, dangerously slicing the air back and forth with perfect cadence. “There is no one I want to meet there and certainly no one I want to marry .” She spit the last word out like an overripe anchovy.
    “I don’t understand that at all.”
    “That's because you were made for this life. You look good in gloves and with your hair done up just so. You'll be the perfect mistress of Montemerci.”
    “What do you want then?” Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted sky-high in an expression of perplexity.
    “That's just the thing, I don't know what I want. All I know is that I’m beginning to feel like a caged animal with all this talk of armies and marriage—and stupid Pomphart.” The sun shone down hard on Marguerite's face, highlighting the creases in her brow. “Outil! Where are you?” She turned to look for the automaton. “Bots are so infuriating sometimes.”
    The humble machine had stopped two paces behind them to scan the notices on the wall of the La Rochelle post office. The two girls traipsed back to retrieve their chaperone. Marguerite clamped down on the scolding she intended to deliver when she realized that the bot was reading.
    “Can you read?” she asked incredulously.
    “Yes, m’lady.” The bot stood at attention and immediately hoisted the parasol back over the head of her new mistress. “Forgive me, I was gleaning news to add to my stores in case it may be of use to you.”
    “These are just the calls for soldiers,” Marguerite explained. “The same ones that led Claude to sign up for duty.” They had been aware of the posters for several years now, calling men and women to volunteer for His Majesty’s service. Marguerite had never given them a second thought since they were mixed in with the notices for ruffians on the loose and boring decrees about taxes and such. In fact, she’d never even read them thoroughly. But today Marguerite’s gaze rested on a rich cream-colored piece of parchment scrawled with ornate black letters next to the call for soldiers. It was almost identical in design and would have easily been mistaken for a duplicate if not for the large print at the top:
     
    DAUGHTERS OF THE KING
    His Majesty,
    The Great King Louis XIV
    Invites Young Women of Character to join their Brothers in
    NEW FRANCE
    as Helpmates and Wives
    for the betterment of His Majesty's Kingdom abroad
     
    “Why would anyone in their right mind want to do this?” she almost whispered to herself.
    Vivienne took it upon herself to answer: “Marguerite, this is for the poor street urchins of Paris and farmers’ daughters with no hope of a dowry. It's a social matchmaking program to populate the wilds across the sea.”
    “Thank you, I know.” Marguerite hated when Vivienne answered rhetorical questions.
    “Don't be absurd,” a rough male voice startled the three companions. They turned to discover the owner was a tall young man with olive skin and brown, sun-kissed hair, older than the girls by enough years to feel dangerous. He smiled mischievously and continued, “Some of the finest-bred ladies in our fine capital have already signed up and settled in New France with their high-stepping military husbands, claiming vast estates and popping out babies for His Majesty's kingdom abroad.”
    Vivienne’s face flamed at the impropriety. She hissed at him, “It’s not proper to speak of breeding while standing in the street!”
    Marguerite ignored her pious friend and the stranger’s crude manners. “And just who are you, and how would you know about breeding abroad?”
    “I’m Captain Jacques Laviolette, and I know because I've been there and seen the breeding firsthand.” His eyes twinkled with the naughtiness of a life at sea. Marguerite did not doubt that he’d seen many things, but she