Read Online Promised to the Crown by Aimie K. Runyan - Free Book Online

lamented of me ever finding a husband, and here I have my pick. Parisian men may prefer petite beauties, but New World men want solid wives who aren’t afraid of work.
    â€œDelectable, Mademoiselle Martin,” Gilbert said after swallowing a bite of the flaky pastry. “You have great talent.”
    â€œMy father taught me well.” Elisabeth sampled her efforts thoughtfully. “I had to make do with a caramel sauce, as it seems chocolate hasn’t made its way to New France.”
    â€œAnd more’s the pity. I care for it myself,” Gilbert said. “I studied as an apprentice baker in Bayeux, as I’m sure I have told you.”
    â€œIndeed, Monsieur Beaumont.” Elisabeth smiled behind her mug. “Perhaps as often as three times now.”
    The smart suitors mentioned their skills at every opportunity. Those with talent managed to do so without appearing boastful. Elisabeth had to admit that Gilbert knew her weakness and used it to his advantage.
    â€œWhat I haven’t said before is that my fondest wish is to start my own bakery,” Gilbert said. “I have repaid the three years of service for my crossing and have no love for farming, so I’ve saved enough to open a small bakery here in town.”
    â€œHow wonderful,” Elisabeth said. At once her mind started formulating the needed inventory and organizing the stockroom. Slow down, she told herself. He may see the business as his own. He may wish to see you at the counter, charming the customers, not in front of his ovens. He may not be as forward thinking as Papa.
    â€œI understand there are only four bakers here; I’m sure they will appreciate another to ease the demand.” Elisabeth chose her comment with care, hoping it would show her interest in the business without seeming too eager.
    â€œYou’re right, Mademoiselle Martin, as always,” Gilbert said. “More to the point, though I’m a solid baker, I have nothing like your gift. I hoped you would join me in my efforts. I have no doubt we could forge a successful . . . business . . . together.”
    Elisabeth hid her smile behind her mug. There was a dash of her papa’s humility in Gilbert that she loved.
    â€œPerhaps you are right, Monsieur Beaumont.” Elisabeth’s heart thudded against her rib cage. He’s going to ask. I’ve known him three weeks, and he’s going to ask.
    â€œWould you consider—would you consent to join me, to be my wife?” Gilbert raised his eyes to hers, the crease between his eyes grown deep as he waited for her response.
    Elisabeth appraised the man before her. He seemed humble, hardworking, and honest. His qualities reminded her of her father, all the more so because he had no qualifications of which her mother would approve.
    Elisabeth cast a quick glance at Jacques Piaget, who stood with some of the other men and kept an eye on Elisabeth. Jacques had already cleared his land; his farm was an enviable success. He had money and servants. He was the respectable choice.
    Gilbert had not settled, and his future was far less certain. But Gilbert did not seek to find a bride who would rub his feet after a long day of toil; he wanted to share his life with her. He showed her respect. Piaget could assure a full stomach and physical comforts, but Gilbert offered the chance to create something more. She knew which man her mother would have picked for her, and which her father would have persuaded her to take. The decision was not a complicated one.
    â€œMonsieur Beaumont, nothing could make me happier.”
    Gilbert’s eyes shone. For a few seconds, he seemed unable to find his voice. Then, in a bold gesture, he took her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
    â€œI hoped you would agree to be married in two weeks’ time,” Gilbert said. “I want you as my wife before the year ends. I hope that is not too soon for you, my Elisabeth.” His voice trembled