The Honorable Officer (17 page)

Jean-Louis tensed in case he would have to head off nastiness. Finally, Manu nodded and held out his arm.

The others filed into the inn behind them. Jean-Louis and Dom made plans to leave for the bishop’s residence once they changed their clothes.

As usual, Fourbier complained Jean-Louis had left him too little time to style his wig.

As usual, Jean-Louis ignored him.

Once ready, he waited for Dom in the doorway of the taproom, drawing curious glances from the locals. He caught his breath as Hélène came down the stairs, now in the hideous black dress but with her reddish hair brushed and half covered with a lace cap. She lifted her lorgnette and blushed as she always did when she saw him.

He kissed her hand, and she smiled.

“Emmanuel was much more pleasant by the time I got to the room we’re sharing,” said Jean-Louis.

Hélène looked surprised. “I…I’m glad. He is such a quiet boy. I thought he needed someone to take care of him. He was very frightened, I think, and felt sorry for himself. He would never say so.”

“He certainly expressed the self-pity,” said Jean-Louis, frowning.

“I suppose so, yes,” she said. “But I told him it was very wise of him to rent a horse and follow instead of sitting and stewing.”

Jean-Louis looked at her wide, blue eyes and sweet compassion for a stupid boy. He smiled.

“He is very much like you,” she said quietly.

Jean-Louis took a deep breath. Hadn’t he thought the same thing as he was dressing Emmanuel down?

Hélène put her hand on his arm, tentatively stroking the fine wool of his light blue doublet.

His body tensed and heated. He wanted her right away, wanted to get under her skin and shatter her demureness to release the passion inside her, the passion that made her leave her home to save Ondine. He wanted her protection for himself, he realized. Maybe he was frightened, too.

“We’ll be married soon,” he said. “As soon as it can be arranged.”

She blinked in surprise, then looked away, embarrassed.

“You will be mine.” He gripped her hand where it rested on his sleeve. He lifted the hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm.

A laugh from the taproom made Hélène jump and blush in confusion.

Jean-Louis reassured himself they were out of the line of sight of the patrons. They were otherwise terribly exposed where they stood, so he stepped back and dropped her hand. A movement on the stairs made him turn to find Dom coming down carrying Ondine, Charlotte trailing behind.

He took Ondine and kissed her. She put her arms around his neck and snuggled her head against him. A lump rose in his throat.

Hélène said, “I need to feed her and put her down for a nap.”

Jean-Louis wanted desperately to kiss Hélène, but gave the little girl up to her care and left to see the bishop.

Chapter Nine

“My brother said you were like a wife.”

Fourbier started in his seat in the back of the taproom. He was trying to forget the manic way he had raced around Poitiers—eyeglasses and carriage painting and jewelry for the new bride. Monsieur Henri de Cantière pulled out the other hard little chair at his table and sat stiffly on the edge of it.

Fourbier’s heart stuttered at the sight of his hard jawline, but he smirked and waved his hand. “His little joke. He pays me well for the impossible tasks he sets.”

Monsieur Henri continued to stare, just as he had done over the last several days. Fourbier felt his cheeks heat, but he knew how to be silent, too.

“My brother rarely jokes.”

Was Henri jealous of the colonel? Did he think there was more to their relationship than master and servant? Fourbier dismissed the thought. Why would Henri be jealous, after all? All he did was stare like he was watching a wild beast. “A rare moment of exaggeration, then.” He caught the larger man’s hazel eyes and watched them slip down to the glass of wine on the table. Fourbier lifted his glass to his lips slowly. Henri’s gaze rose to his mouth. He wasn’t completely indifferent.

Henri leaned in to mutter, “My last lover was bigger and stronger than me.”

Fourbier choked on his wine.

Henri leaned back, triumph on his handsome face.

Fourbier glanced around and leaned back, pretending to relax. “I am sure he was not as handsome as I.”

It was Henri’s turn to glance around.

“Nor as skilled.” Fourbier wiggled his fingers.

Henri’s gaze narrowed on his hand, and he clenched his jaw. He stood suddenly and strode away, heading for the door to the courtyard.

Fourbier took a deep breath, only then realizing he had stopped breathing. He glanced around the taproom again, nodding at the innkeeper, who held up a jug of wine. He would drink to his triumph, no matter how limited. It was a relief to flirt a little in the middle of the madness.

The negotiations had begun.

****

The afternoon moved slowly for Hélène, yet it passed in no time at all. She kept busy with Ondine, mostly. Jean-Louis and the Comte de Bures didn’t come back until late at night, stinking of brandy. When she peeked out of her room at the sound of their voices, Jean-Louis pulled her close and kissed her until she shivered all over.

It was Jean-Louis who backed away, breathing hard. She was embarrassed by her reaction, but Jean-Louis was still running his hands over her shoulders and whispering into her ear.

“Tomorrow, Hélène,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll marry.”

She found her voice. “
Bien
.”

He kissed her gently, letting his lips linger. “Go to sleep now.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Her heart was beating fast and her head spun.

He smiled when she lifted her glass to see him better. His strong jaw relaxed further as his eyes traveled over her face.

“
Bonne nuit
, Hélène.” He stepped back, kissed the palm of her hand, and went to his room.

He turned back. “Go in and close your door.”

She must look silly, staring at him.

“I need to know you are safe before I go in,” he said.

“
Bonne nuit
, Jean-Louis.” She slipped into her room and closed the door, securing the latch.

****

She woke in the morning more refreshed than she expected. Ondine was still asleep, which was odd. Hélène patted the bedside table, found her eyeglass, and looked at her tiny clock. It was an hour before Ondine usually woke. She held the clock to her ear to be sure it hadn’t stopped during the night.

Hélène eased herself away from the little girl in her bed. The maid hadn’t yet lit the fire, so the room was freezing. Hélène crouched and put a stick of wood on the dark coals, but there wasn’t anything in the room to make a flame. She washed her face with icy cold water.

A soft tap came at the door, and she let in the innkeeper’s wife, who was surprised at finding her awake.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Hélène, automatically. She wondered why she was apologizing. “I stirred the fire a little, only I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right, Mademoiselle,” whispered the woman with a sly grin. “I could hardly sleep on my wedding day, either.”

Hélène’s blush warmed her frozen face.

The innkeeper’s wife made up the fire, and Hélène pulled a chair close and brushed her hair as the woman poured a little warm water into the washbasin and set the bucket by the fire.

She slipped out and came back with a pot of weak tea and some bread. Hélène was reading a book by the fire, having failed to decide what to write to her aunt and uncle, when she heard Ondine wail. She hurried to calm the girl before she woke Charlotte, but it was too late; the older girl stretched and yawned on the cot in the corner.

“Go back to sleep, Charlotte,” Hélène said.

“Oh, no, Mademoiselle! I don’t think I can. The only weddings I have seen have been in the camps. You are to marry in a cathedral!”

Hélène looked at her in surprise. “I am not sure about the cathedral, chérie. Probably one of the chapels.”

“A fancy wedding of aristocrats! It doesn’t matter where, when it’s the colonel. He’s so very handsome.” Charlotte sighed dreamily.

Hélène was not about to admit out loud that she agreed.

A short while later, someone tapped at the door. Hélène had brushed both Ondine’s and Charlotte’s hair, checking for lice. Charlotte peeked out before opening it to Aurore and her maid.

Aurore hugged Hélène, going up on tiptoe to kiss her cheeks exuberantly. “Oh, Hélène! Oh,
ma chère
! This is such a wonderful, wonderful day! I can hardly breathe for happiness. And
ma petite
Ondine, how are you this morning? Your papa shall marry today and Tata Hélène will be your new
maman
.”

Hélène thought her heart would burst with joy. Ondine would truly be hers, never to be taken away, especially not by her aunt and uncle, who had repeatedly held the threat of separation over her head.

Ondine’s face fell and her lip pouted out. “No like maman,” she said in a tiny voice. “Like Tata Nénène.”

Aurore paused only a moment. “Well, Tata Nénène will be your maman. She will still be Nénène, but even better.”

Ondine stomped her foot. “Tata Nénène, she is there! Mine Tata Nénène!”

Aurore bent to pick her up, but Ondine wilted to the floor, slipping from her grasp.

Hélène crouched down to lift the girl, who grabbed onto her neck. “It’s all right, Ondine. I will always take care of you now. I will be yours forever.”

Ondine held on tightly and glared at Aurore. “Mine Tata. Dondine Tata. No maman. No Nénène…”

With Ondine’s confused attempts at stating her feelings, Hélène’s heart sank a little. Maybe she wouldn’t be a good mother. But then, she was the only mother Ondine had ever had, really. The girl couldn’t possibly remember her real mother, could she?

“Well, now that we have that cleared up…” Aurore covered her confusion with a wry smile. “We’ll help you put on your new dress. We’re leaving here at eight, and it is already almost seven. I hope Jean-Louis will be ready soon. Dominique stank of liquor last night, and they came in very late; they shall both have a bad head today.”

Hélène nodded.

“But you saw them, Dom said.” Aurore’s eyes twinkled as she glanced up at Hélène through her lashes.

Hélène’s face flamed at the extravagance of the kisses Jean-Louis had given her the night before. It was surely just a dream, the way she had felt. She blushed harder, thinking the comte might have seen them kissing.

“We are to go directly to Dumouton from the cathedral.” Aurore waved to her maid to bring the dress over. “We’ll allow you and Jean-Louis to decide if Ondine will ride with you or with me.” She grinned slyly.

Hélène blushed even more.

****

Through his pounding headache, Jean-Louis wondered if the encounter with Hélène in the hall was the product of his over-brandied imagination. He decided it was not when Fourbier pointedly told him he had not looked in the hall at all last night. Fourbier had already ordered up a half dram of brandy, an apple, and warm milk, which were just a few of the ingredients in his hangover recipe. Each time he made it for Jean-Louis, which was rarely, it was worse than the time before. He suspected Fourbier of hoping to break him of drinking by disgusting him the next morning.

He always felt much better after, though.

“Right, Monsieur le Colonel,” said Fourbier. “The best outfit we have is the light blue. The color is not quite a match for Mademoiselle de Bonnefoi’s new gown, so we shall not put you in it. We are left with black velvet or black wool. And no, we will not put you in blue breeches and a black
justaucorps
or anything of the sort. I have scrubbed out the spots as best I can from your blue cloak.”

Jean-Louis shook his head. “Black velvet and blue cloak, then, Fourbier.”

“Excellent, Monsieur.” He liked to let Jean-Louis pretend he had a choice. The valet waved one hand negligently at the black velvet and blue cloak already draped across a chair.

As he started to shave Jean-Louis, he said, “Did I mention, Monsieur, that Mademoiselle Hélène knows who I used to be?”

Jean-Louis was always afraid of moving when his valet had the blade to his cheek. He trusted the man with his life but felt he should not risk his life unnecessarily.

Thankfully, Fourbier never expected him to reply. “Madame la Comtesse gave it away. I had thought Mademoiselle didn’t look at me in Paris—many rich people barely notice merchants. But it seems she was forbidden to use her lorgnette.”

Fourbier paused to wipe soap from the blade.

Jean-Louis nodded. When he had insisted Fourbier tell him his past and why he should trust a man with a fake name, Fourbier had told him he had made his wife’s dresses. “I should have realized she might have seen you before. I don’t think I knew she went with Am… my late wife for fittings.”

“Oh, she was made her own dress. Her aunt chose an unbecoming pink, but I substituted another shade when we made the gown. I said the original bolt was ruined by a spill. After the wedding, they intended to make the gown over to fit the cousin, but since the new one did not suit her, they said they would sell it.”

Jean-Louis waited until Fourbier was wiping foam to shake his head. “I don’t doubt it. I am sorry to say I don’t remember even seeing Mademoiselle Hélène on my first wedding day. I was infatuated.”

“Ah, more fool you,” said Fourbier. “More fool me, too. She never looked straight at me during the fittings, so I thought she was snobbish or possibly stupid. We were rushed off our feet with the aunt’s demands, so we didn’t look at her much, either. And we were soundly chastised for asking Mademoiselle Hélène questions. We didn’t know if they were protecting her or pushing her to the side.”

Jean-Louis felt the usual lump in his chest, pity and guilt about the way Hélène had been treated. He was relieved when Fourbier finished his shave and he could turn to his correspondence. He wrote a letter to Hélène’s aunt and uncle Ferand, asking their forgiveness for not obeying their orders, but stating he would bring Ondine and Hélène to Paris soon. He didn’t mention they were marrying. He didn’t mention he was fond of their niece. He didn’t mention the passion he felt. He didn’t mention the urge to hold her close and protect her forever.