The Honorable Officer (22 page)

Hélène was frustrated. Jean-Louis had kissed her senseless in the hallway before walking off stiffly, as if angry. Since Ondine had been much happier on Sunday, Hélène had hoped to sleep in her husband’s bed. She delayed getting into her own bed, expecting at every moment to hear his tap at the door. Eventually she got in with Ondine and fell asleep, still waiting.

They were on the road before dawn on Monday, moving quickly with frequent changes, Jean-Louis and his brothers riding alongside the guards and grooms on horseback, everyone armed and alert.

At noon, it was Henri who helped her down and offered his arm to her, leaving Emmanuel to swing Ondine down awkwardly and carry her into the inn, both of them staring as if the other were a strange species. Jean-Louis asked if she was well, and then gobbled his food and went to talk to Fourbier, who was keeping an eye on the carriages.

Throughout the afternoon, the gentlemen took turns riding in the carriage with Hélène, Ondine, and Charlotte. Jean-Louis spent his turn writing letters, Henri stared out the window, and Emmanuel answered in monosyllables, shifted uncomfortably in the seat, and took a nap. At least Fourbier conversed with her and entertained Ondine, though he seemed pensive.

Hélène wished for Aurore’s company or for more lively conversation with her new husband, who seemed cross, even with Ondine, who again regarded him warily.

They kept going well after dark, until finally Hélène heard Jean-Louis call a halt. He handed her down from the carriage himself. When her legs wobbled from fatigue, he cursed and carried her into the inn. Fourbier and an innkeeper led them up to their room as soon as Jean-Louis set foot in the door. He set her on the edge of the bed and kissed her forehead before disappearing. Henri appeared a moment later with Ondine in his arms and Charlotte trailing behind.

Hélène and Charlotte got Ondine ready for bed, then helped each other with their dresses and climbed into the small bed, where they shivered between the cold, rough sheets.

A quiet knock sounded, and Hélène went to the door, fumbling in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“Jean-Louis,” was the answer. She opened the door a crack and peered out, hoping he had come to invite her to his room. Instead, he held out a small box.

“I’m sorry. I meant to give you these this morning,” he said. “A courier came early, and I shoved these and my letters into my traveling bag.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Open the box,” he ordered. Then he smiled.

Her heart stuttered, as it always did when he smiled. She blushed and took the box from him. She had to stuff the lorgnette into the pocket of her robe to untie the pretty ribbon, so she had only a dim impression of a glint of glass in the box.

“Put them on,” he said.

She fumbled in the box and discovered it was eyeglasses—two pieces of glass with thick frames and wooden rods to pass over her ears. He held the box as she took the new glasses out and slipped them on. She blinked as everything came into focus, then lurched back as Jean-Louis stepped forward. He froze. “
Excusez-moi
. Did I startle you?”

She felt lightheaded, even slightly dizzy as everything curved and wavered when she turned her head. She stumbled, but he grabbed her arm. The box thumped to the floor.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“They are… Oh! I will have to get used to them. I have not seen from both eyes at once since before I was ten.” She found herself laughing in spite of the strain of the day.

He sighed, so she looked up at his face. The movement almost made her fall over backwards. She giggled as his other hand caught her. “I feel as though I’ve had too much wine.”

He frowned down at her, and she sobered. She probably looked ridiculous. She probably looked like a giant insect. “I shall have to try them tomorrow, when there’s more light,” she said, lifting her hand to take them off.

He gripped her hand and kissed her fiercely. He stopped too soon, though. “You are very beautiful when you laugh,” he said in a low voice. He kissed her hand and walked away.

Just a few steps down the hall, he turned back. “Is there a lock on your door? I did not hear you unlock it.”

She looked at the latch. “Non, Monsieur.”

“Put a chair against the door,” he said, his brow wrinkling, maybe because she had called him Monsieur. “We have rooms on either side of yours, so if there is any trouble, cry out loudly and we will come.”

“
Bonne nuit
, Jean-Louis.” She smiled at him.

His face relaxed into a soft smile, and he bowed slightly to her.

She stumbled around in the dark, trying to remember where the chairs were. She tripped over one, failing to be quiet, then dragged it to the door.

She removed her robe and climbed back into the bed, curling around Ondine, hoping to not wake her but needing to warm herself with the girl’s heat.

“Col-ell Papa
va bien
?” Ondine’s voice was sleepy.

“Oui, chérie. Everything’s all right,” said Hélène, only then realizing she was still wearing her new eyeglasses. She removed them and waved her hand around until she found the table next to the bed. She wished she could see them in the dark. She didn’t suppose there was a decent mirror in the inn. She wondered if she looked as silly as she felt with dim images curving and swooping into her eyes. But Jean-Louis had said she was beautiful—
very
beautiful—when she laughed. It made her want to laugh more.

****

The rest of the journey was equally frustrating to Jean-Louis. By starting early every morning and traveling late when the weather was good, they were in la Brosse in only five days.

Emmanuel had become moodier as they went and Henri more waspish. Fourbier had circles under his eyes and still walked oddly but was riding much better, and voluntarily. Jean-Louis kept finding him and Henri arguing in whispers. They would jump apart and glare at him and each other.

They pulled into the drive of their childhood home, the country estate of the Baron de la Brosse, Jean-Louis hoping against all hope his mother was not at home and his father was. The servant who opened the door, apparently having heard the commotion, said neither of his parents were there, but his eldest brother had arrived a few days before.

“Excellent,” said Henri. “Tell the heir that the spares are all here.”

Jean-Louis felt a twinge of guilt. In addition to his careful saving and investing of the rewards and ransoms he had received from wars, he was set to inherit the property in Poitou, cutting out his younger brothers. Perhaps Emmanuel could still be an officer; if so, Jean-Louis hoped to train him, not sure if being his brother would be a help or a hindrance in training the grumpy boy. Unless Henri found a lucrative career where his honesty and sharp wit were appreciated more than they had been in the Treasury offices—a career in which his homosexuality would not be counted against him—he would be dependent on the family forever. Jean-Louis was prepared to hire Henri to manage his estate, but that would probably embitter Henri even more.

Cédric bustled out, a huge grin lighting up his face and his arms open wide. Emmanuel was closest, so Cédric rather ruthlessly tugged him into a hug and kissed his cheeks, then said something to make the boy laugh and blush. He turned to Henri and pounded his back, making Henri wince. He came to Jean-Louis next, where he was standing next to the carriage, about to open the door, and hugged him hard.

“Well,
petit frère
?” Cédric said with a laugh. “How goes the adventure? And see? Asking for help has not yet killed you. Have Aurore and Dom gone on to the château? And what about your daughter? And Mademoiselle de Bonnefoi?”

Unable to answer so many questions after a week of travel, Jean-Louis opened the carriage door and held his arms up to Ondine. He kissed her on the cheek and handed her to Cédric, who took her, grinning.

“You are so big, my little niece! I am your
Tonton
Cédric, in case you do not remember me. It has been a very long time, hasn’t it? Welcome!”

Ondine regarded him with her huge, blue eyes for several seconds before kissing him on the cheek. Cédric chuckled happily and swung her to his hip.

Jean-Louis reached up and helped Hélène out. She squinted at the steps, still adjusting to her eyeglasses. She stumbled as Cédric laughed and held out his hand to steady her.

“You have brought her! Excellent!” he said.

Jean-Louis squeezed Hélène’s hand. “I have married her.”

“Ah? Oh?” said Cédric, awestruck for about two seconds. “Papa will be sorry to have missed it.
Bon Dieu!
I am sorry to have missed it! Do tell me, Mademoiselle—no! Madame de Cantière! Do tell me how my brother is treating you.”

Hélène blushed prettily as she looked at Jean-Louis, whose heart beat fast. “He has been very kind,” she said softly. “He had Fourbier commission these glasses.”

“I was not going to comment on them, Madame. May I call you Hélène?” Cédric said, bowing over Hélène’s hand. “You are my sister now. Ah! Where is Aurore? You did not answer, Jean-Louis.”

“Still in Poitou,” said Hélène, speaking softly yet. “She was having pains, and no one wanted her to travel.”

“Except her, of course,” added Jean-Louis.

“Oh, dear,” said Cédric, a cloud of worry passing over his face. They had all pitied Aurore her many miscarriages and the baby who died at birth. Cédric perhaps felt it most deeply, as he considered himself the protector of the whole family and Dom was his closest friend.

He soon smiled again, though, and held his elbow out to Hélène. He shifted Ondine on his hip with ease that came from carrying his own children everywhere, and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Ondine giggled and launched into some story about a dog, to which Cédric replied, though he surely did not understand Ondine’s chatter more than anyone else. Or perhaps he did. Jean-Louis had a guilty twinge—he was fairly sure Cédric listened more closely to children than he did.

Jean-Louis watched his wife go in, anticipating the night. Surely her menses were over? Finally, they were in a place where they would be safe. He shook his head and wondered if this house was safer than any other house. He hoped his father had gathered more information from Hélène’s aunt and uncle. He felt as if he were starting to see the whole chessboard but wasn’t quite sure where his opponent’s queen and castles were lurking.

Fourbier cleared his throat at Jean-Louis’ side. “Monsieur le Colonel, I will oversee the unloading.”

“Merci, Fourbier.” He strode toward the house.

After greeting Cédric’s wife, Sandrine, and seeing their four boys in the nursery, they left Ondine to order them around and Charlotte and the boys’ nursemaid to supervise while the adults had dinner.

Hélène sat next to Jean-Louis, and he amused himself by touching her hand to make her blush. She wore her blue wedding dress and her heavy eyeglasses. He enjoyed watching her face light up as she looked around the room or watched servants entering with platters. She would stop eating every so often to stare at something or someone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am behaving like a child. It is so…so interesting to be able to see everything.”

“Do they still make you dizzy?” he asked, noting her lovely blue eyes did look enormous. “We can find someone to try different lenses until we get you the perfect ones.”

“Truly?” she said, sitting up straighter, excited. “Because things are a little wavy around the edges.”

“Are they? Well, then we shall have them adjusted, chérie,” he said.

His family watched them with varying levels of amazement. He slowly withdrew his hand from Hélène’s. He glanced back at her, and she was looking down at her plate. He touched her arm gently, and she peeked up at him, so he smiled.

Not long after, Hélène and Sandrine went out to check on the children, leaving the brothers to fill Cédric in on the details of the last four weeks. Had it really been only four weeks since Hélène had appeared in his tent in Franche-Comté? And only a week before that, Hélène had fled from her aunt and uncle’s house with Ondine. They had been nearly killed by fires and musket balls.

Jean-Louis had a terrible thought. He waved a servant over, asking him to send for Fourbier. When his valet came in, Jean-Louis brought up the subject of poison.

“Surely you don’t think Papa’s servants are in on a plot?” asked Cédric.

Jean-Louis leaned back in his seat, toying with his wine glass. “No, but if there is someone new or someone not from the area, or…I don’t know. It sounds ridiculous, but someone brought poisoned milk to Ondine in her grandparents’ house.”

There was stillness around the table.

Henri leaned forward. “So you believe Hélène?”

Jean-Louis frowned at him. “On everything. Someone grabbed Ondine, but a footman grabbed her back, and the man disappeared. No one recognized him, and Hélène’s aunt and uncle acted as if she were making everything up, even though the footman backed her up. They were followed on walks. The kidnapping attempt in Poitou reminded me of that.”

His brothers nodded. Fourbier bowed and went out.

Henri stared after Fourbier. Jean-Louis raised his eyebrows when he caught Henri’s eye. “He knows to be on watch. He probably thought of it before I did, but I wanted to be sure.”

Henri shrugged. “I was noticing he is walking a little stiffly. I’ll have to make sure he uses the housekeeper’s ointment.”

“Much better than the trip to Dom’s house in Poitou, I think,” said Emmanuel.

Jean-Louis looked in surprise at Emmanuel. Perhaps, like Henri, he was interested in men. Nothing on Emmanuel’s face indicated interest as the boy launched into the story of Fourbier wobbling and bouncing and flopping in the saddle. Cédric chuckled, but Henri looked guilty.

Jean-Louis said, “You have done him a service in teaching him, I am sure. But next time you wish to torture the finest servant I’ve ever had, please let me know in advance.”

The others laughed, but Henri’s eyes shifted to the door again.

“I am worried,” said Cédric, a little smile on his lips, “that you are not completely objective when it comes to your new wife.”