The Honorable Officer (4 page)

The colonel paused.

Hélène said, “We are going to stay near your papa for a while, and we have to take a long ride to go where he is going.”

“All right?” Ondine asked.

Hélène had to stop walking for a moment so she wouldn’t stumble as she tried to understand why Ondine asked.

“All right Papa?” Ondine asked.

Hélène smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Yes, chérie. Now your papa has come, everything is all right.”

She glanced up, embarrassed the colonel might have heard her. He was a few paces away, walking toward the carriage.

Chapter Two

Fourbier watched his colonel watch his daughter as she became increasingly fussy before falling asleep on Mademoiselle de Bonnefoi’s lap. Fourbier missed his niece and nephews more powerfully than he had in the three years since he left home. They probably didn’t remember him. Or if they did, those memories had been warped by his brother-in-law, who had always hated him. One of the last acts of their father before he fell ill had been to marry his daughter to his apprentice. Fourbier had never liked the man, but his father insisted he would be good for the business and would pass it on to the next generation. Each time he told Fourbier this, he scowled angrily, yet he never tried to find a bride for his only son. He had never openly reproved Fourbier for his feminine inclinations but had not approved, either. Keeping a wary eye on his only son, he’d reminded him often that the penance of sin was the fires of hell, but his good heart wouldn’t allow him to condemn that which everyone in the church would call evil.

The shop specialized in dark, frumpy, inexpensive wool for the other members of their Protestant community in Paris. Fourbier had made it his job to talk the sober, secretive men and women into fancy lace collars, knotted by Huguenots in the south and in the Spanish Netherlands. After his mother’s death, when his father was fading slowly from life, Fourbier and his sister started working with colors and attracting a wider clientele. Within two years, they were bringing in Catholics from the merchant class, especially young ladies. A well-made gown is a well-made gown, and with his and his sister’s eye for form and color, the shop expanded in silks and ribbons while his brother-in-law’s continuing reliance on black, itchy, old-fashioned clothing meant the men’s area languished.

And then his father finally passed away. The day of the funeral, Fourbier’s brother-in-law pulled him aside and told him he was calling in the guard. He knew the name of Fourbier’s lover and was going to have them both arrested.

Fourbier disappeared. No, Monsieur Marcel LaTrappe, Huguenot tailor, disappeared. Monsieur Fourbier, named for deception, was born and enlisted in the infantry. At first he tried to live down to his new name, but no matter his doubts about his father’s religion, he couldn’t bring himself to flout it entirely.

Fourbier watched the colonel watch Mademoiselle de Bonnefoi. The colonel had given him protection and respect.

And hope, damn it.

To his knowledge, de Cantière hadn’t sought out a woman since Fourbier started working as his aide. The colonel once hinted he had a brother who preferred men, so Fourbier had never given up hope. Until now.

****

Jean-Louis had always hated riding backwards, not because he felt ill from it but because he liked to see where he was going. He dismissed it as an odd quirk and relaxed in his seat, prepared to look everywhere but at Mademoiselle Hélène’s lovely blue eyes or soft pink lips. Sitting next to her was far too tempting. Her leg pressed against his every time the carriage hit a rut, reminding him she wasn’t wearing the layers of skirts most ladies wore. He’d found himself turning his head to look at her, but had mostly only seen the top of her dark blue woolen cap and a few blonde curls. The elegant nape of her neck when she bent her head to listen to Ondine had driven him half wild.

He looked out the window. It really was too long since he had lain with a woman.

He glanced at his daughter, asleep now after hardly stopping her whirlwind of movement all morning. He was intrigued by her, but she reminded him too much of his late wife, tapping into his old anger when she lowered her eyes coquettishly or threw a tantrum.

And yet she also reminded him of his sister, Aurore, of the way she had sparkled before she was hurt by her miscarriages and her husband’s infidelity. Thank goodness she seemed to have recovered her joy when she reconciled with Dominique, the Comte de Bures, and they reclaimed their château and reputation.

Jean-Louis smiled to himself. He had helped in the raid to retake Dom’s château from the interlopers. His brothers, brother-in-law, and two of his officer friends had led the assault. He had still been limping from an incompletely healed broken leg but had led their tiny makeshift cavalry. It was the only battle he had ever been in where he had been sure he was on the side of God.

He frowned, thinking of the infantryman—not more than a boy—who had struggled for breath through a chest full of shrapnel the night before. He had choked and died while Jean-Louis held his hand. For a town they would give back, the boy was dead. One of thousands of poor pawns moved around a battlefield. Expendable because there were always more pawns in the fields and slums. The boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen, which was about the same age as Jean-Louis’ youngest brother.

He wondered if Emmanuel had any desire to become an officer. He was an insolent, angry boy—or was the last time Jean-Louis saw him a year before. He wondered if less exposure to their bitter mother and more to the glorious sunshine of their sister Aurore had worked a miracle.

Mademoiselle Hélène stared blankly out the carriage window, eyelids drooping. Jean-Louis wondered what she could see. When he had been courting Amandine—as much courting as necessary for an arranged marriage—he had not paid much attention to Mademoiselle Hélène. He had always supposed she could recognize people and things. She had written him with updates on Ondine ever since Amandine returned to court as lady-in-waiting to a duchess and left their daughter to her parents’—and Hélène’s—care. Mademoiselle Hélène was, in fact, well-educated, judging by those letters. Better than her cousin, Amandine, who was lazy about writing anything at all. Or Mademoiselle Hélène’s poor looks and poorer eyesight had turned her to books just as Amandine’s vitality and beauty had turned her outward to flirtation and dancing.

He grimaced, thinking that though flirtation was what had attracted him to the bride his father chose for him, it had made his late wife incapable of being serious, incapable of dealing with a husband who was often absent through duty, and incapable of fidelity.

A girl like Mademoiselle Hélène would surely be faithful. She was no beauty; she was not flirtatious; she would remain at home waiting for him. She would care for his daughter, which she already did, more out of family loyalty than for the pittance she was paid. He wondered if the Ferands paid her at all, even though he sent them an allowance for his daughter’s care.

Jean-Louis shivered. He was not going to marry Mademoiselle Hélène de Bonnefoi. He had an heir—his daughter—and didn’t need another. Barring the sort of disaster he would never wish for, his brother Cédric would inherit the barony from their father and pass it to the eldest of his four sons. Jean-Louis was well taken care of; he would not complain. His father had promised him a small property on the border of Poitou, and had, in fact, let him run the property himself as best he could from infrequent visits.

Amandine’s parents intended to pass their furniture business and property to Ondine when she married, stating clearly they did not want or need Jean-Louis involved. He wondered for a moment why Hélène hadn’t inherited a portion of the manufactory from her parents and what the third set of partners, an unrelated family with a scapegrace son who had been the same age as Amandine, thought about it. He scowled fiercely as he did every time he thought of Bernard Ménine, his sly ways, and his relationship with Amandine.

Fourbier dozed next to him. Mademoiselle Hélène twisted in her seat to wedge her head into the padded corner and stared at a spot near his head. He wondered what she was thinking. She looked away when he turned his head toward her, so he turned his head as if looking out the window and shifted his eyes to her face. He smiled slightly, then frowned. Silly little bits of subterfuge should not amuse him—he was a grown man, a colonel in Louis XIV’s army, decorated as a hero, the son of an aristocratic family.

He was intrigued by a naïve and mostly blind young woman. She wasn’t even beautiful, though she had flashes of prettiness.

Perhaps another half hour passed before Ondine awoke. She wailed until Mademoiselle Hélène held her close and gave her some water and a piece of cheese. Ondine’s eyes were puffy, she had wrinkles on her cheek, and she sat very quietly, staring at him. He smiled at her, and she hid her face against Mademoiselle Hélène’s arm before peeking out. He smiled a bit bigger, but she pouted.

Fourbier grunted and came awake, immediately sitting up to brush dust from his immaculate dark brown breeches and pat his eyes with a fine handkerchief.

Ondine smiled at
him
. Fourbier smiled at the little girl and reached across the seat to pinch her cheek, which made her giggle.

“We shall have dinner when we reach Grey,” announced Jean-Louis.

“When do we arrive, Colonel?” asked Fourbier.

“Within the half hour, I should think,” said Jean-Louis. “Direct my chef to prepare something simple and nourishing for Ondine and Mademoiselle Hélène. We have brought a great deal of sausage, though I would like to make it last a week or so. Find out where my men have set up my tent, and set my daughter’s tent beside it.”

Fourbier drew his elegant brows together and opened his mouth to speak.

Jean-Louis didn’t let him. “They should rightfully be back with the other family members, but until I see how the camp is set up, I want them nearby. We’ll need a girl to help Mademoiselle Hélène watch Ondine, maybe to do some washing, tending fires, and so on. Fourbier, you’re in charge of security for my daughter, as well. Set a guard on her at all times.”

“How about Corporal Jouvet? The one who saw us all the way to Auxonne. He seemed a nice boy,” said Mademoiselle Hélène suddenly.

Jean-Louis scowled at her. No one interrupted him. Ever.

But she spoke again just as he was about to go on. “And the other courier? He was quite friendly, too.”

“We need our messengers to carry messages, Mademoiselle,” said Jean-Louis through gritted teeth.

Her face fell. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Jean-Louis felt guilty for snapping. He opened his mouth again.

“We got to know Jouvet a little bit when he rode with us to Auxonne,” Mademoiselle Hélène muttered.

Jean-Louis waited a few seconds until he got his temper fully reined in. “Fourbier, as I said, you are in charge of security for my daughter and Mademoiselle Hélène. Reliable men only, but I don’t even need to tell you that.”

Fourbier nodded respectfully and then grinned at the ladies on the other side. “Never fear, Mademoiselle. I am quite good with both a musket and a sword. I might not look like much, but I have been trained.”

“Merci, Monsieur Fourbier,” said Mademoiselle Hélène.

Jean-Louis wondered why she didn’t thank him for assigning Fourbier to her.

Then he wondered why Ondine decided to climb up in Fourbier’s lap instead of his own. He stifled his irritation—surely he wasn’t jealous. He was merely irritated because his work went unappreciated—and looked out of the window to see a plume of smoke rising in the distance.

“Shhhh,” he said, holding up his hand.

Everyone looked at him oddly, but fell silent. For a change.

BOOM
. At this distance, it was more of a vibration rising through the wheels than a sound.

Jean-Louis banged on the trapdoor and shouted, “Quickly!”

****

Hélène grabbed Ondine, who was nearly thrown to the floor by the sudden jolt of the carriage. She almost slipped off the seat herself when the wheels hit a deep rut.

“Gun carriages,” said the colonel in a low, angry voice. “Our siege guns were brought through here.”

Not fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the edge of the encampment. Suddenly, the green of hills and trees disappeared in favor of browns and grays and people, oxen, and horses hurrying in all directions. Gunpowder and smoke hung heavy in the air, along with the reek of sewage and manure.

Their carriage crawled up to an area of brighter, larger tents, and the colonel jumped out, calling questions and directions to a flurry of men who gathered around him.

“Looks like we’re a little late,” said Fourbier, his voice cheerful but his eyes worried. “They are softening the city’s defenses already. The main assault has not yet started.”

There were two booms in rapid succession and some shouts. Ondine wailed, and the carriage lurched into movement again.

They jolted along until they reached a large tent. Fourbier called out instructions to several other men, the Colonel de Cantière’s domestic staff, she supposed. Soon there was a smaller tent erected, and Hélène and Ondine’s few things were placed inside. Hélène carried Ondine in. She couldn’t quite stand up straight except directly in the center of the tent, and she felt around to find everything piled in one corner.

“
Excusez-nous
, Mademoiselle,” called a voice. “We have brought your cot.”

“Is that you, Corporal Jouvet?” She smiled in the general direction of the voice as she stepped to the opening of the tent.

“Oui, Mademoiselle,” he replied.

His form moved, so she supposed he was bowing to her. She nodded to him in reply.

He and another man carried the cot into the little tent and quickly came out, bowed again, and hurried away. She stepped inside, only to bump her shin on the cot, which took up more than half of the space. The floor was clay-like mud and patchy grass.

She let Ondine down. “Stay right in here with me, chérie. There are people running everywhere. We will wait for Monsieur Fourbier to tell us what we need to know. Let’s sing a song while we wait.”