The Honorable Officer (25 page)

He breathed slowly to calm his panic. Fourbier stepped into the foyer behind them, and Jean-Louis swung his gaze to his valet, nearly telling him to have the carriage turn around and take them away from here to…to…well, it wasn’t more than half an hour to his in-laws’ house, even in the snow.

Fourbier’s eyebrows rose, but Jean-Louis couldn’t seem to make a noise.

“His mother is here, Monsieur Fourbier,” said Hélène. “I have not seen her since Amandine’s funeral. The only time before that was at your wedding.”

Jean-Louis swallowed convulsively and took another deep breath. He was finally composing his features when Hélène took him by the arm. “Would you like to go straight up to our room? I could say I am ill from traveling.”

He was a complete fool. Was he going to have his wife lie to help him avoid his mother? He, who had ridden into how many battles? And swung a sword at how many armed men? And commanded an army?

“Does my mother dine here tonight?”

The manservant answered in the affirmative.

“We shall get changed, then, and meet her for supper,” said Jean-Louis.

Fourbier strode off to the back of the house to supervise the unloading of their trunks.

Hélène gripped his arm as the manservant showed them to a room where the maids bustled around, changing sheets and lighting a fire.

“Do you mind sharing a room?” he asked. Inane question. He strode to the window and peeked out at the swirling snow.

“Of course not,” she said. “We’ve, ah, been sharing for a few days.”

“It’s only for two nights,” he said.

He heard her moving around behind him. Fourbier slipped in with hot water, ready to shave him. A maid followed soon after, and Hélène went into the attached dressing room. Fourbier helped him into his best doublet and breeches—the pale blue ones yet again, though with fewer ribbons—and helped him with his wig, then stepped back.

“Very pretty,
mon colonel
,” said Fourbier. “And I wanted to warn you that when this is over, I am leaving your service.”

“What?” snapped Jean-Louis. He didn’t have time to deal with this.

“I shall leave the army. I am tired of the life. I am sorry, Monsieur,” said Fourbier, not sounding at all sorry.

“What about the…the charges against you?” Jean-Louis whispered so his wife and the maid would not overhear.

Fourbier looked regretful. “I wrote your father a note and sent it with yours from Dijon. He verified the charges were never laid against me. I can only suppose that once I was gone my brother-in-law, having achieved his objective of getting rid of me, didn’t want to drag the family into scandal.”

“That is…is excellent news, Fourbier. But I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” Jean-Louis knew he sounded feeble.

“The truth is, Monsieur, I’m not better than a wife,” said Fourbier.

“Is there some problem between you and my wife? You’ve always been friendly with each other.” Jean-Louis felt as though he were about to go into another panic, or maybe a rage.

“No, no, no, of course not,” said Fourbier. “If there were a problem, I would bow out, it is true. Since I no longer feel I need to hide in the army, and I no longer feel you need me, and the army will be turning off soldiers, what with the end of the conflict in Franche-Comté…”

“The conflict is over?” asked Jean-Louis.

“Surely it is by now,” said Fourbier. “You know as well as I the fight was over when we left. Spain sent no reinforcements.”

Jean-Louis scowled at Fourbier as the man tidied up the room and gathered his worn clothing for cleaning. Fourbier finally noticed him staring. “What brought this on, Fourbier? My marriage?”

Fourbier grinned smugly. “I’ve had a better offer.”

“I’ll increase your pay. What do you need? Full control over my wife’s wardrobe? All the ribbons and lace you could desire?”

Fourbier sighed wistfully. “Very tempting, Monsieur. I will take up a post with your brother.”

“With Cédric?” asked Jean-Louis, surprised. “Has his valet…”

“No, no. With Henri,” said Fourbier, looking away.

Jean-Louis thought Fourbier-the-Imperturbable was blushing. “Henri? He has just quit his last job. I know he has money saved, but how can he afford a valet? And besides, his last valet…” Jean-Louis stopped short. Henri’s last valet had also been his lover. Henri had taken liniment up to Fourbier. Henri and Fourbier kept staring at one another. Henri had begged to come to Paris.

“Oh,
mon Dieu!
” barked Jean-Louis. “You told me about…this, a long time ago, and I have known about Henri since…a very long time. But I…” He refused to think of what his brother and his valet had been doing together. He stomped to the window and twitched back the curtain again. “
Merde
. I wish you all the happiest. And
félicitations
, and… It’s very awkward.”

Fourbier chuckled, and Jean-Louis glared at him. Fourbier frowned, but Jean-Louis could still see the gleam in his eye. “All right, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation, in case you need to look for work again after. And you could return to me, of course, though it would be awkward when I saw my family, I suppose. And think of how much severance pay you should have.”

Hélène’s voice chimed in from the door of the dressing room. “What shall we do without you, Fourbier?” Her voice was full of tears. “And when Jean-Louis is at war, he will need a new aide-de-camp. How shall he find one as good as you?”

“Oh, there are many men who can organize his life in the camps, Madame,” said Fourbier, bowing to her. “Even Darton, though not as good as me, is very capable.”

“Could I hire you to make me some gowns?” asked Hélène. “I don’t know whom to ask. Then you could stay for a little longer.”

Jean-Louis thought it was a good idea to have someone he trusted in charge of Hélène’s wardrobe, but he still scowled when Fourbier grinned at Hélène.

Hélène looked worried again. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

Fourbier took her hand and pressed it between his. “I am only free to go because now he has someone to watch over him.”

Jean-Louis’ mouth hung open for a moment; his valet was handing over his care to Hélène. He had thought it was he who watched over them. He snorted and turned back to the window.

The door opened and closed. Jean-Louis sighed.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” said Hélène from the other side of the room.

Jean-Louis turned to look at her. She was in her blue wedding outfit, and even in the dim light of the bedchamber she looked like an angel, her eyeglasses glinting in the firelight and the copper fading from her hair, revealing gold. He went to her and held out his arm.

“Let’s go face the lioness,” he said.

****

The baronesse had glared at and then ignored Hélène both times they met before. Hélène was glad to be nearly invisible at the time: hiding her sorrow at her cousin’s wedding to Jean-Louis, with whom she was infatuated, and hiding her worry at her cousin’s death because Jean-Louis might take Ondine away from her.

Now she was married—which she had never thought to be, much less to the man of her dreams—and, through him and his family, she had become visible. For the first time since her parents’ deaths, someone listened to her. They wouldn’t always agree, but they listened. Jean-Louis saw her and catered to her. He was looking at her right then, as they hesitated outside the drawing room where the family assembled before meals.

He nodded. “Don’t believe anything she says,” said Jean-Louis. “She…she will hurt you however she can. I will try to stop her. If necessary, we will walk out.”

He shifted from foot to foot nervously. Her new eyeglasses let her see his expression. He had been frightened during the tent fire, the shootings, and Ondine’s kidnapping, but from what she remembered, he had also been angry, forceful, and serious. This time, he appeared nauseated.

She squeezed his arm with both hands. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

“It does make a difference,” he said.

He kissed her quickly—a brief moment with his face an inch from hers, a shared warm breath, his nose bumping her eyeglasses and leaving a tiny smudge—before nodding to the manservant to announce them.

Madame la Baronesse barely glanced at her, but grabbed Emmanuel’s arm. He bowed crookedly, then dragged his arm away from her gently, with an odd expression.

“Hélène, you remember my mother,” said Jean-Louis.

Hélène curtseyed, her head bowed.

“Maman, this is my new wife,” he said. “Do congratulate us.”

Hélène rose from her curtsey to see the baronesse looking her over. The lady sniffed slightly and said, “We have met, I believe.”

“Oui, Madame,” said Hélène. “I was also Amandine’s cousin.”

“Emmanuel has told me.” The baronesse smirked. “Well, now you’ve forced him to marry you, I hope you’re satisfied his prospects are worse than usual.”

“She didn’t force me,” said Jean-Louis.

“I believe his prospects are quite good,” said Hélène.

The baronesse raised an eyebrow and looked her over.

Luckily, the manservant announced supper. Jean-Louis held out his arm to his mother, as dictated by precedence, but his mother chose instead to take Emmanuel’s arm. The boy looked confused but led his mother from the room. Jean-Louis held his arm out in silence to Hélène, and she took it.

They took their seats in silence also—Emmanuel on his mother’s right hand, exactly where Hélène should have been seated. He blushed as he looked at Jean-Louis, conscious of their mother’s
faux pas
. “It’s an informal family dinner. I hope you don’t mind?”

Serious and stoic, Jean-Louis nodded at his brother, who then looked down at his plate, embarrassed. Hélène sighed because she knew her husband was hurt.

The baronesse chattered as they ate the first course, talking about how she had spoken with the king’s cousin, La Grande Mademoiselle, at court the week before, and asking Emmanuel questions about how his studies and training were at the Comte de Bures’s château. When Emmanuel proudly announced he practiced every day on horseback with the saber, his mother rolled her eyes. “Surely there are better things for you to do.”

Emmanuel looked down at his plate, chastened. He must have had this conversation with his mother before.

“What do you hope to do, Emmanuel?” asked Hélène, realizing he’d never said.

Emmanuel blushed. He looked forlorn. “Maman will introduce me at court and find me a rich bride.”

Hélène glanced at Jean-Louis, who stared stonily at his younger brother.

Hélène said, “Is that what you want?”

Emmanuel glanced at his mother, shifting guiltily in his seat. “I’d like to work with horses.”

Jean-Louis let out a breath, and Hélène realized he had been holding it.

Hélène glanced at the baronesse, who said, “He will marry well, and then he can do as he likes with the money. Someone not in trade, of course. We can find better than
her
.”

Hélène had been called worse things in her life, but Jean-Louis slapped his hand on the table. Before he could speak, though, Emmanuel said, “She’s not stupid, Maman.”

“Of course she is,” said the lady, staring right at Hélène with her eyes wide open in false innocence. “She’s a sheep—fat, no brains, no nobility or elegance. And look at her ridiculous eyeglasses.”

Hélène looked down at her plate.

Jean-Louis said, “Maman, you must apologize to my wife.”

The baronesse snorted inelegantly. “I must?”

“Yes!” said Emmanuel, his voice louder than he intended. He swallowed, blushed, and repeated, “Yes.”

The baronesse put her hand over her heart, deeply aggrieved. “You would take a little cow’s side against me?”

Emmanuel stared at his mother for a long time, disillusionment warring with his obvious love for her. Finally, he looked at Jean-Louis and said, “I am sorry,
mon frère
.”

Jean-Louis started to stand, but Hélène put her hand on his arm.

“Sorry for what, Emmanuel? You have done nothing that requires apology.” Hélène’s voice was tiny in her own ears, her heart beating quickly at the anger running through the room.

Emmanuel glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye and toyed with his fork. He suddenly banged a fist on the table and stormed out of the room.

Hélène felt his exit like a slap but looked at her husband, who looked after his brother.

The baronesse launched into a tearful tirade about ungrateful children and how they were all against her. Jean-Louis stood up. “I’ll go after him.”

Hélène watched him go, her heart stuttering at being left in the dining room alone with her mother-in-law, who was crying noisily into a tiny handkerchief.

“They all outgrow their mother, don’t they? I sacrificed so much for my children, and they are all ungrateful. Even my dear Emmanuel now! His sister has always hated me. Aurore has turned him against me; that has to be it.”

Hélène stared at the lady, on the one hand wanting to comfort her as she did Ondine, but on the other amazed at the baronesse’s words.

The baronesse pulled the lacy handkerchief away from her dry eyes. “Jean-Louis will never love you. He’s too cold and arrogant to love anyone. You’re just lucky his sense of duty made him marry you. If he is convicted of desertion, you will get your just deserts.”

Hélène’s heart sank. Jean-Louis did still have to answer the charges of desertion.

“I lost status when the rumors were going around about my son-in-law, the comte. I won’t be able to show my face for months when my own son is executed. Everyone knows I am estranged from them, though, so I will weather the storm.”

Anger roiled inside Hélène. “You could defend him.”

“Oh, the sheep speaks?” said the baronesse, rolling her eyes.

“Jean-Louis begged leave. He was nearly killed. When the attacks on Ondine continued, he risked his reputation and his career for her. Once the Prince de Condé and the King understand the full story, he will be welcomed back,” said Hélène.

“Oh, how naïve you are. Stupid.” The baronesse waved her hand dismissively.

“If his family and friends stand by him, put the real story into the right ears, he will have a much easier time,” said Hélène, forging on in spite of the hurtful words.