by T E Elliott
Hoping he wouldn’t overstep propriety, he tried again, “I hope I won’t cause offense…again…but I’m sure anything you’ve brought from home would be suitable.”
Léa smiled, how different he was from his mother. “Thank you, I appreciate your concern,” she tried to put as much sincerity in the statement as possible, “I’m afraid I might cause offense to your mother in such—common—attire.” She hurried to add, “Marguerite assures me that I will be fitted tomorrow and new dresses commissioned that should be better suited to me.”
Audric didn’t know what to say now and she couldn’t see him nod his acknowledgement, so the room descended in quiet. Léa studied the partition, thought for a moment, then pushed aside her soup bowl in favor of a salad. Perhaps it would be easier to get to her mouth. After several more minutes of silence, she ventured, “Monsieur, are you still there?”
“Yes.” He didn’t offer more.
Was he watching her eat?
“Are you eating as well?”
“Yes, the venison is especially good; have you tried it?”
She looked down at her salad, perhaps he couldn’t see everything.
“Not yet.”
She moved her salad out of the way pulling the next course toward her and took a bite of the venison. “It is good,” she smiled then continued to chew.
Audric thought his mother must have given the servants instructions to stay away as much as possible, they would normally be the ones to usher in each course, but there seemed to be a mountain of dishes set before her. He would have to speak to them about that. At least with them bringing each course, there would be something to break up the silence. He was at a complete loss for conversation. Should he ask about her family? He didn’t know what business his mother had had with her father, so that could be risky.
Léa took another bite then set down her fork. She found she didn’t have much of an appetite. After wiping her mouth with her serviette, she nervously fiddled with the utensils by her plate. She took a sip of her drink and set it down again.
“Léa, you may leave when you’re ready.”
“Yes, thank you,” she stood up quickly, scraping her chair back as she did.
“I didn’t mean that you had to leave right now, just that you could when you were ready.” He had hoped she wouldn’t be quite so eager to leave.
“Oh, yes, I’m ready now, Monsieur. That is, I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite just now.”
“Of course.” His chair scraped back as he stood up as well, force of habit he supposed. His mother taught him proper etiquette even though he had no need of it. If only she had taught him how to carry on a conversation.
“Oh, and Léa?”
“Yes?”
“You may call me Audric. Though some have called me Beast since childhood, I wouldn’t recommend using the name around my mother as she’d be likely to turn into one.”
Léa’s eyes went wide.
“It was meant in jest, forgive me,” he laughed nervously.
Léa lowered her head and laughed pleasantly. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Audric.”
He liked the sound of his name coming from her lips. “And you as well, Léa.”
Later that night, after Marguerite had assisted her out of the horrid gown, Léa slipped on her everyday dress and headed in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites at supper and had only picked at her lunch, but now hunger gnawed at her stomach. The bell pull stood silent on her wall. It was late and she didn’t want to disturb anyone. Besides, she had grown accustomed to making do for herself and it felt strange to ask someone to do things for her.
She stepped into the quiet hall and tentatively looked up the stairs; no one seemed to be around. Making her way to the entryway, she turned to where Madame Villeneuve had indicated the kitchen would be and pushed the door open partway to peer in. Inside were several servants, some sitting and lounging, others standing. The men were in the middle of a card game, while the women were chatting. When they heard the door open and saw her peek her head in, there was a mad scramble as everyone stood up and turned to her, ready to serve.
She was caught. Stepping in sheepishly, she immediately apologized for interrupting their time off.
A stout woman in her mid-fifties stepped toward her, “We don’t mind at all, Mademoiselle, but why didn’t you just ring for us?”
“I’m afraid I’m used to serving myself and didn’t want to disturb you all.” She smiled warmly at everyone. “Please go on with your game, I’ve really just come for a light snack.”
The woman who spoke before, being the head cook, told her, “Of course, Mademoiselle! I noticed you didn’t eat much of my cooking. If Villeneuve hadn’t told us how nervous you were, I might have been offended.” She laughed merrily. “Now what suits your fancy tonight?”
“Oh, a little bread and cheese will do just fine. Maybe some fruit as well.”
“Have a seat, my love, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you so much,” Léa found a seat at the table where the women had been sitting. Everyone took their seats again but kept their eyes on her. She glanced around at them and smiled again. She studied her hands, thinking maybe this was a bad idea after all.
“Are you from the village?” one of the ladies next to her finally asked.
“Yes, I was born in Paris, but my father recently moved us to the Alps.”
They exchanged glances, then turned back to her. “Do you miss it? Paris, I mean,” the woman continued.
“Not very much. I love the solitude of our cottage near the woods, but I do miss when my sisters were happier and things were more…settled.”
The men turned back to their game but didn’t speak. “My name’s Francine,” the woman introduced herself. “You’ll have plenty of solitude here, so I’m sure you’ll soon feel right at home.” She smiled confidently.
“Francine!” another woman kicked her under the table and shook her head. Then she turned to Léa, “What’s your name, dear?”
“Léa Du Bois, it’s nice to meet you all.” It felt good to start fresh with people who didn’t know her as Beauty.
“And we’re all thrilled to have you here, Léa,” the cook chimed in as she set some wine and a plate full of cold chicken, cheese, baguette slices, and grapes before her and took a seat. “How did you find the master this evening?” she asked. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to hear her answer.
Léa choked on a bite of food. Taking a sip of wine, she cleared her throat. “Um…” She shrugged one shoulder and reached for something to report to them. “He was…quiet, polite, or tried to be.” Everyone snickered and glanced at each other. “And he was funny.”
Cook tilted her head and said with meaning, “Well, well,” and folded her hands on the table.
Léa smiled uncertainly, then went back to eating her food. They chatted some more, mostly about her and her family. By the end of her late night meal, she had a smile on her face and several new friendships. Even though she still felt a twinge of sadness when thinking about her family, she went to bed feeling hopeful about what the future held for her here.
Chapter 8
Audric rose early the next morning, as was his custom, only this morning he didn’t go directly to his garden cottage. He knew his mother would want a report of the evening before, having not had their usual after-supper time together, but there was someone else he wanted to talk to about it first. Heading to the main entryway, it didn’t take long to find the steady Devereux. The man had become Audric's confidante since his father’s death.
“Good morning, Audric. What can I do for you?” the manservant asked cheerily. Devereux was one of the few servants that called him by name.
“Are you busy? I was hoping we could talk.”
“Not too busy for you, my boy. Is a certain young lady on your mind today?”
Audric ran a hand through the hair on the top of his head and sighed, “I thi
nk I may have botched the whole thing, Devereux.”
“Why, I’m certain that can’t be the case after one evening.”
“I asked her about her dress.” He shook his head in embarrassed remembrance.
“You mean you told her how lovely she was, that’s not…”
“No, I asked if she was uncomfortable in her dress.”
“Ah…”
“I did tell her she was beautiful.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“But, even that wasn’t executed well as she asked me afterwards if I was displeased by it.”
Devereux scratched the side of his face. “And were you displeased that she is beautiful?”
“Yes, at first,” he scrunched his eyes closed, “I mean, no, she truly is beautiful, and I’m not disappointed in finding her so, except in the fact that I fear she could never be happy with me after surely having her choice of men before now. Did you know they call her Beauty?”
“I see.”
“I did make her laugh though. I made a joke about Mother.”
The butler started to chortle then turned it into a cough.
“I don’t think she was laughing at me,” he lowered his head in contemplation, then looked up at Devereux. “You have to advise me, Devereux, I’m at a complete loss.”
He put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and assured him, “Now just take it slow, boy. First impressions are always a little…uncomfortable…even under the best of circumstances.”
“Yes,” he broke away and walked a few paces, then came back. “But what should I say to her? What is there to converse about?”
“Ask her about her interests, what her favorite pastimes are. If she asks back, then you can tell her about your love of gardens or books and that may perhaps give you some common ground to work with.”
“And if there is no common ground?”
“Then it will be a quiet marriage,” he teased.
“That’s another thing. How can I marry her if she hasn’t seen me? Will she still want to marry me once she does see me? Will she hate me once she knows and think that I’d tricked her into it, like Leah and Jacob in the Bible…Leah and Léa! Oh, Devereux!”
He sat heavily into a nearby chair and put his head in his hands. Then he turned his head up and continued, “but if she continues to live in my house and we do not marry, it would be wrong, wouldn't it? For her sake at least.”
“Don’t fret, master, you’ll work it out. Give it some time and you’ll know when it’s right to show her who you are. As far as marrying the girl, why don’t you bring it to her and see how she feels about it? In the meantime, try bringing it before the God of Jacob, he has far more wisdom than I.”
Audric laughed weakly, “You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
“Not exactly...but yes!”
When Audric reached the garden cottage, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. His mother was wasting no time. Taking a deep breath, he went inside.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said as he kissed her on each cheek.
She held him at arm’s length and studied his face. He looked away first.
“Well…How did it go?”
“As well as can be expected, I’m sure.” He went to his desk and took out several slips of paper and uncapped his inkwell.
“Is that all? Don’t ignore me; tell me about it.”
He turned and put an elbow on the back of the chair.
“I put my foot in my mouth and didn’t have anything left to say.”
“And how did she respond?”
“Well, I…she was very kind about it all.” It hadn’t occurred to him before now that she had been remarkably gentle about his blunders, when in fact she would have been well within her rights to be upset with him.
“Does she please you, Son?”
He stood up and turned to the window, setting his forearm against it as he stared straight ahead. “I hardly know her, Mother,” he said softly. “She’s beautiful and kind. Based on first impressions, what’s not to like? The real question is, will she be pleased with me? Will time make her more or less likely to grow accustomed to me?”
He turned to face his mother, who stood by the cold fireplace. A look of confusion came over her at his musings; to her it was all quite simple.
“Audric, strangers have married from time immemorial. As long as she knows her place, I’m sure you will get along just fine.”
He stared blankly at her, his heart twisting at the thought of his bride merely tolerating him out of obligation, and at his own mother’s lack of heart.
“And what of love? Or at the very least, mutual respect?”
“Of course anything less than respect will not be tolerated, I’ve made sure of that. I’m afraid, my son, that love is more for poetry than for life. If love does exist between two people, it is very short lived.”
At his bewildered look, she added, “I’m sorry to say so, my dear, I know poetry is all you have to go on, but I’d be remiss to let you go on hoping for something that may never happen. You’ll be happier for it to accept what you’ve been given and try to take what comfort you can from the girl’s presence.”
“But…you mean to say there was no love between you and Father, even after you’d gotten to know one another better?”
“Oh, Audric, you’re so sentimentally minded.” She approached him and placed a hand on his cheek. “After you were born your father and I came to what could be called a mutual understanding, a shared purpose. I wouldn’t say we had an affectionate relationship, but it was comfortable, and neither of us were concerned with more.”
Perhaps, after all, you simply don’t know what love is, Mother. Shaking off the thought, he turned to another matter, “Mother, I would prefer it if the servants didn’t stay away during the meal. It is highly improper, is it not, to make a guest serve her own meal?”
“She’s no guest,” her voice had an edge to it.
“What does that mean?”
She softened her tone, “Only that she will soon be your wife, not a guest.”
“Yes, and even the family does not serve themselves.”
“Very well,” she conceded, “I will inform Villeneuve.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, this cottage is quite drab,” she surveyed the room distastefully, “Perhaps I shall speak with Villeneuve about making it over.”
“You know, Mother, I think I’m going to take a walk now. I’m sure you have something to attend to at the house?” He ushered her to the door.
“Very well, my dear, I shan’t bother you any longer. Have a pleasant walk.” She kissed him and returned to the house.
He let out his air and scratched the back of his head. Looking around for his hat, he put it on, then stepped out into the garden. The perimeter of the garden was quite long and Audric enjoyed walking it in all kinds of weather. He needed to clear his head, he needed the silence, he needed to have a talk with one more person. Following the path, he weaved past the flowers, noticing the colorful butterflies that flitted over them, and the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He came to the grass that lined the perimeter of the hedge and began to walk at a leisurely pace. He turned his head up to the clear blue sky, “God, the beauty of your creation never ceases to amaze me, you are a true artist.” He smiled and walked on. “My mind is troubled and I don’t know what to do. Of course you know it all, will you give me your wisdom? Let me not hurt this dear woman whose path I find entangled with my own, and if it’s not too much to ask, that she not hurt me either.” A touch of love entwined with peace swelled deep within him, stopping him short. He put a hand to his chest and breathed it in. Vulnerable tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, falling down to wet the hair on his face.
Léa stood on a stool with her arms out as a maid took her measurements. She tried to select styles and fabrics that weren’t too ornate but that were still nice enough to suit the Duchesse. When that was finished mid-morning, she
was left to her own devices. The Duchesse told her she could roam the grounds but didn’t give her much direction on what she could do. Should she snoop in all the rooms on her floor? That felt wrong. Should she shadow the servants? Again, she didn’t want to be in the way. So, she decided to take one of her books and her chocolates from Madame Beaumont and find a shady spot in the gardens to read.
Around lunchtime she noticed Francine taking a tray of food in the direction of the far-off hedged garden. When the maid saw her, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mademoiselle! There you are! Marguerite brought a tray of food to your room, shall I tell her to bring it here?”
“Yes, please. Thank you Francine. Is that for Monsieur Rousseau?”
“Yes,” she smiled, “he always takes his midday meal in the hedged garden.” She curtsied and continued with her task.
Léa watched her go, curious about the special garden, curious about the man.
That evening proceeded much as it had the evening before, though Marguerite came to assist her into the more comfortable dress that Madame Beaumont had given her this time. She whispered that the Monsieur had requested it, but that the Duchesse was not to know. Léa laughed guiltily and Marguerite joined in as well.
As Léa was escorted into the dining room, Audric noticed she was much more relaxed, and in a way even more beautiful than before.
“Good evening, Audric,” she called as she seated herself.
“Good evening, Léa,” he returned, smiling to himself that she decided to speak first. “You look lovely,” and he meant it this time. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” he was quick to add. No blunders tonight!
“From you, I will accept it,” she answered congenially.
He quirked his head, “You don’t like to hear it from others?”
“It depends, really. When my father says it, he means it affectionately. When my sisters and the women in the village say it, it is with bitterness or jealousy, and when Olivier says it…hm…nevermind.”
He wondered if he should ask who Olivier was. Did she have a suitor before she came here? He decided on a different tack and proceeded with caution, “And what do you hear when I say it?”