“Perhaps we will,” the voice said.
She paused and considered saying something more, but continued walking when nothing else came to mind. After all, what did one talk about with a strange voice in the forest? It seemed like the kind of story a little child would make up, but she was far and away no longer a child and she didn’t make up stories. That could only mean this had been real, but what to make of it then? It was a voice belonging to a person that had heard things she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to hear, yet it was too late.
She just had to decide what she wanted to do now.
Chapter Three
For the second time in as many days, Tristan walked into the clearing that the lovely, sad young woman had just left. He hadn’t thought that she could look sadder when she wasn’t seeking death, but apparently he was wrong. Instead of suicidal, she looked beyond sorrow.
Perhaps people didn’t think there was something beyond that depth of sadness, but there was: hopelessness. And he had seen it in that girl today, and even though he didn’t know her, he knew that it broke his heart.
He now knew something else, though. Something interesting.
She didn’t really want to die.
It was clear in the way she’d been startled by his presence and looked warily around the clearing while he spoke. If she truly wanted her life to be over then there would have been no reason to be fearful. People who had nothing else in mind but to end their lives were not afraid to lose it. If she had truly wanted death, she wouldn’t have been concerned when he’d made his presence known.
He now knew that she felt trapped by her situation and it wasn’t death she sought, but escape. Tristan knew something about this. He had been there once in his life, but death had not been the answer for him and he knew it wasn’t the answer for her. It couldn’t be. There had to be another way. He didn’t know what that might be, because he did not even know what her trouble was, but he knew that there must be something.
“Marquis?” Gregoire asked, politely clearing his throat.
“Of course,” Tristan sighed, knowing what this meant. They had been camping in the woods without success for long enough. It was time to return to his host and to society, but he wasn’t looking forward to either. He preferred the woods, but didn’t have the luxury of staying.
With the horses packed, they rode out of the forest and to the manor of Comte Jean-François Morangis in Saint Alban. The return to the village, small compared to where he was from, made him shrink into himself and leave the forest’s freedom behind. He once more had to put on the mask he wore behind the white satin one that covered half of his face.
Gregoire took the horses to the stables while Tristan walked into the house. He was met by his host on the way in as Jean-François escorted two other guests out. They appeared to be in their fifties, several years older than Morangis, and they were clearly nobles.
“Ah, Tristan.” Jean-François smiled in his oily way. No one else seemed to see it, but it got under Tristan’s skin in ways he could not entirely explain. “May I present to you the Comte and Comtesse Moncan? Comte and Comtesse, may I present to you the Marquis du Lyon. His family has long been friends with mine. He is staying with me while visiting the province.”
The comte smiled politely. “I suppose you are here to hunt our Beast.” He was probably the best that Tristan had ever met at keeping from staring openly at the mask. The comtesse was not as good, but was still genteel and kept her eyes politely averted.
Tristan nodded. “You are correct, monsieur,” he said. “I enjoy a challenge and have heard enough tales of the Beast to draw me.”
“You are among many who do and have come to our little province,” the comtesse said with a strained smile. “It has been nearly three years and none have caught him. What makes you think you will be able to do what all the rest have not?”
“Please,” the comte said, patting her hand on his arm. “The more skilled young men we have in the countryside, the better the chances will be.” His tone was gentle, but admonishing all the same. He seemed embarrassed by his wife’s slightly challenging statement, especially to one of Tristan’s rank. “Good morning to you, Marquis, Comte Morangis.” The older couple made their exit quickly.
“We were just concluding a little business,” Jean-François explained unnecessarily. “I have some work to do. Please help yourself to the kitchen. I am sure that you must be hungry.”
Tristan sighed and watched the man walk away. He hadn’t eaten since early in the morning, but he found he didn’t have much of an appetite.
It was early afternoon by the time Constance’s uncle and aunt returned. She heard them through her door, but didn’t go out to greet them. Inside her room, she worked on needlepoint. There wasn’t much else to do, but she liked to try to stay busy as best she could.
The door opened and her aunt, Béatrice Moncan, walked in. Constance stifled a sigh and set her sampler on her lap. “Hello, Aunt.” She knew she sounded formal, but she couldn’t help herself. “Did you have a pleasant breakfast?” She managed to keep a straight face.
“We did,” the older woman replied, sitting in the chair beside her niece. “Next time, perhaps you will come with us.”
Not if I can help it, Constance thought. “Perhaps,” was all she said out loud. She stifled another sigh as she contemplated the long moment of silence that stretched between them. She decided to try again, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. “Aunt, I would like to discuss this again,” she began. “I cannot marry Comte Morangis.”
Her aunt pinched the bridge of her nose. “Constance, my dearest, we have been over this repeatedly. You are getting older and the prospects are dwindling with every year. Morangis is a well known man in these parts and will suit our standing and connections. All you have said is that you can’t marry him, but you have no reasonable explanation as for why. It is not enough. It is the duty of well bred women to wed and do well by their families. You cannot live here forever. You need to be married, to make your own home, to have children.”
Constance felt her stomach turn at the idea of having children with Morangis. Her stomach turned at the thought of anything related to him, of course. “He already has two children,” she pointed out feebly.
“We are not going to hold it against him that his wife died,” Béatrice chastised.
“Of course not.” Constance considered counting the stitches she had done this morning. It would be more productive. She had known this before she opened her mouth, but figured she just had to keep trying until she found a way to make them understand her, without saying the things she could not say.
Béatrice smoothed satin over her thighs and got to her feet. “The comte is hosting a dinner party tomorrow evening,” she said. “You will be coming with us.” Turning in a single movement, she walked out the door and left Constance behind with no chance to make an argument or refuse to attend.
Chapter Four
Candleflames idly flickered and Tristan watched them while he waited for Jean-François to come down to dinner. It was only a few minutes, but Tristan was impatient. He only stayed with the man because of their familial connections. The Marquis would rather have camped in the woods during his time in Gévaudan, but that wasn’t proper. He might not care anymore for the whims of noble society, but that didn’t mean he was ignorant of what was expected by his family.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting.” Morangis walked in and sat at the head of the table.
“It was no trouble,” Tristan replied automatically.
Now that the master of the house was seated, the servants began bringing out the food. They ate in silence for a time.
“Did you find any sign of the Beast?” Morangis asked.
“No.” Tristan lifted his wine glass and sipped. It was a good vintage. “I find that the rumors are true. This Beast does not want to be found. I returned to one of the places that the Beast was sighted, but I didn’t find any traces.”
&n
bsp; Morangis didn’t reply right away, eating his soup. “Perhaps the sighting was false.”
Tristan conceded that. “I will be trying another location in the next couple of days. I have several possibilities.”
“I hope that you will not head out before the day after tomorrow,” Jean-Francois said. “I’m having a dinner party tomorrow evening, and I was hoping that you would attend.”
“Oh?” Tristan’s remaining brow lifted. “Is there a particular reason?”
Morangis waved a hand. “You are my guest and I wish to show you all of my hospitality, of course, but also because there is a young woman I would like you to meet. I have arranged for a bride for myself.”
Now that brow drew down. Arranged? “I see. I take it that she will be at the party?”
“Yes,” his host said. “The couple you met this morning are her guardians and I have been in talks with them.” He sipped his wine and waited for the servants to clear the dishes before starting on his next plate. “A man needs a wife, you know. She comes from a good family of some wealth, which is useful to me, and I need someone to help raise my boys.”
Tristan kept forgetting that Morangis had children. He never saw them. “Where are they tonight?”
Jean-Francois set his glass down. “In Versailles, for the time being. They will come to live here once I am married.” He paused. For a moment, Tristan could almost see thoughts passing through his eyes. “The girl is as good as mine already. Marriage will just make it final, and proper.”
“I’ve never thought you one for propriety,” Tristan said with a trace of a smile, but there was little humor in it.
Morangis didn’t seem to notice. “It does not weigh too heavily on my mind, but society demands it and where’s the harm? It is not much trouble and will keep everyone happy.”
It was Tristan’s turn to be silent for a time. “Do you love her?” he finally asked.
His host shrugged. “We’re talking business, my friend, not poetry. She will be a good... acquisition.” He smiled.
Tristan did not reply. He waited as long as he thought he must before making a quick exit to his room, forsaking the rest of the meal. He shut the door and pulled the mask off once he was in safety, rubbing a hand over the ravaged side of his face with a frustrated sigh.
His thoughts drifted back to the girl in the forest. He wondered what she would think of him if she were to actually see him. It would not be a good reaction, he imagined, and who would blame her? She was obviously well bred, and women of polite society were not accustomed to sights such as he.
Dropping onto the bed still in his clothing, he stared at the ceiling and waited for some kind of oblivion to find him.
19 May 1767
This afternoon was warmer than yesterday as Constance walked back into the forest, stitchwork in hand, and found the clearing she was beginning to think of as hers. It wasn’t that she liked needlepoint that much, but it gave her something to do and being out here was more appealing than being trapped in the house. There would be enough of that once she was... married.
Was she hoping to speak to the strange voice again? If she were honest, yes, she was. It was foolish, but it was a mystery that could occupy the mind like nothing else had been able to, and she discovered a craving for it. She didn’t want to sit around, alone and despairing, with nothing but thoughts of the unbearable future.
She waited. There wasn’t much she could do and now that she knew there might be someone listening, it felt strange to just start talking. So, she sat and she stitched and she waited. The birds flapped in the trees. Occasionally, she could hear the squeak or snort of some small animal scurrying along a trunk. The breeze blew by.
Just as she was losing hope and preparing to leave, she heard him.
“You came back,” he said. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”
“I can’t say the same.” She folded her stitchwork away. “I haven’t seen you at all.” Her eyes danced around the clearing, looking for him and smiling a little.
She heard his chuckle. It bounced against the insides of the trees. The sound was ragged and hoarse, but strangely pleasant to her ears. Constance smiled a little more. It pleased her to make him laugh, whoever he was.
“Did you think that you would hear me again, then?” She could hear humor in his tone.
“I suppose that I hoped I would,” she admitted. Confessing to him seemed easier than confessing to the priest. Why was that?
There was a long pause. “Why is that?” His words echoed her thought.
She plucked at wrinkles in her skirt. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t have many people that I can talk to.”
“And you feel that you can speak to a voice without a body in the woods?”
Constance laughed softly, mirthlessly. “You’re a better listener than anyone else I know. I don’t know what you look like, but you at least have working ears, so that puts you a step above the rest.” She paused, forcing her head up. He had no gaze to avoid, so what was she doing looking away? “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. For some reason, that makes it easier to talk.”
“It seems easier for me to talk as well, when you cannot see me.”
“You haven’t talked much.” She rolled her bottom lip under her teeth. “Do you want me to know nothing about you? You already know some of the dark places in my mind.” She waited, hoping he would not be mad for her pushing too hard.
“It just seems better that way,” he said. “I think that you would not like what you would learn about me. You’ll like me better the less you know.”
She frowned. That sounded like something she would say. It didn’t sound right coming from a man. Men were the powerful ones. What reason could he possibly have to feel that way? “I don’t imagine that would be true.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I suppose I would at that,” she admitted, but now she wanted to know even more than she had before. “Can you tell me why you come here?”
“I hoped to see you.”
“Even if you didn’t think you would?”
“Even so.”
“Why?”
“Why did I think I wouldn’t see you again?”
“Why did you want to see again me in the first place?”
She had never felt so bold, and it excited her. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she dreaded his reply for reasons she didn’t fully understand. The idea that he had come here to see her was thrilling in some way. He wanted to talk to her, and wasn’t asking for anything more. For anything she didn’t want to give. He was interested in what she had to say, because if it was anything else, he wouldn’t be hiding in the trees.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. “I just know that I hoped I would see you again so I could get to know you better. You look like you could use a friend, and so could I.”
“A friend that I don’t get to know anything about?” she countered but smiled, a bit wanly, and went on without giving him the chance to reply. “It’s all right. I suppose I can go on with just the voice in the trees for today, but if we speak much more, you’re not going to be able to play this game forever.”
He chuckled again, and again the sound pleased her. “I don’t suppose anyone could say you don’t know your mind.” She thought she heard approval in his tone. “So why is it so difficult to tell your family that you are so unhappy?”
The warmth drained out of her and she sighed. “It’s complicated,” she said. “There are secrets involved and I can’t convince them without revealing something I don’t know that I can reveal, but without it, they will not listen because they do not think my reasons are good enough.”
“Then why not just reveal it?”
“Why not just reveal yourself?” Her reply came without hesitation. “It is not always so easy, and this is harder than most.” Constance looked back in the direction of home. “Anyways, I need to go. I have to be home to prepare for tonight.” She got to her feet, ne
edlepoint in hand. “I hope that we will speak again soon,” she said and left the clearing without waiting for him to reply.
Chapter Five
Tristan’s body mingled at the party, but his mind was still in the forest and filled with regrets. He wished that he had told her more, using words to keep her longer and not let her leave so suddenly. After the images forged by the first time he had seen her, it was a shock to see this new side: the side that was shrewd and didn’t easily forget things. It had intrigued him even more than he had been in the first place.
The ballroom was filled with the low murmur of polite conversation. Musicians played in the corner and a few couples had taken to the dance floor to enjoy each other’s company. Everyone kept their glances at Tristan sidelong and uncertain, thinly veiled behind their courtly manners. After all, just because they were rural provincials was no reason to not act like they were wealthy Parisians.
Meandering through the conversational crowds around the edge of the room, Tristan did no more than nod occasionally or offer a bare smile with the unscarred side of his mouth. No one seemed too inclined to engage him in conversation and that suited him fine. If he could avoid everyone until it was polite to depart, he would consider the evening a successful one.
Unfortunately, this was not to be.
“Marquis,” Morangis called politely, weaving through the crowd to reach his guest. “I have someone that I would like you to meet.”
Oh yes, Tristan thought, the meek creature you’ve somehow bought into a marriage. He smiled politely. “Of course, Comte.” His manners were civil, in spite of his inner thoughts, as he followed Jean-François across the room.
He saw the Comte and Comtesse Moncan, and the back of the bride-to-be. The three were speaking, although from the former’s gesturing and the latter’s entire lack of movement, he imagined that the elders were doing most of the talking.
“May I present my guest,” Morangis began, “the Marquis du Lyon of Vivarais.”
Beauty Page 2