At a loss for words, I look to Benjamin.
“Damn,” is his reaction.
Benjamin
It is night. We’ve made it through our day, finished the work, and now, we play. It is how the aristocrats spend their evenings. They drink fine wines, play cards on their mahogany tables, the mother of pearl inlay glinting in the candlelight. I feel like I am looking in on a scene that I am not a part of. But I am here.
I watch her. She is luminous and playful, laughing when she wins or loses a round. I stand at the edge of the gathering with a near-empty wine glass in my fingers. I swirl the liquid and down the rest. It is acrid and pleasant all at once.
She looks like she would do well in Paris, with gentleman of intellect and wisdom—of wealth. She deserves it. She deserves the best of it all. I wonder, if this were my wealth, would I feel differently?
I see her glance at me occasionally, and I give her a smooth smile.
“No!” Claire grumbles as she loses the coins to my father.
Alphonse seems to have made progress with Claire. I watch them interact. He is a horrible flirt, but he manages to make her laugh every now and then. Though, there is a moment when Monsieur Francis trails around her and their fingers touch tenderly, a wisp of a connection. No one notices, save me. I would take my bets that they’ve already become lovers. How unfortunate for my brother.
We only have a few days. I feel this timeline like a pressure on my skull. I have a few days to secure her hand to mine. The idea of loving her, teaching her, breathing with her…it is more than I could hope for. I must keep my composure. I worry I will scare her. What will she think when she knows all of me and my mind?
No one has spoken of what happened in the gardens. I am thankful for that. Yet, Alphonse watches me as if he is a guard over Giselle’s virtue, all the while attempting to reach into Claire’s own virtuous places.
“Benjamin!” Giselle giggles, her face bright, her dark hair setting off the cream of her skin. “Join us!”
I am usually one for games. But tonight, there is something stifling in the air.
I give her a small smirk and nod. It seems that they’re all feeling the heavy effects of the wine. There is a lapse in the previous stiffness of the game now. Claire and Giselle forget their previous argument and laugh together, sharing stories they think hilarious. Alphonse hides his mirth behind a hand. Francis watches them both openly, forgetting his manners, his eyes lolling about.
“Apologies, but I think I may sit this one out,” my father says. “I am growing weary, and the hour is late.”
“Of course, father,” Alphonse answers. “We will be done shortly.”
Father leaves and I find that the mood of recklessness intensifies. Claire lays a hand on both Alphonse and Francis’s arms.
“I would prepare to take a massive blow to your ego’s gentleman,” she says. “I have a premonition! I will win this round.”
Giselle’s brows raise, and she leans her back against the table.
“Not if I win it first sister!”
She stumbles a bit and I catch her hand in mine, drawing her up.
She laughs so freely. Her hands touch my chest as she gains her footing again. I do not think she knows what this does to me. I can smell the wine on her breath and feel the heat of her mouth. Her hands are warm, and I want to grab her and kiss her right here.
The cards are dealt, and the wages are set. I pretend to be hiding my cards from her as if she would cheat off me and this gets her laughing once again.
“I cannot think.” Giselle giggles, and instead of pushing me away to protect her cards, she adds, “Come, help me win.”
I come to stand just behind her and tell her which cards to lay down. Alphonse rolls his eyes in annoyance at our coupling, but I do not mind. As Giselle lays the cards on the table, she stretches forward and her backside bumps against me. She leans more purposefully into me. I look around, waiting to see if anyone notices this subtle flirtation, but none glance our way.
“Oh,” I say as I find that she’s laid down the wrong card.
I take this opportunity to lean over her and set the correct card down. I feel the telltale signs of my excitement and jerk back. I cannot do this. She twists round with a mischievous expression but says nothing.
“I hear that Madame Bonteque is on her way back?” Alphonse says, breaking our moment.
“When?” I ask.
“Tomorrow at the latest,” he answers without looking at me.
I feel my time shrink yet again. Giselle has said that she would marry me, but nothing is settled. I must speak with her father and mother, no matter how irritating it might be. Giselle seems startled by the news as well.
“Oh mother,” Claire whines in frustration. “She is always spoiling things.”
“When you have your own home, you will be happier,” Francis says. “You are the type of woman who needs to have parties every night.”
“I hope you would expect nothing less!” She is spirited.
“Benjamin.” Giselle shuffles close to me so that we may whisper. Her eyes are heavy and she appears to be absentminded. She does not know what she wants to say to me.
“Giselle,” I mirror her, and smile, waiting for her to speak.
“My mother is coming back. Then this will be finished. Just like a magical ballet or Opera. It will be finished, and everything will go back to the way it was.”
Her eyes are riddled with tears. It pains me to see her this way. I tell myself that it must be the drinks she has consumed, but there is so much there that could be true. I know it in her as I know it in myself; she is miserable in this place.
“I told you,” I attempt to relax her. “I will not let you suffer in this place.”
She is wary and, for a moment, silent. She stands in front of me earnestly, her eyes swollen with desire. I feel that she wants to be alone, and I gently press myself against her to tell her that I too know that we need our time.
“Benjamin.” Alphonse approaches us.
I give him a steely eye, but he ignores me, a goofy slash of smile marking his usually cold face.
“All is forgiven.” He chuckles. “Keep your temper, brother. Are you anxious to return home?” he adds. “With all of your dealings, I would assume you want to get back to finish it all.”
“I will manage,” I speak briskly.
“What sort of dealings, Benjamin?” Giselle asks. “I would like to know what you do in every moment of your time.”
“Oh, would you?” Alphonse peaks with interest and lets out a crippled laugh.
“Shut up.” I lean into his shoulder.
“What dealings?” she presses.
“We are a rare sort of artist,” Alphonse drawls. “We draw nautical maps, duplicate our father’s master charts, sell them to men who want to know trade routes or the location of currents, how to get to islands or certain newfound settlements.”
“You are doing this?” Giselle says, quite impressed.
She looks at me with stars in her eyes. Perhaps that is the alcohol as well.
“Well, yes,” I say. “My most current idea was to complete an entire nautical atlas that covers France and its surrounding water.”
“I cannot imagine using my hands like that.” she mumbles. “I am a terrible artist.”
“You do not have to use your hands like that because he does!” Claire calls in a songbird voice.
Francis and Alphonse snicker to themselves. Giselle seems undeterred.
“Does it ever make you sad, seeing these places you have never been but know exist?” Giselle asks me.
She is so innocent. If rose petals had a voice, hers would be it. She is so soft and closed up, a clam yet to be broken wide. I believe that she longs for more. A danger lingers in her eyes. She is subject to the same madness, the same questions as I.
“Not sad,” I say. “Wistful, maybe. There’s something about looking at the charts, knowing that they are pinpoints in an endless ocean, it
is inspiring. It makes one feel that the world is filled with unending possibilities. Some of the things my father has said…” I trail off, feeling nostalgic. “Well, he is the one who put it in me to explore the seas.”
“You are going to leave her someday?” Claire interjects.
“You mistake me. I would not leave your sister.” I chuckle. “No, no.”
“You would take a lady gallivanting across the ocean? With all of the risks?”
Claire will not release me. But, I am sport. I have nothing to hide from anyone.
“If she so desires.”
I wink at Giselle, and she blushes deeply.
“It is not so bad,” Alphonse tells her. “When we were boys, we lived on a ship. Our father’s Brigantine, the Amalthea, wasn’t it?”
“Amalthea. Yes,” I affirm it.
“This is ridiculous,” Francis jabs. “Bragging about living like sluggards on the sea? How inspiring.”
“Francis, you say that because you do not have an ounce of adventure in your heart,” Claire storms.
I find myself laughing at her reaction, and alongside me, Alphonse. We were close once, weren’t we? I remember it.
“No.” Francis sniffs. “No, perhaps not. Perhaps I was bred for a different kind of life. A life the likes of they would not understand.”
Alphonse and I exchange sardonic looks.
“I’ll toast to that!” I say.
Francis glares, and with the change in tone, Claire and Giselle’s attitude’s have soured. Without a word, he leaves the room after throwing his cards on the table.
As we are left alone, I see that Alphonse is taking his chance with Claire. I look to Giselle.
“We have to meet,” she professes.
“Where?”
“Here. When the midnight hour is struck,” she whispers.
She rises and kisses my cheek.
Giselle
I walk through the shadowed hallway, my sight drugged by the effects of the dark. My mind plays tricks on me, my neck feeling as if it is being tickled by the frozen hand of a ghost or some phantasm that has made its home within the silent, creaky old halls.
I cannot settle my heart as it sends a tightness to my throat and little kicks of adrenaline across my chest. In the dark, there is so much to make of unknown objects. My mind flurries like a storm as I pass by patriarchal paintings and heavy French tapestries; as if cadavers would fall limp out of the woodwork with their mouths open like gashes. I must see him. My soul reaches for him.
Inside me is a nervousness that pinches, but also a sense of excitement, of ecstasy. My insides swirl in happy bubbling. Being here is forbidden, but it only adds to my fervor, and I creep onward. Mother, if she knew, might disown me. My insides jive with bliss, and I do not care.
A figure appears in the darkness, and I know that it is him. There is a cockiness to his walk, and one can tell that he is confident, perhaps just shy of arrogant, charming and evermore sure of himself.
The shading ebbs from his face as he draws closer. He stands there with wide shimmering eyes and mouth curled into a satisfied smirk.
“I didn’t know if you’d show,” he whispers.
“Well, you are a lucky one, aren’t you?”
I crack a smile and can hardly meet his bright gaze. I feel under jurisdiction of my passion. I can feel my cheeks rise with my unbreakable smile, flush with delight.
“Here.” He jabs his chin towards me and reaches for my hand so naturally that it shocks me, and he leads me gently through a doorway to our right into what my mind registers as the family parlor.
The softness of his hand, the way he tugs me in unassuming eagerness sends shivers through me.
“Benjamin,” I murmur, and he lays a finger on my mouth, dragging it down teasingly over my lower lip.
“Please don’t,” he hastens to say.
“What?”
“Don’t take back your answer.” He fastens me with that gaze, crippling in his severity. His mouth is pouted in its natural swoop and I want to lean forth and kiss him. To kiss those generous lips and suckle them, feeling their plumpness between my teeth.
“I would never,” I exhale shakily, breaths coming shallow.
“So, your answer remains? You will marry me?” He seems happier than any boy I’ve ever seen. I am so rapturously seduced by him and his princely demeanor. He is glorious.
“I promised you I would be with no other,” my words fall out.
“Giselle,” he speaks my name as if it is so precious, like a jewel or a kiss that is eternal in its value.
“Yes, Benjamin?” I feel the crook of my mouth upturn, as if I am privy to a humor known only to us.
“Did you work anything over with your sister? She didn’t seem upset with you earlier,” he asks, now more serious. Less seduction, more concern.
I shake my head, thinking back to our argument. My heart still burns with a vengeful surge, but mine always fizzles out before hers has even manifested to its full height. She’d only laughed and spoke with me because of the drink.
“So…” He grimaces. “I take it you’ve heard of his reputation at court?”
“Yes,” I admit angrily. “If she wants to be with him, then that is her mistake. Any pain that comes of it she brings down on her own head.”
Benjamin listens intently, nodding as I speak. I huff out when I am done and fold my arms.
“You have a temper in you,” he chuckles quietly.
“No.” I calm myself. “I just cannot do as she says anymore. I never say anything in opposition. I shouldn’t have done so blindly as Claire said. I’ll never forgive myself for aiding in their triste.”
Benjamin scoffs. “If it is anyone’s fault, it is theirs. Claire’s, for making the decision to be with him, and his for manipulating a woman like that. I never have liked that bastard. He has no honor.”
I giggle at his use of such a foul word
“I should be offended by your coarse talk. But I am not.”
“I wonder what Monsieur Francis’s plans were when I got word that he was spending his summer here instead of Versailles under the tutelage of his father. He doesn’t seem the first choice to help your father with his books.”
“Claire manipulated our father into asking him here, and of course, Monsieur Francis took the bait,” I reveal, irritated by the situation.
Benjamin laughs freely and then checks himself. “I forget it is the middle of the night and we must be quiet.”
I go to the door and listen to the silence, praying that no one heard us. We are already in for a strain managing our betrothal, we do not need to add secret liaisons to the list of weight against us.
We stand there in the dark, and Benjamin idly twirls a strand of my dark hair round his finger. “How can you be so beautiful?”
His words are outrageous, and I look away, unwilling to meet his intensity. He is too much, so perfect and he draws me out of the person that I’ve been forced to be in my home. Ignored, brushed away, unimportant. He makes me feel anything but, as if I am the most impressive woman to ever walk the earth. As if I am dangerous and tempting.
I am besotted and sway forth. “You are the only one that has ever said so.”
Benjamin’s exotic face smolders into a smug expression, and he takes me by the chin. “Is it so wrong for me to want you like this?”
I nod in harassment and he laughs, spinning me around and wrapping his arms around me.
“I am sure,” his fingers walk, caressing the sides of my waist in a mischievous way, “that you’ve scared all of the men away with your aloofness. No man would be able to stomach a challenge like you. They’re all too afraid of being denied.”
“And you?” I shiver deliciously, enjoying the warmth of his touches.
“I am no regular man,” he whispers. “I had to come back for you. I had to at least try.”
“Let’s do something.” I twist round, and he smirks.
I laugh as quietly as I can. “Not…that. B
ut we should go outside. Let’s do something fully outrageous. Something we will never forget.”
He chuckles against my hair, grabs my hand, and we are headed for the door.
_________
We skitter across the dewy lawn, the threshes tickling our ankles as we accelerate in a vigorous flight. I feel the pumping of my leanly muscled legs, the breath coming fast to my lungs, itching for oxygen and I am aware that Benjamin is beside me, and the air is caught in our throats by a frantic need to laugh.
The skies are black, padded with galaxies of swirled cloud and blinking stars. In my reverie, I swear the heavens above are filled with purples and turquoises, and everything is like a dreamy haze that I cannot and would not escape from. Trees sway on the horizon and we blunder on like thieves.
Benjamin is beside me, his mouth is wide with smile and the refreshing ease of carelessness. This is who he is. A breaker of rules, and I daresay I like him that way. He’s drawn me in from the moment I’d met him. I am subject to curiosity now—perhaps forever—because he is not like me. He does not allow the standards and laws of society to hold him back. He is free like a wisp in the wind. He can do as he pleases, answering to none.
His father allows him that freedom, that staunch crazy way of loosing Benjamin to his own destiny, to instill great aspirations in him and then let him wrangle his passions. I marvel him, and once we reach the covering of trees, I want to spin around and dance with the high of our exploration. I never want it to end, never want to be held down by the stuffy world they’re trying to box me into.
Benjamin reduces his sprint by ramming himself against an oak tree trunk. He is bent at the waist hissing in laughter and drawing in breath, and I hurl myself against him, finally allowing myself to laugh in turn. The earth smells bitter and musky like the cold. Our fingers are numb, and I press myself against him to receive his heat. I feel perspiration dewing on my hairline, my night robe proving a supple covering for the icy night air.
His hair is free of its binding, and it reaches his chin. His stubble is dark, his brows dark, his skin dark, and eyes evermore. He is captivating to me, and I elicit my stares without worry, knowing that he drinks me in with the same ardor.
The Blood of Caged Birds (Mortalsong Book 1) Page 9