“That does feel much better, Madame,” Sérolène said, looking up to stare in wonder at the deep green eyes of her visitor, who noted the questioning look on her young guest’s face.
“Oh. I’ve forgotten my manners, haven’t I? You must be wondering where on earth you are and who I am,” the lady said with a slight look of embarrassment. Sérolène nodded slowly.
“I’m Madame de Blaise. You’re at the estate of the Marquis de Blaise, near Caracol. Everyone is presently at supper, but I worried that you might be alarmed to find yourself in such unaccustomed surroundings, so I waited close by in case you should awaken,” the marquise explained. Sérolène’s eyes widened in surprise, captivated to find that the beautiful lady before her was Nicolas’ mother. I should have guessed who she might be from those extraordinary eyes, she reflected in wonder.
“What is it?” Madame de Blaise asked.
“I’m sorry, Madame, I didn’t mean to stare so; it’s just that I had no idea anyone could be as beautiful as you are,” Sérolène said softly.
“You are very sweet to say so, my dear,” Madame de Blaise replied.
“May I ask how I came to be here, Madame?”
“Francis and the doctors decided that it was best to bring you to our estate, given the shortness of the journey and the general worry over your condition. When you arrived, your young cousine seemed quite affected and anxious over your situation; so much so, that Madame Tarnaut thought it better to convey her home at once. That is how you came to be entrusted to our care. The doctors examined you thoroughly after you were brought here, though you had still not come to yourself as yet. They recommended that you rest and avoid all excitement for at least several days. You are not even to attempt to travel until you are completely free of headaches and your appetite has returned to normal. Your cousine Julienne is due to arrive soon to keep you company,” Madame de Blaise explained. Sérolène nodded, looking down at herself, curious about the unexplained absence of her outer garments.
“Your dress was horribly soiled from your fall. As soon as you arrived I had you brought here to my own suite of rooms so that I could look after you myself. My maids removed your dress so that you might rest more comfortably and so that they might attempt to launder it. I believe, however, that you and I are almost the same size. If you feel well enough to join the rest of us for supper, perhaps we can find one of my gowns to suit you?” Madame de Blaise suggested. Sérolène nodded again, looking down at her hands, the explanation of what had occurred prompting her at last to ask for details of the particular matter that most concerned her.
“Nicolas…I saw him lying in the street. It was so awful. Please, Madame, I must know of his fate,” Sérolène pleaded, reaching out to grasp the hand of the marquise as she fought to contain her own emotions. Madame de Blaise sighed deeply before replying, the nervous twisting of her hands betraying her deeper concerns.
“He was badly hurt and still needs to rest after what happened, though he did recover consciousness briefly once he arrived home. The doctors have been with him for some time now. They say that he is strong and they are hopeful that he shall make a full recovery,” Madame de Blaise explained.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Sérolène exclaimed with relief. “Can I see him?” she asked imploringly.
The marquise could not conceal her surprise at the boldness of the vicomtesse’s question and the emotion attached to it, the inquiry having felt more like a demand than an entreaty. But what claim could this hauntingly beautiful girl possibly have over my Nicolas? Madame de Blaise asked herself.
“Not just yet my dear, but I promise you can see him soon,” she said, noting how crestfallen the vicomtesse appeared at her gentle refusal, though she nodded obediently in acceptance.
“I believe I would like to join you for supper if I may, Madame. Now that I consider it, I am feeling rather hungry,” Sérolène admitted.
“Of course, my dear. Come, my chambre is next door; that’s why I was able to hear you so quickly when you awoke. Shall we go and see if we can find something charming enough to suit you?” Madame de Blaise said, rising to guide Sérolène through a series of corridors that led to a large bright bedroom suite that was decorated entirely in varying shades of yellow. The walls were covered with a very fine wallpaper adorned with hand painted vases and flowers and there was a large canopied bed along the far wall framed by full length portraits of Madame de Blaise on one side and Monsieur de Blaise on the other.
“It’s such a bright and beautiful chambre, Madame,” Sérolène exclaimed in admiration.
“I’m pleased that you like it. Come, my closet’s this way. I’m sure we’ll discover something to suit you,” Madame de Blaise said, her expression seeming always to be anchored by a gentle smile.
They reached a high set of double doors that the marquise pushed inward to reveal a large walk-in closet that contained dozens of gowns and dresses for all occasions. Sérolène had never seen so many varieties of colors or patterns, even in her aunt’s sizeable wardrobe. Madame de Blaise rang a small bell that rested on a wall sconce just inside the door. Within seconds, her two handmaids appeared in answer to the summons.
“Here are the suitable evening gowns,” Madame de Blaise said, leading Sérolène to a section of very fine dresses on the left of the T-shaped enclosure. “Go on, choose whatever you’d like. My maids will then help you to bathe and to dress.” Sérolène nodded, running her hands along the luxurious materials, trying to find something not too splendid that might suit her.
“That one’s delightful and suits your beautiful eyes exceedingly well. Would you like to try it on?” Madame de Blaise asked, pointing to a pale lavender gown with a pattern of flowers, bees, and birds stitched in silver thread.
“Yes please, Madame. If you think I might do it justice,” Sérolène said shyly.
“Take that one, the polonaise and the indigo as well,” Madame de Blaise said to her maids, who promptly took the three dresses down to be fitted.
“Bring her some new stockings and one of my lighter corsets; bone, not iron,” the marquise added. Both handmaids curtsied respectfully in acknowledgement, leading Sérolène to the adjoining bath room where she was carefully undressed. Embarrassed at being so uncovered before strangers, she tried her best to cover the trinity of her earthly treasures with her arms.
“If I was as beautiful as you I wouldn’t hide nothing!” the heavier of the maids teased, admiring Sérolène's lissome form. Sérolène looked doubtfully toward the maid who had spoken, prompting the other to nod her head in agreement.
“Child, didn’t no one ever tell you how pretty you are? You got all the right curves in all the right places,” the second maid concurred, shaking her hips and pushing up her bosom to emphasize her point. The first maid giggled delightedly at the second’s antics, leading a blushing Sérolène by the hand to sit in the tub. Out of habit, Sérolène reached for the washcloth to begin bathing herself, which caused both maids to shake their heads in laughter.
“Leave that to us, sweet thing. You just relax now,” the second maid said, taking the washcloth from Sérolène and working expertly over her torso, arms, and neck as the first tended to the vicomtesse’s legs and feet.
“Are you sisters?” Sérolène asked, noting the resemblance between the two and wanting to say something to hide her embarrassment at being so intimately attended to by strangers.
“Cousines, Mademoiselle. I’m Sarah and that’s Matilde,” the heavier one said, pouring perfume into the water as Matilde began washing Sérolène’s hair. After several minutes of scrubbing and soaking, Matilde bid Sérolène stand so that they could rinse her off. Sarah lifted a pitcher of water and poured it atop Sérolène’s head, washing the remains of the bathwater from her. Matilde then gently daubed her face and eyes with a washcloth before beginning to dry her hair with a plush cotton towel.
“You can step out now please, Mademoiselle,” Sarah said, drying Sérolène off thoroughly from top to bottom before
wrapping her up in a soft cotton robe.
“Matilde, are you not yet finished?” Madame de Blaise called out from the next room.
“Almost, Madame,” Matilde answered back, winking good-naturedly at Sérolène, who smiled back shyly in return.
Sarah removed the robe so that Sérolène stood before them in nothing more than the skin she was born in, her ripe, nubile form glowing pink from the heat of the bath and the gentle scrubbing of the maids. Matilde beckoned the vicomtesse to hold out her arms so that she could slip the new muslin undershirt she had brought, over them, and then over the vicomtesse’s head. Sarah then led Sérolène toward a linen-covered chair where she directed her to sit. As Matilde busily dried the vicomtesse’s thick, wet tresses, Sarah knelt down and guided Sérolène’s feet into white silk stockings, tying them midway up her thigh with powder-blue ribbons. Once stockinged, she was lightly powdered about the neck and face, rouged about the cheeks, and then led back out into the bedroom where she was fitted with underdress, corset, hoops, underskirts, stays, and myriad other complements and implements required for the proper dressing of a lady of quality. Only when she was thus fully prepared was the gown Madame de Blaise had suggested finally brought to her and carefully fitted.
“My, you do look splendid,” Madame de Blaise said, adjusting the lace fichu that covered the plunging décolletage of the gown to preserve the chaste modesty of the vicomtesse.
“There’s just one touch missing. Fetch my sapphires, Sarah,” Madame de Blaise said.
“Yes, Madame,” Sarah replied, hurrying back into the wardrobe closet and returning a few moments later with a rectangular velvet box. She opened it carefully before Madame de Blaise, who removed a splendid sapphire and diamond necklace on a silver chain.
“Oh, Madame, I couldn’t possibly. They’re much too beautiful for me to wear,” Sérolène exclaimed.
“Do let me be the judge of that,” Madame de Blaise said, stepping behind Sérolène to fit the jewels around her neck. She next took out the matching pair of earrings and inserted them into the piercing holes in Sérolène’s ears.
“Now come, let’s look at you,” Madame de Blaise said, leading Sérolène toward an ornate cabinet that Sarah opened to reveal a full-length mirror. Sérolène looked on in disbelief, unable to believe that the fairy-tale princess who stared back at her was her own reflection.
“You see, both the gown and the sapphires become you. They pick up the color of your eyes. Now we’ve only your hair to contend with, but you are fortunate that in the absence of my normal hairdresser, Matilde is something of an expert in these matters,” Madame de Blaise said, running her fingers appraisingly through Sérolène’s long dark tresses. Sérolène’s bemused expression indicated the extent of her doubt that her coiffure could be as successfully altered as her wardrobe. Seeing herself already so pleasantly transformed however, she decided to submit without complaint as her hair was dried, combed, and then administered to by Matilde.
“Just a little while longer, my dear. You’ll be pleased to know that while you were at your bath, I received word that Mademoiselle Julienne has arrived and will be joining us shortly at table,” Madame de Blaise said, as Matilde worked diligently to reshape Sérolène’s hair into something suitably stylish.
“Perhaps I might be fortunate enough to pay a visit to Monsieur d’Argentolle on our way there, Madame? I’m sure I owe him my life today and I should sincerely like to express my deepest thanks to him,” Sérolène asked in her most persuasive and submissive voice. Madame de Blaise eyed Sérolène in the mirror with increasing interest, her intuition telling her that there was more to the vicomtesse’s request than just a wish to follow common courtesy.
“I suppose we might stop for a brief moment to inspect his condition, though I caution you he is unlikely to be awake or in any way returned to himself,” the marquise warned.
“Oh thank you, Madame!” Sérolène gushed eagerly, taking the marquise’s hand and fondly pressing it to her cheek. Something has been made between this endearing child and my Nicolas; I feel it in my bones. Perhaps in granting her wish, I shall uncover precisely what, though the when and how still escape me completely, Madame de Blaise mused, watching the vicomtesse in the reflection of her mirror as Matilde put the finishing touches to her creation. The effect fashioned by the marquise’s gown and the new high coiffure was remarkable, conveying upon the vicomtesse the regal elegance of the ladies of the court. Madame de Blaise smiled in delight at the success of her efforts as did Sérolène, who thanked Matilde with an embrace for her labors.
Now that her transformation was complete, Madame de Blaise took the vicomtesse by the hand, leading her out of her suite of rooms and down the hallway toward Nicolas’ chambre. The two attendants standing watch outside the door of Nicolas’ sick-room bowed at the approach of their Mistress and her guest. Unable to conceal her anxiety, Madame de Blaise entered the room apprehensively with Sérolène, Nicolas’ valet Julius rising from his seat near the bed to pay his respects with a bow, the prone form of the young chevalier visible in outline behind the drawn satin curtains of his bed.
Sérolène studied everything carefully, wanting to affix the memory of Nicolas’ intimate enclave in her mind. The room was small but tidy and would be considered austere by almost any standards. Everything in it appeared more utilitarian than expressive, with the only prominent furniture being a writing desk, two chairs, and a small wardrobe. The sole portraits adorning the walls were miniatures of his parents and brother and two large paintings of the hunt in which the horses were magnificently rendered. Near the head of his bed was a wooden stand which held three magnificent dress swords.
“Has there been any change in his condition, Julius?” Madame de Blaise asked.
“No Madame, though he has been resting peacefully. He occasionally mutters something; just a single word but I can’t make any sense of it. It’s as if he’s calling out for something, or someone,” the valet explained.
“What does he utter?” Madame de Blaise asked with curiosity.
“Séro,” Julius said, shaking his head in puzzlement. Sérolène flushed pink, turning toward the prone form of Nicolas to hide her embarrassment. Madame de Blaise noted both the change in coloring and the reason for it, at once.
“Thank you Julius. Draw back the curtains, please. You may then wait outside until I call for you,” Madame de Blaise said, regarding Sérolène with unconcealed interest; the vicomtesse’s color brightening noticeably beneath her thin veil of powder as she endured the marquise’s appraisal. Julius pulled back the bed curtains then bowed and took his leave, shutting the door softly behind him.
“Well, my dear. It appears that from my son’s own lips you have earned a singular position of consideration. Go on and take your place,” Madame de Blaise said gently.
Sérolène approached Nicolas’ bedside, pausing a moment to look in on him closely before taking the seat that Julius had occupied, struggling with the tide of emotions that rushed over her. Seeing Nicolas laid out in such distress and knowing that she was the cause of it, however inadvertently, amplified the intensity of her feelings. Though she knew she should remain circumspect in both her gestures and her sentiments, particularly in light of the presence of Madame de Blaise, her proximity to Nicolas left her so overcome with sensation that not even the uncompromising strictures of her upbringing could suppress the need she had of contact with her beloved. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then clasped his hand within her own, leaving Madame de Blaise in no doubt as to her feelings for the suffering chevalier. Despite the seriousness of his condition, Nicolas responded immediately to her touch.
“Séro…” he whispered.
“I’m here, my dearest Nico,” Sérolène whispered back, leaning forward to gently kiss his cheek. Nicolas stirred slightly, slowly opening his eyes, though they appeared pained and feverish.
“My darling, you are safe? Then at last I may rest peacefully,” he said with difficulty.
&nb
sp; “I am safe thanks to you. Thanks only to you, my dearest love. Rest now. I promise I shall stay by your side until you are well,” Sérolène whispered softly, seeing the pain in his eyes and the longing as well. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed it tenderly.
“From dawn till dusk I wait, my love, my heart wants only you,” she said softly, repeating the last verse of the poem she had written for him.
“Your love and your words breathe life into me, my angel,” Nicolas whispered, managing the briefest of smiles before slipping back slowly into oblivion.
Madame de Blaise was deeply moved, covering her mouth with her hand to hold back her own emotions. She could see how well Nicolas was loved by this young beautiful girl, though she couldn’t fathom how or when it was possible that such an ardent attachment had developed. She allowed Sérolène to remain with Nicolas for several more minutes until she finally moved forward to gather the vicomtesse around the shoulders, kissing her gently on the temple as she did so.
Love and Honor Page 9