The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  His chest was tight. He couldn’t breathe or feel his heart beat.

  She dropped her lorgnette on its string and wrapped one arm around his neck.

  He kissed each of her eyelids, then pulled her tight against him and leaned his face against her hair. It smelled of dirt and smoke and henna.

  She pushed away from him, her eyes still closed. She fluttered them open and stared at his face from two inches away, squinting against the darkness.

  “I can’t…” she said.

  But what she couldn’t, he didn’t wait to hear as he took her mouth again, pressing a hard kiss and licking at her lips.

  There was a clatter at the bottom of the stairs and he jumped back, releasing her and straightening his clothing, smoothing out wrinkles in his long coat.

  Hélène smoothed out her dress, her hands shaking. The maid appeared at the top of the stairs to find them standing several feet apart in the hall. They must have looked respectable enough. Hélène directed the maid to leave the hot water in her dressing room.

  Jean-Louis cleared the roughness from his throat. “I have had a letter from your uncle. He wishes Ondine home. Obviously he did not believe your story. He says he sent someone to Franche-Comté.”

  She looked surprised. “Do you think it’s how we were found so quickly?”

  Jean-Louis considered this for a moment, his stomach clenching with guilt. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m more worried about his other points, which were that you are possibly insane and he wants you in a convent.”

  Hélène’s pale eyes filled with tears.

  Jean-Louis put his hand on her arm, wanting so much to hold her again, but conscious of the maid nearby. “You cannot go back there. I’ll never send Ondine back there, either.”

  “Oh, thank you, Monsieur.” She smiled up at him worshipfully.

  He winced. He hated to be worshiped.

  Her face fell. The maid came out of Mademoiselle Hélène’s room and curtsied before going downstairs.

  He took a deep breath, trying to decide what he could say. “My…my brother Cédric wrote. My brothers Henri and Emmanuel are coming by Friday. The Comtesse and Comte de Bures are already in Poitou. Dom has an estate near here, only ten miles away. I will send a messenger in the morning.”

  Hélène smiled, though not as broadly as before.

  Jean-Louis took a deep breath to keep himself from babbling insanely. Should he tell her of his brother and father’s suspicion of her? He didn’t think it remotely possible, but he had seen the resolve under her shyness. Just bringing his daughter to him must have taken a great deal of bravery. Could she be so jealous of her cousin and, by extension, of Ondine, that she would wish the girl dead?

  Not her, his heart said. But he never listened to his heart anymore; his heart was unreliable.

  His brother wrote, though, that if she were innocent of involvement in the attack on Ondine he would have to marry her for propriety’s sake. She was certainly “not the mistress sort of lady,” as the courier had told him before she entered his tent in the field near Dole.

  He was standing in a barely lit hallway with a beautiful lady, the household quieting all around them. If she were the mistress sort, he would lead her into his room just next door. Even in one so innocent—especially in one so innocent—the look she had given him after he kissed her was an invitation.

  Instead, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles one after the other. Unable to release her hand just yet, he kissed her palm, then rested it on his cheek, its cool surface pulling the heat from his face.

  “Until tomorrow,” he whispered huskily.

  He stepped backward and released her hand. She fled into her room and closed the door.

  So what if he could hear through the wall of her dressing room as she washed? And so what if he sat next to the wall until the sounds stopped?

  And so what if he stayed up half the night, writing a letter to the Grand Condé, announcing he would return as soon as he could and that he would resign his commission if this was unacceptable? And the other half of the night waking from erotic dreams?

  Chapter Six

  The morning after the kiss, Ondine awoke early, as always. Hélène had hardly slept, reliving Jean-Louis’ kisses, touching her lips where he had touched them, and holding her palm to her cheek. She awoke several times, imagining someone had opened her door, even though she had locked it. She hadn’t been able to get up to double check, though, for fear of waking Ondine and Charlotte.

  They went down to the kitchen and discovered that “Monsieur Jean-Louis” had already been up, sent out a rider, gone for a ride, discussed the next few days’ plans with the housekeeper, Madame Grenier, and gone back upstairs to rest. Hélène was disappointed that she wouldn’t see him for a while, but relieved because she would blush when he did appear.

  Fourbier and Madame Grenier were discussing meals and which rooms to prepare for the guests who would soon arrive. They seemed to have come to some sort of understanding since the night before, though they debated every last detail.

  By midday, the nursery was clean and warm. It was nearly empty, much to Ondine’s disgust, but the housekeeper explained the family had only rarely come down when the children were young, and even now Monsieur Jean-Louis always came alone. Except for when he came with his wife on their honeymoon, but she had never come back.

  The housekeeper’s expression and tone were carefully neutral when she spoke about Amandine.

  Fourbier entered the nursery beaming triumphantly, carrying a few dusty books from the attic. He was declaiming on the right shades of soothing blue for the nursery and reviving yellow for the drawing room when the housekeeper’s remark about Amandine never coming back to Poitou after her honeymoon sank in.

  Several months before her death, Amandine said she was going to her husband’s estate in Poitou to tend to her husband, whose leg was broken. On her return to Paris several weeks later, she announced she was pregnant with her husband’s child, conceived in Poitou. Not long after that, when the colonel rushed to Paris for his sister’s sake, there was some sort of scene between them which left the colonel very angry. Seven months after her return from Poitou, Amandine died in childbed.

  Jean-Louis had arrived too late for the burial but in time for the funeral Mass. He had been angry and refused to reimburse his in-laws’ expenses for the elaborate funeral, saying only he hoped Amandine had confessed before being given last rites. In spite of it all, he did not wish her in Hell.

  Hélène had overheard the argument between Jean-Louis and her uncle, but she had never learned the reason. She thought he was angry to cover his grief, angry that his son died, too. The servants hinted that Amandine’s flirtations at court had gone too far, but Hélène was never anywhere near the court except to bring Ondine in to see her mother for a few minutes.

  Hélène knew Amandine was capable of lying—more than merely capable, she was quite accomplished at it—but hadn’t realized how far her deceit went. Hélène’s hands were shaking.

  Fourbier looked at her strangely. She blurted out, “Did Monsieur the Colonel know that Amandine was unfaithful?”

  Fourbier jerked back as if hit and looked around the room in a panic. Luckily it was only the two of them and Ondine.

  “I will not answer that,” said Fourbier. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle. However you have come to that conclusion…”

  “The housekeeper said Amandine had not been back here since their honeymoon trip. Amandine said that she had fallen enceinte when coming to see the colonel after his broken leg, when he was recuperating here.”

  Fourbier clenched his teeth. “I will not answer.”

  Hélène sat back in her chair. Fourbier’s refusal was surely agreement. Her stomach turned. “I must not speak ill of the dead.”

  Charlotte came in, and Fourbier took his chance to escape.

  Late that afternoon, a carriage rattled up the drive. Hélène went to the window, raised her eyeglass, and saw a beautif
ul coach outside.

  “Come, Ondine. Your Tata Aurore and Oncle de Bures have arrived.” She brushed dust from the girl’s dress with her hand.

  “Tata No-Nor Noncle?” Ondine frowned in confusion.

  “You might not remember them. They are your papa’s sister and brother.”

  “Papa?” Her face brightened.

  “We shall see him, too. Let’s go greet them. Charlotte, would you help Ondine on the stairs, please?”

  By the time they made their way down from the third floor, the comte and comtesse were indoors. Hélène curtsied to them, and Ondine followed suit only to have her little bobble interrupted by her Tata Aurore, who snatched her up with a cry of delight.

  Ondine struggled for only a moment before leaning away, staring at her warily.

  “Ondine, this is your Tante Aurore,” said the colonel, “who has seen fit to presume on old acquaintance.”

  Aurore laughed and kissed Ondine loudly on both cheeks. “You have grown so much, ma petite. And I bet you talk all the time now, don’t you?”

  “Aurore, surely you remember Hélène de Bonnefoi, my late wife’s cousin?” said the colonel.

  “Of course!” Aurore swung Ondine to her hip and went up on her tiptoes to kiss Hélène’s cheek. “You have not changed at all, except to grow more lovely.”

  Hélène almost dropped her quizzing glass. “Thank you, Madame la Comtesse…”

  “S’il te plaît! We used to use our first names, n’est-ce pas? I am sorry I did not write more, asking for your news,” said Aurore. “Come, we shall sit together. Is there any tea? Or coffee? I do remember Fournier is very good at supplying coffee when all hope has been lost.”

  “Fourbier,” corrected the colonel.

  “Patience, chérie,” said a deep voice at the same time. Hélène turned toward the tall, dark man who had been eclipsed by his tiny vivacious wife. She curtsied deeply to him, and the Comte de Bures kissed her hand. “Delighted to see you again, Mademoiselle. I hear you have had a rough journey the last few weeks.”

  Hélène’s mouth was dry from nerves. “I’ve never traveled so far in my life.”

  He smiled slightly before turning back to the others. Hélène turned, too, and saw Aurore disappear into the drawing room with Ondine. Jean-Louis shook his head at something his sister said, and he turned and gestured politely for them to follow.

  The comte held out his arm and escorted Hélène into the drawing room, where Ondine chattered in a high-pitched, over-excited voice.

  Over the course of the next half hour, Ondine was petted and fed treats and told a story and asked to sing a song. Hélène was exhausted just watching it, but Ondine thrived on attention, though she was beginning to blink a lot, which meant she needed a nap. Soon.

  Finally Hélène said, “Come along, Ondine. We will have a nap and see Tata and Oncle again in a little while.”

  Ondine collapsed to the floor with a scream. The colonel said, “Ondine,” in a stern voice.

  Ondine ran to Hélène and hid her face in her skirts.

  “Would you like Tata Aurore to carry you up, Ondine?” asked Aurore.

  “Tata Aurore will do no such thing,” said the comte.

  “Now, Dom.” Aurore smiled at her husband, not at all chastened.

  Hélène knew she couldn’t carry Ondine herself without her large shawl. Hélène needed one hand on the rail and one to hold her lorgnette. She had been counting on Ondine walking most of the way like she usually did.

  “Shall I carry you, ma fille?” asked the colonel’s voice right next to her. Hélène startled and her face got hot.

  “Go with your papa, chérie,” said Hélène, softly. “I will follow you up and help you get settled.”

  “Oh, please let me come along,” said Aurore.

  The comte said, “Just sit and rest, chérie. We have already had a very long day.”

  “Maybe we could be shown to our room, then,” said Aurore, her eyes twinkling at her husband, who blushed slightly and shook his head.

  Hélène bobbed a little curtsey and followed the colonel out. He waited at the foot of the stairs.

  “Do you think my sister is, ah…pregnant?” asked the colonel.

  “Oh! I don’t know,” said Hélène. Aurore seemed as tightly corseted as any fine lady would be.

  De Cantière did not respond. Finally, at the top of the stairs, he said, “I had thought you spoiled Ondine, but after seeing Aurore at work on her for less than an hour, I am convinced you are far too strict.”

  Hélène gasped. She didn’t think she was permissive or too strict. But he smiled slightly; he was joking. She sighed in relief.

  “It is very easy to spoil Ondine, isn’t it, ma petite?” Hélène said.

  “Oui, Tata Nénène,” said Ondine, already half asleep on her father’s shoulder. He set her on the little bed and kissed her. Hélène pulled the covers up and kissed her also, stroking the girl’s reddish hair. On the way out, Hélène turned to look again at her sweet angel. The colonel put his hand on her back, and her knees shook.

  She saw an image of herself as Jean-Louis’ wife, truly a mother to Ondine; then she thought of being a mother to more children, and her heart beat faster.

  She looked up at Jean-Louis and found him looking at her, not Ondine. He dropped his hand. They faced each other for what felt like a long time until, finally, he nodded curtly and walked out.

  Hélène was gravely disappointed, but she was not sure why. She took a deep breath—she must have been holding it.

  There was a quiet tap at the door, and Aurore stuck her head in. She saw Ondine asleep on the bed, and her face fell. “I was hoping I could read to her.”

  Hélène tried to smile, and Aurore tilted her head to one side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Hélène gestured her into the hall and followed. She would have to remember to send Charlotte up to listen for Ondine.

  “Was it my stupid brother?” Aurore frowned. “He has always been my favorite, you know, Jean-Louis has.”

  Hélène stopped short. “Really? I would have thought it would be your eldest brother.” She thought of the laughing face of their older brother.

  Aurore shook her head. “Oh, no. Cédric teased me. And Henri and I fought when we weren’t best friends—maybe Henri should be my favorite since we rarely argue anymore—and Emmanuel is so cross and tied up in Maman’s apron strings, and I have to be strict with him as if I were his mother. But Jean-Louis was always kind to me. He watched over me, and made sure Henri didn’t do anything too cruel, and dried my tears when Cédric teased me too much. He would march in and sort us all out and then march out again.”

  Hélène certainly admired him for his sense of duty. Her mind drifted to the hundreds of little gestures he had made to help her.

  “…and take in the dresses you already have, of course,” said Aurore.

  Hélène fumbled as she lifted her eyeglass back to her eye. “Désolée, but I was not listening. Terribly bad of me, I know.”

  “Oh, just chattering on about your wardrobe. I understand you are down to two frocks and one of them is an enormous black one like a Huguenot would wear. I think I would have changed out of it halfway here, to make the trail disappear, but also because I look dreary in black. I suppose it’s not the Protestants’ first aim to look nice when they wear black like that, is it? I mean, it’s a point of pride, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” said Hélène. How had Aurore discovered so much about her wardrobe in an hour? And why?

  Aurore said, “I had my maid bring a bolt of some lovely fabric, a light blue I wanted for myself. It’s wool for the winter, but fine wool, very soft. I think it’s a shade lighter than your eyes, so we’ll have to see how it looks—it might be too pale for you. You really would look well in certain shades of mauve and darker blues. I will ask Monsieur Fournier—no, Fourbier—to have a look at it. I can never recall his name. Such a silly one. It’s not his real one. But he was a tailor before j
oining the army. There’s a story there, I am sure.”

  Hélène nodded. “I do not know it.”

  “Oh? Well, we shall have to get it out of him, then, n’est-ce pas? I love a mystery, but only after I have solved it.” The little comtesse grinned unabashedly. “I think there is enough of the blue we will be able to make a frock for Ondine, too. Won’t that be sweet? To have you match? It’s not really her color, though. She is more pink, but the blue should work well enough, and she will soon grow out of it.”

  Hélène followed along behind Aurore as she led the way back to the drawing room.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” demanded the comte.

  “Oh, I wasn’t the least bit tired, mon cher,” said Aurore, smiling at her husband and going to him to pat his forearm through the folds of his shirt. “Dom is very protective because I am finally pregnant again. He did not want me to come over here from his Dumouton estate, you know.”

  Helen congratulated her politely.

  Aurore’s smile cracked slightly, and the sorrow behind the vivid joy appeared as the scars on her face reflected in the candlelight. Hélène knew she had miscarried many times and lost one child who was almost to term. The comte set his hand on his wife’s back, and she leaned against him for a moment. Aurore soon danced away from her husband, laughing, “There! I have rested. Now we need to find Monsieur Fourbier and get his advice on Hélène’s new gown.”

  “New gown?” asked the colonel from the doorway.

  “I brought some blue fabric, Jean-Louis, determined to give it to Hélène, because I bought it a few weeks ago in Poitiers but it really doesn’t suit me, and it will look so very lovely on her, I hope. I’m not having any clothing made right now anyway, because I shall soon grow out of it. If not, we’ll give it to Fourbier to make something for you, because I think it would set your eyes off at least as well as hers.”

  The colonel frowned. “I have a doublet and breeches in light blue. Fourbier talked me into them last year. Extremely impractical.”