The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  “With Cédric?” asked Jean-Louis, surprised. “Has his valet…”

  “No, no. With Henri,” said Fourbier, looking away.

  Jean-Louis thought Fourbier-the-Imperturbable was blushing. “Henri? He has just quit his last job. I know he has money saved, but how can he afford a valet? And besides, his last valet…” Jean-Louis stopped short. Henri’s last valet had also been his lover. Henri had taken liniment up to Fourbier. Henri and Fourbier kept staring at one another. Henri had begged to come to Paris.

  “Oh, mon Dieu!” barked Jean-Louis. “You told me about…this, a long time ago, and I have known about Henri since…a very long time. But I…” He refused to think of what his brother and his valet had been doing together. He stomped to the window and twitched back the curtain again. “Merde. I wish you all the happiest. And félicitations, and… It’s very awkward.”

  Fourbier chuckled, and Jean-Louis glared at him. Fourbier frowned, but Jean-Louis could still see the gleam in his eye. “All right, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation, in case you need to look for work again after. And you could return to me, of course, though it would be awkward when I saw my family, I suppose. And think of how much severance pay you should have.”

  Hélène’s voice chimed in from the door of the dressing room. “What shall we do without you, Fourbier?” Her voice was full of tears. “And when Jean-Louis is at war, he will need a new aide-de-camp. How shall he find one as good as you?”

  “Oh, there are many men who can organize his life in the camps, Madame,” said Fourbier, bowing to her. “Even Darton, though not as good as me, is very capable.”

  “Could I hire you to make me some gowns?” asked Hélène. “I don’t know whom to ask. Then you could stay for a little longer.”

  Jean-Louis thought it was a good idea to have someone he trusted in charge of Hélène’s wardrobe, but he still scowled when Fourbier grinned at Hélène.

  Hélène looked worried again. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

  Fourbier took her hand and pressed it between his. “I am only free to go because now he has someone to watch over him.”

  Jean-Louis’ mouth hung open for a moment; his valet was handing over his care to Hélène. He had thought it was he who watched over them. He snorted and turned back to the window.

  The door opened and closed. Jean-Louis sighed.

  “It’s nearly time for dinner,” said Hélène from the other side of the room.

  Jean-Louis turned to look at her. She was in her blue wedding outfit, and even in the dim light of the bedchamber she looked like an angel, her eyeglasses glinting in the firelight and the copper fading from her hair, revealing gold. He went to her and held out his arm.

  “Let’s go face the lioness,” he said.

  ****

  The baronesse had glared at and then ignored Hélène both times they met before. Hélène was glad to be nearly invisible at the time: hiding her sorrow at her cousin’s wedding to Jean-Louis, with whom she was infatuated, and hiding her worry at her cousin’s death because Jean-Louis might take Ondine away from her.

  Now she was married—which she had never thought to be, much less to the man of her dreams—and, through him and his family, she had become visible. For the first time since her parents’ deaths, someone listened to her. They wouldn’t always agree, but they listened. Jean-Louis saw her and catered to her. He was looking at her right then, as they hesitated outside the drawing room where the family assembled before meals.

  He nodded. “Don’t believe anything she says,” said Jean-Louis. “She…she will hurt you however she can. I will try to stop her. If necessary, we will walk out.”

  He shifted from foot to foot nervously. Her new eyeglasses let her see his expression. He had been frightened during the tent fire, the shootings, and Ondine’s kidnapping, but from what she remembered, he had also been angry, forceful, and serious. This time, he appeared nauseated.

  She squeezed his arm with both hands. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

  “It does make a difference,” he said.

  He kissed her quickly—a brief moment with his face an inch from hers, a shared warm breath, his nose bumping her eyeglasses and leaving a tiny smudge—before nodding to the manservant to announce them.

  Madame la Baronesse barely glanced at her, but grabbed Emmanuel’s arm. He bowed crookedly, then dragged his arm away from her gently, with an odd expression.

  “Hélène, you remember my mother,” said Jean-Louis.

  Hélène curtseyed, her head bowed.

  “Maman, this is my new wife,” he said. “Do congratulate us.”

  Hélène rose from her curtsey to see the baronesse looking her over. The lady sniffed slightly and said, “We have met, I believe.”

  “Oui, Madame,” said Hélène. “I was also Amandine’s cousin.”

  “Emmanuel has told me.” The baronesse smirked. “Well, now you’ve forced him to marry you, I hope you’re satisfied his prospects are worse than usual.”

  “She didn’t force me,” said Jean-Louis.

  “I believe his prospects are quite good,” said Hélène.

  The baronesse raised an eyebrow and looked her over.

  Luckily, the manservant announced supper. Jean-Louis held out his arm to his mother, as dictated by precedence, but his mother chose instead to take Emmanuel’s arm. The boy looked confused but led his mother from the room. Jean-Louis held his arm out in silence to Hélène, and she took it.

  They took their seats in silence also—Emmanuel on his mother’s right hand, exactly where Hélène should have been seated. He blushed as he looked at Jean-Louis, conscious of their mother’s faux pas. “It’s an informal family dinner. I hope you don’t mind?”

  Serious and stoic, Jean-Louis nodded at his brother, who then looked down at his plate, embarrassed. Hélène sighed because she knew her husband was hurt.

  The baronesse chattered as they ate the first course, talking about how she had spoken with the king’s cousin, La Grande Mademoiselle, at court the week before, and asking Emmanuel questions about how his studies and training were at the Comte de Bures’s château. When Emmanuel proudly announced he practiced every day on horseback with the saber, his mother rolled her eyes. “Surely there are better things for you to do.”

  Emmanuel looked down at his plate, chastened. He must have had this conversation with his mother before.

  “What do you hope to do, Emmanuel?” asked Hélène, realizing he’d never said.

  Emmanuel blushed. He looked forlorn. “Maman will introduce me at court and find me a rich bride.”

  Hélène glanced at Jean-Louis, who stared stonily at his younger brother.

  Hélène said, “Is that what you want?”

  Emmanuel glanced at his mother, shifting guiltily in his seat. “I’d like to work with horses.”

  Jean-Louis let out a breath, and Hélène realized he had been holding it.

  Hélène glanced at the baronesse, who said, “He will marry well, and then he can do as he likes with the money. Someone not in trade, of course. We can find better than her.”

  Hélène had been called worse things in her life, but Jean-Louis slapped his hand on the table. Before he could speak, though, Emmanuel said, “She’s not stupid, Maman.”

  “Of course she is,” said the lady, staring right at Hélène with her eyes wide open in false innocence. “She’s a sheep—fat, no brains, no nobility or elegance. And look at her ridiculous eyeglasses.”

  Hélène looked down at her plate.

  Jean-Louis said, “Maman, you must apologize to my wife.”

  The baronesse snorted inelegantly. “I must?”

  “Yes!” said Emmanuel, his voice louder than he intended. He swallowed, blushed, and repeated, “Yes.”

  The baronesse put her hand over her heart, deeply aggrieved. “You would take a little cow’s side against me?”

  Emmanuel stared at his mother for a long time, disillusionment warring with his obvious l
ove for her. Finally, he looked at Jean-Louis and said, “I am sorry, mon frère.”

  Jean-Louis started to stand, but Hélène put her hand on his arm.

  “Sorry for what, Emmanuel? You have done nothing that requires apology.” Hélène’s voice was tiny in her own ears, her heart beating quickly at the anger running through the room.

  Emmanuel glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye and toyed with his fork. He suddenly banged a fist on the table and stormed out of the room.

  Hélène felt his exit like a slap but looked at her husband, who looked after his brother.

  The baronesse launched into a tearful tirade about ungrateful children and how they were all against her. Jean-Louis stood up. “I’ll go after him.”

  Hélène watched him go, her heart stuttering at being left in the dining room alone with her mother-in-law, who was crying noisily into a tiny handkerchief.

  “They all outgrow their mother, don’t they? I sacrificed so much for my children, and they are all ungrateful. Even my dear Emmanuel now! His sister has always hated me. Aurore has turned him against me; that has to be it.”

  Hélène stared at the lady, on the one hand wanting to comfort her as she did Ondine, but on the other amazed at the baronesse’s words.

  The baronesse pulled the lacy handkerchief away from her dry eyes. “Jean-Louis will never love you. He’s too cold and arrogant to love anyone. You’re just lucky his sense of duty made him marry you. If he is convicted of desertion, you will get your just deserts.”

  Hélène’s heart sank. Jean-Louis did still have to answer the charges of desertion.

  “I lost status when the rumors were going around about my son-in-law, the comte. I won’t be able to show my face for months when my own son is executed. Everyone knows I am estranged from them, though, so I will weather the storm.”

  Anger roiled inside Hélène. “You could defend him.”

  “Oh, the sheep speaks?” said the baronesse, rolling her eyes.

  “Jean-Louis begged leave. He was nearly killed. When the attacks on Ondine continued, he risked his reputation and his career for her. Once the Prince de Condé and the King understand the full story, he will be welcomed back,” said Hélène.

  “Oh, how naïve you are. Stupid.” The baronesse waved her hand dismissively.

  “If his family and friends stand by him, put the real story into the right ears, he will have a much easier time,” said Hélène, forging on in spite of the hurtful words.

  “He will drag me down with him,” said the baronesse, uncertainly.

  “Since you are not welcome with your family due to your unkindness, you’ll have nowhere to go, will you?” asked Hélène softly. She certainly wouldn’t welcome this woman into her home.

  “I was not unkind to them! I did my best to shape them, to make them into gentlemen,” said the baronesse haughtily.

  “And one lady,” said Hélène, thinking of her sweet, laughing sister-in-law and the pain in Aurore’s voice when she spoke of her mother.

  The baronesse picked up her spoon.

  Hélène didn’t feel hungry anymore. “They would have been better off if you had shown them compassion.”

  The baronesse smirked. “That’s for sheep and tradesmen.” She turned back to her plate.

  Hélène stood up, unable to bear the tension. Her mother-in-law ignored her, even when she said, “At least sheep have families. Sheep have love and mutual protection. When something frightening happens, sheep band together to fight off wolves. Sheep do not die alone, withered, and bitter.”

  She lifted her chin and strode to the door, anxious to find her husband. She stepped into the hall, where she almost ran into Jean-Louis.

  “What did she say to you?” he growled.

  “Her children are ungrateful, and I am a stupid sheep,” Hélène replied. She smiled because she suddenly found it didn’t matter as long as Jean-Louis was with her.

  “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I meant only to be gone for a minute,” said Jean-Louis, scowling.

  “It’s all right,” said Hélène, stopping him from going into the dining room. “We sheep will be happy together. Where is Emmanuel?”

  Jean-Louis raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Up in his room. Throwing his things into his bag.”

  “Oh! Did you convince him to stay?” She lifted her skirts and started for the stairs.

  “Only for tonight,” said Jean-Louis. “It’s still snowing.”

  “He feels guilty,” said Hélène.

  “What?” said Jean-Louis, keeping pace with her but not touching her, though she wished he would.

  “He thought the rest of you were ungrateful. Now he knows you are loyal and trustworthy. He cannot tell himself your mother was right and your father was wrong for taking him away from her. He loves her, but he loves you, too.”

  Jean-Louis stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She paused to look down at his disgruntled expression.

  “He’s much like you,” she said, suddenly realizing it. “Not just in looks.”

  “What?” he said again, still angry. She didn’t think he was angry at her, but she still had to take a deep breath.

  “He put her on a pedestal, and you…” She had to think quickly to come up with someone Jean-Louis had idealized. “You put Amandine on a pedestal. You loved her and thought her perfect. When you found out she was petty and manipulative, you were crushed.”

  He scowled harder. Hélène went up one more step to get further away from him. “Emmanuel is sick because his mother’s not perfect.”

  Jean-Louis turned away from her, and she almost cried out. She had hurt him. He must hate her.

  “At least you knew from the start I am not perfect.” She turned and rushed up the stairs to escape his wrath, her righteous anger burned away by the way she had hurt her husband.

  She paused outside Emmanuel’s room to catch her breath. She had run up the stairs and down the hall, which was something she would never have been able to do without eyeglasses. She was indebted to her husband for helping her see clearly. But she had hurt him anyway. She almost ran back down to comfort him, but she was afraid of what he would say.

  Emmanuel’s door swung open, and the boy blinked at her in surprise. “I was coming back down.” He stepped into the hallway and slammed the door. “Shouldn’t you have sent a servant to drag me down?”

  Hélène stepped back from him. He glared at her, then turned away.

  He started to walk along the hallway, not waiting for her. She rushed to catch up and put her hand on his arm. He looked down at her hand and slowed.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  He glanced at her and then looked forward again.

  “My aunt and uncle were horrible to me, but they were all I knew after my parents died.”

  Emmanuel was silent, but slowed further.

  “I believed what they told me.”

  He stopped at the top of the stairs.

  “Your mother is afraid of losing you the way she lost the others. Your father thought he was doing the right thing by letting her raise you.”

  “He thought I was someone else’s bastard,” said Emmanuel, fiercely. “He didn’t want me.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “You look just like Jean-Louis, just like your father. I suppose it’s hard to tell with a baby…”

  “Papa knew Manu was his as soon as he was born,” said Jean-Louis from halfway down the stairs.

  “But Maman said…”

  “Maman’s belly was enormous only six or seven months after she and Papa had reconciled. What was he to think? She went into labor. She had twins—you were so tiny—and he rushed home to apologize.”

  Emmanuel’s face twisted like he was going to cry, and Hélène felt tears pricking.

  Jean-Louis came up a few more steps. “Papa didn’t get home until the other twin was already dead. She didn’t stand a chance—she was too small. He held you inside his shirt around the clock and gave you
to the wet nurse for feedings. For weeks. Maman wouldn’t forgive him for accusing her. She insisted on taking you when you got stronger. Papa felt guilty for doubting her. She went back to court and refused to see the rest of us. I saw her from a distance at family occasions that she could not miss without looking bad—weddings and funerals. Papa is the one who saw to my uniform when I went into the army and who cried when I left. Aurore is the one who kissed me when I got married and held my hand at my wife’s funeral.”

  Emmanuel was leaning against the wall when Jean-Louis arrived at the top of the staircase and said, very softly, “We all wondered about you. We wanted to reach out to you. Aurore wrote to you, but you never wrote back.”

  “I never got any letters,” said Emmanuel. “She never told me she wrote, and I’ve been living with her for two years.”

  “Dom told her you never read the letters, but she was hurt anyway,” said Jean-Louis.

  “Henri doesn’t like me,” said Emmanuel, pushing away from the wall, defiant.

  “Henri is afraid you will be cruel like Maman,” said Jean-Louis, almost nose to nose with his little brother. “He is protecting himself. We are all protecting ourselves.”

  Hélène put her hands on Jean-Louis’ and Emmanuel’s arms. “And Emmanuel is protecting himself from the horrible things his mother told him about all of you.”

  Both men—because Emmanuel was certainly big enough to be a man, even though he was still so young—raised their eyebrows at her with identical expressions. She loved being able to see people’s expressions. She smiled at them. “Your mother has pushed everyone away. She is losing Emmanuel because he sees the truth now. She is in a panic and fighting back.”

  The brothers looked at each other for a long moment. Hélène wondered what they were thinking behind their nearly identical faces. She prayed briefly they would forgive her for interfering.

  “Do you think she’s done with dinner yet?” asked Emmanuel. “I’m still hungry.”

  Jean-Louis nodded brusquely and held his arm out to Hélène. Downstairs, they discovered the baronesse had left the dining room, so they sat down, apologized to the servants, and dined in a thoughtful silence.