by Lily Velez
Camilla shook his arm. “Madame Perreault, I mean. She’s apparently resigned herself to the fact that Jeremie and I are in love and wish to marry. This morning, at breakfast—why weren’t you there, by the way?—as a servant was adding honey to her tea, she said, ‘I suppose we have a wedding to plan.’ Then she looked my way. I nearly fell out of my chair.”
Noah nearly fell out of his bed. She had his full attention now.
She laughed. “A shock, I know. But I suppose she’s come around to seeing that however common my upbringing, I carry myself just as well as any wealthy debutante does, and while I may not have the inheritance such girls do, I’m sure Papá and Monsieur Perreault will work out a satisfying enough dowry once he’s here.”
At the question in Noah’s eyes, she explained. Madame Perreault had thought it only proper for the rest of the family to join them at the estate and had therefore sent word to them earlier that morning. “She and Monsieur Perreault plan to announce the engagement at a dinner celebration in just a few days’ time. Preparations are already underway. Can you believe how our fortune has turned?”
He most certainly couldn’t. He wanted to inquire after Jeremie’s response to all this—did he, for instance, even know of these plans?—but Camilla would only laugh at the question. For her, there was no reason for Jeremie to object, and her naiveté stung him with a powerful dose of both shame and guilt.
He kept to himself in the days that followed, taking his meals in his room, though he barely touched the food. He claimed himself to have fallen ill, and to a certain extent, he supposed he had. He was stricken still with insomnia and with an excruciating ache in his chest he couldn’t begin to place.
He observed the world strictly from his room’s window. The leaves hadn’t yet begun to change color to signal autumn’s arrival, and rightly so, as the season was still weeks off and it’d been an unbearably hot summer, but a portion of those same leaves nonetheless regularly unhooked themselves from the tree limbs each morning, gliding to the earth below as if in resignation. Save for the yodel of Monsieur Perreault’s foxhounds and the subsequent bursts of ammunition from the woods, the land lay tranquil, as if untouched by man. Occasionally, a mist would expand across the greens as if the trees had exhaled long, cold breaths, and Noah would think upon his rendezvous with Jeremie at the lake, how the mist had enshrouded them then, how it’d felt for Jeremie to grasp his arms, to hold him so shockingly close, how all the parts of himself had come completely loose.
Jeremie never once came to his door, though. He later discovered through Camilla that, days ago, he’d apparently left on a business errand on his father’s behalf.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Camilla asked one afternoon. She’d taken to visiting Noah regularly in a mothering fashion that would’ve left the rest of their family bewildered. As his self-appointed nurse, she brought him bread and tea and sat with him when she didn’t have social calls to attend to at Madame Perreault’s side.
“He’s finally stepping into his father’s shoes. God be thanked, too. I certainly didn’t want to be the mistress of a stuffy bookshop for the rest of my life.”
Noah held his tongue and drank of the tea she’d brought. It was lukewarm and bland.
Camilla was obviously convinced her engagement to Jeremie was ushering him into manhood, and she was similarly convinced this was what ultimately had put her in Monsieur and Madame Perreault’s good graces.
Noah, however, knew their favor wasn’t so generously conferred on a person. Just yesterday, he’d watched Monsieur Perreault head out toward the woods with his hunting party, and perhaps he’d only imagined it, but there’d been the briefest moment when the man’s eyes had strayed to the direction of Noah’s window, his hand at rest on the barrel of his musket.
It was only when Noah’s family arrived that his body relaxed and began to surrender into a sense of peace. All would be well now, he told himself.
He and Camilla went out to greet them. It was the first time he’d left the prison of his room since his ordeal with Jeremie at the lake, and the fresh air was light and rejuvenating as it filled his lungs, though the sunshine pained his eyes at first. His confidence sank slightly when he saw that Elliot and Colin were not present, as he’d hoped to fasten himself to their sides for the duration of their stay at the chateau, but he realized perhaps it’d been an unanswerable prayer. Someone clearly had to remain behind to look after the farm, and how he wished he was on the farm with them. He missed the horses, the ducks, his hill, the quiet. He longed for the simplicity of his family’s life.
“Mamá!” Camilla exclaimed, throwing herself into the woman’s arms. “What took you so long?”
Their mother laughed and wrapped her in a loving embrace. “I’m so sorry, mon chou. But there was a break-in in town earlier this week, and your father and I thought it best to only travel during daylight hours. But we’re here now, and oh how we rejoiced at the news we received!”
Margaux came to Noah’s side with her characteristic bright eyes and cheery smile. “I can see now why you weren’t in so great a hurry to get back to us. You’ve been lounging in the lap of luxury all this time. This place is an absolute dream. I’m sure you’ve had the time of your life here, haven’t you?”
Noah thought it best to play along. He offered as much of a smile as he could manage.
It wasn’t much.
Margaux surely noticed, but she hadn’t time enough to ask after it, for Camilla at that moment excitedly exclaimed, “Come! Let me introduce you to my future in-laws at once.”
30
Noah’s mother and father got on well enough with the Perreaults, which was hardly a surprise, of course, as he couldn’t think of anyone with whom they weren’t friendly. It was the Perreaults he’d worried about. He’d feared they’d look upon his family with the same condescension they’d extended to him and Camilla at that first supper.
They hadn’t, but there was still a guardedness about their actions. When Noah’s mother had presented Genevieve and Margaux, each girl curtsying at her name, Madame Perreault had only smiled thinly. They’d offered Noah’s family neither a tour of the chateau nor an elaborate meal to welcome them, simply having the servants show the Capets to their rooms, with no immediate plans to entertain their guests in any way.
“Madame Perreault seems rather cold,” Margaux later remarked when it was just Noah and his sisters. She dragged her gloved fingers across the thick drapes at the window. They cascaded from so great a height, they looked like scarlet waterfalls. He’d learned the fabrics had been imported from Italy, as was the case for many of the treasures in the chateau.
The room they presently occupied was to be shared by Genevieve and Margaux. It was furnished as tastefully as all the others, but it wasn’t quite as grand as Camilla’s quarters, which is perhaps why she’d selected it for them herself. What better way to assert one’s superiority over her sisters as a soon-to-be-married woman than to grant them coals and reserve the diamonds for one’s self?
Camilla took issue with Margaux’s observation. “It’s simply how Madame Perreault holds herself. These are very refined people.”
“And refinement and friendliness couldn’t possibly marry. Imagine, Noah, if all the wealthy had to treat those ‘beneath’ them as equals. The sheer madness of it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Camilla said, straightening her shoulders and tossing her head back in a way that made her ringlets of hair bounce. “This is another world completely, and you’re simply unaccustomed to its ways.” She looked between her sisters. “You’ve brought your best dresses, haven’t you?”
Margaux examined herself. She wore a simple muslin dress, pastel blue in color. A bonnet topped her head, and as she spoke, she undid its satin ribbons, which had been tied into a bow under her chin. “No, I’ve brought my most abysmal ones. In fact, I thought I’d perhaps attend the celebration in nothing more than a shift.”
Camilla’s face was a ripe tomato
. “Mamá!” She spun on her heels and stomped out of the room to locate their mother.
“You didn’t have to provoke her,” Genevieve gently chided as she turned a page in her prayer book. She was the picture of grace as she sat at the window, the sunshine outlining her in gold.
“But it’s such fun,” Margaux said. Then, gripping Noah’s wrist: “Now show me every corner of this place.”
They walked arm in arm about the property, eventually making their way through the hedge maze of the gardens, the many corners of which were adorned with the occasional marble bust, bird bath, fountain, or fruit tree. At one point, they came upon a stretch of snapdragons and hollyhocks, where scores of butterflies wobbled in the warm air as they visited each flower. One came to rest upon Margaux’s finger, much to her delight, a yellow-winged creature with white freckles like pearls.
“I didn’t want to bring attention to it in front of the others, but you seem a bit ill. Something about your color, I think. I’m surprised Mamá didn’t take notice, but then Camilla didn’t give her much opportunity to, did she? Tell me, though, are you all right?”
He explained he’d only been losing a bit of sleep as of late, nothing to worry over.
She was content with the explanation for now. “Besides that, you’ve had to deal with Camilla all on your own.” She petted his arm, as if in consolation. “What are your thoughts on the Perreaults? Unlike Camilla, you can offer an unbiased opinion. Was I too quick to judge them?”
He mulled over this as they navigated their way out of the hedge maze. The final bust they passed bore a strong likeness to Monsieur Perreault, and momentarily, Noah wondered if the man hadn’t simply emerged from stone one day. Finally, he decided on the right words to Margaux’s inquiry. “They’re different.”
“I can’t imagine someone like Jeremie being born of such parentage. What a contrast. What did they think of Camilla?” He didn’t answer at once, and it was all she needed. “I thought as much. Don’t think ill of me, Noah, but now that I’ve met them, I’m surprised they sent word to us at all regarding the engagement party. I saw the way Madame Perreault looked at us, as if we were nothing more than inbred vermin. Why do they think so low of us? They know nothing about our family.”
The collar of Noah’s shirt felt tight, nearly choking him. He pulled at the material. He knew of a few feasible reasons why the Perreaults had despised his family at first sight, none of which he could so readily share. Not without incurring his family’s condemnation. Not without bringing reproach upon them. This wasn’t to say they were like the Perreaults. They weren’t. But they were a wholesome family, a family of good name, and nothing Noah said would make little of his transgressions.
How strange then that he found himself wanting to divulge everything to Margaux in that moment. Be it the agitation of his fears or the lunacy that often accompanied sleeplessness, the desire filled him more and more. It might help, he thought. It might alleviate the dread and misery consuming him. He’d confess to her, and she’d offer some sort of absolution to heal his soul. He’d have an ally then, one who’d come to his defense should she be required to, one who’d offer him counsel and comfort. They’d always been close. If he could tell anyone, it’d be her.
The fear ultimately restrained him. He feared what she might think of him. She wasn’t like most others, but that didn’t mean she might not be disgusted by his admission, that she wouldn’t find it vulgar, grotesque.
When they reached the front of the chateau, a black coach pulled by a pair of Boulonnais horses charged down the pathway toward them, its wheels whistling as they revolved. It came to a halt just before the chateau doors, at which point the coachman climbed down from his box seat to open the carriage’s door. One boot met the stone pathway, followed by another, and then the rest of Jeremie Perreault materialized.
“My, Jeremie looks so handsome today,” Margaux said. “A dashing gentleman through and through.”
Jeremie was adjusting his tailcoat when he spotted them. He paused briefly, as if unsure of his next move, but then he approached them, removing his top hat. “Margaux, hello. It’s wonderful to see you.” He bowed his head and she dropped into a quick curtsy, though not without a laugh, no doubt wondering why they weren’t dispensing with the formalities. “I see you and the others have safely arrived. I trust you’ve been met with the warmest hospitality?”
Margaux, not one to lie, only said, “I’m certainly enjoying my present company.” Then she looked past him as a second passenger emerged from the coach. He was a mammoth of a man, with cold, dark eyes, his face unsmiling. “Who’s that?”
“Only an employee of my father’s,” Jeremie replied without looking back. “He often accompanies my father by coach as a protective measure against highwaymen. He sees to other matters as well. My father refers to him as a handler of sorts.”
The ‘handler’, paying no heed to their conversation, pulled on the lapels of his coat for a better fit against his wide shoulders. When he did, Noah caught the slightest glimpse of a flintlock pistol at his belt.
“Well thank goodness he’s seen to your safe return home then.”
Jeremie smiled. His eyes switched to Noah with hesitancy, but whatever uneasiness he felt soon evaporated when he took in the sight of his friend. “Noah, are you unwell?”
“My poor brother claims to have lost sleep these past days,” Margaux supplied, and Noah wanted a wall to rise up between him and Jeremie then. How did his family manage to embarrass him with so little effort?
“I see,” Jeremie said, the calculations clear in his eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” To be fair, Noah had never heard anyone sound sorrier. “Is there anything I can do?” The words were many things at once. An apology, a plea, an invitation.
Noah shook his head dismissively. “I’m fine.” He immediately regretted the curtness of the words, the way they bit, their sharpness.
Jeremie flinched—almost imperceptibly but Noah caught it. He wanted to apologize but didn’t know what to say, and Jeremie soon composed himself anyway, nodding. “Of course. In that case, then, please don’t let me keep you. Enjoy the rest of your walk. Excuse me.”
Noah sentenced himself to another supper with the Perreaults that evening, mostly so that his mother wouldn’t create a ruckus over his absence and then later notice his paleness and the darkness under his eyes. By his estimates, if he could keep tonight’s portions down and quiet his mind enough to capture a few hours of repose, he could very well awaken tomorrow morning looking like his usual self. With this ambition at hand, he bid goodnight to his mother, father, and sisters at supper’s close while they prepared to make their way to the drawing room. His mother protested at first, and he could see the worry lines begin to mark her face, but Margaux thankfully came to his rescue, reminding their mother that Noah wasn’t accustomed to frequent social engagements such as he’d experienced during his stay with the Perreaults.
“Now that we’re here to shoulder the burden of these events, Noah can be spared from them until he’s regained his energy.”
Noah expressed fond gratitude with his eyes before making his retreat. He’d nearly cleared the corridor, his body already yearning for the tomb-like quiet of his room and the cold, satin bedding, when he came up short at a corner like an animal at the end of its leash. He turned and realized Jeremie had caught hold of his elbow.
“I must speak with you,” Jeremie insisted.
Noah tried to pull his arm away, heart somersaulting, and reminded Jeremie they’d already spoken.
“I count the matter unresolved.”
Noah nearly scoffed.
“Noah, please.”
“There’s nothing more to say.”
“There’s plenty.”
“Is there a problem?” Madame Perreault appeared suddenly then, materializing like a phantom. “Jeremie, join your dear fiancée’s side in the drawing room, won’t you? Your father means to offer his blessing. It’s bad form for you to be elsewhe
re during such a moment.”
Jeremie hesitated, the muscles in his jaw moving. He remained immobile, as fastened into place as the hedge maze busts upon their pillars.
“I won’t ask again, Jeremie.”
“Mother, please. I only mean to—”
She held up a hand to silence him. “Remember what’s at stake.”
A tense silence befell them.
It stretched for one moment, two, three.
Noah became so lightheaded, he thought he would faint right before them. He pressed a hand to the flocked wallpaper of the corridor, its textured ornamentation like wool.
Finally, Jeremie, with great reluctance, surrendered. The fight left his figure, and he deflated. He pulled away without another word and continued back to the drawing room.
It was only when his figure had disappeared around the far corner that Madame Perreault brought her venomous eyes to rest upon Noah. Camilla had been right. She was like a snake. “As for you, I’d like to address you in private, please.”
She showed him to a room furnished like the type of parlor in which one might hold significant business exchanges. Louis Seize armchairs with their oval backs, round-reeded legs, and Beauvais upholstery faced each other across a short table, and against a far wall stood a richly ornamented cylinder desk covered with intricate marquetry and topped by gilt-bronze candle stands. Its secret drawers no doubt contained any number of Monsieur Perreault’s professional documents.
He imagined the man sitting about the space with his business partners, their heads lost in a thick cloud of cigar smoke as they sold their souls for the right price. After closing the door behind Noah, Madame Perreault only strode a few steps into the room before turning to face him, as if he weren’t worthy enough to go further and of not enough consequence to be offered a seat.
“I won’t presume to know all there is to know about you,” she began. “Nevertheless, I recognize my son has taken to you for reasons I can’t begin to comprehend. I understood this to be the case from his very first letter from Avignon. Though he referred to you as a townsperson only assisting with the bookshop’s affairs, he erred in the regularity with which he mentioned you. I suppose he couldn’t help himself.