Past Lives

by Chartier, Shana

  With a voice like dark chocolate and eyes to match, Jacqueline’s escort was not to be believed. He stood tall, a glint of easy humor etched into his expression. His hair and eyes matched Jacqueline’s, and it took me just an instant to realize that he must be her brother. I can’t lie to you—my heart sighed in relief. I didn’t realize we were staring at one another until Jacqueline cleared her throat loudly and made her way over to the door.

  “J, may I please introduce you to my dear brother, Bastien. Bastien, Mlle J.” Bastien bowed to me and delicately grasped my small hand in his much larger one, pressing it to his mouth in a soft kiss. I could feel the heat of his lips through my thin gloves, my body reacting instantly to him. He looked up from his bow, his grin boyish. My heart began to flutter, and then I remembered myself.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, monsignor.”

  “Please, call me Bastien. Anyone who fights for my sister’s honor in the battlefield of ladies must be a friend of ours.”

  “Alright…Bastien,” I breathed. It sounded so risqué. I had never become so intimate with someone in such a short period of time. Somehow, with this family, it just came naturally. Bastien gallantly held out both his arms to us.

  “Well, ladies? I do believe we have some dancing and nonsense chatter to get to,” he said, smiling down at me as I took one arm and his sister took the other.

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, incredulous. We began our stroll to the Hall of Mirrors. Bastien continued on confidently.

  “My dear J, you can’t honestly believe that any conversation that happens at a ball is worth a pig’s fart!”

  My face blushed crimson. Such vulgarity! My instant attraction to Bastien began to wane as I realized he must come from some pretty low stock. I wondered what he had done to make it into the crowds of Versailles. My embarrassment did not deter him in any way.

  “Oh my dear Jacqueline! I have embarrassed our new friend. You must forgive me, J. I’m afraid we’re a family of truth and honor. It is something not easily found among the ranks of the aristocracy.”

  What a jerk! I found myself immediately on the defense.

  “And you think you are so much better? These are the people who keep France the best nation in the world. These are the people whose families have fought and died to ensure our way of life does not dissolve into nothingness.”

  He glanced down at me, appraising. I wanted to cower under his penetrating stare, like somehow he had me all figured out. It was so annoying; I wanted to slap him for his impertinence.

  “You think these are the ones who fought and died for France? My dear girl, you have been purposely kept from the world and what it truly is. I feel deeply for your ignorance.”

  This was too much. I ripped my hand from his elbow, though he simply stared at me with bored indifference. Whatever he might have thought of me at first glance had obviously changed within the span of a minute’s worth of conversation. This fueled my anger to a level I had not yet known existed.

  “You go too far, sir. I will not be insulted by a pauper’s son while his fat sister stands by and says nothing. I will make my way to the ballroom on my own, thank you very much!”

  I tried to push down the instant guilt at the look on Jacqueline’s face at my stinging comment. It was meant to hurt him as he hurt me. If it was the truth they wanted, calling me ignorant was a fair exchange for calling them inferior. It was what it was, and there would never be a way to change that. Things would be as they had always been, and I would marry a handsome, wealthy man who was of my own caliber.

  Of course anyone who knows their history knows that I was very, very wrong. Still, as I finally reached the crowded ballroom, I realized that we had dallied too long. The king and queen sat on their thrones, observing everyone beneath them. I stared at Marie Antoinette, who was more beautiful and more regal than even I could have imagined. To approach her directly risked death. I would have to find a way…

  The ballroom itself was decorated with a thousand candles, casting a warm glow over the dancing partners. The floor was shiny enough to reflect the candlelight, giving the illusion that we were dancing in a cloud. The walls were a splash of exquisite gold, and everyone delighted in casting a glance at themselves in every mirror they passed.

  “J!” My darling friend!” I was relieved to see the outstretched hands of Giselle. I kissed her cheeks warmly, grateful for a face I could trust.

  “I can’t tell you how grand it is to see you! How long have you been here?” I asked eagerly. Her eyes danced, her excitement at being in the Hall of Mirrors resonating through her entire being. I loved that about Giselle—the way she could exude complete happiness and spread it like wildfire. Unfortunately Giselle had an addiction to drink, and this version of her would soon wilt into the sloppy mess that kept her family at risk. Giselle was a drunk, and everyone knew it.

  “I arrived just in time to prepare for the ball—oh I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking for you! What kept you?”

  I curled my face into my best sneer as I recounted the obnoxious opinion of Bastien the bastard, and she gasped in appropriate horror.

  “What a beast! You know I hear the only reason his family is here is because his father performed some great military act. That’s how they got promoted to an aristocratic rank.”

  “It would make sense,” I said, derisively. “The man is a complete and total…”

  “Dreamboat?” his voice came from behind me. Giselle stared up at him in complete mortification, her mouth hanging open like a dead fish. Slowly I turned to face him, angry that I had to tilt my neck to reach his eyes. He gave another polite little bow.

  “I believe I have given quite a poor impression of myself. I was hoping you would allow me to remedy that while we dance?”

  I stared him down, trying to discern the joke he was planning. Once again, the plain brown of his eyes gave out nothing but earnest desire. He truly looked as though he wanted to be forgiven. I set my mouth in a thin line to show my disapproval, but my upbringing would not allow me to refuse him.

  “I will allow you the chance to explain yourself, as is right,” I said stiffly. Unaffected by this, Bastien held out his hand for me to grasp, and I complied. His touch warmed me, sending coils of energy through my fingertips and up my arm. As we set ourselves up to dance, he smiled at me broadly. Begrudgingly, I returned his smile, concerned at the twinkling in my stomach. Each time we embraced between steps I felt myself gasping in delight, though I knew I should have seen a commoner when I looked at Bastien. His clothes were still fashionable, even if his heels were a bit too short and his shirt a tad too baggy.

  “I dress for comfort,” he shrugged, noticing my perusal of his clothing. For the second time that night, my face turned crimson. Then, to my surprise, he laughed.

  “I can tell my honesty makes you uncomfortable, and I am sorry for that. I am not, however, sorry for the color it stains your cheeks,” he said, running the back of his fingers like a whisper across my face. His daring came to me as a challenge, and I wanted him to know that I was no nanny goat. I could play at his game.

  “If you dislike this arena so heavily, I wonder why you bother to spend any time here at all. I’m sure there are plenty of places filled with the character traits you seem to desire.” He quirked a brow at this.

  “You are right, of course. This is a vapid world full of out of touch morons. I fear the rug will be swept right out from under them, and they won’t even see it coming,” he said, his eyes distant. I was too scared to ask what he might mean. I didn’t want to believe that whatever he was talking about could be true. He returned his attention to me as though coming out of a trance.

  “I stay here because Jacqueline has it in her head that this is where you go to belong. I’ve tried again and again to convince her that she is being a fool, yet here we are—even after today, when she thought she had finally found a friend,” he finished, his accusation plain. I glanced down at my toes, skilled enough to kee
p moving through the dance.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  “What?” he asked, though he had clearly heard.

  “I’m sorry,” I said more loudly, glaring at his amused expression.

  “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to hear that, but it certainly helps,” he said flippantly, twirling me around and making my head spin. I had never been questioned by anyone, ever, in my entire life. For some reason, when Bastien did it I found that I hated and loved it at the same time…which confused the dickens out of me.

  “You don’t have to be like them, J. We all have a choice in who we wish to be…being accepted by these people is not the pinnacle of existence,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his velvety voice. I raised my chin.

  “I am already well accepted by every member of this room, sir. You know my family crest.”

  His expression turned painfully blank, and I found myself regretting my display of pride…something I had never once had cause to regret before.

  “Indeed I do,” he said, silently finishing the rest of the dance before bowing once more and depositing me back by Giselle, who was drinking her third glass of champagne. He kissed my hand one last time, and I realized then just how hot the room had become. Before he could finally walk away I couldn’t help but call out.

  “Monseigneur!” he turned and waited. I plowed on before I lost my nerve. “Your lessons in morality are most fascinating. Perhaps you could grant me another session some other time.”

  He smiled, his mirth radiating from his eyes. Still, it was only a smirk—a half promise in the making.

  “Apologize to my sister. Then I shall consider another lesson.”

  And with that, he was gone through the throng. Giselle hiccupped.

  “He may be low class, but he is handsome. Too bad you could never be with him.”

  I found my eyes fixed on the part of the crowd he had just vacated, my mind suddenly a blur.

  Yes…it was too bad indeed.

  Chapter Three

  A Lesson in Character

  French dances tended to go all night long, so my experience with the elusive and mysterious Bastien had to be banished quickly from my mind as many more partners began to swarm my list. Most of them were painted dandies, their faces pale and high heels clicking. That this was the pinnacle of beauty had always astounded me, even more so knowing that the fashion would transfer from men to women like a secondhand cloak. Of course, none of them were really worth my time. To my father’s chagrin, I was determined to be picky about my suitors, though the older I got my approach became less determination and a little more desperation. To find someone in your class when you are literally the oldest and most respected family in France (at least, that was our opinion) was exceedingly difficult.

  One portly marquis in particular kept sneaking his way onto my dance card. In between my other dances, I noticed him drinking more and more. He probably would have been better suited to Giselle. Finally, towards the end of the night, it was everything I could do to keep him from crushing my aching feet, and I finally had to shove him into a chair to get him to leave me alone. I caught Jacqueline’s eye nearby and waved her over, giving my best apology for my previous insult.

  “You think being called fat is the worst I’ve had to deal with here?” she laughed. I could tell by the glittery look in her eyes that she wasn’t entirely sober either. Either way, I was glad the liquid gave her the will to forgive me freely and without consequence. We chatted amiably about nothing in particular until I couldn’t keep my yawns more than a few minutes apart.

  “Go to bed, J. Your makeup looks satanic,” Jacqueline laughed. I stuck my tongue out at her…a frightfully childish thing to do, but it was refreshing to know that she wouldn’t judge me. Instead, she giggled and stuck her tongue out right back at me, throwing us into peals of champagne-induced laughter. Wiping a tear from my eye and seeing the gob of paint that now stained my glove, I pressed myself out of a chair and waved goodnight.

  I ran one hand along the painted wall for support down a corridor, unsure whether it would lead to my room or not. Exhaustion plus alcohol led me to a clouded place, where down was up and left was right. Who wouldn’t get lost in that bloody labyrinth? I caught my foot on the hall carpet and stumbled forward, throwing my hands out to break my fall and collapsing into a heap on the ground. I instantly cursed at just how difficult it would be to get back up again in my dress when a pair of meaty hands wrapped around my middle, causing the whale bone of my corset to dig deep into my belly, making me gasp.

  The world spun as the hands turned me around, where I was faced with the drunk marquis. I registered slowly how strong his grip was around my waist before his rotten, distilled breath blew right into my face. I recoiled, but was held firm.

  “Well, if it isn’t the picky little countess,” he breathed, leaning in and kissing my amply exposed neck. A shiver of distaste ran down my spine.

  “You will unhand me now and allow me to resume passage back to my room,” I demanded in my most entitled tone. Oddly, this had no effect. His lips began to sink lower towards my breasts.

  “No, I don’t think I will,” he mumbled as his lips trailed down further, his disgusting hands holding me firmly in place. I began to squirm, but my corset only dug deeper into my ribs, rendering me helpless.

  “Don’t fight it, mademoiselle. I know this is what you really want.” He shifted his hand upward so that my left breast was trapped between his head and his hand. Panic began to rise from my clenched stomach, bile forming in my throat as the champagne began to protest at being squeezed too tightly in my belly.

  “Please, let me go!” I cried, my voice rising an octave before his other hand closed over my mouth and he backed me against the wall. His eyes were lustful and full of malice, like he wanted to teach me a lesson. His hand tasted like salt and sweat, its texture sticky and moist as a slug. I did the only thing I could think of and bit down as hard as I could. His hand flew back before rising above me to deliver a blow. I closed my eyes in anticipation, lowering my head to soften the blow.

  With my eyes closed tightly, I didn’t see right away who grabbed the meaty arm and flung the marquis backwards against the other wall. The fresh rush of free air was enough to pry open my eyes, where the sight before me caused me to lose feeling in my legs.

  Bastien easily wrapped the man’s arm around his back and forced him to the floor in agony. The hallway was small enough that I could hear every word he said.

  “Now if only your father had taught you how to treat a woman, we wouldn’t be here right now, eh monsieur?” Bastien asked, his voice laden with repressed anger. To show this, he pulled harder on the marquis’ arm, causing him to cry out a mumbled response. Pulling tighter, Bastien refused to let loose.

  “I’m so sorry, monsieur, but you’re going to have to speak up so my lady can hear you.”

  “I said it won’t happen again,” the man blurted, his face a violent shade of puce. I was afraid he would lose his lunch right there on the king’s carpet. Bastien was unaffected by this, in a way that was terrifying and alluring all at once.

  “I certainly hope not…for your sake,” he said coldly, releasing the imprisoned arm and stepping back as the marquis rose clumsily and stomped away, attempting and failing to maintain any form of dignity as he rubbed his injured arm. Bastien stared after him, his shoulders hunched like a tiger ready to pounce, until the marquis disappeared. Then, releasing the stress from his body, he turned to me and knelt down delicately by my side.

  “And you, little countess? Are you alright?” I shivered at his use of the term my attacker had just used. Then I began to cry. Still kneeling, Bastien pulled a kerchief from his pocket and handed it to me, watching as I dabbed daintily at the corners of my eyes and nose. After a moment, I grew uncomfortable at the way he was staring at me, and I reached for any conversation piece I could think of.

  “How did you learn to apprehend a man like that?” I asked. “It�
�s hardly respectable,” I added, wincing at how rude I could be. I could have been ruined by the whims of a drunk if it wasn’t for the man before me, and yet my defenses still told me to push him away. If I liked him too much, it would be too painful when we could never marry. He had to know that, in spite of his advances. Instead of answering my question, he began to lightly probe my face where the marquis had pressed his hand.

  “You have a small bruise growing on your cheek,” he said softly. “I’ve never seen such delicate skin.”

  I quickly pulled his hands from my face and held them firmly down. This forced him to finally pay attention to me, and not my potential injuries. He sighed.

  “My family is military, remember? I’m a trained soldier.”

  “That can hardly be true, considering that you attend the king’s ball as a member of the elite,” I said. Why was I being such a jerk? For some reason, this made him smirk, which made his ridiculously handsome dimple display all its glory. I fought down the urge to rub my thumb against it and see just how delicate his skin was. He shrugged before standing.

  “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

  I stared up at him, unsure whether my legs and weary feet would allow me to rise. When he realized my predicament, he held out his hand for me to grasp. As I reached out to him, I felt the piercing sting of whalebone sticking into my rib. The marquis’ violence had displaced it, causing unbearable pain.

  “What is it?” Bastien asked, concerned. I was too mortified to tell him, but my posture seemed to give me away.

  “Corset loose?” He asked, as though we were discussing the weather. I stared at him, helpless, unable to actually say the words to a man, let alone a near stranger. Ever the surprise, Bastien bent down and gently lifted me into his arms.

  “What are you doing?!” I demanded, secretly thrilled at the sensation. Our faces were closer than ever.

  “Rescuing a damsel in distress. In fact, that’s what I’ve been doing the whole time, if you haven’t noticed. You’re really not that obtuse, are you J?”