“You mentioned a sister,” he said.
“Yes,” Korbinian said, “my sister Ilse. She is unmarried, but she entertains suitors from the finest families in Europe.”
“Is she your elder or younger?”
“She is my twin, sir,” Korbinian replied.
William nodded but said nothing, considering various points in his head. At length he spoke again:
“Baron von Fuchsburg, you have impressed me today. But you must understand that I cannot give consent for my granddaughter to marry a man that she scarcely knows.”
“Then give me leave to court her,” Korbinian said. “I beg you, sir. My mind is like fire since I met her. My thoughts are aflame. I think of nothing but her.”
“Wait a week’s time,” William said, “and see how hotly your thoughts burn then. Better still, a month.”
“This is not mere desire, sir!” Korbinian cried. “You may doubt me sir, but I am driven by love, not by some base fantasy!”
William recognized the passion in Korbinian’s eyes and voice. At the very least, the boy thought he was sincere in his emotions.
“You have lodgings in the village?” William asked.
“I do,” Korbinian said. “And in Paris. I was meant to spend the spring there, meeting eligible young women. Now I wish for none of them but your granddaughter.”
“Remain in the village,” William said. “Wait for my reply.”
“I would wait an eternity, so long as it may lead to my seeing her again,” Korbinian said.
William looked at him and nodded.
“I do believe you would,” he said. “Thankfully for the both of us, my answer will not be an eternity in coming.”
Babette’s future did not have the time for eternities.
* * * *
“No! Absolutely not! I forbid it!”
James’s cries assailed William’s ears like the protestations of a small child in want of a toy.
“James,” William said, smiling at his son in his best patriarchal manner, “how can you say such a thing? You ‘forbid it.’ What nonsense. Surely you are as concerned for Babette’s education as I am.”
“No, no, no,” James continued, for once in his life talking over his father’s voice. “I will not allow this! The social season is about to begin! Babette must be in Paris!”
They stood in the downstairs library, William freshly returned from his walk. James wore an informal day suit and a velvet robe de chambre, as he always did the day following a gathering.
William folded his hands and looked at his son sternly.
“James,” he said, “stop this foolishness at once.”
“Foolishness?” James cried, turning pale. “I seek to defend my daughter’s happiness against this madcap scheme of yours, and you call it foolishness?”
“Babette has a restless mind,” William said. “This has become quite clear to me. She is tossed about by the mad currents of intellect, swept from one new idea to the next.”
“All the more reason for her to be married! Why, her mother—”
“Babette is nothing like her mother, James,” William said flatly. “She will not be content with dresses and bows, Society and gossip! She delights in the intellect. If she is to have a contented home life, she must either be paired with a husband of intellect who is willing to indulge her, or she must be taught how to indulge the needs of her own keen mind without failing in her duties as a wife and a woman of means.”
James turned to walk away, then turned back toward William. He spun about in place a few times in this manner, cutting a ludicrous figure as he did so.
“This is all so incredible!” he cried. “I cannot believe this! Babette is no philosophe, Father. She wants what all young women want.”
“And what is that?” William demanded. “Marriage? Children? Parties, dresses, and miniature dogs?” He grabbed James by the arm and shook him, not violently but firmly enough to capture his son’s attention. “No James, she does not. Your daughter would like nothing more than to live the life of a monk: spiritual, contemplative, and chaste. Childless,” he added, putting great emphasis on the word.
James sank into a nearby chair as if he had been struck down.
“Oh God…” he moaned. “You’re right, of course, Father. Where did we go wrong? If only her mother were here.…”
William rather suspected that Babette’s mother would only have made things worse. He could scarcely imagine the horror of her and James both fussing Babette to death. It was the sort of thing that drove sane people to suicide or murder.
“Forget her mother, James,” William said. “It is up to us to manage this. The only solution is to teach Babette how to compromise between her love of intellect and her duties as a woman. By the grace of God, I have realized this now and not later. Babette is still young. She is sixteen. A year’s delay in her courtship will make no great difference.”
“A year?”
“A year,” William repeated. “A year for her to be tutored in science, art, and philosophy. A year for her to prove that she can still maintain her place in Society in spite of her studies.”
“Studies?” James cried. “You make it sound like she is to be sent to a university!”
Yes, William thought, what a horror that would be.
“I think this is all a dreadful mistake,” James said. “We should be restraining Babette, punishing her for these foolish lapses, not indulging them! What will the neighbors say?”
“If all goes according to plan, they shall have nothing to comment on,” William said. “Whereas, if we do nothing and simply ignore the problem, the neighbors—indeed, all of France—will have a great deal to speak of.”
“But we leave for Paris at the end of the week!”
“Indeed we do,” William said. “Babette will be introduced into Society. She will be presented to the Emperor and Empress. She will attend the major balls and functions this year. But in between, we will retire to this house where she will be allowed to indulge her intellect. I have even selected a tutor for her.”
“But—”
William grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook him.
“James, don’t you see? If we do nothing, Babette’s own natural instincts will lead her into scandal! Already she ignores protocol, she dismisses social position, she despises fashion, and she is given to wandering off to the library when guests are present! Do you think she will stop all that once she is married?”
James looked down at his hands. After a long while, he finally murmured, “No.…”
“There is but one solution, James,” William said. “The one that I have proposed. You know as well as I that it is the only means of preventing an eventual scandal.”
“But what of Paris?” James asked. “How can we hope to meet all of our social requirements while remaining here in the country?”
“James, my boy,” William said, “all things are possible in this modern age.”
“I’m not riding on one of those railroad machines!”
“Of course not,” William said, smiling.
“And we will attend all of the season’s social functions?” James asked.
“All the important ones, yes,” William said. The list was very short in his estimation.
James looked away, his expression conveying his many doubts and great uncertainty.
“What of this tutor?” he asked.
“Most suitable,” William said. “Most suitable.”
“But will Babette like him?” James asked. “You remember the disaster with Monsieur Laurant…?”
“I have interviewed him myself,” William said. “I have every confidence that the two of them will get on wonderfully.”
Chapter Five
Paris, France
The next few days were a confused blur for Babette as she was bustled about by Father, driven mad by the fussing of servants packing—including a trunk full of new gowns that she had no interest in wearing—and finally compounded into delirium by the hurr
ied journey south to Paris.
Their rooms in the capital were spacious and charming, but Babette had scarcely enough time to familiarize herself with the surroundings before she was again uprooted, pulled out to visit jewelers and dressmakers for even more adornments—“for later in the season,” Father had said. She soon found herself forced into the company of French society and her fellow debutantes, people she had no inclination to like.
She was presented to the Emperor and Empress along with the other girls, a process that somehow managed to be both tedious and brief. The days that followed were filled with balls and luncheons, fine dinners and quiet salons. Day and night it was an unending chorus of music and trite conversation. There were no books.
It was unbearable.
* * * *
It was nearly two weeks before Babette saw Korbinian again. By that time, she had lost all thought of when she might encounter him next, though he had never left her mind. Far from it: she could scarcely think of anything else as the tedium of high society surrounded her, slowly choking away her will to live. She had not seen him in Paris since their arrival, not once. By the end of the second week, she had all but given up hope.
Which is why, when she saw him at Madame de Saint-Étienne’s soiree at the end of the second week, she nearly dropped her glass. For a moment she could not believe her eyes, and she stood there, amid the other guests, and stared across the well-appointed chamber. Was she mad? Was he a figment of her imagination?
But no, as she blinked several times, she realized that her eyes did not deceive her. There stood Korbinian just as she remembered him, clothed in black and scarlet and smiling at a joke only he understood. He met her eyes from across the room and slowly bowed his head. Babette felt the corner of her mouth curl up into a smirk and she nodded slightly.
The cunning devil. He had come there unannounced to surprise her! She was certain of it! But how had he known? Someone must have told him.…
She closed her eyes as her mind began to whirl out of control. That was nonsense, of course. No one in Society would miss the chance to be entertained by Madame de Saint-Étienne. Her soirees were almost as official as the presentation to the Empress Eugénie. The social season was not complete without them, informal as they were. Of course Korbinian had guessed she would be there.
Babette took a sip of her wine to settle her nerves. The sight of Korbinian in all his foreign elegance was enough to make her head spin. It would not do to make a fool of herself in front of him. Or in front of the rest of Parisian society…she supposed.
She traded looks with Korbinian across the room for a few minutes, the two of them smiling at their secret communication, of which—she was certain—the rest of the company was wholly ignorant.
She was interrupted as the opulence of Madame de Saint-Étienne appeared from the crowd, dressed in a glittering gown of magnificent proportions, and rushed forward to envelope her with hospitality.
“My dear Mademoiselle Varanus,” said Madame de Saint-Étienne, taking Babette’s hands for a moment and giving her a warm smile. “How are you?”
“Well, Madame,” Babette said.
“I am most pleased that you are here,” Madame de Saint-Étienne continued, saying the same thing that she had said to every other guest over the course of the evening. Still, it was a pleasant thing to hear. At least Madame de Saint-Étienne had a spirit to her. There was more substance to her than her baubles and frills, at least if Grandfather was to be believed.
“Your father has been looking for you,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “Playing the dutiful chaperone of course, as he always does.”
“Yes, I fear we were separated by the crowd,” Babette said. “I simply couldn’t find him again, so I thought to wait here until he found me.”
“Of course you did,” Madame de Saint-Étienne said, smiling.
Babette smiled back politely and flicked her eyes in Korbinian’s direction, wondering how to engineer a meeting with him among the throng. Their dance at Grandfather’s ball had been daring enough. If she approached him here, there would be no end of unwanted gossip. That would make Father fuss more, and that would be insufferable.
But Korbinian was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Babette felt a twinge of irritation. How dare he disappear before she had deduced a terribly clever way of speaking to him!
She looked back at Madame de Saint-Étienne and nearly cried out in surprise. Korbinian stood a few paces away, carefully maneuvering himself in the direction of Madame de Saint-Étienne’s elbow.
The clever scoundrel! Clearly he meant to draw the lady’s attention and inspire her to introduce them.
As expected, Madame de Saint-Étienne chanced a look in Korbinian’s direction and gave a cry of delight.
“My dear Baron von Fuschburg!” she exclaimed. “So delightful that you could attend. How is your father?”
“Dead,” Korbinian replied.
“Oh, what a dreadful thing,” Madame de Saint-Étienne said. “Your mother?”
“In Asia.”
“Oh, the poor dear! Grief does such peculiar things to a person. And yourself?”
“I am neither dead nor in Asia,” Korbinian said.
Babette hid a titter of laughter behind her hand.
Without pause, Madame de Saint-Étienne turned to her. “My dear, have you met the Baron von Fuchsburg?”
“No, I—” Babette began.
“Yes,” Korbinian said quickly, “at Monsieur William Varanus’s ball a fortnight ago.” He turned to Babette and added, “You recall, Mademoiselle, your grandfather introduced us.”
Clever scoundrel indeed.…
“Yes, of course,” Babette said demurely. “What a pleasure, Baron. Have you been in Paris long?”
“Only the week,” Korbinian said.
“How odd. I am certain I did not see you at any of the social events until now.”
“No,” Korbinian said, “I fear that I was otherwise engaged until tonight. But I am pleased to have completed my business. I am now entirely at your service…Madame de Saint-Étienne,” he added slyly, turning toward the lady to give the impression that it was she he intended to charm.
Madame de Saint-Étienne smiled at him, then at Babette, and said, “Mademoiselle Varanus, I think I shall go and find your father. He is surely wondering where you are. I am certain you and the Baron can look after one another for a few moments.”
“Of course, Madame,” Babette said. “Merci.”
“Madame, a pleasure,” Korbinian said, bowing.
Madame de Saint-Étienne looked at them carefully for a moment, as if to say “behave”. Then she spun about and set off through the crowd, cooing in delight at each guest she encountered. It would take her at least a few minutes to find Father, Babette noted.
Good.
“What brings you to Paris, Baron?” Babette asked coyly.
“Why does anyone come to Paris?” Korbinian asked.
“For the culture?”
“To find a wife,” Korbinian said.
“A noble aspiration,” Babette said. “Every young man should find a wife. It provides a certain stability in his life.”
“And do you have a great deal of experience in that regard?” Korbinian asked.
“None at all. My mind is unclouded by the frivolities of such an experience.”
They shared a quiet smile at this.
“Really, why did you come?” Babette asked softly.
“To see you, of course,” Korbinian said. “Why did you need to ask such a thing?”
“You ought not to speak that way,” Babette said, though she was rather pleased that he did.
“Why would you believe me to be a man who does what he ought to do?” Korbinian asked, laughing softly.
“Less belief, Baron, than hope,” Babette said. “One hopes that a man such as yourself does what he ought to do.”
“Such as?” Korbinian asked.
“To marry, for exa
mple,” Babette said. “You have come to Paris to find a wife. A man such as you ought to find one.”
“Perhaps I already have,” Korbinian said.
“That would be presumptuous of you,” Babette said. “Why, you have been in Paris for less than two weeks. That is insufficient time to find a wife. A proper one at least.”
“What makes a proper wife?” Korbinian asked, his eyes twinkling.
Babette thought for a short while and replied, “The ability to stand upright and to communicate by means of language.”
“What a curious outlook you have,” Korbinian said. “That would seem to be the most fundamental criteria for a human being.”
“Clearly you have not been in Society long, nor have you any familiarity with politics.”
Babette looked at Korbinian, challenging him to dispute the point with her. Korbinian merely cocked his head at her, working to hide his smile. It would not do to be seen as cheerful in public, Babette reasoned. People might talk.
“I concern myself merely with matters of war…and love,” Korbinian said. “Politics and Society are terribly boring to me.”
Babette looked into Korbinian’s eyes and asked, “War and love? Are the two often in one another’s company?”
“Why, they are almost the same thing!” Korbinian replied.
“I do not think,” a familiar voice said from over Babette’s shoulder, “that war is a suitable topic for a young woman.”
Alfonse!
For a moment Babette’s expression was clouded with fury and frustration. She quickly calmed herself and turned around, putting on her best polite smile. There stood Alfonse, resplendent as ever, towering over her like a cockerel come to claim mastery over one of his hens.
“Ah, Captain des Louveteaux,” Babette said, “a pleasure as always.”
“Yes,” Alfonse said, “a pleasure Mademoiselle Varanus.”
He did not sound very convinced of it himself. Why the devil did he have to keep bothering her when his heart was clearly for another? Everything about his manner announced that he despised her, and yet here he was, again, trying to assert his claim on her.
“I do not agree,” Korbinian said.
Alfonse snapped his head around and looked at Korbinian.
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