“I am pleased to say that after months of courtship, the Baron von Fuchsburg has asked for Babette’s hand in marriage. She has accepted, and both her father and I have granted our blessing on the union.”
There were whispers from the crowd, a few gasps of shock, and the odd disapproving murmur, but to William’s pleasure, most of the guests smiled with genuine delight at Babette’s good fortune.
Nothing like a fairytale to distract the simple-minded, William thought.
“And so,” he said, motioning to Babette and Korbinian, “I give to you Mademoiselle Babette Varanus and Baron Korbinian von Fuchsburg. Let it be known by all that they are officially affianced. And it has been decided that their marriage shall take place one year hence on the first day of summer.”
William raised his glass in triumph. As he did so, he made a point to catch the eye of Louis des Louveteaux, who could not quite conceal his fury behind an expression of aristocratic serenity.
“To Mademoiselle Varanus and the Baron von Fuchsburg!” William exclaimed, uttering a chorus that was repeated joyfully by the crowd:
“Mademoiselle Varanus and the Baron von Fuchsburg!”
* * * *
William waited for the guests to resume their revels before descending from his pulpit. He made his way through the crowd, smiling politely at the words of congratulations that greeted him at every turn. He saw Louis and Alfonse des Louveteaux standing together. Louis looked furious, which William took as no surprise. Alfonse had the shamed expression of a dog that had just been berated for losing scent of the game. It made William smile.
“Count des Louveteaux,” William said, approaching, “I am so pleased that you could attend. And the good Captain as well.”
Louis forced a smile with gritted teeth.
“What a notion,” he said. “How could I possibly miss the brightest light of winter? And with this most recent revelation of yours, it seems that congratulations are in order.”
“Indeed,” Alfonse said. He lowered his voice and added, “It seems the runt has found someone foolish enough to take her.”
“I will thank you not to speak so of my flesh and blood, child,” William said softly, his smile never wavering. “Why don’t you go and bugger your cousin in the rose bushes?”
He spoke softly so that only Alfonse and Louis could hear him. More loudly, he added:
“I am so very pleased that you can bear witness to this happy occasion. You are, after all, my closest and dearest neighbors.”
“Yes,” Louis agreed. “Such a pity your granddaughter did not choose to join herself with my son. We could have combined our estates.”
“Alas,” William said. “What might have been.”
“If you gentlemen will excuse me…” Alfonse said brusquely. He bowed, turned sharply, and walked away.
“Ah, youth,” William said. “Still, all’s well that ends well.”
Louis grimaced and said, “I do not know what you mean.”
“Nonsense. The matter is concluded, surely you see that. The will of the elders has been fulfilled.”
“Your granddaughter is not married yet,” Louis said, “nor has the union borne fruit. The will of the elders remains unfinished.”
William eyed Louis suspiciously.
“Surely the matter is inevitable,” he said carefully. “And I will remind you what will happen if you attempt to interfere.”
Louis held up his hands.
“Nothing of the sort. I am merely reminding you that nothing in life is certain. After all, the Baron is a hussar. They are notoriously unpredictable.”
“Do not test me, Louis,” William said.
“William,” Louis said, smiling, “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. Whatever will be, will be.”
There was something in the way Louis said it that made the hairs on the back of William’s neck stand on end.
* * * *
Babette stood with Korbinian near the windows, fanning herself and smiling politely as each and every one of the guests came forward to offer their congratulations. If not for Korbinian’s reassuring presence at her side, she would surely have screamed. It was bad enough to be ignored by the majority of Society for most of her life. To suddenly have those same people feign joy at her happiness simply to please her grandfather was an insult beyond toleration.
Finally, the last of the well-wishers finished delivering their mouthful of fawning praise and faded back into the crowd.
“Thank God that is over and done with,” Babette said.
Korbinian smiled and raised her hand to his lips.
“Patience, liebchen,” he murmured. “Soon it will be over, and we will be free to return to more important pursuits.”
“Of course,” Babette said. “Soon.”
She was impatient and disappointed, but nothing could be done. They could not leave without attracting attention—especially now that they had been made the centerpiece of the evening. Babette wanted nothing more than to be held in Korbinian’s arms, murmuring words of affection and delight. Instead, she had the French aristocracy standing between her and doing deplorable things to the man she loved.
Society truly was a bore.
Suddenly, a familiar smell assaulted her nose: the stench of perfume and horse.
Alfonse. She knew it was he even before she saw his towering figure moving through the crowd in their direction. Babette felt Korbinian move closer to her. He placed one hand against the small of her back as if to assure her that he was there, and he took a half step forward.
Ever the gallant knight, Babette thought. She had no need of knights, but it was a touching sentiment all the same. She had saved him from one monstrous beast. Now he would do likewise for her.
Whatever his intentions, Alfonse approached with a smile.
“Bonsoir, Baron, Mademoiselle Varanus,” he said, his voice betraying only a hint of animosity.
“Yourself as well, Captain,” Korbinian said.
“Indeed, Captain,” Babette said, smiling as sweetly as she could, “it is a delight to have you at my family’s soiree.”
“I understand that congratulations are in order,” Alfonse said.
There was something in the way he spoke that made Babette shiver with distain. Though Alfonse made a great show of politeness in his manner and words, something in his tone, in the meaning behind the statement, was extremely offensive.
“Thank you, Captain,” Babette said. “How kind of you to say. Indeed, tonight is a night for celebration.”
“And I see that the Baron is recovered from his injuries,” Alfonse said. “I had heard rumors of an animal attack.”
Babette slowly raised one eyebrow. How did he know about that? Grandfather had taken countless precautions to conceal that information.
“Fully recovered,” Korbinian said. “I have suffered far worse on the battlefield. A wild animal is nothing to me.”
“Bon.” Alfonse smiled. “I am pleased that you are well. You see, I had thought of a little amusement that you and I could perform for the guests tonight.”
“An amusement?” Babette and Korbinian asked in almost perfect unison.
“Yes, a fencing bout. A display of swordsmanship to delight all in attendance.” Alfonse tapped his chest with his hand and then motioned to Korbinian. “You and I are both cavalrymen, trained in combat. I think it would be just the thing to celebrate your engagement.”
“Go on…” Korbinian said skeptically.
“Just imagine, a good-natured duel between two rivals for the hand of a beautiful woman.” Alfonse bowed his head to Babette. “I think it will be the perfect demonstration that there is no ill will between us. Don’t you agree?”
Korbinian hesitated for a short while and exchanged looks with Babette. Finally, he looked back at Alfonse.
“Very well,” he said. “Yes, I will do it. It sounds like good fun. When is it to be?”
“Tonight,” Alfonse said, “in an hour or two. Before midnight, of course.”
“Good,” Korbinian said. “It would be wrong to make a display of violence on the day of Christ’s birth.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it?” Alfonse did not sound particularly sincere.
“And the weapons?” Korbinian patted his waist. “I seem to have left my foil in Fuchsburg.”
“We will borrow the blades from Monsieur Varanus, or failing that, a servant can bring them from my family’s estate. Had we known about the engagement before tonight, the bout could have been planned more efficiently, but we shall make due.”
“Has my grandfather agreed to this?” Babette asked.
It sounded quite unlikely.
Alfonse gave a toothy smile and said, “But of course.”
* * * *
“Out of the question,” William said. “A duel? Tonight, in the midst of the ball? Nonsense, utter nonsense.”
“But William—” Louis began.
“No,” William said, “I will not hear of it. I say again, nonsense.”
Louis spread his hands and smiled. William found the manner of the smile most displeasing.
“William,” Louis said, “consider this a final resolution between our two families. I would like proof that the boy is a worthy match. If he performs well in combat against Alfonse, I will deem it so.”
“And?” William asked.
“And I will withdraw my suit,” Louis said. “I will announce before the elders and our whole assembly that I have reconsidered my position and that I see no reason to interfere with your family’s affairs.”
Is that so? William wondered. How difficult it was to accept Louis’s words with any confidence. Still, what was the alternative?
“And if I refuse?”
“Then it will be war between us,” Louis said. After a moment he laughed and slapped William on the shoulder. “No, no, I jest! But truthfully, William, this is the one chance your young baron has to prove that he is a worthy substitute for a Scion. Too long have we been at odds. Let us set aside this animosity for the sake of our families and our race.”
“I am disinclined to agree, Louis,” William said, “especially in light of recent events. Need I remind you of your lapdog’s trespass against my rights of territory?”
Louis laughed again and shook his head.
“No, William, no,” he said, “that will not do at all. You see, I have spoken to my cousins. They are united in their support of my family. If this conflict continues between us, I cannot say with any certainty what might happen.”
Of course not, William thought. You conniving fiend, what is your game?
“So this is our one chance to make peace?” he asked. “Our one chance to avert war?”
“To avert a war that has been long in coming, William,” Louis said. “You cannot deny this.”
“Perhaps.” William considered his options. “If I agree to this, you will leave my family in peace?”
“I will consider all current disputes between us settled,” Louis replied. “If some other point of conflict should arise in the future—which I truly hope it will not—we shall attend to it then. But your granddaughter? Her marriage? Settled, once and for all.”
William took a deep breath and nodded, reluctantly. Peace with the Scions of France was something he desperately needed at such a time. He could not afford to war against his own kind, least of all when they were many and organized.
“Very well,” he said. “One match.”
“Bon,” Louis said, smiling. “Your guests will enjoy it, I assure you.”
Chapter Eleven
Korbinian tested the weight of his sword. A little heavy in the hilt, but he could manage. The real trick would be adjusting to a thrusting blade once more. He had practiced only sabre since the war in Italy two years ago. Foil was useless on horseback.
“It is good,” he said.
“As is mine,” Alfonse said as he held his own blade up to the light to inspect it.
“I see that they are edged and tipped.”
Alfonse laughed and asked, “What of it? Do you fear to be cut?”
“No,” Korbinian said, laughing. “But I would be loath to draw your blood in the presence of all these fine folk.”
Alfonse snorted but said no more.
Korbinian removed his dolman and handed it to one of the servants. Both he and Alfonse were to fight in shirt sleeves, which would, no doubt, properly delight and sensationalize the audience.
He felt Babette take his hand in both of hers. He looked at her and smiled. She was so very beautiful. He could scarcely count the days until they were married and finally joined for all eternity.
“Yes, liebchen?” he asked, raising her hands to his lips.
“Be careful my love,” Babette said. “Alfonse is a strong swordsman.”
Korbinian laughed. What a silly thing to say. And how unlike her to show fear.
“I also am skilled with the blade,” he said. “And this is but a demonstration. I face no danger.”
“I know that,” Babette said. “But something troubles me, I know not what. Promise me that you will take care.”
Korbinian smiled and looked into her eyes.
“I will take care,” he said earnestly. “I swear it.”
“Come,” Alfonse said, interrupting them. “Let us begin. Much longer and it will be Christmas.”
Korbinian grinned at him and said, “Then hurry we must.”
He walked to the center of the room and stood, his back straight and his chin raised. Alfonse joined him and adopted a similar pose, thrusting his chest out in an effort to surpass Korbinian’s stance. The result was comical, and Korbinian smiled in an effort not to laugh.
The crowd drew back in a circle around them, amid hushed words of excitement. Across the ballroom, William Varanus climbed the stairs to his pulpit-landing and addressed his guests:
“My Lords and Ladies, Messieurs and Mesdames,” he said, his voice booming throughout the room, “Christmas Day is almost upon us, but before we all retire for some pious reflection—”
The guests laughed at this, and Korbinian found himself chuckling. Christmas Day would be spent recovering from the evening, not in prayer. However, William continued as if nothing he said was in the least bit odd:
“—I am honored to present you with a display of martial prowess. The Baron von Fuchsburg, soon to be my son-in-law, and our own Captain des Louveteaux have agreed to give us a mock duel. They will show us the same technique by which young men do battle and by which they settle matters of honor.”
He extended his hand to indicate Korbinian and Alfonse. Korbinian took the opportunity to flash a smile, visible to the crowd but directed toward Babette.
William continued, “The rules are simple. Touches to the torso only. Three touches wins the match. I and my good neighbor the Count des Louveteaux will judge. Between the two of us, I am certain we can make a fair count of it.”
The guests laughed again. The humor was not lost on Korbinian. He was William’s champion; Alfonse was Louis’s. The two judges would keep a fair count only because the one would argue with the other.
“Baron, Captain,” William said, “are you ready?”
Korbinian and Alfonse nodded to one another and Korbinian answered:
“We are, Monsieur.”
“Then take your places,” William said.
Korbinian took his place across from Alfonse, and the two men exchanged salutes. Korbinian moved with elegance and precision, and he gave his blade an extra flourish mid-salute when he saw Babette watching. He eyed Alfonse.
Too much force in the arm, Korbinian thought, watching Alfonse salute. He is used to a heavier sword to hack his enemies. He will not know finesse.
That realization made Korbinian smile.
“Begin!” William commanded.
Korbinian fell back into a fencing stance and began moving without hesitation. The footwork came to him unbidden, as if he had ended his lessons only the day before. He and Alfonse touched swords and the gen
tle dance began.
Korbinian quickly lost track of things as the old rhythm came to him. His sword tapped the steel of Alfonse’s weapon, and Alfonse responded in kind. They wove about, advancing, withdrawing, circling.
Judging that Alfonse was a little uncertain with his blade, Korbinian gave a few precise but unimportant half-thrusts. Alfonse deflected them easily, as Korbinian expected, but each attempt at a riposte was countered by a flick of Korbinian’s wrist.
He is clumsy, Korbinian thought, flashing a brief half-smile. Forceful, yes, but without finesse—
His thoughts were interrupted as Alfonse made a quick lunge and chopped downward with the length of his blade. Korbinian caught the blade with his own and flicked it away. Without a thought, Korbinian made his own lunge and tapped Alfonse’s side with the tip of his sword.
“A touch!” William proclaimed. “Do you concur?” he asked Louis.
Louis gritted his teeth for a moment but answered with a nod. The crowd applauded and then fell silent.
The match resumed. Korbinian saw anger in Alfonse’s eyes. The man was ashamed at having lost first blood, even if no blood was drawn. Alfonse redoubled his efforts, and Korbinian was forced to withdraw beneath a flurry of blows. Alfonse made all efforts to pursue, but Korbinian had no difficulty disengaging.
Still, Alfonse was not finished. He continued to press in, slashing and thrusting ferociously. Korbinian’s wrist flicked back and forth, countering each blow. Under the onslaught, his arm began to tire. Alfonse was strong, and each strike that Korbinian met made his blade shake. Korbinian tried one of his exquisite ripostes, but this time Alfonse countered and knocked his blade away.
Korbinian snapped his sword back in time to feel Alfonse’s blade cut him across the ribs. It stung and drew blood. Korbinian exhaled and raised his hands.
“A touch!” Alfonse proudly proclaimed.
“And the first to draw blood,” Louis said, although his words could not conceal the insult of his son’s blow landing second.
Korbinian and Alfonse resumed their places.
“You bleed,” Alfonse said, grinning. “What do you say to that?”
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