Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “I wasn’t in love with him at first, but how was I expected to be? I hardly knew him. I did my duty as was required, and hoped for the best. But he is very kind and sweet, my Francis, though he was a little shy at first; not as bad as his Majesty, but not exactly a tiger either, though he has certainly become more…amorously predacious,” Julienne said, smiling knowingly at Sérolène who blushed scarlet, seeing the forest but not the trees of what Julienne alluded to.

  “You haven’t? I mean…” Sérolène hesitated, desperate to know but too embarrassed to ask.

  “Of course not!” Julienne said with a giggle.

  “I promise you this cow will produce no milk until she’s well and truly married, though who’s to complain about a kiss or two here and there and perhaps the allowance of an occasional caress?” Julienne said, raising her eyebrows saucily, which caused them both to double over in laughter.

  “I have come to know Francis much better these past few weeks, and I begin to understand the man he really is. I do believe I am truly beginning to love him,” Julienne said. Sérolène looked at Julienne with expectation, her cousine’s answer sparking rather than ending her curiosity.

  “When you feel that you’re beginning to love him, does your body…make you feel funny and strange all at once? As if you’re burning inside but nothing you do seems to put the fire out? Do you ever feel as if he holds the key to all your happiness, as if you simply must see him or else pass the time trying to keep yourself occupied so you don’t feel melancholy with missing him all the time?” Sérolène asked with some urgency. The look on her face as her words rushed out made the sincerity and the immediacy of her distress all too plain.

  “Oh, my dear Lena, how neglectful of you I’ve been!” Julienne said, taking Sérolène’s hand.

  “Why do you say that?” Sérolène asked with worry. Julienne gave Sérolène a look that revealed the many years of intimacy and friendship they had shared together, growing up side by side.

  “Because unless I’m decidedly mistaken, I’d say that you’ve quite fallen in love, and somehow with everything going on …I think I’ve missed it,” Julienne said, squeezing her cousine’s hand with encouragement. Sérolène smiled shyly in response.

  “May I ask the name of the gentleman lucky enough to engender such feelings in so good and tender a heart? Or have you a secret admirer you’ve kept all to yourself?” Julienne asked conspiratorially. Sérolène lowered her eyes, uncertain of the reaction she might receive from her cousine.

  “You know him well enough already, Julie,” Sérolène declared.

  “Do I?” Julienne asked.

  “Yes. He’s soon to be your own beau-frère,” Sérolène confessed.

  To her credit, Julienne resisted the natural inclination toward repugnance on hearing Sérolène’s confession, though the inner struggle between her love for her cousine and the rules and prejudices of her society was clearly being waged. When she at last spoke, her voice was tight, though calm, and her expression had changed from pleasantly curious to a decidedly more serious mien.

  “I had thought your friendship due only to the establishment of our new family bonds, nothing more,” Julienne declared with the culpable tone of one who has come to apprehend that they have neglected to realize an obvious but inconvenient truth.

  “You are quite aware I presume, of the disadvantages of such a…potential liaison,” Julienne inquired with reserve. She couldn’t even say the word match, as she viewed such a possibility to be far too presumptuous to even consider.

  “I am aware of what some would consider the disadvantages of such a match,” Sérolène countered, throwing the gauntlet down between them, though this was more a show of bravado than real confidence. Julienne nodded, understanding the challenge issued, her face betraying the shock and surprise she felt.

  “And you believe yourself prepared to accept them?” Julienne countered.

  “What can they be when compared to the joy that I feel when I am with him? Oh, you do not know what it is to be truly in love as I am!” Sérolène protested. Julienne tried not to respond with rancor, though she felt the sting of Sérolène’s perhaps all too accurate pronouncement.

  “Even if you are prepared to accept the disadvantages, do you presume your family will also be so inclined?” Julienne asked in real consternation. Sérolène stared hard at her cousine.

  “My family is dead. And it has always been made clear to me by my aunt that both you and Éléonore were ever more a concern for her than whatever fortune might befall me,” Sérolène snapped.

  “Oh, my dear Lena… I know life’s been difficult for you, but that’s hardly fair. Maman can be trying, I know, but Papa has always doted on you…everyone knows you’re his favorite,” Julienne said, resisting the urge to respond with equal sharpness.

  “I don’t mean to upset you. But do you think Papa or Maman will be so understanding of your desired course?” Julienne pressed. Despite her desire not to injure her cousine, she felt that a healthy dose of reality was in order, and desperately so. “Do not think by my words that I do not myself esteem the Chevalier d’Argentolle. No one is more noble or honorable than he…”

  “Then why do you not simply accept him as that? How can you recite his merit on the one hand and then proclaim him to be unfit for me on the other?” Sérolène said with exasperation.

  “I just don’t want to see you disappointed or hurt. Regardless of what we might think, the rest of the world thinks differently. They will look upon both him and you as outcasts,” Julienne declared.

  “I don’t care what they say or what they think!” Sérolène exclaimed.

  “Really? Are you prepared then, my dear sweet cousine, for the nasty things that will be whispered about you? For the balls you won’t be invited to, the salons you will never attend, the slights here and there -- some purposeful, others unintended, but the hurt the same? Can you close your ears against the whispering in the background every time you enter a room? Will the unrelenting stares of those that despise you injure your heart and resolve?” Julienne pressed, the surge of her relentless questioning beginning to batter down the rock of Sérolène’s resolve.

  “And if he strays? Takes a lover or lovers? What then my dear, will you do? How content will you be to sit alone in your château waiting each day for the solace of your husband for whom you have given everything -- your virtue, your heart, your honor, your reputation -- knowing that his heart and his love no longer belong to you?” Julienne continued. The pitiless interrogation was too much for Sérolène. She stood up quickly, as if doing so would break the cycle of anguish she felt forming about her.

  “Oh, why do you torment me so? Perhaps you never loved me, but must you purposefully seek to injure me? You make our love seem so terrible a thing!” Sérolène protested.

  “Many will think it so. You would do well to remove the veil of illusion from your eyes should you insist on pursuing such a course,” Julienne replied coldly. Sérolène had had enough, her Gascon temperament fired at last by her cousine’s unsympathetic hearing of her case. She turned to confront Julienne, both strength and defiance rising in her at once.

  “Very well Julie, let us both cast illusions aside. You talk of the feelings and considerations of others. There is no need to hide behind such words. Tell me plainly, what do you think? That is what I wish to know! Perhaps you are only jealous that though you are soon to be very well married, you are not perhaps well enough loved… as I assure you I am!” Sérolène thundered.

  Her words were a slap in the face to Julienne, who recoiled as if she had been physically struck. She turned her gaze away from Sérolène, rising with difficulty on her sore ankle to cross to the other side of the room in order to put some distance between them. Sérolène, regretting that she had allowed her speech to be carried to such lengths by her temper, opened her mouth as if to apologize, but Julienne abruptly cut her off with her own heated reply.

  “I think, cousine...that you are young and
inexperienced and are not fully aware of what you risk. If I were your mother I should strongly advise you against such an attachment, however sincere. No, I should do more than that. I should forbid it,” Julienne declared hotly.

  Sérolène cast her head down, fighting back tears. Julienne saw the deep look of hurt and confusion on her cousine’s face and her heart, by nature gentle and understanding, reached out to places that her mind still had difficulty envisioning. After a brief considering pause, she crossed the distance between them, taking Sérolène by the hands.

  “But I’m not your mother, dear Lena. And so I won’t give you such counsel,” Julienne said reassuringly. There was a look of surprise on Sérolène’s face; then came the thaw as she fell into Julienne’s reassuring embrace, her head cradled against her shoulder.

  “Oh, my dearest Julie. I love him so dearly. Whatever am I to do?” Sérolène pleaded softly.

  “You are as close to me as any sister could ever be. All these years we’ve grown up together; you know you never need doubt my love for you. I’ve seen so many sides of you, perhaps more than even you know; seen how you’ve suffered at times with Maman. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you quite like this,” Julienne whispered, kissing Sérolène’s forehead.

  “Like what?” Sérolène asked, through her tears.

  “So alive. So filled with emotion…..with passion! Perhaps I do envy you that, after all. I always thought you were the one who seemed least likely to be affected by such sentiment; you, who were always so fond of your books and dispassionate discourse. And here I find after all this time that underneath that icy exterior, a real Gascon heart beat all along, so full of fire and zeal and life. It just took the right person to bring it to the surface,” Julienne said. Sérolène sighed in acknowledgement, unburdening herself of her emotions through the free fall of her tears.

  “Maybe I was that way because I never felt truly loved, at least not in the way he loves me. But now that the flame has been set alight…I can’t seem to dampen it. Nor, I confess, do I want to. Oh Julie…I never expected love to feel like this…to be like this. I thought when...if it eventually happened to me, I would be able to control it. I might as well have tried to hold on to the sun!” Sérolène confessed earnestly. Julienne chuckled as she began for the first time to truly understand the depth of Sérolène’s feelings for Nicolas.

  “You’re the one who is so fond of books. You of all people should know that there has never been a force more powerful than love. If you love him as you say, and he for his part loves you in equal measure, then none of what I said to you should matter. The real question, my dear, is for you to answer,” Julienne declared, looking searchingly at Sérolène.

  “Do you have the courage and the strength to love him? For be assured that to face what lies ahead of you, you will need an equal measure of both. Your love may put your honor at risk in the eyes of many, but he may be forced to risk yet more for you…perhaps even his life,” Julienne warned.

  “Yes. He is all that I want, all that I think about, all that I need,” Sérolène replied without hesitation.

  “Well then. You have both your answer and your burden,” Julienne said. Sérolène nodded, a feeling of general relief beginning to wash over her that at least a Rubicon of sorts had been successfully crossed. Julienne took Sérolène by the hand, pulling back the sheets of the bed they shared together.

  “Now come and put the candles out, Lena, and let’s to bed. My, but it’s been a long and eventful day.”

  **

  Madame la Baronne de Salvagnac was soundly asleep under the canopy of her large comfortable bed when she was abruptly awakened by her maid Maria, who delivered to her with urgency a letter that had just arrived at the plantation by express courier. The baronne, thoroughly annoyed that her sleep should have been interrupted, nevertheless sat up in bed, instructing her maid to light the candles on the nightstand so that she could read at once, the letter that had just so inopportunely arrived. Breaking the wax seal on the envelope, she noted the signature of the sender with some surprise before unfolding the letter and beginning to read.

  My Dear Friend,

  It is with some trepidation that my hand sets down the observations that I must as your friend convey to you regarding the disturbing conduct I have witnessed at the estate of the Marquis de Blaise – conduct that I regret to say may implicate your niece in the most unpropitious and dangerous of liaisons. Noble man that he is, we are all aware of the contemptible circumstances in which the marquis has chosen to live. I warn you, my dear, that allowing your own niece to remain in such an environment may end with the most adverse consequences for her reputation and prospects. Though it pains me greatly to tell you, it is clear that the young vicomtesse, sweet and impressionable as she is, and perhaps without the proper supervision she requires, is beginning to form an attachment toward the youngest son of the marquis.

  I myself escorted her back to the marquis’ château in my own carriage after having discovered her outdoors and unescorted with that wretched d’Argentolle, in circumstances that tact and my Christian nature allow me to describe only as exceedingly questionable. I trust the sentiments of Mademoiselle de La Bouhaire have been influenced by her gentle nature and the natural inclination to devotion the young and the innocent might have toward those who have helped them in some small way. As you well know, such an attachment, however innocent, toward one so obviously unsuitable for her in the eyes of all decent society must be discouraged and condemned by any and all means.

  Notwithstanding the noble blood of the Montferrauds, who among us of pure French ancestry would countenance a Nègre as husband for a daughter? Of course such a thing must be impossible. My very hand trembles to even write of so odious and vile a liaison. Such a thought must of course be universally scorned and abhorred. But I worry for you, my dear, and for your family, that your niece might be innocent enough to allow her heart to carry away her senses to the detriment of the reputations and the futures of all your daughters. I know such attachments may appear harmless at such an age, but one must be ever vigilant in these matters.

  It is the enduring esteem and tender affection I have for you and your family that compels me to be so bold in communicating to you my most sincere and heartfelt thoughts. If you wish to save the honor and the reputation of your niece and your house, I advise you, my dear friend, to act without a moment’s delay!

  I have the honor to be your most devoted friend, etc. etc.

  Her hand trembling with outrage and fury as she finished reading the letter, Madame de Salvagnac quickly leapt from her bed and pulled on her night robe.

  “Maria! Fetch my carriage at once! We leave this instant for Caracol!”

  ***

  Sérolène sat with Madame de Blaise and Julienne, distractedly picking at her food, wondering why Nicolas had not already joined them. He was always an early riser and never late for breakfast. She looked across at the large pendulum clock at the center of the room, noting that it was already half past eight. Only the ladies of the house were at table, Francis having just departed with the marquis for Port-au-Prince to attend to some affairs related to her cousine’s marriage.

  “How is your ankle feeling today? Does it still trouble you to walk upon it?” Sérolène asked Julienne, in an effort to make conversation and disguise the true source of her concern.

  “Tolerably well, though it still pains me a bit. How fortunate you were to be rescued by Madame Dupluie yesterday after that sudden cloudburst,” Julienne observed, noting with curiosity how Madame de Blaise had shivered slightly at the mention of the coach’s owner.

  “Is Nicolas not joining us for breakfast?” Sérolène finally asked of Madame de Blaise, her worry overpowering her reluctance to seem overeager with regard to the chevalier’s welfare.

  “Perhaps yesterday’s exposure to the rain and his exertions have affected him after all? I was surprised that he did not join us for supper last night,” Sérolène added. B
efore Madame de Blaise could make reply, a lackey entered, approaching the marquise and whispering urgently in her ear. The look on Madame de Blaise’s face only heightened Sérolène’s concerns, as the marquise conveyed her instructions to the servant.

  “I’m afraid my dear children, that our little Eden is at an end. Madame de Salvagnac is here to take you both home. I’ve instructed the servants to make ready your things and take them out to her carriage,” the marquise explained. Julienne and Sérolène exchanged worried glances, knowing that to arrive so early at the Blaise estate, the baronne would have had to have left her own plantation in the middle of the night. Each wondered silently what calamity had befallen the family to require Madame de Salvagnac to arrive so unexpectedly. Sérolène’s mood, already somber in light of Nicolas not having yet appeared, turned ashen as she realized she would not even have a chance to say goodbye to him.

  “Come, let us go and greet our guest,” Madame de Blaise said, rising with elegant dignity.

  Julienne and Sérolène reluctantly followed in the wake of the marquise, Sérolène lending support to Julienne to enable her to walk with less difficulty on her still-tender ankle. As they entered the salon de compagnie, the baronne stood pacing back and forth in agitation. Madame de Blaise curtsied deeply to her in courtesy, a politeness that was acknowledged with only the barest of nods by the baronne despite her much inferior title. Both Julienne and Sérolène were shocked and appalled at the baronne’s lack of courtesy. Madame de Blaise was a titled marquise of France. Such a snub by the baronne was tantamount to an outright insult and could not be overlooked. Sérolène felt her face flush with embarrassment, noting that Julienne was similarly affected. Madame de Blaise, however, bore the slight with calm dignity and forbearance.