The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  Hélène turned toward Jean-Louis, who said, “I wouldn’t marry anyone for their fortune.”

  Hélène looked away, and Jean-Louis felt he had to defend himself.

  “My father arranged my marriage to your cousin, hoping her money would help me. But that wasn’t his primary concern. As much as my father and I are different, he hoped to make me happy. He almost married me to Cédric’s wife instead, but Sandrine is shy and quiet, so Papa thought she would be a good foil for Cédric, while she and I would be morose together.”

  “Amandine said once she was sorry she didn’t marry your elder brother,” said Hélène. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Not that…well, she was quite happy with you at first. But she would have liked to be a baronesse.”

  Henri laid out his suppositions about Hélène’s inheritance, which she steadfastly denied. Jean-Louis sat back in thought, ignoring them, but conscious of Hélène sitting next to him. He realized after a moment that Dom had said something to him.

  He sat up straighter. “I am sorry. I was wondering how soon we could leave.”

  Dom shrugged. “You will have to come with me to Poitiers to petition the bishop. If you would like, we can leave Mademoiselle Hélène and Ondine at my estate while we do that. Whoever is following might have a harder time finding them there.”

  “You could leave some of us here, too,” said Henri. “As decoys, and to see if anyone appears.”

  “I would feel safer if Hélène and Ondine stayed with me at all times,” said Jean-Louis. “And as many of you as possible to guard them.”

  “Would I get a sword this time?” asked Aurore with a giggle.

  Jean-Louis shivered as the others laughed. Aurore had killed one of her attackers with a dagger, and no one had known if she would get over the guilt.

  Hélène’s eyes widened in shock. He squeezed her hand slightly, and she blushed.

  He loved her blushes.

  ****

  Fourbier steeled himself to walk into the drawing room to speak to the ladies. The people inside were one family, united against the outside world. He missed his sister suddenly.

  He breathed deeply for several seconds, rolled his stiff shoulders, put on an insouciant smile, and prepared what he would say to amuse.

  Before he could push the door open and make an entrance worthy of a Molière play, the drawing room door opened, and a tall man in black came into the hall and closed the door behind himself. Fourbier stepped back and bowed. As he looked up, he found the man staring at him, face devoid of expression. His features matched the colonel’s, though his hair and skin were several shades darker. This was one of the colonel’s brothers.

  “Good day, Monsieur. I am Fourbier, the Colonel de Cantière’s valet and aide-de-camp.”

  The man’s eyes traveled up and down him, leaving Fourbier shivering.

  He nodded. “Henri de Cantière.”

  The colonel had hinted one of his brothers was homosexual, giving it as the reason he was protective of Fourbier. Running through the mental list of the colonel’s brothers, Fourbier deduced this was the one. The eldest was happily married and Emmanuel was just a boy.

  This was a man. Not as broad in the chest as the colonel, but well built. Strong. Fourbier wondered if his arms were as powerful as they looked through the layers of shirt and coat. He suppressed the urge to touch.

  Light brown eyes narrowed at him. Fourbier grinned, faking insouciance. Monsieur Henri, as the servants would call him here in his father’s house, stood up straighter, and his expression became grimmer.

  Fourbier cleared his throat. “I was looking for Mademoiselle Hélène. We are to the point of needing her to try on her frock.”

  Henri blinked once and nodded, detouring around him. Fourbier turned to watch the taller man stride down the hall. He shivered again. Henri glanced back, still expressionless, as he turned the corner.

  It took Fourbier another minute to calm his pounding heart and put his raging attraction out of his mind, but he was still blushing when he swept into the drawing room to call Mademoiselle Hélène up to the nursery.

  Chapter Eight

  After an evening of gown fittings that thoroughly embarrassed Hélène—Aurore and Fourbier flitting around her, talking about her lovely bust and her round derrière and adjusting the boning in the bodice and so on—Hélène wanted only to fall into bed, exhausted.

  Aurore dragged her to the drawing room, though, so they could make plans. Fourbier was already there, taking notes and giving advice, both solicited and unsolicited, about their route and how he was going to have to bring a maid along to finish the skirts if there was to be a wedding in Poitiers. The colonel sat stiffly and drummed his fingers on the small table next to him, staring at Hélène.

  Every time she glanced at Monsieur Henri, he was staring at Fourbier. She didn’t know him well, but it seemed unlike him to not drop sarcastic comments and pessimistic omens. Perhaps he was tired from his long journey.

  Hélène was swaying with fatigue when Aurore asked her what she thought. “I will go wherever Jean-Louis says.”

  Aurore frowned at her. “You must never let him hear you say that. You will never win an argument, ever, if you give the upper hand so blithely.”

  “I have no opinion on the matter.” Hélène swayed again, her mind oddly blank from being around people all day.

  “Well, if you cannot have your family around you, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” said Aurore with a dramatic sigh. “But it does not mean, Jean-Louis, we are going to have a shabby, quiet affair. We will have it at Dom’s Dumouton estate. We’ll use the church in Dumouton and invite everyone to the house after.”

  Jean-Louis shook his head.

  Aurore tried again. “Though the village here is sweet and quaint, that would be lovely, too.”

  “We should be married quietly in Poitiers,” said Jean-Louis. “We’ll speak to the bishop tomorrow and get married. It would be safest.”

  Aurore shook her finger at him. “Not too quietly. I am sure some of the other nobility are here visiting their estates, no matter that it’s winter. We should bring in some people of note, at least.” She stared at her brother’s frown for several seconds. She raised her hands in surrender. “But the cathedral is quite nice.”

  “I really think it would be best if we had only us,” said Jean-Louis. “Our family.”

  Hélène looked at him where he sat by the fireplace, close-cropped blond hair glinting in the wavering light, his silhouette large and strong. “Yes. All right.” Our family.

  The rest agreed.

  Fourbier grinned saucily. “We shall stay up late finishing the flounces in the underskirt. Then all that is left is the hem.” His eyes darted to Henri, and his smile became more forced. She would have to get up her courage to have a word with Henri about being kind to Fourbier. She supposed that Henri had sneered at the valet. She wondered if it would cause problems with the de Cantière family if she criticized Henri.

  Hélène said, “I am more worried about Ondine’s dress. She cares more for it than I do.”

  ****

  The next morning, they awoke early and got into three coaches. Aurore insisted Hélène ride with her. Aurore’s maid sat next to Fourbier across from them, both rapidly hemming the massive skirts. Ondine, assured that this was a short ride, not a long one, sat between Hélène and Aurore, chattering happily and playing cards by spreading them over the ladies’ laps and the seat.

  “I’ve never seen anyone sew so quickly, Monsieur Fourbier,” said Hélène, watching him through her eyeglass.

  “Merci, Mademoiselle Hélène.” He paused and looked up. “But you have seen me with a needle before.”

  She tilted her head as she thought. “I don’t think so.”

  Fourbier stared at her before addressing Aurore. “Maybe it is my own pride, my gloire, that makes me think you recognized me, Madame la Comtesse.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Aurore. “I was not sure, with your rough clothes
and without the wig and powder and the outrageous little patch you used to wear by your mouth, of course. It is why I can never remember your name. Fournier, Fourrier, Fourbier.”

  Hélène blinked at Fourbier.

  “It was before you needed the eyeglass,” said Fourbier, addressing her again. “When you came for the fittings of the dress for your cousin’s wedding.”

  There was a short silence, and Aurore glanced up at her with a sad grimace. Hélène sighed. “I have always needed my eyeglass, Monsieur Fourbier. I was not allowed to use it.” She turned to Aurore, worried. “Do you think I should stop using it? My aunt said it detracts from my looks.”

  “Your aunt,” said Aurore, scowling fiercely, “should have been exiled to Africa long ago.”

  “Canada, Madame,” murmured Fourbier, bending over the hem again with a sly grin.

  “Someplace savage and…and cold. You are right, cold is much worse than hot,” said Aurore.

  Hélène was trying to remember the name of the shop where Amandine had her wedding dress made. She had been nearly invisible while Amandine selected beautiful clothing, sparing no expense. “Monsieur LaTrappe? Oh! My aunt was very angry when she went back to your shop and you were gone. Your sister’s husband told her—Oh!” Hélène felt faint. “You’re a fugitive, Fourbier?”

  Fourbier frowned, but then erased the look with a small smile. “The colonel knows my story. Most of it.”

  “Oh, he would not keep you if he thought you dangerous, Fourbier.” Aurore reached across and patted Fourbier’s hand.

  Fourbier relaxed slightly and began stitching again.

  Hélène felt ashamed of showing a moment of fear. “If the colonel trusts you, of course I do, too.”

  “It was a crime of passion, so to speak,” said Fourbier, with a twinkle in his eye. He glanced at Aurore’s maid, raised an eyebrow significantly at Aurore, and went back to hemming.

  There was a long silence in the coach, broken finally by Aurore commenting on the bare trees along the road and how the next turnoff led to their Dumouton estate and how they really should go there after the wedding in Poitiers and how she hoped they would have some sort of party and invite everyone who happened to be in the district.

  ****

  Jean-Louis had only Emmanuel for company in his carriage. The boy fell asleep, having barely roused himself to eat a huge breakfast before leaving. Jean-Louis was free to read the letters the servants had brought from the village.

  One was from Cédric; he said Papa spoke to Hélène’s uncle, who ranted about the girl and swore he would have the whole de Cantière family in court for kidnapping. Jean-Louis’ father had reminded the man that Ondine was a de Cantière and Jean-Louis was fully qualified and permitted by law—even encouraged—to take charge of his own daughter.

  And then, wrote Cédric, the aunt said Mademoiselle Hélène was their ward and they would have him up on charges of kidnapping her. They would never give their permission for you to wed her, even though her reputation is completely in tatters. If you did not send her to a nunnery to pray for her soul and have the nunnery send them a letter saying they had taken her in, and do all this before March the fifth, they would have you arrested.

  We are both scratching our heads.

  Please advise.

  Your loving brother, Cédric

  Jean-Louis wanted to jump out of his coach and hop into the one with Hélène to demand more answers from her. He was fairly sure she did not have those answers. Could her aunt and uncle be behind the attacks? Or connected to them?

  “Manu,” he said, shaking his littlest brother.

  The boy almost fell off the carriage bench as he came awake, flailing.

  Jean-Louis suddenly was not sure why he had woken up a fifteen-year-old boy instead of stopping their cavalcade to consult with Dom and Henri.

  Emmanuel glared at him, muttering under his breath as he settled himself back into the corner.

  “You have been listening to our discussions over the last two days, non?” asked Jean-Louis.

  “Can’t escape them,” said Emmanuel. “Keeps raining, and everyone keeps talking and talking.”

  “Are you good at puzzles? And subterfuge?” He surveyed the rumpled boy.

  Emmanuel put on a sour, Henri-like smirk. “Papa left me with Maman for thirteen years, didn’t he? Subterfuge was my mother’s milk.”

  Jean-Louis stared at him for a long time, his stomach curdling with guilt. It was true they’d left the boy to his fate with their mother. “I am sorry. If I hadn’t been so far away, I might have noticed you needed rescuing.”

  “Papa didn’t want another boy,” said Emmanuel. “Said there were already more than he could provide for. He told me his scheme of marrying all of us off to heiresses was not working out, with Henri refusing and your wife… Sorry.”

  “I’ve made my own fortune.” Jean-Louis realized he was clenching his fists and closed his eyes for a second to calm himself. “Amandine still makes me angry.”

  Emmanuel shrugged and turned to look out the window, hiding his discomfort.

  “And Maman,” said Jean-Louis.

  “I used to believe her,” said Emmanuel softly. “She told me she was the only one who cared about me. And I was the only one who loved her.”

  Jean-Louis sighed. “She treated the rest of us like she hated us after… Do you even know?”

  “After Papa broke her heart?” asked Manu.

  “I guess you could call it that. I was about eight. They had always fought, always ignored each other as much as possible. She left us to Papa and was cruel to us. She would punish Aurore for a yes or for a no. Then Michel was born. We didn’t know what had happened, only that Papa had a bastard somewhere.”

  “So it’s true he’s our father’s bastard?” Manu leaned forward in his seat, frowning.

  “Of course it is. Papa wouldn’t claim someone who wasn’t his, would he?”

  “Maman screamed for a day and a half after he announced it,” said Manu. “She said I would never get any inheritance at all.”

  Jean-Louis sighed. “It’s not going to be much. The main estates are Cédric’s, of course. I get the little one here in Poitou but had to marry an heiress and make my own way in the army. Henri was supposed to be a monk, but he hated it. He’s been doing well as a clerk.”

  Manu stared out the window.

  “Are you going into the army or the church?” asked Jean-Louis. Those were the usual occupations for spare boys.

  The boy shrugged.

  Jean-Louis cleared his throat. “So when Michel was born, Maman turned twice as cruel, worked to undermine Papa’s interests with the king—and the Queen Regent and Cardinal Mazarin at the time. It was just after the Fronde, so everyone was a suspect. Papa suffered politically.” He paused to take a deep breath. “When they reconciled briefly and Maman was pregnant and got big too soon, Papa thought she had reconciled with him to hide a bastard of her own. When she had twins…”

  “Did she really kill my twin?” asked Manu.

  Jean-Louis’ heart felt like it stopped for a moment. “Mon dieu! Who said that?”

  “Maman said…said she was happy the girl died, because Papa wanted another girl,” said Manu, bleakly.

  “Of course she would never kill a child,” said Jean-Louis. “Papa was with us at the de Bures château when word came that Maman had given birth. To you. He rushed home and tried to apologize. He came back a few days later to fetch Aurore and Henri home. I overheard him talking to the comte. The late comte, Dom’s father. He was devastated by the death of your twin and thrilled to have you, but Maman was angry. When you were strong enough, she took you with her everywhere. She only spoke to Aurore and Henri long enough to hurt them.”

  “Aurore is so happy, though,” said Manu. “And Henri so sour.”

  Jean-Louis smiled at him, his heart still hurting. “Aurore has always been happy—laughing and singing and kissing everyone. It is the way she is and also how she proves she’s bet
ter than Maman says.”

  “Henri is homosexual,” said Manu.

  Jean-Louis shrugged. “I know he is. I was not sure until two years ago, but I think I always knew.”

  “So is it because of Maman?” asked Manu, apparently trying to hide his worry. Did Manu think he would become homosexual, too?

  Jean-Louis considered the question. “I don’t know. He doesn’t hate all women. He doesn’t like most of them, but he doesn’t like very many men, either.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” said Manu, his lips tight, hiding his hurt.

  Jean-Louis was glad Manu wanted Henri to like him. “He has a hard time trusting people. And because Maman brought you up and told you all those…things…” He wanted to say lies, but he knew his mother only stretched the truth, held a grudge, and jumped to conclusions, but didn’t lie. Much.

  “He thinks I agree with Maman,” said Manu, nodding.

  “He’s afraid you do,” said Jean-Louis. “Maman has always been cruel to him, especially when she thought he was weak, when he was reading instead of fighting and shooting. Two years ago, she tried to spread word of his, ah, vice around. He nearly lost his work. A few women gave evidence in his favor, and charges were never laid.”

  Jean-Louis thought about Henri’s tendencies, evident from when he was little and played with Aurore. Could Maman have caused them?

  “But what I really wanted to ask you,” said Jean-Louis, glancing down at the letter in his hand, “is to read Cédric’s letter and give me your opinion.”

  Manu looked at him in surprise. “My opinion?” His voice squeaked slightly.

  Jean-Louis handed it over silently and opened the letter from Colonel Hardi, who told him the guard missing after the fire at Grey had been found a hundred miles away. He would be brought back to Franche-Comté to be tried for desertion. Hardi promised he and his junior officers would help Jean-Louis with le Grand Condé, but he would have to come and plead his case in person. Jean-Louis made some notes for his reply and folded the letter.

  “What does he mean, a letter from a nunnery to arrive before March fifth?” asked Emmanuel.