The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  “It means that perhaps Henri is right and the violence has been directed toward Hélène, not Ondine.” Cold swept through him, turning his lungs to ice.

  “Then we should separate Ondine from her,” said Emmanuel.

  Jean-Louis considered it. “I don’t think I could. Ondine is like her own daughter. Neither would agree.”

  “Aurore and Dom could keep Ondine safe,” said Emmanuel.

  “They could. But we would be dividing our forces instead of concentrating them. There is a chance they are after both Hélène and Ondine. If we huddle them together, we will be stronger as a united force.”

  Manu looked out the window.

  Jean-Louis looked at him for a long time. Maybe if they had spent more time with the boy, Manu wouldn’t have believed their mother’s poison. Aurore’s outpouring of love, Dom’s quiet authority, and the discipline of the guard school at their château were working wonders on the boy. Jean-Louis would try to keep him away from Henri. How many times had he separated good soldiers and junior officers who lost sight of larger objectives and were reduced to petty squabbling when forced to work together?

  ****

  They changed horses at a small inn slightly off the main road. The innkeeper goggled at having three handsome carriages at once. Well, two were handsome. Jean-Louis looked at his and realized the hastily-applied brown paint with which they had made the carriage less noticeable was flaking off.

  “Fourbier!” he called.

  His valet climbed out of the ladies’ coach and bowed.

  “See to it the carriage is repainted in Poitiers. I hope to leave within a day or two, so it will have to be quick.”

  The coach door opened a little, and Aurore’s voice rang out. “That’s ridiculous, Jean-Louis! Repainted and dry and ready to travel within a day?”

  “I will see it is done, Monsieur le Colonel,” said Fourbier.

  Jean-Louis felt slightly guilty. “No, Fourbier. My sister’s right. It would not be dry and would end up flaking off like this awful brown is doing.”

  “I will see the worst of the flaking is repaired, Monsieur,” said Fourbier.

  Jean-Louis nodded to him and then tapped on the coach door. “Did you ladies not need to get down and refresh yourselves?” he asked.

  The door opened, and his heart beat faster as he saw Hélène’s lovely face in the gap.

  “Ondine went in with Aurore’s maid,” she said. “The groom followed to keep an eye out.”

  “And everything is all right here?” He pulled the door open a little wider to look again at his betrothed, who blushed.

  “Ondine is happy, and the skirt is nearly finished,” said Aurore from behind her.

  Jean-Louis couldn’t take his eyes off Hélène. She smiled nervously and switched her lorgnette from one eye to the other.

  He cleared his throat. “Does the glass work the same on the left eye as the right? We’ll have someone make you glasses for both eyes.”

  Her smile faded. “It doesn’t matter,” she said in a very quiet voice.

  “It does,” he said almost as softly. “I want you to be able to see clearly. To walk wherever you want. To run, even.”

  “Oh!” Tears formed in her eyes. “You are so kind.”

  He winced. He had never been kind. He had only tried to do what was right. He turned around. “Fourbier! Never mind the coach. Find a lens grinder for Mademoiselle Hélène in Poitiers.”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” said Fourbier, smirking.

  Ondine and the maid returned to the carriage, and they all climbed back in.

  Jean-Louis realized he’d forgotten to ask Henri and Dom’s opinion. The last stage was meant to be short, so he swung up in his brothers’ carriage, leaving Manu alone. The boy grunted when Jean-Louis asked him if he wished to come along.

  They were in Poitiers a little over an hour later, and he and Dom issued orders while Henri stood back and watched.

  “Henri, get Manu and follow the ladies into the inn,” said Dom.

  “Wake up, mon frère,” announced Henri, swinging the coach door open. He turned back immediately, his eyebrows high. “He’s not in there.”

  “Quoi?” Jean-Louis strode over to look for himself.

  “Did you leave him at the last stop?” Dom demanded of Jean-Louis.

  “I left him in the carriage and told him I would ride with you,” said Jean-Louis through clenched teeth. He pointed at the coachman. “Did no one notice when Monsieur Emmanuel got out?”

  The coachman climbed down, apologizing profusely. The groom was holding the horses’ heads, also apologizing.

  “Robert,” said Jean-Louis, addressing the groom. “Order two fast horses and go back for him.”

  “Oui, Monsieur le Colonel. Of course,” said the groom, rushing into the inn.

  Jean-Louis scratched his head, unable to worry much about his nearly grown brother. “Will we be safe to leave the rest here while we see the bishop, Dominique?”

  The groom came back out just as an old horse trotted into the inn yard, a scowling Manu on its back.

  “Oh, merci à Dieu!” cried Aurore, squeezing the boy to her when he slid down from the horse’s back.

  He let her squeeze but didn’t stop scowling.

  “You left me there.” He pointed a shaky finger at Jean-Louis. “I got out to join you in the other coach and went in to…you know. When I came out, you were all gone.”

  “Oh, pour l’amour de…” started Henri.

  Fourbier cast him a warning glance. Strangely enough, Henri stopped talking and merely rolled his eyes.

  “You were happy to leave me behind!” Manu shouted.

  Jean-Louis put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Emmanuel shrugged him off. “Maybe Maman was right, and none of you want me.”

  Jean-Louis hurt for his brother. How many times had he wanted to shout at Cédric and Dom when they left him behind? How many times had he written to his father, begging him to come and fetch him from the de Bures’ château, accusing him of not wanting his second son around? He stopped sending the letters after the first one was answered with good-natured mockery. Jean-Louis had torn the letter up and burned it and resolved to never ask his father for sympathy again.

  Manu ranted on, ever closer to tears and a tantrum worthy of Ondine.

  Jean-Louis pointed at Emmanuel. “Stop!” he ordered in a calm, carrying voice.

  Manu subsided, but stood with his arms crossed, angry and defiant.

  “If you will stop pouting,” said Jean-Louis in his officer voice, “you will see a groom has just come out of the stables, riding one horse and leading another. He was to hurry back to find you. That is Number One.”

  Manu shifted uneasily. Another groom went to intercept the one with the horses.

  “Number Two: If you will recall, I asked if you wished to come with me to ride the last leg with Dom and Henri, and you grunted instead of responding with ‘oui’ or ‘non.’ ”

  Manu opened his mouth to protest. Jean-Louis held up his hand. “Number Three: Did you think to tell the coachman or groom that you were using the necessary?”

  Manu uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his hips, looking down at his boots.

  Jean-Louis wanted to hug the boy to him, tell him it would be all right, but he was demonstrating discipline, not pity. He had sometimes wanted to console the other adolescents he was required to upbraid. It would never do to get close to the men, especially as they sometimes died. Jean-Louis carried the guilt with him everywhere; if he were a better officer, his men would not die. He knew it was impossible to save everyone. He had a knack for strategy and developed it further, trying to get out of battle with the fewest fatalities possible. He stared at his youngest brother, who was the same age as his greenest lieutenants. He shivered, unable to stomach the idea of his brother dying on a battlefield. He would keep Manu out of the army. He suddenly understood why his father had cried when he left him at his first posting.

  Hélèn
e put her hand on his arm. He glanced at her, surprised.

  Manu looked at her and back at his feet. Jean-Louis hoped Manu didn’t feel humiliated in front of a lady. If Manu had been a private, he would have had to polish the boots of all the officers or spend extra time in the trenches or on guard duty. Jean-Louis had never had to chastise a family member, so he didn’t know what to say next.

  Hélène went to Emmanuel and touched his arm. “Will you show me in, Emmanuel?”

  Jean-Louis tensed in case he would have to head off nastiness. Finally, Manu nodded and held out his arm.

  The others filed into the inn behind them. Jean-Louis and Dom made plans to leave for the bishop’s residence once they changed their clothes.

  As usual, Fourbier complained Jean-Louis had left him too little time to style his wig.

  As usual, Jean-Louis ignored him.

  Once ready, he waited for Dom in the doorway of the taproom, drawing curious glances from the locals. He caught his breath as Hélène came down the stairs, now in the hideous black dress but with her reddish hair brushed and half covered with a lace cap. She lifted her lorgnette and blushed as she always did when she saw him.

  He kissed her hand, and she smiled.

  “Emmanuel was much more pleasant by the time I got to the room we’re sharing,” said Jean-Louis.

  Hélène looked surprised. “I…I’m glad. He is such a quiet boy. I thought he needed someone to take care of him. He was very frightened, I think, and felt sorry for himself. He would never say so.”

  “He certainly expressed the self-pity,” said Jean-Louis, frowning.

  “I suppose so, yes,” she said. “But I told him it was very wise of him to rent a horse and follow instead of sitting and stewing.”

  Jean-Louis looked at her wide, blue eyes and sweet compassion for a stupid boy. He smiled.

  “He is very much like you,” she said quietly.

  Jean-Louis took a deep breath. Hadn’t he thought the same thing as he was dressing Emmanuel down?

  Hélène put her hand on his arm, tentatively stroking the fine wool of his light blue doublet.

  His body tensed and heated. He wanted her right away, wanted to get under her skin and shatter her demureness to release the passion inside her, the passion that made her leave her home to save Ondine. He wanted her protection for himself, he realized. Maybe he was frightened, too.

  “We’ll be married soon,” he said. “As soon as it can be arranged.”

  She blinked in surprise, then looked away, embarrassed.

  “You will be mine.” He gripped her hand where it rested on his sleeve. He lifted the hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm.

  A laugh from the taproom made Hélène jump and blush in confusion.

  Jean-Louis reassured himself they were out of the line of sight of the patrons. They were otherwise terribly exposed where they stood, so he stepped back and dropped her hand. A movement on the stairs made him turn to find Dom coming down carrying Ondine, Charlotte trailing behind.

  He took Ondine and kissed her. She put her arms around his neck and snuggled her head against him. A lump rose in his throat.

  Hélène said, “I need to feed her and put her down for a nap.”

  Jean-Louis wanted desperately to kiss Hélène, but gave the little girl up to her care and left to see the bishop.

  Chapter Nine

  “My brother said you were like a wife.”

  Fourbier started in his seat in the back of the taproom. He was trying to forget the manic way he had raced around Poitiers—eyeglasses and carriage painting and jewelry for the new bride. Monsieur Henri de Cantière pulled out the other hard little chair at his table and sat stiffly on the edge of it.

  Fourbier’s heart stuttered at the sight of his hard jawline, but he smirked and waved his hand. “His little joke. He pays me well for the impossible tasks he sets.”

  Monsieur Henri continued to stare, just as he had done over the last several days. Fourbier felt his cheeks heat, but he knew how to be silent, too.

  “My brother rarely jokes.”

  Was Henri jealous of the colonel? Did he think there was more to their relationship than master and servant? Fourbier dismissed the thought. Why would Henri be jealous, after all? All he did was stare like he was watching a wild beast. “A rare moment of exaggeration, then.” He caught the larger man’s hazel eyes and watched them slip down to the glass of wine on the table. Fourbier lifted his glass to his lips slowly. Henri’s gaze rose to his mouth. He wasn’t completely indifferent.

  Henri leaned in to mutter, “My last lover was bigger and stronger than me.”

  Fourbier choked on his wine.

  Henri leaned back, triumph on his handsome face.

  Fourbier glanced around and leaned back, pretending to relax. “I am sure he was not as handsome as I.”

  It was Henri’s turn to glance around.

  “Nor as skilled.” Fourbier wiggled his fingers.

  Henri’s gaze narrowed on his hand, and he clenched his jaw. He stood suddenly and strode away, heading for the door to the courtyard.

  Fourbier took a deep breath, only then realizing he had stopped breathing. He glanced around the taproom again, nodding at the innkeeper, who held up a jug of wine. He would drink to his triumph, no matter how limited. It was a relief to flirt a little in the middle of the madness.

  The negotiations had begun.

  ****

  The afternoon moved slowly for Hélène, yet it passed in no time at all. She kept busy with Ondine, mostly. Jean-Louis and the Comte de Bures didn’t come back until late at night, stinking of brandy. When she peeked out of her room at the sound of their voices, Jean-Louis pulled her close and kissed her until she shivered all over.

  It was Jean-Louis who backed away, breathing hard. She was embarrassed by her reaction, but Jean-Louis was still running his hands over her shoulders and whispering into her ear.

  “Tomorrow, Hélène,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll marry.”

  She found her voice. “Bien.”

  He kissed her gently, letting his lips linger. “Go to sleep now.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Her heart was beating fast and her head spun.

  He smiled when she lifted her glass to see him better. His strong jaw relaxed further as his eyes traveled over her face.

  “Bonne nuit, Hélène.” He stepped back, kissed the palm of her hand, and went to his room.

  He turned back. “Go in and close your door.”

  She must look silly, staring at him.

  “I need to know you are safe before I go in,” he said.

  “Bonne nuit, Jean-Louis.” She slipped into her room and closed the door, securing the latch.

  ****

  She woke in the morning more refreshed than she expected. Ondine was still asleep, which was odd. Hélène patted the bedside table, found her eyeglass, and looked at her tiny clock. It was an hour before Ondine usually woke. She held the clock to her ear to be sure it hadn’t stopped during the night.

  Hélène eased herself away from the little girl in her bed. The maid hadn’t yet lit the fire, so the room was freezing. Hélène crouched and put a stick of wood on the dark coals, but there wasn’t anything in the room to make a flame. She washed her face with icy cold water.

  A soft tap came at the door, and she let in the innkeeper’s wife, who was surprised at finding her awake.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Hélène, automatically. She wondered why she was apologizing. “I stirred the fire a little, only I didn’t know what to do.”

  “It’s all right, Mademoiselle,” whispered the woman with a sly grin. “I could hardly sleep on my wedding day, either.”

  Hélène’s blush warmed her frozen face.

  The innkeeper’s wife made up the fire, and Hélène pulled a chair close and brushed her hair as the woman poured a little warm water into the washbasin and set the bucket by the fire.

  She slipped out and came back with a pot of
weak tea and some bread. Hélène was reading a book by the fire, having failed to decide what to write to her aunt and uncle, when she heard Ondine wail. She hurried to calm the girl before she woke Charlotte, but it was too late; the older girl stretched and yawned on the cot in the corner.

  “Go back to sleep, Charlotte,” Hélène said.

  “Oh, no, Mademoiselle! I don’t think I can. The only weddings I have seen have been in the camps. You are to marry in a cathedral!”

  Hélène looked at her in surprise. “I am not sure about the cathedral, chérie. Probably one of the chapels.”

  “A fancy wedding of aristocrats! It doesn’t matter where, when it’s the colonel. He’s so very handsome.” Charlotte sighed dreamily.

  Hélène was not about to admit out loud that she agreed.

  A short while later, someone tapped at the door. Hélène had brushed both Ondine’s and Charlotte’s hair, checking for lice. Charlotte peeked out before opening it to Aurore and her maid.

  Aurore hugged Hélène, going up on tiptoe to kiss her cheeks exuberantly. “Oh, Hélène! Oh, ma chère! This is such a wonderful, wonderful day! I can hardly breathe for happiness. And ma petite Ondine, how are you this morning? Your papa shall marry today and Tata Hélène will be your new maman.”

  Hélène thought her heart would burst with joy. Ondine would truly be hers, never to be taken away, especially not by her aunt and uncle, who had repeatedly held the threat of separation over her head.

  Ondine’s face fell and her lip pouted out. “No like maman,” she said in a tiny voice. “Like Tata Nénène.”

  Aurore paused only a moment. “Well, Tata Nénène will be your maman. She will still be Nénène, but even better.”

  Ondine stomped her foot. “Tata Nénène, she is there! Mine Tata Nénène!”

  Aurore bent to pick her up, but Ondine wilted to the floor, slipping from her grasp.

  Hélène crouched down to lift the girl, who grabbed onto her neck. “It’s all right, Ondine. I will always take care of you now. I will be yours forever.”

  Ondine held on tightly and glared at Aurore. “Mine Tata. Dondine Tata. No maman. No Nénène…”

  With Ondine’s confused attempts at stating her feelings, Hélène’s heart sank a little. Maybe she wouldn’t be a good mother. But then, she was the only mother Ondine had ever had, really. The girl couldn’t possibly remember her real mother, could she?