On my word
by Arithanas
Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world.
Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves.
~ George Bernard Shaw
Being berated like a stupid boy who spoiled his Sunday's best wasn't enough, at least, not for his father's family .
Olivier was sure he deserved the earful after the mess his stubbornness had caused, but he was not a child; he was fully aware that his secret marriage, and the ulterior disappearance of the body, could only mean that his life as he knew it was over. Either he would be reduced to be a peasant —condemned to earn his bread with the work of that delicate hands he inherited from his mother, unable to pursuit his destiny as a soldier, forced to quit the comfort of his life as a nobleman— or he could only preserve his status, but at the price of being burdened with taxes that would left him in poverty and unable to work, since menial tasks were unworthy of his blood, relegated to the state of common soldier. Regardless the outcome of the hearing that his uncle had with the King, Olivier, 'the perfect son' as his father enjoyed so much boast, was now a rebel in wait for his hard-earned sentence.
An despite being thoroughly humiliated by his naiveté, for being an all-trusting fool who lived half a year blindfolded by a passion, for being an ungrateful idiot, Olivier was still resisting to hold the burning nail that could be his salvation. His uncle, the person who had direct authority over him now that his father was dead, demanded that he tried to sweeten Mademoiselle de la Lussaie who was still unmarried and could take up the last snippets of his former glory. the King could be satisfied with forcing him to live in the country. Banning him from the Royal Court would be enough punishment for his dalliance and the lands would be secured for the family. He had to comply to his family wishes this time for he needed desperately their support; that morning, he grasped the nettle, was painstakingly fastidious with his toilet and done his best attire before riding to her house, escorted by his cousins, since all they suspect he could run away from his misfortune.
The house was elegant in its simple, country style. Olivier found it charming, different but it could match up for the sober, Gothic La Fère. He caught himself in the middle of the comparison, and wondered if he really was selling himself short now that love had failed him. His disgrace brought him modesty or desperation?
M. de Trézelles, uncle and tutor of Mademoiselle de la Lussaie, was waiting for them on the stoop. If looks could kill that man would be doing Oliver and his family a great favor. The Count of La Fère expected a good deal of animosity against his person, what he did was almost the same of let her waiting at the altar and no now he was adding insult to the injury by trying to win her back; he was ashamed of his behavior, but it seems that his family had no qualms when it came to preserve his territory. Finally, the reason why Olivier's father was in charge of diplomacy was evident: his older brother knew nothing about it.
The complicated ritual to beg to be presented was performed without heart or sincerity, within the strict protocol. The only noticeable deviation was that they were driven to the gallery by the outer part of the mansion; his cousins were vexed by this lack of delicacy, but Olivier knew that he had no more rights than the domestics on this house, so he behaved as if that was just natural.
The gallery overlooked the garden where a girl dressed in teal silk amused herself by flying a tiercel. Olivier bobbed his head at the niceties that the old man said, his attention was on the bird of prey and the person who made it soar. Soon was perfectly obvious that there was not a way to delay more the main event and the old man attracted the young woman's attention.
"My niece, " M. de Trézelles said, signaling the three gentlemen, "let me present you Messieurs de Trosly, de Connigis, and de La Fère."
This was one petite girl of eighteen with beautiful gray eyes and a clear complexion, her waist was as flexible as a willow branch. Her gait was soft and rhythmic, as she was dancing at the flow of some soundless music, made for her ears, instead of stepping on stone.
"I'm delighted," she said, and her smile was mirrored by the three men almost against their will.
After a few moments of conversation, Mademoiselle de la Lussaie said the heat of the afternoon was overwhelming and asked for company to stroll in the garden. It was the perfect excuse and Olivier, forced by circumstances, he offered his arm to keep her company. Both went down the steps and wandered a few minutes in silence. It was her who broke the silence.
"So, finally, we have been formally introduced..."
"Almost a year behind schedule," he said. His bruised pride made the next words unbearable: "I lack the words to beg your pardon."
"God sends us through odd paths," her commentary was surprisingly neutral, "He also send us strange angels. Maybe your wife was one of those?"
"Oddly enough, His Majesty believes that she is not my wife."
"Oh! Isn't she? And where is she now?"
Olivier snorted. The idea of going on with this thwarted betrothal was preposterous if he couldn't answer that simple question with a truthful statement.
"She left me."
"I'd never allow you to move more than a sole from me," she made her confession in a soft tone, blush tinting her jowls. "I loved you since I was two and ten years and you passed with other noblemen to attend the marriage of His Majesty. Once I saw the dauntless soldier you were my heart was hopelessly lost as well as my will to get it back."
"I never suspect it..." Olivier croaked, the guilt over that unrequited love closed his throat.
"You don't even noticed me!" she interrupted with a hearty laugh. Olivier had to admit that he liked that crystalline sound, her voice was sweeter than Anne's. "Albeit I understand it: you were a man, I was a girl; perhaps you can still see the baby bonnet in my head."
"In your head I can only see a beautiful cascade of golden hair..."
"Aw, save it for another woman, would you?" she asked tilting her head and displaying a wonderful smile.
Olivier was taken aback by such a response; although he liked that brazen attitude. Then suddenly, he realized she was toying with him, just like her! At once, all the wrath and humiliation boiled inside him and he wanted to shout his hurt to her face. He had to rein his temper because his cousins were watching that he didn't wreck it on purpose. Silence was his only option or, at least, his safest bet.
"I'm glad to have you next to me at last." She continued a little surprised by his silence. "Our marriage was ideal and with all the underlying benefits, the best of all that I could be your wife. God in Heaven! I didn't sleep the night my uncle sent the messenger to your father. I was eager to see you closely, I worried that you could find me without fortune, birth, or beauty, that you could found me defective..."
He was familiar with that feeling and suspected that she knew about his constant struggle to meet his father's high standards. Was she trying to deceive him or was she really that young and insecure?
"When they said to me that you had no vocation to marriage I prayed to heavens: 'Thank you, dear God! There is nothing wrong with me!' Then I daydreamed that you found me too young and that you wished to wait for me. Oh, cruel deception! It wasn't too long before the rumor mill brought me notice of the woman who held the name I coveted for years."
Olivier clenched his teeth. He was more than a title and some lands, goddammit! This woman was not better than Anne, and for a second he entertain the idea of there was no woman in this God-forgotten valley of tears worthy his woes.
"I'm not going to lie. I hated you with unbounded passion because you preferred a blond girl with peasant hands and bad temper, because you chose a woman inferior than me without giving me the simple courtesy of a visit. Alas! That passion wore off, as many things on this life. I don't bear you any grudge, Olivier..."
"Are you trying to say me that there is hope?" he managed to articulate, slowly, making a visible effort to keep his wriest tone away from his voice.
"I am no one's second choice," she said with a radiant smile.
"Good to know."
The bitter response prompted a scornful grimace on that pretty lady, and Olivier hated her, because she was gorgeous even when she was defaced by her emotions and beauty was one of the things he couldn't dare to resist.
"I fell in love with a gallant rider, you are not even the shadow of that man. If I weren't so set on despising you and your memory, I would loathe you, Monsieur de La Fère."
"I know my name is almost worthless right now." He could hardly keep a straight face. It was so satisfactory to see her true face. "But upon my word, Mademoiselle de la Lussaie, I vow there will never be another Countess of La Fère while I live."
Then, with complete control of his emotions and actions, Olivier took off his hat, made a reverence, and departed from his last line of salvation. Even a life of hard work on the fields was preferable to an hour in company of women. At the edge of the garden he paused and made Lot's wife's mistake: he turned around.
"I wish you a happy life, Mademoiselle."
She saw him astonished, her hands in some soft kid gloves became small fists and she stormed inside of the house to give free rein to those not-so-feminine ill feelings that were boiling inside her. The witnesses of this scene saw her pass through the gallery, their appalled countenances almost made Olivier laugh before they turned their faces toward him with some questioning expressions.
"It is good that she bears no grudge", Olivier said, adjusting his hat over his brow.