BOOK ONE:
The Difference Between a Dinner and a Banquet
A Good Evening before a Stormy Night
The mirror did not reflect Aurelie accurately. Her reflection was a beautiful pillar of strength. Perfect poise and posture. Unaffected. Dauntless. Ready.
She took a deep breath, feeling the antithesis of her reflection, and watched how her chest heaved with the action to remind herself that the woman in the mirror was actually her.
She wore a dress this evening that had only been completed this morning, its color the blood of a rose. Pearls had been sewn to accentuate the V-shape neckline—so wide it did not cover her shoulders—and that was as far as adornment went, as this dress had been commissioned to look unlike any other. The cut was in fashion for bourgeoisie, but there was no pattern to the fabric, no lace upon the ruffles, no textured embroidery. The satin shined in the light, nothing more, nothing less. It was meant to stand out for its color and would surprise because of its simplicity. It would be a harsh contrast to dresses other women wore tonight in its radiance and lack of excess. People would first see the dress with the blond hair, then they would see a beautiful woman, as her face could stand alone. Aurelie did not need jewels, lace or fancy patterns to shine, and that was exactly what they were counting upon.
This dress was a statement. It read: Look at me. Now listen.
Around her neck was the simple gold chain Enjolras had given her when they were married, and she brought her hand up to twist the metal between her fingers. This was a motion only done in deep contemplation, and it went noticed by Enjolras, who finished tying his cravat.
"It's not the necklace you're worried about, is it?" Enjolras asked, knowing full well that it was not, as he was aware of this subconscious action and what it meant. But he continued so he wouldn't have to ask her outright. "Wear the diamonds, Aurelie."
Her eyes cast upon the chain first, then to the ring she'd been given after Honore's birth on her finger. A wedding ring. A late one, Enjolras had said apologetically when he'd given it to her. And since then, this chain had not been worn.
"I'll wear this tonight," Aurelie stated, then bit the inside of her lip. It was important that she wear this chain to dinner. It was a cruel reminder of what their evening meant. She was twenty again, and he was twenty-two. "Diamonds distract."
Enjolras tilted his head to the side with a wistful smile, then walked over to Aurelie. He did not gaze at her directly, he gazed at her reflection so he could look upon their love as a pair. A moment went by and she did not glance his way, instead still studying herself.
His flattened palms met her shoulders, then his fingers gently closed as he brought his lips to the base of her neck and placed a gentle kiss upon her skin. It never ceased to astound him as he did such things that he could; that this beautiful woman was his and his alone, and on a night like tonight, it was magnified because of who she was, not what.
Glancing up through his brows at the mirror, he noticed that Aurelie still did not look at him, so he placed another kiss further up her neck, then another near her ear. But he did note her smile on this third kiss, and his grin was sly.
"I can distract you further, if you wish," he whispered, his lips at her ear.
"The entire point of this dress is to not be distracted," Aurelie said, though she was finally grinning, however small it was.
Red to catch the eye, simplicity to listen.
Acutely aware Aurelie needed a distraction, Enjolras, to ease her nerves, reverted to playful.
"Then perhaps you should take it off."
"Don't you dare," Aurelie said with a good-humored warning.
Enjolras began to toy with the sleeve, pulling it a centimeter down her shoulder. "I only mean so you can change into a different one," he said innocently, then kissed the skin he'd exposed. "It seems this dress is agitating you."
"It is not the dress that has me agitated," Aurelie said softly, finally looking her husband in the eyes.
He looked magnificent. Charming as always; his hair still golden blond curls, only more maintained. He had not lost his youthful features. He looked but a few years older than when she'd met him, and that was a time when people assumed he was but seventeen. And beside him, she noticed that she maintained her youth as well, despite the year being 1847.
It made her shiver.
"Aurelie," Enjolras said with a sigh, finally righting himself. "This is just a dinner party."
"I know what this is," Aurelie said levelly. She squared her shoulders as she inhaled deeply. "This is a beginning, but it is also an end. I've been here before. The only difference is that this is in our home and with the rich instead of outside another's with the poor."
Enjolras rubbed her shoulders in comfort as his head infinitesimally lowered. There was no need to argue her point well made; they both knew what this was. He would not mince words, she would not allow it.
"It is both, my love," he agreed, turning her to face him. He loved those sky-blue eyes, especially when they were in his. Letting an obvious gaze travel her, he said, "You look divine. You are the most beautiful woman in France, and Paris knows it. Tonight we are both ready. Let's live tonight and think about tomorrow when it comes."
There was a knock on the door, but neither had time to say anything before it burst open.
"Monsieur! Madame! I'm so sorry!" cried Madame Moubray as the twin ten-year-olds rushed over and began to coo over their mother's dress. "They wanted to come say good night before I take them to the Pontmercy residence."
"You look so pretty!" gushed Margot, the sweeter and shyer of the two girls.
"I wish I had such a dress," Manon added wistfully, though with a speculative eye that clearly had an undertone stating she truly wished she had such a dress, and could one please be commissioned?
Kneeling down a bit, Aurelie took each of the blond heads into a hand, her eyes darting rapidly between the two. "Thank you, my darlings," she said, her children evoking the beatific smile from her lips, despite how she felt tonight. She rose and eyed her two sons near the door.
All it took was this glance for them to incline their heads in respect, Honore placing a casual hand in his pocket once he'd done so. "You do look lovely, mother," he said, then met his father's eyes and, once again, inclined his head as he said, "Father."
An argument had taken place this very morning between father and eldest son. The family had sat around the breakfast table as Enjolras and Aurelie went over the names of those who would be attending tonight, discussing exactly who came from what and why they mattered. Honore had spoken up over hearing one of these names: the Langelier's, of which Honore knew of as a prominent family and patrons of the school he attended with their two daughters.
Some questions were asked, followed by some politics, and the debate became an argument ending with accusations. Honore had demanded that he was not to be treated as a child any longer; that he was a teenager and no longer needed protection; that he could quote Voltaire and Robespierre; that he knew of dates such as 1789, 1799, 1830, and most importantly to Honore, 1832.
Both Enjolras and Aurelie had been very honest with their children of that night, as they must be. So many conversations of history and politics took place beneath this roof that served as additional schooling to their children, deliberately or inadvertently turning them into young revolutionaries; Aurelie and Enjolras had yet to decide which.
Be that as it may, it was not a date to be mentioned on this particular July day to either of them. Aurelie suddenly became ashen, Enjolras the opposite. As Aurelie brought her hand to her lips and averted her gaze in shame and fear, Enjolras' lower lip pushed forward in consternation.
His tone clipped, however calm, he'd said: "When you are old enough to understand why speaking of that year is inappropriate this morning, you will be old enough to attend such an evening."
Seeing his son now, immediately after the reminder from Aurelie of what tonight meant, had Enjolras remembering their argument this morning, and with Honore appearing so contrite, he worried that what he'd said may have had the opposite effect he'd been hoping for.
Essentially, Enjolras worried that Honore spent the day reflecting upon his words and now understood why they'd been spoken, which would mean, in short, that he was old enough to attend such an evening.
At fourteen, Honore was an exact echo of his father, perhaps even older in his frame of mind than Enjolras had been at this age. He could directly compete in debates with Enjolras' friends and had a remarkable way of receiving responses from their mouths as though they were talking to an adult. Equally charming, equally terrifying, Honore had been a serious boy the second he'd been birthed. Instead of playing with toys, he dissected them; studying the how's and the why's instead of enjoying the merriment they brought. He wanted to know why a rattle made a noise, how a mobile turned. He'd learn from blocks, how they needed to be stacked to achieve optimal height and strength enough not to topple without force. He was reading as early as two, writing at four. He had learned the piano, not for the creativity of it, but for the theory of how tones worked together to create music. He understood justice, but above that, he understood injustice. When his friends would pull legs from spiders, he was the first to speak on the spider's behalf, and fearsomely enough that these bug-torturers never did such a thing again. When asked about his day at school, he remarked on the knowledge of the teachers, not on the knowledge of his classmates. He was inquisitive, learning of a topic at school, then coming directly to his parents for them to expand upon it. Better, he retained information so it could be espoused later. Worse, he tacked on his own opinions at far too young of an age to be decisive about anything. Far worse, his deductions were always the same resolve both Enjolras and Aurelie would syllogize before. Be that as it may, we return to his charm because it was the umbrella that allowed all of this to be viewed as wonderful and not terrifying. He was perceptive enough to notice when adults began to fear his words and would break the ice with a witty phrase that would leave them chuckling. Honore lived up to his name, and not only did he love his parents, he deeply respected them. He was aware of their greatness and strived to match them.
More important than any of this, Honore was a perfect son and brother. He took his role of the eldest seriously, always setting the best example he could for his brother and two sisters. He taught them, he helped them, he protected them.
Recognizing fully that Honore's humbled nod needed affirmation, Enjolras left Aurelie's side and walked over to his son. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Enjolras nodded back with a smile to assure him that while this morning was not forgotten, it was forgiven.
"You and I will take a walk tomorrow," Enjolras told him, his tone a promise that they would further their discussion openly and without the tension. That all concerns would be addressed. He then moved his hand to Nicodeme, who was not to be called by his full name, not ever; Nicodeme had made that very clear at a very early age. "Honore and Nic, you'll look after your sisters tonight, yes?"
"Yes," they said in sync.
At the same time, Manon, the more outspoken and precocious of the two, groaned.
"We don't require looking after," she said, her lower lip the exact shape as Enjolras', with the same ability to push forward in disdain. It was only this lip that differentiated the twins; Margot's lips were a copy of her mother's.
Aurelie laughed and knelt down once more. "Come," she said, beckoning the brood with her arms. "Give me a kiss good night and be on your way."
She appreciated that the girls would always be eager to hug her, as her two sons had become reluctant with their hugs by the age of eight.
But they too walked over to hug Aurelie in turn, each placing a kiss on her cheek while the twins attacked Enjolras with flair.
"Good night, Monsieur, Madame," Madame Moubray said, palming the shoulder of each child as they marched in a line out the door. "Have a pleasant evening, and I'll have them back by breakfast."
"Thank you, Madame," Enjolras said, his hand on the door. "Thank you for all of this. I've no doubt you wish to sleep in your own bed, and we are both sorry for the inconvenience."
Though they treated her as though she was family, she did not say what she wished to, feeling telling them to be careful was too inappropriate. So she instead said, "No inconvenience at all. You know I rather like Madame Pontmercy. And it's always a pleasure spending an evening with Madame Begue. The children will have a wonderful time."
When Enjolras shut the door, Aurelie's look was austere. Toying with the chain around her neck, her lips pursed to an outline of white, she stared at him severely.
"Be sparse with hosting such evenings in the future. We are not the Café Musain."
People Have to Eat Somewhere
The guests arrived at seven for an eight o'clock dinner, and while drinks were served, Aurelie took the time to pop in and out of the kitchen to make sure everything was perfect. This was, after all, the first of such banquets held.
Such is the unfortunate consequence of marrying a born leader. When the whispers began, it was only natural that they turn to the man who exuded confidence and radiated authority. Enjolras was not only congenial, he was influential and knowledgeable. Without intending to, he dominated all men even when they did not know they were under his command. He inadvertently maintained authority even though he avoided political leadership. Even those superior felt subordinate in his presence, and strangely, it did not even bother them. Everyone was drawn to him with such force that they forgot their own self-importance.
Most had not brought their wives, but enough had that Aurelie was not the only woman in the room. She was, however, the only woman men saw. Enjolras took the head of the table, which normally seated twelve, however they'd managed to slide in enough chairs for eighteen, fourteen of whom were men. Beside Enjolras to his immediate left was Aurelie. Marius was on his right.
Monsieur Vannier sat at the head directly across from Enjolras. He owned a half a dozen foundries just outside of Paris, triple that throughout the country, thusly named the Metal Man, as he controlled upwards of thirty percent of the iron in France. There were many reasons he was here tonight, the largest being that he was industrial; the government viewed him as a rich landowner, nothing more, unlike the financial bourgeoisie such as bankers and railroad tycoons. Such railroad tycoons—and we pardon the expression—railroaded him legally even though he provided more iron than any other company.
It was, in this time, the financial bourgeoisie who controlled the world. As Jacque Lafitte had said in 1830, "From now on, the bankers will rule."
On the opposite side of the spectrum was Cuny; an activist who had taken a role at the barricades in 1832. He had recently been released from prison and looked as much; he had no money, no job, no place to stay, though he had managed to scrounge up the proper attire for tonight's soirée. He'd been invited to incite and to contain. Cuny had shouted "Vive la Republic" after he'd been sentenced to a death, a sentence which had been commuted when Louis Philippe, after an extreme amount of pressure, finally announced: "King of the barricades of July, Pardoner of the barricades of June."
Where Vannier needed a fire lit to act, Cuny needed to dim his flame until the proper time when every man was in his place.
They would not fail again.
"Welcome to my home," Enjolras said, rising at the head of the table. "I am not going to pretend we are all friends; that anyone here would share a meal together outside of this banquet and any future banquets held. But as our freedom of public assembly has long since become a crime, it is only in private gatherings that we can rally one another, then take the words to banquets of our own. We are bonded by our beliefs, bonded in a higher call that transcends friendship, which makes us a fraternity of brothers for a common goal. We all know who you are: that you have the ears of other great men, and tonight we dictate for such men where we go from here. We, citizens, are Paris. We are the city that holds together France, and each of you is a road to others. This is the only way possible, and so the opportunity must be seized. Here I present representation.
"History has shown us revolutions that result in change, for the people must rise against injustice or the world does not evolve. But history has also led us to believe that those with wealth think only one way, and that the way is current and likeminded with the state. This is not the case, or you would not be here tonight. Every man at this table has the words, every man has the wealth. Never before have such men been dauntless enough to take a stand, it has only been those who have nothing to lose. These men who are in power act out of cowardice, those with nothing to lose have been brave. But we are the engine. We are the bourgeoisie, which admittedly, I despise. Our wealth and status has the capability to sway, but without commonality, we do not have the capability to change. Here I present you with the numbers, and as a force together, I present you with a republic.
"Tonight we begin a process, well thought out and well planned. We take our time, because for each of us, this is our last shot. There will be no more failed uprisings, for these failures only strengthen the monarchy's resolves. Tales are spun and propaganda is spread to the public who are not educated enough to know it is but a puppet speaking. Who controls these strings? The government. We have a free press paid mightily by people like us, but it has been a façade. This country cannot stand these small displays that fail any longer, for it shows over and over again the strength and power of the monarchy and government. With each failure, more fear to rise again. This is why it is upon us. This is why I glorify now that I am a bourgeois. The masses are indeed the majority, but they have not yet had our support, and here I present a victory."
Placing a hand on Enjolras', Aurelie rose. "And here I present you with dinner," she said with a self-deprecating smile, then ushered toward the door where the footmen were waiting to serve their meal. Raising her glass of wine into the air, she added, "Let us drink to our partnership, our newfound friends, and to our future success."
The toast was well received, and Aurelie noticed that her husband's words had achieved the desired effect. She could not yet decide if she was proud or terrified.
But she was ready. In the closet on June 6th, 1832, God had answered her prayers. Because she had accepted the death of Enjolras, God had kept her safe and she had managed to, impossibly, walk the streets of Paris in blood-soaked trousers and not have a single question asked of her. She had lived in purgatory for the months that followed, believing him dead, and yet Enjolras had been delivered to her.
Which meant God had a higher plan for him. God was returning her life to her for the sake of her child and the children to come. But even God cannot change a man he has created once the work has been complete. Enjolras may have grown, but he would never change. He was a revolutionary, and not just any other. He was a leader. Enjolras was only on loan to her. There would come a day when she would lose him to the republic, so Aurelie could only be grateful for the years that followed one day at a time.
The year had arrived, the day was near. It was borrowed time she'd had in response to her acceptance that he would inevitably be lost once more.
And the timing was right. For both of them, really. Aurelie believed in this as much as he, and recognized sacrifice for a greater good. Their children, still young, had been raised to understand the world. Should the very worst happen, finances were in place, caregivers were on call.
This banquet had been planned for many months. Not a day had gone by where it went undiscussed, and that included preparing for all possible outcomes. Such conversations were hard on both. You would be wrong to think that Enjolras pushed this upon Aurelie, or that Aurelie had simply caved. You would be wrong to believe that a detail was too feared to be talked of, as with all things, Enjolras and Aurelie settled for nothing less than a masterpiece.
"And if we are arrested?"
"—Our children live with the Pontmercy's, assuming Marius is not with us. If he is, they legally go to Benoit and Pauline."
"And if we are separated?"
"You flee to England with the family. We will make such arrangements for travel ahead of time, and we are welcome with the Hughes in Cambridge."
"And if the situation is grave?"
"We abide by our duty to family, first and foremost. Should either of us deem it time to run, we listen and we obey."
"And if you die?"
"I die with you."
"Be serious."
"I finish what was started and see it through, despite any pain I am left in."
It does not matter who said what, because they both said it all. The conversations were equally shared with questions and answers, and though few tears were shed and very rarely, they had both cried at one point.
Marius was here tonight, but Cosette was not, nor would she ever be. Grown up as they all may be, none of these women were Aurelie. This had been a point of contention; Aurelie ganged up upon by everyone but Enjolras to stay away from it. It was only Enjolras who understood that she was both dauntless and devout, and while he did not wish to ever repeat June of 1832—while it pained him physically that she would always determine to stay by his side—he did not speak out against her once.
No, Cosette was to stay as far removed from all of it as possible. She was the godmother and she believed her duty to the title pious. She was the umbrella to weather any storm blown their way. They had all determined, including Cosette, that no plans should reach her ears at any point should they end up carted away and accused of treason or plots. Cosette was to be left untouched.
The same went for Pauline and Agnes, though this was loosely defined. Nothing was shared, though nothing was hidden.
Enjolras, Marius and Aurelie were the leaders, Benoit and Theodore the core, Pauline and Agnes the onlookers, Cosette the passerby. And walking this ladder back up, should any of this meet trial, Cosette was the saint, Pauline and Agnes the servants, Benoit and Theodore the parishioners, the other three; the sinners.
Though everyone knew, including the men at this table, that Enjolras was the general. And in this church, should the world be destroyed, he would be sold as the devil.
"It is about properly training citizens," Aurelie said to Monsieur Louis Blanc, a writer for an independent liberal paper. "We cannot fault a life for having been born into the wrong environment. The son of a prostitute is just as worthy as the son of a duke. It must be up to their person to define who they are, not their mother, though we do not live in a just world and I don't foresee a time when this will change. But with training programs for the underprivileged, such men can define themselves as more than they were given from the womb. This leaves us with any man who wishes to and is capable of working in employment, which betters our country and what it produces."
"But they will all cry: 'The cost! What of the cost!'" Louis Blanc argued.
"A year of training a man and placing him a new job doubles output in trade. Our country is rich enough to begin investing in its own citizens."
Louis Blanc thought this through with his hand holding his chin, then smiled at Aurelie, having never met a woman in all his years who could match him in conversations of politics.
"You, Madame, are rather astounding. Where were you when I was a young man on a crusade for love?"
Aurelie laughed delightfully, having once perfected this art of volleying against flirtatious men before their barricades. "Monsieur, I believe you would have found me with this man here," she said, her hand crawling over to Enjolras', which caught her husband's attention long enough for him to smile, then return to the conversation he had been holding with Marius and Cuny. "That or my family's land in Lavaur, depending on the year. My father was Baron de Beaulieu, back when the particle 'de' was essential to parading nobility."
"I know this name," Louis Blanc said, leaning back in his chair and subconsciously running a hand through his black locks.
"You would know of the living Baron Beaulieu, who is my brother, Benoit," Aurelie explained, then shook her head with her radiant smile. "A ridiculous story of Louis Philippe, no doubt unable to sleep at night, wishing those whose titles were stripped before the July Revolution to be returned to them."
Louis Blanc laughed. "Ah, our good King of July. He certainly aims to please!"
"All the wrong people," Aurelie agreed. "And in the process, he ends up stepping on toes he'd hoped to avoid as he trips along."
Across the table, in response to a diatribe Cuny had espoused on beginning the new revolutionary wave immediately, Marius said, "My good man, Cuny. You've only just left prison with your yellow passport. Perhaps you should breathe the fresh air before you get yourself thrown back in!"
"Next time I die before I go to jail," Cuny replied gravely.
Enjolras raised a sardonic brow.
"No," he said. "Next time we win."
When a conversation had a moment of enlightenment with those speaking, a man would stand and raise his glass to get the attention of all eyes and ears, then entertain with a speech, telling the story in the way one begins with: "I was just speaking of the bankers to my friend, Monsieur l'Eure," and follows with a transcript of who said what and why it was so important to be brought to the entire table.
As these long tables are not exactly designed for intimate conversations with different people, when dinner was finished, they began to hover. Enjolras took two men to his study for a more private conversation while Aurelie indulged two wives and their frivolities, hiding how her eyes would roll behind closed lids. She did get her opportunities to speak, however, and those who heard her found her fascinating.
The evening was long, but what put an end to it was this:
"This is no banquet!" Monsieur Langelier called above the noise, stepping upon a footstool to get a head taller than the rest. He then held his goblet of wine in the air, and all eyes turned to him as he hollered across the room with a large sloppy grin. "Enjolras, my friend, this has been the most enlightening and fascinating dinner I have ever had the pleasure to attend, and I thank you and your wife sincerely for throwing such an event. But it seems to me, gentlemen, that if we are to do this properly, and if we are to prepare such an offensive effort, we need a show. Each of you throw your dinner parties and I will be the first to RSVP, but you are to tell your attendees they are hereby invited indirectly to my estate for a true banquet on the first Saturday in August. So we cannot assemble publicly? I say we assemble—truly assemble with full force—privately, damned if they know it or not."
Enjolras caught Aurelie's eyes and smiled infinitesimally upon seeing how they sparkled. This was what they had been hoping for, whilst dreading, as there was certainly fear to be had. Enjolras knew now that he could lead silently, or at least equally with these influential men. And it was time that the government knew that a volcano had been stirred to life, and it would not be long before it erupted.
One man met the toast with this: "Let them ban private assembly! I'd like to see how well that goes over!"
Another said: "As Enjolras said earlier, let us glorify our status and use it for the people who have none!"
A third called to Langelier: "You are the first good man to offer it, let me be the next. We will follow with another at my estate!"
Cuny, who had been talking with Aurelie, shrugged.
"People have to eat somewhere," he muttered, then clinked her wine glass and turned away.
A Game of Chess
Monsieur Chaverin, butler to the Enjolras residence for the better part of a decade now, shut the door after the final guest's departure, then turned to his employers.
"I sent the footmen away with their wages for the evening," he said to Enjolras. Monsieur Chaverin was one of three servants permanently retained by the household, and his granddaughter, Mademoiselle Elaine, had served as their maid for the last two years. Their third was the children's nurse.
"Thank you for the work tonight," Enjolras told him, then clapped his shoulder. "It was a late night, and you have my gratitude for your willingness to be part of such a thing."
Chaverin's chest swelled. "I am proud to say I work for you, Monsieur. And I will be very proud when we live in a republic to say that I served as butler at the first banquet, so it is I who must thank you."
Noticing Aurelie placing empty glasses on a tray, he quickly rushed over to her, but righted himself to appear proper before she was reached. "Madame, you're not to worry yourself," he said. "Please get yourself to bed; Mam'selle Elaine plans to be here early to clean before you break your fast."
Exhaling deeply, Aurelie placed the glass in her hand on the tray, then set the tray down on the serving table. She smiled wearily at Chaverin, the man at least twenty-five years her senior. "Thank you, Chaverin. Please take tomorrow off. I know we will be."
As the butler's eyes met Enjolras for approval, Enjolras was already nodding.
"Then I will see you Monday," Chaverin responded, then gathered his hat from the hook. "Good night Madame. Monsieur."
Enjolras latched the door behind him, then walked over to Aurelie, who had returned to putting glasses on the tray. Behind her, he placed his hands on her waist and brought his lips to her ear.
"What did you think?"
"No more or less than I expected," Aurelie said with an invisible shrug, but as she reached for another glass, Enjolras swiftly caught her wrist with his hand, his other wrapping around her waist.
"Stop with the glasses," he said in a whisper, but the cadence was a demand.
Aurelie noted how entirely seductive he could be in moments like these. Yes, an arm wrapped around her, a hand holding her wrist still. And as he asked his initial question once more, Aurelie's eyes became hooded as she exhaled.
Twisting around so she remained in his arms, she met his eyes.
"I believe it was the outline of a masterpiece," she said, beaming at him. She began to untie his cravat with deft fingers. "Langelier loves you, his wife is without a doubt in love with you. The man has universities in his pocket, which means a load of educates. Cuny you tamed, which means a load of wild revolutionaries, both optimistic and pessimistic, but they will be the muscle when the time comes. Louis Blanc will write of such ideas, spreading word to those none of us know. Vannier has the repressed industrialists, and every man tonight has a reason to hate the financial bourgeois."
His cravat untied, Aurelie brought both hands to rest on his chest and finally met his eyes. "I can say every day of my life that I am proud to be your wife, but tonight I am humbled by it. Of all the women in the world, you chose me."
Enjolras' pupils hit the ceiling as he shook his head. "As if any other woman was strong enough to stand by my side." Gazing at her once more, he said with a tone of endearment, "You make me human, Aurelie. Without you beside me, such men would think me terrifying, though I do believe they have more to fear when speaking to you, as you far surpass their intelligence. They have as much substance as you have in your little finger."
As this was said, Enjolras had taken her hand, and when he finished this phrase, he gently took the tip of her pinky to his lips, then kissed it. "And how are you feeling?" he asked levelly, then moved to her ring finger to repeat the kiss.
"Tired," Aurelie said, watching him finish his rounds to each finger before he brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. "But that's not what you're asking."
"No," Enjolras said, shaking his head. "That's not what I'm asking."
"Let me get us some water and I'll meet you upstairs."
"I'll still be asking," Enjolras called after her as she disappeared through the dining room.
Aurelie snuffed the lanterns through the dining room on her way to the kitchen. Filling two glasses with water from a pitcher, she drank hers down, then refilled. She walked through the house, extinguishing all flames, taking advantage of these few minutes of silence. It was nice to be alone after all these men had flooded her house and she wasn't quite ready to head upstairs.
So with her one lantern, the glasses of water placed upon a table, Aurelie sat down on their blue sofa. The lamp cast an eerie glow throughout the room and she relished in it. The toile wallpaper depicted country scenes that reminded her of Lavaur, and she made a promise to herself that she would take her children there one last time before things became too volatile. She briefly thought perhaps she should leave them there before Paris once again flooded with angry men, which included their father and mother.
She noted that she'd loved this house, despite her shock when it had been purchased. When she'd first walked in, she couldn't imagine Enjolras living in such a place: large rooms with high ceilings, crown molding, wainscoting and polished wood. They'd both grown up in wealth but had taken a silent vow of poverty somewhere along the line, and she did not believe for a second she'd ever return. But he had done this for his family.
Everything he had done in the past fifteen years had been for her, and it was due time she repaid the debt by letting him go. She knew this clearly, and because Aurelie was not comfortable with outwardly displaying emotions, no one but Enjolras would ever have known that she struggled with it.
It is not easy to tell the man you love to risk it once more after having been through it already.
What was easy for Aurelie was standing by his side. If he must face off with the National Guard again, she would be holding his hand as it was done. They had agreed she would not hide this time, and as Aurelie believed in a republic as fiercely as he—as she believed in him as he did her—it was even easier.
When she felt ready a few minutes later, she gathered the glasses and made her way upstairs to the bedroom.
Inside, Enjolras was just about to climb into bed, and he raised a brow. "I thought I'd lost you."
"Never," Aurelie said, then set down the lamp on her side of the bed. She handed him his glass, took a sip of hers, then placed that beside the lamp before crossing over to her vanity. Just as she was about to reach behind to unbutton her dress, Enjolras' fingers were working the buttons down, so she relaxed her shoulders, lightly closed her lids, and decided to just feel.
She'd need to note how the simplest of actions still coaxed a gentle smile from her lips, in the case these things were lost. Then she let that go, as she would not allow such dark thoughts to cloud them.
"You smell nice," Enjolras said gently, this the first moment he'd had a chance to pay attention to the finer details, as his mind had been too busy before the dinner party compiling how he'd get through to each man; what words would touch them, what phrases would light their fire. Through the mirror, he saw the corners of her mouth curve into a smile, which made him echo it.
He loved that, alone with her, he had not tired of their intimacy. In his family, his father had a separate room, and he could not remember a time he'd seen his parents touch. He'd assumed that, with time, this was what marriages became, but it had proved to be the opposite. They were both still as excitable, only more comfortable. They were affectionate in front of their children and it was expanded upon alone with flair. And he smiled as he thought of this, glad his children would understand what love should look like.
Aurelie stepped from her dress, then set to unpinning her hair as Enjolras unlaced her corset. She'd never wanted a handmaid, Enjolras had never wanted a valet. Their closeness was communion; they took care of the other instead of relying on others because, in the end, they could only count on each other.
When he'd finished with the corset, he gathered her lace robe and helped her shrug it on over her chemise. She sat down and began removing her earrings as Enjolras softly swept her hair back from her shoulders.
But as he began to unclasp the chain, she placed her hand over the front. "No," she said. "Leave it."
"Why did you wear the chain tonight?" he asked openly, genuinely curious. He'd found it peculiar, but had not questioned it, only suggested she wear the diamonds instead.
"You gave this to me when we were married, at least legally," she said, admiring how her husband still appeared young, but not so young that she didn't look younger still.
"I'm well aware," Enjolras said with a chuckle. "But you don't wear it often, and you shouldn't, of course; not as you wear proof of our union on your finger. I'm curious as to why tonight."
Aurelie sighed; appreciated the next moment when Enjolras placed his hands on her shoulders and lightly rubbed them.
"We are twenty again," she said, then sucked in a deep breath. "When you gave this to me, you were wild with the revolution. I wanted to feel it on my skin tonight; a reminder of the past and who you are."
"That's awfully dark, Aurelie," Enjolras said, pursing his lips and peering at her through the mirror.
She smiled half-heartedly. "I suppose it is," she responded. "But it's also a reminder of who I was. I was the girl who hid at the barricade because I believed in it all so firmly and refused to allow you to die behind my back."
"You're still that girl," Enjolras said fondly, never letting his gaze through the mirror stray as he looked at the woman who mirrored him.
"I am," she agreed. "And this chain solidifies it for me. Feeling the weight of it around my neck—even though it weighs as much as air—returns me to those days, signifying the best and the worst of them."
"Still quite dark," Enjolras said, perturbed.
"Perhaps," she said, raising a brow, then turned around on the bench. "But you asked why and I've given it to you, nonetheless."
Cradling her face, Enjolras said, "Indeed, and I've always loved your honesty. Come to bed, let me hold you."
Once under the quilts, Aurelie laid her head on his chest, her delicate fingers tracing his collarbone. She loved the smell of him; the feel of his skin against hers. It was only in these times; his arms around her as they lay in bed, that she wanted the world to stop turning. Together, no world existed. She felt safe and protected, and she indeed was. Enjolras would throw himself in front of any who wished to harm her or his children.
"It's funny," Enjolras said, his hand pausing on her back. "Speaking of such days, I thought I knew the epitome of bravery, but I did not understand the full extent of the fire that drives one to be brave. Then I thought it was anger over injustice, but it's deeper than that. In fact, it was you who taught me of what fuels bravery far better than anger after the birth of Honore. Do you remember it?"
Aurelie smiled wistfully. "I called Marius over," she said. "In this very bed. Looking at Honore, all questions were answered with such clarity that I'll never forget that moment."
"You said it was for love." Enjolras could feel his heart in his chest as he thought about how this had impacted him. "Because of you, I am valiant instead of reckless, which is why I believe so firmly that the outcome of this will sway in our favor. Love is far more flammable of a fuel to light a flame than anger, and because it is necessary to keep you and our children safe, I will be nothing less than a titan when the heat is on."
"How long do you think?"
"The people won't take long," Enjolras mused. "Three months and this will no longer just be a spark. Three more to plan for timing and placement. Another month to gather what we need. I'd say just after the new year."
Aurelie could not help her shudder, which went noticed by Enjolras. He brought his hand up and began to soothingly pet her hair.
"How are you feeling?" he repeated, his question that had gone unanswered earlier.
"Equally as dedicated," Aurelie said, and that was the truth of it. "And equally as terrified, if not more so."
Enjolras took a moment to think about this, let it sink in. He knew absolutely that he had the power to better their country, but after 1832, he understood duty.
"It is not too late," he said. He would not do anything without her blessing. "If you would like us to step out of this now, these men—"
Aurelie was already shaking her head. "We agreed it will never be too late," she interrupted. "Should one of us feel we should run, even face to face with the National Guard it will not be too late. I'm with you and I am resolved. I only add that it terrifies me, as the two can go hand in hand."
"What can I do?"
As Aurelie thought this through, her eyes wandered their bedroom, and she thought of her family: her children, her brother, her parents, even her friends, these indeed her family even if not bonded by blood.
"I'd like to take the children to Lavaur," Aurelie said decidedly, then thought further. "I'd like to stay in France, as it is our home, but they could stand to get out of Paris. Perhaps circle down to Marseille. I believe I could use the sea breeze before I'm smothered by the air of a revolution."
This elicited a chuckle from Enjolras, and he kissed the crown of her head. "We have four weeks before the Langelier banquet. I could have things arranged tomorrow for a Sunday departure."
Placing her palms on his chest, Aurelie swiveled so she could rest her chin upon them to look him in the eyes. "It will give you some time to rally, though I hate to be away from you that long," Aurelie said sadly.
Raising a brow, Enjolras said, "Who said away? I'd be coming with, assuming you want me to, of course."
"You really could?" Aurelie asked, her laugh one of surprise and doubt. "You have your job, and on top of that, you have men to rile up!"
"Men will always rile themselves, just give them a king and they're half way there," Enjolras told her, and he loved how she peered at him, as though she'd thought he'd honestly allow her to take a journey without him, especially now. Who knew if they'd have a chance to again?
"And of your job?"
"Cremieux is already in it," Enjolras said, speaking of the man who had given him the job and defended so many men at trials after the barricades. "He knows as everyone does, however much they silently deny it, that I will end up pushed into leadership the closer we come—"
"We agreed—" Aurelie interrupted with warning, lifting herself fully from his chest to sit above him.
She didn't make it any further before he interrupted her right back.
"—We agreed I could manipulate these men," he said, stressing the word, "without rising to leadership, but let's be honest; the day we erupt will be no different than June—"
"It damn well better be!"
Yes. They were domesticated, but they had not lost their fire.
"You would leave our fate on a volatile day up to bourgeois?!" Enjolras cried, his eyes narrowed as he adjusted his position from laying to leaning. "These men have never seen—"
"They were not alive in 1832?" Aurelie demanded, her arms flailing outward. "They've certainly seen it, and though there haven't been barricades since, of which we don't even know if there will be come our time once more, they have certainly seen the violence of an uprising!"
"And whom of them has picked up a sword?"
"How are we to know?" Aurelie asked in bewilderment. "You have, and take a step back, because I believe you'll find yourself parallel in status and wealth."
Enjolras gave her a gaze that could have been accompanied with an eye roll, if he ever lowered himself to the action, which he did not. And he said nothing.
Realizing he was answering with his look, Aurelie did roll her eyes, an action she did not feel above, however rarely it occurred. "Don't look at me as though it's ridiculous," she said, but he did not alter his features, only magnified them. "So forget that they may not have ever picked up a sword; there was once a time when you had not, yet you led perfection."
The blink Enjolras made was slow and lethargic, his features nothing short of bland.
"Did I?"
Aurelie shook her head, her chin pushed forward in indignation. "Don't do that," she breathed. "Saint Michel was the last barricade standing. It was not your fault you were deserted, left facing the entire Paris Army alone."
It was barely noticeable, but the corners of Enjolras' mouth crept up, as she'd just made his point for him.
"Repeat what you just said," Enjolras dared, his words clipped, over enunciating the consonants. "And then tell me our fate should be left to other men."
As her lips parted, Aurelie went rigid.
She could see it. She was not seeing her husband just now; her vision suddenly showed her a barricade. And she realized that every time they had talked in the last few months, though they'd both agreed he would not lead, she'd had the exact same picture in her head: a mountain of furnishings, an army down the street, Enjolras at the top with a musket.
She'd denied that position of him in any conflict, chalking his placement up to her memory instead of a prediction of the future. But hard as she tried just now, she could not install another man in that location. Like a queen in a game of chess, Aurelie could relocate herself across the board: behind a pillar of pawns, out front offensively, standing sentinel until strategically necessary to use. But Enjolras was the king. He may shift, but he'd never travel far, and such was his place at the barricade. She'd seen him directly center through most of June 5th, and through the window on June 6th, he had leaned against the staircase with his swords. But no matter what, he was atop and fighting openly. He was the leader, and the last of the pieces left standing until it was checkmate.
His hand met hers, and though she could not look at him, she heard him softly say: "It is not too late."
The smile she did not feel, but it appeared none the less.
"It's been too late since the day I met you," she said, then met his eyes. "I've lived on borrowed time, Enjolras, and I accept it." As he began to open his mouth, she cut him off while shaking her head; shaking herself out of it. "You were saying about Cremieux?"
"Aurelie . . ."
"Hmm? Yes. Oh, of course. No . . . I'm—what is it?"
It was the sort of absentminded words one uses when they're trying to maintain composure whilst on the brink of losing it; nothing more than noise to try and assure the person speaking that everything is well. This, along with bright eyes not felt and a smile that is feigned.
There was a long pause while Enjolras studied her; him perfectly still, Aurelie making little motions with her shoulders and chin for him to continue.
He remembered this. The same had happened five days before the barricades, though would have happened sooner had she been in Paris and he'd seen her eyes. She believed in a republic, more so; she believed in him, but that did not make her immune to the fear and heartache before an inevitable, and through hers, he felt his.
They both knew this.
"Cremieux will be with us," he finally said, deciding not to insult her with coddling. They'd address the misunderstanding of his role as it came. Neither knew yet where he would be, they simply had different ideas of the extent. "He knows what I bring to the table, so he will not mind a month of extra work while I take some time."
"You can really do this?" Aurelie asked hopefully.
Enjolras smiled at her as he squeezed her hand. "It has been seventeen years since we met, and if you have not noticed yet that I would tilt the earth for you, then you have not been paying attention. Tomorrow I'll tie up any loose ends and we will leave Sunday morning for Lavaur. While we're in the south, it would be morally wrong to skip over Foulayronnes."
A laugh escaped, and Aurelie finally relaxed enough to allow him to pull her close once more.
"Let's abandon our children there," Enjolras continued. "You and I can take a few nights in Agen alone; my parents would be elated to lose us so they can spoil the kids."
"What else are grandparents for?"
"And godparents," Enjolras said. "I'll remind you that they are there now, which makes us alone tonight in our ostentatious house."
Aurelie's laugh was all knowing and rather wicked. "Whatever could we do?" she sang innocently.
Instead of responding, Enjolras clutched her, rolling with her until she was on her back. And without a word, Enjolras showed her the extent of what could be done.