His Voice

Back at what was now her home, Marianne dismounted and led Mercedes into the small but serviceable stable.

"Ma pauvre cherie," Marianne crooned to the horse, rubbing her nose and ears, and running her hand over the long, velvet neck. "This is too small a space for you," she sighed, as she began to unsaddle her. "I fear I shall have to sell you. It is not fair to keep you in such a tiny box." Heart tightening, she kissed Mercedes quickly on the nose and left, stripping off her gloves as she exited the stable.

Entering her bedroom, Marianne stood at the door, arms akimbo, scanning the space for what she would need. "Oh, dear," she murmured, gazing at the still full bandboxes she had placed in one corner. "I shall need a wardrobe as well, or a closet, perhaps. Oh, dear," she repeated. "This is all turning out to be frightfully expensive. Well…perhaps Mercedes will help. Oh, Lord," she sighed, sitting down and burying her face in her hands. "Shall I part with my only friend? After everything else?" Sitting up straight and wiping her eyes, she said, "That is enough of this self-pity, Marianne. You chose this life for yourself and now you will make the most of it." She shook her shoulders and ruthlessly squelched the overpowering feeling of loneliness. It was a move she made often.

After measuring the square footage of the room, and jotting down some notes on what size wardrobe, or closet (if she could get one) she would need after the rest of her belongings were sent to her from Paris, in addition to making some notes on her bookcase, she checked her watch. "Perhaps I should wait until after lunch," she mused. "He was up very late last night." Pursing her lips, she sighed and finally pushed down her desire to re-acquaint herself with her eccentric neighbour. Looking at her watch again, she took out some papers, and, not bothering to change her riding habit, as she would only put it on again in two hours, proceeded to work on her lesson plans, ignoring her mother's voice protesting in her mind.

Finally, Marianne looked up from her books at the clock above the schoolroom door. Minutes later, she was back in the stable, re-saddling Mercedes. "Oui, ma cherie, nous sortons encore aujourd'hui."

-

It was not said for no reason that Edmond de la Salle was reclusive. Whether this reclusion was self-imposed or not, however, was hard to tell. If one were to ask Edmond, he would (if he replied at all), respond that he had no desire for company. He had, in fact, every desire to stay away from the public. If one were to ask the villagers, however, they would respond (probably at length) that they made it their business to stay as far away from "that strange ghost of a man" as much as possible.

What most of the villagers didn't know, though, was that Edmond was responsible for the better part of Boussoc's upkeep and kept it running efficiently, in addition to whatever other mysterious activities that kept him busy during the days and nights when he wasn't working. As to those, nobody knew with what he occupied himself, although a few of the young men who competed with each other to see how close they could get to his house before losing their nerve, whispered of music that was surely not from this plane of existence, and surely not from the one above. It haunted them in their dreams, a few of the more honest ones said. However, only the local priest knew exactly how it had affected them all.

-

Marianne dismounted Mercedes, slinging the reins over one side of the saddle, and leading her through the thick clump of trees which obscured the house of Edmond de la Salle. After making her way through the first seven feet or so of trees, growing closely together, Marianne came upon a lovely, medium sized brick house with a beautifully carved, large wooden door, and a heavily smoking chimney. Tying Mercedes' reins to a branch, Marianne lifted her skirt and walked up the path through a well-kept garden, and onto the brick steps, where she knocked on the beautiful door.

Soon, the door opened, a polite voice saying, "Bonjour, du Char – oh." The polite expression on Edmond's face turned into one of contempt. "I thought you were the comte. Clearly you are not, and yet I cannot conceive of any reason why anyone other than the comte should come to my residence."

Storing this information in her head for later use, Marianne replied demurely, "Oh, you see I am the comte. Du Chartier has been pretending to be me, and I have come to claim my rightful place."

"I see," he said, his deep voice very soft and for the first time, she realized that it was not only well-modulated, but was an instrument that he employed for every occasion, his tones like warm silk caressing the ears of the listener. It was a bewitching voice and Marianne inwardly warned herself to beware of it.

Wait – was that a smile? No, it was just a twitch at the corner of his lips, but it was enough for now.

"Why have you come here?" Edmond said boredly, raising one thick, straight, scarred eyebrow.

"I do not wish to be rude," she said, stepping past him into the house, taking off her gloves one finger at a time, "but as your comte, I feel that I should have been invited in sooner."

"Do you?" he said, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if she had finally gone too far. However, he closed the door behind him and said, "Then let me atone by offering you a seat and a cup of tea."

"Why, thank you, tea and a seat would be lovely."

Gesturing for her to go ahead of him, they exited the front hall and entered an airy sitting room, where Edmond again gestured for her to sit. "If you will excuse me," he said, and exited, returning a few moments later, carrying a large silver tea-tray, laden down with all the accoutrements. Marianne wondered at the ease with which he carried it and laid it down on the coffee table, thinking how odd it was that such a thin man could be so strong.

"Well, Mademoiselle?" Edmond asked, seating himself in front of the window, so that the light was behind him. "I assume you have a reason for interrupting my afternoon? Other than to inform me that you are usurping the magistrate?"

"I am not usurping," she reminded him. "It is my rightful place. I assume I must pour my own tea?"

"Of course." Shifting in his seat, he said, "I may as well inform you now, I am not a good man, Mademoiselle. Nor am I a gentleman. This is not to say that I will take advantage of you, so you have no need to flee in fear of rape or molestation. Ah, I see I have finally rattled that smooth façade."

Marianne wiped up the tea she had spilled, heat spreading through her cheeks. "You must forgive my maidenly blushes, Monseigneur," she said, tartly.

"Ah, yes…Monseigneur," Edmond sighed resignedly.

"Why do you feel the need to inform me that you are not a good man?"

"I believe you had a reason in coming here, Mademoiselle? I am a busy man."

"Very smoothly done," she said, dryly.

His scarred brows contracted and she said quickly, "I require a bookcase."

"I see," he said, slowly, his velvety voice slinking over her.

"Also, I believe the comte will be coming to you with plans for an addition to the schoolhouse. I need a kitchen and possibly a sitting room. Also a closet."

"Of course," he mused. "And as I can hardly suppose that you would leave me alone while I do these things for you, I surmise we will be seeing more of each other."

"Do attempt to conceal your joy, Monseigneur," Marianne said, standing up and drawing on her gloves, giving him a liberal dose of her smile. "I shall think you have developed an infatuation for me." He scowled.

A/N: Thank you to those of you who have left me reviews. I have previously been responding to those by hitting the reply button on my e-mail and it just occurred to me that that might not be working. So please let me know if you got a response and if not, then I'll make sure to rectify that. Thanks for reading! As always, comments, questions, criticisms, all are welcomed!

Ma pauvre cherie - my poor darling

Oui, ma cherie, nous sortons encore aujourd'hui - Yes, my darling, we go out again today.