IV: Business

Three days later, the mayor of Toulon was having a birthday celebration. Mayor Beaudet was aging in at fifty-seven. The party was to be held at sundown and Aimée's father, a man of finance, was invited. Therefore, it was expected for her to attend as well. Her mother was hung up in bed rest, the baby in her belly fussy and kicking. Aimée was not thrilled about making an outing with just her father.

The seamstress had finished a new dress for her, a gown in a shimmering champagne color with gold seams.

"I want you to look your best," Gérard Lamenté had stated, "If we impress Beaudet, that means business for me. And besides, I hear his nephew is looking for a wife. He's a wealthy man. A wealthy man indeed." Something glinted in his eye when he said this that Aimée didn't like.

"I'm only sixteen, Papa," she responded, rolling her eyes as she brought the dress upstairs.

"Your mother and I were married when she was fifteen, Aimée," he called after her as he walked back to his own room to get washed, shaven, and dressed.

The gown was hard to put on by herself, but luckily Anna, the household maid, was there to help. She was twenty-two, and traveled to Toulon trying to get to Paris. However, she had run out of funds and the Lamenté's had hired her for cooking and cleaning.

"This is quite the gown, mademoiselle," Anna had said, her brow furrowed in concentration as she laced up Aimée's tight corset.

The ribs of whale bone were tight and pressing against Aimée's ribcage, making it hard to breathe. "A little bit looser, if you please, Anna."

"But it's supposed to be tight, miss."

"I want to go to a birthday party, not pass out in a carriage. Make it looser." The ribs of the corset loosened and Aimée took a comfortable breath in. "Thank you, Anna."

The maid only nodded in answer as she brought over the dress, the fabric shimmering in the evening light from the window.

Stepping into the garment, Aimée was laced up into it. Turning to the mirror, she was surprised of how she looked. The bodice of the dress clung to her frame greedily, making her waist look tiny and curved, before it pooled out into an excess of skirts. Aimée's dusty blonde hair complimented the shade of the dress perfectly and her stormy eyes seemed to burn with a cool fire underneath dark lashes. A braided bun sat behind her head and curled tendrils of tarnished gold hung around her face. She swallowed past a string of pearls.

"You look beautiful, miss," Anna offered as she finished the last of the ribbons for the dress.

"Yes, I must say I can clean up pretty good." Aimée responded, smiling with rose lips. She turned to leave, a little bit wobbly from her heeled shoes. Anna helped her into the hall and down the stairs. Melanie, wrapped in a shawl and sitting in a chair, smiled at her daughter as she descended.

"My, you're beautiful, Angel," she said, her smile glowing, "You didn't get your looks from me, and certainly not your father. You're a miracle."

Aimée's own smile outshone her mother's. "Don't say that, you're beautiful even in bed rest, Mama." As she talked with her mother, her brooding about spending the evening with her father disappeared. She was going to have fun at the Mayor's birthday. Looking like this, how could she not?

"Aimée, are you ready?" Gérard boomed, coming in and adjusting the cuff of his coat. His own blonde hair was tied into a ponytail that sat at his neck. He was clean shaven, save for the large sideburns that claimed the sides of his face. "Melanie, you should be in bed."

"I wanted to see you two off, my love." Aimée looked away at her mother's gushing voice. "My beautiful family. I wish I could go with you."

Gérard walked forward and whispered something kind in Melanie's ear, causing her cheeks to flush with red. For a moment, Aimée watched them and wanted to forget all about his yelling and force. Wanted to forget that, three days ago, her cheek was housing the sting from his hand.

The clopping of hooves on cobblestone brought Gérard back to Aimée's side. "The carriage is here," he declared, adjusting the starched collar of his shirt and putting a firm hand on Aimée's shoulder.

"Goodbye, Mama," Aimée said, receiving a warm kiss on her cheek as she hugged her mother. The carriage, pulled by two roan horses, was a dark cheery wood, the tall tires painted black. Her father helped her climb into the cab, then slid in across from her, shutting the door behind him. The two were jostled a little as the carriage started rolling on its way.

"The mayor's nephew's name is Philippe and he is twenty-four," her father said, looking at her as if she was expected to write down notes. " I expect you to be perfect tonight, understand? I want to work for Beaudet and his nephew has inherited enough money for us to live comfortably for the rest of our days."

So this is a business scheme for you, isn't it? Aimée thought, her eyes darkening in the bouncy carriage. "I'll be sure to act the perfect lady, Papa," she said instead.

He gave a satisfied grunt as he turned his head and looked out the boxed window. Whatever good will her mother had instilled in her before they left the house was starting to dwindle as Aimée neared the mayor's estate.

Sitting atop the highest hill outside the reaches of the hustle and bustle of the city streets, Mayor Beaudet's estate was nothing short of extravagant. A fan of Roman architecture, six large pillars stood in front of the wide oak doors, holding up a patio roof of marble. The windows glowed with candlelight and good cheer. Men in black coats and women in colored gowns climbed the thirty or so stairs that led to the doors. Carriages looped around a circular drive, a large fountain featuring a stag at the center.

The chirping of violins welcomed Aimée and her father as the door of their carriage was opened by one of the many servants that were under Beaudet's employment. To her right, she recognized the older gentleman that owned the bank escorting his wife. She looked to be only a few years older than Aimée. Her father's hand against her back wiped away her look of surprise as he escorted her up the steps and to the estate.

"Names?" a tall, dark-haired butler asked as they stood in front of the door. Aimée craned her neck to see as far as she could inside. The décor was gold and crème, platters of tasty hors d'oeuvres and champagne making their rounds on the hands of well-dressed maids.

"Gérard Lamenté and my daughter, Aimée Lamenté," Gérard had put on a false look of kindness and pleasure for the servant.

"Ah, right here, monsieur," the butler said, finding the name on the list. "You are welcome to go in. Enjoy your evening!"

Inside, the sounds of clinking glass, laughter, and strings wafted their way and wrapped themselves around the room. Aimée's feet were walking on black and white checkered marble floors and expensive gowns swept past her. Her father reached over and plucked two glasses of sparkling champagne off of a passing tray.

Handing one to his daughter he leaned over and whispered, "Sip it. Delicately."

She did as instructed, feeling the tart fizz pop its way across her tongue. Deciding she liked the taste of the alcohol, she sipped again and studied the crowd. There were a few men that she recognized from her father's business. Stone-faced men with medals and shoulder cuffs were from the military, their wives smiling politely.

"Ah, Gérard! How nice to see you!" came a loud voice from Aimée's left. She turned her head and saw a portly man coming towards him, beaming from celebration and wine. Mayor Beaudet. "And is this your daughter? My! She's grown to be quite the beauty!" His lips were warm as he politely kissed her hand and his bushy moustache tickled her skin. Aimée smiled, but her grin did nothing to match her father's.

"What a gathering you have going on here, monsieur," Aimée said, her voice strung with over-falsified politeness and charm. Just like I was taught, Aimée thought. "Your home is the most beautiful I've ever seen!"

Beaudet dismissed her compliment with a wave of his hand, "Bah, this old place could use some pitching up," he grumbled under his thick beard, "And please, call me Beaudet. Everyone else does in this town." He turned to Gérard. "You better watch out, Lamenté, the men will be crowding her tonight!" he chortled, giving Aimée's father a wink.

"I was actually hoping you'd introduce her to your nephew tonight," Gérard suggested, sipping his flute of champagne. "He is here, correct?"

"That boy? Oh yes, he's here. Sniffing around the wine cellar probably," Beaudet didn't look too pleased. "He'll find you easily enough, my dear," the mayor said, turning his attention back to Aimée, "The boy has a habit of sniffing out beautiful women."

Suddenly, the violins and cellos chirped up in Vivaldi's Spring and Beaudet grinned from ear to ear. "Ah! My favorite! Come, dance!" he quickly took Aimée's hand and led her to the center of the marbled floor. Soon they were surrounded by other couples dancing to the music.

Mayor Beaudet wasn't a fine dancer at all, Aimée soon realized. His hands were clammy and his feet were clumsy, but he laughed and smiled, making light of his awful coordination. Aimée's mother taught her how to dance at a very young age, and the young girl was surefooted in her heels, but she stumbled around giggling with the mayor.

Soon, the time came to switch partners, and before another man came over, Aimée slipped off to the sidelines to watch. She was short of breath from laughter and the mayor had stepped on her feet once or twice, however she wasn't insulted or embarrassed. It had been the hardest she'd laughed in a long time.

As she stood next to a pillar, she surveyed the crowd, dancers and all. There, standing with a group of military soldiers, stood a tall man with unmistakable straight-backed posture. She looked at the stubble clinging to his chin and noticed the stormy green eyes as he spoke to his military acquaintances.

She approached him with a smile and lightly touched the guard's arm in greeting. "Well, hello monsieur Javert. What a surprise seeing you here."

The man turned and looked at her. For a moment, his eyes were curious as he observed her, not recognizing Aimée in her fine dress and perfect hair. Once his gaze fell on her stormy oceanic eyes, he nodded in recognition.

"Mademoiselle Lamenté," he said, giving her a curt bow. He turned to the other men he was speaking to and introduced Aimée. "I'm surprised to see you here as well," Javert said to her after introductions were finished.

"My father is a man of finance. He knows Mayor Beaudet, so naturally we were cast an invitation. What about you?" Aimée asked, looking over Javert's navy coat, pinned with a medal that held the justice seal of Toulon, and his hands gloved in white cotton.

"I'm being promoted," the man's stern eyes were lightly laced with pride, however his mouth stayed a straight line.

"To Inspector? I remember you saying something like that."

Javert shook his head as the other military men wandered off in search of more food and drink. "No, just a higher form of guard. I'm very close to Inspector, however."

Aimée nodded, "That's very good to hear."

"Yes."

The air thickened as both of them searched for something else to say.

"Did you dance?" Aimée blurted. Only after she asked the question did she realize how ridiculous it was. She felt the heat of embarrassment start to creep up her neck.

Javert shook his head as he looked towards the center of the room. Twirling couples continued to sway to the music. "I'm…not one much for dancing." His tone was a little uneasy.

"Neither is the mayor," Aimée said, chuckling.
Javert picked up on the strong tones of her amusement in the short laughter.

"By the looks of Monsieur Beaudet, I would say that he doesn't look to light on his feet," he said, looking at the loud, cherry-faced mayor as he stumbled his way across the floor. This got another smile out of the girl, but Javert's face was still as stone.

She looked at him. "You don't smile much, do you?"

Javert looked down at her. "No. There's not really much to smile about in the shipyards."

The girl nodded and sipped at her drink, the pearls at her neck moving when she swallowed. "Yes, I suppose you're right, but you're not at the shipyards now, are you?"

At this, amazingly, Aimée caught sight of the corners of his mouth barely curl upwards. The green of his eyes sparked with life and he leaned back a little. "No, I'm not, thankfully," Javert said, a new note to his voice.

At this, Aimée gave him a large smile, her teeth white and even against rose-painted lips. "Here, excuse me a moment monsieur," Aimée said, holding up a hand gracefully. Javert nodded and watched her turn and walk after a waiter that held a silver platter of treats and a few glasses of champagne. She returned with another flute cradled next to her own in one hand and two flaky pastries in the other.

Aimée held out the hand that carefully balanced two glasses to Javert. "Here, have a drink, Javert," she said, momentarily forgetting a formal title before his name.

The guard raised an eyebrow. "I'm not one much for drinking, mademoiselle," he said, trying to hold up a hand politely.

"Nonsense, this is a birthday party. And please, call me Aimée," she insisted.

Used to turning down drinks from all sorts of people, Javert was surprised as he took the glass from her hand and took a sip. The bubbles fizzed in his mouth and the tartness bit at the back of his throat. It had been a while since he had drank anything besides cheap red wine.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?" she asked, smiling and taking a less than dainty bite of one of the pastries. "I would offer you one of these, but I am absolutely starving."

Javert gave a little smile again as he watched her destroy the rest of the dessert in one bite, red crème sticking to the corners of her mouth. "Your manners don't match your clothes, mademoiselle," he said, reaching into his pocket and handing her a handkerchief.

She rolled her blue eyes. "Oh please. My entire personality doesn't match any of this," she said, waving her hand. Javert started to recognize the movement and decided that it was a habit of hers. She took the handkerchief and wiped her mouth. "You saw me in the market that day, covered in dirt. I am completely out of my element here."

So am I, Javert wanted to say. Instead he stayed quiet. "What made you want to dig in the garden at your age?" he asked, taking another sip of his light drink. He then realized that his question might've come across as condescending.

Aimée didn't notice. "At the time, I thought it was a good idea. It was such a dreary day, I thought that I would hand out some flowers, brighten some people up a bit. But, I couldn't find the sheers, so I had to just dig them up." She shrugged and bit at her second pastry. "In hindsight, I probably looked insane, covered in dirt and holding scraggly daffodils out to everyone." She laughed her strong laugh, and scrunched her eyes up as a small snort escaped her.

"Oops, I'm sorry, that was embarrassing."

Javert shook his head, "Not at all, mademoiselle."

He was starting to grow comfortable as he talked to her and sipped his drink. The music had switched to Vivaldi's Concerto for Two Cellos. A little darker than Spring, but a fine piece of music nonetheless. The dance floor thinned with the change, and Aimée spotted her father, Mayor Beaudet, and a dark-haired young man she did not recognize walking over. Javert noticed how she stiffened. Etiquette was a strong force.

"Aimée, might I introduce Anton Beaudet," her father said, gesturing to the young man.

"Pleasure to meet you," Anton said, his voice a calm tone.

Aimée curtseyed, holding out her hand so Anton could kiss it lightly. His eyes were brown and a stray lock fell to his face, making him look like a mere boy. His smile was crooked, one end curling upwards in a sly way. Aimée decided he looked like a fox. A sly, young, little fox. Little did she know it, but she shuffled a millimeter closer to Javert as she studied him.

For the first time since introducing Anton, Gérard noticed Javert. As his recognition grew, the man's eyes darkened. "I know you," her father said, narrowing his eyes and pointing at the guard.

Javert gave a curt bow out of politeness. "I do believe we've met before." He didn't mean for the comment to be made out of sarcasm, but he did take notice out of the corner of his eye as Aimée brought a hand to her mouth to hide her small smile.

"Javert, you never told me you know the Lamenté's!" Mayor Beaudet exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear and clapping the stiff guard on the back.

"I had only very recently made their acquaintance," Javert said, moving his head to adjust his collar. "I came across Mademoiselle Lamenté and her father a few days ago in the square."

"Fascinating," Beaudet said, turning to Gérard and bringing up a hand to pinch the side of his moustache. "Javert here was just promoted as overseer to the shipyard here in Toulon. This man has quite the career ahead of him when it comes to the law. In training right now to become Inspector."

Javert did not do well to gushing. He clasped his hands behind his back uncomfortably and his eyes darted from person to person. "Only if I'm lucky, Mayor Beaudet," he said.

"Nah, a man with as much talent as you needs no luck, Javert." The man, staggering a little from his drinks, clapped Javert's shoulder again.

Gérard's eyes were dark and narrowed as he watched Javert. Javert's own green eyes held Aimée's father in their grasp. Any previous comfort he had eased himself into around Aimée was now gone, swept clean and replaced with austerity. Aimée noticed the tension between them and wished she could cut it.

The violins chirped up again in an up tempo waltz, and Anton motioned to Aimée, snapping her out of her thoughts concerning her father and Javert. "Care to dance, mademoiselle?" he asked, his mouth curling into that sly grin that didn't quite sit well with her.

She paused for a moment too long and caught sight of her father's hard eyes, now turned to her as his jaw clenched in expectation.

"Um, yes, I would love to," she stammered, recovering quickly as she took his hand. His skin was cool and smooth. Little boy hands that never touched a shovel or lifted a board. As she was being led away to the center of the marble floor, she wondered what Javert's hands would've felt like from the shipyards. His skin was probably dry from the salt air, rough from work and his grip as strong as his gaze.

The second Anton placed his palm on her waist, the thought was driven away. He was strong on his feet, elegant and possessing a controlled confidence that the spluttering mayor lacked. Anton's fox grin leered down at her and she blinked in the bashful way that women often did, her eyes fluttering down to watch her feet.

"You need not watch your feet, Mademoiselle Aimée," he said, spinning her around the marble floor, "You are a true grace in dance." His offered complement was sincere.

Aimée felt a bashful heat start to rise up her neck, "Thank you, monsieur," she said.

"Call me Anton," he murmured, daring to pull her closer to him as they danced. Aimée felt her heart quicken and for a moment, almost stumbled in her shoes. She let out a surprised, embarrassed giggle, not knowing how else to respond in the situation.

"You're laugh sounds like heaven," Anton said, the charm sliding out easily between his teeth.

Out of hearing distance from the young man's murmured words, Javert couldn't help himself from watching the two dance. His back was stiff as he stood next to Mayor Beaudet, his hands clasped in front of him. The mayor leaned over and said something to Gérard Lamenté, smiling and patting his belly with a shapely hand. Javert glanced at Aimée's father and couldn't help but clench his jaw a little tighter as his eyes fell on the other man's hands, hands that struck young women in public.

Javert sniffed as he turned his attention back to the dance floor. He didn't trust Beaudet's nephew. He'd seen those types of eyes before…eyes that lured women down alleys and persuaded favors with just one wink. The guard remembered his mother whispering in a distant memory, Crooked grins mark crooked souls.

It was very obvious to Javert what Aimée's father was pulling with the mayor and his nephew. Gérard was hoping for a marriage, one not of love but business, uniting him with Beaudet's finances. Gérard no doubt already had back-door scams in order to swindle money right under Beaudet's cherry nose.

It's none of your business, Javert. Why are you concerning yourself with another family's matters? Javert thought, looking down awkwardly at the champagne glass that he still cradled in his hand, the alcohol inside going flat and warm from the heat of his palm. As he took one more sip, he realized with disappointment that it delight his senses as it did before. Now it tasted sour and acerbic.

Crinkling his nose, he threaded his way through the crowd and made his way to the massive front balcony, praying that the night air would fill his lungs.