the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
xx . tM - Mt . xx
Part 4
xx . tM - Mt . xx
"What's the matter, my love?"
Constance shuddered at what Bonacieux called her, at his caress of her cheek. d'Artagnan used to call her mon amour, he used to touch her like that. He was the only man she wanted to speak to her like this, to touch her like this. But he never would again.
I will learn to love this man, she told herself fiercely, for father.
But she already knew that she could never love anyone like how she'd loved d'Artagnan. It was impossible. The second she'd first looked into his beautiful and soulful brown eyes at the Market, he'd already stolen her heart, she just hadn't know it then.
But she had learned, he had shown her.
She would never have that again.
She had pleaded with Bonacieux to wait until her father arrived, but he was adamant that the ceremony go on, without delay — and that was that. Milady seemed to have no sympathy for her either. But at least she had Aramis. She'd asked after father and Athos (who disappeared at the same time), but it appeared that the Spaniard was as clueless and as worried on the matter as she was.
"... do you, Monsieur Bonacieux, take Constance to..." the priest continued to speak.
"I will."
Constance glanced to the back of the church were Aramis stood aside of the closed doors, it was just the five of them (Constance, Aramis, Bonaciuex, Milady, and the Priest).
He gave her a sharp look of sympathy and she had to look away, least it cause her to burst into tears. Her gaze focus instead on Bonacieux's moustache. She could swear it was moving, twitching. She forced back the shudder as Bonacieux gripped her unwilling hands uncomfortably tight in his clammy hands. Moustaches had never disgusted her before. Her father had one, Aramis had one, Athos had one. Most men she knew had one. Alexandre and Porthos, too. But d'Artagnan didn't have one and that was all she cared about — d'Artagnan.
"... do you, Constance, take Bonacieux for your husband..."
The lump in Constance's throat was grand. She swallowed, trying to push the emotion that swamped her back. She had to say it, she was going to say it.
He will take better care of you. She could hear the self-shame in d'Artagnan's voice as he admitted that to her.
God, how she wished she could go back to that night, to say all the things that she had really wanted to say, but was too overcome with shock and pain to think properly. I don't care about money! Don't you understand? I love you. I want to be with you forever. I don't care where, as long as you're by my side, Charles. All's I want is you...
"I—" The only man she'd ever kissed was d'Artagnan. And now she was going to have to kiss that moustache. She felt like she was going to be sick. "I-"
"STOP!"
The church doors burst open and Treville stalked in, Athos at his heels.
The breath of relief lodged in Constance's throat.
Aramis was barely able to hold back his whoop! of happiness. It had been torture watching Constance silently suffer up there, alone. He stepped alongside Athos and they gave each other an assuring nod.
"Treville! What do you think you're doing?" Bonacieux demanded, his shock override by his indignity.
Treville went straight up the aisle. "The marriage is off!"
"Explain." Milady hissed.
"As I said, this marriage arrangement is cancelled. I will not have my only daughter marry a man she will never love and suffer the rest of her life as a result for a mistake that I made." Treville said. "I do apologize and give you my regrets, Bonacieux."
"Regrets? Apologies?" Bonacieux sputtered.
Constance knees nearly gave way beneath her in utter relief as Treville pulled her from Bonacieux's grasp. "Père!" she gasped, sagging against her father's side.
"Oh, Constance! I am so sorry I forced you into this engagement even when I knew it wasn't something you wanted. I'm ashamed to say that I ignored the doubts I was having, but when Aramis and Athos told me about you being in love with another man, I couldn't sit around and allow you to sacrifice your heart for me."
Constance looked at her father in surprise, but then she smiled. "I love you, daddy. I would do anything for you, and it makes me happy that you would do the same for me. Thank you."
Treville kissed her temple.
Aramis stopped Bonacieux's advance. "Sorry, Monsieur. But it was never going to work anyways. Better luck with the next lady, hm?" he clapped Bonacieux on the shoulder cheerfully, doffed his hat to Milady (who had eyes of acid), and followed after the others.
"You will regret this, Treville!" Bonaciuex screamed in a rage after them, spittle on his lips. "I will make you pay! You think your reputation is in the dirt now? Pah! When I'm through, the only thing you'll have to your name are those lowlife Musketeers!"
The church doors banged close with a finality that was akin to a backhanded slap and Bonacieux turned his anger one the only other person he could, the innocent priest.
Milady, on the other hand, was silently seething. She never turned the other cheek. An insult like this to Bonacieux was an insult to her. They would be the butt of every joke around the city once this got out, and within the next few hours it will have. To be spurned by a family of disrepute, would follow them for years. And all because of that Gascon child and spoiled bitch! She didn't know how or when just this moment... but oh, they would regret ever crossing the Bonacieuxs, Milady would make sure of that.
Treville mounted his horse and Athos his, and Aramis gave Constance a leg up on her father's horse before settling on his own and they made way.
"Père," Constance questioned, seated behind her father, her wedding gown fluttering behind her, "There is something that you're not telling me."
Treville sighed. "I left this morning to see the man that you've fallen in love with — Athos took me."
"What?!" She gasped. "You didn't-"
He stopped what was a plea after the young man's health. "We had tea. We spoke. He convinced me, though I know that was not his intention." She was startled by his confession, but glad nonetheless. "He's a good lad, Constance. Honourable."
Happiness swelled inside her, the likes of which she'd only known since meeting d'Artagnan. "But what about you?" she couldn't help but wonder. "What will Bonacieux do now that we are not to be married? He was rather angry and shouted at his plans for revenge."
"To lose a catch like you, anyone would be." Aramis agreed, riding on the Trevilles' left. Constance couldn't help but give the Spaniard a fond look, while on their right, Athos sent the man a sour look, which the other Musketeer just tipped the brim of his hat at him and gave him a wide smile.
"Bonacieux is but having a tantrum." Athos answered her. "It is his step-sister, Milady, that we must be wary of."
"It is?" Constance looked aside to him.
Athos gave a short nod. "I've come across a the de Winter ladies before, they were not women to be trifled with. And now that she is a woman of station and reputation, Milady will do everything and anything, to keep it that way."
"It will take a bit to sort this mess out. Athos with stay with my while I head home," Trevillie told her, "And Aramis with accompany you."
Constance furrowed her brows at her father's meaning. "What do you mean?"
"I know you, sweetheart." He mused with love. "You will stay with me out of responsibility, but the entire time you'll be wanting to see the Gascon lad."
She blushed at being so transparent. "I... love him, père." She said quietly.
"I know." He handled the reigns to the mount one handed so that he could pat, and then squeeze her hands clasped around his middle.
They rode on in silence, each thinking about what the future might hold for them and the Treville family, until the came to the edge of the road that lead outside the city and to the farmlands. Constance and Aramis parted with Treville and Athos, the lady merely transferring over to Aramis' horse.
Porthos and Alexandre had returned that afternoon, though d'Artagnan wasn't at the farm. The man had been ready to storm the lands in search of his brother, but Alexandre had dismayed him when he spotted d'Artagnan on the crest of the hill across that road where his mother's grave was.
Porthos stared after the young man for a long moment, even after Alexandre had went inside, both knowing that it would do nothing to try and talk to the lad now. So in defeat, he went inside as well.
He raised a brow at the old man as he noticed that two empty tea cups on the table. "Looks like 'e had company."
Alexander nodded. "Let's hope that it a good visit."
"You can squeeze me a little tighter, I don't mind." Aramis suggest coyly as they rode.
Constance thwacked him on the back of his head for his meaning, but he chuckled nonetheless. "I always love a little violence in a woman," he responded to her scoff, "It keeps me on my toes."
"Cut that out," she sighed, but gave him a brief squeeze from behind in a hug, resting her cheek against the back of his broad shoulder. "I was almost married to that man, Aramis. I don't know what I would have done,"
"You needn't worry about that now," Aramis told her firmly. "You're free to be with d'Artagnan now. Revel in that happiness and freedom, my dear Constance. Your love is the rarest kind, it's true hearted and without deception. You deserve this, Constance, and anyone who thinks otherwise, well, they'll have to deal with a protective Spaniard."
"I'm so happy that you are my friend, Aramis." Constance whispered. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"Your days would be boring, that's for sure." He chuckled. "Athos' personality is to dry to bear alone."
"You never give up, do you?"
"Never, Miss. Most of all where you're concerned."
She gave a small smile, allowing her eyes to slip closed. There was no more guillotine hanging over her head. Soon, she'd be with d'Artagnan.
d'Artagnan saw his father and brother's final arrive, but made no move to go back to the house and greet them and relish in their return. His mind was too occupied with the visit from Treville and Athos, and all it's possible meanings. He always came up here, at times like these. He felt closer to his mother, and though he only had vague memories of her, being as young as he was when she died, it helped him push the pain aside and think a little clearly. He was always easily frustrated as a kid (even a tolddler), and he could remember her always admonishing him for letting others get to him so easily.
He'd come up here shortly after Treville and Athos had left. He was sure that he could feel it in his bones, the moment Constance said I will. She was gone, lost to him forever. Whatever chance Treville's visit might have provided, had long since passed. Constance was a Bonaciuex now, lost to him forever. He may not have been sure of much since their break, but what he did know was that he could not stay here, in Lupiac or Paris. If they were to see each other again... it was too harsh a fate. He didn't want to cause her any heartache if he could help it. If he were to leave — vanish completely from her sight — then she could focus on her new life as Madame Bonacieux.
Porthos and his father weren't going to take this new development well, but they'd just have to understand that he couldn't stay here any longer — it would be too mean-spirited, like a mocking-blow whenever they accidentally crossed paths. He would tell them that he had to try and make a new life for himself, though all he wanted was his old one back, to hold Constance in his arms again forever and refuse to let her go like he had.
But that wasn't likely to happen...
So twisted up with the dark and harsh dregs of reality, the young man didn't notice the horse galloping down the road towards the farm, two passengers astride; a man in the traditional blue Musketeers' cloak and a woman in a white wedding gown.
If he had, he would have seen Alexandre and Porthos come out the kitchen at the sound of hoof beats, seen Aramis dismount before helping Constance down, would have seen the foursome converse for a brief moment and Porthos pointing in his direction. And he would have seen Constance pick of her skirts in hand and run towards him.
"d'Artagnan!"
The Gascon sighed and hung his head, he could hear her voice on the wind calling his name — it sounded so real and so close that he felt his heart ache in yearning.
If he could just see her one last time before he left—
"Charles!"
He turned his head at the breathless voice and bolted to his feet as he watched Constance crest the hill in a wedding gown. He gaped at her, his arms wrapping around her as she reached and then collapsed against him, breathless.
"d'Artagnan." She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and a happy smile on her lips as she caressed his cheek.
"Constance —" that was all he could gasp before he kissed her, everything he had in that one touch.
Finally, they parted slightly.
He pressed his forehead to her, gazing into her beautiful and sparkling eyes, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other resting in the dip at the small of her back. "Constance, what are you doing here?" he whispered in confusion.
She cupped the back of his head, her fingers pushed into his silky dark locks. "Father stopped the wedding, he called it off.
Surprise flickered in his brown gaze. "He said that he came to visit you and you humbled him."
He blushed at her words. "All I did was tell the truth, I figured it was the least he deserved."
"You were honourable, d'Artagnan," she murmured, caressing his cheek, "It's a quality he likes in his men."
He took a small step from her and took both her hands in his. "I love you, Constance. I never want to be apart from you again."
"I don't want to be apart either." She agreed.
He smiled at her in response and paused, drumming up the courage inside of him; she waited. "Constance, your are like the air I need to survive in this world. After what had happened, I can't demand of you selfish things as I'm lucky enough to be holding you in my arms now. But I love you, and I want to show you everyday for the rest of our lives just how much I do — Constance Treville, will you marry a simple Gascon farmer?"
The breath was stolen from her at his question, her heart felt ready to burst. She only wished of hearing those words from him since they confessed their love to each other the first time and had shared that kiss. "Yes!" she told him. "Yes!"
He grinned and caught her as she jumped into his arms.
"Oh, d'Artagnan!" she gasped happily as he spun her around. "I love you!"
When they finally made it down the hill and told the three men of the happy news, the response was just lovely. They all went inside and a letter was soon sent to the city to inform her father and Athos of the happy engagement and to announce the wedding would be that same day. Both Captain and Musketeer hastened to the farm.
Constance and Aramis had told the others all the had transpired with the Bonacieuxs — and d'Artagnan instantly wanted to postpone the their wedding, but Constance refused.
d'Artagnan wouldn't let it go quite that easily though. "Is she safe?" he asked Aramis, ignoring Constance's arched brow in response.
Aramis gave a small smile in reaction, but nodded seriously. "Athos knows of this woman's character, having dealt with her in the past. He's assured that she will not make her move right away in anger, but will wait and plan."
"If that was supposed to comfort me, Aramis, you did a poor job of it." The Gascon deadpanned.
The Spaniard gave a one-shouldered shrug in reply, a what-can-you-do of sort. "We'll just have to prepare ourselves, but live our lives. Don't worry about it until we have to, no sense in having a dark cloud over our heads when there's nothing sinister in the air."
"You're not getting out of this proposal that easily, Mister." Constance said. She was going to marry him, no matter the consequence. "The Bonacieuxs can do nothing to us that we can't survive together — as d'Artagnans!" She told him firmly and with confidence.
d'Artagnan rather liked that last pronouncement and wasn't afraid to kiss her for all to see. "I wouldn't dream of trying, mon amour."
d'Artagnan was her love and her life and she wasn't going to let him go that easily. It was as Aramis said, there was no need to worry until the actual time came — if ever it did.
[tbc]
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
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