Chapter 34
The Marquis was an opportunist, in the end. Whatever the result, he would find a way to reap the rewards.
Staring across the side of a pretty miserable looking vegetable patch, Jean de Bourbon watched with vague interest as his current pet project walked away, visibly frustrated, from the residence of a certain young lady.
Yes, it may have looked like the wrong horse to back right now, but the Marquis was convinced he could use the half-wit to his advantage, but not for the purpose of watching the blind stallion pass the finish line. Of course, his other bet was on that the curious old man D'Arque returning and to be prepared when he did, as it could only possibly be for one reason…
Till then, Jean decided it best to instil doubt in the young Belle's mind through Gaston, feeding him lines which would further cloud her conscience and leave her all the more vulnerable. It wasn't to be simply unkind, although he had to admit, he did resent the chit for helping the dear old Prince recover. The selfish bastard should have been left to rot in his tower, no more than he deserved, after all the money his family had taken away from his own, dear departed father, loaning money he knew would never return out of fear, for the late Duke was a bully and everyone knew about his terrible gambling habit which only got worse and worse as he grew older. The fact Adam had not even taken the time to notice, to realize his cousin's dire situation, said it all. It meant nothing to him, his welfare, the destruction his family had caused over the years. It was only fair therefore, to take what Jean felt was owed to him. That and maybe something more. Something he knew with absolute certainty his cousin did not deserve.
The Marquis grimaced as he tried desperately to not roll his eyes as he saw a very dissatisfied man turn and stomp hastily towards him.
"You said it would work!" said Gaston hoarsely, pointing a thick finger towards him, his green eyes bright. "You specifically told me to use those words, and it did nothing, she said nothing!"
The Marquis sighed as he looked up at the soldier, a good four inches taller than himself. He hoped things turned out in his favour, because if they didn't, he would have wasted precious brainpower on this buffoon, not to mention having to stay close by in the local tavern which served only, for his tastes anyway, miserably stale beer.
"On the contrary my dear fellow, the fact she said nothing is a very good sign. It means she was listening and considering what you had to say. You left her curious."
"So?" uttered Gaston, waving his hands in the air, leaving the Marquis to break eye contact for fear of showing his true colours. This man was even more an idiot than he had first realized.
"It means there is a chance when you speak to her again, she will be more welcoming. She will want to talk to you."
"Yes, but only about the Duke which is of no use to me at all!" exclaimed Gaston before turning around sharply, afraid he had been overheard. "I want to talk about me, about us, not that idiot Prince-"
"Don't worry about that," said the Marquis, shaking his head as he lent against his jet-black cane, stirring the gravel underneath. "I promise you, once D'Arque comes back, the Prince will be entirely out of the picture. For now, you need to work carefully-"
"What about D'Arque?" said Gaston, interrupting the Marquis as he folded his arms, the brass cufflinks on his sleeves shining almost too brightly in the morning sunshine. "What if he returns?"
"Believe me, what he is doing right now will take a lot more time than either you or I can imagine. You have the time. All I am asking, is that you use it wisely."
"I cannot afford to be wise," snarled the hot-headed soldier, taking one step closer toward the Marquis. Despite their glaring differences concerning their individual places in society, Jean de Bourbon was instantly reminded of why the Prince had become friends with this man. He had to be careful not to underestimate him too much.
"You will have to be, if you ever wish to get her hand," said the Marquis, standing his ground and paying extra attention to not let his eyes flicker for a second.
"If you ever," said Gaston slowly, his voice falling to no more than a whisper, "double-cross me, I promise you, there is no chateau or palace you can hide away in where I will not find you, break down the gilded doors and make you live to regret it."
"If I were you, I would try and put that energy to better use," said Jean, still not moving from his spot. "Belle will come to you, I am sure of that. When she does, you will thank me for it, but believe me, without me, you do not stand a chance. I am not a liar Gaston and you had better count yourself lucky I even considered to help you."
A moment of charged silence passed as Gaston continued to glare down on the slippery aristocrat, but they both knew he was not lying. For once, Gaston saw value in having someone like that close by, someone unlike LeFou, who constantly sang to his praises. He did not like the man, but he had to admit he needed him. At least for now.
"Fine," grunted Gaston, stepping back and stretching out his broad shoulders. "But I'm done waiting."
"We've waited three weeks," replied the Marquis, adjusting his coat, hoping he was not visibly sweating. "She will come out soon, I am sure of it."
"You better be sure or this deal is over," snarled Gaston, sliding a chilling glare in the Marquis' direction before turning to walk out of the village to where he had tied up his horse.
The Marquis watched a while till the big oaf had turned the corner before looking up the shining windows of the tiny cottage where all this had begun. The poor girl had no idea what was coming, but he would try his best to steer her in the right direction.
In his direction.
As the Marquis turned away, he thought lazily about where to get a spot of lunch. Scheming was a rather exhaustive process, and even with leverage, it was hardly something to think about on an empty stomach.
Just as he switched direction to leave the village however, he heard the latch of a door open and low behold! The young lady did in fact exist, and dare he say it, up close, he began to understand why Adam had become besotted with her. She wasn't just pretty, it was like she'd stepped out of a fairy-tale or pastoral poem, a nymph from an ancient forest, otherworldly.
Now, if he were an idiot, he would approach her, make a fool of himself and drive her even further away. But he wasn't.
The Marquis watched as Belle hesitantly left the cottage, stepping quickly out of her front gate to head down towards the village square. As Jean followed her, it soon become obvious why.
As they approached the village chapel, he saw her pull out a dark navy-blue book, entering the chapel. The Marquis groaned softly as he stared across from the fountain in the middle of the square where a bunch of boys were playing, splashing water towards each other. He wasn't a religious man and had no reason to be in there. Who knows how long she was thinking of staying inside.
To his surprise, Belle quickly reappeared, looking visibly brighter with a certain looseness about her as she carried in her hand a pale yellow bound book, which she promptly put into her hidden skirts. It was well-worn, like it belonged to her almost, which was an odd thing to say, but that was how it appeared.
She would have kept on smiling no doubt, but the Marquis, too busy staring at her, had forgotten to notice how out of place he looked, with his gilded black cane and dark navy coat with golden buttons, so when Belle walked straight toward him and looked up, it led to a rather uncomfortable moment where she proceeded to look him up and down before curtly turning around and coming back the way she came.
"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the Marquis, rushing to keep up with her as Belle turned away, walking through the busy marketplace, trying to get away from him.
"Mademoiselle, please!" said Jean as he rushed up to her side, even though it was clear she did not want to give him the time of day. "I do not wish to intrude but-"
"He sent you, is that right?" replied the young lady curtly, her voice bright yet sharp. "To see why I keep refusing his letters."
"Refusing his letters?" repeated the Marquis, intrigued by this new information.
Belle abruptly stopped, turning to look at Jean sarcastically, a dark look appearing on her face which, oddly, nearly reminded him of Adam whenever he was caught attempting to lie during cards.
"I know exactly who you are, Marquis de Bourbon," said Belle in an exasperating manner as she placed a firm hand on her waist and stood tall, staring directly at him. "I worked at the castle for nearly a year, so do not pretend to even think there is even a chance I do not know who you are or why you are here. You have made a pointless journey for no reason, and there is only one thing you need to relay back to His Highness, and it is the same thing I have been saying throughout my silence for weeks now. I do not want his money, I do not want his pity, I do not want his letters, his words or apologies. I want exactly nothing from him, from now on, forever. Is that understood?"
"Yes," uttered the Marquis, finding himself in awe as he stared the young lady before him. No wonder the Prince got rid of her when he had the chance. She was no match for him, if the blazing passion he saw in her eyes was anything to go by.
"Good," said Belle bluntly, before looking up at him again, slightly confused by his behaviour. "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"Wait mademoiselle!" stammered the Marquis again as Belle began to walk away from him. "The Prince did not send me here! I am here of my own accord!"
Her feet stopped once more as she turned to stare at him quizzically, her brown hair glinting auburn in the midday sunshine.
"There may come a time when you need help," began the Marquis, trying to think quickly on his feet. "When things change for you."
"I thought we understood each other," said Belle, lowering her voice as villagers passed by, staring down at her in more than a simply cold manner. "I will never accept the Prince's money, or his plans to move me away from my father to Paris. I don't care what he thinks, this is my life and I make my own decisions. I will never leave my father."
"I completely agree!" said the Marquis softly. "My dear mademoiselle, I am happy you were able to get out of that godforsaken place when you had the chance!"
Seeing her anger slowly turn to befuddlement made Jean feel easy again. Here was his chance.
"I- I don't understand-"
"My dear Belle- may I call you Belle? The Prince is one of my dearest friends, but I say with the greatest intention in the world. He is a damaged individual who has had to deal with a lot of pain and loss. His father was, well, I'm sure you already know, and he has had his own fair share of demons. That castle is no place for a bright young woman, such as yourself."
"You do not know me, Monsieur," said Belle flatly as she turned away once more.
"There may come a time when you are thankful that you know me, mademoiselle," said Jean, his voice calm and centered. "I have reason to believe a major change is about to enter your life, and rest assured, it has nothing to do with the Prince of this county."
Her reaction was slow, gradual, as if it were taking her some time for his words to sink in.
"What are you saying?"
"Do you remember Monsieur D'Arque?" said the Marquis simply, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Yes, of course," said Belle hoarsely, now looking rather worried as she turned to look at the Marquis once more, her hands gripping hold of her skirts tightly.
"When he returns to this village, it will be for you and not to collect any debt. I am not at liberty to say much more than that, but rest assured, when he does, I will be there to help you mademoiselle. You may not understand now, but you will, soon."
Belle stared silently as the Marquis approached her, a graceful smile on his face without a hint of the narcissism.
"I see now why the Prince wanted to help you. You were not the only one watching in that castle dear mademoiselle. Adam may be wrong about many things, but he was right about you. You are filled potential and it would be a shame to waste it in this undeserving village."
With that, the Marquis swept by her, heading up toward Belle's cottage to leave the Villeneuve, but not before Belle spoke some parting words.
"Marquis de Bourbon!"
Jean turned, a little unnerved he was not left with the final word.
"There is a military man who lived in this village who goes by the name Gaston. He told me he was once friends with the Prince. Do you know of him?"
The Marquis smiled as he thought to himself, it was almost too easy, before replacing his expression with something nonchalant as he turned.
"Why of course, mademoiselle. We all played together as boys. Gaston's family was of aristocratic background, but when their wealth dwindled, the Prince and his family severed all acquaintance with them. They take class very seriously. It may surprise you to hear this Belle, but not all of us are like this. The Duke de Chatres was a harsh man, and his son must follow suit. It matters not how strong the bond is. If the societal rank does not back it, it is as flimsy as straw to people like them."
Belle's face fell, the vulnerability she had been trying so hard no doubt to hide finally coming through. The Marquis wanted to dance with glee but he could not. This would finally whatever hope Belle had felt towards the Duke and she would finally turn away from him forever.
"Better things lie ahead Belle, I am sorry I cannot say more, but do not lose hope. The Duke is not the only path for you to finally travel beyond the horizons of Villeneuve."