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Ibrahim

Chapter 54

The Grounds

At the following dinner, Raoul and I did our best to watch both Philippe and Duchesse Stephanie Aurand without being to conspicuous. We looked for silent, secret glances between them, perhaps a whisper in passing, a note given from one to the other while standing side by side. But we saw none of that. The two of them could have had very little interest in anything bedroom-related at all, for all the propriety they displayed.

The same could not be said of the two single ladies present. The Comtesse Danielle Paseur - no relation to the de Chagny family - an aging woman whose husband had been two years dead, and the Marquis Belaire's unmarried daughter, likely Raoul's age, Claire. The comtesse flirted with me shamelessly, all winks and innuendos and arm touches. The daughter of the marquis ignored Raoul completely - he ignored her too - and instead smiled behind a fan or stole a glance over dinner at me.

I flirted, winked, and smiled back at both. The Marquis Belaire frowned at that, spoke in hushed tones to his daughter. Its only effect was for her to smile when he wasn't watching.

Raoul, it seemed, liked this even less than the marquis. Whenever either woman started vying for my attention, he would shift where he sat and find some topic to discuss with me - the weather as of late, what books he'd read from the estate's library, the value of the chair I sat in.

Normally, this would have bored me to tears, but there was something about the way he interrupted or took my eyes away from the two women that was absolutely fascinating.

And, once more, this dinner was fruitless. No useful information to be gathered at all; nothing but economic debate and talks of moral philosophy. The self-importance was enough to rival the late Shah and his court. Raoul stayed nearly silent except to talk to me, and as I wasn't invited to the conversation, I was quiet too - once in a while, someone would ask my opinion and I would give some vague quip like, "Who can truly say? All I know is that this veal is cooked to perfection." They'd laugh, and would again ignore the foreigner at the table.

I was sure that Raoul could have participated easily, but it was like he didn't exist at the table, to anyone but me. By the small looks of distaste on Philippe's face any time he looked at his brother, I couldn't help wonder if Raoul isolated himself or if the guests' ostracization of the vicomte was the work of the comte.

What I knew for certain was this: hearing Philippe joke that the sky was cloudier than Raoul's mood at a party, and then listening as everyone laughed while the vicomte frowned, twitched, and looked away, hit a nerve in me. A defensive one. Like I could flip the table over and then drag the vicomte to a quiet corner of the estate, away from everyone else.

But all I could reasonably do was not laugh too.

After the meals were finished, and the guests headed for the parlor to have tea, Raoul announced his desire to show me the estate grounds - they were, he said, lovely just after sunset. Philippe frowned and expressed the rudeness of pulling a single guest away from the rest yet again. And, I saw, there was a second, more intense warning in his eye. One I could not quite read.

Only when I lied that I had asked to see the grounds did Philippe relax and tell me that he hoped I found the summer flowers beautiful in the moonlight.

Once outside, surrounded by gardens and hanging lanterns lighting the cobblestone pathways, out of earshot of even the servants, I finally spoke:

"How you ever put up with them all on your own is a mystery to me." I'd dealt with people like them at the Persian court, but I'd been liked. The way they treated Raoul was akin to how Erik had been treated - but even then, the Angel of Death had never been the butt of jokes. Disrespected, yes, but no one dared laugh in his face. The vicomte, on the other hand-

He huffed a humorless laugh beside me. He walked with his hands behind him, and I couldn't decide if this choice was made because it was comfortable or because he didn't know what else to do with his hands. "I have learned not to care."

That was demonstrably false. I saw his face at the table. I kept my mouth shut.

He cleared his throat. "You were popular with Danielle and Claire."

I grinned. "I know."

"They clearly like you."

"I can tell."

"Do you like them?"

My eyes snapped to him, but he was currently finding the stone path extremely interesting. My smile softened. "Well, the comtesse is likely twice my age. Call me choosy, but I prefer people born in this century."

"People?" he whispered.

I knew I hadn't said 'women'. I didn't correct my word choice. It didn't need correcting.

"And," he continued, "what about the daughter of the marquis? She's...beautiful, no?"

He said 'beautiful' like he was speaking of a piece of art, not an attractive eligible girl. And she was attractive. I couldn't deny that it was not difficult to flirt with Claire.

But.

"I do not think that I have real interest in her. Besides, I believe her father would send a bullet through me before I ever got close to her." I paused. "What about you? You're similar in age."

"She's seventeen. Three years younger than me, and she's technically above my station. But you don't look too much older than that, either."

"Twenty-seven, and thank you."

"Ah. Well...you don't...look it."

I chuckled. "Thank you again. I suspect it's my youthful heart pumping blood to the rest of my body."

He chuckled lightly as well. Then, "Was there anyone at the party that you...have interest in?"

"Yes." My wide grin returned.

"Who?" he asked immediately.

"So many questions tonight, Vicomte."

He swallowed. "I apologize."

"Not to worry."

When I gave no indication that I planned on answering, we simply walked in silence.

Then a thought occurred to me. "Shouldn't we be spying?"

"If Philippe and Stephanie haven't dropped hints by now, I doubt they will over tea."

I felt that wasn't necessarily true, and I suspected he did too; but with such handsome company in such a lovely atmosphere, I was not going to argue.

"Did you enjoy going to lunch and discussing our plans?" he said.

"I did. Very much so."

"Good. Well. Then, would you want to...perhaps...meet again? We could go to the same place, or we could go to a café, or even the park - we could picnic..." He stopped, seemed to bite his tongue. "It's up to you, if you'd even like to do that, of course."

"I would. As long as you pay again. Now that you've spoiled me, Vicomte, I expect to be wined and dined every time."

I winked at him. At that, for the first time tonight, his face softened. A small smile met his lips. His hands relaxed and went to his sides, not a care paid to what his fingers were doing.

And we walked the grounds.