Chapter Two: The Arrangement

29th of August

Dearest Monsieur,

I am sorry you are receiving this letter much later than expected. I am afraid social obligations have kept me preoccupied, and they were exhausting to say the least. My mother is trying to present me as an eligible bachelorette at gatherings out of town in order to (hopefully) encounter those who have not heard of my escapades. I might as well be a prize horse.

According to her, I should have been married by now, but I have told her as well as my father that it is the very last thing on my mind. There is so much life to be lived before I settle down as a wife, because after the vows—as we all know—children soon follow. At least I have the presence of mind to admit that I am the last woman on earth who should be a mother right now. Ma mère perishes the thought and instead worries that I will not have anyone to take care of me, as though her and papa are at death's door. It is as if she does not know me at all! I can clearly take care of myself, and my father can vouch for that fact, but she refuses to listen. Convention dictates I be married at my age or be denounced a spinster. What horrible atrocities could women have possibly done to the man that ordained that law? How wholly unjust when men can live life happily unmarried without fear of reckoning or censure!

I will end my piece on that. Now to more interesting matters:

I hope indeed you had more time to think over the marvel of my victory! I forgot to mention that I was sixteen at the time, and being at a rather restless age in an assortment of ways, I was frequently on small excursions on my horse just to get out of the maison. You could say that my horsemanship was in top form then. Unfortunately now, I am woefully out of practice. My poor mare must be given walks by our coachman. And the demands of aristocracy are entirely to blame. See? Even our animals feel the sting of its cruelties.

I feel as though I should apologize profusely on behalf of my class for what you had to endure for that encounter, if that would even remotely be any considerable amount of consolation. Now I wonder if I have ever put any monsieur in similar danger for their brief affiliations with me. I certainly hope not.

Merci for sharing a tale of yours with me, the good as well as the bad. All affairs are a gamble: High risks for high rewards, or a high cost. Those are the stakes for the kind of thrills we seek. Despite that fact, if you know how to play the game, the gains outweigh the losses, do they not? I have learned many things about love, men, the human body, and myself that I would not trade for the scorching remarks and insults that have been hurled at me. Denying who I am would be a worse fate.

I would have liked to have seen you with your master and amongst nobility that night. I can believe you were confused for a rank higher than your own, but not merely because you were appropriately dressed. To me, the members of my society blur together, and many times I cannot tell one from the other. Would that have applied to you as well? I suppose we shall see.

Now, monsieur, may I ask what you have been up to since your last letter? Has your work also been keeping you busy?

With the utmost pleasure,

Babette

31st of August

Ma chère,

I cannot even write the entirety of my greeting. I am worn completely through, physically and mentally. The château was host to visitors this past week. Which, pour moi, means gala mentality every single day. I love what I do, but mon Dieu, I look nothing like my refined self. I would not be surprised if I suddenly looked twice my age. In which case, I dare not show my face to a beauty such as yourself for fear of frightening you.

I feel as though I am losing pieces of myself lately. Being a valet, life was grand. I traveled, I dined, I kept some pleasant company, all thanks to following my master's lead. After this week, I question whether or not I want to continue on the path before me, or take some steps back.

And then I remember the brilliant cellar my position allows me access to. Considering I have so few vices I indulge in, this is the one lure my present life uses to make me crawl back. Even now, I sit in the comfort of my quarters, nursing a glass of a fine red vintage. I find it soothes the mind and relaxes one's nerves quite well.

That is, considering that romance has escaped me as of late. Our letters have been a highlight for me as the field of prey yields no game. Normally I am... entertaining a lady friend over a small supper before I stoke the fire and we curl up on my chaise to see where the night leads.

Perhaps I have not been actively looking. Perhaps we have all been so busy that everyone just wants to sleep at the first available chance. Perhaps word has traveled about my numerous exploits. Whatever the reason, I find myself longing.

It makes me question my feelings on commitment. I enjoy the freedom of my chosen road to eternal bachelorhood. It keeps life interesting and full of unknown delights.

I suppose it is the wine or my current state of loneliness talking for me as I say... maybe having one woman to love and have waiting for me at the end of the day wouldn't be such a terrible thing. She would have her own work here, and at the end of the day, we meet here and find consolation in each other's embrace. Mayhap not always in the physical sense... but just to have someone to talk to, laugh with. Rather like the delight I find in getting a letter from you. The idea has been tempting, and having a lover like that would be better than my current lov—

Now I know it is the wine talking, as I wish I could scratch that last part from the page. You have admitted that you have learned about the human body, but that does not mean I should elaborate further on how to care for onese—

Until our next letter, when I may have hopefully regained some sense of polite decorum. I remain your humble, and foolish, servant.

J.L. Lumière

2nd of September

Dearest Monsieur,

Ever since the series of parties and dinners out of town began, I have been on strict watch to not leave the maison after dark. My mother has made sure to keep me busy so as to better conceal her reasons for placing me under house arrest, but I am not blind. Though that irks me still, I am also finding it harder to put my handmaiden in the position of having to tell my parents I have run off again. My conscience has finally made itself known—rather unwelcomingly, but better late than never, I suppose. All I am asking for is some new and engaging company, and these letters have been the closest thing to that. Dieu merci for them, or I might have done something I would have regretted, like bid La Clayette adieu.

But I see we both have been having troubles. My deepest sympathies.

I am sure you may only be suffering a brief spell of drought. Women's moods change like the seasons, and there are times when they seek some pure romantic hero, while at others they crave the fire of a Don Juan. Your time will come again, and the best part is, when that time comes, you can make them work for it. They will have nothing more to do than beg for your attentions. After all, being in demand means you are in control. I have never considered myself power-hungry, but that is one feeling I love to revel in.

From what I hear, you have another banquet to host in a week's time. I hope you will not be too exhausted to work it. Amidst the tedious prattle of entitled marquises and countesses, I dearly wish to salvage if only one moment of pleasant banter that evening, one that—your duties allowing—you would be gracious enough to humor me with.

If so, you shall find me in dark green.

Until then,

Babette

4th of September

My sweetest maîtresse,

It sounds as though we both are in need of a little adventure. I do wish I could be convincing enough to reassure your dear Maman that I am worthy company. Perhaps we might be permitted if, say, your handmaiden accompanied us? A walk in the palace gardens? A modest suggestion, I suppose, but they are on the grounds, at least, and they are especially enchanting at sunset. Hopefully, your parents would be less likely to object.

There is plenty of time to think that over.

Which leads me to express my joy of joys upon reading that I shall be graced by my lady's presence again. I am never ashamed to admit that I have missed your company, no matter how brief it was when last I saw you.

My work comes to an end when the last crumb has been consumed. Generally speaking, I have mingled among guests at events before, with Their Majesties' full awareness, and I have yet to be forbidden from doing so. I suppose my sense of hospitality and charm make a fine impression of them. Hence my permission to be present.

Should that be the case, I will likely be in my signature attire. It would be more difficult to not see me.

I count the days...

Lumière

7th of September

Ma chère Vicomtesse,

One of the most wonderful things about a life in servitude is the sheer amount of information one overhears. This being said, welcome to my domain.

Or rather, the palace. My domain consists of a dining room and wine cellar. It may not seem like a lot, but it is all I could have asked for.

I have already been cleared for the evening of the event, following dinner of course. Therefore, I do hope your dance card is clear for the evening. You have the finest escort in all the land to accompany you. Perhaps you might even send word somehow what I shall wear to compliment your attire. I am at my lady's command.

Ever your humblest servant,

J.L.L.

Babette smiled as she finished the maître d's note. He seemed to be taking any and every opportunity he could to make her swoon in his own way. The interesting part was… it was working.

She reclined on the bed, reading again the words in a script she had come to anticipate seeing. In the few weeks since they'd begun their correspondence, each reply she had received had raised this man in her esteem. Even when he was notating a stream of consciousness after a bit of wine, he remained eloquent and refined. A feat indeed! And despite being rather forward, the connotations behind his words have been more endearing than presumptuous.

But maybe she was just a tiny bit desperate… and lonely. The only remotely romantic affiliation she'd had has been with him, and by letter alone. Amidst all the falsities and prattling of her peers that her mother has forced her to endure in copious amounts, along with the fact that her father no longer saw reason to exclude her from a necessary part of her position, she had felt even more isolated than ever. The craving for not only understanding, but the proper touch of a monsieur who knew how to make a woman truly feel, was at its peak. She already had the empathies of this man, one who was strangely more like her than anyone she had yet come across, but even before that, she had captured his interest. By some miracle, even after her self-pitying rambling, she'd seemed to have garnered his respect as well.

Babette was not going to question it further. He was clearly as eager for her company as she was for his. It was perfectly mutual in every way. It just remained to be seen how mutually satisfying they could be together.

Knocks echoed on the door.

Startled from her musings, the viscountess slid off the bed and hurriedly stuffed the note under her pillows. Once composing herself, she called, "Entrez!"

Babette released a breath of relief: it was only her maid, Bernadette.

"Ah, bon!" she said with a smile. "Just the woman I wanted to see!"

"I would certainly hope so," the maid replied, amused as well as confused. "We need to get you dressed for tonight."

"I can get myself started," Babette assured, gently stopping Bernadette's hands from beginning to untie her bodice. "I need you to do something for me first."

Bernadette tilted her head, watching her mistress with suspicion. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Babette lifted her chin and maintained a teasingly righteous air as she strode over to her jewelry case. She pulled out a small velvet box before handing it to Bernadette. "I need you to make a delivery."

Bernadette stared at the box now in her hand, her expression humorously perplexed. "But... to whom?"

A sly smile graced Babette's lips as she raised an expectant eyebrow at her maid, and Bernadette's mouth gaped. "That monsieur you have been writing to works here?" She put her hands on her hips. "I knew you were much too at ease about attending this event."

"You remember our deal?"

"You never sneak out about town again, and I play the escort for you and this man until…" Bernadette looked a bit uncomfortable at finishing that sentence.

"Until I dismiss you," Babette purposefully concluded.

"But, mademoiselle," Bernadette entreated, "do you truly think that is wise?"

"I truly think I will go mad," Babette retorted, "if I do not grant myself this opportunity to bask in some intelligent conversation. It is only a happy coincidence that it will very likely lead to a little… flirtation. Now," she continued, referring to the velvet box, "please deliver this to the maître d'. He will be working in the kitchen at this hour, I am sure. You will recognize him."

"What was his name again?"

Her mistress smirked. "Lumière."

"D'accord." Bernadette glanced at the box. "May I…?"

"Of course."

The maid peeked inside it. A gold cravat pin enclosing an emerald glittered from within.

Her shoulders visibly tensed. She then appeared nervous to ask. "Are you… giving this to him?"

Babette chastised her with a look. "To wear only for tonight. It perfectly matches my dress, and I happen to like the idea that… our attire will suit each other."

"But this is your father's, is it not?"

"Oui, but he hardly wears it." Babette tried to wave the maid's concerns away. "All will be fine, chérie! I have thought this through, I promise."

Bernadette didn't seem entirely convinced, but she knew not what else to counter with. "Alright…" she conceded. "As long as you are being careful."

"As full of care as anyone," Babette assured with a genuine smile. "But please, be swift."

Bernadette nodded and bobbed a curtsey before, though she still had her reservations, she departed from her mistress for the kitchen.

Lumière was practically a member of his own staff this particular evening. The only thing keeping him from losing his mind completely was the promise of company following dinner.

Or perhaps… that was instead the exact reason for his madness. That, coupled with being slightly short-staffed. He took a breath. Any more of this pondering, and he might as well be a certain worrywart Anglais. That was the last person he wanted to be compared to.

He was startled from his thoughts by Regis, one of his servers and a damned fine one at that. The man pointed to the door of the dining room where there stood a lost-looking woman.

"She isn't one of ours," Regis noted.

Lumière's brow quirked, and his smirk took shape. "I would remember a face like that."

Regis snorted, shaking his head. "Sure, sure."

Lumière ignored the continued playful mockery under the fellow's breath and ordered, "Finish these plates while I investigate."

The girl was petite with big brown eyes that were scanning the crowd. Was she looking for someone?

"Mademoiselle?" he asked as he approached her. "To what do we owe the honor of a visit?"

Having been looking in the opposite direction, she looked up with wide eyes at his smooth address.

She did a quick curtsey as she replied, slightly embarrassed, "Bonsoir, monsieur. I am terribly sorry to interrupt." She glanced over again at the hustle and bustle the kitchen was in and said a little more softly, "My mistress sent me."

Lumière's eyes widened a small touch in recognition. Now he recalled catching glimpses of this maid at the Chantemerle manor when he and Nicolas had been invited for dinner after returning Babette home safely in that fateful rainstorm. "Ah, oui..."

He gently guided her toward the hall. Back at the banquet table, Regis frowned at him. Really!? he mouthed.

Lumière waved a dismissive hand, sending a wink and grin that suggested he needed time alone.

The maid's eyes flew between them. She didn't seem to much care for the insinuation they left behind, but as slipping away with a lady was a common occurrence for him, there would be no suspicion. It was for the best.

Once he led the maid—Bernadette, if memory served—to the less busy, more secluded hall, away from eyes and ears, Lumière grew more serious.

"We have that much in common then," he said, clarifying, "considering we both serve the same mistress in a sense. What news have you?"

She watched him curiously, but warily answered his question. "She requested I give you something that would suit your attire to hers. Is this a subject... you have both discussed?"

"I did mention something like that in a note I left for her," Lumière confirmed. "I expected her to suggest what to wear to match her. I did not expect her to send something specific, but nonetheless, I am grateful she has."

Bernadette pursed her lips before carefully speaking. "I should warn... that what she is allowing you to borrow is rather valuable. She did not necessarily say you had the option to refuse, but... I personally would be afraid to wear something of this nature, given the consequences. I have very poor luck with trinkets though," she added with a small smile before she took out the small box from her apron pocket and offered it to him. "Here. She said this will perfectly match the gown she is wearing tonight."

His own curiosity piqued, Lumière took and opened the box.

He felt his eyes almost bug from their sockets. He shut the lid and hastily cleared his throat. "Indeed! I will wear it proudly if she has given me permission to do so. It would be very cruel to deny the lady's command."

With a grateful nod, he added, "Please send my thanks, and I greatly look forward to seeing her this evening... very greatly."

"The feeling is certainly mutual, monsieur," Bernadette said, her smile sincere. "I will gladly relay your message." With another curtsey and an incline of her head, she made her way swiftly back down the hall.

Lumière let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Checking the hall, and seeing all was clear, he moved to a mirror to fasten the pin to his cravat. This had to be a family piece of sorts, and while he was quite elated that she had entrusted it to him for the night, he prayed silently that it wasn't recognized easily.

He tugged his green coat and straightened his gold waistcoat. Taking one more breath, he moved back to the dining room.

"Was it fun at least?" Regis asked quietly.

Lumière shook his head, grinning wryly. "Far too shy. I could not press her further."