Euphrasie is enjoying herself at a ball for the first time in her life, and she thinks she may have drunk more champagne then she was supposed to. She is lovely in the mint green, with the pearl and sapphire necklace around her neck, and her blonde hair, which, like Raoul, she inherited from their Maman, is swept up in short curls, adorned with pearl and sapphire pins.
Camille looks gorgeous in the petal-pink ball-dress, with the ruby and diamond necklace looped around her own neck. When she turns in a waltz, the tulle petticoats of the dress flare out around her prettily.
Euphrasie has danced more times then Camille, for once, waltzes, and polkas, and reels, one after the other until her head swims and her feet are sore.
Finally, she heads to the refreshment table, and notices some delicious-looking petit-fours. She removes her gloves, not wanting to get them dirty, then selects a square-cut pink frosted one, and bites into it, tasting vanilla cake and raspberry buttercream. She finishes the petit-four in two bites.
''You're enjoying it?'' Camille asks, coming up to Euphrasie. Euphrasie nods, and pulls her gloves back on. She pours a glass of champagne, and drinks it. ''Don't drink too much of that, Euphrasie.''
''I don't intend to.'' Euphrasie replies sweetly. And she sets the glass down on the table, while Camille pops a petit-four into her mouth. ''Who's that?'' she then asks, pointing at a handsome young man, dressed naturally in black and white, with light brown hair.
''I wouldn't know.'' Camille replies. ''He's very handsome, though. Look at those eyes. They're so pretty.'' Euphrasie laughs at that.
''The first thing you look at in a man are his eyes? Get to know him first, Camille. Go and talk to him.'' Euphrasie ushers her sister over to the young man. ''Hello, I'm Euphrasie Pontmercy. This is my sister Camille.'' she introduces herself and her sister.
''Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you.'' the young man nods. ''I'm Andrew. Andrew Bailey.'' his English accent is proper, perfect. Obviously, he is from an upper-class family. An upper-class English family.
''Yes, it's a pleasure for us, as well. Which city in England are you from?'' Camille questions, being more experienced at talking and flirtation then Euphrasie.
''Dover. Lovely little town. '' he replies, and Camille laughs, fluttering her fan of pleated silk flirtatiously.
''Really, how nice.''
''Would you like to dance?'' Andrew asks, and Camille hands her fan to Euphrasie so she can hold it, sweeping off with Andrew to dance a reel.
''How long have you been in Paris?'' Camille asks, looking into his green eyes. Oh, they are lovely. One could become lost in them. He smiles at her.
''Two years. I've grown very fond of it. The last name, Pontmercy, you said? Wasn't there a Colonel Pontmercy fighting for Napoleon in the Napoleonic Wars?'' Camille nods. Yes, that's true. She barely knew her grandfather, considering he died before she was born, and wishes she could have known him. That's what she says to Andrew.
''Such a pity. He must have been a very nice man. Does your father ever talk of him?'' Andrew asks the girl that he's dancing with, thinking she looks like a pink flower in pink silk and tulle and an off-shoulder neckline, hair of a dark red swept into a high braided chignon at the top of her head.
''Papa didn't talk of him, because he didn't even know him very well. My paternal great-grandfather refused to let the Colonel see his son, and Papa only met him on his deathbed.'' Camille confesses, more then a little sad. She wishes her father had been able to know his own. She wishes it with all her heart.
But at least her mother knew her own father, though she did not know her mother. What little Camille knows of her maternal grandmother is very little, indeed. Her mother remembers she was kind and gentle and loving, with long, lovely brown hair, named Fantine. She was a factory worker, later prostitute, so she could feed and clothe her daughter.
But she does not tell Andrew Bailey that. She would never tell anyone that, only that her grandmother was a factory worker. She does not wish to ruin the family name. For she knows she would.
When they have finished, he gets her a glass of punch, and she takes it, smiling. ''Thank you, Monsieur Bailey.'' Euphrasie hopes Camille does not flirt as much as she normally does with some of the men at balls. But where are Maman and Papa? She scans the room for them, and spots them talking to the Duke and Duchess Tremaine, the Duchess a recent arrival on the scene of Parisian society.
She is utterly lovely, all blonde and blue-eyed, much like her brother's lost love, Meg Giry.
The gown she wears is as stunning as the one she graced her husband's wife-choosing ball with-a lovely, lovely blue silk with a draped and bustled skirt adorned in wreaths of pink flowers. The flowers are roses, Euphrasie thinks, and there is a large blue silk bow topping the large bustle.
There is elegant ruching to highlight her delicate shoulders, the neck is low to show off the tops of her bosom, adorned with a blue silk bow between the valley of her breasts. Her golden hair is twisted in braids and knots atop her head, set with cut crystal combs and her neck is elegant too, and beautifully slender. But the crowning glory are her shoes, when an excited bystander asks to see them.
So Duchess Bonella Tremaine lifts her blue silk skirts and exposes a pair of small, dainty, silk-stockinged feet, clad in the most unusual of slippers. They are not glass, she explains, but rather the heels are crystal, and the body of the dainty shoes is shimmering, stiffened taffeta sewn-no, encrusted with glass beads.
They are lovely, Euphrasie thinks, and compliments the Duchess on the entire ensemble.
Her husband, Duke Christopher Tremaine, stands by his wife's side proudly. They are a charming couple. And they have lovely smiles. Euphrasie finds the Duchess down-to-earth and kind. The Duchess invites her for tea; Euphrasie happily accepts. So this is what Raoul and Meg Giry could have been like, she is sure of it.
The Duke cares not for the murmurs about how his wife married him for his money, and Euphrasie suspects the rumors are entirely untrue. Like her parents, the Duke and Duchess married for love. Marriage for love is becoming the norm these days; Euphrasie believes people will be happier if they can choose who they marry.
Camille comes over with Andrew Bailey on her arm, and introduces him to her parents, who nod politely. She cannot tell what they think of him; her parents do their best at hiding their feelings.
Cosette likes the Duchess Tremaine. And she is happy Euphrasie will make a friend. She has very few, besides her siblings. When Duchess Bonella clasps her husband's hand, and they smile at each other, she sees the younger selves of her and Marius. Joyful, very much in love, happy lives. She and Marius still love each other after all these years, of course. Their love is as strong as it was when they were young. Young love grows and matures with time, of course, and she is sure the Duke and Duchess will have several children running around their feet in no time.
Bonella adores the Dowager Comte and Comtesse. They are very kind, and she supposes they remind her of her parents. Oh, how she misses her parents! But they would be happy to see her now, married and in love. Christopher has a charming cousin who has recently married himself, and stays in the family villa in Napoli. Duke Eric Oceane, who has married a lovely girl with a lovely singing voice, Miss Ariella Mcseavish. Fiery-haired and blue-eyed, Ariella had saved Eric's life when his ship had been caught in a storm and was wrecked off the coast of Ireland.
Bonella had met Ariella at her wedding, and she found her very nice. She hopes and wonders if Ariella and Eric will show up for one of the season's balls. ''They will, dear.'' Christopher whispers in her ear, and Bonella wonders if her husband can read her thoughts.
She smiles, and clasps her husband's hand gently. ''I cannot wait to see them.'' she says, and Christopher agrees.
''Yes, I miss my cousin. And his wife is very charming.''
They bid good-bye to Cosette and Marius and their two lovely daughter, and leave the place, stepping into the coach they arrived in, so reminiscent of the carriage Bonella arrived in to the ball, when she was known as Cinderella. Bonella leans against Christopher's shoulder and closes her eyes lightly. It's nice when you don't have to leave at midnight. You can spend time with your husband.
Christopher's arm wraps around Bonella's shoulder and she smiles.
''You know, my father is pushing us to have a child. He wants to spoil his grandchildren before he goes.'' Christopher says.
''Well, we'll just have to give him his wish, won't we?'' she teases, and cocks her head up so he can kiss her, and kiss her he does. It's a warm, loving kiss, the kind she likes. She pulls away and moves closer to him so she can put her arms around his neck.
''We'll have to stop soon. The coach is getting close to our house.''
''Well, we can easily continue upstairs.'' Bonella smiles. When the coach stops at their house, Christopher helps Bonella out and they head upstairs, where Bonella closes the door of their room behind them. They kiss again, and Christopher quickly unlaces the back of Bonella's ball-dress.
She undoes his tailcoat, waistcoat,cravat, and shirt, and he has already gotten his shoes off, as has she. He unlaces her corset, and she steps out of her drawers and petticoat, and heads to the bed to take off her stockings.
Christopher follows, and kneels at the side of the bed, and reaches for the edge of one stocking. ''Let me help, Ella.'' he offers, using the nickname her father and mother had called her. Bonella nods, and her husband unties the ribbon garter at her knee and rolls down the stocking, then does the same to the other leg. He presses a kiss to her knee, then kisses down her calf, before hoisting himself up and pulling himself on top of her. Drawing up the edge of her chemise, he undoes his trousers, and slides into her, and she wraps her legs about him. Oh, it is sheer heaven. He buries his head into her shoulder, and she mutters ''I love you.'' into his ear.
Afterwards, Christopher and Bonella lie together, arms around each other, and talk of what they might name their children. ''Marie-Aurelie, perhaps for a girl? Or Danielle? That was my mother's name.''
Christopher shrugs. ''Whatever you wish, dear. Both names are lovely.'' And with that in mind, they sleep until the morning.
XXX
In the morning, Bonella rises and sneaks down to the kitchen to make tea before her husband wakes up, and when Christopher does, he finds Ella coming through the door with a tray of tea things in her hands. ''Morning, darling.'' she greets him with a smile and a kiss, and he takes the tray from her.
''Shouldn't you get dressed?'' he teases, fingering her blue silk wrapper, edged in ruffles. She laughs, unties the wrapper's sash, and with some assistance from her husband, slips into her day clothes.
Then she pulls her hair back with a sky-blue ribbon while he pours the tea, and hands her the teacup. Bonella lifts the cup to her lips and drinks, as does Christopher, and when they finish, they walk out of the bedroom to begin their daily life. Christopher goes to visit his father, as he does every week, and Bonella goes to have tea with charming Euphrasie Pontmercy.
Euphrasie greets Bonella at the door, dressed in a morning gown of yellow dotted muslin over a brown underskirt with matching polonaise adorned with ruffled side and back panels, golden blonde hair swept on sides up into a twist, and the rest is looped over her shoulder in soft waves.
''Good morning, Duchess. Do come in, please.'' she gestures, and Bonella steps through the open doorway.
''Such a charming house you have! It reminds me of my father's.'' Bonella exclaims, and Euphrasie smiles. Bonella takes off her wide-brimmed hat, and hands it to the butler, following Euphrasie into the parlor, which is all set out for tea. How thoughtful Madmoiselle Pontmercy is! For Bonella is sure that it was she who prepared everything.
''Sit, Duchess. I insist. Euphrasie gestures to a carved wooden chair draped with silk on the seat, sitting down in front of her. Bonella acquiesces, sitting down, spreading out her skirts of blue-green silk, adorned in pleated frills, about her, and plucks up the teapot to pour the tea. There are other things besides the tea, too, to snack on. Small Victoria sponges spread in jam and clotted cream, plain biscuits, small tarts of cranberry, orange, and lemon meringue, and currant scones. Such an array! Bonella helps herself to a tart of orange, the crust thin and crisp, and the filling melts in her mouth.
''Do you like the tarts?'' Euphrasie asks. ''I made them myself.''
Bonella says yes. ''The orange's lovely. Should I try the cranberry or the lemon next?''
''Whichever one you like.'' Euphrasie giggles, and drinks her tea, dipping a biscuit into it. It is nice to have made a friend. Camille can be so snobby at times. Where she gets it from, Euphrasie does not know.
''Is your mother at home?'' Bonella questions, swallowing the last bit of her orange tart. Euphrasie nods. ''Sewing in her room. Camille went to visit friends. And my brother's moved to New Orleans.''
Ah, yes. She had not met him, but her husband had, when he'd come back from the war. Christopher thought he had been a very nice young man.
Euphrasie hesitates, and finally asks, ''Is it true you had a fairy godmother to help you go to the ball? That's what some of Camille's friends say.''
Bonella chuckles. ''In a way, she was a fairy godmother. She's my dear aunt. We met when I was out riding, and when my stepmother refused to let me go to the ball, she helped me.'' she explains.
''Oh, how sweet.'' Euphrasie sighs. ''How very sweet.''
