A/N: *growls*
I seem to be having a bit of a problem with either this site, or my computer, because it won't upload any more than the first 22 or so words of this chapter yesterday and last night. There's a similar problem with the next one - but maybe now it's going to work for me.let's see. Sorry about the delay and whatnot.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Renaissance period, its people, or events (somewhat ridiculous to even think of such a thing as possible, no?) I just own this story, and the characters involved in it.
Chapter Two -
The Invitation
In the beautiful, rolling landscape of the countryside that was northeast of the Dordogne, the Château de Hautefort was one of the many gorgeous châteaux ever to be inhabited by the nobility during the Renaissance. And it was certainly one of the most prestigious, for it had been selected to be the location of one of His Majesty's finest, most exotic, most thrilling, most expensive, and most entertaining fêtes yet.
Almost anyone in any part of France in those days knew very well that King François I was willing to spare no expense when it came to the many frequent and exorbitantly lavish entertainment events that were so often held for the nobility at that time of the Renaissance. But no one could complain!
Unless, of course, they happened to be a certain beautiful, artistic, ebony- haired, green-eyed young soubrette of sixteen years of age.
The tall, pearly slate blue gables of le Château de Hautefort rose in the dusky, pale gold and peach sky, standing out proud and lovely against the gathering dark.
Can something so beautiful be such a tomb?
Clarice was an optimistic person at heart; she had dreams and a will to see them fulfilled, and a hope that almost never died. But as the carriage that was bringing the Boisvert family ever closer to the looming castle ahead, Clarice's spirits began to darken. Within a day, she thought, her uncle would have her attached inescapably to some nobleman that she didn't even know. Within a day, her life would be - in some way or another - forever changed. Within a day, all her dreams combined might not be able to save her from whatever future lay ahead in the distance.
She didn't want to dread stepping out of the carriage and entering the castle - but somehow, she couldn't avoid it either.
The carriage rolled to slow, heavy stop, and the footmen stepped down from their places behind. The door opened and a voice announced, "Le Château de Hautefort, monsieur and mesdames."
Felix stood and climbed out first, then he handed his wife and niece down. Jacqueline instantly turned her attentions to seeing that their trunks were unloaded properly - and safely, at that - while her husband paid the carriage driver.
Clarice stepped a little off to one side, pushing the silky gray-blue hood of her cloak off of her head, and onto her shoulders, gazing far up at the shimmering, cream-coloured walls of the castle that towered above her. There were so many windows: each one framed with jet-black casing, each one curtained and shadowy.
"Niece!"
The abrupt, irritated bark of her uncle's voice calling her name caused her to start back into reality and she whirled, turning on the castle, and ran to join her guardians, who had already begun to move towards the nearest entrance to the building. She glanced behind herself once more, after she had mounted the steps leading inside and before she had passed through the doors, which a pair of finely-liveried menservants held open for their party. The dark, rolling landscape of France met her searching gaze, and her heart ached to be as free and boundless as the tall, serene mountains in the distance.
"Clarice?" came her aunt's gentle, tremulous voice. "Are you coming, dearest?"
The young girl was silent for a moment, thinking over a totally different interpretation of those words: are you coming?
Plans for her future or no plans for her future, she was coming.
But to what.I have no idea.
* * *
"Quirion was right!"
Felix Boisvert let go of his wife's arm for one moment, drawing both her and his niece to one side in order to let some other guests to the masquerade - all brightly and garishly costumed - pass by while they three paused in the corridor that they stood in. Jacqueline shrank up against a large, granite statue, looking quite overwhelmed with the whole situation, while Felix surveyed the scene before them.
"Nothing quite like a masque ball given by His Majesty! Well, shall we then?"
He took Mme. Boisvert's arm again, and, together, the green-and-gold parrot and pale columbine moved onwards down the corridor, towards the party already in progress outside. Clarice followed discreetly behind them, her green eyes taking in everything - and not missing anything.
There were hundreds of people present at this masque ball, in a myriad of colourful, ostentatious, and even grotesque costumes. The castle had been decorated: its surrounding gardens and grounds hung with thousands of delicate, glowing paper lanterns in saffron and ruby, as the petals of the blooming roses, apple trees, and others cascaded onto the gravel pathways, which sparkled white in the moonlight. Every which way came the sounds of lively music, talk, and laughter, and many elegant couples performed the pavane and the galliard and the allemande upon the outdoor ballroom floor, which had been set up especially for the occasion. Nobles of every possible rank were present, from the most powerful marquis to the humblest courtier.
Clarice took in the scenery around her with eyes that were wide and dark with a hungry sort of eagerness and awe. In Rouen, she had never been interested in the trifling dances and social gatherings hosted by her peers and their families - but then she had never really been given the chance, as no one had ever invited her.
But here - this place - this place!
It was so.indescribable. Fascinating and a-flurry with movement and colour and sound, and yet so seemingly harmonized, like a giant picture. It made her heart beat faster, thrilling with a sense of strange excitement.
Shadows, be gone - tonight is a night like none other!
* * *
As was usual for such events, wine and other sorts of festive drink flowed in copious amounts that night - and, unfortunately, Felix Boisvert had one too many glasses of whatever wine he had gotten his hands on, thereby rendering the low-ranking courtier and businessman a bit on the tipsy side by a little before midnight. Jacqueline had long since left his side, going to sit down and converse with the other lady courtiers of her age and rank, and Clarice.well, he had no idea where Clarice had run off to.
It was safe to say that he didn't really care, at the moment.
As the dancing and merrymaking went on, Felix went off with a few of his familiar court cronies: men whom he had known from his earliest days at court, though hardly a one of them frequented it on a regular basis currently. Now, however, they were acting as if they were old friends with practically every person who happened to pass them by on the garden path that they sat to one side of, on the conveniently-placed marble benches that were there.
Old friends - and likely new irritations.
Felix raised his glass to the retreating back of a scornful duchesse and called out, "And may you have the good fortune to find a husband more attractive than that hideous monkey you've got on your face! Silly things: masks, what?" he said, turning to his companions, who laughed at his words as if they were extremely witty. Then, he sat back and drained his glass, staring at its empty bottom with a sour expression on his face.
"Well, there's an end on't, what," he grumbled, disconsolately. "There's more silliness to masques as a whole, mind you, than matter. A man can't marry off his own niece without having to drag her the whole way, and then she off and disappears into lord-knows-what place."
One of his friends grinned and asked, "Likely to dance with some pin-headed marquis or le grande comte?"
Felix waved him off, glaring dourly at the thought of Clarice.
"Well, little Miss will find that she can't indulge herself in such trifling - such goosey little things for much, for any longer. She's got to earn her keep - after my lady and I've gone and raised her proper all these long years. Earn her keep, she will. Little artist, sitting on the hill day after day, and selling her fairy scribblings to whomever'll take 'em."
He shook his head and threw his glass aside; it smacked into the low wall that ran alongside the pathway and shattered instantly.
"Fairies and elves - what utter nonsense!"
Neither M. Boisvert nor any of his other companions noticed the slight, cool figure standing in the darkness beneath a willow tree some seven feet behind them, listening very calmly but intensely to their conversation. They did not hear the figure turn and walk quickly away either, nor footsteps as it returned, moments later. None of them had the faintest idea that they had been observed.until the figure - a quiet, solemn young courtier of medium height, dressed in a simple, unassuming pale blue silk tunic and breeches, with an unadorned white mask - cleared his throat and approached them directly. The five tipsy revelers turned to face him.
"M. Felix Boisvert - of Rouen?" the noble asked, calmly.
Felix eyed him warily, and then he nodded, slowly.
"Aye." he replied.
The courtier swept an elegant, truly aristocratic-bred bow, straightening smoothly, and informed him without further preamble, "Monsieur, his Lordship - the Count d'Auberie - would like to have an audience with you; he has given me leave to tell you that you will likely find it quite worth your while."
Felix seemed as if he had been startled back into his normal character by this sudden, unprecedented invitation. He stared, eyes widening: first at the messenger, then at his comrades, then blankly out into the space ahead of himself, then back at the messenger, who was waiting - patiently - for his answer.
The Count d'Auberie?
M. Boisvert's reaction would have most likely mirrored that of virtually any other person in France, had they been extended such an invitation. And the answer as to why this was true was quite well known.
The Count d'Auberie.
By his full name, he was Erik Christian Laurent-Valeray d'Auberie, and by title, he was the lord of Le Château de Rêves* and the lands surrounding it.
This was not any mere nobleman - the Count d'Auberie was known throughout France as a favored friend of the king, and his estate was nothing short of gigantic proportions. D'Auberie was wealthy: oh, so incredibly, unimaginably wealthy!
Located in the rugged, ancient forests somewhere between Valence and Chambéry, the Château de Rêves was larger than most of those belonging to François himself even, and its borders extended nearly fifteen miles at their widest proximities. It was an estate holding that any given one of the nobles at the king's court would have given their eyeteeth for, and his was a position that many greatly envied.
But d'Auberie himself was quite a mystery.
Great as was his wealth, his castle, and his reputation as a favorite of the king, no one could ever seem to remember just when the Count had come into the court scene. And hardly anyone could even boast of having held two minutes' conversation with him! No one seemed to know of his age or his appearance, or character. However, the King seemed to think that the man was a great comrade: the ideal Renaissance man, and held him in high esteem. And so the rest of France - or the part of it that knew of and cared about the events at court - accepted this as true, and even helped to circulate his fame.
But he was still quite a mystery: elusive and shadowy as the phantoms of the mind that his castle was named for.
There were hundreds of rumors about him flying about at all times and in all places, made of both gossip and mere speculation.
Some said that he was a notorious thief: a pirate, even, and that was how he had come upon his mass of wealth and won a powerful position at court. Others said that he had rescued the King from an accident of sorts some years before, when both had been in their early youth - yet, this was hardly credible, for the Count was rumored to be some years junior in age to His Majesty!
Yet other people dismissed any thought of how he had come to be so powerful, and cared only to come up with stories about who he was now: at the present. He had been named a psychopath, a generous benefactor of the infirm, orphaned, and widowed, a wife-abuser, a recluse, a hermit, a genius.and many, many more. But much as all of France desired to know the true story behind this enigmatic man, he never gave it anything to satiate its burning curiosity.
Felix was started out of his reverie by the soft, but insistent clearing of the messenger's throat. He looked up, eyes and face blank for the space of a split second, and then he finally found his voice.
"The Count.d'Auberie? Oh, er, well."
What could the nobleman possibly want to discuss with him? The Boisvert family had long held a modest but ample estate in the region of Rouen, but the rank of its members had never exceeded that of the lowest lord.what then.
"Monsieur, I assure you - the Count wishes to speak with you because he has reason to believe that you will find it most beneficial to both yourself and your family. There is no need to fear his intentions in calling you to an audience."
Felix glanced at his friends, all of who looked very ill at ease and suddenly serious indeed. Then he looked back at the messenger, who was still waiting patiently - imperturbably patient - for his answer.
What will you choose - yea or nay?
The voice inside of his head, so seemingly alien from his own, startled him and he shuddered. And finally, he found the will within him to reply.
"No need to fear." he echoed, his voice dead and monotone. He stood. "Show me to him then, boy. Show me to him."
The courtier bowed again, a subtle flash of irritation going through his usually pleasant blue eyes at the merchant's heedless and common manner - especially in referring to him, a squire at court, as a boy - although he did not allow Boisvert to see it, and briefly inclined his head in a show of acknowledgement. "If you please, monsieur.follow me." he said.
And then he led Felix off, across the grass, and towards the fire-lit castle.
* * *
A/N: The Count d'Auberie - interesting. Oh, and by the way - if you didn't recognize the name, the Château de Hautefort is an actual castle in France; in fact, it is the place where the palace scenes in the movie Ever After: A Cinderella Story were filmed. I highly recommend your looking it up on the web.
* Le Château de Rêves - the Castle of Dreams
I seem to be having a bit of a problem with either this site, or my computer, because it won't upload any more than the first 22 or so words of this chapter yesterday and last night. There's a similar problem with the next one - but maybe now it's going to work for me.let's see. Sorry about the delay and whatnot.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Renaissance period, its people, or events (somewhat ridiculous to even think of such a thing as possible, no?) I just own this story, and the characters involved in it.
Chapter Two -
The Invitation
In the beautiful, rolling landscape of the countryside that was northeast of the Dordogne, the Château de Hautefort was one of the many gorgeous châteaux ever to be inhabited by the nobility during the Renaissance. And it was certainly one of the most prestigious, for it had been selected to be the location of one of His Majesty's finest, most exotic, most thrilling, most expensive, and most entertaining fêtes yet.
Almost anyone in any part of France in those days knew very well that King François I was willing to spare no expense when it came to the many frequent and exorbitantly lavish entertainment events that were so often held for the nobility at that time of the Renaissance. But no one could complain!
Unless, of course, they happened to be a certain beautiful, artistic, ebony- haired, green-eyed young soubrette of sixteen years of age.
The tall, pearly slate blue gables of le Château de Hautefort rose in the dusky, pale gold and peach sky, standing out proud and lovely against the gathering dark.
Can something so beautiful be such a tomb?
Clarice was an optimistic person at heart; she had dreams and a will to see them fulfilled, and a hope that almost never died. But as the carriage that was bringing the Boisvert family ever closer to the looming castle ahead, Clarice's spirits began to darken. Within a day, she thought, her uncle would have her attached inescapably to some nobleman that she didn't even know. Within a day, her life would be - in some way or another - forever changed. Within a day, all her dreams combined might not be able to save her from whatever future lay ahead in the distance.
She didn't want to dread stepping out of the carriage and entering the castle - but somehow, she couldn't avoid it either.
The carriage rolled to slow, heavy stop, and the footmen stepped down from their places behind. The door opened and a voice announced, "Le Château de Hautefort, monsieur and mesdames."
Felix stood and climbed out first, then he handed his wife and niece down. Jacqueline instantly turned her attentions to seeing that their trunks were unloaded properly - and safely, at that - while her husband paid the carriage driver.
Clarice stepped a little off to one side, pushing the silky gray-blue hood of her cloak off of her head, and onto her shoulders, gazing far up at the shimmering, cream-coloured walls of the castle that towered above her. There were so many windows: each one framed with jet-black casing, each one curtained and shadowy.
"Niece!"
The abrupt, irritated bark of her uncle's voice calling her name caused her to start back into reality and she whirled, turning on the castle, and ran to join her guardians, who had already begun to move towards the nearest entrance to the building. She glanced behind herself once more, after she had mounted the steps leading inside and before she had passed through the doors, which a pair of finely-liveried menservants held open for their party. The dark, rolling landscape of France met her searching gaze, and her heart ached to be as free and boundless as the tall, serene mountains in the distance.
"Clarice?" came her aunt's gentle, tremulous voice. "Are you coming, dearest?"
The young girl was silent for a moment, thinking over a totally different interpretation of those words: are you coming?
Plans for her future or no plans for her future, she was coming.
But to what.I have no idea.
* * *
"Quirion was right!"
Felix Boisvert let go of his wife's arm for one moment, drawing both her and his niece to one side in order to let some other guests to the masquerade - all brightly and garishly costumed - pass by while they three paused in the corridor that they stood in. Jacqueline shrank up against a large, granite statue, looking quite overwhelmed with the whole situation, while Felix surveyed the scene before them.
"Nothing quite like a masque ball given by His Majesty! Well, shall we then?"
He took Mme. Boisvert's arm again, and, together, the green-and-gold parrot and pale columbine moved onwards down the corridor, towards the party already in progress outside. Clarice followed discreetly behind them, her green eyes taking in everything - and not missing anything.
There were hundreds of people present at this masque ball, in a myriad of colourful, ostentatious, and even grotesque costumes. The castle had been decorated: its surrounding gardens and grounds hung with thousands of delicate, glowing paper lanterns in saffron and ruby, as the petals of the blooming roses, apple trees, and others cascaded onto the gravel pathways, which sparkled white in the moonlight. Every which way came the sounds of lively music, talk, and laughter, and many elegant couples performed the pavane and the galliard and the allemande upon the outdoor ballroom floor, which had been set up especially for the occasion. Nobles of every possible rank were present, from the most powerful marquis to the humblest courtier.
Clarice took in the scenery around her with eyes that were wide and dark with a hungry sort of eagerness and awe. In Rouen, she had never been interested in the trifling dances and social gatherings hosted by her peers and their families - but then she had never really been given the chance, as no one had ever invited her.
But here - this place - this place!
It was so.indescribable. Fascinating and a-flurry with movement and colour and sound, and yet so seemingly harmonized, like a giant picture. It made her heart beat faster, thrilling with a sense of strange excitement.
Shadows, be gone - tonight is a night like none other!
* * *
As was usual for such events, wine and other sorts of festive drink flowed in copious amounts that night - and, unfortunately, Felix Boisvert had one too many glasses of whatever wine he had gotten his hands on, thereby rendering the low-ranking courtier and businessman a bit on the tipsy side by a little before midnight. Jacqueline had long since left his side, going to sit down and converse with the other lady courtiers of her age and rank, and Clarice.well, he had no idea where Clarice had run off to.
It was safe to say that he didn't really care, at the moment.
As the dancing and merrymaking went on, Felix went off with a few of his familiar court cronies: men whom he had known from his earliest days at court, though hardly a one of them frequented it on a regular basis currently. Now, however, they were acting as if they were old friends with practically every person who happened to pass them by on the garden path that they sat to one side of, on the conveniently-placed marble benches that were there.
Old friends - and likely new irritations.
Felix raised his glass to the retreating back of a scornful duchesse and called out, "And may you have the good fortune to find a husband more attractive than that hideous monkey you've got on your face! Silly things: masks, what?" he said, turning to his companions, who laughed at his words as if they were extremely witty. Then, he sat back and drained his glass, staring at its empty bottom with a sour expression on his face.
"Well, there's an end on't, what," he grumbled, disconsolately. "There's more silliness to masques as a whole, mind you, than matter. A man can't marry off his own niece without having to drag her the whole way, and then she off and disappears into lord-knows-what place."
One of his friends grinned and asked, "Likely to dance with some pin-headed marquis or le grande comte?"
Felix waved him off, glaring dourly at the thought of Clarice.
"Well, little Miss will find that she can't indulge herself in such trifling - such goosey little things for much, for any longer. She's got to earn her keep - after my lady and I've gone and raised her proper all these long years. Earn her keep, she will. Little artist, sitting on the hill day after day, and selling her fairy scribblings to whomever'll take 'em."
He shook his head and threw his glass aside; it smacked into the low wall that ran alongside the pathway and shattered instantly.
"Fairies and elves - what utter nonsense!"
Neither M. Boisvert nor any of his other companions noticed the slight, cool figure standing in the darkness beneath a willow tree some seven feet behind them, listening very calmly but intensely to their conversation. They did not hear the figure turn and walk quickly away either, nor footsteps as it returned, moments later. None of them had the faintest idea that they had been observed.until the figure - a quiet, solemn young courtier of medium height, dressed in a simple, unassuming pale blue silk tunic and breeches, with an unadorned white mask - cleared his throat and approached them directly. The five tipsy revelers turned to face him.
"M. Felix Boisvert - of Rouen?" the noble asked, calmly.
Felix eyed him warily, and then he nodded, slowly.
"Aye." he replied.
The courtier swept an elegant, truly aristocratic-bred bow, straightening smoothly, and informed him without further preamble, "Monsieur, his Lordship - the Count d'Auberie - would like to have an audience with you; he has given me leave to tell you that you will likely find it quite worth your while."
Felix seemed as if he had been startled back into his normal character by this sudden, unprecedented invitation. He stared, eyes widening: first at the messenger, then at his comrades, then blankly out into the space ahead of himself, then back at the messenger, who was waiting - patiently - for his answer.
The Count d'Auberie?
M. Boisvert's reaction would have most likely mirrored that of virtually any other person in France, had they been extended such an invitation. And the answer as to why this was true was quite well known.
The Count d'Auberie.
By his full name, he was Erik Christian Laurent-Valeray d'Auberie, and by title, he was the lord of Le Château de Rêves* and the lands surrounding it.
This was not any mere nobleman - the Count d'Auberie was known throughout France as a favored friend of the king, and his estate was nothing short of gigantic proportions. D'Auberie was wealthy: oh, so incredibly, unimaginably wealthy!
Located in the rugged, ancient forests somewhere between Valence and Chambéry, the Château de Rêves was larger than most of those belonging to François himself even, and its borders extended nearly fifteen miles at their widest proximities. It was an estate holding that any given one of the nobles at the king's court would have given their eyeteeth for, and his was a position that many greatly envied.
But d'Auberie himself was quite a mystery.
Great as was his wealth, his castle, and his reputation as a favorite of the king, no one could ever seem to remember just when the Count had come into the court scene. And hardly anyone could even boast of having held two minutes' conversation with him! No one seemed to know of his age or his appearance, or character. However, the King seemed to think that the man was a great comrade: the ideal Renaissance man, and held him in high esteem. And so the rest of France - or the part of it that knew of and cared about the events at court - accepted this as true, and even helped to circulate his fame.
But he was still quite a mystery: elusive and shadowy as the phantoms of the mind that his castle was named for.
There were hundreds of rumors about him flying about at all times and in all places, made of both gossip and mere speculation.
Some said that he was a notorious thief: a pirate, even, and that was how he had come upon his mass of wealth and won a powerful position at court. Others said that he had rescued the King from an accident of sorts some years before, when both had been in their early youth - yet, this was hardly credible, for the Count was rumored to be some years junior in age to His Majesty!
Yet other people dismissed any thought of how he had come to be so powerful, and cared only to come up with stories about who he was now: at the present. He had been named a psychopath, a generous benefactor of the infirm, orphaned, and widowed, a wife-abuser, a recluse, a hermit, a genius.and many, many more. But much as all of France desired to know the true story behind this enigmatic man, he never gave it anything to satiate its burning curiosity.
Felix was started out of his reverie by the soft, but insistent clearing of the messenger's throat. He looked up, eyes and face blank for the space of a split second, and then he finally found his voice.
"The Count.d'Auberie? Oh, er, well."
What could the nobleman possibly want to discuss with him? The Boisvert family had long held a modest but ample estate in the region of Rouen, but the rank of its members had never exceeded that of the lowest lord.what then.
"Monsieur, I assure you - the Count wishes to speak with you because he has reason to believe that you will find it most beneficial to both yourself and your family. There is no need to fear his intentions in calling you to an audience."
Felix glanced at his friends, all of who looked very ill at ease and suddenly serious indeed. Then he looked back at the messenger, who was still waiting patiently - imperturbably patient - for his answer.
What will you choose - yea or nay?
The voice inside of his head, so seemingly alien from his own, startled him and he shuddered. And finally, he found the will within him to reply.
"No need to fear." he echoed, his voice dead and monotone. He stood. "Show me to him then, boy. Show me to him."
The courtier bowed again, a subtle flash of irritation going through his usually pleasant blue eyes at the merchant's heedless and common manner - especially in referring to him, a squire at court, as a boy - although he did not allow Boisvert to see it, and briefly inclined his head in a show of acknowledgement. "If you please, monsieur.follow me." he said.
And then he led Felix off, across the grass, and towards the fire-lit castle.
* * *
A/N: The Count d'Auberie - interesting. Oh, and by the way - if you didn't recognize the name, the Château de Hautefort is an actual castle in France; in fact, it is the place where the palace scenes in the movie Ever After: A Cinderella Story were filmed. I highly recommend your looking it up on the web.
* Le Château de Rêves - the Castle of Dreams
