A/N: A great thanks to TrudiRose for helping to maintain Lucien's fine reputation, LOL My deepest gratitude always!
Chapter Eight: Where the Black Flower Grows
"Is that dress ready yet? No dress should take this long to complete!"
Madame Veston rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time one warm, spring afternoon. A new record, she mused. Overall, she and Monsieur Veston were perfect for each other, a seamstress and a tailor; of that she was certain. But when it came to important orders, such as her current project, her husband was more of a pest than a professional, and many times she found herself wanting only to strangle him.
Nonetheless, Madame Veston did as she had always done: gathered the finished dress, placed it ever so carefully in its box, and presented it casually to her fretting husband.
"When have I ever not finished a dress in time?" she asked with a pleasant smile.
It was only upon seeing the parcel that Monsieur Veston sighed in relief. Taking it from her, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before carrying the package to the storefront.
"What would I do without you, amour?" he called.
"Go mad, of course!" she answered, putting away her sewing box before joining him.
At that moment, the tiny bell above the front door signaled a customer, and both of them were surprised to see Lucien de Bontecou enter their store.
"Monsieur le Vicomte, what an honor it is!" Monsieur Veston cried, bowing in the presence of an important man.
Lucien, one of the most humble of nobles, laughed dismissively. "A delight as always to see a kind face, Monsieur Veston," he said, offering a handshake to the man and a polite gentleman's kiss to Madame Veston's hand.
"To what do we owe such a visit?" she asked, making a great effort not to blush too much.
"I am here for my mother's dress, s'il vous plait," Lucien explained. "I was in town all day, hoping to meet with a…friend whom I have not seen in quite some time, and thought I would check in on it. If it is ready now, where is the sense in sending someone later?"
"Ah, you are just in time then!" Monsieur Veston said, gathering the previous parcel and opening it to show him. "My wife completed it just moments ago!"
Although he knew absolutely nothing about the finer points of female fashion, Lucien nodded, impressed. Even as it lay there in the box, the dress was admittedly beautiful.
"Splendid work as usual, madame," he complimented, handing over the payment. "You should be commended for making our ladies look so lovely."
"Merci, Monsieur le Vicomte, you are far too kind," Madame Veston replied in gratitude before excusing herself to gather other dresses from the back room.
With his business finished, Lucien thanked them again, took the package and bid them adieu before making his way to the door, feeling nothing but disappointment. Where else could a girl possibly be found on any given day? He was sure that this could have been one final place where he would find Babette, the woman that had intrigued him so at the Christmas Eve ball.
Every day for the past few months, Lucien had tried to decipher her unusual directions, wandering about the streets of Paris, visiting every shop and establishment where he thought a woman could be. But he never found success. Feeling incredibly foolish at the end of the day, he would return home, needing some kind of explanation for his absence. At least today he would have a good excuse in bringing home the Comtesse's newest wardrobe acquisition.
"Another failure in the quest, Noblesse," he sighed, patting his horse's snout upon reaching her. Sensing discomfort, the gentle mare nudged her master playfully, and Lucien could not resist a laugh.
"You have me utterly convinced, mon amie, that you must have been human in another life," he said, patting her snout lightly. "The best girl in the world, you are!"
Noblesse nudged him again, recognizing praise. But she was quite a strong animal, and Lucien stumbled slightly before regaining control of his footing. However, it would prove to be a very fortunate stumble in his favor.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucien caught sight of a young woman approaching the Vestons' dress shop, a very familiar woman. Waiting until she had gone inside, he moved to the window to get a closer peek at her. While Monsieur Veston offered his customer courtesy, Madame Veston made no attempt whatsoever, obviously wanting her out of there as soon as possible. The woman must have felt a mutual disdain towards the seamstress, paying for her packages before quickly making her way to the door. It was then that Lucien at last saw her face clearly, his heart leaping for joy to see that it was indeed Babette.
As she exited the store, Lucien tried to find the right words to say that would catch her attention, but by the time he found the courage to speak, she was gone. Frustration mounting at his incompetence, he did the only thing he could: reenter the shop to ask questions.
"Forgive me for asking," he began, "But who exactly was the young lady who just left?"
Madame Veston wrinkled her nose as if she had just smelled the most awful stench. "A man as honorable as yourself, Monsieur le Vicomte, should put a good-for-nothing wench like that far away from your mind. I can't even believe my husband allows them to step foot in here."
"Jacqueline," Monsieur Veston said in a manner of warning.
"Well, it is true!" Madame Veston cried. "Her and that entire bunch of disgraceful tarts from Le Fleur Noir!"
Of all things for her to say, Lucien never expected to hear that. "Wait a minute, the dance hall?" he asked. "She is a showgirl?"
"Just like the others," she huffed, more or less now muttering to herself. "All they ever want here is for me to fix those vulgar dresses they wear, or have their lovers lavish them with new ones! None of them deserve our fine work!"
A showgirl. Lucien could barely comprehend the thought as he felt his heart began to beat faster. He had never known a showgirl before. No wonder she was so mysterious, so alluring and enticing...
"Nevertheless, I have talked to this one sometimes when she comes here," Monsieur Veston said, interrupting his thoughts. "Sweet little thing, she is; just dealt a bad hand in life, I'm sure. No doubt that she is just like the rest of those girls, certainly must have slept in a fair share of gentlemen's beds, but there seems to be a good heart in her waiting to be found."
Lucien scowled as a sudden wave of jealousy passed over him at that last comment. His sensibility made it clear that he did not have the right to feel such emotions, having no true claim over her, but he could not help himself. The very notion of other men delighting in a woman he was so taken with was pure torture.
"Humph, a good heart, he says, as though they are all perfect angels," Madame Veston sniffed in an afterthought. "I still wish you would send them all away. Good hearts or not, tongues will start wagging upon any sight of them in here."
Lucien hardly heard any more of their conversation; he was thinking too fast to listen.
"La Rue de Grenoble where the Black Flower grows," Babette had told him. How could he have been so stupid? It all made sense now! Everyone knew that road led to the infamous dance hall; why had he not figured it out before?
Bidding the couple farewell once again, Lucien checked his watch, growling a frustrated curse under his breath. Truth be told, there was no time to spare, and he could not be late…
Then again, he was already late, and if he did not stay long, what harm could there possibly be? Lucien glanced thoughtfully in the direction he had seen Babette walking, and with a determined nod, he quickly raced to Noblesse and mounted the mare.
"Everything I said earlier, Noblesse?" he said, kicking the horse into a run. "Ignore it! We have one last stop to make!"
ooo
Never had Odette and Babette startled so much as they did when a breathless Aubrey slammed the dressing room door closed behind her. Before they could say anything, however, the older blonde leaned against the door and pointed at a puzzled Babette with a playful gleam in her eyes.
"You are not spoken for at the moment, are you?" Aubrey asked before dismissing her own question with a laugh. "What am I saying? Spoken for or not, you would send the fool running if you were!"
Babette raised an eyebrow, on the verge of feeling insulted. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Only that there is no possible way that you would turn down the opportunity of a lifetime that just walked through the door downstairs," Aubrey said, pulling a chair close to join them.
Odette feigned boredom. "Christ, Aubrey, it will probably walk back out by the time you get to the point."
Aubrey spitefully stuck out her tongue at her before turning to Babette again. "One guess on who is sitting downstairs at this very moment looking for you," she said with a conspiratorial smile.
Growing tired of her friend skirting around direct answers, Babette offered sarcastically, "The King of France?"
"You are not experienced enough for him yet," Aubrey countered in the same tone before her grin widened. "But perhaps the Vicomte de Bontecou will suit you better."
Babette felt every drop of blood drain from her face as she tried to understand what she had just been told. "Y-you did not just say…"
"Lucien de Bontecou," Aubrey repeated, nodding to emphasize her point.
Babette gripped onto the seat of her own chair in fear of falling from it. "Aubrey, mon Dieu, you would not be so cruel!"
"Never cruel; just an 'I told you so.'"
Babette erupted with an excited shriek as she made a flying leap for a drawer that she threw open immediately.
"I can not believe this!" she cried, frantically beginning to cover her face in pounds of powder and lip rouge. "He finally decides to show up, I go on in a few minutes, and I look awful!"
Odette snatched away the powder puff while Aubrey handled the rouge.
"And you are going to look worse if you keep at this!" Odette laughed, dabbing a cloth to her tongue to clear away her friend's excessive make-up attempts.
"I want him to notice me, not anyone else," Babette argued, swatting Odette away stubbornly. "I lost my chance once; I will not do it again."
"If you put this much on, he will only see how foolish you are," Odette countered, continuing cleaning her up despite the protests. When she was satisfied with her work, she added reassuringly, "There, now you look more like the girl who caught his interest."
Babette glanced at the mirror, thoughtful and yet a complete bundle of nerves. Lucien. Lucien was here, at long last! She would not ruin everything this time. Tonight, he was on her territory; she was not obligated to "behave."
Taking a deep breath, she asked, "You are sure I look perfect?"
"You look fine."
"No," Babette said confidently. "I need perfection."
"Maybe tie up your hair," Aubrey suggested. "It's one of your best features. Tie it up now and let it down when you get out there. He will love it!"
Without hesitation, Babette nodded, loosely tying her long dark hair in place and fixing the pin so that it was secure but easily accessible.
"Now that is perfection," Odette said, the three of them looking at the reflection. "He will be yours again in no time."
Babette took a deep breath as, right on time, D'Araignée began calling for her impatiently.
"Dieu, I hope so."
ooo
Not since her early days had Babette felt as anxious as she was from the moment she took her place on the floor. Thankfully, her ability to hide any sign of nerves had greatly improved. Though her heart was pounding, she held her head high with her usual dominant pride while she looked around the room, seeking out Lucien. At first, she could hardly see anyone, blaming both her anxiety and the dim lighting.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sitting at a far table, her knight in shining armor, her salvation. The one man that she adored and trusted, who would take her away from this prison to a place where they could both be together for the rest of their lives. Babette may not have admitted it to Odette that night, but her friend knew the truth. Even after one short night in Lucien's company, he was the only man that truly held Babette's heart captive. They belonged together, she was so sure.
His attention was hers and hers alone, and Babette held onto it expertly as she coyly shaded her eyes beneath her lashes. So far away, yet she could sense his exhilaration, so much that she could taste it. Not averting her gaze, she reached for the pin in her hair to release her dark locks down her back, letting them flow freely as she began to dance across the floor.
Following her every step, Lucien felt himself hardly able to breathe. The mysterious girl at the ball had caught his curiosity and delighted him with fresh, pleasant conversation. But nothing he could have ever dreamed of could prepare him for this.
Lucien took a sip of wine, although it was difficult to swallow. The longer he continued to watch Babette, the more he desired her. He had never felt this way about a woman before. Oh, of course he had met many beautiful women in his life - elegant, refined women with the finest of clothes and not a hair out of place. He had been attracted to them, as any man would be, but nothing close to what he felt for Babette. She was not merely beautiful - she was thrilling, her very presence intoxicating. Her every movement and facial expression held mystery and a tantalizing promise. She was unlike any woman he had ever met. He could not get enough of her, and had to have her.
Before he could think anymore, he felt his own nerves begin to overtake him as her dance had ended and she made her way to his table.
"Ah, Monsieur Lucien," Babette said, a playful tone already inhabiting her voice. "It has been far too long since I have seen you. I was beginning to think that you had forgotten about me."
Lucien stood awkwardly and reached for her hand, which Babette offered willingly. "Mademoiselle Babette, no one can ever forget you," he said, politely kissing her hand, and gesturing her to a chair. "May I ask for a few minutes of your company?"
Babette smiled, as beautiful as he remembered it, and drew the chair directly next to Lucien's. He tried desperately not to notice the closeness, nor the fact that her skirt parted quite scandalously as she made herself comfortable. She could see his eyes darting quickly to meet her own, though it was obvious where they wanted to stay.
"Mon cher Vicomte," she murmured leaning in closer to him, casually resting her hand on his arm. She could not help but feel a surge of delight in seeing him startle gently at her action. "Formality is not required here, and even if it was, we are no longer strangers. I believe that you yourself said that long ago."
"Yes," he agreed. "By the Lord's good graces, we did indeed become fast friends. Though, I must admit, it would be very difficult not to find your company so delightful."
"So I have been told," Babette laughed, nodding around the room.
Pretending not to notice her own actions, she rubbed her foot against his, but then she hesitated. Normally she would have touched him more intimately - something light and teasing to inflame his desire - but she suddenly felt self-conscious. Lucien was not the usual kind of man who came to Le Fleur Noir. He was a nobleman, used to refined women of good breeding, and she cared for him so much. She wanted him to care for her too, and she was desperately afraid that he would look down on her for what she was.
Still...he had seen her dance, and it only seemed to make her more attractive in his eyes. Experimentally, she put her hand on his thigh, and smiled to see him practically stop breathing. He was hers. She knew it, and confidence surged through her. She did not have to pretend. He wanted her exactly the way she was.
"But the only company I have been wishing for is yours," she said, pouting adorably. "I have missed you so very much; why did you leave me wishing for so long?"
Lucien shifted a bit in his seat, although his hand soon covered hers to keep it in place. "I was foolish, and I pray you forgive me," he said pleadingly. "I should have known better; who does not know how to find the grand Le Fleur Noir?"
Babette could not resist teasing. "While all may know the way, obviously it is easy to forget."
Lucien smiled good-humoredly. "Well, of one thing, I am very certain."
"And what is that?"
Gradually growing more daring by the minute, Lucien brought her hand to his lips again, almost in a manner of reverence. "I missed Mademoiselle's company just as much as she has missed mine, and I will never forget the way here if it means seeing her."
Babette smirked playfully, pleased at hearing such responses, but before she could respond, music once again began to play.
Lucien looked in the direction of the floor in confusion. "Performance music, but no performance?" he asked.
Babette stood, tugging on his hand. "It is a group dance, Fleurettes' choice," she explained. "And I insist that you be my partner. I seem to remember that Monsieur is quite the talented dancer himself, and I demand only the best to dance with the best."
Lucien laughed heartily. "Never the modest one, are you?"
"Modesty was never a lesson I learned well, non."
Lucien grinned, following her lead to join the other Fleurettes and their choice partners on the floor. "Very well," he agreed. "I will do as the lady asks."
Drawing him close, wrapping her arms around him, Babette raised an eyebrow in flirtatious curiosity. "Even if I were to ask that you come to see me as often as possible?" she asked.
Admittedly, Lucien had to force himself to breathe normally upon feeling her pressed closely against him. When he was certain he could speak, he said, "Gladly, as long as you wish me to."
Babette said nothing more, only smiled gently before resting her head against his chest, hardly able to believe that she was not dreaming. She had known it before, and she knew it now. Life was most assuredly about to change, and no further questions were needed to know that Lucien had indeed felt the same.
