They'd traveled the entire night through, reaching Enjolras' estate just as dawn was beginning to break.
As a boy, all he'd ever wanted to do was escape this place. His mother had passed when he was seven and he had scarcely any memories of her at all. Grief had turned his father cold and living alone with him had been a nightmare. Enjolras' childhood was a flash of countless tutors. Abandoned, empty rooms. Chilling, lonely winters. He lived under the weight of unbearable expectations and impossible pressures, with every choice predetermined for him. He was groomed like one of his father's prized horses. Tailored to perfection like a fine suit. No agency, no freedom.
Even when he'd finally left, thinking now that he was away at law school perhaps he could start making his own decisions, there were still the unannounced visits from his father or the letters filled with veiled threats, reminding him of the timeline his father had set for him. After he'd cut his education short and run away with his band of university friends, the letters still found and followed him somehow. This time, however, they expressed his father's utmost disappointment and the news that Enjolras was to be disowned unless he returned home immediately.
But he'd paid little attention to the letters, swept up as he was with leading his friends and the people of France to victorious freedom. In the end, the words had all been a bluff, for his father had no other heir to bequeath his estate and earnings to.
Enjolras' carriage pulled up to the front of the manor, the sun peeking over the rooftop. Once a place of stifling grandeur, the manor was now a place of respite and solace. He was surprised at the way his heart clenched at the sight of it and wondered briefly at what had caused this shift in affectations.
The carriage door opened, and he was greeted by his butler.
"Good morning, monsieur." The man bowed. "It is good to see you after so long a time. I trust your trip was a success."
"I daresay it was." Enjolras replied as he exited the carriage.
"I'm afraid we hadn't expected for you to arrive this early in the day. I shall fetch someone to bring in your luggage immediately."
"Thank you, Alphonse." Enjolras took a step towards the doors, then paused and turned to the butler. "Where is she?"
Alphonse lifted a brow, no doubt about to ask who his master was referring to.
"Cosette. Is she awake?" Enjolras clarified, pulling the leather gloves off his hands, hoping his butler hadn't noticed the urgency in his tone.
"Ah, yes." The man nodded. "I believe the mistress of the house is inside the library."
The mistress of the house. As a boy, that title had been used whenever the servants spoke of his late mother.
Enjolras mumbled another quick thank you and headed inside, his heart racing for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend.
He'd just turned down the hall that led to the library when he spotted her. She was closing the door behind her, a book in hand. The moment she looked up and locked eyes with him, he froze in place.
A smile broke out on Cosette's features and she rushed to him instantly, the book slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor.
Enjolras stood motionless, watching her draw nearer, her blonde curls bouncing with each hurried step. Move, you idiot, a voice told him. After another heartbeat, he did. His steps slow, almost nervous as he made his way toward her.
"You're home!" She exhaled, stopping just a mere few inches away from him.
Home. The word filled Enjolras' heart and almost choked his breath. He couldn't help feeling that the sound of her voice was as much home as the walls surrounding them now.
"Yes." Was all he could think to say in response. She had done something different to her hair, he was sure of it. Had it always been this long? And that pale blue sash around the waist of her gown. Had she always had that? He hadn't seen her wear it before. He'd only been gone a month, but he felt like he hadn't seen her in years. How else had she changed since the last time he'd seen her?
"How was your trip, dear?" She asked, reaching for the scarf still tied around his neck. He'd forgotten to take it off in his rush to find her. I can take off my own scarf, he thought distantly. But instead stood there, letting her slender fingers make quick work of undoing it.
"My trip…" Enjolras started to say, finding his thoughts to be a jumbled mess.
"Wait!" Cosette exclaimed, clutching the sleeve of his elbow. "You should tell me all about it over breakfast! The cook has been trying out new recipes to perfect her croissants and they are absolutely delicious. Are you hungry?"
His stomach growled in response.
"Famished." He admitted sheepishly.
She giggled and tugged at his sleeve, guiding him down the hall. He caught her scent then, something sweet resembling lilacs and earth, and thought again of that word: home.
He'd been staring at the blank page in front of him for over an hour. His right hand held a quill, tapping its point on the desk in a distracted rhythm.
"You should take the rest of the day to relax." Cosette had told him after their breakfast that morning.
But working was how he relaxed. Sure, he'd been home less than a day, but his mind had been turning with ideas on his trip home and he was determined to write them all out.
Only now, finally seated at his desk, he was finding that same inspiration hard to come by. Tendrils of fear gripped his heart and he wondered if he'd somehow used up the last dredges of creativity during his trip with Guillaume.
This is ridiculous, Enjolras thought to himself. I'm a writer. I'm a visionary. I could fill volumes with the ideas I have.
The quill kept tapping.
The page remained blank. Taunting him, challenging him.
He pushed away from his desk with a frustrated grunt and stood. Next thing he knew, he was walking out of his study altogether.
Where to now?
It didn't matter. He wanted to be anywhere but in his study, away from those intimidating blank pages he could not fill. His feet seemed to walk of their own accord, leading him around a dark corner, through a long hallway.
There, a light shone from behind the door to the library. His hand reached for the knob, turning it before he thought to stop himself.
The large room was lit by a single lamp, a plush armchair planted beneath its dim light. It was here that he found Cosette snuggled up with a book, her feet thrown over one of the chair's arms, her kitten nestled in her lap.
She looked so comfortable, one hand holding the book, another gently petting the kitten as she sat engrossed in whatever story had captured her attention, her heels gently bouncing against the chair's upholstery. The sight was so endearing, he felt almost…shy. Like he'd walked in on a moment he hadn't earned the privilege to see.
She looked up. "Enjolras." With a start, she sat up in her chair. The kitten meowed at the disruption, rearranged itself and kept on slumbering.
"I'm sorry to intrude." He was already reaching for the knob behind him.
"No, that's alright." She closed the book, but kept a finger in the chapter she'd left off on. "Did you need something?"
That was a great question. What did he need? What lapse of reason had brought him here of all places?
"I…um." He licked his lips, panic gripping his insides. She tilted her head, studying him, waiting. What answer could he give besides the fact that some part of him simply wanted to see her?
"Guillaume thought it would be a good idea to host a dinner party here." He said, thanking God above for giving him something to say in this moment. "For various dignitaries and members of Parliament. He says the tour increased my good standing among the people but that now would be a good time to make my presence known among the nobility."
"That's a brilliant idea." Cosette agreed.
"Well…" He clasped his hands behind his back. "I came here to ask if you…" Goodness, when had he become such a babbling idiot? Once a wordsmith, now a complete fool. "If you would care to plan the dinner party?"
It was a strange wonder, the way her face lit up then. He swore he could see actual stars in her eyes. Or perhaps he was beginning to lose his mind. That seemed to be the case as of late, at least wherever Cosette was concerned.
"I would love to!" She exclaimed, voice positively giddy.
He recalled Alphonse's words from earlier that day. She's been a bit listless since you've been away, monsieur, the man had said. When Enjolras had asked why, the butler simply shrugged. My guess is the mistress likes to be useful. She enjoys having something to do or care for.
Then we must find ways to make her feel useful, Enjolras said in return.
But it was more than just keeping Cosette occupied. He had meant what he said when he first brought her to his estate. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to take charge. He wanted her to feel like she belonged here. To know that everything he owned was also and just as much hers.
He hoped Valjean was looking down from heaven and seeing how hard Enjolras was trying for the man's beloved daughter.
"Good." He said now, feeling himself relax a little. Something about the happy look on her face must've been contagious. "I shall leave you to plan all the details. You pick the date and time and I'll call for Guillaume in the next day or two to help with the guest list and evening's program."
Cosette beamed. "I'll do my best not to disappoint you both."
"I doubt you're in any danger of that. I'm sure whatever you plan will exceed everyone's expectations."
She lifted a brow. "And what if I ask the cook to serve boiled lard for dinner?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I'll convince our guests it's the newest craze in Parisian cuisine."
"A modern delicacy." She quipped.
"If I can convince them successfully of that, perhaps I'll have some success as a politician after all."
"Perhaps." She mused. "Though I doubt any of your colleagues would accept another dinner invitation."
He laughed then. Genuinely laughed. Good Lord, he'd almost forgotten the feeling of it.
"That's fine by me." He chuckled. "I much rather prefer eating my dinners alone with you than with a bunch of stuffy old men."
"Will they really all be old and stuffy?"
"Undoubtedly. With far less prettier wives than mine, I'm sure."
Cosette smiled and looked away, cheeks turning a rosy color. She traced the binding of the book in her hand.
Oh, why'd he have to go ruining such comradery with his stupid compliment? He'd been enjoying their tête-à-tête and now she'd gone silent. No doubt because he'd made her feel uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat.
"Well, I should be heading back to my study." He said, backing towards the door. "Good night."
She lifted her face, cheeks still an enchanting pink, and looked almost sorry to see him go. Or maybe he was just imagining it.
He turned and opened the door to leave.
"Enjolras." She called. His hand rested on the doorknob. "Did you…" He heard a quiet intake of breath, as if she were gathering courage to say what she said next. "Did you think of me while you were away?"
He felt his pulse fluttering at the question. Nearly every day, he wanted to say. He couldn't make himself look at her as he answered with a somber, "yes", before leaving the room.
