Chapter Three: The New Norm
Had it already been three months since meeting the vicomte? Babette could hardly believe it.
It seemed like only the day before when she had been cleaning floors, dusting corridors, and polishing marble and brass. In the first few weeks of her arrival home, she had still sometimes woken up at the slightest crack of dawn, much to her disgruntlement. Out of all her old habits, how had her pleasant nine-in-the-morning wake-up call been a hassle to return to?
Unfortunately, that hadn't been the most difficult of problems for her to overcome. Leaving le Château du Lac and all the residents who dwelled in it behind had been the hardest trial she had ever endured. Her heart had not only broken once, but as many more times as for the people she had grown closest to: Angélique, Mrs. Potts, and even by some degree, Cogsworth. But the first who had caused her heart to cleave in two…
It had been hard enough trying to hide her heartbreak from her parents, but they had seemed to accept she was going to miss being a part of the château's tight-knit community. Thankfully, Babette had not to meet the vicomte, her arranged fiancé, for a week or so after Christmas, and in that time, she had taken to becoming thoroughly absorbed in her responsibilities as a future countess and single heir of the Chantemerle family.
Back were the tight, heavy gowns of fine silks and fabrics, the dressing and pampering by her handmaiden, and the false smiles and silently judging countenances of fellow aristocrats. Her bitter feelings toward all that came with being of noble birth had not changed since her stay at the province's château, but she had found a higher level of tolerance in herself to withstand what she had so despised before.
Upon meeting the vicomte, she had found more reason to broaden her acceptance and understanding of the life she had to lead.
After a few short months, she found herself healed. She basked and blossomed in the vicomte's adoring gaze, and the feelings she felt for him were different than anything she had felt before. Perhaps it was love, but of another kind.
Pausing at the top of the staircase, Babette allowed the images of her fiancé to keep her mind at ease. She felt as though she were descending toward a lions' den.
Her whalebone stays made it impossible for her to slouch, and as seemed to be its ultimate purpose, caused her breath to catch, but she knew that what awaited her had assisted with that on its own. She stood outside the salon doors, wishing she could run back up to her room where she could remain safe for a little while longer, but she knew this meeting was inevitable, and always would be.
Another thought came to her, but she shook her head at it. She had checked herself in the mirror already, and though she hated the idea of presenting herself in her class' distinguishing style of garb, she was not ashamed of it. Her clothes did not define her.
Taking as deep of a breath as she could muster, Babette stepped into le petit salon.
Immediately, the vicomte stood up as she entered, his hazel eyes alighting and his boyish mouth turning into a grin at the sight of her. His navy coat fit around his broad shoulders and athletic build marvelously. Since he never wore a customary wig in his own home, his dark brown hair was visible, slicked back and cropped to the base of his skull. Babette felt her heart flutter.
But it staggered in beat from the other man in the room. His slender back was to her, but she bid herself to look to him before he saw her. As he eagerly turned to face her, a look of pure shock and horror as though he was watching the dead arise crossed his features. This ended up satisfying her more than she could have ever guessed, and she smiled without hesitation.
Her beloved approached to take her hands in his before presenting her. "Lumière," he introduced fondly. "My fiancée, Babette de Chantemerle."
Lumière seemed to recall feeling this way before. The moment he had first seen Babette had wowed him in every sense of the word. Actually, no, this wasn't the same at all. He was sure his awe hadn't been founded in fear.
He had erased his expression of dread before Nicolas could shift his gaze from the vision of her, his eyes holding a look that Lumière was all too familiar with. His friend was shoulder-deep in love, not a doubt of it.
And clearly knew nothing about his and Babette's history.
With a smile that could fake sincerity a little too well, Lumière came around the chaise to greet her properly. "I had wondered why Nicolas had made such a feeble attempt to describe your beauty in his letter, but now I see that words would have been inadequate." He kissed her hand, ignoring its familiarity. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, mademoiselle."
His smile seemed mocking to her, and she tried not to shudder at his touch, whatever the emotion that incited it. Babette respectfully curtsied to the maître d'. "The pleasure is all mine, monsieur. Nicolas spared no words about you."
"So I've been told," Lumière replied, eyeing the vicomte in a way that he hoped was teasing.
Nicolas rolled his eyes, though his blush gave way to his embarrassment. "Babette, did I not praise the merit of Lumière's character to you on numerous occasions?"
"Oui, so much that it was almost difficult to believe," she remarked, giving the maître d' a sharp passing glance. Lumière had to do all he could not to glare at her.
"Thank you," Nicolas said to Babette before he raised his eyebrows at Lumière as though daring him to say more on the subject.
Lumière crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on the viscountess. "If that is true… I hope to at least meet your expectations."
"We shall see then, monsieur," Babette replied simply, though her icy blue eyes were piercing.
Lumière couldn't help but recall at how familiar her eyes appeared in that moment. Not because he had admired them for whom they belonged, but because they looked all too similar to when she had been bent on hating him, like after their very first introduction.
He almost wanted to laugh at the irony.
Their stare seemed to last longer than it really did, but it was broken when Nicolas guided Babette to the seat on the chaise next to him. Lumière followed suit, making sure to grab his wine before replacing himself in an armchair across from them.
He wished he could drain his glass without Nicolas noticing, but he had to fight his craving for however long these "introductions" would last.
While slowly sipping his wine and wishing for something stronger, Lumière watched her as she watched him. She looked on coolly, and to avoid her expression of indifference, he took notice of the rest of her.
She sat with back erect, shoulders back, and ankles crossed under her long skirt in perfect aristocratic style, mimicking any other woman of noble birth. The plum gown she wore was of rich fabric that shined a dull luster. The side hoops of her dress, though not so wide, exaggerated her tiny waist, though it was clear her chest was constricted by her stays, especially with how he knew so well what her natural figure looked like.
Perhaps it was because this was far from what he was used to, but Lumière couldn't help but think that she looked nothing like herself.
Then he noticed Nicolas slightly nodding sideways towards Babette, signaling that he should be the one to begin the conversation.
Lumière swallowed his sigh with irritation. He was far from the right state-of-mind to learn more about how Babette came to court his best friend.
Taking a deep breath, he put on a face that he hoped looked interested. "So… I am curious to hear the tale of how this… betrothal began." With a little spite that only Babette would be able to read, he targeted her. "Mademoiselle?"
It was subtle, but she puckered her lips enough for him to see she had picked up on his slight.
As she opened her mouth to respond, however, Nicolas replied, "Her parents had asked for an audience with us at the end of November to propose an arrangement between our houses. They vouched highly for her character, and I agreed to meet her after she was no longer indisposed."
"'Indisposed?'" Lumière jumped on the word with a show of mounting curiosity.
Nicolas appeared to regret Lumière's interest, and exchanged a glance with Babette. Right as a look of understanding passed between them, Lumière felt his blood begin to boil, but it was not without the accompaniment of jealousy's upward thrust through his gut.
Leaning on the arm of his chair, he tried to hide his scowl behind a thoughtful hand before they both turned to him again.
"From October to December," Babette explained, not quite meeting Lumière's eyes, "I was serving… in a convent."
The maître d's brow immediately shot up at this blatant lie, but realized, Ah, so that is what she has said to keep Nicolas ignorant. He couldn't deny feeling a bit of relief from having to explain himself to his friend, but the fact that she was maintaining this falsehood for Nicolas' sake… He certainly did not like it.
"A convent, you say!" Lumière repeated with a faint smirk, genuinely intrigued.
Babette aimed her stare, daring him to object her words. But that was quite far from his intention.
As she had taken pleasure with his shock at realizing she was Nicolas' betrothed, so would he on witnessing her convulse a lie to the one who knew the truth, as well as in front of the one she kept oblivious.
"Surely you intend to say more!" Lumière prompted amicably. "Please, tell me, what was that like? I imagine the difference is… insurmountable to the life of a well-endowed vicomtesse such as yourself."
With a small glance at Nicolas, Lumière could see him give a look of warning. The maître d' could admit perhaps "well-endowed" had been too suggestive of a description, despite the truth it held in both respects. But he was enjoying Babette's ill-concealed indignation too much to feel any shame.
"I do not wish to disappoint you," Babette worded carefully, her expression countering her statement, "but there really is not much to tell."
Rather determined in his pursuits, Lumière raised an eyebrow and replied, "Perhaps that is true, but for the sake of conversation, why not say what little there is to tell?"
Looking cunningly resigned, she answered, "It… mostly consisted of… playing a maid."
Lumière couldn't help but furrow his brow at this. How could she claim that and get away with it?
Before Lumière could reply, and noting his suspicion, Nicolas added, "What she means is, because she was among the youngest living there, and not having taken any holy vows, she helped keep the convent clean."
"I see…" the maître d' admitted, keeping his bitterness under the surface. He watched Babette cock a slender eyebrow that clearly read, Your move.
The clever minx, he had to admire. She had covered all of her tracks well.
But what about her romantic affairs—prior to himself? Lumière had the full account of her escapades, a numerous amount of them scandalous for someone of questionable morals. It was one thing for Babette to be keeping the truth from Nicolas about her relationship with Lumière, but it was another thing for her to withhold the entirety of her dalliances. Nicolas might as well not know Babette at all. With the way the viscount looked at her, he can't have been told… right?
Then again, Nicolas was that understanding and open-minded of a person. There was a possibility he knew about all of her personal accounts—outside of the rumors—and saw past them for her sake. Lord knew he at least tolerated it based on his choice of friends.
Lumière had to try coercing this information out of him as soon as they were alone.
Nicolas cleared his throat awkwardly after a moment of silence. "So, Lumière, how is everything at le Château du Lac? Anything of interest?"
Lumière shrugged. "The holidays are hectic, visiting royalty comes and goes, and Cogsworth still believes I carry a secret agenda against him, so quite normal, unfortunately."
Babette archly smiled. "Who is this 'Cogsworth?'"
A bit chagrined she caught that attempt so smoothly, Lumière nonchalantly explained, "He is our majordomo: tedious, demanding, and very English," he added tiredly with an eye roll.
Though she quickly averted her eyes as theirs met, Babette sincerely grinned, like it was an inside joke. He almost became too distracted by this to hear a humored Nicolas inquire, "It has been over four years, and still you haven't found any common ground?"
Recovering swiftly, Lumière admonished jokingly, "You really expect too much, mon ami, of both of us." When he thought back, he mentioned, "Although I have recently discovered that the old pocket watch might actually have dabbled in a bit of romance long before I met him. But heaven knows when I will ever hear a syllable of it."
"That is interesting," Nicolas admitted as Babette allowed some of her curiosity to show through. "Especially since… it seems hard to believe."
"My thoughts exactly," Lumière agreed with a chuckle.
"Why would it be hard to believe?" she inquired, expressing her intrigue.
It irked Lumière to a certain extent that he would have to explain who Cogsworth was to someone who knew the majordomo better than Nicolas, but he found his confusion from the sincerity of her question stifled the irritation that arose. Why would she even ask if not to play her part believably?
"Well…" he began hesitantly as his mind tripped over her possible reasons. "Let us merely say he is not the romantic type."
"He is married to his work, as we've come to call it," Nicolas elaborated.
"Precisely," Lumière approved with small smirk.
"Is there anything necessarily wrong about being 'married' to your work?" Babette probed thoughtfully.
A little wave of nostalgia caught Lumière off-guard. As inquisitive as ever, he couldn't help but note.
He blinked the thoughts away to focus on the present. "Non, of course not. But… your question makes me believe you have your own opinion on the subject."
She pursed her scarlet lips, clearly thinking she should have seen that coming. After a glance at Nicolas, who was also waiting for her reply with a sly smile, she rolled her eyes at them. "The point of a question is for it to be answered, not reversed on its inquirer."
"True, ma chère," Nicolas conceded, "but what is the harm in enlightening us with your own thoughts… for the sake of conversation?"
He exchanged a mischievous glance with Lumière, who had to laugh. As small as it was, Nicolas was not only taking the open opportunity to tease her, but was allying with him to do it.
The potential in Lumière's stay had suddenly become much more interesting.
From the way Babette eyed both of them in turn, it would seem she saw the potential as well, and didn't like it.
"D'accord," she muttered brusquely. "I only ask because I do not think there is anything to condemn if one chooses to stay committed to their profession rather than marrying. I find it something to be admired, in fact."
Nicolas changed his tone to assure, "Babette, we do not condemn Cogsworth for never marrying—"
"Now or in the foreseeable future," Lumière annexed.
"Right," the viscount acknowledged. "But it's the… dedication he has to his job that is rather unique."
"Not to mention he has held me in contempt since the day I was hired," Lumière said more to Nicolas than to Babette.
She set her eyes on the maître d'. "Might there be a reason for him to dislike you so?"
"I imagine there must be," Lumière replied smoothly, "but his reasons seem to change depending on his mood." Is this a way of keeping up her own play at ignorance, or to test me?
"They are both just… very different people," Nicolas clarified to her. "Well, polar opposites, more like. I've only had the pleasure of watching them interact once, and I was not even supposed to be in earshot."
As Nicolas smiled, Lumière laughed at the memory. "Ah, oui, he would have wrung my neck if he had known you were hiding in my wardrobe!" As an afterthought, he added devilishly, "However, his mortification would make it worth mentioning…"
"Would he even remember? I would think for all of the lectures he's given you, there would be a point where they blur together."
"Believe me, if I reminded him of the time and place, he would certainly remember. The man has a mind like a steel trap. But, mademoiselle," Lumière began, eager to return the attention to Babette, "I want to address your thoughts, if we may."
Her icy eyes filled with suspicion, but her voice remained cordial as always. "And what about them, monsieur, has captured your interest?"
"When you said that never marrying for the sake of a career was something to admire…"
"I meant that kind of commitment and resilience against other temptations was admirable," she elaborated without missing a beat. "It is very difficult to not stray."
In the most casual manner, Lumière inquired, "Would you happen to have experienced that difficulty firsthand?"
Nicolas shot him another glance to reel it in, but Babette was unphased. "Of course. As much as anyone."
Though this wasn't an unexpected reaction from her, Lumière was surprised to hear her be so nonchalantly candid in front of her fiancé and a "newly-met" acquaintance. Still, he couldn't prevent a ghost of a smile from appearing on his lips.
Lumière didn't seem to be the only one stunned; Nicolas stared wide-eyed at Babette for a fleeting moment before composing himself and noting his friend's expression. "I suppose I should have mentioned in my letter your perfect honesty," he said wryly to the viscountess.
"I will assure you, I much prefer you hadn't," she replied lightly, watching Lumière with amusement.
The maître d' then blinked his surprise away and leaned back into his chair. "I would agree that normally such a virtue would have called for some warning, at least for those with less of an open mind."
"Yet that is precisely why I wanted to introduce you to each other," Nicolas explained with a smile, his eyes alighting with excitement. "I can already tell these next weeks will be interesting to say the least."
You took the words out of my mouth, Lumière answered silently.
Three knocks were heard on the door, and Renaud opened it to announce the early return of Nicolas' parents and that lunch was to be served in the next few minutes, but this was barely registered properly as Lumière tried to eye Babette long enough to make her meet his gaze. It seemed their fate that their determination always be matched, but at opposition. She refused to look at him, but turned her head to Nicolas.
In just the acceptance of his arm, both had eyes only for each other. As though time had slowed for Lumière's benefit, he could clearly take notice of the adoration in Nicolas' gaze and the admiration in Babette's. Acutely aware of his invisibility, Lumière felt again the plunge of jealousy's knife into his gut, but as he stood, it seemed the knife had left a bleeding wound.
Ever dutifully, a stone-faced Lumière followed the betrothed pair to the foyer.