Chapter Eight: Preparations
After sending a footman to ready their Parisian estate, Nicolas prepared to spend much of the day at the Chantemerle's manor. Thankfully, neither him nor Lumière had drunk an amount of ale that couldn't be easily slept off, so around noon, a rejuvenated Nicolas was smartly dressed to meet Babette at her home.
"Are you sure you don't wish to join me?" Nicolas checked one last time as he put on his coat in the foyer. "You would not be imposing in the slightest."
"Bless your innocent mind," Lumière admired with humor, "but I am certain Mlle de Chantemerle would respectfully disagree. Both of you have deserved some time to yourselves."
Nicolas conceded with a shrug before asking, "What are you going to do then?"
"I am on holiday, Nicolas," he reminded with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to relax as I am meant to. Perhaps I will read a book for once."
Nicolas laughed. "The idea of you being idle and content is one that will always be foreign to me. But enjoy your day of rest. We will be leaving for Paris in the morning."
"I should be reminding you of that! I want to leave bright and early," the maître d' demanded, appearing quite resolute.
Calling on an impression of his father, Nicolas said with elevated sarcasm, "I promise to not stay out too late, bobonne." He dropped the act when Lumière chuckled. "I will see you tonight."
"Amuse-toi," Lumière imparted with an insinuating smirk.
Shaking his head, but grinning, the viscount returned, "You as well, mon ami."
After Nicolas closed the door, Lumière was at a loss for what to do with his free time. Did he really want to spend it reading?
Angélique would not even hesitate, he thought with a smile. But then the offer she had made before he had left occurred to him.
As the idea took seed, the more it appealed. Turning on his heel, he headed up the staircase.
Though he had never spent much time in their modest library, Lumière had made it his preferred place to gather his thoughts, especially in regards to wording a letter. What made the room even more ideal was, being at the southeast corner of the château, one window pointed toward the lush and rolling countryside, while the other faced the gardens and small forest behind La Bazolle.
The sun brightened the greens of the outside to a vividness that was both soothing and invigorating to see. He opened a window to allow the breeze of the day to waft through. As soon as he did, the pleasant chirping of birds could be heard in the bushes and trees below.
At the bibliothèque, he unhooked the drop-leaf desk, revealing some drawers behind it. From these drawers, he grabbed a sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and quill before pulling out the stool tucked between the desk's cabinets.
As he took a seat, his mind was as blank as the parchment in front of him. How was he to explain everything that had happened? Where did he begin?
He knew at least how to begin.
Ma chère ange, he addressed with a wry smile.
As his mind pieced words and sentences together, he gazed out past the manicured lawns and pastures to the cluster of rooftops in the distance.
La Clayette was very dignified and developed for a town as small as it was. It had the sophistication of a city with the comfort of country living, practically the best of both worlds. In hindsight, it was astoundingly lucky that he had grown up in such a quaint area. He had never been able to appreciate it before because in his adolescent eyes, it paled in comparison to large, bustling cities like Paris. With so many interesting places to go and exciting events to attend, how could they not have made La Clayette seem boring and provincial?
Despite how dull the town had seemed though, Lumière had been able to entertain himself with the women he came across. He recalled Babette had done the same with men, and for most of the same reasons.
By the time Babette had taken to the streets with amorous vigor, Lumière had been employed at le Château du Lac, narrowly missing the possibility of them meeting. Would things have been different had they met here in town? Would they have let feelings develop and deepen as much as they had if her social status had been known from the start?
Dieu, look at me, wondering "what ifs," Lumière chastised himself with a grunt. He turned to his parchment again, spinning the quill with the pads of his fingers.
As he refocused, what he intended to say returned to him. He put his quill to ink, then to paper as the words flowed from him into smooth script with few pauses.
Feeling content with his handiwork, he reread it to be sure.
Ma chère ange,
I understand that this letter may seem premature, but I am afraid I have stumbled upon a much unforeseen circumstance.
I neglected to inform you of the reason Nicolas asked for me, so allow me to explain. Nicolas has become engaged to a charming and vivacious young woman, and he was keen on introducing her to me so that I might give them my blessing. What a coincidence that she happens to be a mutual acquaintance of ours. Can you guess? I can wager that whomever you have in mind is not going to be anywhere near correct.
D'accord, I will give you a hint. Despite her noble background, she made quite a delightful addition to our staff last season.
Would you like to know the best part? Nicolas knows nothing. She has purposely kept my dear friend ignorant on any relations she has had at the château and most especially, with me.
This has led to some very complicated maneuvers on both our parts, if you can imagine. I have had to play along in pretending as though we have never met. I still cannot believe she refused to warn me, for she knew that I was visiting.
Because I want to spare myself the energy of writing the course of my thoughts over the past few days, and you the task of reading them, I will attempt to abridge them as concisely as I possibly can.
Shock. Bewilderment. Spite. Anger. Conviction. Remorse. Empathy.
If you are not astonished by my brevity, I certainly am for the both of us.
To the misfortune of us both, I cannot put our dear Babette's feelings in such clear terms. She has absolutely insisted on being anything but compliant with me. I have only just realized because of Nicolas' recent disclosure that she was indeed as heartbroken as I was from our parting. I can hear you calling me the fool, but you can trust that has already occurred to me. It seems she has fostered her suffering into hatred, and my actions have only justified her feelings.
I must do something to fix what I have had a hand in breaking. Though no words exist to properly articulate the pain I feel at watching the woman I love be courted by the man I call my brother, I understand now that I must be the one among us three to remain strong. I must overlook whatever woe in me ensues during the rest of my stay to ensure there is peace. I must have Babette know that I now have every intention of supporting her union to Nicolas for their sake of a prosperous future.
But first, she must prove to me that her love for Nicolas is true. I will not allow her to let anyone else occupy her heart, including me. Especially me. Nicolas deserves a woman who loves him with all of her body, heart, and mind. Any less will not suffice.
For now, I will be doing my best to guarantee these happen. Any suggestions you may have would be most welcome. Perhaps where Babette is concerned, you can provide an approach that I might not ever have considered otherwise. Better yet, if you have read a novel with a plot as tragically romantic as this one and where the ending is happy, send it to me immediately so I may use it as a reference to help me navigate my own narrative. Then I will need you to keep me in your prayers as often as I cross your mind.
On this pleasant note, I shall conclude my plea for help.
May no worries as cumbersome as these ever befall you, or anyone else for that matter.
Yours always,
L.
He couldn't help but be surprised at how he fit what felt like an overwhelming amount of information onto only the front and back of a sheet. He set it down again to fold and seal, but stopped himself.
As eager as he was to get a second opinion on his situation, one of this magnitude would be a cause for worry on Angélique's end. While his wording was far from desperate, the news of him having to deal with the aftermath of both his and Babette's affair with Nicolas as collateral could prompt more than her keen advice. At this moment, she was most likely at ease, believing he was basking in the good company of his friend without Babette at the forefront of his thoughts.
Lumière rubbed his eyes as he sighed. He had caused her enough worry for the dismal mood he had kept since Christmas. Besides, he was hardly giving himself a chance to think of something to reestablish Babette's good opinion before asking for help.
Glancing through his words again, the delicacy of this information was great enough for this letter to be swiftly set to flame if it was not going to be sent, but he couldn't convince himself that doing so was best either.
I will seal it as though I mean to send it, he decided. If I find no inspiration while in Paris, this will be sent upon our return.
Until then, he would keep the letter hidden in his room. It would be safer from Nicolas at La Bazolle than in his luggage while they were in Paris.
When the sun began to set on the horizon, Lumière stepped out of the music room to see if either Nicolas or his parents had returned from their respective visits. When he came across Renaud in the hall, the majordomo directed him to le petit salon where Étienne was having his nightcap and Augustine, a cup of tea.
"Bonsoir, madame et monsieur," Lumière cheerfully greeted as he walked into the salon.
Augustine hopped in her seat, almost spilling her tea. "Oh! Bonsoir, cher." She set her teacup down to examine her lap for any wayward drops. "You certainly caught me by surprise! I thought you would be with Nicolas."
"As did Nicolas," Lumière said with a smirk, taking a seat on the chaise in front of them. "But I had to remind him that a proper courtship does not include a third."
"The keyword being 'proper,'" Étienne annexed dryly, though his eyes remained on his gazette.
She gave Lumière a teasing smile over the lip of her teacup. "Ah, yes, I should have expected you to be more aware of romantic etiquette," Augustine emphasized with a rolling 'r.' "You think Nicolas would have learned as much by now."
"It seems he is doing well enough on his own," Lumière admitted sincerely.
"True, true," she replied with a small sigh. "But now that you're here… well, I am sure you could help spur things along."
A feeling of dread creeped into his gut. He arched an inquiring eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
"Augustine," her husband said with a stern look. "Mind what you're asking."
"Honestly, Étienne, what harm could it do?" she defended, straightening in her seat as she spoke to Lumière. "I only bring it up because…"
She pursed her lips, thinking of the right words to say. "I don't know what Nicolas has told you, but their courtship has been carrying on for almost four months, and he still… has not initiated anything."
Étienne squeezed his eyes shut and practically pleaded, "My dear, that is hardly Lumière's concern."
"My point is," she continued after stealing a glare at her husband, "he needs someone to encourage him in taking a few chances, and he always seems to be more willing to when you are with him."
Lumière hoped he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. "I suppose that is true…"
Based on the way Étienne tiredly shook his head, though the count adamantly kept his attention on what he was reading, Lumière's discomfort must have been audible at least.
Augustine didn't seem to notice either way. She eagerly asked, "So you will lend him a helping hand?" But then doubt crossed her features. "It isn't too much to ask, is it?"
Lumière managed a small smile. "Your concern for him is… understandable, madame." But the cringing in his stomach gave him pause.
This request went completely against his plan to interfere as little as possible. In refusing to meddle from then on in their courtship, he had wanted to prove to Babette that he no longer intended to prevent the joining of their houses. He now had the same wishes as Nicolas' parents, but how could he promise what Augustine was asking? To advise Nicolas on how to incite romance with Babette?
Whether to interfere or not, I will trust my judgement alone, he promised himself. Though Augustine meant well, he would know what was best for Nicolas and Babette.
With some regret, he half-lied, "I will do my best."
The countess visibly relaxed. "Merci, Lumière." Reclining slightly in her armchair, she thankfully changed the subject. "So! How was your day at home then?"
He mirrored her grin, though it was half-hearted. He took a deep breath to ease the knot inside of him. "Quite unproductive," he confessed.
She gave him a firm nod. "As it should be! You are on holiday, after all. How did you bide your time?"
Lumière shrugged. "I… tried to reclaim some of my fingering on a Couperin suite."
"That was you on the harpsichord!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I don't know why that hadn't occurred to me."
He smirked. "I could name a reason or two."
She waved a hand to silence him. "Non, non, cher, you sounded lovely. It simply has not been played in so long that I hardly recognized it."
"That was precisely my assumption. I spent the better part of an hour or so tuning it myself."
Her mouth opened in an "aw," her fingers at her heart. "Honestly, mon cher, how have we gotten along without you?"
Lumière laughed, but Augustine insisted, "No, really! You were such a help around here, always going above and beyond the call of duty."
"During the day, at least," Étienne recalled, sending a sly glance in Lumière's direction.
The maître d' conceded to that with a shrug, mirroring the count's wry grin. "I always do my best to please."
Pouring herself a little more tea, she said, "Château du Lac is certainly lucky to have you."
"Even if that majordomo of theirs believes otherwise," Étienne added reflexively. He then furrowed his brow at him. "Don't let all of this praise go to your head."
Lumière dutifully saluted, but he couldn't keep a straight face. "Oui, mon capitaine!"
Augustine glanced at the clock as she sipped her tea. "It's getting quite late. How long did Nicolas plan on staying?"
As though on cue, the viscount came through the open salon door, rubbing his eyes and forehead. Baffled, they all watched him drag his feet and lower himself into a slouch next to Lumière, leaning his head on the back of the chaise. His eyes were firmly shut as though he could fall asleep.
"Ma foi, Nicolas, who caused this?" Lumière had to ask. "Her or you?"
"Both," he grunted without opening his eyes. "Her wine…" He pointed in the general direction of La Clayette, and then thumbed himself. "… and my insistence to drink it."
His friend burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Oh mon ami, I know I have taught you better!"
Nicolas sighed. "That is exactly what I expected you to say."
Augustine looked on with tired disapproval. "Please tell me you did not act this way at the Chantemerle's."
"No, I didn't, mère," her son monotoned. He still hadn't opened his eyes. Lumière covered his mouth to stifle another laugh.
The countess pursed her lips, dissatisfied, as Étienne advised, "I think you ought to begin sleeping that wine off."
"Gladly," Nicolas muttered, taking the pillow by his elbow and putting it underneath his head.
"In your own bed," his mother corrected sternly. Lumière gave up on trying to hide his laughter, but thankfully, Augustine was too annoyed to care. "Honestly! Sleeping on the chaise…"
Nicolas groaned rather loudly. "Fine." He tried rubbing his eyes and blinking to get the sleep out of them, but he complained, "I don't think I can keep my eyes open."
"Then I will be your eyes," Lumière bravely volunteered in a very serious tone.
Nicolas didn't react, but understandably so. His poor friend was probably too tired to recognize humor.
But when the maître d' rose from the chaise, Nicolas offered up his hand for his friend to help him stand.
Lumière hooked Nicolas' arm around his own neck, patting the viscount's back. "Just like old times, non?"
Nicolas only snorted in reply, yet he couldn't deny there was some truth to that.
Lumière glanced at the de Créquy, using Nicolas' hand to give them a parting wave. "Bonne nuit!"
Étienne seemed much more amused than Augustine. "Good night," they replied.
Out in the hallway, Nicolas said, "I should probably warn you not to be alarmed if I start to sleepwalk."
"Be sure to hold off until we have climbed the stairs," Lumière recommended with a smile.
Before they crossed the foyer, he grabbed a lit candelabrum from a table by the doors. "I must say, I feel obligated to take the blame for this, mon ami. If I visited more often, you would be much more capable of handling your share of wine."
"I can handle my wine well enough, thank you," Nicolas replied rather soberly. He carefully watched his footing on the steps as he added, "The kind she had though was… quite good."
"Are you sure there was not a little something extra mixed in? Did it happen to have a strange taste?"
He could feel the viscount roll his eyes. "As if she would drug me. You're ridiculous."
Lumière laughed as they reached the top of the stairs. "If I were in your position, I would sooner want to blame drugs than my poor tolerance. I think it only courtesy to give you the chance."
Nicolas glanced at him with skeptical surprise. "And you would have believed me?"
"Non. I just like hearing you try to lie." He chuckled. "I can never keep a straight face when you do."
"Hence why I didn't bother," Nicolas muttered, opening the door to his chambers for them. He leaned in the doorway as Lumière went to start a fire in his hearth.
"You know," Nicolas began after a thoughtful pause. "It's too exhausting to lie! I can't imagine why people do it in the first place."
The tug of guilt yanked on his gut, and Lumière was glad he could keep himself busy while having his back to Nicolas as he replied sincerely, "Similar thoughts have often crossed my mind."
"Perhaps it can be just as difficult to speak the truth," Nicolas reasoned as he wandered over to his wardrobe to change, "but when you are faced with the choice, why bother to deceive?"
Trying to sound like the usual voice of reason, Lumière replied, "I imagine it can become more complicated than that."
"How so?" the viscount argued as he stripped himself of his jacket and waistcoat. "Wouldn't fabricating more lies make the situation more complicated? Not little white lies we say to keep from offending strangers, of course, but those lies with weight, that evade and distort the truth enough to affect the people around them." He slipped on a cotton tunic as he noted to Lumière, "Those have consequences, no matter what."
Lumière needed to steer him off this topic. He set the candelabrum on the mantel before eyeing Nicolas. "I cannot help but wonder if this is the wine talking."
"And what if it is?" he asked, noticeably trying to stand straighter. "Am I not coherent?"
"Non. In fact, you are too coherent," Lumière granted matter-of-factly. "But you are starting to ramble."
Nicolas groaned, seeming to agree, but by the look he gave Lumière, he didn't like that he did. He trust-fell onto his bed as he yawned, and he stayed there with his legs hanging off its side, admitting, "I suppose I do need to sleep it off."
Lumière tilted his head as he observed him. "While precisely in that position?"
Nicolas gave him a deadpan stare as he only moved his arm to grab a pillow and place it under his head as though to spite him. "If I want to, yes."
He saw Nicolas close his eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Do I really need to tuck you in?"
"Oh, out with you already!"
Lumière threw his hands up in surrender. "D'accord, fine! I had to ask." Slightly under his breath, he added, "This used to be my job, after all."
"Good night," Nicolas said with the utmost finality.
"Bonne nuit to you, too!" his old valet replied with enough cheerfulness to irk Nicolas one last time. He turned back around as he gripped the doorknob. "And remember to be up bright and early!"
"Mm-hmm," Nicolas grumbled, already drifting off to sleep.
As Lumière shut his door, he began to wonder if Nicolas would oversleep instead. If so, there were plenty of delightful ways to give his old friend a wake-up call.
He smirked with mischief at the idea as he returned to his room down the hall.
A little after seven the next morning, Lumière left his chambers, fully dressed and with a pep in his step. His excitement to travel to the city that was considered the center of the world was tangible.
He headed down to the kitchen and waltzed through the familiar doors. Since breakfast was served promptly at nine, as Augustine and Étienne liked, their new maître d', Thibault, and the chef would not be down for another hour. He had the kitchen all to himself.
After boiling a hot chocolate wine with Nicolas' favorite port, he brought two glasses of it out with crusts of bread and butter into the dining room, but he found it empty.
All trips to Paris from La Bazolle had begun with a petit déjeuner a half hour before their departure at eight for at least the past decade. Nicolas would most definitely know that.
Lumière sighed as he set down their breakfast. He tried to feel regret at having to wake Nicolas himself, but found it impossible. He couldn't keep himself from smiling.
Once upstairs, he carefully opened the viscount's door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. The light of dawn peeked through the sheer curtains along the far wall, dimly illuminating the scene.
As assumed, Nicolas remained thoroughly comatose, his head now at the foot of the bed with his limbs spread-eagle. Based on the pillows on the floor, he must have kicked them off in his sleep.
Lumière had to stifle a snort. He could not have made this any easier if he had done it on purpose.
With delicate steps, he crept to the fireplace, where the dying embers faintly glowed, and picked up the bed warmer and stoker. Taking one in each hand, he neared the foot of the bed. Noting that Nicolas faced the left, Lumière held out the bed warmer slightly above and behind him for an intended maximum effect. He began to measure the stoker's swing like a hammer to a nail. With his body in a fortified stance, he breathed deeply, and then clanged the stoker against the bed warmer over and over again.
The reverberant metallic drumming made Nicolas startle awake, and in his shock, as predicted, he rolled off the bed and thumped to the floor in an attempt to escape the loud banging. He jumped to his feet, his legs and arms trying to attain some balance, but he only fell back onto his rear into his window's curtains.
Though Lumière had tried to maintain the clanging until Nicolas noticed him, his urge to laugh overcame his determination. He doubled over at the sight of his friend so disoriented.
He straightened, calming down enough to say jovially, "Bon matin, mon ami!"
Nicolas had only been able to blankly stare as he got his bearings, but he immediately looked to his old valet at his greeting, his eyes quite alert for having only been awake a minute. They narrowed. "Lumière…" he growled menacingly.
"Ah-ah-ah," Lumière lightly chastised, making the stoker in his hand wag like a disapproving finger. "You were warned not once, but twice yesterday to be awake by now. Whether you like it or not, I maintain the right to wake you by any means necessary. Besides," he added with a smirk, "you know you would have attempted to do the same if I were in your position."
With sobriety, Nicolas got to his feet, seeming as though he would like nothing more than to tackle the maître d'. Lumière responded in kind by fixing his stoker like a saber at the ready, daring with an arched eyebrow for Nicolas to try, but he still smirked all the same.
The viscount scrunched up his mouth and puffed up his chest, but it deflated as he sighed. He pointed a threatening finger. "My revenge will come."
Lumière chuckled as he retracted his stoker in proper fencing style, clacking his heels together as he stood tall. "I am already rife with anticipation."
After Nicolas was dressed, he met Lumière as he was finishing off his bread. Though he wanted to remain bitter about his rude awakening, he admittedly warmed up a little at the sight of chocolate wine, as Lumière had also foreseen.
They were putting on their coats in the foyer when Nicolas' parents came down the stairs.
"Bon voyage, mes enfants!" Augustine imparted warmly, giving both a hug and kiss on their cheeks. "Remember to send a letter when you reach Briare and Paris, just so I know you're safe."
"Of course, Maman," Nicolas assured, though he would have done so without a reminder.
"Would there be any requests?" Lumière asked knowingly.
Augustine's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot! You know the perfume I like to buy from that usual shop on the Pont-au-Change?"
Nicolas inclined his head. "We'll be sure to return with a bottle of it for you."
"Merci, mes chers."
"Adieu, boys," Étienne acknowledged with a wry smile. "If we hear word of a couple miscreants wreaking havoc wherever they tread, then we will know you're alive and well."
"Charming," Augustine muttered with a subtle eyeroll, but this only made her husband's smile grow.
"We would only be following your example, monsieur," Lumière expertly quipped.
Étienne chuckled as he stuck out his hand for the maître d' to firmly shake. "Know to watch what you say when you're there. Paris is not as forgiving as I am."
Lumière nodded with a grin. "Without question."
He did the same to his son, and patted Nicolas on the shoulder. "Keep an eye on that one," he advised in a low tone, referring to Lumière.
Nicolas smiled. "As per usual."
"So you say," Lumière said to Nicolas, crossing his arms. "But we both know I have been the more responsible one between us when in Paris."
Nicolas eyed him, recognizing exactly what he was insinuating, but facetiously replied, "Ah, oui, I do recall that one time."
When his friend scowled, he laughed and gave him a stiff slap on the back before turning toward the door. He waved to his parents. "Adieu!"
Lumière gracefully bowed to the count and countess as he murmured, "I will take good care of him."
Augustine smiled at him, touching his shoulder. "Thank you, cher."
He nodded to her, mirroring her smile, and saluted Étienne before following after Nicolas.
Having already saddled their horses with their luggage, Romain waited just outside gripping their reins. Nicolas had climbed atop his roan steed and was gazing at the cloudless skies as Lumière thanked Romain and mounted his mare.
He brought his horse astride Nicolas'. "Ready?"
Nicolas nodded, grinning with excitement. "Let's be off!"
He kicked his stallion's sides, cantered off through the open gate, and turned north at the main road with Lumière close behind.