Chapter Eleven: Walking on Eggshells

At around half past nine, Lumière emerged from his room. Muted daylight streamed into the vestibule from the windows facing the courtyard, glittering off the brass chandelier that hung above. With a passing glance at Nicolas' door, he meandered onto the terrace.

The calm, crisp air of the morning greeted him, along with the sounds of traffic passing by beyond the hôtel's walls. Many citizens had long begun their days, but when one was on a holiday with aristocrats, sleeping in was only natural. In fact, he could guarantee Nicolas and Babette were not awake yet.

He leaned his arms on the wrought iron railing, rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. It had taken what seemed like hours to quiet his thoughts the night before. He was glad to have an idea of how to finally resolve their inconspicuous game of tug-of-war, but he knew it wasn't going to be easy. He needed to tread carefully to avoid vexing Babette further. He couldn't give her anymore reason to dislike him. At this point, she was not in any position to grant him the benefit of the doubt, nor did he necessarily blame her with how he had retaliated so harshly back in La Clayette.

But it would all be so much simpler if everything were out in the open. If Nicolas had known the truth from the start—

Then he would not have dared impede on my own happiness, Lumière reasoned. With how Nicolas kept mentioning it, it appeared his friend would like nothing more than to see him in love as much as he was, even though Nicolas would deny his feelings and motives for as long as he could. Though the constant deceit was taxing on his conscience, it was best for both Nicolas and Babette that the viscount did not ever realize the depth of Lumière's feelings for his future wife. He was already enough of an obstacle without that tidbit being known.

He lifted his head and looked to the sky. A clear, cloudless, cerulean dome of blue. If all else failed, at least the weather would be in their favor.

"Hey! Lumière!"

The maître d's eyes followed the call from below to see Marc staring up at him from the courtyard. "Oh! Bonjour, Marc!" he pleasantly saluted. "Were you standing there long?"

The footman bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Non, I was just about to come wake you! Mademoiselle has been downstairs for almost an hour, and—"

Lumière's smile dropped in an instant. "Say no more," he interrupted. "I will be down in a moment."

He hurried off the terrace before Marc could respond and took to the arcade's set of stairs. Lumière shook his head, bewildered. Almost an hour? Why would she be up before nine?

Marc met him at the foot of the steps and walked with him down the hall towards the dining room, clearly flustered. "I had gone on my morning run to Les Halles for the day's meat and produce and then I come to find she had been awake as long as me… oh, I feel terrible for not having been here."

"You have no need to be," Lumière said in an attempt to soothe. "Mademoiselle is not one to fuss over this sort of thing. I am sure she is not offended in the slightest."

Marc took a deep breath. "All right, if you are sure." With an apologetic look, he began to retrace his steps. "Excuse me, I have to bring in the rest of the food."

Lumière watched Marc's back for a moment, heaving a sigh. Into the lioness's den alone, he observed. I hope her maid is awake as well.

But upon entering the dining room, he realized quickly it was not to be. He hesitated in the doorway as he found himself alone with Babette, who sat in the same seat as the night before, a cup of coffee in one hand and a thick novel under the other as it rested on the table. She was already put together for the day, her hair styled into a crown of braids that led to an elegant chignon. Her satin dress was a dull periwinkle, and as she glanced up, he couldn't help but notice how well it complemented her eyes.

Composing himself, he nodded to her. "Mademoiselle."

He saw her eyes briefly sweep his person, a slender eyebrow arching. "Monsieur," she acknowledged before she returned her attention to her book.

Thinking her aloof behavior was to be expected, Lumière walked leisurely toward the kitchen, but his gaze lingered on her trying to ignore him. He did not want to encourage her hatred, but how was it to be cured unless he made some show of effort?

He paused across from her as she took a sip from her cup. "Did Marc manage to make coffee for you? He seemed to regret not having been able to serve you at all."

Babette eyed him strangely as she set down her drink. "Non... I made it myself. I have not forgotten how."

An awkward laugh escaped him without his consent, but he regained his footing in saying, "Of course. I should not have assumed any less."

She caught on to the reference behind his wording, but her pointed expression was only of prideful concurrence until she turned her eyes once more to the pages of her book.

He furrowed his brow, feeling a twinge of indignation. "I apologize," he went on, watching with the slightest of pleasure as her concentration was broken again, "that breakfast was not prepared upon your wakening."

"C'est bien," she seemed to accept, keeping her eyes averted. "I did not expect it to be served so early anyway."

"Nevertheless," he said, striving to be lighthearted yet sincere, and the better person, "I feel as though I am being remiss in my duties. Is there anything I can provide for you now, before I prepare breakfast?"

She shook her head, but then focused intently on him, her small smirk giving away her attempt to challenge him. "I scavenged some bread from the kitchen for myself. I hope you do not mind."

"I am sorry you had to scavenge at all," he replied honestly, unsure of her angle. "How could I mind when you had no other option?"

With deliberateness, she reasoned, "I am a stranger in your friend's holiday home."

"You are a guest in your fiancé's holiday home," he immediately corrected, adding with a wry grin, "You are too far-gone to be considered a stranger in any respect."

His answer notably caught her off-guard. She offered a demure shrug, dropping her gaze. "I suppose that is true," she had to admit.

Perhaps he was rather desperate for a foothold, but as minute as it was, Lumière believed this reaction was progress. With a hand on the kitchen door, he felt confident enough to casually ask, "Have you normally awoken this early? I could accommodate myself so as not to put you through the same trouble."

"Please," Babette entreated in a tone far less subtle, so much that he heard her roll her eyes rather than witness it. "Do not take any pains on my behalf."

Lumière hid a bitter grimace. I should have known. She didn't believe he was being sincere, although… what evidence did she have to maintain this suspicion?

He began to head into the kitchen, but stopped partway. He had half a mind to ask her then and there, but the boldness of it, an approach he had promised to avoid, made him hesitate. His curiosity won out, however, and he turned to her again, his delicately worded question posed on his tongue, but as he opened his mouth, another presence swept into the room.

"Mademoiselle, I don't know," Bernadette said dubiously, looking about the modest and elegant dress of pale saffron satin she wore. "It seems so… fine. Besides, I do not think it necessary to—"

The maid cut herself off as she noticed Lumière was in the room, and she blinked in surprise. "Oh! Pardon me, I did not mean to… intrude." She glanced at Babette apologetically.

"There was nothing to intrude on, mademoiselle," Lumière took the liberty to say, briefly eyeing the two of them in turn. As usual, Babette purposely kept her gaze away from him. "In fact, I believe it is I who is now intruding. I will leave you ladies be." With a foot in the kitchen, he smiled warmly at Bernadette. "And if it is any consolation, I think that dress is quite becoming on you."

He managed to see Bernadette's cheeks grow rosy before closing the door behind him.

Babette narrowed her eyes toward the kitchen, but he had disappeared before she could make out his intent. He could try and flatter her all he wanted, but for him to begin weaving his spell on Bernadette?

I will not have it, she declared to herself with passion.

At least Bernadette seemed unaffected by his compliment: The maid hurried over to her mistress, whispering, "I am so sorry! It took me longer than I thought—"

Babette put a finger to her lips as she stood, and Bernadette silently nodded. Taking her novel but leaving her empty cup, Babette motioned for her maid to follow her out of the dining room.

In the hall, Bernadette went on anxiously, "You weren't talking to him long, were you?"

Babette shook her head. "Not to worry. It was not as unpleasant as I had anticipated." She calmed her residual nervousness with a deep breath, fingering the corners of her book's cover.

Bernadette's shoulders relaxed at her words as they came to the salon. "He was… cordial, then?" she inquired.

The viscountess took a seat on the chaise. "Oui, very much so," she confirmed, but Bernadette noted her disapproval.

She sat down next to her mistress, watching her curiously before asking, "And there is something wrong with that?"

"He is trying too hard," Babette concisely replied. "I could tell yesterday what he intends; it will take a great deal more than a show of good faith and pretty words to win my favor… It will not be so easy the second time," she muttered more under her breath than to Bernadette.

Then Babette sighed, straightened in her seat, and faced Bernadette with a small smile. "But enough about him. Please, stand for me! I want to see how it lays!"

Bernadette grinned with the humility typical of her character, and with some hesitation, obliged her.

Babette's smile widened as she looked on. "Oh, ma chère, it fits you so well! And the color brings out your eyes." She did an excited hop in her seat, absolutely beaming. "I am so glad I thought to bring it with us! Now you will be a lady in the eyes of all who don't know it."

Her enthusiasm moved Bernadette, but she had to take pause. "I really appreciate your effort, mademoiselle, but isn't this… well, deceitful?"

"Not any more so than when Maman compliments Mme de Blanchefort on her wig," Babette argued with a smirk. Bernadette giggled. "Not to mention… with the company we will be keeping outside of the hôtel, this will guarantee that you will be treated as an equal wherever we go."

Sitting back down on the chaise, Bernadette lauded, "You really are too generous to think a simple change in dress will be enough to convince them I am a lady."

"You would be surprised," Babette said, chuckling. "Of course, acting the part will only help matters, and you have been a witness to that more times than we can name. Simply do the opposite of everything I've done."

Bernadette hummed a laugh, but assured, "You like to mock yourself, but you truly weren't as horrible as you believe."

Babette shrugged, setting aside her book to avoid meeting Bernadette's eye. "I cannot deny the error of my ways."

Bernadette leaned forward to see her face, entreating quietly, "Living life as vigorously as you do is not a crime, mistress."

The viscountess smiled at the endearing manner her maid phrased it. "Perhaps, but there is a right and wrong way to go about showing it. Life is far from a game, and I could not continue treating it as one." She gave the maid a convincing nod. "I am all the better for my time away."

Bernadette grinned sweetly in response, but her eyes seemed unsure, even probing.

Knock, knock.

The women glanced behind them, and at seeing Nicolas, got to their feet.

Babette's mouth spread into a smile. "Bonjour, chèri," she welcomed as he approached.

He took her hand and squeezed it as he kissed her cheek. "Good morning," he replied, wearing a secret smirk as a blush bloomed where his lips had been. He nodded to Bernadette as she curtseyed. "And to you as well. How are your rooms?" he addressed to both of them. "To your liking, I hope?"

"Need you ask?" Babette teased, feeling more at ease by his presence alone. "'Divine' is not a word I use often, but your parents' rooms fit it perfectly. They really do have exquisite taste."

"Especially when they decorated the gallery!" Bernadette piped in. "It was so charming to step outside the room and be greeted by such lovely pieces."

"That would be my mother's handiwork," Nicolas credited with a knowing smile. "She practically designed the hôtel herself. It was the barest of buildings when it was bought. Now every room has her signature on it." He shrugged as his dimples showed. "Not that I mind, of course."

"I can certainly see the resemblance," Babette noted, glancing around at the salon's reddish hues and warm textiles.

Nicolas followed where her eyes went, nodding. "It felt infinitely more like a proper home away from home after she was done with it." While he moved Babette's hand to the crook of his elbow, he inquired, "Are you ladies hungry? I'm sure Lumière should be finishing up something for us to eat."

Babette's gut tightened at the maître d's name, and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to stomach a meal with him ever again. Despite this, she nodded in consent and let Nicolas lead her from the room, but not before she grabbed for Bernadette's hand behind her and clutched it for support.

She couldn't see her maid's expression, but Bernadette reciprocated with a comforting pulse into her palm.

After everyone ate, Lumière cleaned up the dining room and kitchen, and Marc went to prepare the carriage and horses while Babette and Nicolas were finishing readying themselves. Bernadette was about to assist the boys in whatever they needed, but they kindly shooed her away, reminding her that she was in the elegant attire of a viscountess, and therefore would be respected as such. Disappointed yet touched, Bernadette indulged them and followed her mistress upstairs.

Arriving at Babette's chambers, Bernadette found her applying light rouge to her cheeks at the vanity. She approached her at the bench and swept a few of the curls around her shoulders to one side. "I really do love how your hair turned out."

"Merci à toi," Babette reminded in the mirror before her blue eyes glittered with an idea. "Will you allow me to do you the same honor?"

Bernadette's eyes widened. "Would you?"

Babette stood from the bench and excitedly ushered her maid onto it. She began combing through Bernadette's curls with her fingers, pursing her lips in thought. "Did you have any particular style in mind?"

Her excitement was tangible as she answered, "Only any of the ones I never get to wear otherwise!"

The vicomtesse smirked. "I believe I know just the thing." Taking a comb from the vanity, she took to parting Bernadette's hair along the crown of her head.

Bernadette watched her mistress through the mirror. "Are you looking forward to today?"

Babette glanced at Bernadette briefly before returning her focus to her hair, smiling as she replied, "Of course! I have never been to a Concert Spirituel, yet I have heard they always have talented musicians playing, both amateur and professional. And the music they play is… elevated. More refined than what we would normally hear in La Clayette." She started pinning pads of dark wool into the part she had made in Bernadette's hair. "Do you remember when I had a music tutor?"

"Oh, oui! Remind me, what was his name?"

It took Babette a moment to remember. "Monsieur… Gaultier. His father was a famous lute composer, I suppose. He believed he could be of the same caliber in voice, but the apple fell further from the tree than he wanted to admit," she said with a giggle. "Anyway, I'm reminded of him because the songs he would try to have me sing felt more eloquent and sophisticated than what I was used to hearing. Unfortunately, I could never get through a song without going flat on those ridiculous high notes." Babette rolled her eyes as she sighed in frustration. "Maybe now I can finally hear what they are meant to sound like!"

Bernadette beamed. "I cannot wait for the concert then!" She paused before saying sincerely, "In truth, I quite liked listening to you sing."

Babette laughed, slyly meeting Bernadette's eye in the mirror. "That is very sweet of you. I am sure it did not sound too harsh before I spoiled such beautiful songs with my lack of talent."

The dear little maid put on an adorable pout. "There you are, mocking yourself again. And when there is no need!"

"Does being able to laugh at yourself not represent a mature sense of character?" Babette debated rationally. "I at least know my faults. Better to mock them than to parade them believing they are attractive qualities."

Bernadette couldn't argue, so she let the subject die as Babette teased her hair and pinned it over the pads of wool.

Gathering Bernadette's hair into a high chignon save for several select tendrils around the nape of her neck, Babette reversed, "And what about you? Are you eager to see how else we spend our time in Paris?"

"How can I not? I am already enjoying myself!"

Babette became thoughtful, tentatively glancing at Bernadette. "Have you contemplated on… who we will be spending our time with?"

Eying her mistress curiously, Bernadette released a chuckle. "Well, with Messieurs de Créquy and Lumière, naturally." At a slight pursing of Babette's lips, a hint of uncertainty flickered in Bernadette's face as she checked, "Is that right?"

"Mais oui, you are right," Babette assured, thinking fast. "And… though we will all be spending time together, we will inevitably be… arranged into pairs."

Bernadette gave her a tiny nod so as not to mess too much with Babette's concentration. "I imagined as much."

When Babette didn't notice any change in Bernadette's demeanor, she continued with heavier insinuation, "As I am betrothed to Nicolas, I see it only fit to walk alongside him and be seated by him whenever the situation demands."

Bernadette blinked as it dawned on her. "So that would mean—"

"I am afraid so," Babette admitted with remorse at the maid's unease. "I am sorry to have put you in this position, but know I would have it a much different way if I had it within my power."

"What am I to do then?" she questioned, her hands beginning to fidget. "All I really know of him is what you have told me… and that he is quite charming in person."

Babette looked her dead in the eye. "Beware that charm of his. Do not take everything he says to heart. He loves to tease if only to get a great reaction from those around him. That is one of the ways he entertains himself."

"One of the ways? What are the others?"

"Well…" Babette sighed, but tried to say as unceremoniously as possible, "With women."

She froze, dread crossing her face. "Oh no…"

"Non, non, do not fret, ma chère," the vicomtesse soothed. "Truly, it is not as bad as that. He mainly enjoys flirtatious banter, and he will not insist on anything unless you play along. We have that in your favor, at least."

With pleading eyes, Bernadette asked, "So what do I do?"

"Simply be yourself," Babette advised with confidence. "Let us not give him any reason to wonder what you know. I only want you to be wary of him and whatever his intentions may be. I know I have spoken ill of him, but despite my own reservations, you will get along with him rather well."

Bernadette chewed on her lip. "You are sure?"

With her hairstyle completed, Babette placed her hands reassuringly on her maid's shoulders. "You are open and honest, and always see the good in others. Nicolas is just the same, and they are the best of friends."

Her words seemed to relax Bernadette ever slightly, but hesitation was still in her expression as she focused on the cosmetics and perfumes on the vanity before her.

Babette sat down on the bench beside her, coaxing gently, "I want with all my heart for you to enjoy yourself, and I hope you do. I will do my best to intercede if I notice anything going awry, but I cannot imagine it would be likely. He is still, in most respects, a gentleman. I am sure we will have nothing to worry about," she added more to reassure herself than Bernadette.

The maid glanced her way, but her gaze seemed watchful. Babette was afraid she had seen her own apprehension of what could potentially result while they were in Paris, but then Bernadette gave her a small smile.

She nodded. "Très bien. I will keep him busy."

Babette felt such a rush of relief that she pulled her into a hug. "Oh, merci, Bernadette!"

She laughed at her gratitude, returning the embrace. "You're very welcome, mademoiselle."

Furrowing her brow with determination, Babette promised, "I will make a note to never burden you with another favor. What I have asked of you is more than enough for a lifetime!"

"Nonsense! I am here to help you with whatever you need, not only as your maid, but…" Bernadette's eyes shyly went to her lap. "Well, I have hoped that by now… you would consider me as a friend."

At this discretion, Babette's heart felt full. She had truly been blind before not to have realized the depth of caring her maid held for her. Her once insatiable need for distraction and escape kept her from seeing she indeed had always had a friend at home outside of her father. Even though it had taken a rude awakening, she was relieved by how much her time away from La Clayette was helping to open her eyes.

She shined a most genuine smile in return. "Without a doubt."

"Good." Bernadette then assessed her reflection, tilting her head to see her hair from different angles. The corners of her mouth slowly spread. "Oh, mademoiselle! Je l'aime! I look… so elegant!" With a sideways glance, she wore a surprisingly mischievous smirk. "Those boys will not know what hit them."

Babette laughed jovially at such a delightfully unexpected reaction from her. A sense of contentment budded at her center as they both touched up their faces in the mirror. As brief as she knew this feeling would be, the loss of it would not detract from what she had gained: Not only an ally, but a friend as well.