Chapter Twelve: Le Jardin Secret
The gentlemen were waiting patiently in the courtyard for Babette and Bernadette to meet them. After some teasing on their part, Nicolas helped both ladies into the carriage before heading in himself, followed by Lumière. Perched in the driver's seat, Marc then shook the reins and they went rolling onto the street toward Tuileries Palace.
It took them fifteen minutes to reach it due to traffic and pedestrians, but in the ostensibly comfortable silence that pervaded the four of them, typically insignificant exchanges did not go unnoticed by vicomtesse or maître d': Lumière observed out of the corner of his eye Nicolas contently watching Babette as she peered out of the window, her inquisitive eyes absorbing everything she saw. What was more, Nicolas did not care to be discreet enough to look away when she caught him. They only smiled playfully at each other.
Feeling the prickling of the wound his envy had left, Lumière forced himself to be prudent and avert his gaze to their surroundings as well. His eyes mostly glazed over what he saw due to his abounding thoughts, but he was not so deep in a reverie to be unaware of the glances Bernadette made from her seat across from him. He met her eye, and based on the way she tried to recover by inclining her head towards the window to consider the road, she had not wanted him to notice.
Lumière tried to hide a smirk as he thought back on how flustered Marc had been upon seeing Bernadette in one of Babette's dresses. His jaw had dropped so low, Lumière was surprised the footman hadn't tripped over it. Though she had been attractive from the start, an upper-crust wardrobe and hairstyle had brought out her high cheekbones, a graceful neck despite her petite stature, and an enticing figure. Lumière was going to attempt to find out how innocent Bernadette really was for Marc's sake, but truthfully, he would have tested her with harmless pokes and prods willingly even without Marc's prompting.
His smile was not sly enough to evade Babette's attention, however, and her impressions of it were far from favorable. Her instinct to protect Bernadette flared, but she knew that until he took any questionable action, she could not say a word to stop him. Only definitive proof could keep him from denying any accusations she made.
The carriage pulled into the roundabout at the foot of the Tuileries Gardens. The tree-lined lane led to the front of the palace's strikingly sophisticated façade a half mile away, as it was clearly intended. Such was the genius and artistry of the day's landscape architects, of which they—notably the ladies—could not wait to admire.
As they came to a stop, Lumière did his duty of assisting both women from the carriage. He thought Babette would deny him the courtesy, but she defied expectation and took his hand to step down onto the sidewalk.
Once again, the familiarity in the softness of her palms struck him, causing his hold to linger. The alluring notion of kissing them, trailing his lips along her arm to graze on her neck, pierced through his barriers so acutely, he retracted his hand as though he had been stung. Whether Babette had noticed or not, she gave no indication, but to ward off the unwelcome image besides, Lumière went to offer Nicolas the same service with all the seriousness of a court jester.
"Oh, ma charmante mademoiselle—mon cœur!" Lumière entreated in marvelously absurd dramatics. "I ardently hope you would never assume I had forgotten you. That I could ever be capable of such disregard, especially when it comes to you, would be as damnable as murder!"
Nicolas eyed him coldly for a moment before suddenly jutting his nose into the air, puffing out his chest as he deftly took Lumière's hand and replied bitterly in a posh accent, "How fortunate for us to agree on something."
His friend didn't even make it to the pavement before Lumière broke character from hearty laughter. Nicolas returned to his original, masculine posture before clapping the maître d' on the shoulder, grinning at having clearly given a better response than Lumière had anticipated.
"Where would you like for me to wait for you, monsieur?" Marc inquired from above.
"Outside the courtyard of Tuileries, at around seven-thirty," Nicolas informed. "I think the concert should be done by then. We will try and be prompt."
"There is no need to rush! Take all the time you need," Marc assured with a smile. "Enjoy yourselves!"
He waved to them in farewell, nodding to Bernadette when he caught her eye, before spurring the horses back to the hôtel.
As Mlle de Chantemerle had predicted, they were consequentially split into pairs: Babette took Nicolas' arm, and Lumière offered Bernadette his. While she accepted it, he certainly had detected a slight hesitation, most likely due to modesty.
To a girl of her disposition, I must seem rather intimidating, he reasoned, taking a deep breath of the freshest air that they would find in the middle of the city. I can adjust.
The two servants followed the betrothed pair in their promenade, taking to the south side of the gardens first. As they walked, other well-dressed bourgeoisie passed them, having had similar ideas for a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
Like that morning, the sky was as clear as crystal save for the feeblest of clouds. With no breaks from the sun, many couples and groups sat beneath trimmed trees off of the paths, leaning on the wiry trunks as they lounged on the lawn, chatting and trading gossip.
Arranged in symmetric patterns were skillfully trimmed parterres and bushes surrounding artful flowerbeds. These bright-colored blooms were placed so precisely, not a spot of soil could be seen underneath them.
"So, mademoiselle," he began casually to Bernadette, "are you admiring the gardens, or perhaps imagining how you might improve on them?"
Having been involved in their environment, Bernadette faced him at his address and hummed a couple laughs. "Oh non, I would not dare try to improve them. I am in no place to criticize. But truly, what is there to fix? I think it radiant!"
"C'est vrai," he concurred amiably. "Have you experienced many others?"
She shook her head, visibly disappointed. "Unfortunately, I have not. At least none so grand as this one. But," she added, her eyes lighting up at the thought, "my mistresses have their own back in La Clayette."
At this new information, Lumière raised his eyebrows. "Do they?" He couldn't recall, but perhaps he had heard Babette speak of it very briefly last winter.
"They do!" she confirmed, her rosebud mouth turning into a smile. "It is not quite so large, as I am sure you have guessed, but it is still beautiful at any angle you view it. Even from above!"
He mirrored her affable expression. "I will take you at your word. I hope in due time I may be privileged enough to see it for myself."
She glanced for a moment ahead at Nicolas and Babette before she shrugged. "I believe it inevitable you will."
"Words of such certainty," he keenly observed, "yet your demeanor gives away your doubt."
"Well… You are on holiday for three weeks, oui?"
"At most, yes."
"Then I imagine you and M. de Créquy will be invited over to le Château de la Clayette after we return. My—" Bernadette stopped herself and watched her mistress again, pursing her mouth. "I am sorry… I may be saying too much."
His curiosity was piqued, but he wisely stifled it. Instead, with a knowing smirk, he said, "That is one habit we seem to have in common."
"Really?" she asked, her widened eyes revealing her curiosity. "I have not gotten that impression. You seem… very well-spoken."
He flashed a genuine grin in her direction. "And you are very generous. In fact… I cannot recall a time when I have been complimented on my speech."
"Perhaps it depends on what you have used it for."
Lumière blinked, pleasantly surprised. "A shrewd suggestion, mademoiselle!" He considered it for a few seconds before admitting, rather impressed, "I believe you are right. I may be articulate, but when it comes to how I direct it, my judgement is rather poor."
She gazed at him as he regarded the palace through the gardens' trees. "Good judgement comes with time, at least from my experience."
"From what I can gather," he said, meeting her eye with a charming smile, "I would guess it did not take you very long then."
Bernadette reflexively laughed a bell-like trill. Color rose in her face even through the pale of her powder. "Oh, that is far from the truth! I may have the best of intentions, but that does not mean I always have good judgement."
Her response struck him mute, ringing through his mind with truth. After a pause, he sighed and murmured, "As of now, I have yet to hear words I agree with so completely."
He felt the maid give him a sideways glance full of inquiry, but when he did not explain, they drifted into silence.
The foursome climbed the southwest stairs leading toward the river. From the higher levels, the views became even more enthralling. On their left was the expanse of Tuileries with the north side of Paris as its background, while to their right was the sight of trading barges sailing under Pont Royal on the glistening Seine. They had to come to a stop to properly admire it all, but not for too long. With the sun beating down on them, and the refreshing breezes too occasional, Babette was soon putting the fan on her wrist to use. They moved to plentiful shade underneath the first trees they came across back on the ground level.
Babette welcomed the chance to lean on a tree's trunk, out-of-breath but doing her best not to make it obvious. She opened her fan again with effortless flair and waved it under her chin. "Would it be insolent of me if I asked why in le nom de Dieu we agree to wear so many layers in such gorgeous weather?"
Nicolas and Bernadette laughed as Lumière merely smiled to himself, his back more to them as he looked out to the rest of the gardens yet to be explored.
"I do mean it as a serious question," Babette clarified, though she grinned at their reactions.
"I'm not sure, chérie," Nicolas replied. "Why don't we find the people who dictated this be so and beat that very question over their heads?"
"I like this plan!" Babette said with teasing fervor. "And how convenient! I imagine those very persons are here in Paris."
She took a shallow yet dignified breath, maintaining a nonchalance despite the flurry at her breast that was her fan.
Nicolas reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a hip flask, offering it to his fiancée with a knowing grin. "Would you like something to drink?"
Babette beamed at him in awe as she accepted it. "What is this?"
"A dessert wine," Nicolas simply said, adding with a shrug, "Just in case."
She took three gulps in one swig, lowering it with a look of pure relief. "Oh, délicieux! Merci beaucoup, Nicolas."
"You're welcome." The viscount took his flask back, but not without closing one eye and taking a peek inside it with the other.
Babette playfully pushed him on his arm. "I did not drink it all!"
"No, you did not," he admitted. "Indeed, I believe you left just enough to make one exact spoonful." He held it out to the maid as Babette pouted to hide her smile. "Bernadette, would you like to do the honors?"
"Non merci," she politely declined. "It will go straight to my senses if I do."
"Only drink with a meal?"
Bernadette meekly nodded.
"They would have some food laid out before the concert, oui? It might be early, but perhaps we can make our way to the palace and see for certain," Babette suggested.
"Or," Lumière proposed as he faced the rest of them, "you can allow me to grab a little something to tide you over until we have a proper meal." He referred to Nicolas. "Shall I?"
He felt Babette's critical eyes on him, but he did his best to block her out. Even if he hadn't been trying to soften her, he would have offered, but he was sure she must be assuming it was for her benefit.
Nicolas seemed to favor the idea. "How long will you be?"
"Not long at all." The maître d' gripped his friend's shoulder and smirked. "Guard these ladies well until I return."
"By the air I breathe," Nicolas promised in kind.
Babette watched Lumière head towards the entrance with purposeful strides. She would have thought he would take any and all opportunities to make sure she and Nicolas were not alone as often as was possible. Why would he willingly be letting them be?
He may be wanting to leave in me a false sense of security, she reasoned. It had happened before at le Château du Lac, when he had tried to cause her disinterested façade to crack. Since his efforts had backfired on both of them, one would think he would have learned from his failures, especially when he was using similar methods on the same person. Babette knew he was smarter than that.
As she continued to stare off in thought, idly keeping her fan going, Nicolas shrugged off his coat.
"Here," he motioned after laying his coat against the tree she leaned on. "Have a seat."
Babette bestowed on him that look of hers that read sheer wonder at such a gesture, like he had just presented her with an unexpected gift. At times, he would be tempted to laugh at how astonished she would seem when he was simply being a gentleman, something that was an innate habit to him, but he came to realize that she reacted the way she did because he was so naturally a gentleman. It was a shame how rare true gentlemen really were, if that was the case, but despite that, a nervous excitement would tickle his insides at this reaction from her, and he reveled in it.
Taking her hand, Nicolas helped Babette lower herself to the ground. Her skirt's panniers kept the shape of an ellipse around her, but she shifted them so he could join her. She glanced back at him as he sat beside her, and a singular feeling of admiration flooded her.
The fluttering in her stomach arose, along with a strange yet all-too-familiar romantic impulse, and Babette had to turn away as a spark of fear unsettled her. She looked to Bernadette leaning on a tree opposite them instead.
Nicolas followed her gaze, saying guiltily to the maid, "I am sorry I do not have another coat to offer you, mademoiselle."
Bernadette waved a hand in assurance. "Non, non! Do not fret. I have since grown accustomed to being on my feet for long periods. I am perfectly comfortable."
Babette watched her suspiciously, but found her friend was truly as content as she said; her eyes were gratefully drinking in their pleasant surroundings. With her shoulders back and neck extended, she really did look like a lady.
"Babette," Nicolas prompted, and she returned her attention to him. "When did you say was your last trip to Paris?"
"Oh, Dieu," she sighed with a shake of her head as she trudged through her memory. "Years! At least not since I was four and ten. And from what I recall, there was no sightseeing involved. I'm sure I would have remembered if we had. They had all been… dull business trips."
Nicolas laughed at her sneer. "That's certainly unfortunate. I can understand why you were so eager to come."
She politely smiled, the fluttering in her gut morphing into a cringe. With a nod, she said, "Thank you for indulging me—us," she corrected, referring to Bernadette.
"Oui! Merci, monsieur," the maid offered with a tiny habitual curtsey.
"Of course! I am already glad to have agreed to your companies." Nicolas leaned against the tree trunk behind him, stretched out his legs, and crossed his arms. "I just hope none of it disappoints."
Babette gave a wry smile. "I can scarcely imagine any disappointment occurring under your patronage, monsieur."
"Perhaps you should give it another day or two."
Babette giggled, reflecting his dimpled grin. She then rested her back on their tree as well, making sure their shoulders were touching. He took no visible notice of this, but she could feel him adjust to counter the slight weight she was pressing on him.
They mutually enjoyed their people-watching, occasionally pointing out the rather beautiful or ridiculously dressed passer-by before, amongst the strolling throngs, a figure in a light blue coat and distinct gold vest emerged.
As Lumière neared their circle, he pulled out some spheres from his bulging pockets until he had three in hand. With a cavalier grin, he began to toss them expertly into the air like street entertainer. "Un l'en-cas as you requested!" he announced before pitching one of the balls to Nicolas.
Babette blinked as she glanced at it. "Oranges?"
"Plucked fresh from the tree," the maître d' concurred, lightly tossing her one from behind his back, which she caught easily.
He then offered the last orange in his hand to Bernadette as Nicolas asked, "Where did you get these?"
Lumière shrugged. "I noticed an orangery as soon as we set foot in the gardens."
Babette arched a brow as Nicolas spoke aloud her thoughts. "So you stole them."
"Only what they would not miss," Lumière reasoned, removing his own snack from his pocket. As Nicolas sighed, he teased, "Do not groan at the hand that feeds, mon ami. A 'merci' will more than suffice."
"Fine, fine," the viscount conceded with a smirk, prying open his orange. "Since you went to such lengths…"
Emptying out his pockets with two more oranges, Lumière removed his coat and laid it next to Bernadette. "Mademoiselle?" he gestured implicitly. With a blushing smile, the maid took his extended hand, and right before he lowered her to the ground, he leaned in to whisper, "He learned to do this from me."
He grinned at her giggle, taking a seat next to her against the tree, and Babette's eyes narrowed at them before she cast her eyes down to the orange in her hands. Hunger gnawed slightly at her stomach, and she willingly dug into the fruit.
As Bernadette pried her first slice, she inquired to Lumière, "When did you learn to juggle?"
Amused by her question, he beamed at her. "I had plenty of time on my hands before my current occupation."
"In other words, he was easily bored," Nicolas interjected after swallowing a bite of his orange.
"No thanks to you! You were too easy to work for."
"I could have kept you busy if I had felt so inclined!"
"Instead, it was the other way around," Lumière murmured mischievously to Bernadette, who covered her mouth to hide her smile as she chewed.
After a pause, she inquired, "How long have you worked under King Vincent?"
He had to smile at the maid's curiosity. "Over four years. And you, for the Chantemerle?"
She laughed. "A very long time. Since I was eight-years-old."
"So… hardly a decade then."
Smiling at his compliment, she shook her head. "Non. I turned twenty-two-years almost a month ago."
"The prime of your life has only begun."
"That is what I believe, too!" As quickly as she had perked up in agreement, she slumped slightly as she plucked another slice of orange. "But, unfortunately, there are others who beg to differ."
Lumière leaned in, his tone encouraging. "Do not ever let them sway you. I didn't, and look how well I turned out!" He spread his arms impressively, and Bernadette giggled. "In fact, look to M. de Créquy!"
Suspicious, Nicolas glanced up from speaking with Babette. "What about me?"
"You never let your parents or relatives persuade you to marry merely for connections. No less than love would do," Lumière announced admirably.
Babette looked up from her fruit to watch her fiancé. Even she hadn't heard of this.
Bernadette's eyes widened. "Is that true?"
Nicolas eyed Lumière, whom raised an eyebrow expectantly at him while wearing a sly smirk, before nodding. "It is."
The maid's grin grew to glow at the betrothed couple, like she had finally seen some honest good in the world, before she tried to stifle her excitement in the finishing of her snack.
Babette wished she could feel as assured, but Nicolas' history had now come into question.
Of course, she wasn't concerned about his lack of faith. No, not at all! It was his abstinence in faith that gave her pause, such as: Was this the first real courtship he had decided to undertake? For someone who followed his heart as Nicolas did, was he absolutely sure that she was the one?
Stunned, Babette's gaze went to Lumière, whose fading grin seemed to give way to his creeping doubt in having brought up the subject. His eyes passed over her, but he swiftly returned his attentions to Bernadette. They seemed to be getting along swimmingly, just as she had assured her maid.
Though she was trying to smother it, a bitterness kept her from feeling relieved at how comfortable Bernadette appeared with Lumière. Next to her, Nicolas had grown quiet as he tore up what was left of his orange peel into tiny pieces.
She took a deep breath, as deep as she could in that damn dress. I will not get carried away by my fears, she promised herself, and put on a smile to reassure her fiancé.