Chapter Twenty: Off the Beaten Path
Babette and Lumière reentered their box right as the curtain was dropping. The din of unanimous applause became the only sound possible. They stayed standing and began to clap along with the rest of the audience.
Hearing them join in, Nicolas glanced behind. He smiled in light chastisement and shook his head at how they had missed the rest of the show. Babette laughed while Lumière grinned back, offering only a helpless shrug.
Bernadette briefly checked on them, but what she saw seemed to satisfy her.
The actors, from least to most prominent, came through the break in the curtain, the last being the actress who had played Angélique. As a big bouquet was handed up to her, Lumière cupped a hand around his lips and yelled, "Brava!"
Placing two fingers into his mouth, Nicolas followed that with a piercing whistle that undoubtedly carried throughout the theatre. The actress looked over to their box, smiled, and granted them a curtsey.
"She was so charming!" gushed Bernadette as she summarized the last half of the play in their carriage ride home. "And such an admirable character! She refused to marry Frontin when Lucidor introduced him to her, even after her mother criticized her in front of everyone else. And then she refused Blaise when he said he was only marrying her for the money Lucidor was giving him for their marriage."
Lumière raised an eyebrow. "But you say the maid ended up with Blaise?"
Bernadette shrugged. "For the money, I suppose. I wish she would have ended up with Frontin, because when they had that one moment alone, Lisette kept saying how much she adored the man Frontin looked like. I don't think he ever really fooled her!" Excitedly, she added, "You know what he said to her at the end of it all? He said…" She cleared her throat and dropped her voice to a manly register. "'Ma reine, since you love this Frontin so much, and I look like him… I want to be.'"
Everyone laughed at her impression as well as her attempts to act suave.
"It's not bad," Lumière remarked, "when you take his charade into consideration."
"Why haven't we ever thought of trying to pull you off as a noble?" Nicolas asked. "I keep thinking we missed some great opportunities."
Lumière heaved a dramatic sigh. "So do I… Quel dommage!"
"Indeed," Nicolas replied with a regretful shake of his head.
Babette studied the men across from her, a smirk peeking out from the corner of her mouth. "And what exactly would you two have done with M. Lumière in disguise?"
The old friends made eye contact, both putting on a contemplative air. They turned back, and Nicolas said, "It would be best if we did not say."
The women exchanged their shared disbelief before they giggled. "And why not?" Babette demanded.
"We would not want to risk offending either of your delicate sensibilities," Lumière simply said.
Babette rolled her eyes. "'Delicate…' I am sure!"
Bernadette audibly stifled a potential fit of tittering. To recover, she whipped open her fan to take on the look of a dignified noblewoman in the same effortless manner as her mistress.
They arrived home sometime after nine o'clock, sated, content, and relieved. Now that Lumière and Babette had come to an understanding, a little bit of a weight had been lifted off of both their shoulders. The tension that had been tightly knotted and strung between them had loosened its hold. At some point, sooner rather than later, Lumière would like to feel that tension completely dissipate, and he actually had the hope it would, if he kept up his good behavior… at least when it mattered.
Upon entering the hôtel, Lumière bid Marc to turn in while he cleaned up for the night. He was basking in more optimistic reflections when they were disturbed shortly by the kitchen doors opening.
He looked up in surprise, but just as quickly became chastising. "Bernadette, go upstairs this instant. I will not allow my chivalrous act to become redundant because you insist on being unfailingly helpful. Now, shoo!" he commanded, and whipped the towel he was drying dishes with in her direction.
Bernadette laughed. "Well, fine! If you do not care for my services, monsieur, I will leave your sight at once. Good night!" she saluted before she went to leave.
A notion suddenly clicked into Lumière's brain. "Oh! Wait a moment more," he called, setting his rag aside.
Bernadette placed her hands firmly on her hips. "Incroyable! I never thought you to be of a capricious nature! Should I stay or go?"
His smile bore clear admiration. "Well, I imagine you would not be in such a hurry to retire, if I expressed how much I wish to impart to you my gratitude."
She blinked and tilted her head. "For what?"
"For tonight, of course!"
"Oh!" She furrowed her brow. "I… did nothing."
He had to laugh at her. "That is precisely what I am thanking you for, ma chère! You allowed me the opportunity to speak with your mistress alone, and it made all the difference."
Bernadette grinned. "It seemed to. So it was a productive talk?"
"Very." Lumière glanced down at his shoes before adding in a softer voice, "I want to also thank you for your trust."
Blush rose to her cheeks. She cleared her throat and waved her hand through the air in an attempt to be cavalier. "Naturally! I mean… you have given me no reason not to."
He took a step closer. "Is there anything I can do to repay your kindness? I am at your disposal."
She briefly bit her bottom lip. "That is… a very sweet offer, Lumière. Truly! But I do not need to be repaid for merely being a good Christian. Seeing that it did some good is all I need."
Lumière eyed how flustered she suddenly seemed and couldn't help but be amused. As he took to leaning against the counter, he innocently brought up, "Bernadette… you expressed to me yesterday that you have been somewhat deprived of romance in your life, non?"
She huffed a laugh and shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so."
"That made me wonder..." That infamous smirk appeared. "Have you ever been kissed?"
Her brown eyes grew as big as saucers. Lumière somehow managed to shallow his laugh. "I do not mean to be presumptuous."
"Oh… non, of course not," she acquitted. "I only… have never been asked that question before." She eyed him with uncertainty. "Are you…?"
"Offering?" He shrugged. "Perhaps I was. I hope you can forgive me for being forthright."
Bernadette coughed out a giggle. "I suppose I am not completely surprised by it—erm, pardon my saying so."
"Ah yes," he remembered as he crossed his arms, "how much has your mistress spoken about my… penchant for intrigue?"
Her fingers fidgeted before she tucked them behind her back. "A little. But despite what she has said, either way, you are… quite a hard man to resist."
"One of the qualities I take absolute pride in," he replied.
A moment of silence passed as she stood awkwardly by. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, mademoiselle?"
"… What?"
"You never answered my question."
"Oh! Right." A meek smile drew up her pretty mouth. "You do not need to be the sacrificial lamb, monsieur. Though not to a very vast extent, I have had my own share of intrigue."
"And it is well deserved… and fondly remembered, I am sure."
"Well…" she said hastily, her face flushing. "I admit I like to recall a particular one to mind from time to time."
"Of course, but… I was referring to them."
For a few seconds, Bernadette gapped at him while her expression went from confused, to contemplative, to disbelieving in a matter of seconds. "You mean that they would fondly remember me?"
"Oh, do not act so modest!" He took her hand and gave it a pulse. "You are charming. I confess my offer was not entirely altruistic. I am a little curious myself if my assumptions prove true."
A smirk now on her lips, she proudly raised her chin. "I will take that as a high compliment, monsieur. Thank you."
She then spun on her heel, walked, but stopped, and thought on it another moment. She then hurried to Lumière's side, placed a fond peck on his cheek, and was out of the kitchen doors again in the blink of an eye.
If Lumière had any doubts about the progress made with Babette last night, her behavior the next day proved to stifle them. Unlike her restlessness the past week, she seemed finally able to relax, and was even content to spend their last day in Paris lounging about the hôtel.
"We have done so much in only four days, I am thoroughly exhausted," she admitted to them all at breakfast. "Besides, it does not look like the clouds will lift anytime soon."
No one else could argue. In fact, they were perfectly aligned with her feelings. A day of rest before two days of travel was only sensible.
Games of cards, charades, and even that intimate recital Nicolas had expressed excitement for earlier occurred. It was prompted by a cleverly offhand remark from the viscount when he seemed to have just noticed the harpsichord shoved into the corner of the salon. Lumière deigned to amuse him this time, but only with the promise that M. de Créquy will sing for them, too.
The maître d' swept off the blanket covering the instrument and made sure it was in-tune before he allowed their mock recital to proceed. He went first, playing a little roughly a short harpsichord suite he had practiced many times before. When he finished it with a flourish, he received rather enthusiastic applause, especially from Marc and Bernadette. He thanked them with an extravagant bow.
"Your turn, mon ami!" he reminded a reluctant Nicolas.
True to his promise, and after clearing his throat, the vicomte sang a happy air in a pleasing, if hesitant, tenor timbre. When he was done, he heaved a sigh of relief and returned to sit next to his beaming fiancée.
"Magnifique, chéri!" she gushed. "That was marvelous!"
"Merci," he said, blushing a bit at her praise before he gestured her forward. "After you."
Lumière couldn't remember seeing a smile fly away so quickly. She gripped her own hands in a vice. "Must I?"
The awkwardness of the answering silence only lasted a moment before Marc rose from his seat. "I may have a song to sing… if you could play the notes for me, Lumière?"
At his name, the amateur accompanist stole his eyes away from the look of relief Babette wore. "Is it a song I would know?"
Marc smiled. "You may have heard it once or twice."
When he whispered the title into Lumière's ear, he laughed out loud. "A very sophisticated choice, Marc," Lumière declared before he played out the opening chords.
"Oh no…" Nicolas muttered with a humored grin on his face.
Appearing the ever confident performer, Marc sang in a lively voice:
"Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot,
Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot.
Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.
Ouvre-moi ta porte.."
And in an exasperated shout, cried, "Pour l'amour de Dieu!"
Everyone burst out laughing, and his audience clapped and cheered encouragingly. Lumière could hardly keep playing in good rhythm, but Marc shot a look of warning that almost put the maître d' into hysterics. Indeed, the footman intended to finish his song.
Marc acted out the next three verses, singing about going to a brunette's home next door in the middle of the night for a quill and then not leaving her house after all, which he made sure to imbue with plenty of innuendo.
Undoubtedly, Marc won a standing ovation, even from his accompanist.
"How do I follow such a brilliant performance?" Babette asked, her blue eyes alight with amusement.
"With great courage, mademoiselle," Marc teased.
"I would agree, monsieur! And I will do so…" Her gaze fell on Lumière as she inclined her head. "… without accompaniment."
He raised a curious eyebrow. "Will you be accompanying yourself then?"
She huffed a laugh, half-rolling her eyes. "Non, I am not nearly so accomplished. You put any playing I have ever done to shame! But I must insist you be a part of the audience for at least one song."
Lumière looked pleasantly surprised, and replied with a bow, "I am never one to argue with as thoughtful a sentiment."
As she took his place on the bench, he discovered a dose of adrenaline had dropped into his veins. He had never heard her sing before, and in all honesty, he was excited. If her natural speaking voice was so luxurious and entrancing, her singing voice must be as well, no?
He wondered if, because adoring her had become as inevitable as death, she would sound lovely to him no matter what. What was the extent of his delusional devotion to this girl? Then again, he had proven that even she could not escape his criticism. He recognized her faults, yet loved her nonetheless. Even loved her for them.
Could Nicolas do the same?
Babette played a single note, her starting pitch, on the harpsichord, calling him back to the present. She seemed to hesitate, but then took a deep breath, and began to serenade them with her voice alone.
Even moments after she was done, Lumière couldn't have told you the words she had sung, or what the song had been about. Though her voice cracked once or twice, and perhaps her breathing was sometimes shaky due to nervousness, those petty mistakes were forgotten the very next instant. All he heard was this tender lilting, rich and warm.
She didn't have the full sophistication of a practiced singer, but there was still a maturity in her tone, rooted in an assurance not necessarily from whatever training she had received before, but from herself, and who she knew herself to be. It was the most he had heard and seen of her, of the girl he had befriended at le Château du Lac, since he had begun this well-intended holiday.
Her song kept afloat in him a quiet bliss, but once she stopped and the others launched into applause, that dull pang of reality awoke from its dormancy again. She smiled and acknowledged her audience, and when her eyes met his, he realized he wasn't clapping. He blinked out of his trance and joined them, barely managing a charmed smile.
After a round of drinks, everyone decided to turn in at a reasonable hour so they could get up bright and early the next morning. Lumière certainly had every intention of doing so as well, and prayed he wouldn't be plagued with fantasies in his sleep. Thankfully, his prayers were answered: He couldn't sleep a wink.
From the moment he recognized his insomnia, he tossed and turned, intermittently staring at the ceiling, wall, or window. The clock kept ticking, and the minutes kept passing. First it was thirty of them, then a full hour.
By nine-forty, he had had it. He swept his sheets aside and walked in an endless circuit around his room, glancing about it in the hopes a distraction that could ease his hyperactive mind would jump out at him from the wallpaper.
He checked the time again: nine-fifty-five.
Gripping his temples with a growl, he stalked to the window and pushed aside its curtains to see if he was the only one who was wide-awake. The streets were fairly still. A rare carriage came and went, undoubtedly on its way home from a society gathering.
It was a clear night, however. Decent enough, it seemed, for a ride on horseback. The last time he had done that was…
Suddenly, his thoughts came to a stop. Could I, at this hour? He assessed the clock. About ten… For them, the night would still be young.
But he denied the idea. It was reckless and desperate, especially going alone.
He sat back on his bed, and yet he couldn't get himself to get under the covers. The idea had taken firm root, and it grew more appealing as the seconds progressed.
Zut alors, I need to! he finally decided. With that, he hastily redressed, the excitement he was beginning to feel from the escapade only strengthening his resolve.
In coat and hat, Lumière stepped carefully across the marble-floored vestibule, past Nicolas' door, to the staircase. He declared success as he reached the first landing, the second before—
"Lumière?"
The maître d' stumbled back, tripping over the stair he has just left. Nicolas, carrying a refilled pitcher of water, suddenly appeared around the corner and looked him over from head to foot.
"What are you-? Oh, God above."
Lumière got to his feet, casually dusting himself off to regain his dignity. "There is no need to drag God into this. In fact, I think He would prefer if you didn't."
Nicolas gestured to Lumière's dashingly dressed person. "So I would imagine, based on your intended destination."
Lumière stood a little straighter. "Are you suggesting you now find fault in the occasional frolic amongst gentlewomen of the night?" he asked, unable to keep his flair for the dramatic completely out of his question.
Nicolas exuded such sober honor as he said, "As a man betrothed, yes, I do."
That almost made Lumière feel guilty… Almost. "Mon ami," he interjected with a sigh, "you have all the freedom in the world to be exemplar in your moral principles, but I have no such obligation."
Nicolas held up a silencing hand. "You did not let me finish. You do me great offense merely by the fact that… you would not even invite me."
Lumière furrowed his brow, suspicious, and his friend teasingly mimicked it. It seemed their last heartbreaking visit to that den of iniquity was no longer of consequence.
The former valet cracked a smile. "As a 'man betrothed?'"
"I am a bachelor still, am I not?" Nicolas shrugged. "I can still enjoy the view."
"Bien sûr!" Lumière agreed, clapping a hand on the viscount's shoulder. "Then get changed, and we shall ride!"
Upstairs, the viscountess, to her chagrin, was having just as sleepless a night. It seemed she was becoming immune to her nightly dosage of chamomile tea. Not even a fairly interesting novel Nicolas had recommended to her could put her at ease, so she tossed it aside.
Resuming her perch on the armchair by the window, she began overlooking the street. It was a cloudless night, and a perfect one to have peaceful dreams to, yet they evaded her.
She was aware enough of the cause already. Her deceptions had become a conventional part of her daily thought patterns. She lived with them every waking moment. It was a miracle she managed to get any sleep at all.
She wrapped her robe more tightly around her.
Even after having begun reconciliation with Lumière, she would have assumed she should rest a little easier, but she was resigned. What else could she do, apart from stare outside and daydream until her body decides to slumber?
Movement below caught her eye, but upon looking, she had to blink a few times to be sure she wasn't hallucinating. Despite her efforts to refute it, the figures couldn't be mistaken: Nicolas and Lumière, in full dress, were trotting away into the night on horseback.
"What on earth?" she murmured to herself, any drowsiness she had managed to obtain evaporating at the sight. "At a time like this?"
With a shot of fear, she gripped the arms of her chair and jumped to her feet. Witnessing those two go off together at this hour could only mean one thing; Lumière would certainly want to give his friend the last advantages of bachelorhood, and where better place but that infamous nightclub?
I had escaped there as many times as I could whenever we traveled to Paris, but it still was not as much as I wished to.
Lumière's telling of their last Parisian trip repeated itself with persistence in the back of Babette's mind as she stomped out of her room, through the gallery, and around the terrace to knock soundly on the last door down the hall. Fidgeting with her arms, she stared vehemently at its grain to will it open.
"Allez, allez!" she hissed as she pounded on the wood again.
It swung open suddenly under her fist, a sleepy but startled Marc appearing behind it. "Wha—What is it—Is there a fire—Are there robbers?"
"What? Non! Marc," Babette curtly sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "You must take me to La Fleur Noire."
Marc froze. "I… I am sorry, did you say, 'La Fleur Noire?' Do you… know what-?"
"Yes, yes, I do, Marc, I am not ignorant," she said with impatient waves of her hands. "I know that is precisely where Lumière and Nicolas are headed to at this very moment."
"Oh." He eyed her uncomfortably. "Did they… tell you this, mademoiselle?"
Babette withheld from rolling her eyes, with much self-control. "Of course not. Call it feminine intuition for time's sake and please get dressed. I would like to catch them before they manage to do anything stupid. Meet me in the courtyard when you are ready."
Before hearing any affirmation from the stunned footman, she spun on her heel to go change her attire. "A nightclub… L'imbécile!"
In twenty minutes, Babette had slipped on her comfortable and indiscriminate black muslin dress and cloak to meet a frazzled Marc downstairs—except he wasn't alone.
"Bernadette!" Babette yelped. "How are you awake?" On a dime, she glared at the footman. "What is she doing here? I did not tell you to drag her into this!"
Marc shrunk under the ferocity and further proof of authority Mlle Chantemerle could demonstrate. "Uh, I—I thought—I was only—"
"Mademoiselle, please," the maid entreated gently. "Do not criticize him too harshly. He was only thinking of my safety."
"'Safety!'" Babette barked a laugh. "Where we are going is undoubtedly very unsafe—not to mention rather unsavory to someone of her sensibilities!" To her maid, she declared, "I would not dare risk escorting you to this place and having such sights and sounds branded in your mind for—for trauma to fester!"
"Madem… Babette," Bernadette addressed as she stepped closer, "your concern for me is well-noted, and I thank you for it. But do not forget…" she said with a sisterly look of wisdom, "I am five years your senior. I am entirely capable of withstanding displays of another woman's body. It is not as though I am unfamiliar with it."
Bernadette said this with a smile, and Babette had to mirror it. She even had to chuckle.
"I suppose not," she agreed.
"Mademoiselle," Marc said, having found his voice, "I apologize for causing you alarm, but I could not in good conscience leave Mlle Bernadette defenseless and alone here."
Babette pursed her lips, regrettably having to concur. "Very well. Marc, I…" She stumbled on a way to phrase it with some refinement, but instead imparted, "Thank you for having the thoughtfulness I lack."
She nodded to them. "Come," she urged, holding up her reticule containing their cab fare. "We have no time to waste."
As their escort, Marc took care of speaking with the carriage driver that crossed the path a block later. Babette noticed the driver glance strangely between them and Marc, but did as he was told once he had received his solicited coinage.
He took them through the cobbled Parisian streets in a typically busy part of town until they clearly crossed a border into another district: a darker one, with more life at this hour than the areas belonging to the upper class. Taverns' lights were lit from the windows, and loiterers in shabbier coats and skirts populated their stoops. Babette gripped her cloak more closely to her person. Where had she taken them?
The carriage turned a corner onto a small street called Rue de Grenoble, where one lamp revealed a singular black door. Nothing else indicated what occurred inside its building.
Before Babette left the carriage, she pulled her hood over her head and motioned for Bernadette to do the same, and they swiftly went through the door as though the nightcrawlers would overtake them.
A long, dim hallway opened up into a dark and smoky room filled with men of all classes. They were carousing, drinking, and laughing at small tables, each lit by a single candle, but every patron had his chair facing the stage at the end of the room. A few women in only richly colored bodices and heightened skirts mingled amongst the crowd, chatting and joking with their customers and very consciously angling their bodies and faces for the best displays.
Babette tugged at the lip of her hood and ducked her head, hiding her eyes from view. "Find a table near them."
Bernadette stood on her tiptoes to see over the heads of gentlemen and girls, but there was a moment where none of them said they had found them. Babette begin to have a creeping doubt. Had she taken them to the wrong place entirely?
Before a wave of mortification could hit its peak, her maid pointed. "Oh, I see them! They are against the far wall."
"Merci," Babette released in a breath of relief before she lowered her maid's hood so her innocent looking mien could also be partially obscured. "Follow me."
Marc's mouth was set, his back, rigid, and his eyes, alert. "I will walk behind," he announced.
While walking as smoothly as possible, Babette led their line between the occupied chairs, and made sure to never even graze the back of them with her cloak.
"Oh, sorry! Didn't see you there!"
The butterflies in her stomach fluttered in a figure-eight formation. She stopped and glanced carefully behind her, but her worry was abated. Marc was only waving off an accidental elbow to the shin from an excited storyteller.
She took a deep breath, though it hardly stemmed her jitters.
In a few more steps, they made it to the only empty table, and its two rickety chairs that wobbled at their touch.
"I can see why these weren't taken," Marc observed before gesturing to one of them for Bernadette.
"She will share with me, Marc," Babette ordained. "Please sit."
She then blew out the candle on the table to better hide themselves in plain sight. Casually sweeping her eyes over the crowd, they landed on the regular bons amis.
At the sight of them, Babette tensed like a cat about to pounce. One of those showgirls, having delivered their drinks, was encouraged to enjoy the third tankard, as well as to become comfortable on Lumière's lap.
A long dormant reaction to being witness to such an act awakened and caused her face to flush, especially when Lumière took to whispering things into the girl's ear.
The most sensible notion finally revealed itself to her: Look away!
She ducked her head and stretched out her clawed fingers against the table. Though she tried to clear her mind, one word persistently remained. Selfish.
Babette straightened in her seat as much as she could without bumping shoulders with Bernadette and acted like she was turning her face away from the boys to avoid detection. "We need to drag those two out of here, but… not while one of those girls is keeping them occupied."
"Well…" Bernadette began, eyeing the men's table with some discomfort. "M. de Créquy is available."
Furrowing her brow, Babette turned her gaze toward the boys again, but saw Nicolas was now alone.
"Where did…?" she was about to ask but stopped herself. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer aloud.
"He left with…" Bernadette started, but she didn't seem able to finish voicing her thoughts either.
The fire Babette had just put out erupted without warning, and with a vengeance. Two can play, growled a long-unheard and stunningly clear voice inside her.
She abruptly came to her feet and sauntered over to where Nicolas unassumingly sat while Marc's and Bernadette's hushed calls to her went unheeded.
To think, poor Nicolas had been smitten with one of these showgirls at first sight only a couple years ago. Babette couldn't help but wonder if he had really overcome all of the residual attraction to this place and the treasures it held. As an unmarried man, it was only natural to crave a tenderness seemingly reserved for the wedding bed alone. Her fiancé was to be pitied all the more, because he had no idea the kind of care she could show him.
A taste could not hurt, she easily persuaded herself, letting her hood fall.
Nicolas glanced up, having begun watching the new act on stage. He shot out of his seat so quickly, he almost dropped his mug of ale. "Babette? Oh Dieu, I—I am…" But he did not need to say more; Even in the scarce lighting, Babette saw a pall cast over his face. Taking pause, he blinked at her. "How… How did you know-?"
"Ssshh," Babette gently silenced, setting his tankard down for him to take his hand. "Do not let the 'how' and 'why' trouble you. What matters is that I found you safe and sound." She giggled. "But bored to tears, I see."
The uncertainty stayed on his features, but he grinned at her observation. "It seems you have arrived in the nick of time. But…" His gaze became laced with concern. "Did you travel here alone or-?"
"Nicolas, please," she murmured, her smile meant to comfort and entice. "I insist you relax. I'm here, am I not?"
He let the matter be put to rest, at least temporarily. He resumed his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but Babette found her voice first. "Nicolas, I must admit… I cannot help feeling a bit hurt to find you in a place like this," she said with an adorable pout as she leaned against the table. "But I understand."
Such an endearing form of shame crowded his expression. "Babette, I know how this looks, I—I didn't intend to—"
"Oh no, chéri! I do not blame you in the slightest! Truly, what are establishments like this for? But to see you alone!" She leaned in closer to whisper, "Are these girls so insipid?"
"No, not at all! They—I was…" He cleared his throat, able to regain some of his composure. "I am only an onlooker. Nothing more."
"An onlooker?" she repeated with wonder. "I do not really believe that is what you want to be."
"Even if it was true… you know I cannot be anything more than that."
"I know no such thing!" she huffed. "Society demands propriety in public, yet it breeds hypocrisy in private. That is only to be expected." Leaning forward, she purred, "But you would not be one of them if you decided to let yourself be tempted."
Unable to detect her implications, Nicolas replied rather confusedly, "Babette, I'm… sorry. What are you trying to say?"
Babette pouted again at his incomprehension and resumed her usual good posture. "I suppose this is why men have liaisons; they cannot see the woman right in front of their noses." Sweeping her hand along his arm, she smiled sweetly at him. "Nicolas, would you mind if I took a seat?"
"O—Of course," he complied to with a gallant gesture towards the empty chair across from him, but Babette disregarded it as she established herself across his legs.
"There," Babette said happily as she draped her arms along his shoulders. "Now you can see me just fine, oui?"
Flustered to temporary speechlessness, Nicolas did not look like he had been prepared in the slightest. "Babette, uh… I—I am in awe of your attentions, but I—"
"Oh, come, do not patronize me," she scolded. "I understand well my reputation precedes me no matter what I might do. And as sweet as it was for you to try to ignore it, those kinds of attempts will be of no help to you at this very moment. I want you to be excited about how we will eventually be!" she urged with a delectable smirk as she adjusted herself so that she was straddling him. "And there is nothing wrong… with offering a small sample of what is to come."
Even if Nicolas was not made mute by all of this, he found his mouth had suddenly become preoccupied. He instinctively tensed at so sudden a breach on his person, but slowly and surely, he let himself acclimate to it. Her lips were practiced after all, and they were betrothed. Harm could not really come from this, could it?
He soon welcomed her embrace and returned it, encircling his arms about her waist, which satisfied Babette, for she had hoped that when he had accepted her, that breath-taking passion of an ardent kiss would finally emerge. To her astonishment, and on the contrary, the desire to continue faded as quickly as it had come.
She parted from him, making sure to hide her disappointment with a mischievous smile. But before she could speak, Nicolas' gaze was diverted to something behind her. "My apologies, mon ami," he said with a meek smile.
Babette immediately followed his eyes, but regretted it instantly. Lumière appeared frozen to the spot not four feet away from her, his expression unreadable.
Detaching herself from Nicolas, she mustered her bravado and inquired, "Surprised to see me?"
Lumière's nostrils flared, but he didn't respond. He then broke eye contact with her and strode past them, breathing out a tight "excuse me" in passing.
Both watched him leave, and Babette felt the familiar and unwarranted guise of guilt sink slowly into her gut. The sensible side of her conscience chastised, Was such a spectacle really what he deserved?
Me and my poor impulses, she thought with shame, kicking herself.
Nicolas rose to his feet to stand by her, perplexed. "Will you come with me to check on him?"
She placed a hand on his chest. "I know I am not as well acquainted with him as you, but I believe… we should let him be for now."
He sighed. "Perhaps you're right. It probably was for that woman he had left with. He would not have been back so quickly otherwise."
Babette glanced at him as she processed his words. Nicolas seemed to have his own reservations that implied something different from what he had spoken, but she chose not to pursue the matter. "Shall we call for a carriage?"
"For you, yes. Lumière and I rode our horses here, however, so we will escort you back to Beauvais."
Wearing a wry grin, she inquired, "Do you still believe I came here alone? I can assure you, I am not so reckless as that. Marc and Bernadette both accompanied me."
His shoulders visibly eased. "I am glad to hear it, if only for the fact that you had company." He waved at the table Babette referred to, and the footman and maid acknowledged it.
"Here, you must be parched. Take my ale to drink and I will fetch you three a carriage," he said, grabbing his own chair and bringing it with him for Babette to have a seat by their friends.
She watched Nicolas trace a path through the crowd as she cupped the mug between her hands. Though she was thirsty, she knew alcohol would not mix well with her guilt.
When she passed her eyes over the two across from her, she saw Bernadette was doing her best to hide a smile. Marc, on the other hand, was keeping his eyes averted, an awkwardness emanating off of him. The idea of muttering an apology for her brazen display came to her mind, but it might only elevate his discomfort.
She decided to watch the stage instead, for nothing else was available to truly distract her outside excruciating conversation. But even the lithe movements of the current dancer could not drive the remembrance of such a lukewarm embrace with the man she was expected to marry, while also recalling a time when a kiss had been wonderfully and ecstatically passionate.
What was wrong with her?
Lumière thought he had felt his heart stop. It had been the cruelest sight he had ever beheld in his life.
The want—the need—for distraction, even for just one night, was the entire reason he had come to La Fleur Noire. He had felt he could revel in a few blissful moments, including those spent with one of the girls alone. Yet his heart, the stupid organ, apparently had the devoutness of a saint; The memories of more captivating conversation and more amorous caresses from another woman persisted unfailingly. Could none other ever satisfy him again?
That depressing question continued to haunt him as he sat in the small stable outside of the nightclub where their horses were hitched.
And then what had he discovered upon his return? The very same mademoiselle who unknowingly kept him fettered, with her legs and arms locked around his best friend. The image was now engraved in his mind for who knew how long, and damn her for it.
Lumière leaned his forehead into his hands. If this was how he reacted to them caught in a lovers' position, how could he handle the sight of their wedding, their daily affections to each other as a married couple… when they would eventually have children? Could this girl cause the end of a twenty-year-long friendship?
He suddenly became aware of the loneliness that loomed in the near future, but he refused it to be a possibility.
I will overcome this, he determined. If I want to keep Nicolas in my life, I must overcome this.
This chapter is dedicated to LumBabsFan, whom I consider the highest authority on everything that is Lumière and Babette. For those who don't know or recall, La Fleur Noire is an original creation of hers; It is the main setting of her origin fic for Babette, Les Fleurettes, and is also a setting in the story that follows, Questionable Romance. If you have not read either of those, I HIGHLY recommend them, whether you're a devout Lumi/Babs shipper or not. She gave these two characters such depth and realism that inspired me to initially write Noble Sentiments. I am forever indebted to her for that!
I must thank her as well for allowing me to pick her brain about her infamous nightclub so I could do her creation justice. My description received her full approval! What you read is accurate to how she has envisioned it.