Chapter Twenty-Four: Bedside Manners

As he neared closer and closer to Babette's chambers, the butterflies in Lumière's stomach fluttered with growing intensity; at the same time, they were countered by this sinking feeling of dread he could not ignore. He had intended to avoid any interaction with her before he left—preferably sooner rather than later. The fact that she had asked after him was also elating yet disconcerting.

So much for his plans.

He hoped it was all out of polite concern, or at most, out of the desire to establish friendlier terms. That was all he could wish for—all he was allowed to wish for. Perhaps this visit was acceptable, even obligatory.

After knocking, Nicolas walked into her room first, but Lumière hesitated at the doorway.

He heard Babette lovingly greet her fiancé. "There you are, chéri! I was starting to wonder what could be keeping you."

"My apologies for making you wait," came Nicolas' light, sincere response. "I was only fetching you another visitor."

Lumière's cue had come. Hands at his back, he stepped forward to be in her line of sight but kept his eyes down. "Mademoiselle," he acknowledged with a bow.

"So, you are still here," she noted in a skeptical tone. "I hope you have come of your own free will."

Upon meeting her gaze, he saw she was sitting up against multiple pillows while her left leg sat atop a stack of them. Blankets covered her up to her hips, and her crossed arms were sheathed in a nightgown and silk robe. Her chocolate brown hair was twisted into a makeshift bun on the top of her head, her expression stern and expectant.

His heart skipped a beat at the vision of her. Even when injured, she was still so proud. He managed to grin. "Of course. Being in your presence is something to vie for."

"Is it?" she asked, her mouth turning into a thoughtful pout. "Then why have you not vied for it sooner?"

Lumière acted surprised by the question. "And not await your request? I would never dare to impose unless called upon."

Despite her lack of rouge, her lips were still as beguiling in a smirk as any time before. "Says the man who played mon chevalier?" she said rather dubiously. "You did not have to wait for my permission."

The maître d' shrugged. "Old habits, mademoiselle."

During their exchange, Nicolas had pulled up two chairs to be near the bed and gestured for Lumière to sit in one of them, all the while looking incredibly pleased.

"How are you feeling today?" the viscount inquired.

Babette's smirk turned cynical. "The same, unfortunately. Until I am able to walk again, I cannot see how I can possibly feel any better."

Guilt then crossed her features. "Pardonnes-moi. I do not mean to sound ungrateful."

"There is no need to apologize to us," Nicolas assured, smiling knowingly. "You are in very sympathetic company." He turned to Lumière. "Remember when I broke my arm?"

"With all of the fuss that accompanied it, who could forget?" Lumière answered with an exhausted shake of his head.

Babette's eyes brightened in recognition. "If it is anything like what I am experiencing, then I can at least imagine."

"Oh, non, it was worse," Nicolas corrected, his expression ominous. "Because I was only of ten years, I was bedridden as you are, but with constant supervision."

She furrowed her brow. "But… you had broken your arm."

Nicolas threw up his hands, as baffled as she was, and Lumière said, smiling, "That is precisely his point."

Babette laughed, but touched her heart in empathy. "For a young garçon like you, what torture!"

The viscount tossed his hand in his friend's direction as though presenting him just as Lumière replied, "And that was precisely my point! But who pays heed to a little houseboy?"

"I certainly asked for them to," Nicolas added bitterly. "Ma mère refused to take any chances. I was her 'petit mignon.'"

"You still are," Lumière pointed out under his breath.

Nicolas eyed him. "'Petit?' I'm taller than you."

"By barely an inch," Lumière reminded tiredly; that was a subject often mentioned. "Petit or non, mothers never consider size when it comes to their children. In their eyes, sons and daughters will forever be petit."

Babette smiled. "I can attest to that as well."

"Really?" Nicolas asked. "Perhaps I simply do not know her well enough, but I would not have guessed your mother hovered over you as a child."

"You are right," she said. "My father was the one most protective of me."

I thought as much, Lumière confirmed to himself, and he did not blame René for being as such. Having a beauty like Babette for a daughter would demand that kind of attention.

He had nodded involuntarily at her statement, and Babette's eyes turned to him. "Is it obvious?"

Lumière looked up, caught off-guard. "Non, I—well…"

When she raised an eyebrow at him, he took a breath to be able to speak coherently. "In my humble opinion, your father remains protective to this day."

Concerned, she asked, "Has he said something to make you think so?"

Lumière then remembered how le Comte de Charolles had leveled his analyzing gaze on him before.

Because he was once Nicolas' valet, and therefore mingled many a time with the upper classes in a variety of ways, he normally did not feel truly intimidated by the aristocracy. Babette's father, however, with his careful observation and reticent demeanor, made Lumière nervous. He felt the count could see right through him to all his secrets, especially the amorous feelings and thoughts for his daughter. Even if that weren't the case, it tended to be the stoic, silent ones that Lumière found disconcerting.

"He has said little," Lumière replied, hoping his discomfort didn't show, "but has indicated much."

While Babette was taking in his words, Nicolas answered thoughtfully, "Now that you say so… I can see it. I suppose he does not vocalize it as much as my mother does?"

"Non," she said, mirroring his grin. "He is certainly a quiet one."

With that distinct rattling of china, a maid had rolled a tea trolley into the room and was about to prepare a prescribed cup for Babette.

Nicolas rose from his seat. "Merci, Marie. I will take care of it."

Marie departed after a polite curtsey, and Nicolas went to work on Babette's tea. "This may seem like a ridiculous question," he began, "but does your father… like me?"

Babette tilted her head. She looked as though she wanted to laugh. "Of course, he does! What on earth gave you the impression he did not?"

Lumière had been watching his friend add two spoonfuls of sugar and a little cream to the cup. He sifted through the memories he had shared with Babette, and how she took her tea was not one of the things he had learned. He tried not to pay heed to the disappointment that briefly arose.

Nicolas shrugged before bringing Babette her tea. "He's, um… rather hard to read."

Taking her tea gratefully, she shook her head teasingly at him. "He has liked you since before I even met you. He would not have allowed our engagement otherwise."

Releasing an awkward chuckle, Nicolas smiled back, relaxing a bit more in his chair. "I suppose I must be overthinking then."

Lumière raised an eyebrow at him. "As though you do not already know you have everyone's approval."

"I cannot simply assume, can I?" Nicolas replied as though that ended the discussion.

"In fact, you very well can!" Lumière then directed to Babette, "There is not a decent man or woman who has not approved of Nicolas."

The viscount gave him an exasperated shake of his head. "That is an exaggeration and you—"

"Especially the women."

Nicolas glared at Lumière, whose smirk had morphed into an attempt at innocence. "Quoi?" the maître d' prompted. "Surely, that should come as no surprise to mademoiselle."

"Oh, I am not surprised," Babette confirmed, and pointed a mischievous gaze at her betrothed. "But I am intrigued."

"There is not much to tell, truly," Nicolas insisted, though his ears were flushing.

Lumière playfully balked at him. "I consider that an insult, mon ami, given that our schemes were always a mutual effort!"

"Non, not 'always!'" Nicolas immediately refuted.

"It may have occasionally taken a bit more persuading to convince you," Lumière deemed to grant, "but you still agreed to them all in the end."

Babette's eyes brightened as she encouraged. "I would love to hear a tale or two."

"Absolutely not. We were so young and—"

"Carefree!" Lumière offered.

"Reckless," Nicolas finished, giving his friend the eye. "And stupid."

"As children often are," Lumière defended. "There is no shame in it, and might the lady agree with me?"

She smiled back at him, and the feeling of butterflies in his stomach returned. "Indeed, monsieur. How might we know what we have not yet learned for ourselves?"

He was continuing to be enlivened by her agreement. "Exactement. See?" he prodded his old master. "She understands!"

"Please, chéri?" Babette pleaded adorably. "One little story?"

Her blue eyes wide, she gazed unwaveringly at Nicolas. In response, he raised his hand and squinted as though he were trying to block the sun's glare.

With a grimace, he teased, "Oh, non, she does not play fair!"

Gesturing to Babette, Lumière said with a grin, "With an advantage like that, would you?"

Dropping the hand shielding him from her puppy eyes, Nicolas conceded. "Fine, fine… One story."

She immediately beamed, her chin lifted proudly from her victory, and settled more comfortably into her pillows with her tea as her fiancé asked Lumière, "How about our trip to Versailles?"

His friend snorted. "Which one?"

Nicolas looked unamused. "You know… the one where I…" He then waved his hand in front of his eyes.

Babette couldn't fathom what that could mean, but Lumière gaped, having understood Nicolas perfectly. "Mon Dieu, I have not thought about that in years! And how have I not?" he laughed. "That was one of my most creative moments as compagnon de drague, if I may say so."

"A polite way of putting it."

"Only it worked."

"By some miracle."

"Are you trying to create suspense?" Babette impatiently interjected, though admittedly diverted. "What happened on this trip?"

Nicolas rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… where to start," he pondered. "I think I was eight and ten at the time, which made you twenty," he said to Lumière, who confirmed it with a nod. "It was at the fortnight of galas Versailles holds for all nobility annually." He referred to Babette. "I am not sure if you remember from when you were younger. How old were you then?"

"Fourteen years," she admitted with an offhand shrug. Her debut year was a rather rambunctious one, but she kept that fact to herself. "I remember the palace itself and its gardens being breathtaking."

"Very true," the vicomte granted. "Over two-thousand rooms and thirty-thousand acres of land, with every single stone and furnishing of the palace being produced in France… It's certainly a marvel."

His eyes lit up as he recalled, "We actually stood in the Hall of Mirrors to see for ourselves—not this particular trip, but more recently… a couple years ago, I believe. They said you had to stand at the central window that faced the gardens to see what they called, 'le grande perspective.' You could view the gardens from the perfect angle, which was certainly the intention of the King and his architects. The way the sun had been setting and how the shadows were spread…it was… quite stunning."

A bit amused at where his trail of thought had veered, Babette replied, "You must show me the next time we visit."

"I would be happy to."

There was a brief pause as she watched him expectantly, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Now… about your tale?"

"Oh!" Nicolas realized this and shut his eyes with a grimace. "Right. Sorry."

Lumière, who had been watching the developments with a mixture of humor yet a steadily growing feeling of impatience. "For all the reading you do, mon ami, you are not very good at this."

"Well, I have never told this story before," Nicolas defended, his ears pinkening again. "You have always been better at retelling our… exploits anyway. I am perfectly content to have you start us off."

The maître d' straightened in his seat eagerly. "With pleasure."

He then cleared his throat in preparation in a very "Cogsworth" way, which Babette was not expecting in the slightest. As much as she was trying to school herself while both of these men were in the room, a giggle escaped through her restraint. She casually brought a hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide the fact that it had happened.

But Lumière wasn't fooled. At his success, he smiled to himself before he began. "At the first ball of the trip, Nicolas spotted, out of every opulently dressed woman there, a modest little marquise. I had noticed him watching her constantly, even as I was trying to express my own opinions of the eligible mesdemoiselles there, but he only had eyes for her. The problem was, she was always surrounded by other men, and I prudently told Nicolas he did not need to make himself one of them. If he was going to claim her attention, he needed to make himself stand out from the rest."

"Imagine how that bolstered my self-worth," Nicolas teased. "I was wearing one my best suits, too!"

"Whenever you become entranced by a particular mademoiselle, I made sure you never squandered your chance," Lumière reminded before returning to his story.

"While Nicolas had to continue mingling with his echelon, I made it my mission to gather some information about this marquise. I believe her name was—"

"Lucille de Rousselet," Nicolas finished. "Marquise de Châteaurenault."

Lumière lifted a sly brow, his one-sided smirk present. "As though it were yesterday, hm?"

Nicolas shook his head, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "It is my job to remember those kinds of details."

"Right, right, of course." Clearly not buying that excuse, Lumière insinuated this in a glance to Babette, who pursed her lips to keep herself from smiling too wide.

"As I was saying," he resumed, "I went about that event like a fly on the wall, and what I had discovered about the marquise was very interesting." He began tallying them off on his fingers. "Upon overhearing her speak with her admirers, I saw she was a rather soft-spoken girl who was being much too nice in shooing them away; She was clearly a gentle spirit of good breeding. The reason for such a gathering of eager messieurs was due to her lavish dowry, which I suppose was meant to be a well-kept secret, but… we all know how that usually goes. Lastly, I learned that she had a blind grandmother she was quite fond of and doted on frequently; What was more, she had compassion in her character."

"Which he decided to exploit," Nicolas annexed to Babette.

"And which he agreed to," Lumière quipped back with a broad smile, undeterred. "Like I said: young and carefree."

Her eyes glanced between them, contemplating. "I… think I know where this is going."

"I hoped you might," he replied, wearing a sly grin. "The next ball, I approached the marquise through her ring of devotees and said, 'Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle, and please forgive the intrusion. But if you would be so generous and kind, I would like to make a request for a dance upon my master's behalf.' I then referred to Nicolas, who was precisely placed against the wall and looking ahead unseeingly, just as I had recommended. She was intrigued and asked about the cane he held—that we borrowed from his father, the comte—and I explained to her that, due to an ancestral illness that affects every other succeeding generation in his family, he had recently become blind."

Babette's jaw dropped. "You did not."

"He did," Nicolas confessed, looking pained. "You told her something else, did you not?"

"That though you were a marvelous dancer, you needed a partner at the perfect height, and she was—"

"—the only one in the room who was," the both said in unison. Nicolas was nodding as it came back to him, but he didn't seem any less embarrassed.

"Ladies love being told they are unique in any regard," Lumière playfully noted. "Would you agree, mademoiselle?"

Babette tried to appear admonishing, but she was delighting in this conversation too much for it to be convincing. "When spoken the right way, and if you find the right feature to compliment them on… oui, it is a sound fact."

Beaming victoriously, he looked to Nicolas, but Babette wasn't finished: "Would not a man be flattered by such a compliment as well?"

Lumière didn't hesitate to turn his gaze on her again. "Do you have an example in mind to share?"

"Perhaps," she replied, mirroring his smirk, "but one story at a time, non?"

Eyes twinkling, Lumière conceded to this and resumed, "To the messieurs' surprise, the marquise agreed to a dance with Nicolas. I admit, I was worried he would not be convincing, but…" He patted his friend's shoulder proudly. "Oh, he did very well! I was a harsh critic when we were practicing, but after it was all over, I recommended he run away to join the theatre."

"It may be that our little game of deception won me a dance with her," Nicolas granted, "but I could barely look at her or I thought I might give myself away!"

"You had the rest of the night to try," Lumière reminded, then boasting to Babette, "She never left his side until the end of the ball."

Babette blinked, visibly impressed. "Truly? I must admit, I would not expect that kind of ploy to work."

"It was not the ploy, per se, but the execution," Lumière amended with a subtle wink in her direction. "Courtesy of myself and my use of tact."

"Oh, but that's not the end of the tale!" Nicolas exclaimed with an overexuberant grin in Lumière's direction. "Let us not forget she caught us talking about how we were lying to her."

The viscount seemed to delight in how his old valet's spirits soured slightly at the reminder. "Because of you," Lumière riposted under his breath. "I have the discretion to not speak of such subjects with the mademoiselle in question right around the corner." He waved that argument away to sincerely ask, "Why do you insist on forgetting how this story of ours ends?"

"Because I was mortified."

Nicolas addressed to his fiancée, "She was… furious with us, so much that she could barely speak at first. But she was able to say something along the lines of, 'How dare you! You insult those who truly suffer from blindness! They cannot simply pretend it away!'"

Nicolas shook his head, looking as dumbstruck as he must have appeared that very day. "I felt so ashamed. I didn't know how to reply to her. She was right, after all. I said… something, but I don't even remember what it was."

"Oh, I do!" On the brink of laughter, Lumière recounted it to a riveted Babette. "It was as if he was still experiencing his first throes of love. When he could speak again, he told her with such sweet earnestness, 'Mademoiselle, please, I beg you to forgive me. There were other men asking for your attentions, I did not know how else to approach you!"

Lumière had heightened his pitch in jest, but Nicolas was not amused. "I should have blamed the whole scheme on you."

The maître d' nudged his old friend. "I tease you, frère, but mon Dieu, it actually worked! You called her 'lovely' and 'genuine,' or similar, and those seemed to be just the right words to win you a second chance."

"Some more dances, where I could be permitted to look at her," Nicolas retold. "And an… embrace on the balcony."

Babette saw a bit of blush rise to his cheeks and her smile spread wider. "That is quite a success story, messieurs! My compliments to you both."

Nicolas looked up at her, and though he tried to suppress it, he was slightly surprised at this reaction from her. He recovered well to say with a gracious nod, "Merci, Babette."

Lumière inclined his head humbly, hands spread. "Oui, merci, mademoiselle," he thanked with his signature smile.

"May I ask, however," Babette articulated, unable to resist inquiring, "if anything came of that time with the marquise?"

Her fiancé flushed further. "Uh… no. It was… I suppose you would call it a… 'fling.' A brief flirtation."

Lumière was truthfully a little baffled at Nicolas becoming embarrassed to admit that fact. It was as if he didn't realize who he was speaking in front of.

To keep it from getting too awkward, Lumière spoke up. "That time in Versailles tended to be that way. Everything is forgiven and forgotten the very next year."

He then directed an infamous smirk at the vicomtesse. "Now… were you not going to favor us with a story of your own?"

She lofted an elegant eyebrow at him. "Was I? I do not remember offering."

"You didn't," Nicolas said, shooting Lumière a warning look before glancing at the mantel clock. "Besides, have we not exhausted you enough with our talk?"

Babette looked at the clock, too, her smile slipping away. "Well… do you have other business to attend to?"

Nicolas sighed. "Unfortunately. I must head over with mon père to the magistrate to take care of a little squabble. It should not take too long… we would hope."

His friend tried not to look at him strangely; They didn't have to leave for another hour or so.

She could not think of a way she could persuade him without seeming greedy, so she said, resigned, "Bonne chance, then."

"Is there anything else you need before we go?"

She was all politeness. "Non merci."

"Then we shall leave you to some peace and quiet." When Nicolas stood, that was also Lumière's cue to do the same, though he felt it was much too soon to do so.

"Mademoiselle," Lumière imparted with a bow.

"Monsieur," she replied in kind. "Thank you for coming in to see me."

A smile reached his mouth without any conscious effort on his part. "The pleasure is all mine, as always," he said before he followed Nicolas' departure.

Catching up with the viscount, Lumière checked to make sure they were out of earshot of Babette's room before he tapped his shoulder. "Nicolas?"

"Hm?"

"Are you leaving earlier than I thought for the magistrate's?"

Nicolas was caught off-guard by the question. "N—no. We leave in an hour as planned."

Lumière then firmly brought his friend to a stop so he could look him in the eye. "Then… why did we leave her without company before we had to? You must have noticed she regretted watching you depart."

Nicolas blinked, his mouth opening and closing, but he was unable to form a proper excuse. "I… I th—thought it might be—"

Lumière shut his eyes for a moment to stem the rising frustration before he spoke like a stern father. "Please, by all that is holy… This better not have anything to do with what happened in Paris."

"What? No!" Nicolas exclaimed a little too indignantly. "That's… of no consequence!"

His old friend raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and Nicolas sighed. "Fine. It may be a tiny, very inconsequential fraction of the reason, but there are other factors that concern me more."

"Such as?"

Nicolas glanced up and down the hall, but still appeared insecure. "Can we speak of this in your room?"

Lumière's only reply was a grand gesture for him to lead the way. It was wiser for him to bite his tongue where he could, because appearing too protective of Babette would raise some unwelcome questions, but this was about more than her alone. Nicolas was a gentleman, most definitely, but being in a committed relationship with all the duties and obligations that came with it was an experience the young viscount was not very familiar with.

In truth, the same could be said for Lumière, but as a man who dabbled in romance like the artform it was, he was very aware of what it took to treat and care for the woman of his fancy. As Babette was the one he cared for most of all, he was not ashamed to instruct Nicolas in how she should be treated.

So these reasons of his better be good, Lumière thought.

He shut his door and faced the viscount. "You were saying?"

"I can see what you're thinking," Nicolas pointed out. "But I assure you, the problem lies more with me than with her."

"Then please," Lumière replied, gesturing for him to proceed. "Explain what is wrong with you."

Nicolas scowled a bit at his friend's tone but did as asked. "Père et mère spoke with me yesterday about… making our engagement… authentic."

Lumière went from steely to perturbed at the word. "'Authentic?' What is not already authentic about it?"

Nicolas bit his lip. "A formal proposal. With a…" He lifted a hand to wiggle his left ring finger.

The maître d' carefully considered this. "And… that is what troubles you?"

"It makes the reality of what we are… more real." Nicolas began to pace, which in regard to him, was not a good sign. "I have easily imagined we are purely in a courtship since I have not presented her with a ring, but the idea of finally doing so, pledging myself in this grand manner… It makes me…"

Averting his gaze, Nicolas' agitated hand went through his hair. "… nauseated."

"I see." Lumière had not realized his friend had been under this kind of pressure. It did all seem terribly soon, but he might be biased due to his own relationship with Babette; He had his own sentiments to overcome, sooner rather than later.

Nicolas looked to him rather earnestly. "This is the part where you say, 'You have nothing to fear! It will all turn out as it should!'"

With a meek smile, Lumière only offered, "I have said so before: Almost every man on this earth has felt this way about their own marriage. These are natural feelings to have,but…"

He had to stable himself with a deep breath before continuing. "If you love her as I know you do, I am sure your worries will not last."

When his friend was not swayed, Lumière, though it was painful, had to ask, "You… do… love her, oui?"

Nicolas answered without hesitating. "Yes."

Lumière couldn't tell if he himself was relieved or not, though either way, it didn't last; Nicolas went on.

"But… I am not sure if my feelings are… strong enough for marriage to seem… right. Being around her always makes me think about it, which makes me feel guilty and persuades me to leave her be, but then I feel as though being with her will help, I-"

Bringing his frantic speech to a halt, Nicolas stopped on the carpet and heaved a heavy sigh. "I feel… trapped."

Lumière came nearer to put a bracing hand on his shoulder. "I think you need to be patient with yourself, mon ami. As much as I know your parents mean well, this is between you and her. Consider as well that perhaps mademoiselle… is having similar thoughts."

Nicolas looked up, his eyes wide. "Isn't that… a bad thing?"

Lumière chuckled despite himself. "Not necessarily. I find that is precisely the sort of thing that brings people together. But you cannot find out unless you let her know."

The vicomte's expression became thoughtful, but he nodded.

"So," Lumière quizzed, his arms akimbo. "What are you going to speak with mademoiselle in private about at the earliest opportunity?"

"This."

"And?"

Nicolas pouted. "Paris."

"Bon fils!" his old valet congratulated with a pat on his back, but then wagged a teasing finger at him. "I shall be making sure you follow through."

Nicolas sighed, yielding. "I know you will."

In the next few days after the gentlemen's visit, Babette noticed that Nicolas seemed to be allowing himself more time to be at her bedside, even if that meant struggling for a topic to discuss. She wasn't opposed to this arrangement. Quite the contrary, for it helped the time pass a little faster than if she were alone. No, what bothered her was how little she saw and heard from Nicolas' oldest friend.

Despite Lumière coming in to check on her, his visits were never as long as the first. She ached to speak with him alone, but he seemed to be refusing to take any opportunity to do so. He would appear at the doorway when Augustine and Étienne would come see her, and even then, he would more observe than participate in the discussion. The same went for when her own parents were in the room. He seemed determined to keep himself as an unimportant member of her circle when she could at least admit to herself that he wasn't.

These ruminations plagued her whether or not he was in sight, and she would be damned if she were to let them continue to create havoc in her mind.

One evening, just after the sun had set, Babette was trying to drive them away with a book she finally found rather engaging, when Nicolas appeared at the door.

Setting her novel aside, she welcomed him in with a smile, eyeing him curiously. "Bonsoir, mon cher. Quite a late call, non?"

"It is only late if you were asleep," Nicolas reasoned, mimicking her lighthearted tone, but he seemed to second-guess himself. "That is… if you would rather I—"

Her smile widened. "Non, Nicolas, I was only teasing."

At her beckoning, he closed the door and came closer to pull up a nearby chair to her bedside as she asked, "To what do I owe this visit?"

Having been lost in thought, when he met her eye at her address, he looked surprised. "Oh! Um… does there need to be a reason?"

The knowing smirk she wore was all he needed. "Ah," he said. "Well, I've come to… apologize."

Babette's instinct was to ask why, but she noticed how he was trying to get his thoughts together, so she let him say what he must first.

He took a deep breath before he dived in. "Ever since our last night in Paris, I have been acting… rather aloof. I want you to know that it had nothing to do with you. It was only my… own insecurities getting the best of me."

Perplexed, she countered, "You have not been acting aloof lately."

"I have been making up for it," he insisted, his face contorted with remorse. "Which I should have from the very beginning. It took me far too long to approach you about it."

Wanting to bolster him, she gave him a gentle smile, her voice soothing. "You are not the only one."

"I am still… terribly sorry it took me so long to say something." Imploringly, he asked, "Foolish of me, is it not?"

"Oh, jamais," she declared with a firm shake of her head before she reached to cover his hand. "Chéri, your apology was accepted long ago."

It took a moment for him to recognize how much she meant her words before he gave her a grateful nod and grin. A large weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "Thank you."

Retracting her hand, Babette turned her eyes to her fingers, which were busy braiding the fringe of her blanket. "You know… you are not the only one to blame for… the consequences of that night. I was the one who followed you there, after all."

"With good reason."

She sighed tiredly. "As much as I thought so at the time, it truly wasn't. I did not trust you both to be…" She paused before amending, "I did not trust M. Lumière to be responsible, and I thought he would only influence you to follow his example, which at the time I believed to be poor, indeed."

Nicolas shrugged. "You are not entirely wrong."

Babette grinned at the joke, yet persisted, "But those were my own insecurities getting the best of me. I should not have meddled." In a lighter tone, she asked, "Who am I to prevent a couple of unmarried men from enjoying themselves?"

He blinked at her before giving her a skeptical sideways glance. "Do you mean that?"

She released a single laugh, completely sincere. "With all my heart! You have every excuse to revel in your last days of bachelorhood."

He watched her for a moment in silence, stunned. Leaning against the back of his chair, he murmured, "Incroyable… I never thought I would hear a woman say that."

He then realized what he had uttered and squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry, that… sounded patronizing."

She watched him with humor, like a child believing he was caught committing a crime that wasn't a crime in a slightest. "Not at all! It is true: Not many women can admit it. They believe that an ironclad loyalty is established from the day a relationship of that nature begins, whether it be mutual or one-sided."

He chuckled at that. "So it seems!"

As nonchalantly as possible, she said, "I, however, can… sympathize with those in that circumstance. I used to feel the same way."

Nicolas' gaze didn't waver as he leaned forward, his eyes keen with interest. "You… did not anticipate marriage?"

"Non, far from it!" she retorted perhaps a little too quickly. "I have learned too much about what happens to a woman after the vows are made to have any interest in saying them for myself."

Babette realized what she had let leave her lips and immediately wanted to clap her palm to her forehead. "Erm, that is… if I were to marry the right man… one who I love and revere… preferably, my equal…"

Her voice had gotten smaller and smaller as she was speaking. The way he was focusing on her was making her want to hide. Doing her best to continue meeting his eye, she cleared her throat to conclude, "Then, I imagine it would be worth it."

He watched her for a minute longer, but a look of relief had grown on his handsome features. "I… completely agree with you, Babette." Checking himself, he corrected, "My situation cannot compare to yours, but when it comes to marriage… I would also want to be absolutely certain in my choice than marry at all."

His boyish dimples appeared on his cheeks. "I am… happy to hear we are of the same mind."

That put her at a marvelous ease. She really thought she had let her mouth run away from her one time too many. "As am I."

Placing her hand into his, she said, "Thank you for telling me."

Nicolas brought her hand to his lips to place a polite kiss on it. "Non. Thank you. Truly."

Endeared by his sweet, gentlemanly manner once again, she lauded, "You are too kind, monsieur."

As he stood to leave, he conveyed to her, "Pleasant dreams, Babette."

"Even sweeter dreams to you, Nicolas."

She got him to grin adorably one last time before he let her be.

Relaxing into her pillows, she looked up at her canopy, having to smile at the thought of her fiancé. He did not realize what he had done for her by clearing the air between them.

I wonder what had finally made him—

An answer came to her, but she decided to set it aside. What did it really matter anyway?

Not tired enough to settle into sleep, she picked up her novel once more and took note to the new annotations that appeared written in Nicolas' hand. Reading his own thoughts and criticisms on the author's writing without him even having to be present, she felt to a small degree, closer to him.

Babette had thought this more than once, but she would admit it to herself again:

She was lucky to have him.