Chapter Twenty-Five: Something More
Five weeks prior…
The snowstorms and flurries that had plagued the countryside soon subsided as the days eased through the middle of March. Spring could be sensed in the downpours as they melted the frost that coated the lawns, roofs, pines, and parterres.
On the first clear day of the season, Babette took the family's carriage to La Bazolle for an impromptu visit after an early dinner. As she left town, she saw patches of green between the dead grass on the stretches of fields.
During the prior few weeks, Babette had been forced to grow accustomed to hearing about Lumière through Nicolas' recounts. That same night when Nicolas had first mentioned his former valet, it had taken every bit of her self-control to not look as though he had just slapped her.
How was she to have known that the Vicomte de Drée was the very same Nicolas that Lumière had so often regaled about in the stories he had told her? He had never mentioned Nicolas' beyond being a viscount or his first name.
What was she supposed to say to prevent Nicolas from bringing his friend up that didn't reveal the truth of where she had been before Christmas, or make her sound maligning and disdainful?
She was far too deep in the engagement to so suddenly withdraw. It wouldn't make sense to anyone. Nicolas was the epitome of a gentleman. He was a bit reserved, but had a keen sense of humor and a sharp intellect. He would make a fine count with a good head for dealing with politicians and fellow nobility, no matter how fiery their temperaments. She understood how lucky she was to be engaged to such a man.
Above all, he was a sweetheart. Babette's comfort was his highest priority when she was near. He had only ever been understanding, consoling, and gracious when they were together. Compared to every other man she had ever met, Nicolas was the pinnacle of goodness. Even without considering his other admirable qualities, this was the trait that simply astonished Babette.
And I am lying to him, she moaned, her shame tying her stomach into knots.
How could she admit it now? Their confidence in each other was still in its early stages. If she risked putting their trust into question, she could wind up a spurned woman and future spinster. She did not need to be reminded that this was her last chance to marry.
Still, he had refused to ask anything that delved into her romantic history. They had each discussed their families, their childhoods, their hobbies, favorite music, literature, and the like, but past relationships had never been touched on. Nicolas had not even recited all of what Lumière had told her, especially their last trip to La Fleur Noire. At this moment in time, Babette knew much more about Nicolas than he knew about her.
She couldn't bear to not mention her heartbreak any longer. She had been hiding it all this time, for much too long, and apparently far too well. Luckily, she had been successful in detaching herself from her residual feelings for Lumière when Nicolas would bring him up in their conversations. She could often think of him as someone she had never met; she would openly laugh at the ridiculous antics both of them got into. If those stories had been told by anyone other than Nicolas, she probably wouldn't have been able to react to them as she should.
However, that did not mean her conscience had not torn at her every time they had parted. She needed to clear at least a small portion of her guilt-ridden heart. She already had to withhold so much.
Upon her arrival, Renaud informed her that Augustine and Étienne were out on business, and Nicolas had taken his horse out into the woods that sat a few acres behind La Bazolle.
"He left over an hour ago, so he should be back very shortly," the majordomo assured. "Would you like to wait in the salon until he returns?"
Babette's mind had been whirring as Renaud had been speaking. "Actually… could I walk the grounds while I wait? To take a little advantage of the… clearer weather."
"Of course. Shall I lead you or do you know your way?"
With a wry smile, she hinted, "Based on how long and how often I have been visiting…"
He mirrored her expression. "I assumed so. Do not hesitate to call on any of us if you need anything."
"Merci, Renaud."
Heading under the balcony of the center staircase, Babette made her way leisurely through the halls until coming to the back door near the kitchens. She could hear the preparations for dinner, along with snippets of the staff's light conversation, from where she stood as the smell of simmering vegetables and meat greeted her nose.
With hand frozen on the handle, a vision of applying garnishes to various dishes while maids and chefs swarmed around her flashed across her mind's eye. A regretful pang tugged at her gut. With a determined shake of her head, she chased the past away and stepped outside.
So as not to be disturbed again by her wavering thoughts, Babette gave all that she saw her full attention. The sight and scent of freshly cut grass and greenery then easily took over her senses. Taking a deep, calming breath, the air tasted crisp and clean. She stepped down the stairs to the gravel and walked along the artfully arranged parterres. The sun, though leaning heavily toward the west, warmed her face and neck as she circled the large, gurgling Grecian fountain of two men standing side-by-side, like brothers.
Away from the geometric gardens was a small cluster of trees around a wide pond. Upon coming to its edges, she bent to see if any fish could be seen in the water. A light breeze made ripples in the pond, but outside of that, it seemed pretty lifeless.
She began to circle the pond for a closer inspection, but her foot collided with what sounded like small rocks. Taking a step back and lifting her skirt, she indeed saw some flat, rounded stones having toppled over.
I may have an idea what these were for, Babette noted with a smile.
Bending with a bit of difficulty due to her stiff bodice, she grabbed a few to hold in her left hand while she prepped a stone in her right. They were smooth to the touch, and she noticed she was already at the best angle to skip a stone across the most amount of water.
Babette couldn't remember the last time she had skipped stones, but she knew that there was a special technique to make the stones hop on a water's surface. Placing her left foot towards the water's edge and her body perpendicular to her target, she held the stone deftly in her hand and whipped it.
Not surprisingly, the stone made a resounding plop when it hit the water.
If I were not so stiff, she thought bitterly. Her torso couldn't bend as it should with the stays preventing her.
With an attempt to make do, Babette gave another stone a toss, but was met with the same result.
Plop!
This was far from the first time that she had longed for the freedom a less constricting bodice provided, and her old maid's uniform was the primary example that came to her mind.
Though she was never going to wear them again, she had smuggled them in her luggage and kept them in one of her wardrobe's drawers underneath chemises. They were not only tailored to her, but Babette had put a bit of her own handiwork into them, so they felt very personal. Since she was not very sentimental to begin with, she had thought it ridiculous that she had suddenly felt an attachment toward her uniforms. But she had never felt more comfortable and at ease in her own skin than when she had been wearing them. She couldn't simply toss them away like worthless debris.
And no one else needed to know that she still had them, especially her parents.
Her reverie subsided when to her pleasant surprise, she managed to get one skip out of a stone.
Having thrown her last one, Babette glanced to the ground for more. Before she could crouch down, she heard the crunching of pebbles underfoot.
"Let me get those for you," came Nicolas' ever accommodating voice before he scooped a handful of stones at her feet into his palm.
Straightening with grace, she crossed her arms at his politeness. "You have returned from your ride at a most opportune time, monsieur. Merci," she thanked as he handed over a couple stones.
He simultaneously looked sheepish and mischievous. "Well, admittedly… there is a chance I may have watched you try to toss a few of these before I decided to intervene. I'm afraid you have a poor form for skipping stones," he reported with a mock-authoritative tone.
"Ah, so you could not bear to see me bring shame to this delicate art any longer?" she realized with exaggeration. "Now I see how you are! And here I thought you were trying to save a lady some trouble."
"I had the intention of both!" he defended, grinning at her dramatics. "Would you like me to show you how it's done?"
She shrugged. "If you claim to be an expert, I suppose I have no other way of learning."
"You are the mistress of flattery, indeed," Nicolas muttered flatly, causing Babette to break character and giggle.
"Watch closely," he advised seriously, though a smirk could be seen on his lips. In one smooth motion, he tossed a stone into his left hand, eyed the end of the water, and served it. The rock bounded three, four, five, six times until it stopped just short of the other side of the pond.
Babette's eyebrows flew up, but then she eyed him slyly. "You have spent many a day practicing that, have you not?"
"Since I was… seven?" he thought aloud. "Mon père was the first one to show me after I saw him doing this one day, but I didn't become consistently good at it until I was ten."
"That is a long time to stay dedicated," she remarked admiringly. "I wish that kind of self-discipline could be taught."
He glanced away at her compliment. "It was many wasted hours throwing rocks until my wrist was sore," he admitted with a roll of his hand, as though he could feel the strained muscles again. "But it was better than sitting in the parlor with a bunch of stuffy adults… for a seven-year-old," he had to add. "Besides, Lumière and I would have competitions, so winning against him always held a rewarding incentive to practice."
Though she smiled at the humor in his comment, Lumière's name reminded her of why she was there in the first place.
Before she could figure how to word the beginning of that conversation, Nicolas offered, "Let me see you give it another try."
Having been looking out over the water, Babette turned to him with wide eyes. "Only if you promise not to tease," she managed, half of her mind still far away.
Nicolas released a laugh. "I was watching you before, and I have not done so yet, have I?"
"You said I had poor form!" she smartly reminded.
"That was a fact, not teasing," he corrected, smiling at her pout.
Harrumphing, she commanded proudly, "D'accord, maestro. Teach me your ways."
"Très bien, my pupil," he ordained with regality. Babette had to smile at his expression. "Stand as though you were preparing to toss."
She did as she was bid, mimicking her position as though she were about to throw her stone. He stepped around with a thoughtful expression, critiquing, "You're extending your arm too far behind you. And this arm…" He guided her free arm that was stretched toward her target, along with her throwing arm, closer to her body. "… does not need to be held out like that. You already have the balance in your feet; you do not need your arms to help… Are your feet about shoulder-width apart?" he asked, glancing down at her feet hidden underneath her floor-length skirts.
"Would you like to see for yourself?" Babette prompted coyly.
She caught a bit of blush on his cheeks as he meekly laughed. "N—No. I trust you… against perhaps my better judgement."
She turned her head so he could see her light offense. "What have I done to make you think that?"
"I was actually teasing that time!" Nicolas assured with a grin. "Of course I trust you, Babette, and rather explicitly."
Surprised at this disclosure, she hesitated in replying; She found herself wondering how sincere he was in saying that. Glancing at him only briefly, she saw in his hazel eyes that he truly meant it. She felt her insides swell. Could she be feeling… something more too?
She broke their gaze, feeling more wretched than before her arrival.
Confusion and guilt clouded her thoughts so much that she almost didn't hear what Nicolas was saying next. "Let me see how you hold the stone."
Hoping there wasn't any sign of her hesitation, Babette lifted her hand with the stone in it to show him.
Nicolas shook his head as he appraised her hand, clicking his tongue a few times. "Oh, Babette, you are lucky I caught this. You would never be able to have a stone skip otherwise!"
His teasing, though it was well-meaning, was now grating against her inner turmoil. She rolled her eyes and replied coolly, "Must I figure it out for myself what I am doing wrong or will you tell me?"
"If you had given me only a minute more to explain," he chastised lightheartedly. "You should well know by now, mademoiselle, that patience is a virtue."
"Well, I do not consider myself to be very virtuous," she blurted before chucking the stone into the pond. It caused quite a splash for a stone of its size.
Her heart was beating fast and she could feel her face and breast flush. Hiding her face with her cool fingers, she walked away from Nicolas, silently vying for the deep breaths she needed.
The pond was very quiet, and she knew he must be startled at her reaction. Mustering her voice, she said, "I'm sorry, I—" But an impending sob cut her off as she made sure to silence it.
She heard him take very careful steps toward her, the pebbles still giving an audible crunch. He took a thoughtful moment to say at her back, "I understand that what I am about to ask has an obvious answer… but this is not about skipping stones, is it?"
Her single laugh was mixed with the sob she had tried to stifle. She shook her head.
As she struggled to keep herself composed, Nicolas entreated, "Babette, you do not have to say any more than you want to, but if there is something… you can tell me." With such gentle caring, he insisted, "I want to help."
Hurrying to reassure, she grabbed his arm and managed to look him in the eye. "I know you do." She took the deepest sigh that she was capable of. "But I think I am beyond help."
Before she could release him, he covered her hand with his and kept it there, his gaze commanding. "Please, tell me what's on your mind."
Babette glanced toward the gardens and was silent. He released her hand and waited ever so patiently for her reply.
Wishing that her answer could be easy, she shrugged. "I do not know where to begin."
"Tell me the first thing you think of," he softly encouraged.
If only I could, she mourned to herself.
She sifted through the truths she knew: She hated being a noble, she did not want to get married, she would never measure up to her society's standards, she could never fulfill her parents' expectations—
She looked to him. "I am in love with another," she confessed, having to break away from him again before she corrected, "Or I was. I know you assured me that I did not need to speak about it… but I must have you know." She clutched herself to maintain her composure. "It has been the cause for much of my behavior, and…" Despite her best efforts, tears had found their way to her eyes. "I have never felt more ashamed."
As she hastened to stem her tears, Babette felt warm arms encircle her, and to her own surprise, she welcomed the comfort they brought. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. She could feel his understanding from this simple gesture. She buried her face into his coat's collar and hugged him back, her sobs slowly ebbing away.
After a few minutes, she felt composed enough to loosen her hold, and Nicolas moved his hands to hers. "You aren't alone, Babette. In fact… you're in good company."
From her quizzical expression, he glanced away wearing a small smile. "I, too, have felt the cruel effects of heartbreak. Quite potently."
Even though she knew this story already, she was actually eager to hear his side of the tale. On second thought, because she did not want to reveal her own story, she decided to not prompt him. Instead, she said, "It must have been a while ago. You seem fully recovered."
"Oui, that is true. But trust me, it took… a long time." He subtly shook his head at the thought. "Perhaps longer than it should have."
She gave his hands a squeeze. "We cannot decide when our hearts will move on, as much as we want them to."
"That is exactly what you should be telling yourself," Nicolas countered sternly. It was Babette's turn to look away. "Do not feel ashamed, and do not feel guilty for things like this that are beyond your control. It will only do more harm."
He paused to tuck loose strands that had fallen from her chignon behind her ear before softening his tone. "I am not trying to be reprimanding. I only say this because… I had to learn that lesson on my own. I want to spare you the effort, as much as possible. Besides… tragedies like heartbreak, if we overcome them, can only make us stronger. And…" A corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "You already have so much strength in you that I have no doubt you will rise above it."
Babette gazed at him in a quiet wonder. In her mind, it became crystal clear that next to her father, he was the best man she had ever met.
In one smooth motion, she pulled him closer, caressed his cheek, and kissed the other. Looking him in the eye, she smiled at his surprise. "Nicolas, that is exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you."
Quickly recovering from her kiss, though a sparkle in his stare remained, he mirrored her grin. "You're welcome."
Their eyes stayed locked for a tender moment before Nicolas, perhaps out of self-consciousness, glanced at the horizon, and Babette followed his gaze to see golds and oranges highlighting the sky above the treetops. The sunset streamed a beam across the pond as though it were glass. The reds of its surrounding trees' buds glowed from the light.
Babette realized that she still held Nicolas' left hand loosely in her right. Feeling compelled, she intertwined her fingers with his. His eyes widened in that boyish way of his as he looked to her almost in disbelief. Her smile widened at his expression, and she felt the shuffle of butterflies in her stomach.
Yes, she concurred. This feeling… must be something. Something more…