Chapter Twenty-Six: Honesty
"Monsieur, do you take this mademoiselle to be your wedded wife?"
The gardens of La Bazolle were always beautiful in the spring.
"To live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?"
That tree littered the pond they skipped stones on with buds each year without fail, yet the sun skimmed the water's surface with such a rich glow at the hour of dusk.
"Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health?"
There was so much blinding white in his vision, it was almost… ethereal.
"And forsaking all others, remain faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"
The answer was obvious, even automatic. "I do."
The dialogue repeated itself, but he didn't pay it much attention, for he then noticed a distinct silhouette in the pearly cloud right before him that for some reason, he hadn't noticed before. It answered the same questions that were first directed at him, those two simple words being the most entrancing syllables he had ever heard.
"I do," it said.
"Those whom God hath joined together… let no man separate."
Finally recognizing the voice, he turned his head to see Nicolas seeming pleased by this turn of events.
"Mon frère, you may kiss the bride."
The cloud shifted, and what was actually a veil was swept away by a milky arm to reveal coquettish lips, a button nose, and eyes the color of the clearest sky.
A sharp intake of breath later and Lumière's eyes flew open, frozen at what his mind had dared conjure. When it carried so many weighty connotations, he hardly knew what to think.
On second thought, he didn't want to think.
With an exasperated groan, he passed a hand down his face. All that ridiculous dream proved was what he had assumed all along: He was too far-gone to stay in this manor another minute.
It was still dark outside. He could probably get a couple more hours of sleep in before having to get ready.
He rolled over, shutting his eyes to the world, real and imaginary, but as much as he regretted it, his mind was still alive and alert. He couldn't help it. It admittedly amazed him—despite his bitterness at the fact—to find his subconscious, one belonging to a steadfastly proud bachelor, had crafted him into a wedding ceremony.
Although, one could say his confidence in his belief of bachelorhood had hair-fine cracks that ran deceptively long and deep. He was sure that placing enough pressure at the right point along them could ultimately cause whatever assurance he had left to crumble.
Lumière tossed in bed again and again, but it was too late. His mind had awakened the rest of him.
Throwing the blankets aside, he grabbed a match from his side table, lit a candle, and made his way down the hall.
He had known seeing Babette so often would be unwise. Perhaps distance made the heart grow fonder, but it was surely not as much as lack of distance did. Yet since his first visit to her room, he had found it much too easy to persuade himself it would be rude to stay away. At least he had the fortitude to stay firmly on the sidelines.
Still, that in itself had tried him, for at brief intervals, he would catch Babette watching him expectantly, and Dieu, did that entice him to toss his inhibitions aside. Lumière remembered like it was yesterday how easy and free their conversations used to be, and he wanted to think, based on the glances she had thrown his way, that she hoped for the same.
But these were foolish thoughts to consider. How could it ever go back to the way it had been before? It was hard enough as it was, but once she became a married woman…
He entered the library and strode directly to the bibliothèque. Though he longed for a private audience with her, it was starkly plain how impossible and frankly, inappropriate it would be to attempt gaining one. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more it appeared to be unnecessary. He was the one with amends to make.
He had initially been void of sympathy and understanding for her predicament when he should have been the one to sympathize most of all; being prodded into an engagement while nursing a broken heart? He must have been the very last person on earth she had wanted to see. It was a miracle she had been treating him well at all, especially with such warmth and unspoken earnestness.
She could do with this what she liked. All he could do was leave it all in her hands. It wouldn't entirely do, but it was the best way to communicate as of now. He hoped this would help to clear a part of his conscience until he could seek pardon properly at the soonest opportunity.
His candle was sputtering on its last bit of wick by the time he was satisfied with his handiwork. And by then, it was the twilight of dawn.
The following morning played out in the usual routine established for her condition: Marie, Augustine's maid, came in to help Babette out of bed and limp with crutches to the bath, of which getting in and out of was an endeavor in itself. Once washed and dried, she was helped into a fresh robe and linens and was promptly returned to her post in bed, thereupon ending Babette's brief daily excursion of viable freedom.
But that particular day was different, because the doctor would make a visit to see if she was well enough to return home.
Her breakfast soon arrived with Nicolas carrying the tray. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he greeted with a smile.
In a considerably better mood than the whole week prior, she said, "Bonjour, mon cher, and how kind!" Wearing a smirk, she eyed him knowingly. "Did you take the tray right out of poor Marie's hands?"
"She did not object," Nicolas replied, handing it to Babette for her to situate it on her lap as she wanted. "Besides, I was also assigned to play the messenger."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tightly folded piece of parchment. "Lumière wanted to send his best regards, and hopes your recovery remains swift."
"Oh!" A little confused, she took the letter from him and saw that her name was written on it in a hastily flowing script that somehow struck her as familiar, but she couldn't identify its writer. "Who did they say this was from?"
She looked up to see Nicolas eyeing her curiously, clearly amused. "As I said: They are well-wishes from Lumière."
As they probably should have the first time, the implications soundly clicked into place, and Babette tried to keep the sudden warmth from rising to her cheeks. "Is… M. Lumière not able to tell me himself?"
"I am sure he would have, but he left to return to the château at dawn this morning."
Without warning, her heart sank at this news. "Oh… How long was his stay?"
"Only three weeks." He smiled. "It went by quickly, did it not?"
"Not since I have been confined to this bed, but…" Her brow furrowed, as she was hardly able to fathom the concept of time at that moment. "I suppose it has been two weeks at least, as the doctor had promised."
"And we were in Paris for the first of it," he reminded before he inquired her with a look. "Might I dare say you seem… disappointed?"
She was almost afraid to meet his eyes, but once she did, she saw he was teasing. She offered a shrug, grinning. "Not so much to deter the thought of finally being free to leave this room."
"Mm-hmm, a likely story," he playfully prodded. "Truly, how have you taken to him? Should I reevaluate my taste in friends?"
Her thoughts had become distracted, but she did her best to hide that fact with a smirk. "I should hope not, for I cannot imagine that would look well for me either."
Nicolas chuckled. "Oh, jamais, mademoiselle! If I must endure teases, I certainly prefer having them come from you."
An eyebrow arched, she simply said, "I shall remember that."
He looked like he wanted to smack his hand to his forehead. "When will I learn that anything I say can and will be used against me?" he teasingly bemoaned, and Babette giggled in response.
He then took a step toward the door. "I regret to say this, but I have an errand I must attend to this morning. I promise I will keep you better preoccupied until the doctor arrives as soon as I return."
Babette smiled at his ever-endearing manner. "I will be here."
Once he had bowed out of the room, her attention turned again to the small sealed letter in her hands. Nicolas had given the impression it was purely a polite courtesy note, but the parchment seemed… too dense to only contain a few short sentences of farewell.
She popped the seal and realized, upon unfolding it, that she had been right. It was a large sheet of tightly written script in nearly perfect lines, all in Lumière's hand.
Ma chère Mademoiselle,
Before you continue reading, I would advise you only to do so in complete privacy. This letter contains details that we have both worked terribly hard to remain undisclosed, and for it all to be compromised by quite literally my hand… We can agree that I have made enough misjudgments regarding this sensitive state of affairs for another one to occur and be permissible.
Now that you are alone, I will profess to you that if it were not due to the limits of this world, I would spend every waking hour in penance if only to make amends for all of the transgressions I have made against you. Thankfully, I learned the error of my ways after we sparred words in Mme. de Créquy's garden, but even by then, it was too late. I refused to see how my presence alone had made your circumstances so much harder to bear. I tried to disguise my cruelty toward you as concern for Nicolas, but all it turned out to be was a paltry attempt to nurse my selfish pride.
Your distrust of me thereafter was completely warranted, but I will confess that it pained me to see the extent of the damage I had wrought. To have purposely and with intent attempted to divulge secrets that were not mine… I ache at the memory as I write. You did not deserve my scorn. You never did, and you never have.
Despite any poor slips of the tongue, please know that after I came to my senses, I only sought to regain the esteem I had lost from you. Your good opinion means more to me than I dare say.
A part of me hoped that since our talk on the theatre's balcony, you have begun to forgive me. Not being able to know of that fact for certain is the only regret I have by disclosing all of this in a note. When our latest exploit together almost caused you to suffer a devastating injury, it seemed best that I maintain as much distance from you as I could. Believe me, ma chère, I would not willingly evade your company, for I cherish any and all moments when I am able to bask in it. I had to take into consideration not only what might be best for you, but what was best for Nicolas.
While we are on the subject, I must confess that, though I initially disapproved of the arrangement due to, again, my own foolishness, I am now glad that of all the potential husbands, you have found him. There is no one else living I would trust with my life more than him. What is more, he has you, an intelligent and spirited woman of grace and fortitude at his side. I could not imagine two people who could be more deserving of each other.
If I could dare make a request of you, for I hope it does not seem too presumptuous: The truth, in its entirety, is yours to tell, wholly and completely. All I ask is that you are honest with Nicolas about where you were last autumn. Whatever your reasons were for telling him you were in a convent instead is of no concern. I trust them to be valid. I only suggest you tell him the truth because it is a burden I feel you should not have to carry with you any longer. I can understand it will be difficult, but Nicolas will forgive you, for I at least know your intent was innocent.
There is one more thing I wish to relate to you before I end this letter: I want to caution that should you tell Nicolas the truth about how we had met prior to my visit, that you do not refer to us as ever having been more than friends. I do not wish to worry you, for you have no reason to, but I believe it is best that brief moment in our history be kept between us.
With that, I have said my piece.
Babette, I wish you all the happiness and comfort that can possibly be attained. Should you ever need my assistance in any way, I am forever and always at your disposal.
Your most humble servant,
L.
When Babette tried to breathe, her chest felt as though it had suddenly been clasped in a vice. Her chance to speak with him, to apologize for her own childish behavior, and for purposely excluding him from knowing she was engaged to his best friend… She had missed it. And he had taken her chance with him.
She didn't know who to be angrier with: herself or Lumière.
Really, how could she have taken the initiative? In her state, she had been utterly dependent on him to take a moment to speak with her, and yet—
Shutting her eyes tight, she firmly shook her head. He would have had to meet with her privately, when they couldn't have been interrupted. And when was it ever an appropriate time for a man to visit a lady who was not a relative or a wife?
No. Lumière had graciously taken all the blame when in reality, the fault solely lay with her. She was the one who had been brusque and cold upon their reintroductions. It had been her actions that had caused her to lose his trust and faith. Her pride had caused them both to fling suspicion in each other's direction. Not his.
She had pushed him away.
"Mademoiselle?"
Babette started slightly, but somehow resisted the impulse to hastily fold away the letter like a guilty party. "Oui, Renaud?"
"M. Guérin has arrived."
She allowed herself to foster some relief at that news. "Send him in, s'il vous plaît."
After Renaud bowed out and before the doctor walked in, she folded up the letter and placed it in the midst of her current leather-bound novel's pages where no one but her would be the wiser. It was finally time—hopefully, if God was willing—to be removed from the unending obligation of being ever gracious and hospitable. She would be given permission to return home and be able to relax, and she couldn't wait.
It wasn't what Babette had hoped for, but M. Guérin allowed one more week of rest at home with some mobility in a wheelchair, which gave her at least a fractional sense of independence.
Upon her homecoming, and much to her surprise, her household had arranged beautiful bouquets to be set in vases in her room where she could admire them and smell their perfume, and they had each contributed some money to purchase a box of fine candies and morsels from the best chocolatier within five miles. Babette had never really known they had cared so much about her to be so generous. It had almost brought her to tears, she was so touched.
Bernadette doted on her constantly like an affectionate older sister, and always insisted on helping Babette whenever she wanted some fresh air. The maid was happy to stroll with her mistress along the garden paths while she caught her up on the goings-on at the Chantemerle manor, and Babette couldn't thank her enough for the company. With everything she was continuing to worry about, some distraction from her tumultuous thoughts and feelings was most welcome.
Before Babette fell asleep, she would try to finish the book she had started while at La Bazolle. The letter that she had slid into it now resided in her nightstand drawer. Several times, it seemed to call to her to be read again, as though she had to reply to it. But Babette was stumped at how she could possibly write one when everything she wanted to say came out flat and insincere on paper. She couldn't abide not being able to apologize to Lumière in-person, and it caused her to sleep fitfully every night.
There was still a letter she could send, however. One that was long overdue.
In the middle of May, the good doctor declared her knee fully healed without any signs of extended or permanent complications. As soon as Guérin had left, Babette put on her working boots, hiked up her skirts, ran down the halls to the back door, and did a lap around the grounds. The crisp air bit into her lungs so delightfully, her heart racing and cheeks flushing from the activity. She happily collapsed under the giant maple tree on the edge of their garden and basked on the grass for a good half hour. To feel so free again was the stuff of life she lived and breathed for.
When she skipped back inside, it only added to her rapture when a letter had arrived for her from le Château du Lac. She immediately galloped upstairs to her chambers for some privacy before tearing open the letter, the elegant script of her friend awaiting her.
Babette!
You have no idea how overjoyed you made me when I saw a letter to me was from you! Before I write any further, mes félicitations on your engagement.If you write of le Vicomte so well, I can only imagine what a gentleman you shall have as a husband, and a good man besides. You certainly deserve a monsieur who makes you as happy as you seem to be.
I am so pleased to hear you are better from your injury. When this reaches you, I hope you walked on your own two legs again to retrieve it. Allow me to say, just for one meager sentence of this letter: I know how you enjoy such sport and excitement, but please, even if only for my sake, promise me you will have more regard for your well-being in the future!
Voilà, my gentle yet justified bit of censure ends there. Now to your inquiries.
Business is very usual here at the château. We had an unusually busy season this year, but after Easter, things have slowed down considerably, par le Dieu. I could finally rest! I swear, once winter turns into spring, the change in decoration must happen at the drop of a hat. I wake up and do not stop moving until I fall into bed again. I am perfectly content now, thankfully, as well as the rest of us here.
One thing that is different that we wish we still had was your company, mon amie. Mrs. Potts and I both agree you made our days a little brighter with your candor and cleverness. As I have told you before, we need more of those qualities in this household.
Whenever you visit du Lac next, forward a note in advance. In fact, send as much correspondence to me as you would like. I have missed our talks, and the more time that has passed since you left us, the more I cherish our time together. And be assured, I do not harbor any resentment toward you merely because you have never sent a letter. With a fiancé and impending wedding, not to mention the other social obligations you must attend to, I am not offended in the slightest that you did not write. You have written to me now, and that is what matters. My only hope is that it can continue, your time and energy allowing.
Until I hear from you again,
Dearest love and regards,
Angélique
At first, Babette had been grinning like a fool, thrilled to be reading words from someone she had felt such a kinship with but hadn't spoken to in months. A sense of longing slowly grew as she read on, but when she got to the end, she was left somewhat disappointed. There had been no mention of Lumière.
But why?
Since Babette was engaged to another, and indicated she was happy with the arrangement, there shouldn't be any concern that brokenhearted feelings would resurface. She was more than aware he and Angélique were friends again. She had been there to see they had moved past their previous flirtation. After Babette had left, however, had more occurred since then?
She frowned. Not that she wanted to accuse Angélique of being purposefully withholding, but she didn't like not being informed, especially when it was intentional. Based on how much the viscountess was concerned about this only proved Lumière was a sensitive subject at the moment. Babette had also resisted the impulse to ask about him in the letter that had incited this reply. She knew her friend would have told her to simply ask him herself. What really bothered Babette most was that Angélique seemed to be quite cognizant of that fact, and Babette wasn't the one who had told her.
Setting Angélique's letter aside, she went to her nightstand and pulled out Lumière's yet again, scanning it for anything she had missed. Could his smooth, eloquent words and phrasing be hiding the remains of resentment and hurt? Was his offer for her to write him should the necessity… or simple desire arise, completely sincere? Did he truly care for her still or not?
Did she want him to care?
Did it matter to her either way?
Falling into the pillows, she tossed the note to lay next to Angélique's on the other side of her bed. That brief high of freedom from mere minutes ago had been obliterated. She almost felt as if resilient metal bars had just been erected to surround and confine her once again.
How convenient that he could apologize for all of his lapses in judgement and poor behavior. What about her? How was she to atone? Perhaps a letter would do for his wrongs, but she had started this entire mess. Writing out an apologetic missive was not even close to being adequate.
The truth, in its entirety, is yours to tell…
Babette opened her eyes. That was it.
If she cleared the air of all the noxious lies she had permitted to fester for this long, harmony could finally ensue. Lumière wouldn't be some new acquaintance to her any longer, but a mutual friend she could return to being herself around in Nicolas' presence. Their calculated restraint and avoidance of what had occurred between them had been stifling and uncomfortable on both ends. She could change that, which would encourage Lumière to be more open around her and perhaps even to visit her and Nicolas more often.
As great as the potential good laying out the truth would do, her stomach churned at the thought of having to confess it all to Nicolas. "Difficult" was hardly sufficient enough to describe how much it would pain Babette to admit what she had done, and the reassurance that Nicolas would forgive her as easily as Lumière had implied seemed ridiculous. If Babette was in Nicolas' shoes, she would be furious.
Luckily, Nicolas was of a much more patient temperament. Perhaps… it would not be as bad as she feared.
Babette heaved a heavy sigh. She prayed it would not.
Sooner rather than later, Babette invited Nicolas to join her for her first walk with him around her family's gardens since she was injured. It was a beautiful clear afternoon when the de Créquy's carriage pulled into the Chantemerle's drive. Dressed in one of her more comfortable spring dresses, Babette came out herself to greet her fiancé at the door.
She blinked at Nicolas' olive-green satin coat and embroidered vest. They brought out the green flecks in his hazel eyes, which piqued her curiosity. Her anxious mind, however, kept her from not only voicing how dashing he looked, but from asking what the occasion could be after he was done with his visit. A formal dinner, perhaps?
As they began their stroll, he exclaimed, "She not only stands, but walks! How are you feeling? You are completely healed, oui?"
Giving her worrisome thoughts a mental shove, she twirled for him to further prove her answer true. "I am so much better now that I have all my faculties again, merci." Gathering up her penchant for teasing, she prodded playfully, "Are you not thankful I do not plague your home anymore?"
Nicolas balked at her. "You joke, mademoiselle, but I consider that a slight! You are never anything but a delight when you grace us with your company."
"Even when you had to suffer my complaints?"
He chuckled. "Complaints? You mean the honest and fair observations about your lack of mobility?" She had to laugh, shaking her head at his euphemistic phrasing as Nicolas reminded humorously, "Ones you always apologized for, by the by. You had every right to make them, even more so when we could not be there to entertain you properly."
Babette shrugged. "As much as I may wish, the world does not stop turning when I am unable to participate in it."
"I certainly wish that was the case. I would have been happy to take a break from the world with you."
Babette smiled, but let the conversation drift to silence. On the surface it was a cozy one, but she couldn't overcome the weight of the impending conversation ahead of her.
Coming to the large maple tree that overlooked the main gardens, she sat on its swing and beckoned Nicolas to join her. He seemed to be content not to say anything more, which she supposed was for the best. Her thoughts were racing too much to have been able to respond and not have her apprehension be noticed.
The fact that they were shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh did little to help matters. The contact, as casual as it was when you were two adults sitting on a plank of wood meant for one, was more of a distraction than she had anticipated, especially when she had mixed feelings about it... It must just be her nerves.
Nicolas speaking up suddenly became a welcome sound. "This is a lovely prospect," he noted with admiration.
Smirking, she said impressively, "It is even better from the top of the swing."
"Undoubtedly!"
Silence permeated between them again, and Babette, staring off into the horizon, retreated into her ponderings once more.
How to even begin? Nicolas, there are things you need to know about me I have yet to disclose… I never meant any of it to go this far, but… time and circumstances being what they became… being what they are…
Oh Dieu, why did every word seem woefully inadequate? It all felt like a meaningless excuse to save her own skin.
She was pressing her forehead to the taut rope of the swing when Nicolas abruptly stood.
"Babette?"
She snapped her head up at his address as he turned tentatively to face her.
"I have perhaps a"—he politely cleared his throat—"redundant question to ask you, if you might humor me?"
The viscountess watched him carefully. His demeanor had changed. He was having trouble meeting her eye at first, and his voice faltered.
Her mind whirred at a faster rate, and she was beginning to read deeper into how he appeared to her in that moment.
Babette pulled a part of herself back into the present and nodded for him to proceed. "Of course."
Nicolas attempted to take a deep breath, as shaky as it was. His eyes became interested in his foot fidgeting on a patch of grass. "It is a known fact that… we are already engaged to be married. But we have both chosen to treat our affiliation as… something less intimidating."
Babette couldn't take her eyes away. The buzzing in her brain had suddenly and miraculously taken pause. She was already physically holding her breath, but it seemed as though her heart and mind were doing the same on their own.
He hesitated, but resumed his seat beside her and gingerly took her hand. It hung rather lax in his grip at first, but the warmth of his fingers enclosing hers made her instinctively grasp it back.
"I wanted to ask you, then… if the thought of us as… husband and wife… is any more of a welcome one? Compared to before, I mean."
Heat rose to her cheeks, but though she wanted to turn away to hide it, all she could do was blink and stare. It wasn't until she recognized Nicolas growing more worried at her silence did she shake herself out of it.
Honestly, what was wrong with her? Pull yourself together! she berated.
"It was never an unwelcome thought, chéri, I assure you," she confirmed with a squeeze to his palm.
He swallowed before he replied, "Despite perhaps, any unfavorable opinions about marriage still in your possession?"
"It would depend on the man," she simply answered.
She smiled at seeing this visibly eased him, even just slightly. It never ceased to gratify her that she had the ability to calm him. Perhaps that could be a sign of a harmonious union between them.
She then saw him reach his hand into his coat's inside breast pocket, and her hand shot up to stop him.
"Nicolas, wait!"
He looked to her, his eyes wide, and her heart pounded uncomfortably against her ribcage as she realized what this must look like. She slowly removed her hand, in awe at her own actions.
She had done it. The time to speak was now.
"Before you…"
Her voice faded away, and the following sigh was a weary one—far too much so to come from a woman of her age and station. "I have… something to confess."
She tried to meet his unwavering eye, but she couldn't do so for longer than a second. Her gumption was faltering, but she had to keep going. A long dormant craving to finally confess made itself known, and she chose to gather assurance from it; that this was the right thing to do.
"I was… not sent away to a convent, as we've told you—as my parents have told you," she had to correct. "Know that when I repeated it, it was their wish, not mine. Instead, I was… a maid at le Château du Lac."
Whatever question he was fostering in his mind was abandoned by the awe of this news. "Château du Lac? Then…" His brow twitched, as though it was unsure whether to furrow or rise. "You must have known Lumière."
Babette swallowed with some difficulty. "I did. I even… worked under him in the kitchens."
Stunned, he contemplated this for a moment before speaking. His voice grew firmer with each syllable. "Yet… he pretended not to have met you?"
"Please do not be angry with him," she defended in an instant, her words flowing out without hesitation. "He had no choice. I did not have the courtesy to warn him I was betrothed to you. My hope—my dearest wish, in fact—is for you to understand why I continued to lie."
She paused, her look a silent plea in itself. "Shall I… explain my reasoning?"
His eyes moved away from her to search the horizon before he rested his hands on his knees. "Well… I imagine by the time you discovered Lumière and I were friends, it was too late to say you knew each other without admitting you had lied from the beginning."
He spoke very diplomatically, but she was uncertain whether she should be concerned by this reaction. When he would speak as such, he was normally teasing.
"Yes," she answered, admittedly, if only slightly, relieved by his quick discernment, but it did little to ease how wretched she was beginning to feel.
Her next breath was filled with defeat. "I could not bring myself to take the risk of losing your trust, but… it was inevitable that all of the deception would catch up to us and reveal itself."
She hung her head, shutting her eyes to stem the oncoming tears. "It was foolish of me to believe otherwise, or to withhold it for this long."
"Babette…"
Nicolas took her hand gently into his and spoke just as well, but that just made it harder for her to look at him. "I understand why both you and your parents lied. With… the reputation you had, they needed to in some way express to potential husbands you were redeeming yourself."
He was absolutely right, but her jaw tightened at the reminder nonetheless. "My parents managed to convince me it was a little white lie, but you know how much I hate deception."
He covered her hand. "I do. And I forgive you and your parents for it. And Lumière. I am sure he thought it was not his place to tell."
Babette was astonished. How could he be comforting her after she had deceived him the way she had?
While she was trying to sort out whether she felt blessed or deplorable, she saw a notion come alive behind his eyes. "Actually," he prompted, "may I ask you a question of your time at the castle?"
She blinked her mind clear again with a nod. "Of course."
In Nicolas' first word, her stomach clenched. "Lumière… has refused to disclose much of this woman he was in love with."
Babette froze, and her emotions with her. She had to hear what he had to say first before she could react.
He went on curiously, "You wouldn't happen to know of her, would you? Had you been working there at the time?"
She hung on his every word. "What did he say about her?"
"Practically nothing," he replied with a disappointed grimace. "I wish he would, but I cannot badger him about it."
Concern crowded his features. "He seemed… in pain whenever she was mentioned. If I knew even a name, I would scour all of France to find her. I have never seen him talk of a woman so endearingly."
Her heart was pounding anxiously inside her. It took all her power to keep her voice level. "I believe… I may know. Did he tell you… anything about her?"
He shook his head. "Very little. But…"
His hazel eyes brightened as he remembered, "He did say that she was the most aggravating girl he had ever met. She was as much of a girl as he is a boy—his words," he pardoned, though it was clear he found that description intriguing. "I assumed that meant they had much in common, enough to cause a few arguments between them.
"And," he proceeded to add, "when I asked how she looked, all he said was… 'perfect;' that no other word could do her justice. I wonder what to him the perfect woman would look like."
Babette felt her blood run cold, yet somewhere in the recesses of her mind, where she had buried much of her feelings regarding that time of her life as a maid… suddenly rejoiced. The overwhelming shock of such a revelation however, silenced the din of its rapture.
"Nicolas…"
He glanced up from his reverie, but became alarmed when he saw Babette looked as though she had just seen a ghost. "What is it? Are you feeling all right?"
She fumbled for his hand, gripping it tightly. She had known this deep, deep down, though she never wanted to admit it. Not to herself, not to anyone.
"Nicolas," she breathed, hardly able to catch it. "The girl he spoke of… was me."
Nicolas had yet to react, but Babette turned her gaze away before she could see what it was. She was overwhelmed with too much of her own feelings to gauge another's.
Pulling her hand away, she had to stand, to step away from him and be in her own space. What had she done? Lumière had warned her of this, and she had just let their truth fall from her loose lips. She had been so in control of herself for this long, and to falter now of all times?
She knew it. She knew she could never do this. Any of this.
"How long have you known?"
His voice called her back. Looking up, she glanced over her shoulder at him, unable to process and comprehend his question. "Known?"
He rose from the bench, his expression determined, yet somehow sympathetic. "That you love him."
Babette didn't blink. Her mouth opened, but barely a sound came out. "I… I do not—"
Nicolas' skeptical look stopped her, but only made her more indignant.
"I—I don't know!" she cried with a huff, throwing up her arms. Her intended image was tarnished, however; her first tear traced its way down her cheek.
Hastily wiping it away, she crossed her arms again. "I have not thought about it in months."
"Weeks."
She looked to him in confusion, but Nicolas was quietly confident. "Five weeks, in fact," he patiently reminded, stepping closer. "When you visited me? And I showed you how to properly skip stones?"
Her features slowly wilted as she recalled that day. Damn it all… he was right!
"Fine!" she snapped. "I did. Is that what you want to hear?"
He wasn't baited by her retort, and he calmly waited for her to answer him properly.
She scrunched up her mouth, but her shoulders drooped. Shutting her eyes tight, she had to concede, "Oui. C'est vrai… But I could not admit it to myself."
Her eyes opened, and they were beseeching. "I wanted to love you."
Desperation had taken hold of her. She took up his hands again, looking up at him with reverence in her gaze. "You, who are all that anyone should strive to be like, who are everything good and honest in this selfish, blasphemous world. I dared to dream I could be worthy of your hand, Nicolas, and I promise you, with every fiber of my being, I tried."
More tears fell, and a sob threatened to burst from her throat. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry I could not be what you deserve."
He looked like he didn't know whether to hug her or shake her. "Babette, of course you were! You were more than I ever could have hoped for! I wanted a woman with a mind and heart of her own, and the mademoiselle I agreed to meet turned out to be this fiercely independent, demure, charming, and beautiful woman with wit as sharp as a rapier. Perhaps… you are not as demure as was initially impressed on me, but… I had come to admire you greatly as a dear friend, and… I had even danced with the notion that I might be in love."
His response was stronger than she could have predicted. The corner of her mouth managed to lift. "As did I."
"But I am not what you say, this…" He shook his head in disbelief. "… god among men that you describe. If you thought of me so highly, why did you not think me worthy of hearing the truth?"
She could hear the hurt in his voice, though he was trying not to show it. "It is because of your goodness that made me want to protect you from the truth. As did Lumière."
His brow furrowed. "How convenient he should no longer be here to speak for himself," he muttered. "And then he leaves you to divulge this to me alone?"
She adamantly shook her head, placing a hand on his arm. "He was not at fault for any of this. All of the blame is mine, and mine alone. It was my responsibility to tell you the entire truth." Her heart ached a little differently than it already did at that moment. "He knew it was what I wanted."
Her fiancé stood, shrinking away from her touch, and she realized she had allowed a quiet adoration for his friend to slip into her tone.
"Then answer me this, Babette," he calmly put, but his voice was beginning to rise. "If I am so great a man, then why was I not able to see through any of your lies and deceit? Or any of Lumière's, a man I have called my friend—my brother for twenty years!"
Blinking in awe, he was still attempting to fathom it all. "I have either been indefinitely cursed with naiveté, or I happen to be acquainted with two of the best charlatans on this side of France!"
Nicolas dropped his hands in defeat, his lips tightening into a line. "I must leave you." He was already turning his back to her as he imparted flatly, "Good evening and good night, mademoiselle."
He left Babette on the lone tree hill, and she was only able to watch him leave. She collapsed to the grass beneath her feet, trembling from the gravity of what she had wrought. It was all she could do not to ponder on if that ring he had been about to gift her with would ever reside on her own finger.