Chapter Twenty-Seven: Business as Usual
Three agonizing days passed, and there was neither word nor sight of Nicolas at the Chantemerle manor. Babette was left crippled by fear, rarely leaving her room in the days that followed her disastrous confession. It didn't seem to matter that she was not only honest with him, but finally honest with herself and her feelings for Lumière. As much as the world might plead that honesty was the best policy, that didn't mean it solved every problem. Deep down, she had known that all along.
Still, despite the wretchedness she currently felt, she could not deny that some relief had come from shedding the weight of her deception. She no longer had anything left to conceal. Nicolas now knew it all, for better or worse.
Babette couldn't accurately guess which direction her intended could possibly be leaning, whether it was on her behalf or not, but one thing was certain: She had given him much to process.
It didn't help matters that her mother was beginning to ask where Nicolas was. "Did he tell you he had commitments to attend to?" Clarisse would inquire. "This is very unusual for him not to have said anything to you. And to not even send a note? Very strange, indeed…"
Babette did her best to evade the prods and questions, trying to assure her mother that Nicolas had other obligations to attend to, but that proved to be terribly inadequate: "Other obligations?" Clarisse would huff. "Over his betrothed?"
This was when Babette chose voluntary isolation over socializing with her parents. She hated to cause them worry, especially her father, but when she was still so unsure about where she and Nicolas stood, she couldn't show any sign of her panic. It was proving to be more and more difficult.
When the sixth day came, she wasn't sure how much more she could withstand. Nothing could distract her, and speaking to anyone, even Bernadette, would cause questions of concern, the very last thing she wanted. What little assurance she had that Nicolas would return when he was ready was on the verge of ceasing to exist. She was about to agree with her mother to ask for word from La Bazolle, but before she could gather the gumption, the viscount himself rode up the drive on his chestnut stallion.
She watched from the window above to be sure, but indeed, there was no denying it was Nicolas. A single thought pierced through all others: She had to speak with him—alone.
Gathering up her skirts, she hurried downstairs, hoping her mother hadn't gotten to him first. But at the top of the staircase, her heart and her steps both came to a stop.
Her betrothed was smiling and spoke amicably to Clarisse, "I am sorry to have given you any cause for worry, madame. I had taken a last-minute trip to visit my cousin in Clement-Ferrand before he left for his tour."
The countess was very obviously relieved and eagerly drank in his excuse. "Oh, of course! You are quite close with him then?"
"Oui, madame. In fact, he made it his goal to spend every minute we could on our own expeditions like how we usually do. I had barely any moment to write a note here or there, but I should have sent word besides and for that, I apologize."
Clarisse dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "There are no apologies necessary, cher, but I appreciate them all the same. Shall I run and fetch Babette?"
"I don't think you will need to," he replied, referring to the stairs where Babette still stood, watching the exchange.
Both their eyes fell on her and she managed to smile back. She wasn't sure if Nicolas had been fabricating a lie to spare them both further questioning, or if he had indeed been away. Since hearing his and Lumière's story about Versailles, she couldn't put weaving a lie past him. "Bonjour, monsieur. Happy to see you have returned to us safely."
"I will leave you two to reconvene," Clarisse said with a departing nod, beaming at how the problem had resolved itself.
Neither of them spoke nor moved as she left. Babette didn't take her eyes off of him, but she saw he was finding it difficult to meet them likewise, at least until the countess's footsteps had been shut behind her husband's study door.
Babette bit her lip before she softly carried her voice down to him. "Thank you for coming."
Nicolas offered a half-hearted smile. "Thank you for granting me time."
She mirrored it. "I honestly didn't…" Expect you to return so soon. Clearing her throat, she entreated instead, "May I… speak with you in private? Please?"
He seemed to have been expecting this, and so silently and graciously nodded.
Beckoning him up the stairs, she led the way down the hall, soliciting a deep breath to clear her head. She had been allowed enough time to rehearse a reconciliation, yet it was then that she was beginning to question her phrasing and approach. This was not something to simply play by ear either.
As she opened the door to her preferred little drawing room for him, she inquired politely, "Should I call for any tea or… refreshments?"
Nicolas shook his head, fulfilling her hopes. "Bon. I would not want us interrupted." Though it was against propriety, it was the least of her concerns at the moment; she shut the door and locked it.
When she faced Nicolas once again, he was carefully watching her. She then hastily explained, "So that we are not caught unawares."
Nicolas complied with another silent nod before taking a seat in the armchair, already becoming lost in thought.
Babette followed suit on the chaise across from him as her eyes flitted between his stern look of contemplation directed at the carpet and the bouncing heel of his shoe. Her nerves were already being pulled to the point of fraying, but his expressive silence was certainly not helping to soothe her.
"Nicolas?"
He looked up at her, and though nothing in his gaze could indicate any ill will, her mouth became numb.
"I… I am… I cannot express how sorry I am—"
He held up a hand. "Please, if I may?"
Tears threatened to breach her eyes, but she blinked to keep them at bay. She nodded and pursed her useless lips closed.
"Sorry, I… only mean you do not need to spare the energy apologizing. Your look of contrition is enough. And I promise I am not here to express my… frustration at this circumstance. I have already come to terms with that."
Her heart leapt. "You have?"
"Oui. I have had… time to process it all. Mull it over… look at it all with a new lens, if you will."
At his calm, gentle tone, Babette had to nod, only too eager for him to proceed.
"There were… signs I noticed upon inspection. Behaviors on both Lumière's end and yours… but mostly his. As much as I now recognize his attempts to hide his true feelings, he did… act strangely. When he told me about being in love, I thought that explained everything. I mean, Lumière… being smitten so strongly by one woman…" He grinned at the thought, which almost made Babette do the same. "It was more than I could have ever hoped for. It was so, so difficult to not inquire further about her, but I had given him my word… at least until we were on our way home from Paris. I… goaded him about this girl, but then he told me she was engaged to another, and that only seemed to provide more reason for why he was acting the way he was. And knowing now that it had been you all along… it does, it makes so much sense."
He tiredly passed a hand over his face before he looked up at her again. "Yet, I never truly stopped to look at the reason for your reactions to him. Like on the day he arrived, or at dinner before the play. Both times, when you expressed any kind of offense, I noticed he had said something that would strike me as inappropriate, so I would just… defend you without question."
Babette felt a stinging behind her eyes. "I will never know how I came to earn your trust."
"Oh, I don't have to wonder on that," he replied, offering a small though sincere smile. "You have never given me reason not to. Besides, Lumière appeared very much in the wrong whenever he would… test you?"
"Something like that," she sighed. "I was not above doing the same to him, but… I was more prepared to see him again than he was to see me." She cast her eyes down at her fidgeting fingers. "Do you realize now how… he was more right than wrong, in regard to me?"
"Babette," he firmly addressed, prompting her to meet his eye, and his expression was assuring. "I told him about that day out by the pond, when you had confessed to me about… your heartbreak. He immediately changed his tune. After that, he was endeavoring to make it up to you. I could see that."
Her voice was small, but hopeful. "Was he truly?"
"Oui, without question. Perhaps he spoke out of turn once or twice, but he was already flagellating himself before I managed to address him about it," he recalled, shaking his head at the thought, and Babette felt a pang in her heart from his words. The ache only increased when Nicolas asked, "Did he… ever manage to earn your forgiveness?"
"Oh, a thousand times over!" she cried. "He should never have felt the need to. Nicolas, he…" The tears she had tried to hold back where beginning to break the surface. "The letter he asked you to give me… it was an apology. He claimed I never did anything wrong, that I was justified in all my actions, and…" She tried to bolster herself with a solid breath, but it came out as a soft sob. "What pains me the most is that during those first few days of his stay, I truly felt I was. But in reality, it is I who should be apologizing. Not him. I never gave him any warning that I was betrothed to you, and after how we had parted ways before…" Her mouth was set, she dug her fingernails into her palms. "What I did was selfish, just as he said."
"Babette," he entreated with that empathetic resolve of his, and he reached to unclench one of her hands. "This is not a situation any human being is properly equipped to handle. Do not punish yourself for not making the soundest of judgments at every turn. If I may be honest, even though it kept me in the dark, I think what you and Lumière did was… really the best course of action you could have taken, given the circumstances."
She stared, aghast. "In what way?"
"Well… no matter which way I imagined it, if you or Lumière had told me the truth too soon… I believe it would have caused more harm than it really did in the end. And I wouldn't have been able to forgive you both as I have."
Stunned, Babette wasn't sure she had heard him correctly, but she couldn't misread his expression of humble, dignified calm. "I… I cannot believe it. How do you already forgive us, after everything we have kept from you, and for this long?"
"Because I know why you both did it. At first, I was… insulted that both of you thought you had to protect me from knowing the truth. But when I thought on it more… it was for the best. Had I known you were the girl Lumière loved, I wouldn't have been able to marry you in good conscience. I think he knew that."
Babette was silent, unable to get her voice to work. Thankfully, she didn't have to; Nicolas continued, "Babette, may I ask… at the château, how did matters between you and him end?"
This change of subject didn't help, but she could at least form an answer. She bit her lip before she sadly shook her head. "With both our hearts broken. But…" She shut her eyes for a moment. "I am mostly at fault for it."
She had expected him to protest again, but Nicolas remained quiet, so she went on, "While I worked as a maid, my true identity was never disclosed. As far as anyone knew, I was only ever a lady's maid to the Chantemerle family. By the time Lumière discovered who I really was, we had already taken up… too much interest in each other. If not for him though… I would never have had the courage to give you a chance."
Nicolas' eyes widened. "Really?"
"My parents had not given me your name yet, but it didn't matter. I was despondent over being told I was already arranged to be wed. But then… Lumière managed to calm me down and… assure me that all would be well."
He paused, but she could tell he was awed at this news. His expression was pensive before he said, "Remember when I apologized for seeming… distant after Paris?"
Babette nodded.
He shifted in his seat. "What happened at La Fleur Noire… admittedly, it… caught me unawares."
"I could gather as much. I was mortified I had allowed myself to have such… gumption."
He gave her a sincere smile. "But see… that is precisely what Lumière would admire of you. I am sure of it. Do not misunderstand what I am about to say, for I think you are an incredible woman, Babette."
Worry had passed over her face, so he warmly took her hands in his again. "My esteem for you is insurmountable, and you shall have it for the rest of my days. But… I do not know if you felt it that night, when it came to our… embrace."
Her brow rose. "You mean…?"
"I… did not feel…"
"La flamme?"
Nicolas shrugged, but nodded. "Cliché, I know, but alas…"
Babette closed her eyes, allowing herself to be relieved. "Dieu merci. I thought something might have been wrong with me."
"Not at all. Quite the contrary."
Babette gripped his hands in return, but they were still trembling. "Nicolas… I understand if you would prefer our engagement be… disbanded. You should not feel obligated to marry me after all of the pain I have caused to you and your dearest friend."
Quiet permeated between them before Nicolas prompted, "And… how would you like to proceed?"
Her sigh was staggered. "It is entirely up to you, chéri. After all I have done, I would not dream of influencing your hand in the slightest."
"Then it's settled." Nicolas stood, reaching into his inside coat pocket, and came to sit beside her. "Mademoiselle Babette de Chantemerle," he addressed, opening up the small velvet box in his hands. "Will you allow our engagement to become… authentic?"
Babette stared at him with a slack jaw, speechless. The generosity and kindness of the man before her knew no bounds. How did such a man exist? How had she come to know him and be in such a position as to become his wife?
Tears flowed down her cheeks without warning. If she tried to speak, she knew only sobs would come out.
Nicolas didn't seem surprised by this reaction. He simply set the ring aside on the nearby table and pulled out his handkerchief. She took it gratefully, and when she did, he gently took her into his arms. Continually in awe of him, she gripped him tightly, doing her best to catch her own tears so as not to repay his unfathomable goodness in sparing her and her family with a wet coat.
When she had managed to catch her breath, she picked up the box and said, "To answer your question… it would be my greatest honor."
The gold band had flowered vines carved all around it, and upon further inspection, she read the engraving on its inside: De tout mon cœur.
As relieved and happy as she felt, there was still a sadness that lingered at what she would be giving up. Her liberty, her autonomy…
No… That was not what she was really upset about losing.
She pushed past the thought. It didn't matter now. Putting on the ring, Babette hugged her soon-to-be husband, kissing him on the cheek. "I shall wear it proudly."
He returned the gesture warmly, but looking into his eyes, she could detect a sense of loss in him, too, even though he was smiling through it. Babette squeezed his hand. "Are you… absolutely sure? What you are doing… is a great sacrifice."
"Same as you," he pointed out before he nodded. "I am certain if you are."
They watched each other carefully, but neither were going to bend. Babette gave a decisive nod. "I am, even if it is a debt I could never possibly repay, but… I will always endeavor to, from hereon in."
"No need to repay anything. And I mean that with all my heart." He smiled before inclining his head to her. "Shall we… tell your parents the news?"
Babette steadied herself with a breath. "That would be for the best."
Nicolas helped her stand before they headed downstairs. Henri informed them her parents were in le petit salon, but Babette hardly registered this and simply followed her fiancé's lead. In all honesty, she was in quite a daze. Had she just agreed to what she thought she had? She glanced at the ring on her left hand, her thumb turning it around her finger. It felt so… strange. What it represented didn't feel real.
As they reached the doorway to their destination, she tried to pull her thoughts together in a pinch.
"Babette?"
Looking up, she realized Nicolas had paused just outside. "Are you all right?" he whispered with concern.
Dieu, how obvious was she? After all of the deception she had wrought, she had thought she was practiced enough in putting on a mask to conceal herself properly.
It is not in my nature, a familiar, candid voice spoke. It never was.
That does not matter now, does it? she snapped.
The opposition bitterly resigned when she silently nodded and mustered what she could of a smile. Though Nicolas wasn't completely convinced, he gestured for her to proceed before him. As she walked inside, a throbbing crossed her heart, and unlike the times before, chose to reside there against her wishes. She didn't have a moment to wonder at it before her mother beckoned them in.
Babette did her very best to act as normal as she could, but the entire time, she was unable to focus. Thankfully, Nicolas did most of the talking, alongside her mother, who couldn't be more pronounced in her rapture at the announcement. She felt her father watching her intermittently throughout, but in those moments, she tried to be apt in her attention so as not to raise suspicion. It wasn't difficult when Clarisse suddenly mentioned naming a date for the wedding. Babette thought her heart had stopped beating, but Nicolas gracefully set the topic aside for another time. She squeezed his hand in gratitude.
As she offered to walk Nicolas out, her father stood, extended his hand and congratulated his soon-to-be son-in-law with a smile. The viscount was clearly pleased by this and shook it with enthusiasm, his eyes full of reverence. Babette had to grin at the sight.
Out of sight from her parents, she playfully nudged him. "I told you he liked you."
"You did, indeed," he happily conceded.
They were silent until they were just outside the front doors, which Babette didn't oppose. Words for her were incredibly scarce. Besides, what more could possibly be said?
The gravel under Nicolas' feet screeched to a halt before he turned to her, contemplating. "Are you sure you're all right?"
Sincerely, she nodded. "Oui. I will just need… time to adjust."
He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Babette." His gentle address made her meet his eye. "I know this is what is expected of us, but… I don't want you to feel you are obligated to accept."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued, "If there is someone else you would... rather…"
She furrowed her brow. "What are you… implying?"
Though he became a little flushed, he smoothly replied, "I only wanted to iterate that… this is not the only way. And I would rather see you happy—truly happy—than married to me. Unless to you, those things are… one in the same. If this is what you want, I will stand by you." He offered a crooked, dimpled smile. "Jusqu'à ce que la mort nous sépare."
Babette lost her words again, so she could only nod in understanding, but she flashed a small grin to acknowledge his attempt to lighten the mood. Nicolas bowed before heading to the stables for his horse, but he glanced back at her one last time. Seeing she was still watching, he smiled at her once more. His eyes, however, were full of sympathetic worry.
Babette shut the door behind her, feeling her insides being torn in two. She was... she was truly relieved that Nicolas would still accept her. Perhaps he was doing so out of love, for she certainly loved him dearly, but… it was not the kind of love that would prompt her to consider marriage, had this arrangement truly been her choice. She had known a greater form of love, had felt it deep in her bones and in the very core of her heart months ago. It was fiery and passionate and unquenchable. As much as she had tried to put out that love for Lumière, it was still burning. Finally admitting to it had made the truth of it clearer than ever before.
Nicolas had been considering her happiness, if she would really be content for the rest of her life beside him. She hadn't let her own happiness cross her mind since she had ridden away from Château du Lac. Everything she had done had been for duty, for family. Her happiness was inconsequential.
But she had begun to believe that Nicolas could make her happy. How could he not? Even now, knowing it wouldn't be the kind of marriage she would want for herself, she thought she would be content.
For how long? chimed that candid, all-knowing voice, and Babette couldn't answer it.
Her heart pounding, she turned her head toward the salon where her parents still resided.
In the doorway, she hesitated. What she would be doing was utterly insane, but she had to get it off her chest. It was one more step toward regaining a peaceful frame of mind. This was something she couldn't keep pretending about.
Even as Babette set foot in the salon, Clarisse was still radiant. "That was so charming of him! How utterly delightful he went out of his way to propose with a ring! Oh, let me see it again, won't you, darling?"
Babette obliged her, but this time took the ring off to show her the inside engraving.
"'De tout mon cœur…'" she murmured aloud, and her hand went to her heart. "Oh, c'est parfait! Do you love it?"
As she was handed the ring back, Babette wanted to shrink under her mother's excited gaze. "It is… incredibly generous of him. To be honest… I am a bit overwhelmed."
"That is perfectly understandable. He certainly went above and beyond!" Clarisse eyed her husband teasingly. "I don't believe you felt it necessary to go to such lengths."
"My apologies, chère. I thought pouring out my heart to you was more than acceptable," René replied with a wry grin.
His analyzing eyes then returned to his daughter, and he saw, alongside her fixation on the carpet, a line had appeared between her brows. "Babette."
She looked up, snapping herself out of her contemplations, and the pensive line disappeared. "Oui, Papa."
His brow rose at this reaction. "Something else is bothering you."
Clarisse snapped her attention on Babette, her eyes widening. "Is there?"
Warmth flooded her cheeks. This was not how she had wanted to address it. She inwardly cursed herself for letting herself drift off. "Um… Perhaps, I… May I..." She took a resigned breath. "I have… something to say."
Concerned, her mother leaned forward on the edge of her seat. "Of course, darling, what is it?"
"I… wanted you both to be aware, because… Nicolas is also aware, that… even though we have agreed to this arrangement and will stand by it… it is not out of… romantic love."
Clarisse's eyes became the size of saucers. "Really?"
When Babette saw her mother sought her clear confirmation, she nodded.
Looking away in thought, Clarisse swept a stray hair from her forehead. "That… is quite surprising. I wholly believed you were both as in love as your father and I were."
"We… thought so, too, but… recent events have confirmed that… I am still in love with another."
A look of recognition passed over her father's face, but Clarisse was dumbfounded. After a moment, all she could utter was, "I do not understand."
Babette looked to René, and at her silent question, he nodded. "You certainly made me wonder if you returned his feelings."
Clarisse's eyes swiveled between them. "Whose feelings?"
René met her gaze. "The maître d'."
"The—" Clarisse blinked rapidly, raising a hand to pause the proceedings. "Nicolas' friend? When—?"
Then her own look of recognition crossed her expression and she sighed. "Oh, of course..."
Babette tried to ignore her mother's exhausted tone as she calmly iterated, "His name is Lumière." She tossed a chastising glance in her father's direction, for she knew he was perfectly aware of this fact, and he yielded to it with a show of open palms.
Her mother rubbed her temples. "Why must this prompt so many questions? All of it is irrelevant anyway."
Babette stared. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it is not as if any of our arrangements can change. You say Nicolas is now aware that you harbor feelings for his old valet?"
With a nod, she answered, "It… shocks me still."
"Oh, God bless him," Clarisse sighed. "He's a saint!"
Babette tried not to let her mother's reaction rub her the wrong way. "He is," she had to agree.
"And you are not in love with him?" Clarisse asked with deep awe.
"I certainly love him," she promised. "But… it is not in the way I love Lumière. He and I… we are practically cut from the same cloth."
The comtesse's brows furrowed, but Babette could see in Clarisse's eyes her confusion. "But… he is a servant."
Her mother's words lit Babette's core like a flint to wood. "That does not matter," she adamantly denounced. "Despite rank and class, he is my equal. And you have seen for yourselves what he would do for me. I am certain I will never encounter another who would tend to me with so much affection after I have been nothing but cold and callous to him since he arrived."
Her throat closed shut, she berated herself for having let such emotion seep into her response. A wave of tears wavered behind her eyes, so she looked to the floor again to regain some semblance of control.
Clarisse pursed her lips. "Fine. I will ask one… maybe two questions, and then we shall put it to rest." Her eyes never leaving her daughter, she urged herself to ask, despite her fears, "Were you in love with him before or after you met Nicolas?"
Babette tried to muster the energy to match her mother's gaze but couldn't. "Before."
Clarisse scrunched up her mouth, and Babette only had to wait until she spoke again. "Was he made aware of your feelings?"
Somehow, her question caused another fissure to appear on Babette's heart, and she realized this was about more than being able to apologize to Lumière.
She didn't mean to keep her mother in anticipation, but it took her a long moment before she shook her head.
Clarisse looked to heaven in relief. "Good. Then we have nothing to be worried about."
Babette didn't react but had again fixated her stare on a pattern in the rug, at least until she heard her father speak. "Petite."
She only met his eye in response, and there, she could register the worried wonder he was harboring for her. He continued in a tender tone, "What has prompted you to let us know?"
She fidgeted with a piece of her skirt before she said, "I had to tell you the truth. I do not want to hide anything anymore."
"Thank you for telling us, chère," her mother spoke up."Truly. I am sorry that your heart is… pining for another, but I promise you, if this is any indication, you and Nicolas will survive all trials. With such a generous and compassionate man as him, you shall want for absolutely nothing."
Babette could only nod in compliance before she mumbled of weariness and needing rest before dinner. She strode out of the parlor without waiting for a response. She didn't know what she had expected, but in all honesty, this should have been it: her mother attempting to be encouraging and sympathetic but unmoved, and her father remaining contemplatively and unhelpfully silent.
Try as she might, she didn't make it to her chambers before her cheeks became streaked with tears.
In the great words of Mushu, "I LIIIIIIIIIIVE!"
These past few months really got away from me. I blame adulting. That's it. Just... adulting. (Post-grads, can you relate?) Still, my tens of thousands of apologies for those who have been patiently waiting all this time! If you guys are still reading, you are all amazing - and have my gratitude forever!
Thankfully, this quarantine has afforded me some time to write. It's been slow-going still due to the fact that this ending has to be RIGHT. I've been working diligently on it to make it satisfying, so I hope I accomplish that.
My dearest wish is that my next update will be within a couple weeks. Feel free to poke me if I don't! Until then, stay safe and healthy, folks!