What Love Is Worth, Ch. 3

Time passed quickly in the excitement and tumult of the Italians' visit. King Louis was determined to impress his significantly jaded cousins. It was for this reason that the four Inseperables and a group of their fellow musketeers found themselves assembled on the lawns of the palace. Christine smiled in greeting as she glided towards them, her pale gown matching her eyes exactly.

"I didn't know that you would all be here today," she said as she drew even with them. Aramis beamed at the sight of her and his hands went instinctively to her waist.

She smiled at him for a half second before D'Artagnan's cough reminded them that they were not necessarily among friends when on the palace grounds. She blushed and they stepped apart.

"Thank you," she whispered to D'Artagnan as she passed him to engage the Marquis de Varone in conversation. D'Artagnan frowned slightly and shook his head. It felt as though their love was infectious and it was a shame that his friends had to hide it at court, he thought.

oOo

Valentina sat poised at the fountain's edge watching the musketeers. She recognized the four who had escorted her to Paris. She looked at the handsome one, Aramis, and she pursed her lips. She had been requesting his presence whenever possible as she toiled away her time in the palace. She watched him as he stood guard, and chatted with him when she could. He was obviously charming, and she liked the way his dark eyes had a sense of mischief to them, as though he quite enjoyed getting into trouble.

The other one she found handsome too, the one with the intense blue eyes, but she was on holiday and had thought that Aramis, with his playful and easy manner, would be less work than the other and might help her fill her days. So far though he had rejected her advances, even her blatant invitations.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw the Comtesse des Etoiles approach those men. They burned with jealousy when she saw the light come to the musketeer's face when he saw her, and there, just for a moment – hardly a blink of an eye – they forgot themselves as he placed his hands upon her waist and she gazed up into his eyes.

"SO!" thought Valentina, a cruel smile playing on her lips, "It looks as though they're lovers!"

And instantly her game shifted.

She no longer dreamt of seducing the man – if that happened as a result of her quickly forming plot, well that would just be a bonus. Now, she was determined to sow discord, to bring a little darkness to the world of this woman who had dared to scold her and who had somehow managed to enrapture the musketeer and her brother too, it would seem.

She paused for a moment considering Marcello. He might not approve of her game, but he would thank her later if it resulted in the Comtesse's time becoming more available to him. And Marcello's happiness was all she wanted, after all…that and her own entertainment.

oOo

The King had arranged for entertainment on the lawns that day so the courtiers, with the musketeer escort, marched towards a pavilion that had been erected.

Christine walked next to Elisa, the daughter of the Marquis D'Orsay, chatting happily. Marcello approached them and bowed to the women, smiling. He carried a pad and some charcoals with him.

"I requested that the King have L'Orpheo performed for you in its entirety," he said to Christine. "I know that you enjoy it."

"Did you really?" she said smiling at him. "Thank you! How kind," she said.

"But isn't that in Italian?" Elisa asked.

"Yes," said Christine excitedly. "Perhaps Marcello, could explain it to you," she said with a grin, which Elisa returned and batted her eyelashes at the Duke.

Marcello fought the urge to roll his eyes as the young woman gazed at him. Noble women were used to getting their way, but Marcello had always been more interested in the chase. The fact that Christine continuously sidestepped his advances did nothing to deter his interests in her. In the time that he had spent in her company at court, he consistently found her more and more compelling. She was able to discuss theatre and philosophy and he soon learned of her medical knowledge that she applied at the Musketeers' garrison. She was a responsible leader of her people and advocated for the poor, the working and the uneducated at court. She was clever and witty and his laughter with her was genuine.

And then there was the simple fact that Christine was beautiful. The other women at court tended to overdress, showing their wealth and power in the opulence of their gowns and the jewels that adorned their bodies. It was as though they all wore these beautiful costumes to hide the blandness of their personalities, but not Christine. Her dresses were well-made, but simple, more aligned with the fashions of Italy than the opulence and excessive lace of the French.

The more that Marcello thought on Christine, the more he began to realize how his feelings had evolved. He was no longer simply interested in the Comtesse – he was falling in love with her.

The one thing that seemed to constantly be standing in his way was the Musketeer.

He knew that they were lovers – he could tell from the instant they met and the man escorted the Comtesse from the palace that night of the party. They had sized each other up in that instant – a stallion can always spot his competition when a mare is around. Marcello was eager for the competition and eagerly continued to seek the Comtesse's company whenever possible. He rather enjoyed watching the Musketeer's reactions when the King sat Christine by his side, especially if he managed to make her laugh at a luncheon.

Marcello also knew that position and power won out in the end. The Musketeer had nothing he could offer the woman, where a life with Marcello promised to be one of ease, full of art and opera on his estate in Italy.

oOo

Aramis watched as the Duke approached her smiling and he scowled. He longed for the freedom of wealth and power, to declare his love for Christine before the entire court without damaging her reputation. Times were changing, he knew, but among many in this crowd, the ancient bloodlines were the only ones that mattered.

He smiled bitterly as he thought of his own lineage. As the bastard son of a minor noble, one whose name he had renounced, Aramis knew that he would never be able to offer Christine what a better-suited suitor could. These thoughts circled endlessly in his mind as he lay awake at night holding her in his arms. In those moments he would pull her closer to him, and breathe in the scent of her hair – lavender and mint – and he would be calmed, slipping into dreams about the taste of the salt on her skin as they made love, the feeling of her lips as she kissed him, and the colour of her eyes in the early morning light.

He was startled from his thoughts by a woman's laughter. "Come now musketeer. We haven't even reached the pavilion yet. You can't be so bored by the opera already," Valentina purred as she slithered towards him. To Aramis, it seemed she moved like a panther or one of those Amazonian serpents that were brought before the King – beautiful, but deadly.

He knew that she was interested in him, and in another life – the life before Christine – he would have been willing entertainment for a visiting beautiful noblewoman. Now though, Christine possessed his entire being. Who could ever call a match bright when they had seen the sun?

He smiled at the Duchess and replied, "I'm actually quite fond of this opera."

"Oh dear, both you and my brother. I'm sure the two of you have many loves in common," she said pointedly. "Oh! It looks as though he's engaged at the moment," she said and with her dangerous smile, she continued on her way towards the pavilion.

Aramis looked back at where the Duke stood and the way he smiled at the Comtesse and something stirred in Aramis' stomach.

"This would be too easy," Valentina thought as she saw the marksman winding his way to where her brother stood.

"The opera should be starting soon," Aramis said as he approached the three nobles.

Christine turned towards him and glowed, "Excellent, thank you Sir Musketeer. Perhaps you might assist me with the remainder of the walk to the pavilion."

He grinned, his smile only reflecting a hundredth of the elation he knew was visible in his eyes. With a brief bow in which they never broke eye contact, he replied, "It would be my honour, my lady."

She flushed with joy at the use of those final two words. It had become a joke to them at court, the double meaning behind that formality, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was his completely.

"The honour is mine," she said. Turning back to Elisa she said, "I'm sure the Duke would be happy to accompany you as well, dear Elisa."

Again, the noblewoman smiled at him, and he bowed to her and extended his arm. As they walked straight-backed towards the operatic pavilion, the Duke rolled his eyes as Elisa chattered inanely.

"You're living dangerously," Christine teased as she took Aramis by the arm.

He grinned at her and gave her a small wink. "It's hard for me to be so near to you for so long and not have you in my arms," he replied in a hushed tone. She had leaned close to hear him, and felt the low tremor of his voice wash over her as she tried not to betray how his words made her feel.

She caught his eye and smiled, raising her eyebrow suggestively, which caused him to stumble slightly. Her laughter carried over to where Valentina stood a little ways beyond them. She scowled and then smirked.

Taking a few steps toward her cousin the King, she suddenly collapsed at his feet in a dramatic display.

"Valentina!" cried Louis, rushing to where she lay, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.

"Aramis!" called Treville to the medic, who was forced to relinquish his hold on his beloved to rush to the Duchess' side.

"Oh! Cousin," cried Valentina, "I suddenly feel quite faint. I fear I must miss the performance. The trek has clearly overtaxed me."

"Yes," said Louis, rather seriously, "And I know how delicate your disposition is, dear cousin."

"Thank you, your Majesty. You have always been so wise and understanding."

Louis smiled at her display. "Treville, have your man return my cousin to her suite at the palace. Someone fetch him a horse!" he shouted and turned to seat himself next to the Queen.

Porthos brought a horse to Aramis, which he mounted. Porthos lifted the actress Valentina onto the seat in front of Aramis where she dramatically clung to his chest. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and looked pointedly at Christine, a smile forming on her lips. Christine frowned, a flicker of doubt and confusion passing behind her eyes. Marcello, watching the scene play out smiled at his sister's game.

"Musketeer, you will escort my sister straight to her bedchamber, yes? I believe you know the way," he said.

From the corner of his eye he saw that Christine looked to Aramis at these words, apprehension written on her face. Taking her arm in his, he looked once more at Aramis and his sister, her smug smile he was certain was a reflection of his own.

"Do not worry about the opera," he said. "I'm certain you can be replaced. I'll ensure the Comtesse is partnered appropriately," he said and grinned as the clouds descended in Aramis' eyes and lighting flashed in their dark depths.

Valentina pressed herself against Aramis and purred, "I feel so safe when you have your arms around me." She smiled as she saw Christine wilt; an equal flash of hurt passed between the lovers as Aramis turned the horse and began to ride back across the lawns towards the castle.

Christine watched them ride off, worrying her lip. For all her poise and beauty she still had the doubts of a woman in love.

Marcello guided her towards a blanket that had been spread on the lawn and seated her on the chair, taking its partner for himself. As the music started and she grew lost in its melody, he opened his pad and began to draw.

oOo

Aramis had only ridden a few paces when he paused the horse and turned back for a moment to look at Christine. He saw as she was lowered on her seat, her hand within the Duke's, his other hand lightly grazing her back as he lowered her onto her seat and took the place beside her.

"You know," Valentina said softly, "This world you're living in is a fairytale."

He looked down at her, startled.

"You know you don't belong with her," she continued. "Yes, everything seems wonderful now, as all romances are in the beginning, but look at it rationally. What could you possibly offer her? You have no title, no wealth, you're a soldier, sworn to the service of the King. Even your day is not your own. You could never be more than her little secret. The Comtesse will need a rich husband who can help her care for her people, one who will be accepted as an authority at court. It's cruel of you to continue this fantasy. It's better you release her. For the sake of her title. And her people," Valentina purred.

His jaw clenched as they rode on in silence, her words spurring on all the same thoughts, doubts and fears that he had been wrestling with for some time.

oOo