Chapter 6: Renée

The trial period proved to be exactly that: a trial. Renée d'Herblay was a difficult woman, as Treville came to realize rapidly. But what could he say? She had warned him. Multiple times, in fact. He had to contend himself with her now and find a way to get along with her in this new dynamic.

He had taken it upon himself to teach her some essential lessons in mannerisms and other customs of high society. It shouldn't be too difficult, since Renée already had an aristocratic upbringing. Unfortunately, he grossly miscalculated. The sixteen-year-old Renée was right: teaching her how to be a lady and a wife was a great deal more consuming than making her into a musketeer.

She was rebellious, sarcastic, judgemental and critical of every single ritual he attempted to teach her. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if her failure to grasp proper table manners was because she genuinely was incapable of it or if she simply wanted to persist in vexing him. They spent their days mostly in anger and frustration.

"I never signed up for this!" she would lash out at him before leaving the room. It was all he had done since they had begun their trial to survey her around the clock and criticize her every move or correct her language. You do not say this at court, you do not do that… etc. Was this what marriage to him would be like? For a moment, when they were in his office, she actually believed that he harbored some affection for her, some tenderness and maybe even on a deep hidden level, love.

But there was none of that. She simply transferred from one regiment to another. He was her Captain here as much – and maybe more – than he ever was when she was a musketeer. At the end of each day, she went to bed feeling mentally exhausted from battling constantly with this stubborn man. She felt worn out from trying to assert herself in his presence. It was as if, as Renée, she became somehow a lesser person to him, a person he could control, reproach and then neglect or insult if she wasn't obeying him. In other words, it was quite the opposite of what she had hoped for when she had agreed to this.

However, as much as they argued and as exasperating as she was, he had never felt happier. He never felt any prouder than to be able to call this untameable woman his wife. This idea strengthened his resolve to marry her. He was certain that there was no other woman in the world he could ever love.

…..

He had suggested some dance lessons. The activity doubling as an excuse for him to touch her, to wrap his arms around her and be as close to her as much as the propriety of the situation allowed.

He had begun these lessons as a strict instructor, but realized after some time and a few slaps, that that was not the way to go with Renée. For weeks, she exasperated him by deliberately making the wrong moves or accidentally stepping on his feet and then bursting out in laughter. While he had taken the activity quite seriously, devoting his precious time and energy to it, she saw it as a joke and that infuriated him. Jean-Armand de Treville was an efficient man and despite the intimacy these lessons provided him, her disregard for his time was insulting. He had also hoped that she would respond positively to the close contact and was consequently hurt when she hadn't reciprocated, which further aggravated him.

Several times, he lost his temper, hurled some hurtful words at her as he clenched his fists before unceremoniously storming out. On the last occasion he did that, he had called her an undisciplined and disrespectful savage before he violently stormed out.

That was but a culmination of a few days that were extraordinarily charged and full of unrelenting arguments that bordered on violence. It was all he could do, in fact, to leave the room. Otherwise, he would have stricken her – an urge that had been creeping up on him over the past few weeks.

However, as he exited the room, he had realized he had forgotten his sword and as he was about to re-enter, a strange sound stopped him short: she was sobbing. His glorious warrior Aramis was in tears.

And then he realized something: Renée posed as Aramis for the regiment, for the Captain, for the King, for her mission. Aramis was skilled in keeping a front. But behind closed doors, Aramis remained Renée. And Renée must have been lonely with only grief for company. Meanwhile, he had gotten so caught up in his militaristic approach in shaping her into the perfect wife, he had forgotten about the most important thing he had set out to do: to make her happy.

All he wanted to do was to walk over to her, pick her up in his arms and take away all her pain. But he knew that would only exacerbate things; it would irreparably injure the pride of Aramis, who was evidently still present.

From then on, he changed some things: the dance lessons were reserved as a time for leisure and enjoyment. He let her lead, he let her fall and sometimes he fell with her. They laughed together and they made fools of themselves. It became a precious time for him; it was the time when she was at her most radiant, laughing and playful. Her warmth and her youth were invigorating to him. Shame on him for ever attempting to suppress that, he blushed as he thought to himself.

….

Their daily dinner also became a jolly affair, wherein it once was an opportunity for a sordid lesson on table manners and thus another battleground in and of itself.

Treville surprised her one day, just as he did with the dance lessons, by giving up his post as her tutor. Blasted with any manners that will come between him and his beautiful radiant musketeer.

There was nothing mannered about their dinner anymore. She sat with her legs crossed underneath her and her elbows on the table, as she rested her chin on her hands. She ate like a soldier, with appetite and with gusto. They would talk for hours. He would recount some battle stories of his youth, to which she listened intently and reacted animatedly, giving her input here and there on the soundness of the battle strategies. They talked about their childhoods, about the places where they grew up. They would reminisce about missions and villains they had conquered together. They even poked fun at the courtiers, with Treville revealing some very raunchy scandals, which elicited rambunctious laughter from his companion. Overall, he had to admit: it was simply delightful.

If they had no obligations early in the morning, they would retire to the library where they would sit on a small cozy sofa, sipping brandy and continuing their conversation. If the conversation ran dry, Treville would suggest a book or two and they would both sit in silence, reading, exchanging glances every once in a while.

Once, on one of those nights, she had felt a cramp in her leg as a result from sitting with her knees up, her heels pressed to her rear. She stretched her legs out instinctively only to realize at the last minute that her "husband" was at the receiving end. Wide-eyed at her own scandalous behaviour, she murmured her excuses and immediately began to pull away when he placed his hand firmly on her legs, forcing them in place on his lap. Without looking at her, he continued reading his book nonchalantly while he gently massaged them through the black tissue of her dress.

She looked around her in confusion. What should she do? Should she move away? Fake an excuse to go to bed? Oh, but how good his touch felt, how relaxing! He wasn't bothered by it at all, nor was he offended that his own soldier had the audacity to extend her legs right onto his lap. Ah, but she was no longer a soldier. She was the Captain's wife now. This was a trial to see if she enjoyed it, wasn't it? Well, she certainly did, she had to admit. She closed her eyes and lay her head back, savouring his caresses and losing herself in her own thoughts, a faint smile on her face.

…

This life afforded her a certain level of comfort that she never even thought she had missed until she had experienced it again. She could order a bath any time she wanted. She no longer had to smell like gunpowder and horse manure all the time. And her hair! It had never been so glamorous. Even she, herself was quite mesmerized by it. Her maid took such dedicated care of it. She brushed it twice a day, she doused it with oils and perfume and she curled it with her fingers so diligently and carefully, it became quite the masterpiece. In fact, it became her defining feature at court. Treville's Golden Wife. She sniggered, thinking of Porthos' comment "the Captain's Golden Boy".

She had a wardrobe now that consisted of a multitude of dresses, and each week a new one would be made for her depending on the occasion. She had to admit, she loved having new dresses, she loved seeing herself differently and looking differently every day. For now, she only commissioned dresses that were somber and discrete but she knew that, had she wanted a dress like the Queen's, she only need ask and her "husband" would oblige her with anything she wanted. He had already given her a few sets of jewellery as well. He had brought in from his estate those that belonged to his family, but he also bought her a few new trinkets, like a delicate silver bracelet and a matching necklace. She could still feel the warmth of his body as he stood behind her, his fingers gently caressing the bare skin of her neck as he adjusted the clasp of the necklace and stood behind her to admire it.

They also dined like royalty. Literally. As Captain of the King's guard, Treville had the privilege of the Palace's kitchens. Their food would come from the Louvre and it was always a scrumptious affair. They had invited Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan to dinner a few times even, to the great pleasure of Porthos.

But most importantly, she never dined alone. She had a companion now and quite a pleasant one too. It was such a refreshing and welcome change from her solitude. Certainly, she used to spend her nights at the taverns with her comrades, but the night would end either with one of them having to be dragged back to their demure out of drunkenness, or either one or both of them would take a woman and spend the night with her. Either way, Aramis would simply make her way home and into her cold bed.

Her bed was never cold at Treville's. After dinner, her companion would walk with her to the foot of the stairs leading to her chambers, he would bow to her with reverence and bring her hand to his lips affectionately before sending her off to bed. When she was in good humor, like after an enjoyable evening, she would gently press her palms to his chest and plant a kiss on his cheek, murmuring a thank you and a good night before traipsing happily to her bedroom.

He loved that gesture beyond anything but oh, how difficult it was becoming for him to restrain himself from gluing her waist to his and attacking her mouth with his lips! How often, after these encounters, he would find himself alone in bed, his hand between his legs moving lasciviously, as his mind conjured up a scenario in which he actually would grab her by the waist and carry up the stairs to have his way with her. Little did he know that she, too, had very similar thoughts as she herself would slide under her sheets and excite herself with her fingers…

…

Life at court was not as boring as she had previously dreaded. In fact, Treville was right: there was a great deal of information that she was able to glean from the courtiers, both men and women. In no time, she had learned all of their names and was able to discern who was loyal to the King and who exhibited tendencies otherwise. Through the wives and mistresses, Renée learned a lot about the activities of their husbands and lovers; about who consorted with whom and when and helped was that Aramis knew all the secret passages around the Louvre, so she could expertly spy on those she had suspicions about.

…

During a soiree one evening, Renée was too busy surveying the room, as was her habit, that she did not notice the two women who made their way across the room and sat next to her.

"Oh, my, Madame de Treville, how positively cross you look!" one of them giggled.

"And on such a lovely evening, too," the one on her right put in. Renée looked at the two newcomers and recognized them as the Duchess Maria de Villars and the Comtesse Anna de Beaudry. These women were two of the most important informers to the infamous inner circle of gossipers led by the Duchess Marie de Chevreuse. If there was anyone who knew everything there is to know about the secret life at court and elsewhere in France, it was surely these two women. Nothing escaped them.

So far, Renée had successfully avoided them, so as not to get into a situation where they would quiz her about her origins while remarking the uncanny similarity between her and the musketeer Aramis. Even if she was to tell them that Aramis was her twin, they would surely see right through her.

She gulped. What did they want from her? Did they know she was spying? Have they come to blackmail her? Did they want to ruin the Captain's reputation? Have they somehow discovered her dual identity and come to warn her they were about to denounce her publicly right here right now?

The sweat was creeping through her evening gown. She could feel herself drowning in it. She was panicking. She looked in the direction of the Captain, who was looking back at her with apprehension. Had he also realized the gravity of the situation? He almost made a step towards her, to rescue her, when someone caught him by the arm and pulled him back into a conversation.

She realized that her silent plea towards Treville was not unnoticed by the two women. They regarded her with raised eyebrows and an increasing curiosity. They were definitely on to her now. Oh God, oh God, oh God, what to do!

The Duchess, a ravishing young woman in her late twenties, leaned in to whisper to something to her. Here it comes…

"Don't worry, my dear, we have all been there. Broiling and cross with our husbands, completely helpless to do anything about it while we have to sit like polite dogs and nod and smile."

Renée was completely taken off guard. Her head shot up and she plunged her blue eyes into the hazel green of the Duchess, which glimmered with nothing but compassion and solidarity.

The Duchess extended her arm to Renée, "Come, my darling, let us talk somewhere… quieter, shall we?"

Thus, arm in arm with these two women, she followed them out of the room while her "husband" stared after her with a mixture of intrigue and worry.

…..

They stood by the stairs leading up to her chambers.

"Did you enjoy yourself this evening?" he asked her. She could sense a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Oh, very much. You could say it was the best evening thus far," she replied, grinning.

He gulped, "Well, I'm… err… glad that you are…. Enjoying yourself thus far."

She nodded and flashed him a warm smile.

"Say," he pursued, without waiting for her response, "I saw you leave the room with the Duchess de Villars and the Comtesse de Beaudry." Ah, there it was, she smirked to herself, he had come to glean some information and she perfectly understood why.

The ladies, she would soon discover as the evening went on, had no interest in her whatsoever. Oh, but how much they longed to know about Capitaine de Treville! That mysterious man who was enshrouded in an armour of total and absolute ambiguity. In other words, a gold mine for gossipers like the Duchess and her friends. ***

"What is he like?"

"Is he grave all the time, as he is at court?"

"Oh, I bet he is a passionate lover underneath all that reserve!" one of them giggled, to which Aramis blushed a crimson red, prompting everyone to assume it was actually true.

"No one knows anything about him, you must tell us everything!" they begged her.

"Does he pleasure you as a proper soldier ought to do?" one of them ventured, which Aramis recognized as one of Porthos' previous mistresses.

"Oh, how handsome he is!"

"Any plans for children? He must have the stamina to sire a whole army if he wanted to! The question is, do you?" The room was filled with giggles.

"Is it true he stopped sleeping at the garrison since your arrival? Do you share your bed with him every night?"

Thanks to the past few years spent in the company of someone as diplomatic and eloquent as Athos, she successfully managed to dodge these incessant questions without having to give, or rather, make up, any indecent responses.

However, there was one particular question that she had decided to pursue…

"Oh it has been forever since anyone had known anything about the Captain of the Musketeers. The last thing was more than fifteen years ago. He was Madame Claremont's lover for a short time, you see. Everyone was sure he would propose to her but it never happened."

"Oh, the poor thing was unhappy about it. But it wasn't long before she found someone else, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I believe it was…"

The conversation continued as Aramis stared at an undefined point in space. So, her Capitaine used to be in the habit of taking up mistresses at some point in his life. She wondered why he had stopped. Or rather, why had he not married Madame Claremont? She was a widow in her forties but back then, she would have been in her late twenties and from what Aramis knew, she was a ravishing and seductive woman. Everything she wasn't. She sighed and rejoined the conversation when one of the women began giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, I just remembered! Madame Claremont is in the habit of giving pet names to her lovers and using them ever so publicly! Did she not have one for Treville?"

"By God, so she did!"

The whole room burst with uncontrollable laughter. Even Renée couldn't contain her smile. So that's why he never married Claremont. And now, he was prying to know whether she had found out his deepest most shameful secret: the infamous pet name generously bestowed upon him by his rambunctious mistress!

"Yes, the Duchess and the Comtesse are fascinating ladies," she said nonchalantly in response to his query.

"Well, they seemed to take an interest in you." He casually wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Maybe," she replied with the same tone, "Probably because I am new and strangers intrigue them. They know everything, you know."

"Hmm. So I have heard."

"You wouldn't believe it, they actually took me to a private and secret salon that is exclusive to some of the most prominent women in France."

"Did they?"

"Mmm. They know all kinds of things. It's as if Catherine's Flying Squadron never died," she said in a whisper, adding a wink.

"And... What did they talk about exactly?"

"Oh, you know, feminine things."

"Ahh."

"And occasionally... Men of the court."

Treville stiffened.

"Did they mention anything... of interest?" he probed.

Renée pretended to look up as if trying hard to remember. "Not particularly, no."

"Ah well then, it's good they welcomed you. Keep listening…err…I mean keep up the good work… I mean…. Very well then, good night."

He brought her hand to his lips and she could feel the clamminess on his. She had never seen him so nervous and it was adorable!

"Good night, Monsieur de Treville," she kissed his cheek and began ascending the stairs.

Without stopping or turning around she called back out to him:

"Or I should say, rather, my chirpy blue nightingale."

He stopped short, wide-eyed and clenched his fists tightly. So, she did know! He turned around to retaliate only to see her disappear, her giggles and laughter echoing in the staircase.

*** I have adopted joelle-sama's Gossip Girls for this chapter.