Chapter 21
Tendrils of her auburn hair lightly blew across her face in the cool breeze. Sluggishly, her eyes fluttered open and her mouth curved at what she saw. A patio bathed in the morning light, which further stretched into the room through the full glass doors. The whitewashed walls took on a creamy tone in the cheerful yellow sunlight, and the rough parquet flooring shone amber.
"Did you rest well?"
Tiffany reluctantly turned her head. She shouldn't have been reluctant, she was met with a comparable sight. Sébastien walked toward her, in a loose white shirt and black pants from the night before. He offered her the mug he was holding, "Milk. Here, drink some."
"Yes, I did. Thank you. And you?" She took the mug and hungrily emptied the mug. The milk was delicious, so creamy and smooth.
"Not as well as I would have on the bed," he winked at her, "but I slept like a log, nonetheless."
"Oh." She couldn't think of what to say. She was overcome with relief that Sébastien had not shared the bed. Then, she felt shame. Why, she was a guest!
"Would you like to fix some breakfast for us, Mademoiselle Cheldon?"
"Of course," she nodded without looking at him, then flung off the down comforter and slipped out of bed.
"My my, we shall have to get some new clothes for you, won't we?" Sébastien's mischievous smile was unmistakable, even out of the corner of her eyes. Embarrassed, and immensely relieved to discover that she was still in her gown, she simply nodded and got round preparing breakfast.
Sébastien went out with a bucket, whistling.
When he returned with water from the pump, however, the bread was not cut, but Tiffany's finger was instead. At home, she simply hadn't occurred to her to lift a finger to help out with anything at all, no matter that she was on good terms with all the maids. She'd never guess it was so hard. All she knew to do was to squeeze her finger to get rid of excess blood, as she had seen a young maid do once.
"Goodness, Tiffany. I forgot…" he looked mildly shocked, before he dabbed the wound with a wet cloth and dressed it. "I know what we can do. Why don't you go wash up, and I'll take care of breakfast. How about that?"
Humiliated beyond words, Tiffany nodded mutely and did as he said. Breakfast was ready as soon as Tiffany wiped her face on a snowy towel. Consisting of scrambled eggs, butter, bread, and milk, it was simple compared to the elaborate dishes the chefs at home labored over, even for breakfast. Maybe it was only because she was hungry, but she thought the food tasted just as good.
"How is your wound?" Sébastien asked, as if he hadn't noticed her embarrassment.
"Alright. Thank you. It was rather clumsy of me."
"It takes time. You'll learn soon enough," after a moment's silence, continued, "About your parents, I shall take you to Paris today to continue our search. But the first stop would definitely have to be to the dressmakers. Although it's gorgeous, I feel uncomfortable just seeing you wrapped up in that gown!"
"Oh yes, thank you! I haven't any money, I trust you shall be generous enough to pay for a lady?" Tiffany loosened up, and grinned.
Sébastien chuckled, "Aye, aye, Mademoiselle," his eyes twinkling in amusement.
Manners got to Tiffany, and she blushed, "Thank you for your generosity, I shall return you whatever expenses you spend on me when we find my family."
Without hesitation, he answered, "Don't worry about it."
The city had already awoken and was bustling with activity when they mounted Sébastien's stallion and headed for Madame Chantelle Dressmakers.
"Salut, Sébastien, comment vas-tu?" a bright-eyed young boy on the street waved gaily. Then, he stopped skipping down the cobblestone streets when he spotted Tiffany on the horse with Sébastien. "Féliciations! You never told me you were planning to wed!"
If Tiffany had not been so embarrassed, she could not have stopped herself from laughing. Sébastien looked flustered enough and explained to the boy that Tiffany was a guest and he had only one horse. Light in the boy's eyes faded slightly.
"Tiffany, this is Louis," then, turning to the boy, he gestured toward Tiffany, "Louis, Tiffany."
"Bonjour, je suis enchanté de vous connaitre…"
"No, no. Anglais seul, Louis," Sébastien corrected.
"Oh. Nice to meet you! You must come to my father's café sometimes, I shall give you the freshest scones if you come!"
Tifffany smiled, "Sure I will. Merci! Pleasure meeting you too."
"Oh, and Sébastien? Nana wants me to tell you that she is making chocolate tiramisu cake today. If you want some, she will keep some till you come," the boy turned to Sébastien.
"Alright, thank you Louis. Tell Nana that my friend and I will visit her café later."
"Can you see my model fort then?" Louis' eyes shone hopefully.
"Bien sûr! Why don't you complete it now when my friend and I do a bit of shopping?" Sébastien winked. Grinning widely, the boy tore off.
Tiffany couldn't help but smile at the memory of the boy. He couldn't have been more than seven, and his cheeks were colored with healthy pink, his eyes twinkled with freshness and energy.
The little boy's cheerful and innocent face was still implanted in her mind when a young man in his twenties passing by exclaimed, "Bonjour, Sébastien! Where did you find a wife like that? Do you know of anymore? Maybe you could introduce me!"
She caught Sébastien's exasperated whisper out of the corner of her ear, "Either we get married soon or I'll have to buy a carriage."