In the Pursuit of
By: Musketeer Adventure
Summary: This chapter takes place during the season 2 episode, Keep Your Friends Closer. Milady and Richelieu are no longer a threat; and Rochefort has been introduced. Constance, Monsieur Bonacieux, and d'Artagnan complete a heartbreaking triangle; and all search to accept their fate.
Chapter 2: The Search for Acceptance
Bonacieux was beside himself. The King's carriage was here. What an honor it was to be summoned by his regent. He moved closer and studied the transport with anticipation; his heart in his throat; the excitement of it causing him to have goosebumps.
Soon he would be in the presence of the King of France.
All his life he had worked diligently for this moment. First alongside his father; then under his watchful eye; and now as a first rate craftsman and business man in his own right – his father would be proud to know a Bonacieux would walk the halls of the palace. He sighed deeply, feeling quite pleased with himself.
He looked to the street and held his head high, as the neighbors watched with jealous awe. He smiled widely and twirled his hat – encouraging even the bystanders to look his way.
Yes. Now was his moment. To be held in such high esteem by his majesty himself, would set him apart from the other merchants. More trade would definitely come his way. He would become a wealthy man – move his wife away from this crowded street; the cramped space they lived in; and the nearby traffic of the musketeer garrison.
There would be no more need to take in tenants to supplement the income; no more need to work from home; and no more need to see d'Artagnan orbiting his world and his wife.
He sighed then; and looked about. Where was his wife anyway? Where could Constance be hiding herself? He had told her to wait out here; and to be ready. Lately, it was as if she did not hear a word he said.
He looked back toward the house and fidgeted from side to side. He was sure that punctuality was a virtue the King would most admire. They needed to make a good impression; start things off on the right foot.
But of course – he would have to go and find her. He looked up at the man seated atop the carriage and said earnestly, "Please wait here – I will go and fetch my wife. It will just be a moment." The driver nodded down at him; and Monsieur Bonacieux went back toward the house to retrieve his wife.
When he found her – the sight she presented – eyes closed; hands clasped; her red hair shining with hints of sun streaks, made him gasp. How beautiful she was. The sheets hanging to dry that billowed around her, only made her lovelier – framing her in fluttering white linen.
That she had grown from the gangly girl, he had married all those years ago, to this attractive young woman – always took him aback. If he had met her today – would she even look twice in his direction?
And now – here she stood – still as porcelain, as if a statue.
Recently, he would find her like this – daydreaming he supposed; standing still in one place; the parlor or in the pantry – staring out into nothing – eyes glistening.
Or he would find her sitting – her hands engaged in some task – sewing; snapping peas; washing dishes – and they would freeze in mid motion – and she would be gazing far off with such longing that it did pain him.
He knew she was unhappy; and dreamed of him.
Before d'Artagnan entered their lives, she dreamed of excitement; adventure; newness – things he could not give her. She use to speak to him of it; but now he supposed she had found her adventure. Now, they only spoke of everyday things that had no meaning – or held little importance.
And so there she stood – dreaming now – of what; he could easily guess – as her breath came quick and she squeezed her hands together all the tighter. He closed the image down in his mind; because now, today was his chance to perhaps win her back. If he could get this commission from the palace – have the backing of the Royal House – he could give her whatever she desired.
He pursed his lips – but what she desired most was not him.
Bonacieux shook his thoughts loose to concentrate on the present; it was time to go.
"Constance, the carriage is here", he called out – pulling back the sheets. She stood so very still; and did not respond – so deep she was in her daydreams.
He called to her again, "For God's sake woman, did you not hear a word I said?" Her eyes opened wide, as if waking from a trance; and he brusquely pushed the linen aside. "It would be easier talking to a donkey."
He knew he was being condescending – but could not stop himself. For the past several months – every time he addressed her, something cruel – subtle or not – would pass his lips. Each day he would vow to temper himself; but each day it became more and more difficult. She loved another – who was younger; stronger; gifted; and adventurous.
He was such a fool. He had thought their marriage a happy one until d'Artagnan showed up. He had provided a home – a part time maid to help with house work – a horse and buggy; and the finest clothes his trade could provide – and he did not beat her. But it wasn't enough it seemed.
Maybe if they had been gifted with children, things would be different. Children kept women busy; occupied; giving them little time to look outside the home for fulfillment. They had not been so lucky. But maybe his luck was turning; and she would see him differently now.
When she looked his way; and became aware of him; and shared that she had been dreaming; he wanted to know of what, so then, he could compete with it – but changed his mind – she wouldn't really tell him anyway.
So they moved toward the waiting carriage and stepped into finery; with the soft, cushioned seats and silk forest green upholstered interior – he could not help but smile. He could do much better by this design, he thought.
When he looked across to his wife – she was actually smiling at him. It was a smile that reached her eyes. It had been so rare to see her smile directed at him, that he smiled genuinely back.
Maybe there was hope for them.
Constance sat across from Bonacieux and thought – in moments like this he was such a little boy. She knew he loved his craft and saw beauty in cloth; design and dress. His eyes would light up at certain colors, his hands trembled over fine textures; and he loved the smell of new wool. When she first met him – it was what endeared him to her.
His devotion to his craft was as good a reason as any to take the vow of marriage. If he was devoted to his occupation – then he would be devoted to her.
He was a man who was not afraid of hard work; and not afraid to be smirked at for his eccentricities. And though they did not love each other – he had tried over the years to make her happy and keep her comfortable. And she in turn, had tried to make his life easier – to keep his house and to help with the business.
She had been a child when she married Bonacieux; and had not had the time to learn what love really felt like. But if not love - he had given her security; and she was grateful.
That he lived life day to day – mired in the drudgery of the moment – and did not look around to take in the excitement that swirled around them – was the difference in them.
Maybe if they had been blessed with children, things would have been different – a buffer – who she could pour all her love, and dreams of adventure into and leave her husband to the mundane.
But it had not worked out that way – and now, as time passed without the joy of motherhood – she hoped it would not happen. To bring a child into this unhappiness would perhaps be cruel and unfair.
Just now, when he had smiled at her so openly; and so true, it reminded her of the young man he used to be – eager to please an even younger wife; at the beginning of his career and at the beginning of her life. It was good to see him happy, even if briefly.
She turned from Bonacieux and looked out the window; and watched the streets of Paris flow by. After a while the faces and activity of the people became a blur and her mind fell on d'Artagnan – her love; her life; her soul mate. To be without him was painful. She had no appetite; her energy low – she felt always as if she were walking through a thick fog – her limbs and heart heavy – as if she were grieving.
But when she looked across at her husband, she knew she would not leave him. He needed her; and would not live without her. He had proven that already; to her detriment. They would only part in death – this she felt to her core.
She hoped that this summons would work out for him. Something good needed to come his way – to take that pinched looked away – lift his spirits so that he would perhaps be kinder; gentler; and more caring. He didn't just need this; they both needed it.
She was not sure how much more of his disdain she could shoulder without breaking.
When they finally reached the palace – it was the Queen who gave them audience – who had sent for them; no, sent for his wife. The hope; anticipation for better things, had turned into humiliation.
Bonacieux's world crashed around him. He was surprised no one else heard the cacophony of noise that was his life breaking to pieces around them.
Of course it was d'Artagnan who had recommended his wife as a confidant to the Queen. He clenched his mouth shut and ground his teeth to keep from screaming out the unfairness of it all. He had tried to put on a neutral face; to appear unaffected by the turn of events; but the Queen had shut him down and turned away; whispering to his wife and closing him out.
There would be no commission; no upward mobility; no connections to the Royal House – at least not for him.
All his dreams – his father's dreams – dashed, gone – all that had happened here today was that he was one step closer to losing his wife. She would live here among these nobles and leave him behind.
He could not even oppose the Queen's wishes. He was just supposed to accept the fact that he would be separated from his wife – pushing her into the arms of her lover; into the world of excitement; and surrounded by adventure. This is what Constance wanted – he could see it on her face when she smiled and agreed to the Queen's request. "I would like it very much", he heard her say; and he had no chance.
Just that quickly – they were dismissed. His wife was to come home; pack her belongings; leave his house; and live here in the palace – to serve the Queen of France.
Before his mind could even wrap around these events – he was being swept away by the musketeers – asking him inane questions, he could not comprehend – because he was losing his wife. When he looked back, there he was, with her; and in that moment his heart turned to stone.
Constance stood next to d'Artagnan, and felt her heart flutter. He stood before her, being very polite and formal- calling her Madame. She could tell he was pleased with himself for recommending the position for her. She smiled at him, but was worried at the same time.
What had he done? He had effectively constructed a moat between her and Bonacieux that she would not be unable to cross.
But she could not deny it, she was truly grateful for this opportunity – a chance to be among the excitement; to make a real difference. She looked into his eyes and would forever love him for this gesture.
But today her husband had been devastated; and knew that this gesture would not go over well; and told him so, "Please d'Artagnan, you have to leave me alone now", she pleaded and hoped he heard her.
She left his side to join her husband. He had to accept – no she had to accept that this was never going to happen; they were not meant to be - too much conspired against them; she would take this gift he had presented to her and cherish it.
She would go home now, and try to smooth things over, in hopes that her husband would not hate them the more.
When d'Artagnan found his self again, he blinked and she was gone. He looked around confused and felt uncertain. He had only wanted to help; if he could not give his love – then why not this? This position would make her happy. It's what she wanted – craved out of life; not the banal day to day routine she lived now.
He could see her now, in his mind's eye, wielding a sword as good as any man; holding her musket steady and pulling the trigger for a bull's eye. She was the bravest; most courageous and one of the smartest people he knew. No other woman could hold a candle to her.
Was he to just accept that he could not have her; that he was to never love her as she deserved to be loved – all because she was married?
How could this be happening? He had thought to bring them closer; to move her away from her husband's sharp tongue; and disrespectful air. Obviously, she was choosing him – again. Maybe he should just let her go.
When he reached the top of the opulent staircase, he was never so glad to see anyone as he was to see Athos, waiting for him below. He always seemed to be there – to provide support without being asked. He never said much; but what he did say meant everything. Just standing there now, waiting – kept him from flying into a hundred different pieces.
Lately, he had wanted space from the man – needed his independence; wanted to make a truly individual mark – but now he welcomed his presence and needed it.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Athos grabbed his neck and squeezed – guiding him away so as not to see the waiting carriage and witness the Bonacieux's step in.
Thank you for reading; and thank you to those who have already reviewed, favorited and followed. Please let me know what you think. This was quite a departure for me; and I hope it came off well. It has been a rough day; seeing reviews will help lift my spirts!