Chapter 55

D'Artagnan stormed through the main gate as if all the cardinal's hell hounds were on her heels. The guardsmen were still looking after her puzzled, when she had already run down the Rue St. Honoré, dodging the many passers-by and carriages and ducking under the low-spun clotheslines in the side streets that wanted to get in her way.

She had only her destination in mind. Elise's house, Grégoire's room. If she would not find him there, if he had already packed his bags to put as fast as possible as much distance as possible between himself and Paris and... and her, then- Then she would run on to the town gates, to each one in turn if necessary, and ask there for Sorel and his brown mare! Once she knew in which direction he rode, she would fetch her Peur from the stables, saddle up and-!

And then what?

To ride after a man who was in a hurry to get away from here and leave everything behind? Risk dishonourable discharge for him, the final break with her new family if she left without notification and permission?

The 'yes' pounded in her heart, but the 'no' throbbed behind her brow. The old conflict between her feelings and her mind fought an ultimately duel and although the 'yes' seemed to gain the upper hand, the 'no' did not give up.

Her steps slowed and as she turned the last corner, following the road to the old half-timbered house, she stopped in front of the entrance door and stared indecisively at the wood. Her breathing calmed, but her cheeks burned. What if Grégoire really wanted to leave without saying a farewell, to make it easier for them both? Was she not supposed to respect that, even if she could hardly bear it? He had chosen so, what was she doing here?

D'Artagnan scolded herself a fool, at first to have run here as if headless and mad, and now to make herself all the more ridiculous by her fearful hesitation. A farewell, it was all about that; not to let Grégoire go without a word, to draw a line under it all, to have a conciliatory 'Adieu' between them.

She pulled herself together. If she continued to stand here like a pillar of salt, she would never know Sorel's motives and would have to keep asking herself these questions for the rest of her life.

Her hand trembled treacherously as she pressed the handle. The door gave way, it was not locked, so there had to be someone in the house. D'Artagnan slipped in silently instead of calling out briskly for Sorel in her best lieutenant's tone, as if she were only an officer incensed that he was throwing away his career in the Red Guard for no reason, and that she was here to demand an explanation.

Instead, she sneaked on like a thief, breathing in the familiar smells of loam and straw and old wood, trying to keep the tangy scent in her memory like a treasure. She made no sound and listened into the homely silence.

She heard floorboards creaking above her; it was coming from Sorel's room. D'Artagnan paused, her heart skipped a beat. She had actually caught up with Grégoire in time! Still, she only went quietly up the stairs, not knowing why she did not want to draw attention to herself. Why she held an escape route ready before he would have noticed her presence.

The door was open and d'Artagnan peered into the room. At first everything seemed as untidy as ever, a bachelor's dwelling that was only cleaned up when the landlady admonished her tenant. Clothes lay scattered on the bed, on the floor, just as Sorel had let them drop after duty.

A red piece of cloth caught her eye and d'Artagnan pressed her lips together so as not to make a revealing noise. The uniform hung carelessly thrown over a chair and she had to resist her impulse to take it and hang it up neatly until the next morning when Grégoire would swing it around his shoulders and-

He would never do it again, wear that uniform.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and stood on tiptoe to see better without having to leave her hidden post. There he was, Grégoire.

He stood with his back to her, bent over his clothes chest and rummaged about in it. D'Artagnan swallowed against the lump in her throat. The untidiness did not stem from lax discipline, it was due to travel preparations. Sorel looked for light baggage and sorted out what he could fold into a bundle and carry with him.

»So you're really going to leave? Just like that...?«

Grégoire turned around in surprise and instinctively held his hands behind his back as if he had been caught in the act. He stared at d'Artagnan, no, at Charlotte, who was standing in the doorway, her eyes roaming the room in sadness. She did not look at him and he suspected that she wanted to hide her moisty eyes from him. He followed her gaze and now her words got through to him. Just leave like that? She thought...?

Grégoire took a cautious step towards her, as if he feared Charlotte might run away if he made a wrong gesture. »How long have you been standing there?«

»Does it matter?« She composed herself and now looked at him with an indifferent mien. »I got here just in time to see you off.«

»Aha?«

»Yes, that's why...« She swallowed hard and put the last of her strength into a reasonably serene façade. »So I bid you farewell, adieu.«

Grégoire leapt forward and caught Charlotte by the arm before she could turn and flee. »Wait, hold on! What on earth are you doing?«

»Me, Monsieur? What are you trying to do?«

The emphasised lieutenant's distance had no effect. Grégoire frowned and refused to let her go. »Obviously not what you think.«

»And what might I be thinking? You've made it very clear what your plans are by your resignation.«

»Not clear enough, or you wouldn't be here and-«

»Then I will go and trouble you no further! Forgive me for coming, for wanting to see you one last time! I won't beg, I won't plead for you to stay, for you not to leave me, too!« hissed she with a vivid sparkle in her eyes and flushed cheeks.

»You're so beautiful when you're angry...« murmured Sorel with a gentle smile, pulling her closer. »And so stupid.«

»Pard-?« Her question melted against his lips and was forgotten entirely in his tender kiss. Charlotte sighed and blinked in confusion as Grégoire leaned back. He grinned both overjoyed and mischievous.

»Now, let's try again from the beginning,« he said. »How long have you been standing there?«

»Does it matter?«

»Yes, because... What did you see?«

Charlotte let her eyes wander past him through the room again. »Travel arrangements. A forgotten uniform. You at the clothes chest, sorting out...«

»...looking for something.« Grégoire summoned up all his courage. He pulled his other hand out from behind his back, the one he had kept hidden until now. He held a ring in his fingers, a golden band with a family crest embedded in it. He turned the precious jewel in the light, it gleamed and sparkled gorgeously.

»An heirloom, my most treasured possession. I figured...« Grégoire looked up and took a deep breath. »I figured if you'd never get involved with a guardsman named Sorel, maybe you'd get involved with a Vicomte de Ventadour?«

»Grégoire...« Charlotte was speechless, she could only nod, gently at first, barely noticeable. But then vehemently and with a liberated, happy laugh. »Yes! Oh, Grégoire, yes!«

She smiled more brightly and even more beautifully than any precious ring, and threw herself boisterously into Grégoire's arms, never to lose him again. He had given up everything for her and found his own freedom in doing so. Just like his Charlotte.

Finally.

The End

Note: "Finally" the last chapter! Or do you guys feel more of a "too bad, already" the last chapter? Please let me know!

And thank you for following the story week after week, for over a year. Thanks for the follows and favs and especially thanks to those who gave the book(s) a chance! This motivates me for a sequel. So stay tuned, there will be new adventures with Charlotte and Grégoire - and with Athos, Porthos and Aramis. The three of them might be very interested in the fact that d'Artagnan has changed sides...