Chapter 16: Andre's Dilemma
*** SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Hi everyone! I have a special announcement. The amazing MM has outdone herself with another magnificent fanart of my one-shot "Adieu, my Heloise". Please check out her wonderful work on Pixiv: en/artworks/107418939
For FFN readers, I can't put the link directly, so you can go to Pixiv and then in the URL, after en/ type artworks/ and then the number 107418939
Author's Note: I wrote and re-wrote this chapter seven times. Not exaggerating haha! It's a struggle with chapters like these because it is difficult to skip from one major development to the next without delving into some character psychology. It didn't make sense for me to take Andre from "I found out you were stalking me!" to "And now I am sure you love me because of it!", so now he is in this purgatory of complete confusion that makes him constantly assess and reassess every little detail.
When I write these chapters, I always worry that they will run-on or be too boring since not much action is really involved and there is always the fear of losing one's readers. In fact, so far, we have seen 15 chapters whose major events unfold in only a matter of days haha! That being said, I absolutely love writing these chapters so I hope you'll excuse the slow progression (:
(More notes and acknowledgments towards the end of the chapter)
Later that night…
"Uncanny!" exclaimed Oscar.
Grandmere stepped away to admire her handiwork, chest puffed out in pride at a job well-done and well-received by Lady Oscar.
The two women hovered around the only man in the room, who now stood in front of the long mirror in the housekeeper's sitting room. Hands on his hips, he craned his neck here and there, scrutinizing his new appearance.
Having never encountered the Black Knight herself, Oscar had acquired the testimony of many witnesses, which was more than enough to go on. With Grandmere's help, they spent the evening working on replicating the appearance down to the T.
Needless to say, this activity afforded her ample opportunity to study Andre, which proved to be an exciting exercise.
From his overall figure, particularly his broad chest… his muscular legs and strong arms – she still could not believe how Andre had morphed into this Apollonian figure. Hard as she tried and after many years of training, she could never become like this!... He had grown in height too, several inches taller than her…and he had such exquisite skin! Skin that begged to be caressed, the kind that made her long to touch to it, to spend hours exploring it, tasting it even…
Of course, these observations were solely in the interest of the mission.
Yet, despite herself, her mind flit back to the memory in the stables, when she had driven him up against the wall and lost control over herself for a few delicious minutes. Oh, she knew precisely how Andre tasted. She just wanted more.
And this feeling of wanting more was so novel, so destabilizing and yet so utterly irresistible. What's more, she was beginning to like it.
She absently twirled a lock of her hair, occasionally sipping her wine as she interjected with comments here and there while Grandmere fussed about.
Yes, solely for professional purposes, she reminded herself as her eyes now trailed to Andre's behind.
How she managed to control herself this evening was even beyond her.
Thankfully, her appreciative gaze was cut short as Grandmere made Andre turn to the side while she adjusted his sleeves and cufflinks.
Oscar approached so she could have a better look, now that the outfit was almost complete. With his now outstretched arms, she could not help but remark that Andre possessed beautiful hands. The kind of hands that could possess someone, the kind that made her want to be touched by, caressed with, held in… The very same hands that did touch her, electrifying her, transporting her to a place beyond reason. A place of pure pleasure and…
But of course, the mission.
"The hair is too short…" Andre complained, putting a lid on Oscar's indecent reflections.
"Nonsense!" Grandmere declared. "If anything, it could use more of a trim. Shall I go get the scissors again?" she offered.
"No!" Andre cried, then shot Oscar a pleading look.
"I think this is enough, merci Grandmere," the latter responded.
Grandmere left them shortly, but not before regaling them with her usual sermons of, "this is really dangerous" … "but should you really be doing this, my Lady" … "not sure how Monsieur would feel about this" … "but at least Andre will be with you", and finally, "if anything happens to my petite Oscar, you and only you will answer for it, Andre!"
"Pfff," Andre exhaled after his grandmother finally exited the room and the two burst out laughing.
"Do you really think this will work?" Andre asked, regarding himself in the mirror once more. He must admit, the costume gave him an edge. It was even more flattering than the one he wore at the balls. While Andre's costume had consisted of an overcoat with golden seams and a golden belt, this costume was more understated, featuring a matted black overcoat with navy-blue lining and an overall tighter fit.
He ran a hand absently through his hair, his mouth curving into a pout. If Oscar was not present in the room, he probably would have shed a tear or two. His hair! It had always been his pride, the feature that he loved most about his appearance and which brought him so much confidence. In a way, his long hair and the way he had always styled it made him feel less of an outsider when he accompanied Oscar.
He glanced at the floor where the trimmed jet-black locks had fallen, and he felt like he had lost a part of himself.
"I'm sorry."
Andre was startled. He hadn't realized how close Oscar had been standing to him.
The costume was missing the last piece: the leather clasp to anchor the cape in place. She had acquired it from the table and had positioned herself just behind him to attach it. That was when she caught his sorrowful expression in the mirror and it pained her.
He had done that little nervous dance-gesture earlier when she suggested they cut his hair; the one he usually did when he did not really want to do something but he could not refuse her.
Once again, she had pushed him to do something he did not want to do. Not that Grandmere left him much choice either… but that was besides the point. The fact was that she could no longer deny the inequality between them. And to think she had lost her nerve in Fersen's face just the night before when he referred to Andre as her mere valet whose purpose in life was to obey her in everything. Yet here she was, again, exercising that habitual muscle of her station. Those words were of course new in her vocabulary, but Oscar had awoken that day with new ideas. And as the day went by, she acquired even more ideas, albeit of a different kind. Grace à Fersen.
"…and then, when you are in position, you lightly brush your fingers against his skin, whenever you can. Make sure to give it an indeliberate an air as possible. And don't forget the power of whisper, especially if you concentrate on this particular area between the neck and the ear. Here let me show you…"
"I'm sorry that we had to cut your hair. I know you didn't want to." The soft resonance of her voice landed so close to his earlobe, on the stem of his neck, practically absorbing into his skin, sending shivers up and down his spine.
He froze as he felt himself being encircled by her arms from behind. Her body pressed ever so lightly against his, her hair dangling onto his shoulder, as her hands reached to the front and she proceeded to attach the clasp and adjust it. He closed his eyes momentarily and gave himself up to his senses, taking in her scent, her breath, her touch… her warmth.
His heart beat rapidly, erratically. For a few minutes, he gained an insight into those last moments of forlorn sailors who surrendered themselves willingly to the irresistible song of a beguiling siren.
"Mm, Oscar…" he whispered, reaching up his arm to touch hers, to contain her hands in his. To stop time…
Don't stop…
Alas, the words never came out and his arm never made it. She had already completed her task, disengaged herself and was now cheerfully saying to him in her usual teasing manner: "For the record, I still think you look handsome. I will procure us some weapons and meet you at the stables."
"What, er, how would I know if he likes it?" she had stumbled on her question to Fersen earlier, after an electrifying moment in which Fersen pressed himself lightly against her from the back and gently brushed his finger tips on her neck. All in the cause of education, of course.
He then cupped both her shoulders, pressed her against him where she was enveloped in the warmth of his body and he whispered, "Like this." His breath caressed that sensitive area behind her earlobe, causing her to lose control and utter a sigh of appreciation.
Much like the sigh Andre muttered just now.
A wry smile dessinated on her face.
Oscar congratulated herself on what she perceived to be a first successful assault among the many she had planned in her quest to win Andre's heart and demonstrate her feelings to him.
She will use the rest of this mission as a pretext to continue to get closer to him.
And of course, to capture the robber.
…
It was an hour before midnight.
What on earth was that earlier?!
Am I imagining things? Or did Oscar make a pass at me?!
Andre threw a sideways glance at his companion, who was riding beside him just a few feet to the right, at a temperate pace. Her back was upright, but her shoulders were relaxed. Her expression, far from assuming its serious features which ensued right before a mission, was rather tranquil. Her jaw was relaxed, he could tell, because her mouth curved into the slightest hint of a smile. She looked almost smug. Like she was pleased with herself about something.
Andre squinted at her in the dim light of the moon. Oh, he knew that expression all too well. It had been his companion for many mischievous days in their adolescence.
Oscar was up to something. She was hatching a scheme. Her face bore its characteristic Jarjayes arrogance that stemmed from an absolute certainty of obtaining a successful outcome in battle.
Clearly, she was adamant on capturing this thief.
While in the past he had nothing but admiration for her confidence and self-assuredness, he now found that it annoyed him.
How could she act so normal and casual?!
Had she really nothing to say to him?
What was he supposed to make of her behaviour earlier? Pretend as though this was a normal occurrence between them?
Ah, but why even start there? This line of strange and unexplained behaviours had even earlier origins.
He now knew full well that Oscar had disguised herself and followed him to the chapel. As shocked as he was to have his suspicions confirmed when he had seen the parchment in her hands, Andre refused to allow himself to make any further assumptions.
Thus, to obtain irrefutable proof, he had done something he never thought he would do in his wildest dreams: he had gone to see the very man who was responsible for his perpetual unhappiness and continued misery.
Earlier that afternoon, Andre used his connections in the Palace to locate the whereabouts of Count Hans Axel von Fersen.
And so, as Fersen entered his dressing room to change for afternoon tea, he was taken by complete surprise to find that his valet was replaced by none other than Andre Grandier.
"Whatever happened to Fredrik?" Fersen inquired as he slipped into the vest Andre was holding for him.
"I sent him on an errand."
"How clever!" Fersen teased.
The atmosphere had been tense, but Fersen maintained his good humor.
"I do beg your pardon for this intrusion," Andre began, as he adjusted Fersen's overcoat and brushed it.
Fersen smiled at him through the mirror. "None sense! I am always happy to see a friend."
The Swede's unrelenting charm was getting on Andre's nerves.
"I know I'm transgressing," Andre continued, now placing himself face-to-face with Fersen as he began the intricate work of tying the collar. The small distance between them made Andre feel awkward and uneasy. However, he had come here with a mission. Plunging his eyes into Fersen's – a bold move for a servant like him – Andre said quietly and decidedly, "But I assume you know why I'm here."
"Do I?!" Fersen replied, faking surprise.
"You see," Andre pursued, jaw clenched. "I met a woman last night."
"Well, good for you, my friend!"
Andre paused momentarily and their eyes met once more. The ire in Andre's was only met with a mischievous glint from Fersen.
"Except that, she ran away."
"Ouf!" Fersen feigned sympathy. "That is rough, my friend."
"Well, she didn't run away from me. She just disappeared. As though she did not want to be seen."
Andre glanced at Fersen's face, studying his expression, trying to spot any signs of hesitation or uneasiness that could give him away. Alas, the only expression that Fersen wore was that of concealed amusement.
Andre persevered. "Do you know what was bizarre? She bore a very striking resemblance to the woman you came with to the Servant's Ball! One could almost say they were... identical!"
Fersen smiled at the valet, cocked his head slightly to the side and locked gaze with him. "I must say Andre, I had never truly noticed it, but you have grown remarkably handsome! Have your eyes always been this pretty?"
Andre blushed at this unexpected compliment. "You're trying to detract and destabilize me. But I'll have you know, I'm not that vain."
Fersen laughed.
Andre tugged at the collar to tighten it, causing Fersen to wince.
"There's no point in denying it. I spoke with Frederik and his wife, Helga. She told me everything."
Fersen let out a soft chuckle. "Did she, now? I see I shall have to speak with my household about the value of discretion!"
"I know it was Oscar! I know she followed me!" Andre's speech was becoming heated.
Fersen moved to a nearby table where he poured himself a glass of brandy. He offered one to Andre, but he refused.
He only stared at Fersen, his impatience mounting by the second, as the Swede took his time sipping and appreciating the liquor.
Eventually, Fersen relented. "Yes, now that you mention it, Oscar did come to me last night and ask to borrow the costume."
"Why?!" Andre exclaimed. "Why would she need to… to come after me? To trail me like that? This isn't the first time she's done this."
"Do you really not know? Perhaps you should ask her."
Andre shook his head. He had his suspicions, of course, but he would never admit them to Fersen.
"Well, my dear fellow, if you haven't figured it out yet, there isn't much I can do to help you. You must understand that Oscar is very dear to me and I cannot betray her confidence."
Andre's jaw tightened. The Swede's obstinacy was untimely and downright infuriating. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Perhaps it didn't matter anymore. At least, now he had his proof. The rest, he could manage on his own.
There was one thing though… When it came to matters of the heart, neither rank nor wealth did not factor into the arena, and Andre felt emboldened to come out with it directly.
"Then tell me this at least: are you in love with Oscar?"
Fersen exhaled. He took another sip then traced his tongue over his teeth, as the two men faced each other. Fersen's good humor was no longer a match for the tension that now dominated the room.
"I love Oscar," Fersen finally admitted. Before Andre's bruised heart could shatter, Fersen added: "But I am not in love with her."
Andre nodded, then made his excuses to leave and Fersen thanked him for his service, complimenting him on a fine work. The least he could do. The only thing he could do for Andre, really.
However, Fersen's parting words now echoed in Andre's mind and played themselves on loop: "Your situation may seem impossible, Andre, but do not give up."
Give up on what? He thought, his vexation picking up a notch. What did Fersen know about him anyway, or about Oscar?
What could he not tell him about Oscar's motives?
And why was everyone suddenly speaking in riddles?!
But the main question that burned in his mind remained painfully unsolved.
Why did Oscar disguise herself? Why couldn't she just ask him?! Why, as Fersen had rightly suggested, couldn't he ask her?
Had things really reached a point between them where they could no longer be honest and free with one another?
That night when he had discovered her making hot chocolate for him in the kitchen made him feel comfort at this restored sense of normalcy between them. Alas, it had been short-lived. She had acted almost affronted when he had told her that they should forget everything that had happened. He thought she would be relieved. He had released her from any obligation towards him, attempted to remove all the awkwardness and tension caused by his untimely and silly confession of love.
Yesterday had been no better. The whole day, she was on edge, speaking curtly to the servants and guests and shutting herself in her room for long periods of time. When she wasn't in her room, he came across her loitering in very unlikely places. In fact, she appeared to be in all the places where he had chores to do, as if she knew exactly where he would be. She would then become oddly defensive and conjure up an excuse or another about why she was in the kitchens, or the drawing room, or the dining room when no one was there. As if it was so ordinary for her to be in those places and utterly rude and ridiculous of him to ask her what she was doing there or if she was looking for something.
And where was she going with all that questioning? "Your friends… the ones you're going to see tonight… are they… are they nice people?" It was clear that she was beating about the bush, that that was not really what she had wanted to know, but she was simply detracting and going about it in a sly and indirect way.
And then she lied.
To his face.
She had excused herself on the pretext of being tired, only to run over to Fersen's house, procure a disguise and stalk him.
Him, Andre! Like he was some thief in the night.
The heat that had risen to his cheeks abruptly subsided, replaced by a cold chill.
Unless… unless she really did think he was a thief in the night!?
For what other unthinkable reason could drive her to do that? And while wearing a dress, no less!
Furthermore, who knows what she now thought of everything she had seen and heard at the chapel last night.
Of course, he could have told her himself. He could have taken her there. God knows, he had wanted to take her there, to show her that there could be a different world. A new world. For them both.
But once again, she had chosen this underhanded way in her interaction with him. Had their friendship entirely lost its meaning to her? This was not the first time he had questioned the place and value of their friendship to her, seeing as how she had used a most humiliating tactic to catch him out and uncover his identity. The memory of which still sent a shiver up and down his spine, every time he thought of the way she had possessed him… the pressure of her hands on his chest… the feeling of her lips on hers, her kisses urgent and rough… he felt her body demanding more of him as the force of her desire pushed him up against that wall.
No, he had not imagined that.
The kiss in his room, however, was another story. Could he have dreamed it up indeed? He knew she had been in his room. But he could no longer trust himself with the truth.
Not that the truth mattered anymore, anyway, for it no longer seemed to have a place between them.
His head ached and his heart was fatigued.
He had also lied to her.
He was not cleared by the doctor, in fact. His illness had weakened his lungs and had the potential to permanently damage his heart. Doctor Lassone cautioned him against strenuous exercise for at least another month.
But how could he possibly sit at home and let her go out on this dangerous mission by herself?
Speaking of the mission, Oscar did seem to be taking an unusually keen interest in his appearance earlier this evening, just before they set out.
Almost as though she was… profiling him. Like he was a suspect in a murder.
And then she had thrown him a compliment, so casually and effortlessly, as if to conceal her traces.
Was it just him, or was she also trying to infuse an element of seduction in her manner to throw him off?
Oh, but he was beginning to acquaint himself with her new tactics now.
Yes, Oscar Francois de Jarjayes was certainly hatching a scheme.
And that was how the hunt for the Black Knight began. The question was: who was Oscar's real target?
…
Author's Note:
1) On the surface, Andre has always been a "simple" character who does only one thing: love Oscar. However, when we go beneath the surface and put him under the microscope, he is a very complex and tormented character. His transition and character journey aren't so obvious in the manga, which took away a bit of dimension from him. In the end however, the Rose of Versailles was not about Andre so he was given less attention overall. I am learning a lot about Andre the more I spend time with his character, but I still can't paint a perfect picture of him. So far, I still see him from the limited perspective as a character whose sole motivation is to love Oscar.
2) Special thanks and lots of appreciation to new Guest reviewers, Geno and Yessica and all other guest reviewers. I wasn't aware that I could actually respond in my own comments section, so I will make sure to do so next time! Thank you for your lovely comments and for going on this journey with me to explore Oscar and Andre 3
3) MM has also done several other fanarts for this story, which I referenced before. But in case you didn't see them, here are the numbers for them: 100117020, 94571446
Her two other gorgeous works include a portrait of Oscar and Andre (106532055) and one stunning one of Victor (101607333)
Links: en/artworks/101607333
en/artworks/106532055
en/artworks/94571446
en/artworks/100117020