Although rather brutal, Aramis's admonishing appraisal of my looks helped to settle a little of the feelings in my heart. It was a bitter sensation, like being forced to swallow medicine, but I comforted myself that perhaps this was all for the best. I could not command my own heart to love whom I willed, and it had set its sight upon Aramis from the first moment I had laid eyes upon him, but my head being the rational thing it was always knew that such notions could never be returned. Aramis did not care for me in that manner, which I understood. It did not lessen the pain, or soften its impact.
Work allowed me to keep out of their way for a time, finding more excuses to be with Constance and working my needlepoint rather than being called upon at the barracks. I sought to make myself at least look busy so that I did not have to spend too long in their company. My brother was quick to suspect that something was amiss, but my placating smiles and reassurances silenced his questions. I was not going to blame them for their words, for they were simply stating the truth. I did not wish to bear a grudge or ruin the beauteous friendship we had created between us, nor did I wish to cause a rift between Athos and his closest friends. So I maintained my silence, but I suspected d'Artagnan was wise to my scheme. He never mentioned what was said, but his eyes told me that he knew. He knew that I had heard, and he was sorry for it. Again, he could not say so out loud without raising other questions, and the time he attempted to apologise in private I had pointedly spoken over him, directing the conversation elsewhere.
Thankfully the Gascon was sensible enough to understand that I did not wish to speak of what I had heard and instead, maintained his silence. I was grateful to him for it. He was a good soul. All the same, I could not bring myself to act with the same manner in front of Aramis as before, and even my friendliness with Porthos had somewhat chilled. Their hurtful words stung and I could hear them repeating in my head. Plain. Scruffy. Unseemly. It was enough to drive a woman mad, I tell you.
At first, neither of them noticed. Often caught in their own conversations or business, they did not have time to note my coldness, or rather the lack of warmth in our interactions, limited as they became. It was Porthos who noted it first. I was bringing him food another night at the tavern, one of our busier evenings keeping me busy. He and the others were roaring with laughter at something one of them said, I heard not what it was, when I set the plate before him. He turned his oafish grin upon me and naturally reached out to ruffle my hair. "Thank you darlin'." Jerking myself back, I refrained from allowing the affectionate gesture. Porthos blinked in surprise.
"Call for me if you require anything else," I spoke to the table as a whole, only meeting my brother's gaze before disappearing from their sight. From where I continued to work, I caught sight of Porthos staring at his hand in bewildered confusion. Part of me felt guilty, but I elected not to dwell upon it. Whenever I was around them I was aware of their presence. No more did I allow them to ruffle my hair or kiss my hand. There were no more bear-like embraces or tossing me into the air in play. I felt it was important to place a divide between us.
Perhaps of greatest pride to myself, I no longer became flustered around Aramis. I had spent the last of my blushes upon him, so now when I poured his wine or brought his food, I did so without lingering, without stealing glances and never once did I turn a shade. My actions were beginning to be noticed, and upon occasion I saw the men whispering in deep conversation between themselves. Aramis and Porthos looking particularly perturbed, but from what I understood, neither of them had much of a memory of that night. Certainly not Porthos. He claimed the last he remembered of that evening was the game of dice they had played, and that had transpired not long after they had sat down.
They seemed to know that something was wrong, but whether d'Artagnan revealed to them their own words, I did not hear. Athos did find me later that evening towards the end of the night when the patrons were stumbling out the door, catching my arm as I rushed used cups and dishes to the backroom. "Madeleine, is everything alright?" Full of brotherly concern, he studied me with a firm scrutiny. "If there is something troubling you, you can tell me what it is." Without me needing to say, his gaze then flickered to where Aramis and Porthos were still looking perplexed. "If someone has done something to upset you, no matter who they are, I shall ensure they are taught a harsh lesson." I giggled at this. If nothing else, it felt good to be loved and cared for by Athos.
"Nothing is wrong, brother. I assure you."
"You have been avoiding Aramis and Porthos all evening," he reasoned simply. I should have known he would have noticed.
"I am simply…drawing a line," wanting to keep most of the truth to myself, I swiftly found a reasonable excuse that would appease my brother once and for all. "Although I do not look it, I am a woman, Athos. I admit not a particularly well looking one, but a woman nonetheless." Athos's eyes widened in bafflement. "I do not want there to be any misunderstandings."
"What are you talking about?" Softening his grip on my arm but still keeping me to converse, Athos smiled warmly. "You are lovely, my sweet sister. A beautiful young woman." Bless his tender and soft heart, I loved him for it. Any other time, I might have been truly happy to hear such words, perhaps even felt emboldened by them. Now, they only seemed like a harrowing taunt.
"You are my brother, Athos," I reminded him quietly, "it is your duty to be biased and think me beautiful." Even if it is a lie. These words I left unsaid, but they rang silently in the air and stuck in my throat like dried resin. In his surprise Athos's hand dropped to his side and so I took this as my opportunity to escape. My words concerned him, it seemed, but he did not press the issue further. He waited as he always did until the last of my tasks were done before we walked home together, my arm safely tucked in his.
I was glad for the chilling night air, fresh and sharp in my lungs as I breathed and felt a little cleansed by basking in starlight and moonlight. The days were hot but the nights were cool, allowing us respite from the blazing heat of the day. My sleep was deep and restorative, enjoying a small breeze crossing my room before rising once more with the dawn. An endless cycle of work and sleep, sometimes eating in between. At least I had plenty of work to keep me occupied. Clothing and uniforms from the musketeers, orders from wealthy ladies beginning to take note of my work and such.
Constance was at my side most of the afternoon helping me to sort and cut fabrics, our fingers working to create simple garments within our capability, but often the simplicity allowed to best display the elaborate patterns I had stitched and sewn. Steadily, our pockets were beginning to be filled. "How go your lessons?" I asked her one particularly fine afternoon where we worked together with all the windows open and damp cloths settled over our necks to cool us. "Is d'Artagnan giving you the proper instruction?"
"Indeed he is, as infuriating as he can be, he can be trusted to keep his promises." Constance assured me as I heard her shake out another length of fabric. "I've gotten better with the pistol, but the swords are testing me a little. I always seem to lose my balance."
"It will come in time, this is why practice is required to master any fine art." Giving an encouraging smile, I noted how bright Constance seemed of late. A light seemed to shine within her, a happiness in her eyes I had not seen before. "If ever you need to give an excuse to your husband, you may use me as a ploy. Should he ask about your absences, I shall simply say that you were with me running errands of some kind." To this Constance looked relieved, exhaling deeply.
"Considering how often my husband is away, I doubt he'd even notice." All the same, it was better to be prepared. "Thank you, Madeleine. You are a true friend."
"Of course, it comes with the territory," I teased her with a wicked grin. "And should I ever need someone to make excuses for me to my brother, I shall most definitely be depending on you to do the same." She giggled at this, most likely trying to imagine how she would ever be able to lie to Athos of all people. He was a bloodhound for deception.
"Excuses such as what? What secret rendezvous are you hiding from me?" A strip of fabric swatted at my arm as Constance teased me, but I sincerely assured her that there were no such excuses required at present and certainly no secret trysts to speak of, but should ever there be a need, I knew I could trust Constance to hold her tongue. After this there was a little silence, but I had come to know Constance well. I could practically feel her thinking, attempting to uncover something whilst she looked at me intently. "D'Artagnan tells me you have been distant with the men lately." Ah, I should have known she would find out eventually. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, Constance." This did not seem to satisfy her.
"You were all so close only a few days ago, what has happened to shift you so suddenly?" The question gave me pause, my needle halting just before entering the fabric where a woodland scene was emerging under my hands. Constance noted the halt. "You can talk to me, you know. If I can help then I will."
"I know that, it is not because I lack faith in you, Constance," assuring her that my reluctance to share my troubles had nothing to do with her, I exhaled deeply. "It is only…I heard something I perhaps should not have." Intrigued, Constance put down the bolt of fabric and approached, setting herself down at the table opposite me. "I will not go into details, but it was indicated to me that I have been…" I struggled to find the correct words, "immature, to some extent, in my feelings towards a certain someone." Creasing her brow, Constance puzzled over my vagueness until it dawned upon her.
"We are referring to Aramis," it was not a question. "I have suspected for quite some time that you held…special feelings for him."
"Indeed," it seemed pointless to lie about it now, "for almost five years I imagined myself to be in love with him. After all he is handsome, charming and exceedingly chivalrous. It was difficult not to." To this Constance shrugged and made a noise as if to say if you say so, which almost made me laugh. Constance had always been a singular woman amongst our kind. "Perhaps to others these feelings might have appeared fanciful or misplaced, but to me they were…are…very real." Sensing my increasing upset, Constance quickly removed my embroidery from my hands and squeezed my fingers to reassure me of her presence.
"Whatever was said was quite stupid, I imagine. If you love the man then you can't help yourself, there's nothing immature about it," she was too kind, but I knew that she was only trying to console me.
"All the same, I have known from the very beginning that a man such as Aramis could never love me, not as a woman. I am too close to them, I am Athos's sister, and I…" I am too unsightly. At this, I clamped my mouth shut. Without realising I had begun to cry, I felt a warm tear trail from my lashes.
"There now," deftly finding a handkerchief to dab away the tears, Constance smiled soothingly to me as she continued to hold my hand. "Stupid men, they're all idiots I can assure you." Now I laughed. "I am sorry someone has made you feel unworthy to be loved by someone like Aramis, and if you would tell me who they are I'd happily smack them," again I laughed, "but all that aside, there is no reason why a man like him couldn't love you."
"Constance…look at me." Drawing my hand free, I gestured at myself with a grand sweep of my arms. "I am no natural beauty, not like you. Men love primarily with their eyes, do they not? If what they see before them is unappealing, then they have no reason to invest their heart. Handsome men attract handsome women, it is the way it has always been. Who would look twice at a shrew like myself?" Shocked by my own disparaging language, Constance caught my hand with a hush, stopping me from continuing. There was a pregnant pause, the silence allowing her time to think of how to answer. Eventually, she smiled.
"I'd tell you that you are beautiful, but I have a feeling that you would not believe me," she finally decided, and I informed her truthfully that she would be correct. "All the same, those who know you love you for you are, Madeleine, not for how you look. In any case, I certainly do not love with my eyes, only my heart," stretching her hands towards me, I placed my own within her grasp compliantly as she then squeezed. "You are beautiful to me." Touched by her words, I finally felt a little of the weight alleviate itself from my chest. I breathed and found myself flowing with tears once more, but these were happier than their predecessors.
It helped, I think, to be validated by a fellow woman. After all, men were impudently stupid as Constance had reminded me, and there was more to life than beauty. I was not unintelligent, I was a hard worker and had various skills which could carry me through life. If nothing else, then I had people close to me who cared for my wellbeing, perhaps even loved me in their own ways. I knew Athos certainly did, for I was his treasured little sister. I had to be grateful for what I already had, rather than fixate upon a vanity I could never possess. This had been exactly what I needed, and I scolded myself for being so greedy. I should make time to go to confession soon.
Thereafter I felt comfortable enough in my own skin that such words did not affect me so keenly. I did not avoid Aramis and Porthos as actively as I had before, I even allowed Porthos to ruffle my hair again, but that was the extent of my allowance. There was still a proverbial line drawn in the sand, one I felt was important never to cross, hence why some distance was still required. My softening came as a relief to the men, however they still noted that things were not quite as they were before.
Only Porthos attempted to uncover the reason for my change. Aramis had not dared approach me at all. I suspected that he remembered more of that night than he admitted, as sometimes when I was working, I would happen to look in my brother's direction and catch an expression of guilt upon Aramis's face as he looked at me. In addition, his charms only seemed to increase tenfold, showering me with flowery words and compliments at any given opportunity. One such time, they had just finished their training for the day, meaning they were hot, perspiring and exceptionally uncomfortable in their shirts.
As I always had in the past, I brought a fresh pail of water directly to them with cups for all four, walking across the yard to where they stood. Aramis noted me first. "Aha! Here comes our lovely maiden bearing our succulent relief," he proclaimed joyously with a gesture of his hand to welcome me into their fold. "You are a treasure, dear Madeleine, we are truly grateful for your generous…"
"Not now, Aramis, I am busy," tired of this exhausting charade, I cut Aramis short as I placed the pail upon the table for them and set their goblets next to it so that they could quench their thirst and then use the rest to douse away their sweat and warmth. I looked at Athos. "Here, a towel and fresh shirt. I thought you might need them today," lifting the two items which had been draped over my arm, I set them neatly in front of my brother and smiled at him as he chuckled in amusement, unable to look away from Aramis's gaping expression. I did not even spare Aramis a glance, rising onto my toes to kiss my brother's cheek before striding away to continue with my work, fetching more water for the other soldiers. Perhaps they thought I was out of earshot. Perhaps Aramis simply did not know how loudly he was speaking.
"Alright, something is definitely amiss here. Madeleine has been acting strangely for days. Before now she would blush and smile by my mere presence, all of a sudden it's like I have the plague."
"Do you?" Athos quipped, the smirk evident in his tone. At this, Aramis spluttered in denial, seemingly quite baffled by the situation before him.
"She has been acting strange," Porthos ventured to agree as I bustled about the yard, delivering the last of the water and beginning to take up my next task. When I walked past them, they all fell obtrusively silent, watching me as I did not even glance their way. "You see? Didn't even look at us."
"Perhaps you should think carefully about what you could have said or done to offend her," d'Artagnan offered in smug innocence, which admittedly also amused me. He seemed to enjoy tormenting them, both Porthos and Aramis correctly surmising that he knew something they did not. "I am saying nothing. It is not for me to share whether or not she is angry with you." Unable to help myself, I disappeared behind the door of the pantry and sequestered myself out of sight, wanting to hear what else they might say as I heard the gush of water being poured over their heads each in turn.
"If you know something, tell us! I am beginning to grow concerned for our Madeleine, something is clearly affecting her." Aramis insisted, his tone almost threatening. "She does not smile the way she used to. At least, not at me."
"Me neither," Porthos added, simply sounded confused and a little lost truth be told. "Feels like she's been holding us at arm's length these days." Then followed silence, so I dared a look and found them eyeing my brother suspiciously. "Do you know something?"
"I know that my sister is no longer a child," Athos finally shared, taking up the towel and clean shirt I had brought him, water dripping from his hair and trailing down his neck. "She is a woman conscious of her place amongst men. Whatever the reason for her behaviour, I shall not question it. I trust her judgement."
"You can't seriously think that we're somehow responsible?" At last, Porthos shed his confusion and grew angry at the suggestion. "I'd rather cut off my own hand than hurt Madeleine. She's like my own sister."
"And mine," Aramis agreed, which stung considering how once again I was reminded that I was never going to be an object of his desire. "If we have offended her, is there not a way for one of you to ask? She will not talk to me, I can barely get her to look at me of late."
"Ask her yourself if you want to know, how are we to know what goes on in her head?" D'Artagnan answered flippantly as he shed himself of his wet shirt so I politely averted my gaze, returning to my hidden place behind the door. Surge gave me an odd look from where he prepared the supper, but I pleaded with him to stay quiet with a finger to my lips. He made no comment, nor did he give me away. He was a dear old man. "Perhaps you should think carefully about what might have caused this change."
"I don't like this," Porthos fretted, "I feel like I should be guilty for something, but I can't think for the life of me what it is."
"Then think harder." After this I heard one of them stride away, so I presumed it to be d'Artagnan. Eventually the other followed suit, allowing me rest my head back against the wall and expel all thoughts from my head. I was tired of thinking.
"Seems like you've got them all in a fretful state, little one," Old Surge said to me as he shuffled past with a tray of vegetables. "Anything I can help you with?"
"Thank you Surge, but there is nothing I need help with." Moving towards him, I began to pluck the feathers from the birds which were to be tonight's supper. I thought about what had been said, perhaps even feeling a little guilty of how much my coldness seemed to affect Aramis and Porthos, but I could not bring myself to falsify my actions and forcibly behave as I used to. It made me sick to my stomach just thinking of it. "You must think me a heartless creature to treat them so distantly," I found myself saying aloud, pausing Surge's hand as he cut the turnips ready for boiling.
"Not at all," he resumed his expert dicing. "If I know you at all, then I know you would have good reason to be acting the way you are. I know you are a girl of good sense and reason." Offering a toothy smile, Surge patted my hand. "They most likely deserve it, the scoundrels." A burst of laughter escaped me, causing a fit of giggles which happened every time Surge suddenly cussed or cursed, which was rarely but always well timed. The laughter lifted my spirits, and I finished the rest of my chores with a genuine smile for what felt like the first time in an age.