The Courtier's Tale Ch. 05

Marcel sneered. "Why should I care what—"

"Be silent! The Beauxfort's are well placed at court! Moreover, our alliances with other notable houses have been much undermined by these matters, Marcel." She glared at him for several long minutes. "Thankfully our father has a found a bride not too far beneath us who is willing to wed even you."

"I beg your pardon?"

Anna shook her head. "The girl is of good character with a spotless reputation. I can only assume her father is uncommonly bereft of either sense or money to have pedalled his daughter to you." Marcel opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to respond. "I can assure you, little brother, we're paying far more than we'd like for the privilege."

Anna held up the first letter. "This states that you are thrilled with the match and can hardly wait to behold your bride. Rene Beauxfort's accusations have wounded you terribly and you pray that his eyes will be opened to the truth. Both of you slept whilst some unknown attacker violated your poor friend. Although you desire to be a comfort to him in his distress, his own family has refused your urgent request." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "There's some other poetic drivel concerning the beauty of your betrothed as well. Expected romantic nonsense and the like. It explains to the curious in saccharine tones of your consuming need to wed immediately. You will sign this so our father can make it public to the court."

Marcel felt as though his mouth were full of ashes. "If I do not?"

She held up the other letter. "This one refuses the girl, admits your actual guilt and abdicates all right of inheritance to me." She toyed with it and admired the paper it was written on. "It's as long as the first one with fewer poetic moments. You may sign it if like, little brother. Our father will make your wishes very public whatever you choose."

It was all too much. Francis' apologetic eyes, the pain in his head, a growing sense of panic and Anna's triumphant evil smile. The light through the windows flared brighter and hotter, blinding his vision. The room swirled and melted as he felt himself topple sideways. Although the marble flooring rushed toward his face, darkness claimed Marcel before it could reach him.

Xxxxxx

Marcel gradually became aware of the cold cloth resting across his brow and covering his eyes. The soothing sensation allowed him to sort out his confusion about where he was and what was happening. He lifted his hand and gently pulled the soft cloth away. Marcel slid open his eyes, flinching against the muted lamplight in his darkened room. Thick velvet drapes completely covered the windows for which he was grateful.

His eyes drifted over to the doorway and settled on Francis. His friend leant against the wall watching Marcel, his arms crossed over his chest. "What time is it?" he asked weakly.

"It's nearly time for supper, my friend."

Marcel closed his eyes. "Dear God in heaven, tell me please that my dearest sibling won't insist I attend."

"Well since you've recently taken ill, Anna is quite content to meet with you tomorrow."

Marcel's eyes popped open wide. "Taken ill? Is that what you're telling people?"

"If you must know, the local gentry were gone by the time you had your little fit, so we don't have to tell anyone anything." Francis stalked toward him, a sour expression marring his handsome face. "Playing games with your sister is one thing, Marcel, but I won't forgive you if you ruin my engagement."

Marcel's mouth tightened. "Why should you be happy when I cannot be?"

Francis slapped him hard, making Marcel gasp in shock. "I'm willing to overlook this whole sorry episode as you're obviously distressed by these events." His friend's tone was soft and dangerous. "I'm warning you now; do not interfere further with me and I will do you the same courtesy."

"It's a little too late for that, isn't it, Francis? You knew what they had in mind didn't you! You knew and you said nothing to me!"

"It's time to stop behaving like a child! You are the heir of your house and you have responsibilities to your family and those who serve you, Marcel." He picked up the letters that were lying on his nightstand. "We've been friends a long time and I want to help you get through this, alright?"

Marcel nodded miserably and took one of the proffered letters. His eyes widened as he scanned through the contents. "Monique De Sorbert, isn't she the ambassador's daughter?"

"She is indeed, I'm not surprised you remember her." Marcel looked quizzically at his friend and Francis had the grace to blush. "She's a beautiful woman, Marcel."

He sighed. "The sad part is I wouldn't be able to tell if you were lying."

"You've met the girl haven't you? Didn't she stir your blood at all?"

"She's a woman, Francis," he said pouting, "I feel nothing when I look at them, my friend, nothing at all."

"Don't be absurd—"

"Do you think I'm not perfectly serious?" he watched his friend's perplexed face and shook his head. "Of course you don't believe it, do you? Tell me, Francis, have you ever known me to be with a woman?"

He was silent for a moment. "I assumed you had enough sense not to risk getting a girl pregnant."

Marcel snorted in disgust. "I can hardly believe we're having this conversation." He unfolded the second letter his father had prepared for him and felt ice wreath his heart. Every liaison he'd ever had was listed clearly and names had not been spared. "Have you read this letter?"

"They weren't addressed to me."

Marcel's jaw clenched. "That isn't what I asked you." He waited but Francis said nothing and avoided his eyes. "A great many men will be utterly ruined if this were made public." Lord Valmont smiled thinly. "I do wonder how my father came by this information, Francis."

His friend only shrugged. "For the right price a man may confess to a minor faux pas, or they have servants and friends who aren't as loyal as they pretend. Of course, most of the men on your list are the servants of your peers or the sons of wealthy businessmen. For a man who looks down his nose at bourgeoisie you certainly enjoy putting them beneath you."

"So you read this after all."

Francis shrugged. "There's little in it that I didn't know already."

Marcel wanted to respond but noticed Joseph standing in the doorway with a laden bed tray. "Your supper, my lord." His servant then put the food on a table before fussing with Marcel's cushions in order to make him comfortable. The young lord stared at his valet's face all the while but the man didn't meet his eyes even once. Joseph then placed the tray in front of him, bowed respectfully and left.

Marcel looked at his meal without seeing it. It irked him that he seemed to be losing control over everything in his life. He slipped the letters under his quilt intending to read them in privacy after he'd eaten.

"You're going to have to sign one of those and soon."

"Oh yes? Why the rush to seal my fate?" he asked bitterly.

Francis regarded him with a sober expression. "So your father can make suitable arrangements for you, one way or the other."

Xxxxx

Joseph entered Marcel's suite nervously and truly hoped his lord was asleep. The door to the inner chamber was ajar although the lamp had gone out, casting the bedroom into deep shadow. Marcel Du Valmont lay back on his pillows with the meal tray still propped over his lap.

Approaching softly, Joseph allowed his eyes to slide over his lord's face and form as he reached for the tray. Before he could lift it, Marcel's hands closed around his wrists and dark eyes stared up at him. "We haven't been given the chance to talk, Joseph." The valet had no idea what to say to his lord and his heart began to race. "You struck me, boy."

Heat flooded his cheeks and he was thankful that his lord couldn't see it in the darkness. "Yes, my Lord Valmont." His arms began to tremble, "How—how do you wish to punish me?"

Marcel arched an eyebrow and his lip curled upward, "You must know that I haven't told anyone."

"I'm grateful, my Lord Valmont."

"Oh yes? I don't want your gratitude, boy, I want you to be sorry!"

Joseph lowered his eyes as he felt his chest tighten. "I—I can't do that... my lord."

He added belatedly.

Marcel's eyes widened in outrage. "How do you dare--!"

"You called me by another man's name." The shock of being first interrupted then corrected showed on the lord's face. "I was unlacing you and you..." he choked back sudden tears, "You don't love me." He whispered hoarsely.

Marcel was so surprised he let go of Joseph's wrists. The valet lifted the tray quickly and stepped back several paces. "What did you say?"

"I must return the tray, my lord." He said nervously.

"Bugger the damned tray! I asked you a question; what did you say to me?"

Joseph backed slowly toward the door, "Please forgive me, my lord, I—"

"No, you are not forgiven!" Marcel flung the quilt aside and jumped to his feet. Unfortunately the lord had not recovered and he slid solidly to his knees. "Ah! My head hurts..."

Putting the tray on a table, Joseph knelt by Marcel. "You need to rest... please let me help you." The valet assisted the lord back into his bed then laid a palm against his forehead. "There's no fever but you mustn't overexert yourself." Joseph dipped a cloth in cool water and laid it over Marcel's brow. "Does that feel any better?"

"This isn't over, you know." He replied curtly. "Now get out of my sight."

Joseph retrieved the tray and paused before leaving, "Sleep well, my lord."