Chapitre Trente-Deux

Le Cochon

Beatrice

"So, I simply told him that the horse was from Piast and Piastian horses are just that much harder to tame."

At Cecile's joke everyone around the patio table laughed, even Beatrice, though, if she was being honest, she wasn't sure she got it.

Alexandre Aimon, a handsome young man with short, dark hair at their little soiree, raised his glass of wine in agreement. "Amen to that! Piastian horses can be such a pain, especially the mares!"

Beatrice forced herself not to roll her eyes at his contribution to the conversation. His thinly-veiled jab landed sideways in light of his aristocracy. Cecile was surely the first 'mare' he'd ever seriously pursued. And as for mares of the equine persuasion, no stable hand with a love of life would leave a high-born to command the reins of an unbroken beast. Such stupidity would warrant harsh reward for the lucky and suspicions of conspiracy for the blighted.

Yet several of the other young ladies at Cecile's party tittered and laughed, those syrupy, fake laughs that a poor player forced out in an attempt to win favor in The Game. Beatrice had to admire Cecile's tactics here. She'd chosen her guests carefully, each of the women were from houses nowhere near as wealthy as the Renart family, so they used every edge they could to gain Cecile's favor. Furthermore, it seemed Cecile had taken special care not to invite any young ladies prettier than herself, lest her suitors became distracted from the carrot she dangled before their eyes.

With her elegant dress and expensive jewelry, she was the very picture of a beautiful enchantress from some fairy-tale. If her wealth didn't lure these young men right into her trap, then her beauty certainly would.

The band started to play a lively waltz in major key, "Le Danse des Chevaliers," or "The Knights' Dance."

The reaction was not so different from a pistol duel in many ways. Often the one who was on cue, the first to aim and fire was the one who prevailed. And so, most of the young men at the soiree had to stifle their disappointment when Alexandre, the first to recognize the song and realize what was expected of him, turned to Cecile and said, "May I have this dance, my lady?"

"Oh, I'd love to dance!" said Cecile, as if the thought had just then occurred to her.

The other young men present each took other dance partners as Cecile and Alexandre took to the dance floor under the stars. The servants had polished the tiles to reflect the starlit sky above. Dancers would feel as if they waltzed across the sky itself.

Beatrice had been so focused on watching Cecile, this girl who was proving to be as much a master of the game as her father, that she didn't immediately notice the young man extending his hand to her.

"Ahem," the young man said. Beatrice looked up. "May I have this dance, Lady Renart?"

A bachelor of sixteen years asking her to waltz? Beatrice had to refuse. "I'm terribly sorry, but, as you yourself noted from my title, I'm already spoken for."

"Oh, dear duchess," said the young lord, "You misunderstand me. It is not my intention to woo you, far from it! I just know that you enjoy the dance so, and your poor husband's back is not as strong as it used to be."

Beatrice smirked and took his hand. "So, you are merely trying to be kind? Very well, let us enjoy this simple pleasure." Already she did not like where this was going. Surely he was not asking her to dance just for her amusement.

As the two of them began their dance Beatrice tried to figure out his angle. Was he trying to impress Cecile somehow? Was he truly so naïve to believe that she valued kindness over ambition?

On the dance floor, none could listen in over the music so it seemed she had time to find out. "I'm terribly sorry, my friend," she began, "But I have forgotten your name."

"Oh, I don't think we've actually met before," he said, twirling her and pulling her in again. He seemed to pull just a little harder than usual. There was an aggression to the way he moved that set Beatrice on edge. "I am Gaëtan of House Dufour."

Beatrice always found it difficult to suppress laughter when she also had to give a friendly smile. "Yes! I have heard of you! There was that art show that you hosted." That show had been an egregious disaster. No attendee paid admission, rather they received their own purse as compensation for their presence. Any kind words they had to say about this young man's sculptures was spoken at the show and never again.

"Ah, I'm sad you could not have attended," said Gaëtan, seemingly oblivious to what a humiliation that event should have been.

Seriously, how did this young man think? Did he truly think that people enjoyed graphic sculptures of young lovers copulating? Well, Beatrice could see how he was confused into thinking something erotic was automatically high art, but the lovers in his sculpture were not embracing in a passionate, sultry way as they were about to make love. No, the subjects of that sculpture were, as one guest would later put it, "riding below the crupper in a most vulgar fashion!"

"How is your son, Leon, these days?" Gaëtan asked.

Ah, so he was fishing for information, and not exactly subtle about it either. After he lifted her, the top of his head temporarily placed rather uncomfortably under her diaphragm, she responded, "Surely you must have heard, as everyone else has, of the Forbin's betrayal and the attack on this very home? My son is... of a quick temper these days." Hopefully this crass pornographer would see through the veil to the threat that lay underneath and leave her alone.

"Oh, feeling so terrible, is he?" said Gaëtan, without the slightest hint of fear. Either he was good at concealing it or he wasn't intimidated. "Perhaps he ought to take in an art show too."

Beatrice laughed. At that she couldn't resist insulting him, even just a little, to put this pompous fool in his place, "I'm afraid you may underestimate even the greatest artist's abilities to lift men's spirits." Beatrice leaned in closer. "Magnus Forbin was my son's best friend for years, his only confidant. All those years of friendship turned out to be a lie, and Leon looked on as his treacherous friend died before his eyes." She squinted at him skeptically. "Everyone knows this, so I assume you do too. Do you honestly think that a few stone carvings are going to lift his spirits after something like that?"

"You'd be surprised," said Gaëtan as he twirled with her, "What my art inspires in people."

"You'd be surprised how deep grief can go," said Beatrice as he lifted her again, his nose grazing her belly. How close was he getting that even through her corset she could feel that? She shuddered and had to focus for a second to stop her hands from shaking.

"Oh, don't say that," said Gaëtan. "I'm sure if you and Leon came together the two of you would find something in my art very inspiring." Was he getting at what she thought he was? Beatrice cringed. "It might even inspire you to... I don't know, get into some art yourselves." The look in his eyes confirmed her suspicions. This vulgar louse really was blackmailing her.

But how did he even know about the two of them? Beatrice's eyes darted back and forth, as if she would spot whatever spy he'd planted in their household. Or had he merely heard rumors of their dance and Leon's behavior once it was done? It could easily be either, but Beatrice would be sure to tell Fitzroy about anyway, just in case he needed to have private conversations with members of the kitchen staff.

"Please," said Beatrice, deliberately rolling her eyes, "Lyr only knows what sorts of horrible things that talentless boy would carve. What do I need to do to get you to drop the subject?" Yes, what was he after? Money? Information? Once she knew what he wanted she could better decide how to proceed.

"Oh, I suppose I was foolish for suggesting Leon would be interested in the arts, being the athlete he is." Gaëtan chuckled and spun her again, pulling her back so fast that for a moment his face was a blur. "Though, perhaps, you would enjoy sculpting something with me?" He leaned in closer and spoke just above a whisper. For a moment, Beatrice wasn't sure she'd heard him right over the music. "Your son and husband need not know."

Beatrice fought to stifle a retch when she heard this. Truly? He was blackmailing her because he lusted for her flesh? She wasn't sure what was more offensive, the fact that he was trying to blackmail her into an affair, or that this was all he was trying to blackmail her into.

Then again, if she did agree to an affair with this dog he'd certainly have even more leverage than he'd had before. No, in addition to her disgust there was another, much more important reason she must not lose here; she couldn't let Gaëtan sink his hooks into her or the Renart household.

But what did she have to counter his threat? He'd already blown off the implication that Leon might challenge him to a duel. What did she have that was more frightening than Leon?

Her silence had already gone on too long. Though she was confident no one else could hear them enough to understand the conversation, she knew that if anyone saw them stop moving their lips for too long any witness would know that Beatrice was in trouble here, and that would only lead to more questions. She needed to respond, but she had nothing with which to counter his threat. Especially if he really did have proof of her strange relationship with Leon.

At least, not yet she didn't.

"That sounds lovely," said Beatrice, giving him a sultry smile. "Shall we arrange a time and place for you to teach me your craft?"

He grinned back. A slimy grin of a lustful warthog, not a grin of satisfaction at a hard-earned victory. Was this young fool truly after something so base and willing to blackmail someone so powerful with it? What a total lack of ambition!

Beatrice raised her eyebrows and gazed at him seductively. "Perhaps you might be fine with me bringing along a friend?"

"Oh?" the eel certainly seemed to find that an enticing offer.

"Yes, a very dear friend of mine," said Beatrice. Then, just above a whisper, she said, "Amadeus Fitzroy."

Now it was his turn to stop a moment in stunned silence. Yes, he'd heard the rumors, he wasn't as much an idiot as she feared. He knew of Amadeus Fitzroy, the famous gangster whom Duke Lucien Renart had convinced the Cardinal to grant a full pardon an hour before he would have danced at the gallows. That infamous, black-hearted, vicious dog on the end of a Renart leash. Yes, now it was this connard's turn to tremble.

"Fitzroy is welcome if friends of mine are welcome," said Gaëtan, his smug smirk returning. "Claudine de Villepin would certainly hate to miss such a party."

And he countered with his own family's left hand; a woman who was not only a dangerous assassin and spymaster, but was also rumored to be a witch of terrifying power. Twice the Chuch had sent people to investigate her. The witch-hunters had turned up nothing in their investigation, but, even so, it was said they died in their beds two nights later. The funny thing was, both bodies were found sitting upright on their beds, carving into their walls the symbol of the pagan moon goddess. Certainly, Claudine de Villepin was not a woman one took lightly.

"You know, I can't actually agree to that," said Beatrice. "I find Claudine's company to be so terribly droll. So, we shall not include either Fitzroy or Claudine in this. Then it shall just be the two of us? Is there a time and place you would prefer?" She'd just need a little more time. More time to figure out some way to beat him.

Gaëtan's oily smile turned, as did Beatrice's stomach. "Tomorrow evening, say 7:30, you could meet me at a small house I'm renting nearby? I'll write down an address and directions for you."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you for this invitation, my friend."

The waltz ended and the two of them bowed to one another. Gaëtan kissed the back of her hand. It was a gesture that was typically polite, but, in this situation, could not have felt any more insulting.

At that the two of them went their separate ways. Beatrice feigned a headache and left the party as soon as she could.

An hour later, the party actually ended, and Beatrice listened from the study as Cecile and Lucilla bid goodbye to the guests and ushered them out the foyer doors.

Soon after, Cecile and Lucilla gathered with Beatrice in the study and closed the doors.

"Anything new from Alexandre?" Lucilla asked.

"His brother in the Imperial Guard apparently loves a certain Shinari whiskey," said Cecile. "Just one more way we can win over his favor, bit by bit, until father can buy his complete loyalty."

"Excellent news!" said Lucilla, jotting some notes in a book. "Anything else?"

"Oh, yes," said Cecile. "He also proposed to me for the second time tonight. I gave him the usual response, 'I'm just not sure yet.' Don't worry, he'll be back to try again soon enough."

"Splendid," said Lucilla, "Keep him doing everything he can for this family as long as you can." She turned to Beatrice. "Anything from your endeavors? I saw you were dancing with Gaëtan Dufour. Any luck there?"

"No," said Beatrice. "Actually..." Beatrice sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Quite the opposite. I'm being blackmailed."

"Damn!" said Lucilla. "With what?"

"It doesn't matter," said Beatrice.

Cecile gave Beatrice a questioning look. "We're all family here, Mother. It's best if we share these sorts of matters so that we can watch out for each other."

"I said it's not important," said Beatrice, firmly staring into Cecile's eyes. It was dangerous to tell Cecile to leave something alone like this, but it was far more dangerous to tell her the truth. A secret like this was one you kept even from your closest loved ones, if you could help it. "What is important," Beatrice continued, "Is that I need some way to beat him. Some way to make him drop this! So... I'm thinking I might talk to Fitzroy and--"

"Actually..." Lucilla interrupted, "I may have something. Let me just check my office for the records and I will be back." Lucilla placed a hand on the doorknob, but turned her head back for a moment. "Just... at least try to hold off on having anyone killed until I get back?"

Beatrice laughed and nodded. "Of course."

Lucilla grinned and left the library, closing the door again behind her.

There was a strange silence between Beatrice and Cecile for a while. Both of them seemed to be avoiding eye contact, and Beatrice knew Cecile was dying to say something about Beatrice's secret.

She needed to divert the conversation. "So, why have you twice refused Alexandre's proposal? I think he's rather handsome, and if his family has ties to the Imperial Family then that's quite an asset."

"I refused him," said Cecile, staring at her fingernails, "Because I don't wish to be married yet."

Beatrice toyed with her pendant between two fingers. "Certainly, that is a game that has worked for you well. Your suitors are willing to do just about anything to win your favor these days. They all want to 'Tame the Shrew,' and 'Catch the Unicorn.' It's a challenge for them now, I understand." Beatrice sighed. "But, I worry... I... how much longer can that game go on? Already some of them likely suspect that a lady your far past fourteen is no longer a maiden."

"Should I be have been married at sixteen as you were?" Cecile asked.

"It would have been prudent," said Beatrice, "That's all I'm saying. We are playing Le Jeu Fatal here, and we need to be careful. Any advantage exploited too long may turn into a liability."

"My father only seriously pursued arranging a marriage for Leon once he reached the age I am now," said Cecile.

Beatrice nodded. "Yes, I know, it's a double-standard. One I'm not terribly fond of myself, but it's part of how the game is played."

"You misunderstand me," said Cecile, laughing. "The reason I'm waiting is different than all that. I'm waiting a little longer because I know that had you waited until you were about my age now rather than getting married to the great and impressive Duke Renart when you did, today I might call you 'sister' instead of 'Mother.'"