Chapter 23: The Patience of Benjamin - Catherine's Perspective
The whalebone corset squeezes the last bit of breath out of me. Soon, I am swaddled in salmon pink fabric and gold damask embroidery. These skirts stretch to the outermost edges of the looking glass. My fingers bounce off the taut fabric around my midsection. My body has grown accustomed to more relaxed attire.
"Mademoiselle, we must do something about this hair," mutters Ana, her mouth full of pins.
"If you insist," I sigh. My lady's maid fiddles with my unruly strands. I think I rather liked my hair wild and free. However, that simply isn't an option for a proper young lady.
My room was dutifully cared for in my absence. Lush, velvet curtains surround the four-poster bed. The floors shine with wax. Upon my vanity's surface, not a stray bauble is out of place and not a shred of dust has been permitted to accumulate.
My engagement ring has been safely preserved in the bedside drawer. Benjamin suggested that my parents keep it in my absence. Should they manage to find me, he thought it would be a great comfort to me that his affections had not waned. I find this idea less comforting.
Ana kneels to adjust the layers of the billowing gown. Her skinny wrists move with great intention. No one suspected that my lady's maid was involved in my disappearance. She was only thrashed for losing her papers, a punishment to which I am most sympathetic.
She slows her fingers once they brush against my thigh.
I know why she's stopped. Just above is his sigil. His family crest burned into my flesh; the claws of lions are unmistakable. I can tell her fingers are curious, wanting to see if I'll flinch at its touch. It will bear tantalizing gossip. I only hope that it will stay out of the ears of my mother.
"I believe they're waiting for you, maîtresse," says Ana.
"I suppose they are." Even if I may owe her a favor or two, she's smart enough not to press the issue.
My parents have insisted on making up for lost time. In a week, I shall be wed in the veritable event of the season.
This afternoon, my parents are holding a small birthday celebration to make up for the one I missed. Nineteen years old passed in the viscount's care. It is a trivial signpost in the grand scheme of things. The edges of fencing lessons and evenings with Isabel all blur together compared to the aftermath of our voyage.
Those sharp fragments of devastation have prevented my appetite from fully returning.
Ana retrieves Benjamin's ring from the bedside, holding the metal band covetously before presenting it to my hand. She stares longingly at the conspicuous gemstone, its sparkle catching in her eyes. The great irony of her imagining a life as Catherine de Guînes.
I twist the large emerald down to the base of my finger. It is time to eat, drink, and be merry.
Despite an uneasy stomach, I ease myself down the stairs in order to appease my mother. The foyer has been decked out in swathes of pink ribbon and freshly cut flowers. Servants rush to put final touches on a celebration restricted only to the family. We are still days away from the main occasion.
A maid crosses my path. "Bon anniversaire, mademoiselle."
I nod, "Merci."
"Bon anniversaire," says a footman.
"Merci."
Others passing follow suit, each grateful for the opportunity to be recognized for their part in the event. It was only at my insistence that our estate is not filled with rows of carriages and well-wishers. My parents wish all of Saint-Michel to learn of their triumphant joy. Their prodigal daughter has returned. Whether my parents can rationalize my swashbuckling tale or not, they recognize that I am now much more amenable to their choice of suitor, and that is something to celebrate in itself.
A quick, sharp pain beneath my abdomen ripples through me. Ana insists that I pause near the fire before continuing. A lady is bound to have fainting spells from time to time.
My fiancé's portrait gleams above the mantle. I protested such a garish display when I received the gift during our courtship, but there it remains. Two brushstroke eyebrows and a flat jaw. My knight in shining armor, returning from France to rescue me from an ignominious existence.
Apparently, he was only in France to rescue me in the first place. Given my headstrong nature, my parents thought it possible that I had simply run off to Paris and eloped with a haberdasher. And for reasons beyond my comprehension, Benjamin carried their concerns to Europe - scouring the streets for a bride that was by all accounts dead. Even finding himself empty-handed, he returned to console my parents. A simple letter would have sufficed.
Such a hopeful nature is admirable I suppose.
I gather my skirts and proceed toward the celebration. Turning the corner with haste, I intercept the path of a speeding tea service.
"Watch out," a young footman yelps from behind.
It is too late to stop the collision. Upon contract with my train, gold-rimmed cups and saucers cascade to the ground. Porcelain shatters into crumbs, streaking tea across the floor.
The footman kneels to pick up the broken pieces, hands quivering. His companion darts off to fetch a more appropriate tool.
"My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle," he stutters.
"Not to worry. If the Guînes family were for want of tea services, this would be the first I've heard of it."
Brown beads of liquid zigzag down the back of my dress. It is a strange thing. I could have this man strung up by his toes for this offense, even if though I've never been known to wear an ensemble twice. A maid arrives to dab the quickly forming stain with a damp cloth. I shoo her away and continue onto the dining room.
My family sits, bunched up around the head of an overflowing table. The low-hanging chandelier glimmers above. We are often situated further apart, with Papa at the head and Maman and me somewhere in-between. After my disappearance, my parents seem to have developed a new affinity for physical proximity. Benjamin sits at the place setting to the right of my father.
"Come join us, Catherine," says my mother. "You must be starved."
Her tendency toward a reserved diet has been curbed by concerns about how I was treated at the hands of my captors. And out of all of the abuses I might have suffered, food is the one most easily remedied.
I am ushered into a high-backed chair to Benjamin's right. One of the serving girls loads pastries onto my plate. I nibble at the flaky crust placed in front of me and make polite conversation about the wedding preparations. While my parents' spread is abundant, I can't help but crave the spicy meats I once experienced at Rafael's table, even if that table was closer to the floor than I might have liked. Pork cracked with chili-infused steam. Vegetables crunched and stinging with fiery spices. Even when my mouth burned, I'd bite down on my tongue, unwilling to show weakness. Once my meals were no longer served from the servant's kitchen, my tolerance for spice steadily increased.
I drown the memory with a spoonful of fruit jam. There is no reason to build up a tolerance for such a place.
Benjamin interrupts the relative quiet. "My darling, I'm so glad that you've returned to us."
"How kind of you to say so. It is so wonderful to be home, especially after such an unspeakable experience," I reply, voice faltering.
My sincerest problem with Monsieur Dupré has not improved. The love on his lips does not match his eyes. Besides, wonderful is quite a relative word. Returning home is the cool relief of nothingness washing over me, one tepid wave after another. And yet, nothingness is far superior to a Pandora's box of emotions contorting all sense and reason. I pray that a presumption of 'unspeakable violations' will quell any further discussion on the matter.
"Elise," my father says to my mother, "let us present the girl with our gifts."
With a single, steely look, Maman signals the staff. The plates are cleared away in an instant. Those who stand at the fringes behind us spring to life, stacking dishes and sweeping crumbs. Since nearly everything is prepared in the family's absence, it is a strange sight to see. If I were still a member of the Navarro estate, would I eventually become one of those?
A neatly tied package arrives on a silver tray. Maman adjusts the strings before handing it over to me.
"Me first," she says. "Bon anniversaire, Catherine."
Inside the long, flat box is a stunning family heirloom. It is a necklace of rubies bound by gold filigree, not dissimilar to the one I offered dear Ana for her silence.
I hold the cold metal to my neck.
"Merci, Maman."
My father hands me a leather-bound journal. Dried flowers have been pressed between its bindings. No doubt this was a present was chosen by my mother. It's the perfect thing for sketching landscapes or jotting down a list of errands for a lady's maid.
"Merci, Papa."
His brow is earnest, "Anything for my little girl."
Papa has been uncharacteristically quiet about my disappearance. There is some amount of shame, I'm sure, that such a thing had happened on his watch. The responsibility to protect the fairer members of the estate rests squarely on his shoulders. At least, before that responsibility is turned over to my husband.
Only one potential gift-giver remains. Bearing no tinsel-wrapped boxes or sparkling vials of perfume, Benjamin reaches for my hand.
"My love, I intend to give you the world, but for the anniversary of your birth, I only wish us to know each other better. My gift to you is a picnic by the shoreline. We shall dine at sunset with the blessings of Aphrodite."
He gestures upward, and his footman unveils a basket overflowing with various breads and cheeses.
Maman claps her hands together, "Oh, how romantic!"
Being alone with Benjamin for an entire afternoon is far from my idea of romantic. It is bad enough that I'll have to spend a few decades with the dullard. There's no reason to expedite the process. We know each other as well as necessary for a future husband and wife. This can only be an attempt to weasel his way under my skirts, an eventuality of which I am not terribly fond.
The dubious nature of this engagement is not lost on my father.
Papa coughs politely, "I'm not sure an unchaperoned date is appropriate for a young lady."
