Читать книгу The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One - G.D. Falksen - Страница 6

Chapter Two

Babette Varanus sat by herself in a mountain of ruffles and lace, amid the gaiety and splendor of her grandfather’s ball, wishing with all her might to be somewhere else. Dancers spun past, all smiling in delight. Babette could think of little to smile about.

Much better to be in Grandfather’s library, she thought, dressed in less ostentatious clothes and surrounded by books of substance. Instead, she was dressed like a pastry and surrounded by a confederation of the most useless people in all of France. Never mind that they were among the wealthiest and most powerful—the aristocracy of the new empire. Babette doubted very much that they had a single thought between them that did not pertain to matters of politics, business, or clothes.

Or war. There were far too many men in uniform prancing about like dashing dragoons. And except for the odd hussar in braided dolman, Babette could picture none of them riding into the jaws of death with sabre brandished high.…

Dashing indeed. Many of them were old and gouty. Even the young were overfull with their own pride. Hardly inspiring stuff. They had all gone for glory in the Crimea; but as Grandfather said, it was the English who had done all the real work there.

She shook her head and felt her auburn hair buffet the sides of her face. For a moment she felt like screaming. Her father had insisted upon ringlets for the ball. Even Babette’s protestations to Grandfather had been for naught.

“And how does the evening find you, my dear?” asked a voice at her elbow.

Babette nearly jumped with fright. She turned in her seat, looked up, and saw her grandfather, William Varanus, standing above her in his finest evening dress. His was a kindly face, strong and masterful, with penetrating blue eyes and framed by elegantly graying hair. Babette’s temper softened for a moment as Grandfather smiled down upon her dotingly as he had done since she was a child.

“Hello Grandfather,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and forcing a smile. “It finds me…well.”

“Have I not always taught you never to lie?” Grandfather asked, his smile never fading. “May I sit?”

“In your own house, Grandfather? Of course.” Babette motioned toward the chair beside her.

Grandfather sat and gave Babette another smile, showing his teeth as he always did. He looked out across the ballroom, his smile fading into a dignified frown.

“Abysmal, is it not?” he asked.

By God, yes it was.

“What is?” Babette asked, feigning ignorance. It was only polite to do so.

“Look at them,” Grandfather said, ignoring the question, as he was wont to do. “My friends and neighbors, business associates, well-wishers, and some of the most highly placed people in France.… And all here to celebrate the coming of the new season on my shilling!”

Grandfather was English, of course. Even in France he preferred English vocabulary. Indeed, if not for the ball, they would have been speaking in English, as they always did at home when not intruded upon by guests. Even the staff were required to understand the language, for which they were paid extra.

Grandfather turned back to Babette and smiled again as he regarded her. “And all for you, my darling: the daughter I never had.”

Babette laughed lightly, as was proper, but sincerely.

“I thought that was Father,” she said. She could only have spoken so to Grandfather.

Grandfather barked a laugh and slapped his knee, drawing shocked looks from a gaggle of women standing nearby.

“Ah, dear James,” Grandfather said, studying the throng with his eyes. “Yes, where is my son? No doubt ensuring that everything is parfait for your début into society.”

“My début is not until Paris,” Babette reminded him.

“You avant-début then,” Grandfather said, still searching the crowd, every once in a while sniffing as if he could smell is son.

Babette giggled slightly and hid her mirth behind her fan. Grandfather was such an eccentric at times.

“Your blasted mother may have had the good sense to die,” Grandfather said gruffly, “but I daresay she has possessed your father. He was never so insufferable until after her.” He paused and looked at Babette. “My apologies,” he said. “I should not have spoken so of your late mother, God rest her soul.”

Babette looked away, for the moment stricken not by the pain of loss but by the pain of lacking.

“No need, Grandfather,” she said. “You remember, I never knew her. How can I mourn someone I never knew? Besides, I rather suspect that had she lived, she would have hated me.”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather said, momentarily placing a hand upon her arm. “No, your mother would have loved you. She would have treated you like a doll.”

“A doll?” Babette asked.

“Oh yes. She would have dressed you up in more frills and bows and shackles of lace than exist on God’s green earth.” Grandfather shrugged. “At least, that was what she did to her poor dogs.”

He spoke with such distain that Babette was silent for a moment. Presently, she asked:

“Like father has done to me?”

She motioned to her gown. Though it was impeccably tailored, her tiny waiflike body was all but overwhelmed by the mass of fabric.

“Now that you come to mention it…” Grandfather said.

“Yes, Father no doubt is possessed,” Babette said. She sat in silence for a moment, gently fanning herself. Though the weather outside still held a twinge of winter’s chill, the ballroom was ever so slightly warm. “Are you certain I cannot have a book, Grandfather?” she asked at length. “A small one. I could hide it behind my fan. No one would ever know.”

“Are you dreadfully bored?” Grandfather asked.

Babette sighed and her shoulders slumped briefly.

“As you cannot imagine,” she said. “There is nothing to do. No one speaks to me, you know.”

“What of your dance card?” Grandfather asked.

Babette almost laughed.

“Empty, as it has been all night,” she said.

Not that she minded. All of the possible claimants were unbearably French, a quality that Grandfather had raised her to distain. And all were unbearably boorish besides. She doubted any of them had half a sentence of intelligent conversation. The only thing wrong with her situation that evening was the lack of a book.

And the damned dress.

“It will be different in Paris,” Grandfather said.

“Will it?” Babette asked, disappointed at the prospect.

If Grandfather recognized her tone, he ignored it.

“You are the heir to the Varanus fortune,” he said. “In Paris they will all flutter about you like moths”

“Or flies around rotting meat?” Babette asked. “Truthfully, I would prefer otherwise, Grandfather.” She looked up at him, her green eyes big and pleading. “Must I marry, Grandfather?”

From what she had heard about marriage and motherhood, it seemed like it would all be such a dreadful waste of her time.

Grandfather looked at her sternly, like he always did when she was being difficult. After a token staring match to defend her independence, Babette relented and lowered her eyes.

“Babette,” Grandfather said, “do not ask foolish questions. You are sixteen. You are a woman now. And you are your father’s only child. Of course you must marry. If you do not bear children, our line dies with you. And you would not bring that shame upon me, would you?”

Babette gritted her teeth. Damn Grandfather for asking such a question! He knew that he was her greatest weakness!

“No, Grandfather,” she said softly. After a moment, she added, “But why cannot Father remarry? He could choose a young wife, and she could bear him sons. And I could happily become a spinster.”

“You are far too young to speak of becoming a spinster,” Grandfather said, chuckling. “Wait until you are twenty before harboring such thoughts.”

“Perhaps,” Babette said.

She fell silent as a gaggle of young, beautiful women walked past with their heads held high in distain. They were led by the insufferable Claire de Mirabeau, who paused and bowed her head to Grandfather in the most courteous manner possible. The others did likewise, but they walked on without so much as acknowledging Babette.

Babette bristled at the slight, more on principle than for the source of the insult. Claire and her little company had antagonized Babette for as long as she could remember. Father had tried to force friendship between them once. Thankfully that had finally ended at age ten, when Claire’s torments had earned her two black eyes.

“Will she be in Paris?” Babette asked.

“Of course,” Grandfather said. “Everyone will be in Paris.”

The idea of Paris was becoming more and more displeasing by the minute.

“I spy Alfonse des Louveteaux,” Grandfather murmured, directing her gaze midway across the room.

Babette looked where Grandfather indicated. True enough, there was Alfonse: tall, robust, brutal, and handsome, with thick black hair, a broad moustache, and heavy sideburns. He wore the uniform of a cuirassier, and Babette even admitted to herself that he cut quite the figure in it. If he were not such an insufferable bore, she might even have found him attractive; but Alfonse was not a man in whom a self-respecting woman could delight once she had passed words with him. Some things were simply impossible.

“Indeed,” Babette said, looking away. “No doubt we shall have to see much of him in Paris as well.”

“No doubt,” Grandfather said. “His family wishes an alliance. And it may even come to pass.”

“Oh?” Babette asked. “I’m to marry him then?” She scoffed softly at the notion. “Father’s idea no doubt.”

Grandfather was far too sensible to have suggested such a thing. Babette was certain of it.

“You dislike the notion?” Grandfather asked.

“It is not my place to say, is it?” Babette asked.

“Of course it is.”

Babette considered and then answered, “Yes, I dislike the notion.” She raised her chin firmly. “In fact, I consider Captain des Louveteaux to be most unsuitable. I believe that he and I should have nothing to say to one another across the dinner table.”

Grandfather chuckled and said, “Yes, I suppose you are right. But you must marry, Babette. And you must marry soon.” After a lengthy pause, he added, “But enough words with your old grandfather. I must see to my guests.”

So saying, he rose, bowed to Babette, and rejoined the throng of guests.

Babette watched her grandfather leave without protest, though it was the last thing she wanted. Now she was left alone again, forced to pass the dreary evening in silence. Aside from Grandfather, there was no good conversation to be had.

She opened her fan and studied it intently, wishing that it were a book. Instead, she was rewarded with pictures of flowers. They were the last things she cared to see at such a time. She much preferred the idea of returning to Grandfather’s library and perusing one of his books on zoology. Animals were vastly more interesting than plants in her estimation.

A shadow fell across her and she looked up. A man stood before her, and the sight of him made Babette’s breath catch in her throat.

The man was tall and slender, clad in the uniform of a hussar. The uniform was a fiery red, with braid and trimmings of black. The man’s hair was also colored black, like raven’s wings. His poise was flawless, and he held his chin high with pride, dignity, and just a hint of arrogance. He was handsome, beautiful even, with a narrow jaw, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose. He could not be much older than twenty. Despite herself, Babette stared at him, for the first time in her life enjoying the experience of simply looking at another person.

Who was he? Certainly not a local. Babette had seen them all. Could he be a Frenchman from further south? English perhaps? Or a Russian? Her mind whirled at the possibilities.

“Good evening,” the young hussar said. His accent was German and remarkably charming. “I wonder if I might have the honor of introducing myself to you.”

Babette was silent, unsure of what to say. But, she reflected, conversation had suddenly become unnecessary, if only for the moment. At length she shook herself and said:

“Shouldn’t someone else introduce us to one another?”

The hussar shrugged sadly and motioned around the room. “It seems there is no one on hand to manage the introduction. They are all far too busy.”

“Well, then we must take it upon ourselves, mustn’t we?” Babette asked, extending her hand delicately.

“My thoughts exactly,” the hussar said, taking her hand gently in his and bowing over it. “I am Korbinian Alexander Albrecht Freiherr von Fuchsburg. And I am at your service.”

Babette felt her heart pounding in her chest. It was all she could manage to keep breathing properly as Korbinian held her hand. The sudden excitement was intolerable, though far from unpleasant. But doubtless she looked a complete fool.

“I am called Babette,” she said, keeping her chin up and her expression controlled.

“Surely you have a family name?” Korbinian asked.

He was joking, of course. How could he not know that she was the granddaughter of William Varanus? She was the shortest woman in the room. Everyone knew her by sight, and most of them avoided her for it.

Babette smiled pleasantly, prepared to play his game. “Babette shall suffice for now, sir. How can I give you my family’s name? Surely that is the job of a third party, when we are finally introduced properly.”

A slow smile crept across Korbinian’s face as well, and he bowed his head.

“Of course you are right,” he said. “Babette is more than sufficient for our purposes.”

He spoke as if he assumed it was a pseudonym. Well, no matter.

“It is delightful to meet you, Baron von Fuchsburg,” Babette said.

“For me also, it is delightful,” Korbinian said.

“Fuchsburg?” Babette asked, trying to remember her German geography. “On the Rhine?”

Korbinian smiled and nodded.

“That is the one.”

“What brings you to Normandy?”

“I am pursuing my baronial duties,” Korbinian said, his pale gray eyes twinkling. “I am here to find a wife. Or so my family has instructed me.”

“How unromantic,” Babette said. “To find a lover would be understandable, but a wife? Surely you have wives aplenty east of the Rhine.”

Korbinian grinned savagely and looked into Babette’s eyes, making her feel warm and heady with the intensity of his gaze.

“The wise man does not seek a lover among the French nor a wife among the Russians. Austria suffices for both.”

“Personal motto?” Babette asked.

“Family proverb,” Korbinian said. “Though having seen the Austrians fight in Italy not long ago, I have been given cause to doubt it.”

Babette regarded him dubiously and asked, “Does your family have many proverbs of a similar nature?”

It would explain a great deal.

“Many,” Korbinian said. “And worse. You may have heard rumors about us.”

He said this as if it were something to be proud of. Babette made a note of it.

“I am beginning to think I ought to have,” she replied, disappointed that she had not. Clearly Father was keeping choice bits of international gossip from her. While she despised local gossip as boring and irrelevant, on the scale of nations, it made politics and diplomacy much more understandable.

“Tell me, Baron,” she continued, placing her fan in her lap and sitting up as tall as she could. “Is your family very scandalous?”

“Very,” Korbinian said.

“Well, if you are going to be scandalous, I hope you have the good sense to make it something interesting. Otherwise it would be a waste of everyone’s very important time.”

Korbinian tilted his head and made a great show of being deep in thought for a few moments.

At length he said, “We eat meat during Lent.”

“Well that is of no great importance,” Babette said. “So does my family, and so do many of our neighbors.”

“We are Catholic,” Korbinian said, no doubt referencing the holy fast.

Babette ignored his meaning.

“That is a fault easily forgiven,” she said. “I am as well, as is my father. My grandfather is not, of course, but he is English and therefore above reproach. Most of the fine people assembled here tonight are Catholic, at least in name, as is the Pope himself, who would never be foolish enough to follow a scandalous religion.”

Babette snapped her fan open and began cooling herself in triumph. “So as you can see, Catholicism does not suffice as scandal. Please try again.”

Korbinian drew himself up and took a deep breath, fighting to conceal a smile.

“We were very nearly excommunicated once,” he said proudly.

Babette’s ears perked up. That was interesting.

“On what grounds?”

“For opening our university to women,” Korbinian said.

Now that was very interesting.…

“Why would you do such a thing?” Babette asked.

Korbinian shrugged.

“It was during the Thirty Years’ War,” he said. “All the men were out fighting.”

“That sounds most unseemly,” Babette said. “Most unseemly indeed.”

It also sounded rather promising.

“You needn’t worry,” Korbinian said. “There was nothing improprietous about it. The women were all relatives, and they all dressed as men while on the university grounds. The sanctity of knowledge was preserved, and the scandal was kept in the family.”

“And do they dress as men still?” Babette asked.

“Often, yes. It’s no longer required, but it’s all in good fun isn’t it?”

Babette countered with a repeat of the question: “Is it?” She continued, “Still, that seems hardly decent grounds for excommunication.”

“It is slightly more complicated than that,” Korbinian said. “An Italian cousin who attended the University of Fuchsburg to study divinity apparently went to Rome and passed herself off as a man for many years. She successfully became a cardinal and was very nearly elected Pope. She would have succeeded as well, had she not been found out.”

“The Church took exception?” Babette was not surprised.

“The Pope took exception. She would have beaten him for possession of the Holy See.”

Babette covered her mouth with the fan to conceal a titter of laughter.

“But surely that is a thing of the past,” she said. “And a scandal of the past is something of little consequence. Your family may be eccentric, but quite acceptably so, I have no doubt.”

She sighed in disappointment. It was exaggerated of course. This was the most fun she had enjoyed without the company of a book in some time.

Korbinian leaned down until he and Babette could look at one another eye to eye. Babette took a breath and smelled his scent. It was pleasing and exotic, not like the stench of perfume or the smell of wet horses that permeated the likes of Alfonse, Claire, and their ilk. Korbinian smelled of roses and jasmine, lemon and orange, rosemary and smoke.…

Babette caught herself as she began to drift away on her thoughts.

“Would you believe,” Korbinian said, “that my own mother is a great khan who rules over a kingdom in Asia?”

Babette looked at him very seriously and replied, “No, I would not.” She paused. “Does she?”

“Upon the name of our Lord, she does,” Korbinian said. “She sends chests of silk and opium home each year for my birthday.”

“How thoughtful of her,” Babette said.

Well, he certainly sounded sincere, she thought.

“Baron von Fuchsburg,” she continued, “it seems to me that you are a peculiar character possessed of an eccentric and not altogether respectable lineage, and that you have a talent for implausible stories about your family. I rather suspect that I should not be speaking to you. I am certain that my father would not approve.”

“I have been told that fathers seldom approve of me,” Korbinian said.

“This comes as no surprise.”

“I have also been told,” Korbinian continued, “that this is one of my most desirable qualities.”

“And are you possessed of many desirable qualities?” Babette asked.

“Enough that I am satisfied,” Korbinian replied.

“It is rare that a man is satisfied with himself,” Babette said. “It speaks well of you.”

“I am glad that you approve,” Korbinian said, “but I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” Babette asked, so intrigued by the curious statement that her lips formed a perfect little O as she spoke. She quickly hid her mouth behind her fan again. Had Korbinian noticed? How foolish had she looked?

If Korbinian had noticed anything odd, he gave no indication. His eyes were still fixed upon Babette’s.

“I fear,” he said, “that I have shown very poor manners tonight. Upon arrival I have sought out the most beautiful woman in the room, addressed her without introduction, spoken candidly to her without any respect for decorum or polite conversation, and all before I have even introduced myself to our host.”

Babette nodded firmly and said, “Shameful, Baron von Fuchsburg. Your conduct has been nothing short of shameful.”

“Have I terribly offended you?” Korbinian asked, grinning wickedly.

“No,” Babette answered. “Not in the slightest.”

“In that case,” Korbinian said rising up to his full height and extending his hand, “perhaps you would be kind enough to join me for the next dance. I have no doubt that you have many suitors for the evening, but you see, the next dance a waltz, and you have not danced the waltz until you have danced it with a German.”

Babette felt her breath catch again at the invitation. Her heart pounded almost painfully. She really shouldn’t.… Not with a man to whom she had not actually been properly introduced. What would Father say?

All the more reason to do it.

She stood and snapped her fan shut, letting it dangle from her wrist. She placed her hand in Korbinian’s and felt the energy in his long, elegant fingers.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, “for you to show me how a German dances.”