Читать книгу The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One - G.D. Falksen - Страница 7

Chapter Three

Despite his better judgment, William loved his son. But James Varanus was of an especially nervous nature that often set William on edge. Put simply, James fussed. He fussed about everything. He fussed about the furnishings. He fussed about meals. He fussed about the servants and about what the neighbors would think—regarding what, he never said. Whenever there were visitors, he always fussed about whether the family was being sufficiently hospitable. And above all, he fussed about his daughter.

“Where has Babette gone?” James asked, craning his neck to look in every direction.

William sniffed the air and turned toward the dance floor.

“Dancing,” he said.

He could not see her yet, but he knew she was there. After a few moments he finally spotted her amid the sea of dancers, held in the arms of a tall man dressed in red. William was immediately on edge. To see his granddaughter on the dance floor was curious enough, but who was the strange young man dancing with her?

William watched Babette and the stranger dance. In spite of the huge difference in height, they moved with remarkable grace. And the way that Babette smiled.… William had never seen her so happy in the company of others.

A thought began to form somewhere in the back of William’s head.

“Oh my!” James exclaimed. “What is going on here?”

He was looking toward Babette and the stranger.

“It would appear that your daughter is dancing,” William said. “And having a wonderful time while she is at it.”

“But…but who is he?” James asked. “They haven’t been introduced, have they?”

William sniffed the air again, testing for the young stranger’s scent. It was difficult in the crowded room, with so many smells polluting the air. The room was thick with the strong musk of Louis des Louveteaux and the other old Scions and the weaker scent of the young ones, like Alfonse and his cousin Claire. They were all practically in heat. William scowled for a moment.

But though he could not find the stranger’s scent clearly, he knew that the man was no Scion.

“I could not say,” he told James. “I am certain I have not met him, but if he is here, he must have been invited.”

The servants were always very careful with the guest list. William made certain of that.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” James asked, fidgeting.

“Why? You would rather she spend the night sitting alone? Or perhaps I should allow her to retire to the library. You know that she would much rather be there than here.”

“Nonsense,” James said, but his voice sounded uncertain. “Why isn’t she dancing with someone respectable, like Captain des Louveteaux?”

Alfonse.… William’s lips drew back in a snarl for a moment. James was foolishly impressed by Louis’s damnable son. For that matter, where was Alfonse? Surely his father had instructed him to begin courting Babette.

William followed Alfonse’s scent and spotted him to one side of the room. He was deep in conversation with Claire de Mirabeau. Alfonse was busy murmuring something of no importance, and Claire seemed to be enjoying every moment of it. William knew the look on their faces. If they tried to excuse themselves to some other part of the house, he would kill them.

Human youths were bad enough, but among the Blood the arrival of spring was like a curse from Nature.

“I believe young Alfonse is otherwise occupied,” William said, smiling at James. “But no matter. Your daughter appears to be having a wonderful time entirely without him.”

William looked back toward Alfonse and saw Louis berating him. It made William smile a little. His argument in the pit had been well founded. Louis was a fool if he thought he could attach Alfonse to anyone but his cousin, least of all William’s granddaughter.

“But is he of a good family?” James asked.

“Of course not,” William said, only half listening. “His lineage is rotten and inbred, like a bush in a swamp.”

“But you said you didn’t know him!” James exclaimed.

William looked back at him. “Oh, you mean the man who is dancing with Babette.”

“Of course!” James said. “Father, please take this more seriously! We are speaking of our own flesh and blood!” He looked back toward Babette and the stranger. “Is he even French?”

William place a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder.

“James, my boy,” he said, “do not fret. It is one dance. What could happen?”

* * * *

Babette felt like she was flying as Korbinian held her in his arms and they twirled together across the dance floor. She had never danced before, not properly at any rate. There had been lessons, of course, and childish dancing with Grandfather. But she had never before danced with a young man who was not her tutor.

She could not describe the exhilaration, not even to herself. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her head swam. The other dancers flashed past in a blur. All she could see was Korbinian’s face looking down upon her, the light of the lamps encircling his head like a gilded crown. Everything else melted away into a delicious haze until time itself drifted into the distance.

Babette was brought back to the world by the absence of music. She and Korbinian slowly spun to a stop. Babette blinked a few times to clear her head and saw that the dance had finished. She quickly pulled away from Korbinian. The others were looking at them. Babette suddenly felt very self-conscious. She was not used to caring about the opinions of others, which made the experience even worse.

“Dankeschön, fräulein,” Korbinian said, bowing. “You are a spirited dancer. Most delightful.”

“Thank you, Baron,” Babette said, concealing her pleasure at his words. “You are quite agreeable yourself.”

Korbinian chuckled and asked, “Are you already engaged for the next dance? Or might I impose upon you further?”

“It would be my—” Babette began. She was interrupted by her father’s voice.

“Babette!”

She turned and saw him step out of the crowd, moving toward her with as much haste as he could manage without causing undue attention.

“Babette,” Father said, taking her arm, “come with me. There is someone I wish you to meet.” He gave Korbinian a quick look. “Good evening, young man.”

Korbinian drew himself up proudly and bowed his head to Father.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I am Korbinian Alexander Albrecht Freiherr von Fuchsburg.”

“A pleasure,” Father said, clearly lying. “I trust you are enjoying yourself at my family’s ball. Good evening.”

Babette shook her head. Even in anger, her father maintained perfect decorum.

She cast a last look over her shoulder at Korbinian as Father led her away. Korbinian stood on the dance floor watching her with a small smile. His eyes never wavered until the crowd finally swallowed them up, and they vanished from sight.

Babette followed Father out of the ballroom and into the hall.

“Father, what is all this?” she asked. “Why did you take me from the ball?”

“Why did you dance with that man?” Father asked.

Babette stared at him.

“Because he asked me to,” she said. “That is the purpose of a ball, is it not?”

Father looked at her sternly.

“Now is not the time for wit, Babette. Do you even know who he is?”

“Of course,” Babette said, drawing herself and setting her most stubborn face. “He is the Baron von Fuchsburg.”

“Yes, but who introduced you?” Father demanded. “I did not, nor did your grandfather.”

Babette held her breath for a few moments before exhaling. Why did Father have to arrive and pull her away after only one dance? For the first time she had been enjoying herself in the company of her peers.

“We introduced ourselves to one another,” Babette said.

Father’s face went pale.

“You did what?”

“It seemed more civilized that way,” Babette said. “The Ancient Greeks—”

“Damn the Ancient Greeks!” Father cried. “Babette, you must not do such things! Least of all with your introduction to Society looming in the future! What will people say?”

“They will say that we danced wonderfully,” Babette said.

Father ignored her and continued on:

“I knew I should not have asked you to attend! But your grandfather insisted. ‘Tradition’ he said. Why did I listen to him?”

That is quite enough, Babette thought.

“Father,” she said, taking him by the hand, “I appreciate your concerns, but I assure you that nothing scandalous has happened nor will happen. I danced with a guest at Grandfather’s ball. That is all. And he is a guest of noble birth, so I cannot see what you have to complain about. This is the year when I enter Society, is it not? Which means that I must make myself available to dance with young men.” She fixed Father with a hard look. “It’s my duty, isn’t it?”

Father sighed, his mood suddenly altered from anger to regret.

“‘Duty,’ Babette? You make it sound so unromantic.” Father placed his free hand atop hers. “Babette, you are on the threshold of marriage and motherhood, the greatest aspirations of any young woman. You need not be so callous about all of this. Rules of conduct are in place for your protection.”

“My protection?” Babette asked skeptically. Rules always seemed to be in place for her inconvenience.

“To safeguard you,” Father explained, “so that you can find true love with a respectable and upstanding man. Monsieur Bazaine, perhaps—”

Babette’s eyes bulged in horror at the suggestion of the noted banker.

“He is nearly fifty!” she snapped.

Father smiled and spread his hands, offering a more pleasing suggestion. “Then perhaps young Alfonse des Louveteaux…”

Babette scowled and put her fists on her hips. They were difficult to find beneath the mass of frills that was her dress, but she managed without too comical an effect.

“Father, Alfonse des Louveteaux has yet to pass two words with me this evening. Yet you offer him up as a man I ought to regard in a favorable manner. Baron von Fuchsburg asked me to dance! Alfonse has never done that.”

Father cleared his throat and said, “Then let us return to the ball. You may be surprised at what you find.”

He looked so pleased and hopeful that Babette knew he was up to something.

He’s meddling! she thought. My God, if Alfonse asks me to dance now, I’ll scream!

But independent of her private thoughts, Babette smiled pleasantly and cocked her head to one side.

“I’m never surprised by anything, Father,” she said, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her back to the ball.

After sixteen years as your daughter, how could I be?

* * * *

When she returned to the ballroom, Babette looked about carefully but intently, searching for Korbinian. He was tall enough to stand out in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Babette frowned and made her way toward the stairs leading up to the second floor balcony. Small as she was, the throng of guests made her view difficult. Perhaps he was simply on the other side of the room, too far away for her to see from her angle.

Suddenly a queer sensation came over her. A familiar and displeasing scent assailed her nose, and she felt her hair stand on end. She spun about in time to see Alfonse loom over her as he reached out to grab her arm. Babette drew back and snapped her fan open, holding it out before her like a weapon.

“Captain des Louveteaux,” she said, nodding politely. “What a pleasure to see you this evening. I trust you are well?”

Alfonse bowed his head and smiled at her hungrily.

“Very well, Mademoiselle Varanus,” he said. “And you?”

“Well enough.”

“Good,” Alfonse said. “Give me your hand. We dance now.”

He reached out again, and again Babette withdrew.

“We do, do we?” Babette asked, trying hard not to snarl for the sake of appearances. Dealing with Alfonse was always a trial. He little understood the concept of conversation. To him the word was synonymous with dictation.

“We do,” Alfonse said, nodding. His expression was twisted with growing frustration at Babette’s refusal to follow his command. “So give me your hand and accompany me to the dance floor.”

“I am not so inclined,” Babette replied, the hint of a scowl crossing her face.

Alfonse was a bully, and if he thought he could simply order her about—her, the granddaughter of William Varanus no less—he was in for a surprise.

“It is rude for a lady to refuse a man’s request to dance,” Alfonse said, growling.

“It is customary for him to ask her,” Babette said.

She was not entirely certain how to describe the sound that Alfonse made, but it reminded her of one of her Grandfather’s hounds being denied a piece of meat. The similarity did little to make Alfonse’s behavior any more palatable to her.

“Mademoiselle Varanus,” Alfonse said, his tone still that of a growl, “would you do me the great honor of accompanying me for a dance?”

Babette bared her teeth and forced a smile.

“Of course, Captain,” she said. “It would be my honor. I will put you down for the next quadrille.”

That at least would buy her some time. The quadrille was scheduled three dances away.

“I would prefer the next waltz,” Alfonse said, speaking in such a way that it made Babette’s hackles rise.

“That is most unfortunate,” Babette said. “But I fear that the quadrille is the next dance for which I am available. Not sooner.”

She had no intention of allowing Alfonse to hold her in any sort of close manner.

The two of them fixed eyes and stared at one another for a long while. Babette felt Alfonse’s seething anger at her impudence, but she refused to back down. Finally, Alfonse forced a smile and said:

“Very well, the quadrille.”

Satisfied, Babette bowed her head and smiled back.

“The quadrille,” she said. “Now, if you will excuse me, Captain des Louveteaux, I must…see to something.”

So saying, she snapped her fan shut and plunged into the crowd, eager to put as much distance as possible between herself and Alfonse.

* * * *

Shaking with anger at Alfonse’s presumptuous treatment, Babette stole away from the ball and took the servants’ passage down into the kitchens. Father would be cross with her for leaving, but she could tolerate his anger. What she could not tolerate any longer was Alfonse. Five minutes with the man was worse than hours of her father’s fussing.

Alfonse was simply so intolerably arrogant! And boorish as well. And to think that Father actually held the man in high regard! Like the rest of his family, Alfonse was an insult to Frenchmen everywhere, that much was clear.

Babette stole a bowl of strawberries when the kitchen staff was not looking and settled in by the outside door to enjoy the cool breeze blowing in from the grounds. The ballroom had been extremely stuffy.

As she savored the taste of the berries, thinking about the strange events of the past hour, Babette heard someone approach her from behind. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see one of the servants. Instead, she saw Korbinian striding along the corridor with a devilish grin upon his lips. Babette felt her heart leap with excitement at the sight of him, and she quickly looked away to conceal her delight.

“Good evening, Baron,” she said. “I am surprised to see you down here among the common people.”

“Nonsense,” Korbinian said. “Here are only you and I, and there is nothing common about either of us. Clearly this is where the ball ought to be, and the company upstairs is simply too parochial to realize it.”

“How very astute of you,” Babette said. “But tell me, what brings you here? This is quite a coincidence, surely.”

Korbinian thought about her words for a moment, as if trying to discover some hidden meaning.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I wanted to see you again, and so I followed you. Why should I pretend otherwise?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Babette said. “Would you care for a strawberry?”

“Yes, dankeschön,” Korbinian said, plucking a berry from the bowl. “Mmm, most delicious.”

Babette prepared to take another for herself, but Korbinian reached out to stop her.

“No, no,” he said. “Allow me.”

He selected another strawberry and gently fed it to her. Babette felt a shiver of excitement as his fingertips brushed her lips, and she swallowed the fruit eagerly.

Keeping her composure despite her impulse to the contrary, she said, “Baron, I feel that you should not have done that. It was most inappropriate, and I should not have allowed it.”

“But you enjoyed it,” Korbinian said, smirking.

“It is often the inappropriate things that we enjoy the most,” Babette said. “Like reading. Or setting off firecrackers in the garden.”

“The last I heard, Our Lord had not ordered an injunction against fruit.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Babette said, not at all displeased.

Korbinian nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “and I think you are clever too.”

He took another strawberry and placed it against Babette’s lips.

“So,” he continued, “why don’t you and I spend a little time being clever together?”

* * * *

Twenty minutes later the bowl was empty, and Babette was in paradise. She could not remember a time when she had spoken so freely to another person. She and Korbinian talked of everything and nothing, delighting in conversation for its own sake, but even in their verbal meanderings they wandered close to matters of intellect and substance.

“And that,” Babette said, looking into Korbinian’s eyes, “brings us to the Ancient Greeks.”

Korbinian laughed and replied, “I find the Persians to be of far greater interest.”

Babette gave him a playful shove, which he did not seem to mind.

“How can you?” she demanded. “Persia? The great Asiatic horde seeking to invade Europe?”

“Nonsense!” Korbinian said, catching Babette’s hand and holding it with gentle fingers. “The great civilized horde seeking to bring order to a fractured people.”

“You are a terrible classicist,” Babette said, looking at Korbinian with a firm expression.

“My tutor always said so,” Korbinian agreed. “He said I was always too easily distracted by beauty.…”

He raised Babette’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

Babette swayed a little, suddenly overcome.

“Baron, I don’t think—” she began.

“Call me Korbinian.”

“Korbinian—”

“Shh.…” Korbinian pressed a fingertip to Babette’s lips. “No uncertainty,” he said, leaning in close. “If you wish for me to stop, tell me to stop. But do not tell me what others would think.”

Babette smiled and closed her eyes, tilting her head upward to meet him.

“Why would I tell you to stop?” she asked softly.

She felt Korbinian’s hand caress her hair as their lips brushed. The warmth of anticipation filled her as she suddenly hungered for Korbinian. In that instant, she wanted nothing more than to be enfolded into him, like one spirit that would never part.

“Babette!”

Her father’s shout shattered the moment, and Babette turned away.

“Damn it!” she cursed under her breath.

Why did Father have to arrived at such a moment?

She looked at Korbinian and then down the hallway. Her father was not yet in sight. She heard him calling from the direction of the stairs. It would only be a few moments before he arrived and found them!

“What is—” Korbinian began.

“My father!” Babette said.

“Your father?” Korbinian seemed perplexed rather than concerned. “Why has he come down here?”

Babette looked at him in astonishment. How could such a clever man be so stupid?

“It’s his house!” she answered.

Korbinian tilted his head, and a smile slowly crossed his lips.

“You are Babette Varanus?” he asked.

“You didn’t know?”

How could he not have known?

Korbinian ran his fingertips along Babette’s cheek.

“I had no idea,” he said. He looked toward the passage. Father’s shouts were drawing nearer. “I think I should go before you are seen with me.”

Babette caught his hand and asked, “When will I see you again?”

Korbinian did not answer. Instead, he slid his fingers through Babette’s hair and drew her to him. His mouth met hers in a kiss of desperation and passion that Babette had never dreamed was possible. She felt herself fading away again, lost on a sea of scents and sensations until there was nothing left but the two of them.

A moment later Korbinian broke away and released her. Babette’s head swam, but all she saw were Korbinian’s gray eyes looking into her own.

“Soon, liebchen,” he said. “Very soon.”

With that, Korbinian bowed, stepped out the door, and vanished into the night.

Babette leaned against the wall, the haze of delight still encompassing her. She only half saw her father as he rounded the corner.

“Babette!” Father cried. “There you are!”

“Hello Father,” Babette said with a sigh.

“Where have you been for the past half hour?” Father asked. “Alfonse des Louveteaux has been looking for you! The quadrille is about to begin! What have you been doing?”

“I was only getting some air,” Babette said. She looked at the bowl. “And eating strawberries.”