xi.

LAURENTINE BONFAMILLE WAS LYING IN HER BED, THE cream silk sheets melding underneath her form as the soft duvet partly covered her. Her golden blonde hair was in the curls from last night—messy now, but soft as it covered her pillowcase underneath her head like a beautiful floral pattern arranged by a painter. The sunlight was streaking into her room from the open windows, her translucent cream curtains billowing gently as the crisp early morning air floated into the master bedroom of the Bonfamille mansion.

It was already half past nine, and Laur's body seemed to have forgone its usual habit of getting up and off the bed at half past seven.

Her heart—usually such a morning bird—was still dazed and numb from her experiences of last night, and her limbs wanted to stay put, rubbed softly in the caress of the plush bed.

Berlioz had joined her in her indulgence, for the kitten had curled up on the bed right beside her, and she gently stroked his fur, her mind playing the events of last night over and over again.

Miraculously, she hadn't gotten sick from her excursion in the cold rain last night. She had only suffered a case of a severe headache, and exhaustion, nothing more. She had heated up too, but that had sorted itself out, courtesy of Manon's care. She had been too weak to stand though, and Monsieur Édouard Arsenault had held her to him and brought her straight home, despite her murmurings and protests of Adelaide and Colette's conditions.

She remembered him placing her on her bed, lowering her onto it slowly as he had exchanged words with Manon that Laur in her state could not make out. Then with one last glance in the darkness thrown at Laur, Édouard Arsenault had left her room, her mansion.

Manon threw herself at Laurentine then, fussing over her as she changed her out of her drenched gown and rushed off to make a pot of tea and a herbal infused soup that the ginger haired girl always claimed worked well. And it had worked well. Moments afterwards, Adelaide Bonfamille and Colette Blanc had poured into the Bonfamille mansion with Benoit and Georges Hartcourt—the lawyer announcing to a weak Laur in her bed, that all charges against the ladies had been dropped.

The relief had overwhelmed her entirely to sleep, but now she was up, and every moment of last night-before she had gotten too weak to even stand-was stark in her mind.

Monsieur Édouard Arsenault had asked her to marry him, and then he had freed Adelaide and Colette of all their charges. Georges Hartcourt had also said that he had given the ownership of the shop to the girls—they were both free to do with it as they bid, whilst the land still remained his. The lawyer had almost went down on his knees, with praise for Monsieur Arsenault on his tongue.

For what had the France's most famous banker and financier-owner of the renowned Arsenault Banks—asked in return? Nothing.

Nothing except Laur's hand in marriage, but of course, nobody knew that but her and the man himself.

Laurentine closed her eyes briefly, and tried to imagine what being in his arms had felt like. She had been in pain that her forehead had been causing her, and thus she hadn't truly understood what being in his arms had entailed. She remembered the distinct jolt in her stomach when he had first attempted to pick her up and she had pushed him away. She remembered something inside her aching with pleasure when he had tried again, and then finally forcefully picked her up.

She remembered slapping him because he had severely offended her, and then she remembered her entire body and soul wanting to trust in him after he had said he would make everything alright were she to only give a word.

He wanted to marry her, and if last night-all the events after that beautiful dinner—hadn't happened, she would have dreamed of nothing better. Laurentine had a secret preference for short courtships—a girlish fantasy for love at first sight that she had never really talked to anyone about. Her sister and friends thought her more careful than that, from the way that she never really let any of her gentlemen callers exceed beyond the boundary of just paying her a cordial call with potential hints for something else in the future.

The potential in that idea was merely for their convenience, for Laurentine truly didn't feel anything for any of them at all.

With Monsieur Édouard Arsenault, she had slipped and fallen so fast. But last night had changed so much. Some words he had said had been so cruel and heartbreaking.

"..you prefer doing that, don't you? You feel guilty and worthless if you can't repay the favor by doing a comparatively meagre act in return and feeling like you deserve the promise."

His raging words were still in her head now, and the intensity of them made her eyes sting as she shut them tight.

Why did he want to marry her? Had he truly felt any of what Laur herself had been feeling towards him up till that point? Or was he just doing it because for once he wanted her to do a comparatively stronger act to feel like she deserved the promise he had made to her? Mon Dieu, was he even.. attracted to her? Did he even like her? Had he only asked her to marry him to teach her a lesson?

Tears streaked out of the corners of Laur's eyes as she reopened them to her room, shifting to her side and gazing at Berlioz's curled form beside her.

"I told him that he broke my heart, Berlioz," She spoke softly, tears still falling. "And he asked me to hate him for however long I want to, but to do it as his wife."

Berlioz turned his head to look at her, as if pulled to attention by her words, his large eyes glittering at her as she brushed her fingers under his chin.

"Why would he say that to me?" She asked, retrieving her hand to wipe her tears away with her wrist. "Why would any man say that?"

"Isn't marriage supposed to be built on love?"

The kitten uncurled himself, trotting over to her and pressing himself against her chest, curling up back again but against her skin this time. Laurentine hugged him close.

"I don't know anything about marriages, ma chéri, I don't even remember what my parents' marriage was like," She thought out loud, sniffing slightly. "Did they even love each other? What would they say to me if they knew the dilemma I was in? I would picture their marriage Berlioz, I would close my eyes and conjure them up, but Mon Dieu, I don't even remember their faces."

She broke off, a sob escaping her lips at her own misery.

"I could refuse him," She whispered then. "I could refuse him and forget all this. He has already taken back the charges, and he doesn't even have my answer yet."

"But what does it mean? What does it mean that he already fulfilled what he had said he would do, does he not care if I say yes or if I refuse?"

"If he wanted to force me to a decision, shouldn't he have waited to take back the charges? As cruel as it sounds? Would not that have been something he could've done?"

Laur looked at the second window of her room, the one located on the opposite wall. She could see a blank yellow sky through it, for the sun itself was only visible from the window at the right of her bed.

"Why didn't he wait? Why didn't he force my hand? Why has he left me in this heartache?"

Laurentine bit her lip hard to stop herself from tearing up again. Why couldn't this have been easy? Walking away from him, did not feel so easy. Her heart would suffer severely. But hadn't he-by his actions—given her leave to walk out if she wanted to? Hadn't he fulfilled his words regardless, showing her that she was free? But was she free? For Laur felt trapped. She felt trapped by her conflicted feelings towards him, and by the kind of ruthless person he was-ready to strike down whomsoever who came and blocked his path, regardless of who they were.

Manon knocked at the door of Laur's chamber then, sauntering in with a silver tray full of breakfast options as Benoit followed suit with the table that Laurentine used to have food in bed when she needed to.

It was in vain, telling the maid that Laur had no appetite at present, for she was still made to sit up and the table was fixed over her form, the silver tray seated upon it and scent of the citrus of her glass of orange juice, hot omelets, toast, butter and cream and oats in steaming milk, reaching her senses entirely.

She felt her stomach rumble then, and without protesting again, she tried to eat, taking a spoonful of omelet for herself as she reached to break off a small piece for Berlioz while she chewed on her own bite.

"My lady, you have a calling card," Benoit spoke then, retrieving a white card from the front pocket of his suit with his cream gloved hands.

"Keep it in the foyer please," Laur managed, gently putting the piece of omelet in Berlioz's mouth. "Colette or Adelaide can host the caller for a while when they come, for I'm afraid I do not feel up to meeting anyone today."

The kitten chewed a bit, then scowled as he swallowed, turning away from Laurentine as she giggled. He did not like the omelet then. Besides, he was already fed timely by Manon at precisely eight today, and Laur had been sound asleep then.

"It is from Monsieur Édouard Arsenault, my lady," The butler spoke then, as Laur turned to look at him, her attention caught by the name.

"You have other cards, but I left those in the foyer," The man continued briskly. "I assumed you would want to be informed of Monsieur Arsenault."

Laurentine breathed slowly, willing herself to remain composed.

"Merci, Benoit," She managed, "Can you read it for me please?"

She was scared her hands would shake if she touched the card herself, and she would give herself away to both her butler and her maid.

Benoit nodded, flicking the small white card open and taking brief seconds to read it before he flicked it close.

"Monsieur Arsenault intends to pay a call at precisely 2pm, my lady," The man spoke. "He begs your pardon at disturbing you today, but he insists that he needs to see how you are faring."

Laur bit her lip. Benoit's face was closed off, firmed, as he recited the message off the card. She couldn't tell if he approved of the words Édouard had used, and she couldn't tell if Benoit had made use of the words Édouard had used in the card at all. Perhaps he had given merely a precise summary, or perhaps that is all that Monsieur Arsenault had written.

"Please admit him when he comes," Laurentine found herself speaking with a conviction. "Bring him up to my room. I'm indisposed for every other caller, Benoit."

The butler bowed.

"Yes, my lady," He uttered, before making his way to Laur's vanity and placing the card on the surface.

Then, he pivoted and exited the room, leaving Manon to attend to Laur as the girl fixed up the room and prepared to venture into the wardrobe in order to choose a gown for the day for her mistress.

Adelaide and Colette had already left early for their first day at the boutique, taking the miraculous luck of last night and Monsieur Arsenault's kindness as sign for prosperity in their endeavors. It was startling that neither of them had questioned it, one minute they had been in a cell with charges against them and the next they had their shop back and none of their investments had been wasted.

What had they assumed, that Laur had merely used her influence to get them out of the mess? Couldn't they see that last night had been so much more than that? Hadn't they seen that despite the fact that it was them behind the bars in that cell, Laur had been the one entirely falling apart?

She supposed it was to be expected. Adelaide trusted Laur—she trusted her elder sister to catch her when she fell and to get her out of trouble. And Colette too was reliant on the assurity that Laur could provide—on the ground that she had at her disposal.

But Laurentine wondered then what it would feel like, for once, for someone to be there for her. If Laur was to fall one day, who would catch her? For once if she just turned behind to look, who was guarding her back? She had never—could never—put such a burden of expectation on her sister or any of her friends. But still, how did it feel to have someone waiting always with a safety net in case you fell?

"Hate me all that you need to, but do it as my wife, and I'll protect and guard you and your sister with my life."

Édouard Arsenault's words forced their way into her senses, and her heart tightened in her chest. He had offered to be that safety net for her last night if she became his wife. But Laur was not vulnerable, was she? She did not need someone else's protection, she just merely wanted to know what it felt like to have it. She hadn't had anyone's protection—nobody's guard—in all her life, and the notion of just melting away with the belief that there was someone watching out for her and ready to hold her hand lest she trip, was a beautiful yet alien notion to her.

But how certain was it? Did not people stray from their loyalties? Laur was certain in her care after her sister because Mon Dieu, Adelaide was her sister—her flesh and blood. But Édouard? Who's there to vouch for his certainty? His loyalties? Who could promise her his character?

Now that he had asked her to marry him, and after everything that happened last night, Laurentine's heart and mind were clad in fear and uncertainty.

"My lady," Manon spoke then, carrying two of Laur's day dresses as she brought them out of the wardrobe, holding them by the foamed hangers.

Much to Colette Blanc's surprise—when Laurentine had mentioned the fact to the girl a while ago—it was Manon who shortlisted attire choices for the opera performer, and then had her decide for the final pick after the maid had downed the choices-upon what she knew of her mistress' taste—to two or three.

Often times, Laur just had Manon have the final pick, for she had no capacity to ponder upon her dresses for the day.

"Which one, my lady?" The girl held the hangers high, displaying two beautiful day gowns.

The first one was a soft orange, almost softening into a muted yellow. It had a deep curved neckline, and would fall slightly off the shoulders. It had full sleeves and sheer organza skirts layered over silken orange. The gentle overall orange color was strangely how she was feeling at present. It was vibrant but soft—muted in a way that felt utterly natural. And though the other dress Manon held was a deep mauve and bolder, Laur couldn't help but be drawn to the soft orange one.

"The first one," She managed a smile, sipping on her glass of juice as Manon nodded and spun away to put the other dress back, and to get the chosen one ready.

Having finished her breakfast—or all that she had been able to eat from her spread—Laurentine asked Manon for the Édouard's calling card on her vanity, which was brought to her swiftly and her breakfast table cleared away.

Laur flipped it open to read the words penned down in the fine hand that Monsieur Arsenault seemed to possess, but unlike his last card—on which he had finalized their dinner date—this penmanship seemed slightly hasty. It seemed.. anxious and more intense.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but I must see how you are faring, Laur. I shall call upon you at 2pm. I hope you let me see you."

She closed the card, willing her heart to control itself. He was coming for her answer, was he not? He had asked her to marry him, and now he was coming for her answer—whatever it may be.

Laurentine's heart was already ensnared by him, she couldn't deny that. It had started when he had sought her out after Genevieve's drawing room conversation, and he had defended her—been furious with her friend in Laur's stead, and Laur had thought to herself that nobody had ever stood up for her like that before.

But her heart's desires felt ridiculous to her now. He—without mercy—had asked for Adelaide and Colette to be put in a cell for sabotaging him. All those things he had said about being considerate towards others affected in his business endeavors, how true did any of that stand? Was this how he behaved towards women who wronged him? Treating them the same way he would treat his male competition? Did he even have compassion?

Laurentine was twenty four, and her life was a small hub of caring for her sister, performing opera, and countless social settings—more than half of which were spent in the company of men who actively sought her out, and her body and heart felt severely obliged to appreciate their kindness. Days upon days—years—of her life had gone by this way.

Marrying would give her respite from all that her soul had been starting to consider.. tedious. If she was married and settled, there would be no suitors to host. She would not be expected to receive every man who knocked at her door because what was she doing almost approaching spinsterhood and not thanking gentlemen for still being interested in her and offering her chances? How gracious of them!

All of her female peers at the Roses Bleues opera house were married, except Genevieve Garnier and herself. Genevieve too had seemingly found a match in Monsieur Laframboise, and soon Laur would become solitary in her state.

Of all of the gentlemen she had hosted in her drawing room, none of them had made her feel what Édouard Arsenault had in a few short meetings—two to be exact. He was offering protection for Adelaide when the girl when to England, and he was offering Laur protection for life. Would she find anyone else like him? 

He did not love her, he had only offered her a marriage of convenience in exchange for his promise. But Laurentine's own heart was involved, how could she stifle it? How could she spend the rest of her life with a man who didn't feel anything for her and possibly never would? And why did her heart seem oddly keen on the idea? Why did it argue and insist?

The morning swept away from her then, and before she knew it, the clock had struck half past 1, and Laur stood at the window in her bedroom, watching the street outside of her mansion.

Paris outside had gone onto it's regularly scheduled programs, and she saw familiar faces on their way to one thing or the other. The ground was still glistening and darker from the heavy rain that had descended upon it the previous night, and though the sun was blinding and bold in the sky and the clouds were scarce, some people still hastened to their journeys clutching an umbrella for moments of 'just in case.'

Laur saw the baker—Monsieur Caldwell—a very amiable and kind Irishman, with exceptional baking skills—sprint across the street holding up a tray of particularly lovely steaming buns. His bakery was precisely twenty steps down the street from the Bonfamille mansion, and though his creations were exquisite and his demeanor generous—Laurentine was in a habit of cheeky competition with him that he thought was endearing.

Quickly, Laur unclipped the hook of her glass window, lifting it up to peer outside at him on the street, her stomach touching the window sill as she leaned out.

"Monsieur Caldwell!"

The man stopped in his sprint, grabbing his white and spotless baker's hat with one hand while holding his tray up in the other. He lifted his head, spotted her, and beamed a smile, his silver-grey eyes sparkling up at her.

"I see you have already suspected that I am having a lazy day, for you must have had luck at your disposal to so excel at those buns! They look utterly delightful, Monsieur."

"Ah, Mademoiselle Laurentine!" The older man called back, laughing a hearty laugh as his pot-belly shook with pleasure underneath his apron.

"What can I say except thank you?" He laughed, knowing full well that he was an exceptional baker known widely on these streets and he needed no such luck. He knew that, and Laur knew that.

She smiled endearingly at him.

"I have five of these to deliver to Madame Louisa, Mademoiselle," He added. "And I have another fresh batch in the oven back at the shop, would you like me to send some buns over for you?"

Laur nodded, laughing. "Yes please!"

He waved at her, before pointing towards Madame Louisa Mormont's three storey house two houses to the left of the Bonfamille mansion. The woman was a rather stoic widow, and had an equally stoic daughter who Laur had supposed would befriend Adelaide quickly, but Adelaide had met the family once and had entirely shunned the idea.

The baker gallivanted off, and Laurentine closed the glass window. There was a chill in the air outside, and after her body's miraculous stunt of not falling desperately ill and on her death bed after last night, she did not want to test her luck much more than she had to.

Monsieur Caldwell sent in a fresh batch of steaming buns minutes later, and Manon brought them up in their box to show Laurentine—who had, despite being dressed for the day, not left her bedroom since she had awoken.

"Mhm," Laur gushed. "They smell heavenly."

"Indeed, my lady," Manon beamed, glancing down at an excited Berlioz at her feet as she held the box up. "I suppose Berlioz believes so too."

"Perhaps, Monsieur Arsenault would like some buns," Laurentine murmured absently, startlingly aware that the gentleman would be arriving soon.

She feared that he would demand an answer of her, and she feared the answer she would give. Her heart was restless inside her, and her mind just felt numb.

"Serve them to us, Manon," Laur stepped away, glancing at her bedroom window in a daze. "When he comes."

"In your bedroom, my lady?" The maid asked, her tone uncertain.

Laur never called up gentlemen callers to her bedroom at all, so asking Manon to bring up refreshments for the guest as well—in Laur's private chambers—had not been done before.

"Yes, Manon," The lady of the house affirmed then, and before the maid could ask something more. "That will be all, thank you."

Manon pursed her lips thoughtfully, before nodding, curtseying and exiting the room with the box of Monsieur Caldwell's baked buns.

Laurentine, left alone in her room, watched Berlioz curl up on his blush colored cushioned chair, the color of which matched exactly the color of Laur's loveseat.

Walking over to the loveseat, she sat herself down, suddenly not knowing what to do with herself while she waited. Her heart beat dully in her chest with a certain fear. She felt as though after years of working for herself and her sister—of establishing a luxurious life—she had suddenly found herself to be a woman in severe debt.

She always repaid the favors that were done for her, did she not? She always expressed her gratitude in whichever way that she could. She always did what was asked of her in return, but this time she had been asked too much and she did not know how to feel about it.

To shut off the ramblings of her mind, she grabbed a catalogue off the side table, flipping to read the fashion section and forcing herself to indulge in all the latest fashion news that she would—in any other circumstance—usually devour eagerly.

The catalogue reeled in her focus expertly after a few minutes, and soon Laur's anxiety had taken a back seat whilst her eyes admired the gowns and diamond jewelry so expertly sketched by the artists the designers had sanctioned. She read about each piece, taking her time to absorb all the details.

It was then, that there sounded a knock on her bedroom door and Benoit admitted himself. Laurentine slowly put the catalogue aside, willing herself to not lose the solace that the reading material had offered her. She knew, meeting Benoit's firm eyes, that Monsieur Arsenault was behind him waiting out in the hallway. She had asked the butler to bring a specific caller up to her room, and the man had done it.

"My lady," Benoit bowed properly, his tail coat flapping slightly behind him. "Monsieur Édouard Arsenault awaits your admittance."

Laur touched her hair gently, feeling her fingers shake as she did so. Her golden hair had been curled loosely and left open, with the top half of it divided into a half up braided do. Manon had—courtesy of Laurentine's insistence to stay in her room—taken her sweet time with the hair, even adding an artificial orange flower decoration in the do, it's fabric petals vibrant in Laur's hair and matching the color of her dress. It was this flower that she felt her fingers touch, and she brought her hand down in her lap.

Then she stood up and off her loveseat, bracing herself as she met Benoit's eyes.

"Please, Benoit, let him in."

The butler nodded his head, stepping aside as he gestured to a hidden Monsieur Arsenault, who efficiently stepped into view at the entrance of her bedroom, and walked in.

Édouard's hazel eyes met hers, and though they seemed hard at first glance, his gaze softened in hers ever so slightly. He appeared.. taken aback in a way. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to be up and about after the ordeal yesterday, or perhaps he had merely thought her to be on her death bed after he had lowered her to it last night.

"Monsieur Arsenault," Laur spoke, intertwining her hands at the base of her stomach. "It's so kind of you to pay a call."

"I—," He cleared his throat. "I wanted to see how you were, Mademoiselle, after last night."

"Well," Laurentine beamed, determined to not cower underneath the heaviness she was feeling inside her. "My maid happens to be a miracle worker. I feel perfectly alright, thanks to her."

"My lady," Benoit inquired then, "Will you be needing anything else?"

"Yes, Benoit," She remembered, "I asked Manon for some refreshments for Monsieur Arsenault, please have her bring them after a while."

Laurentine did not know what a while would even constitute. How much time would be encased in that word? She hoped Benoit would be able to place an educated guess, for she on her part had no clue. Would Édouard leave right after he had demanded and received an answer from her? Or would he stay? Will they talk? Would his words hurt her even more? For she had learned last night that he could be utterly cruel when he wanted to be. But still for some reason her heart would not back away.

The butler curtseyed and left, closing the door to her chambers behind him, and leaving both the lady of the house and her guest alone.

"How are you?" Édouard Arsenault blurted out then, not letting the silence marinate. He cleared his throat again, gathering his composure, his hands slightly fisting and unfisting at his sides.

"I'm fine," Laur managed, her voice softening. "Manon—my maid—took care of me, I'm not ailing, as you can see."

She had already said this before hadn't she? The nerves in the pit of her stomach were not letting her form coherent adequate speech.

"Last night, I—," Monsieur Arsenault started, dropping his gaze briefly to her carpet before looking at her. Laur's heart stilled as the subject was tackled by the throat.

"I overstepped," He shook his head. "I uttered some words and I didn't mean them."

Her lips parted. What words was he speaking of? The marriage proposal, or his statement about her doing meagre acts in return for favors to feel like she deserved them? Or Mon Dieu, had there been other words she couldn't remember at present?

"I—," He broke off again, "Fuck, I'm so sorry for them. I acted like a bastard. I'm not like this, I would never intentionally—"

He paused, swallowing as his Adam's apple bobbed hard on his throat. His hazel eyes darkened in hers as certainty and determination flashed in them.

"I hope for your forgiveness for offending you. As for the promise I made to protect your sister in England, I will always uphold it. The shop on 74 rue de la Boétie is your sister's. No one will bother her while she's there, I assure you. Every legal charge has been taken back."

Laur didn't know what to say. She had been told of his actions by her lawyer last night, and now when at present words of gratitude should be on her lips, none were coming.

"What I asked from you in return was rather audacious of me and I infringed," Édouard continued. "I spoke the first thing that came to my mind and I am a fucking bastard for assuming that you would even comply with it. You do not have to. I will take back nothing of the promises I have made. Tell me to go and I will not bother you with the sight of my face again."

Laurentine's heart was restless inside her again. She had thought of this outcome hadn't she? Even if she had not believed it would come to pass. He was truly prepared to uphold his promises without getting what he asked in return. Something inside her soared then, an admiration for him that she was carrying like a flame inside her.

"I'm a financier and Investment banker," Édouard continued when she didn't speak, he held himself higher at his words, even though in Laur's eyes she hadn't seen someone more confident and electric in their manner as him.

"I have banks with my father's name on it littered all throughout France and I intend to expand more. I told you on our dinner that I intend a skyscraper Arsenault bank building as well. I am thirty three years of age and I have two estates—one in Marseille and one in Bordeaux."

Laurentine peered into his eyes. Why was he telling her all this? Combining information he had already told her before with new facts she hadn't known? She had known the fact of his age and his occupation, but he owned two estates in two different cities of France?

"I was born and raised in Marseille, and my father bought that estate. My mother and sister live there with me while in Bordeaux I am alone at home on my very frequent visits to the city for business."

Then he paused, gazing into her eyes for what Laur perceived to be a full minute, before his lips parted to speak again.

"The reasons for why I asked you to marry me, mademoiselle, do not pertain to the fact that you had wanted me to ask something of you. I asked you to marry me because I have never in my life encountered a woman so impeccable and almost divine."

Laurentine's heart jumped up aggressively, pounding against her ribcage. Mon Dieu, was he truly in love with her like she was with him?

"I know I have only known you for a total of two days—each day separated by two weeks of no contact upon my schedule, but the truth of the matter is that I want a wife to aid me in making domestic decisions and to manage my estates."

Laur blinked, something falling deep inside her. There was no love in his feelings for her, she had only cruelly imagined it.

"My mother has been pestering me to marry," Monsieur Arsenault spoke then. "I am a practical man, mademoiselle, and I have never found myself inclined to endeavor and oblige her in that regard. But coming across you has had me thinking and desiring to see you and anticipate your presence."

"I need a wife to bear the Arsenault name," He added. "And in return I shall have her want for nothing. I shall protect her and her interests with my life."

"I do utter propositions sometimes in haste, mademoiselle, like I did last night, but I mean them every time."

Laur swallowed, something sharp causing an ache in her chest. His marriage proposal had only been a proposition, like the ones he made in his business. Why had she not seen that?

"If you choose to marry me," He uttered. "If your answer is an affirmative, you can rest assured that I will never impose anything on you. I will respect your boundaries. There need not be anything in between us but respect and consideration."

She blinked, tearing her eyes away from him as she spun to face her window, her back to him. Perhaps it had taken Laurentine up until now to realize that this had indeed been a proposal for a marriage of convenience. And though her heart cried out in frustration, her rational mind couldn't help but ponder. She felt as though she might cry, but no tears came, for her face felt numb—devoid of her usual smile, or the blush she had always found so hard to control in his presence.

His offer was just that, an offer. Was it not an acceptable one with benefits? After all, if Laur married, she would be given respite from the men at her door—those who cared nothing about her but respected her looks. Édouard Arsenault had already proven himself to be above them by how he had come to her defense against Genevieve, the admiration that Berlioz felt for him, what he had done for Adelaide and Colette, what he had promised to do for Adelaide when she went to England.

How selfish could Laur be if she wanted more from him? How selfish would she be? When he had already given more to her than most gentlemen playing at being her suitors for years now.

"Laur," Monsieur Édouard Arsenault spoke to her back then, his voice hard yet soft at the same time. Her name a pearl on his tongue.

"I'm an ambitious man, I won't rest until I have my skyscraper. After that, I'll always be hungry for more in my endeavors and I won't rest until I have achieved all that and more. I'm insensitive to family life and I'm so embedded in my business that even my mother does not see my face for months on end. I know full well that I'm not the kind of man you deserve, so if you refuse, you need to tell me so that I won't bother your threshold again."

Laurentine's bottom lip trembled, and she wished her kitten was there in her arms against her chest—so atleast she could hold on to someone for comfort. Would Berlioz's weight in her arms and his purring assure her that everything would be alight regardless of the decision she made?

"I—," Laur spoke, her voice soft but grave. "I accept."

She turned around to face him then, willing her lip to stop trembling.

"I will marry you."

Édouard Arsenault's hazel eyes darkened slightly in hers as he exhaled a breath slowly. There was nothing on his face that a woman might expect on her fiancé's face the moment she said yes. No relief, no happiness, no excitement, no love. It was though the man had made a business agreement with her, and Laur had just signed and handed over the contract. But then again, who was she to criticize the lack of expressions on his face when her own probably looked so grave?

She had felt love for him, but before it could blossom into it's true form, it had been stifled like a small flower growing in between cobblestones trudged upon by a polished shoe.

All she could think of was his words, replaying inside her head like a tragedy composition.

I will never impose anything on you.

There need not be anything in between us but respect and consideration.

I'm insensitive to family life.

I'll always be hungry for more in my endeavors and I won't rest until I have achieved all that and more.

Even my mother does not see my face for months on end.

What kind of man had she said yes to?

As Laurentine watched then, Édouard Arsenault dug into the inside pockets of his sleek black dinner jacket, his cream dress shirt slightly more on display before he pulled out a small velvet box.

She knew it was a ring, but she felt so numb she did not know how to react to it. He approached her then, stopping only a feet away from her as he opened the box to showcase the ring.

Almost instantly, a sun ray caught the giant square diamond at the forefront of the ring, and the glittering small diamonds on the thin band broke the sun ray into a rainbow that cast itself on the top of her wrist.

Édouard had reached for her left hand from her side and she hadn't even felt him doing it. Her bare gloveless hand was held in his own bare one as he took out the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. Laur felt something stir in the pit of her stomach—a fluttering despite her numb state.

He stepped away then, instantly ensuing the previous distance between them as though he was just an acquaintance, not her fiancé.

"I want to take you to Marseille with me," Édouard uttered, his baritone hard. "If you agree, we shall get married in Marseille. My mother is not one for travelling to Paris. But you need not leave your interests in Paris behind, for I will—at the earliest opportunity—purchase an estate in Paris for your convenience. We can live here, in between for when I have to be in Bordeaux or Marseille for business."

Laur listened absently, her heart tightening in her chest.

"Will you take me with you, when you have to go?" She asked, her voice meek. "I have work in Paris—"

"No," He spoke, cutting her off. "You do not work from now onwards. You will treat your performances as your interests and what you earn from them as nothing more than a casual thing, for I work, Laur. I will provide for you and no one else."

"Not a cent of yours will be used in our life," Édouard's eyes hardened in hers. "Whatever you need or want, I will provide it."

Laurentine held his gaze, her blue eyes sensitive to his hardened hazel irises.

"When are you taking me to Marseille?" She asked softly, with her question silently agreeing to marry him in a city she has never known. 

"Give me three days," He uttered, eyes flashing a determination. "I need to narrow down possible land options for my building, and I shall also be looking for an estate to purchase. We will be leaving for Marseille by the railway, so I need to procure tickets as well. I will also be sending a telegraph to my mother and sister so that they know to expect us." 

Laur fought an urge to thank him, suddenly realizing that he was purchasing a whole estate for her in Paris so that he won't have to entirely tear her away from her life here, but though gratitude consumed the forefront of her mind, she was still numb to function properly and her heart was dully thudding. 

It was then that a knock sounded on her bedroom door, and Manon entered with a tray of the steaming buns that Monsieur Caldwell had sent in. She curtseyed and walked in, placing the tray on Laur's center table beside her loveseat, but before she could position plates and set out the cutlery, Monsieur Arsenault cleared his throat and looked at Laur.

"Please give me leave, I have business to attend to, Mademoiselle Laurentine," He let out, his tone stoic. "I shall call on you as soon as I am able." 

Laur couldn't respond, and he merely offered her a firm nod, before pivoting on his feet and exiting her room. She heard his footsteps pound down the stairs before they got muffled and were not heard anymore.