xvii.

LAURENTINE BONFAMILLE HAD HAD A WONDERFUL dream in the night before she had awoken, and she could not understand why she had had it.

"I simply cannot believe this," Adelaide Bonfamille—in the dream-had muttered to herself with mock disappointment, shaking her head for added effect—her light brown hair done up in beautiful curls around her round head as the dangling pearls in her ears shook slightly with her movement, the girl's abundant pink cheeks twisting with her facial expressions.

The twenty year old Bonfamille girl's focus had been majorly on the quick portrait she was painting of her sister—the bride to be—on the wedding morning, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and a slim paintbrush in between her fingers as she had stroked upon the canvas that had been set upon an easel for her by the window, with precision.

It had been only half past seven, and the Marseille sky outside Laurentine Bonfamille's chambers was a gentle white gaining confidence in its serenity by the second as it fought to support the rising sun.

The bride had been in front of the looking glass, still half dressed in her wedding dress as her maid, Julie Fontaine, fussed about with getting the veil just so before it could be pinned on to the gorgeously curled and arranged hair do on Laur's crown. Aside from the ladies maid, and the bride's sister, the chambers of the bride also hosted the very infamous Léonie Léon—who's gracious presence at the estate before the wedding, had awkwardly been not to The Lady Arsenault's distinguished taste.

"Oh Julie, give that thing to me!" Léonie Léon had cried out then, watching the ladies maid fumble with the tulle veil in anxiety. "You shall transfer all your negative energy to the bridal veil, and that will simply not do!"

Laurentine Bonfamille had looked at her newest friend—made quite perchance at that one dinner party at Lady Hadley's that Laur had attended with The Lady Arsenault—with a surging admiration.

Balancing out Adelaide's slightly critical and precise energy, and her maid Julie's quite random and hasty one, had been the energy that Léonie—mistress to the notable statesman Leon Gambetta, and a quite open and intimidating female presence in the Marseille high society—had brought to the room in Laur's dream.

Laur could feel the balance, though it was entirely Léonie herself who first made Laurentine aware of the fact—during their first meeting—that energies radiated by people were truly a thing, and not some enchantments that one read in a rather intricate horoscope section waiting for their manicure appointment. The woman was much in tune with the spiritual aspect of life, and Laur, who had never delved into such subjects, found her new friend's stance on life infinitely intriguing in the dream just as she had on the night they had met.

Léonie, with her dark long hair and intelligent face—her features dark and rounded, not quite attractive in the way of societal norms in Marseille, but much desirable for their shift in face of her wit and knowledge—struck a calm confidence that Laur loved, and even in the dream, Léonie had been her brilliant self with not a hair out of place.

"Is not anyone listening to me?" Adelaide Bonfamille's voice had cried out then, "I simply cannot believe that the Jean-Baptiste Bertrand is going to paint my sister's wedding? How must I not embarrass myself in front of his genius? Oh, he is definitely going to glance at my work too—Laur and company! Can everyone just hold themselves still for a single minute? I have a vision I'm trying to desperately execute here, if you please!"

The dream had ended then with her sister's voice being the last one Laurentine Bonfamille had heard before she actually awoke to the reality of her wedding morning.

She could not help the disappointment that overtook her. The wedding morning she had dreamt had felt so real and near perfect. Yes, it hadn't meant anything for the reality of her and Édouard Arsenault's relations, yes, her best friend Colette Blanc had not been in it at all. But still, had not that dream been so close to perfect? Had not that wedding morning seemed so real and beautiful? With her sister Adelaide behind a canvas for her, and her new friend Léonie, Laur almost wondered if the dream would resurrect itself and the scene would recreate in her room again.

Except Léonie would never come early to the estate—to help Laur dress—for how The Lady Arsenault's disapproval of the courtesan stood. And as for Adelaide, who had arrived in Marseille much too tired last night, and though Laurentine had held her sister so close and had memorized the scent of her hugs again, she would not force the girl behind a canvas just so that she could get immortalized moments for her wedding by the hand of her beloved sister—for a wedding that Laur honestly truly wanted to be done with, for every second leading up to it had been excruciating for her countenance and heart. And to keep her true feelings hidden under a composure she had begun to use like a costume, had drained Laur entirely.

And besides, Adelaide knew of Jean-Baptiste Bertrand's actual engagement to paint the grand Arsenault wedding occasion, and the girl had already declared that she would spend the entire day being fascinated by the painter's side, observing his work and doing nothing else. And even besides, Laurentine found that she did not care enough for who was painting the wedding occasion—and even the fact that it was getting painted at all.

A soft feline purring filled the room, and before she could realize it, Berlioz had jumped up onto her bed and had found her lap, the ragdoll kitten curling up and settling himself down against the softness of her silk nightgown, bringing her back to her present reality.

"My darling baby," Laurentine gushed, picking him up, and lifting him to her neck so that she could place a kiss into his fur.

"Do you know? I had such a wonderful dream."

The kitten's presence instantly grounded her. Berlioz's presence alone had been entirely magical these past few days, keeping her somehow connected to the person she used to be in Paris with a calm ferocity, and Laur loved that reminder so much-she was grateful that Berlioz had unintentionally taken up the crucial task. Laurentine had wondered if seeing Adelaide again upon the girl's arrival last night would have the same effect, except though relief and gratitude had filled her to the core at the mere sight of her sister, there had been no such.. comfort gleaned from the younger Bonfamille girl's presence.

All Adelaide's presence had done for her elder sister had been to remind her of why she was doing what she was doing, and give her a sense of determined purpose, and determination and purpose were both things often achieved brutally outside of comfort, were they not?

Laur glanced at the clock in her room, an elegant design of black wood and white base with intricate roman lettering for numbers, perched high on the wall. It was almost 8am in the morning, and the wedding ceremony was not to start until 2pm, a decision made entirely by The Lady Arsenault, for the woman too had gotten married at the same time in her day forty-five years ago, and Laur had learned that with families sometimes there was this element of creating traditions that people stuck to for generations and years to come—except Laurentine had none of her own traditions as significant as the ones the Arsenault family seemed to have, with her own sister.

Adelaide and Laur indeed enjoyed a handful of traditions of their own, but these would not really qualify as the kind of significant that the Arsenaults' traditions appeared to be.

Laur always baked a cake for Christmas eve, the girls always spent the eve of a new year spending the entire day outside doing activities that they each loved together, Adelaide always treated her birthday occasions as an event for her to read out all of her recent writings—ranging from political and to fictional—to Laurentine and the girl's own friends while everyone pinned on their go to smiles and waited with crucial patience for the cutting of the cake, and Laurentine for her birthday always spent an enormous amount for a luxurious gift for her sister as an yearly attempt to elevate her sister's radical and practical tastes in life. Aside from all that, there were yearly events at the opera house that Laurentine always performed for, a few of which Adelaide always liked to be in the audience for..

Regardless, traditions like the ones Laur and Adelaide had as a family of two, had never seemed quite so hard and fast. They were merely things that the girls fully accepted each time they came around were fully content and happy with abiding by them.

But it wasn't until Marseille, and becoming Édouard Arsenault's bride-to-be, that Laurentine was starting to realize just how crucial traditions could be to a proper family's life, and as much as that fact was insightful, it made her feel hollow inside as though perhaps she hadn't indeed been doing things the right way with her own family as she had once thought she had.

She was to have a wedding breakfast of Complète Galette de Sarrasin, with Chaussons aux Pommes, Crullers and Beignets on the side, and with a tall glass of sparkling champagne—all because that was exactly what The Lady Arsenault had had the morning of the day when she had gone from being a twenty year old Georgina Accumbray—the daughter of a French army officer—to The Lady Georgina Arsenault upon marriage to the Arsenault bank founder and infamous investor, Wilhelm Arsenault.

And then afterwards, Laur wasn't to have anything to eat until the wedding reception, which was fine, because Laur doubted she would ever feel hungry again after such a hefty breakfast. Her stomach at present craved a softer breakfast, for she was fraught with nerves, and could not figure how to explain her feelings to anyone else alive. Presently, she was craving a warm toasted baguette with butter, and a cup of hot milk tea, and even the thought of Complète Galette de Sarrasin or even Chaussons aux Pommes and crullers—which she would've adored on any other day—made her feel utterly nauseous.

She thought of Monsieur Caldwell then, the honest and kind hearted baker on her street in Paris—one of the finest bakers she could think of. Mon Dieu, a warm toasted baguette from his bakery would be so utterly divine to have at present.

Suddenly, Laurentine's heart cracked sharply.

"If you do get married someday and settle in with one of those admirers you have, mademoiselle, I do so hope you won't forget my bakery! Not to toot my own horn, but I will utterly transform that wedding table of yours! And my wife and grown daughter do look beautiful in their gowns!"

When had Monsieur Caldwell said this to her? Laur tried to think. It had been a November night three years ago she recalled, and the conversation had happened over the dinner table in the Bonfamille manor. There had been heavy storms raking Paris, and a curfew throughout the city had been called. Monsieur Caldwell had still been out doing his bakery deliveries—like the selfless man he was—and Laur had insisted he come in and take shelter with her and Adelaide.

She had amateurly affirmed his statement, assuring him that he would be the first she would think of when organizing her happy occasion. But what happy occasion? What organization? Everything had been done for Laur, and though she was grateful, she wasn't.. happy. So did this count? Was she violating a friendship pact she had made? Mon Dieu, she had invited Monsieur Caldwell to her wedding, she had addressed an invitation to him and his family, how come she hadn't realized? What was that poor man thinking of her right now? Would he even think her worth purchasing a family ticket by train to Marseille, for?

Laur dropped her eyes to look at Berlioz in her lap, as she stroked his fur gently. Her engagement ring glittered as the square diamond caught a brilliant sun ray. Her chambers were illuminated with the sun shining in from outside, and she was certain the household was starting to awake too. But with every second passing by, she felt the tensions and the growing ache inside her solidify.

Her chambers seemed half empty of her belongings now, for last night The Lady Arsenault had had the servants pack all of Laurentine's clothing, jewelry and toilette into cases that had been taken to the master bedroom of the Arsenault estate—to Édouard Arsenault's personal room. Laur had tried to calm the anxiety in her heart, watching all her belongings being taken away—aside from everything she would need in the wedding morning—to Édouard's room, a room she would share with him after they said their vows.

Laur understood why he had not objected to the feat. She understood that it was important for appearances, for he wouldn't want anyone in his household to suspect anything. And perhaps when she would leave Marseille with him to Paris or Bordeaux, there she could occupy a separate room from his own, with neither of them coming in each other's ways at those large and empty estates of his.

But when were they leaving Marseille? Édouard had shared none of his plans with her—he had been avoiding her since the night he blamed her for trying to kill herself in his house, and she had barely managed to catch a glimpse of him around the estate.

How long after the wedding did he plan to stay in this city? When would they leave for Paris to see the estate he had bought before they left? Mon Dieu, Laur missed the bright chaos Paris desperately.

At present, in her room alone with Berlioz in her lap, Laurentine eyed the perfumed blush tissue wrapped boxes piled upon the carpeted ground beside her spacious bed. There were about six of them, and they varied in sizes with the biggest one being almost the size of bedside table and the smallest a size bigger than that of a ring box. Each box was tied off with a thick white ribbon done up perfectly into a bow, and perhaps where once Laur would have excitedly settled herself on the ground to meticulously open each one breathless, she felt a growing apprehension whenever her gaze fell of those boxes.

For they were bridal presents from the groom. Another familial tradition that the Arsenaults followed. The boxes had been brought into Laurentine's room under The Lady Arsenault's excited supervision after cases full of Laur's belongings had been whisked away.

Laurentine Bonfamille had been expected to have a sleepless night full of anticipation and a coy nervousness, like any bride would have, upon which she would resort to opening the presents from her groom-to-be and fall deeper in love with him and forget all her nervousness, like any bride would do.

But Laur had not been able to muster the courage to touch any of those boxes, for she did not want to see what Édouard Arsenault had been forced to buy for her as way of his family traditions, and so the boxes had slept untouched piled beside her bed all through the night.

Laur exhaled, touching her hair gently. She had put rollers in her hair last night after taking a thorough and somewhat relaxing bath. Despite the nice wedding morning scene she had dreamt of, she wanted no special attention of anyone else's over her hair and makeup today. She wanted her process to be fast and uninvolved. She did not want to be fretted over, she just wanted everything to go by as quickly as it could. She wanted to blink and have this day end.

Mon Dieu, she wanted to blink and go back to that night at the opera house when she had agreed to come to Genevieve Garnier's dinner party. She would refuse, if she could go back. Laur would brave herself against her friend and peer and declare slyly that Garnier should deal with her guests herself. But then again, it had been just a dinner party, no fault of Genevieve or her butler's or her mansion's. The fault had been entirely Laur's to go about letting her guard down in front of a single gentleman when she had always held them all at a disguised distance.

No doubt Genevieve Garnier—now the bride-to-be of Monsieur Edgar Laframboise, the owner of the Laframboise hotel chain in Marseille and a friend to Laur's own groom-to-be—would flutter about the wedding ceremony with pride at Monsieur Laframboise's elbow, happily telling whomsoever she could that if it wasn't for her dinner party, this wedding would not have happened. That she had united the lovebirds, as per her own words, for the woman had used the same exact words in the letter that Laurentine had received from her last night, a letter with an invitation attached.

It appeared that Laur's wedding ceremony to come had influenced Genevieve too to set a date, a date which coincidentally fell only a month after Laur's own wedding day—on the 20th of March, where Laur's was the 20th of February. Both Laur and her then husband were invited to the occasion.

"I always told you, sister," Adelaide Bonfamille had tsked last night when Laurentine had mentioned the invitation. "Genevieve Garnier is much too fond of competing with you for everything. She simply could not have your wedding take the center stage. I cannot still understand why you are friends with her in the first place."

Laurentine had narrowed her eyes slightly at her sister, and had considered how to explain to the girl that female friendships—no matter their nature—were essential to have wherever one could find them, especially for women like Laur who had to find their own footing in life and needed feminine support before they could ever learn to rely on the masculine one. But girls like Adelaide had the privilege of cutting out and strictly choosing the kind of friendships they would prefer to have, the privilege of choosing not to be in someone's company where they weren't respected as much.

Berlioz's ears perked in Laurentine's lap then, and Laur was second to hear the footsteps in the hallway outside headed towards her chambers.

At first, she braced herself for The Lady Arsenault's presence, her maman to be's exuberant and slightly exhausting enthusiasm just as the woman had displayed to Laur last night. Laurentine swallowed thickly as she remembered last night. Georgiana Arsenault—the lady of the house with all of her warm but regal airs as the mistress of the family and her son's estate—had teared up with emotions whilst bidding Laur the otherwise simple act of a good night.

Laurentine understood the melancholy—at least she believed she did. For if it was her son getting married, would she too not have felt some type of way? A nostalgia of how quickly children grew up? A longing for older times? Or perhaps a conflicted set of feelings at welcoming a new family member? She had tried to empathize, but hadn't been able to in face of her own heartache and fear.

Laur feared the inalterable change that would now occur for her, and her hands were trembling last night for the fear of it, so try as she might, she had not been able to put herself in her future mother-in-law's shoes. At least the latter had mistaken Laurentine's shaking hands and misty eyes for nervous anticipation and happiness, so it was fruitless to reprimand herself for the lack of empathy that she hadn't felt then.

At present, she assumed that the footsteps approaching were those of her mother-in-law, but that assumption was quick to change, for Laur had grown accustomed to the slow and steady—and carefully drawn out—footsteps of the Lady Arsenault's, and these were not hers. These footsteps were light and quick, possibly Francine or Adelaide.

A series of excited knockings sounded on her door and before Laurentine could say come in, the person excitedly entered of her own accord.

Laur smiled at the sight of a delighted Francine Arsenault, the girl's curly dark hair messily loose down her shoulders, and her body in a sea green loose night robe that practically drowned her petite form.

"Oh, Laurentine!" The girl exclaimed, "I knew you were awake. Mother declared last night that you were to sleep in as late as you would like—though of course until noon—because a bride needs all the rest she could get, but I was hoping you would be up earlier."

The excitement on the girl's fresh face dimmed slightly, and a fierce sadness pierced her gaze making Laur's own smile faltered gently.

Mon Dieu, was this another family moment she would have to force herself to understand? Would it be like last night? Her sitting and trying to empathize with the drastic change that was coming into the Lady Arsenault's own life upon Laur's marriage to Édouard? Would she have to choke her own feelings back some more while she comforted another emotional Arsenault family member?

Laurentine was not unkind towards emotions that others felt, for she usually felt them to her core and could cry along with them if only she knew that her tears wouldn't add to their pain.

But at present, with her own heart in a chokehold, she wasn't sure why her empathy had stopped functioning. Had she just become selfish so suddenly? How had she let a gentleman so alter her like this?

"Mon ange," Laurentine fought against her own bitter feelings, forcing them down her throat as she latched onto empathy blindly, refusing to let Édouard Arsenault succeed in making her selfish.

"Darling, what is it?"

Francine Arsenault's soft hazel eyes glassed over, and Laur quickly reached out her arms for the girl, who sprinted over towards her and wrapped Laurentine into a desperate hug, barely managing to seat herself on the edge of the bed beside the opera performer.

Berlioz meowed at the unwanted usurpation of Laur's attention by someone else, suddenly finding himself closed in between two bodies, but still refusing to give up his spot in Laur's lap.

"Oh, Laurentine," Francine sobbed into her shoulder, her hyacinth scent strong in Laur's senses as she returned the embrace tightly, gently caressing and patting the girl's back with her hand to calm her.

"It's Édouard, I don't understand why he is being like this!"

Laur's heart tightened in her chest. Had something occurred? Did the girl find out about Laur and Édouard's arrangement? The wedding was in a few hours, how could the girl have found out? Why would Édouard have let something slip to his family? Mon Dieu, had it made Francine this upset?

"He's being so harsh, and I tried so hard to make him understand, but he just refuses to listen!"

"Darling," Laur breathed, her heart pounding fearfully in her chest as she tried to school her voice. "Please tell me what has happened, you're scaring me."

Francine separated slowly from her embrace then, sniffing as she gingerly wiped her slim red nose with a napkin tucked in her palm, dabbing it gently underneath her puffy eyes next as the girl gathered her strength and words and met Laur's wide blue eyes.

"I wrote to Olivier, inviting him to the wedding, and Édouard is—he is so angry at me. He tore up Olivier's response this morning and in his lordly arrogant fashion, left some of the pieces for me to find amongst my other letters. The only pieces he left contained Olivier's words refusing to come. But I know he explained why, I know he said so much more, because he always does. He tells me everything. And now I won't know anything that he said."

Laurentine blinked, her lips slightly apart as she tried to understand who Olivier was and why he was significant. Perhaps it was the fearful battering of her heart that fogged her brain so much so that it took a while for her to even make sense of everything. The first realization that came was certainly helpful in clearing the brain fog, for nothing of the details of the relationship arrangement between Laur and Édouard Arsenault had been found out and were being grieved over by his sister.

The second realization was Laurentine's mind working swiftly again, for she was able to connect dots in her head with the ease of a string of a composition verse. Olivier was the younger Arsenault brother—the disapproved of vagabond traipsing about somewhere in Avignon.

Édouard did not approve of his brother's exploits, he had made that clear to Laurentine the first time they had met, but she wasn't aware how strict the dislike between the brothers truly ran for him entirely tear up a correspondence written by the notorious younger brother.

"Édouard always does this. He forbade me to write to Olivier and when he is not here in Marseille he asks Pascal to get rid of every letter by Olivier that arrives. I have to smuggle my letters out through my maid and get his responses in secretly. I let my guard down because of the wedding, and Pascal must've instantly informed my brother."

"Why did he even look at the letters addressed to me?" Francine cried out. "Cannot I have some privacy from his all seeing management of this house? He is not even here at all, and this is the longest he has stayed with us for months now. If there is one thing Mother is happy about, it is that you are the reason she's even having him around at present. But Olivier is my brother too, should I be condemned just because I do not hate him as Édouard does?"

"Francine, mon ange," Laurentine spoke softly, her voice feeling devoid of any significant power.

What was Laur to say? She had opinions indeed to offer, for it was true that a lady's correspondence be entirely her own. Should a brother intrude upon a sister's privacy like that? Should a brother even impose his own dislike for someone, on the other members of his household? Of course Laurentine had opinions on the matter to offer, for though at times she had itched to, she had never and would not ever touch any of Adelaide's own correspondences or intrude upon her younger sister's privacy.

But what indeed could Laur say in this moment? The tyranny of the brother in question seemed to hurt her in a way that went beyond empathy for Francine's situation, for what did the girl know of the sides of her eldest brother that Laurentine had witnessed and faced head on?

What did Francine know of how cruel really her eldest brother could be? Or perhaps, she did know. Perhaps both her and her mother and everyone else in this estate knew of how Édouard Arsenault could be, and perhaps they were all keeping it from Laur just like she was keeling what she knew about him from them. He was going to be her husband in a few hours, and she was only being respectful and considering of his demands from her and the promises he made to her, by not sharing anything with his family. But what was his family being respectful and considerate of?

They never spoke anything untoward about Édouard Arsenault's nature to her, instead being bent on painting for her the image of a picture perfect wealthy bachelor with power and prestige in France, as though that was the entire gist of everything she already knew about him, which it was certainly not. 

This was the first time anyone of the family had aired out a proper grievance against Édouard to Laur—that too on the morning of her wedding—and Laur in turn did not know how to truly respond to it.

"Édouard should not have hurt you like this," She began regardless, keeping her voice soft. "But darling, should you consider that he was perhaps hurt as well? The distance with a brother is such a grievance for the eldest sibling, as well as everyone involved, and surely people hurt in different ways."

Francine stuck up her bottom lip, shaking her head.

"No, Laurentine," The girl spoke adamantly. "You don't understand. Édouard hates it when we refuse anything he says—anything that he wants us to be. Olivier and me, we're different from him—different from what he would prefer us to be and nothing annoys him more than that."

Laur's brows furrowed as clear denial passed through her features.

"Darling, no. Your brother is so proud of your different interest and your aspirations in life. He told me about you the first time we met and I promise there was nothing but pride in his voice when he spoke of you."

Francine's adamant expression softened briefly as she met Laur's eyes and read the honesty of the statement in them.

"He could be just trying to make an impression," The girl dropped her gaze to her lap, her voice meek. "For someone like you—a successful woman, famous, beautiful and independent with your own career in life—surely would not think much of a man who did not talk nicely of his own sister. I wouldn't, if I were you. And men do anything to make an impression, you must know that better than me."

Laur sighed, shaking her head before she reached out her hand to touch the girl's cheek.

"Mon ange, please, Édouard loves you very much and I'm sure he's just upset at your brother Olivier in his own way."

"But why?" Francine cried out then, startling Berlioz in Laurentine's lap.

"He is getting married! He is in love! Should not these reasons be enough to melt the hatred in one's heart? To forgive and to forget?"

Laur's chest tightened at the earnest look in the younger girl's eyes. How was she to agree? For it was true that love could melt the walls in one's heart, at least, that was what Laurentine believed. But Édouard Arsenault was not in love. He was not getting married, he was merely signing a contract to finalize a deal with Laur, and that was the marriage. Mon Dieu, how was Laur to explain all this to the innocent girl beside her without her voice breaking and her heart tearing into bits inside her? For she hadn't yet said those words out loud to anyone but Berlioz, and they possessed force enough to shatter her completely.

"They should," Laur could only respond gently, trying to keep the emotion in her throat at bay. "Give him some time, darling, give it all some time."

Francine nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping before she paused, her eyes sparking a thought.

"Édouard read Olivier's letter to me," The girl began, "Could you please ask him what it said? He won't tell it to me considering how furious he is, but he will tell you, Laurentine. Please, I need to know how Olivier is, and why he couldn't come to the wedding. I need to know everything he wrote in that letter for me because I doubt I will be ever able to write to him again, considering how much harder Édouard would make it for me. I won't be surprised if he bans every servant in the house from ever listening to me again."

Laurentine swallowed thickly, her heart pounding to her throat. To face Édouard and to inquire about his personal family matters seemed shocking to her—appalling, in fact. It seemed not her place, but then again, she would be his wife in a few hours and she would gain that place to inquire personal things of him. But where would she gain the strength? She did not even know the name of the notorious younger brother up until this moment, and both Édouard and his mother—as well as everyone in the household—had conveniently left facts about the younger brother out of Laur's hearing. So how was she to interfere in something that she wasn't supposed to know of?

"Darling, I don't know if I should interfere—"

"Please Laurentine," Francine broke in earnestly, the girl's eyes tearing up again. "Please, I do need you to talk to him. Ask him what the letter said. Perhaps if you ask, he would even allow me to write to Olivier. Perhaps just the fact that his wife is asking, would soften him?"

Laur blinked. Now she was to convince Édouard in his sister's favor too? The feat seemed utterly impossible. To intrude on a man's personal matter and persuade him to change his decision upon it.. Laurentine had to remind herself that she would be doing it as his wife. But Mon Dieu, was her plate already not full?

And what was this talk about softening Édouard Arsenault? Was not the gentleman beyond all that? Why were such things being expected of Laur? How could she soften a man who wanted nothing to exist in between them as man and wife?

"Give me some time, sweetheart," Laur managed with a heavy heart, forcing a smile on her lips. "I will do what I can."

Francine's almond shaped hazel eyes lit up as she reached for Laurentine's hands and gripped them.

"Do you promise?"

Laurentine's smile faltered slightly at the word, a sharp ache intensifying in her chest. Perhaps she had looked exactly like Francine when she had made Édouard Arsenault promise things to her that she hadn't realized would cost her so much. Perhaps she too had looked as hopeful and desperate as this, for she truly remembered feeling those things just the same.

It was then that a knock sounded on Laur's bedroom door, and Julie Fontaine traipsed with her frizzy ginger hair piled atop her head and her maid's uniform precisely ironed as she beamed a smile at her mistress and curtseyed for both her and Francine.

"Good morning, my lady," The girl let out excitedly. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Francine! What a beautiful day for a wedding, is it not? Oh please, don't let me interrupt! I shall just tidy up a little and get my lady's wedding gown, jewelry and makeup in order before the servants bring up the wedding breakfast for you! And then we shall start to pamper and get you ready, my lady! I have just been by the church this morning, and it looks simply divine for the wedding! The cream hydrangeas and those gorgeous white roses—oh my!"

The maid twittered off then, a skip in her step as she began her attentions about the room, tidying up Berlioz's cushion first and the mess he had made with slight chunks of his dry food around his bowl.

"Laurentine," Francine took hold of Laur's attention then, as though Julie had not said anything at all, for the Arsenault girl's facial expression was still the same contortment of hope and desperation.

"Please promise you will talk to my brother and convince him. It is only you I can rely on for help, mother does not have courage enough to go against Édouard even if she secretly misses Olivier."

Laurentine swallowed the emotion building in her throat. Mon Dieu, to rely on her to bring a family together sounded perhaps one of the most absurd things she had ever heard. She had not even been able to stick by Adelaide's side when they were little girls in an orphanage. She had misbehaved and had gotten herself torn away from her sister, how could she then be relied on to help someone else's family with their issues? Her husband to be's family, no less? How would her words to Édouard make such a difference? How could she ever make his family understand that she had no influence over him, and she was just.. a sham?

"I promise I will try, darling," Laurentine found herself whispering numbly, watching Francine exhale a sigh of gratitude as Laur turned her eyes away to look at Julie.

In the distance, the maid had pulled out the beautiful wedding gleaming gown on the satin hanger, and had hooked it on top of the intricate changing screen on full display, as she hummed a sprightly tune and started sorting through Laur's jewelry on the vanity to separate the pieces that—as decided last night—were going to be worn with the wedding dress.

"Thank you, Laurentine," Francine murmured then as Laur found herself in another embrace which she returned.

"I must leave you and poor Berlioz in peace now!" The girl exclaimed as she separated and straightened up. "Oh, I simply cannot wait to see you all dolled up. My sister-in-law, the dreamiest bride in all of France! And her kitten, the charming Monsieur Berlioz!"

She tickled Berlioz's fur, to which the kitten purred, before spinning on her feet and leaving the room with a wave, closing the door behind her.

"Oh, my lady!" Julie approached Laur, stopping abruptly in surprise as she saw the unopened boxes at the side of the bed.

"Why haven't you opened your gifts from Monsieur Arsenault yet?" The girl beamed in excitement. "Oh, how nervous and excited you must be! Do you want me to open them for you whilst your breakfast is brought up by Jean-Paul? Perhaps there's more jewelry in them that you can consider for the wedding day!"

Laurentine knew she should've opened the boxes, and if she delayed opening them longer, she could jeopardize every term she had agreed upon with Édouard Arsenault, and would give his family reason to suspect something was wrong. Respect and consideration. He was going to be her husband, of course she needed to open his gifts.

"Thank you, Julie," Laur managed a smile, gesturing the girl towards the boxes.

Of course she needed to open Édouard's gifts, but her resolve was not strong enough at present for her to open them herself. It was better to stay away, and maintain a distance, just like he had asked her to.

"Stay away from me, Laur, for the good of both of us."

Hadn't that been what he had said that night to her?

Laurentine dropped her blue gaze to Berlioz on her lap, stroking his fur slowly as Julie excitedly sat herself on the carpeted ground and grabbed a box, eagerly ripping the tissue paper.

If only Berlioz had been in her room and not in the kitchens being fed, when Édouard had barged in that night, the kitten would have seen how much things had changed in between them since that dinner. But Berlioz was oblivious. He was often not in her room in the afternoons and early evenings, and Julie always brought him in with her and laughed about how he had been playing with Francine or Jean-Paul or had at times even ventured into Édouard's room behind him, meowing at his trousers and begging to be picked up.

Things in Berlioz's eyes had not changed. The kitten still admired Édouard Arsenault with a passion, and got irritated with Laur when the feline realized that she was no longer in his presence anymore like she once used to be. He got frustrated at Édouard's absences from home, and would immediately spring up when the main door in the foyer was heard opening or a carriage sounded outside.

If Berlioz had been in the room that night when Édouard had shouted at her and accused her, she would have picked Berlioz up and whispered in her kitten's ear, 'See? This is why I'm scared. This is why everything has changed.' Because try as she might to make her feline understand that fact independent of proof, her efforts were being in vain.

At present, outside, she could hear clip clopping of hooves passing by on the street in front of the estate. She could hear footsteps of people on their morning strolls, hunched under parasols for sun protection as their conversation added a rhythm to the chirping of the birds and the neighing of the passing horses and riders outside. She could hear a few laughs as some of the passing people dissolved into fits as a result of their conversations, and Laur supposed if she only just closed her eyes for a moment, she could pretend to be as free as they were—if only for a moment.

Free to fall in love, free to marry who they genuinely chose to, free to change their minds, free to distance themselves with those who made their hearts suffer, free to forget and move on, free to live their lives with nobody else to constantly think for.