I am woken early in the morning by Roséline.
"My lady, it is time to rise." She instructs. I stretch in the bed, warming up my muscles. I didn't sleep well, just like every other night since the proposal arrived. I sit up to find a ring of servants surrounding my bed, all staring at my expectantly.
"Good morning." I mumble sheepishly.
"We are here to prepare you. Now come." Roséline pulls me out of bed with a force greater than her size suggests she is capable of. I am embarrassed to only be in shift before so many women. This feeling is exasperated as several women take its hem and pull off the thin cloth. I shiver in front of them, exposed. I cross my arms over my chest and try to hide my bare flesh. They herd be to a tub full of water and oils. It is pungent with competing scents. I want to cover my nose to block the stench but don't dare remove my arms from covering myself. Someone added too much of every expensive fragrance they could find.
I am pushed into the wretched water to soak as the women around me debate about my coiffure. Some want it to be pulled into complicated braids, while others advocate for some form of a bun. The factions are further segregated on how to adorn the look, being divided between jewels, or flowers.
"I don't need any ornaments in my hair." I try to dictate my appearance. It is my wedding day after all. The women don't notice my words.
"The groom prefers braids." Roséline interrupts, proving herself as the dominant figure in the group. "Also use flowers. Make her look youthful."
With the argument settled they scrub me. My skin feels raw under their work. I want to cry and pull away, but I think it would be unwise, so I clench my jaw.
Once they have removes most of my skin and filed every part of me to perfection, they pull me out of the water. They dry me with fine cloths and lather me with various creams and oils to make my skin glow. They finally let me regain some modesty after they finish applying the concoction.
The shift they slip over my head is a normal linen one. They lace my stays, finally providing me with cover. They all turn their backs for an instant to set up the vanity with everything they want. I take the opportunity to slip Étienne's letter, and the handkerchief I will never be able to give him between my stays and shift. I want some happy memory with me as I seal a sorrowful fate.
Then I am pulled to the vanity to have my hair brushed and pulled every which way as the women work. One maid brings a brush used for painting covered in a white powder to my face.
"No, I don't want any make up." I try to protest. The priest at home has always preached the sin of vanity, and how makeup can emphasis the sin. I don't necessarily believe that, but I don't want to change my appearance for the most important of days.
My desires and opinions are ignored. Something doesn't feel right. If I am marrying such an important man as to merit this room, why am I treated like a cow going to be sold. Why is there no thought to what I want? I begin to fear the disposition and habits of my husband. Is he so domineering and demanding that there is no room for me?
The maids finish, with my face and hair, and pull me off the vanity seat. They slip a fine silk dress over my head. It is exquisite with extensive embroidery across the light blue cloth. When I look in the mirror, I realize that this dress was made for a woman who has more bust and less waist then me. They tighten its lace as much as the fabric will allow, trying to force the edges of the garment to meet. I hold my breath, trying to make myself as thin as possible.
Roséline steps away and glares at me with her nose crinkled. "This will do." She peeks at the clock on the mantle. "We will need to leave now. Follow me." I follow, expecting us to leave the chateau for a cathedral or be picked up by a carriage. I am surprised that instead we go deeper into the keep, meeting Madame Auberget.
"Madame, you look breathtaking." She compliments me with a smile. It helps to ease my nerves. "Your father is already at the chapel, ready to be a witness."
"Thank you, Madame Auberget." I curtsey. She has been accommodating for me at every turn, unlike all those maids this morning.
"Come along, I will take you to the chapel." She takes the lead from Roséline who sneers behind her. I hurry to keep up with Madame Auberget.
She brings us to a small chapel on the premises of the keep. Maybe I am not marrying that high of an official? Any noble marriage would be more public.
Two guards swing open the large doors. The two women next to me don't enter. Instead Roséline thrusts me in, almost causing me to fall. I catch myself and straiten, taking in my surroundings. There is a short aisle separating the pews to the alter. Everyone faces me. Father stands alone to my left. On my right there is a small group of four. I recognize Charlotte-Anne among them. There are two other younger men I don't recognize, and one I do. My heart skips a beat and accelerates. I almost rub my eyes but stop myself. I can't ruin my makeup. It is Étienne.
I swallow and ignore the pain in my heart. He avoids looking directly at me. Did he know when he met me I would be here?
I look straight ahead to take in my groom. He is tall, and round. He is balding and has three chins. I recognize him immediately as a guest from about a week ago. He had claimed to be a knight, traveling to find a lord to serve. I knew that had been a lie but hadn't pried. There was no way he could be a knight with his age and physique. He looks to be about 65. He could be my grandfather.
I take a shaky breath to gather my courage and walk down the aisle. I stand before the alter with my groom to my right. A priest stands before us, waring a traditional garb of white.
"We thank the families of Camille-Marie Ferré and Baron Jean-Baptiste of Torcy to be here today to celebrate their matrimony." The blood drains from my face. I am marrying the Baron. But isn't he already married? What is going on?
"If I can have the bride's right hand." The priest extends his hand and takes mine.
"Do you, Camille-Marie Ferré, promise to love, protect and follow Baron Jean-Baptiste of Torcy as your husband until death separates you?" I want to scream no, but I can't. I have to marry this pig to protect my family.
"Yes." I whimper. The priest wraps a red ribbon around my wrist.
The Baron raises his hand as the priest asks, "Do you, Baron Jean-Baptiste of Torcy, promise to love, protect and guide Camille-Marie Ferré as your wife until death separates you?"
"Yes" The priest wraps his wrist, tying us together.
"As this ribbon binds you now, so shall your love bind you together. Now seal your love with a kiss." The baron turns to me leering down. I feel like a trapped rabbit. All I can do is shake. He forces his lips on mine. I want to vomit from the putrid stench emanating from his mouth. He is forcefully pushing hard and prying my mouth open with his tongue. I want to bite it, but don't dare offend him. The kiss lasts for ages as he aggressively pushes me and bites my lower lip.
I fight the urge to wipe my lips when he releases me. This was too much for public. I shudder at the idea of what will happen tonight, when we are alone. Why is my luck so terrible? Couldn't it have been anyone else. Anyone more considerate, or less demanding.
My thoughts go to the only kiss I have to compare it to. Étienne was different, asking for permission. He only went as far as I wanted. It was intense, but never forceful or painful. I chase these thoughts. I can't turn back time to that night.
The Baron holds my hand as he turns me around him for our exit. I am pulled down the aisle. I glance over at Étienne. His eyes are filled with hurt. I want to run to him and tell him I take it all back. I want to be with him not the Baron, but I am bound. That night he observed I am someone who keeps their promises, and I just made the biggest promise of my life.