I wake in the morning to find Étienne at the table eating breakfast, and Charlotte still sleeping at my side. Étienne's back is to me. I study his figure, lean and strong. Sneaking out of the bed I come up beside him. I fight my urge to hug him from behind. Being unsure of my own feelings, it would be cruel to send such an inviting signal. I lean down beside him on the table.
"Good morning Marquis Étienne." He turns his head, smiling at me.
"When it is just us three, call me by my given name."
"Isn't that too informal? You are a Marquis after all."
"I don't care about titles. You are my friend, at least, I won't have my friends be bound by such formalities."
"If you would like."
"I prefer you do so. You should change. The guards are still quarantining your room, but I am sure that Charlotte won't mind if you use a dress of hers." I look down at myself in a skewed robe over my sheer shift. I don't want to be scandalous in front of Étienne. I turn to fetch more appropriate attire but realize that I don't know where they are. Étienne stands, understanding my hesitation.
"Follow me." He walks through a door into another room with 2 large wardrobes and a chest.
"Étienne, thank you for last night. You did exactly what I needed."
"I am always here for you." He gives me a gentle smile, and a complicated look in his dark brown eyes. "Get dressed, and then join me for breakfast." He strolls out of the small room.
I open one wardrobe to find the fancier dresses. I close it, moving to the next that has more everyday wear. I pick the lest conspicuous of the frocks. It is a dark brown, fit for someone who should be in mourning. In the chest between the wardrobes I find an assortment of shifts and stays. I pick one of each, realizing that the stays will not fit correctly. They are made to fit Charlotte's curvier figure. I remove the shift from last night, wanting to demand for its cremation.
Once I am appropriately garbed, I braid my hair in a simple plait, and join Étienne. He beams at my entrance, but soon his face darkens.
"We will have to ask the doctor for a cream for bruises when he comes."
"A cream for bruises?" What is he referring to? As always, he reads my mind. How are we so connected?
He pulls me to a mirror indicating my neck. There is a trail of bright blue marks from my neck down lower, under the frock's neckline. Most of them have distinct teeth marks. One of the lower ones even has a small scab from broken skin. I grimace at the reminders of the night.
"I should have realized they would become bruises last night and asked for the cream then." I turn around to face him. He is protective over me who should just be a stranger. Why is he so caring?
"You can't know everything." Without a conscious thought I find my arms around his abdomen. I hold him close, hiding my face in him.
"Why are you so forgiving?" He pats my head, holding me close with his other arm.
"Why do you keep blaming yourself? The Baron is to blame, and he has already paid." Étienne gives me a slight squeeze and pulls away. He holds my hand leading me to the dining table.
Porridge sweetened with honey and fruit sits in three bowls in the table along with bead and cheeses. I sit by the middle bowl, and Étienne takes the place to my right. He lowers his spoon into the porridge and begins the meal.
"What is your favorite kind of animal?" I ask. He flashes his dazzling teeth.
"Why such a random question?" I take my first bite to find the gruel more enjoyable than I have ever experienced.
"The query is random, but I want to know you better, and this is a relatively safe topic." I explain. Étienne's brows furrow and his lips turn downward.
"You don't have to worry about that, we can talk to about any topic you need to."
"I know, but I don't want us to only discuss things that are emotionally distressing. We should talk about anything from animals, to politics, to food, to ideologies, to religion, to music." His eyes become like crescent moons with a wide smile squishing them. He seems to like my explanation. My heart skips a beat at the look he gives me.
"Are we talking domestic of wild animals?"
"Tell me one of each." We speak between bites of nourishment.
"Domestic I think would be horses. I love riding them."
"I have never ridden one. What is it like?"
"It is like freedom. You can go anywhere and the feeling of wind in your face is exhilarating. You are one with the horse, trusting it, and it is trusting you. I will have to teach you." His eyes sparkle as he talks. For the first time I see him passionate about something. I want to explore this joy with him.
"I look forward to your lessons."
"For a wild animal I think it would be a sparrow or another kind of songbird. They are beautiful to listen to, and free to go wherever they want in the world. What are your animals?"
"I don't have a particular favorite; I find every animal has their own charm but as a kid I loved cats. They are independent and opinionated, but curious and affectionate all in the same bundle of fur."
"Do you have one?"
"I have had several over the years, but not currently." He nods with a knowing smile. What is he planning? "For a wild animal I don't know. I find wolves and their pack dynamic fascinating, or the power of the various big felines astounding. Butterflies are dazzling with their varying shapes and colors."
"Are you going to name every creature that roams this earth?" He chortles at my running list and enthusiasm.
"They are all beautiful."
"Even spiders and wasps?" Étienne teases.
"They were each created with a purpose." I respond curtly with my head held high as if I am offended, but my lips twitch upwards.
"You guys are disgustingly adorable." Charlotte says from behind. I turn in surprise, to find her behind us fully dressed in mourning garb. I hadn't heard her get up and leave or return.
"Charlotte, how did you sleep?"
"Well until I was woken by the sounds of flirting." I look away embarrassed.
"Come on sis, come east breakfast. You are always short when you are hungry." Étienne ignores her words, inviting her to our feast.
"Fine." She flops into the chair next to my left.
"Camille are you almost done?" Étienne queries.
"Yes?"
"You can use my stationary to send a letter to your mother about what has happened and invite her to come. She should be here for you. We can send madame Auberget's assistant to run the inn if she needs someone to come take over before she can come. Also, you should send a message to your father." His thoughtfulness warms my heart. He is always thinking of how to comfort me.
"I hadn't even thought to warn him about that has happened."
"I will go get it." Étienne hurriedly leaves the room for his own.
"I hope it is okay that I am wearing one of your dresses." I turn to Charlotte, hoping she won't dislike the arrangement. "Étienne said that no one was allowed in my room yet."
"I don't mind. It looks great one you." Charlotte says without hesitation. "I prefer wearing darker colors than straight black for mourning."
"Agreed, black is too somber, and harms the spirit of the wearer. I understand for immediately after a death, but getting a dress made takes time, and keeping the color is impossible." We share our unpopular opinions, rejoicing in the comradery we have found with each other.
"It is a waist of resources. You have to have several dresses made to wear for a couple months, and by the time you need to wear them again the silhouettes are out of fashion."
"I think wearing a black ribbon, headpiece or armband with darker, more versatile cloths is a better use of fabric."
The door opens with Étienne's return.
"Brother dear, what is your opinion about mourning cloths?"
"Grief is a private mater and shouldn't be regulated by rites like what cloths you can wear." Charlotte and I exchange a knowing look. "Now onto your letter, Camille. What do you want to tell them?" Étienne sits down near me, dipping the quill in ink.
"Just pass me the quill." I set aside my plate and bring quill to paper. The sound of the scratching of the quill is heard throughout the room.
"You are literate?" Étienne asks in surprise. Almost all commoners are never taught such skills, so I understand his surprise.
"My father thought it was important that I know how to." I pen a short letter to father informing him of the death of the Baron, and that I am fine.
Next I write my mother. I have much more to tell her. I start with the identity of my husband, and our marriage. I explain about the fiasco last night. I beg her to come to Torcy to visit me, so I can have her comfort. I inform her of the offer Étienne gave. I sign both letters and fold them into squared to be sealed with some wax. On the outside I write the intended recipient for each folded paper.