The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen
Читать онлайн книгу.
They were led by the insufferable Claire de Mirabeau, who paused and bowed her head to Grandfather in the most courteous manner possible. The others did likewise, but they walked on without so much as acknowledging Babette.
Babette bristled at the slight, more on principle than for the source of the insult. Claire and her little company had antagonized Babette for as long as she could remember. Father had tried to force friendship between them once. Thankfully that had finally ended at age ten, when Claire’s torments had earned her two black eyes.
“Will she be in Paris?” Babette asked.
“Of course,” Grandfather said. “Everyone will be in Paris.”
The idea of Paris was becoming more and more displeasing by the minute.
“I spy Alfonse des Louveteaux,” Grandfather murmured, directing her gaze midway across the room.
Babette looked where Grandfather indicated. True enough, there was Alfonse: tall, robust, brutal, and handsome, with thick black hair, a broad moustache, and heavy sideburns. He wore the uniform of a cuirassier, and Babette even admitted to herself that he cut quite the figure in it. If he were not such an insufferable bore, she might even have found him attractive; but Alfonse was not a man in whom a self-respecting woman could delight once she had passed words with him. Some things were simply impossible.
“Indeed,” Babette said, looking away. “No doubt we shall have to see much of him in Paris as well.”
“No doubt,” Grandfather said. “His family wishes an alliance. And it may even come to pass.”
“Oh?” Babette asked. “I’m to marry him then?” She scoffed softly at the notion. “Father’s idea no doubt.”
Grandfather was far too sensible to have suggested such a thing. Babette was certain of it.
“You dislike the notion?” Grandfather asked.
“It is not my place to say, is it?” Babette asked.
“Of course it is.”
Babette considered and then answered, “Yes, I dislike the notion.” She raised her chin firmly. “In fact, I consider Captain des Louveteaux to be most unsuitable. I believe that he and I should have nothing to say to one another across the dinner table.”
Grandfather chuckled and said, “Yes, I suppose you are right. But you must marry, Babette. And you must marry soon.” After a lengthy pause, he added, “But enough words with your old grandfather. I must see to my guests.”
So saying, he rose, bowed to Babette, and rejoined the throng of guests.
Babette watched her grandfather leave without protest, though it was the last thing she wanted. Now she was left alone again, forced to pass the dreary evening in silence. Aside from Grandfather, there was no good conversation to be had.
She opened her fan and studied it intently, wishing that it were a book. Instead, she was rewarded with pictures of flowers. They were the last things she cared to see at such a time. She much preferred the idea of returning to Grandfather’s library and perusing one of his books on zoology. Animals were vastly more interesting than plants in her estimation.
A shadow fell across her and she looked up. A man stood before her, and the sight of him made Babette’s breath catch in her throat.
The man was tall and slender, clad in the uniform of a hussar. The uniform was a fiery red, with braid and trimmings of black. The man’s hair was also colored black, like raven’s wings. His poise was flawless, and he held his chin high with pride, dignity, and just a hint of arrogance. He was handsome, beautiful even, with a narrow jaw, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose. He could not be much older than twenty. Despite herself, Babette stared at him, for the first time in her life enjoying the experience of simply looking at another person.
Who was he? Certainly not a local. Babette had seen them all. Could he be a Frenchman from further south? English perhaps? Or a Russian? Her mind whirled at the possibilities.
“Good evening,” the young hussar said. His accent was German and remarkably charming. “I wonder if I might have the honor of introducing myself to you.”
Babette was silent, unsure of what to say. But, she reflected, conversation had suddenly become unnecessary, if only for the moment. At length she shook herself and said:
“Shouldn’t someone else introduce us to one another?”
The hussar shrugged sadly and motioned around the room. “It seems there is no one on hand to manage the introduction. They are all far too busy.”
“Well, then we must take it upon ourselves, mustn’t we?” Babette asked, extending her hand delicately.
“My thoughts exactly,” the hussar said, taking her hand gently in his and bowing over it. “I am Korbinian Alexander Albrecht Freiherr von Fuchsburg. And I am at your service.”
Babette felt her heart pounding in her chest. It was all she could manage to keep breathing properly as Korbinian held her hand. The sudden excitement was intolerable, though far from unpleasant. But doubtless she looked a complete fool.
“I am called Babette,” she said, keeping her chin up and her expression controlled.
“Surely you have a family name?” Korbinian asked.
He was joking, of course. How could he not know that she was the granddaughter of William Varanus? She was the shortest woman in the room. Everyone knew her by sight, and most of them avoided her for it.
Babette smiled pleasantly, prepared to play his game. “Babette shall suffice for now, sir. How can I give you my family’s name? Surely that is the job of a third party, when we are finally introduced properly.”
A slow smile crept across Korbinian’s face as well, and he bowed his head.
“Of course you are right,” he said. “Babette is more than sufficient for our purposes.”
He spoke as if he assumed it was a pseudonym. Well, no matter.
“It is delightful to meet you, Baron von Fuchsburg,” Babette said.
“For me also, it is delightful,” Korbinian said.
“Fuchsburg?” Babette asked, trying to remember her German geography. “On the Rhine?”
Korbinian smiled and nodded.
“That is the one.”
“What brings you to Normandy?”
“I am pursuing my baronial duties,” Korbinian said, his pale gray eyes twinkling. “I am here to find a wife. Or so my family has instructed me.”
“How unromantic,” Babette said. “To find a lover would be understandable, but a wife? Surely you have wives aplenty east of the Rhine.”
Korbinian grinned savagely and looked into Babette’s eyes, making her feel warm and heady with the intensity of his gaze.
“The wise man does not seek a lover among the French nor a wife among the Russians. Austria suffices for both.”
“Personal motto?” Babette asked.
“Family proverb,” Korbinian said. “Though having seen the Austrians fight in Italy not long ago, I have been given cause to doubt it.”
Babette regarded him dubiously and asked, “Does your family have many proverbs of a similar nature?”
It would explain a great deal.
“Many,” Korbinian said. “And worse. You may have heard rumors about us.”
He said this as if it were something to be proud of. Babette made a note of it.
“I am beginning to think I ought to have,” she replied, disappointed that she had not. Clearly Father was keeping choice bits of international gossip from her. While she despised local gossip as boring and irrelevant,