Chapter Six
S uzanne had never seen Raoul’s barbershop in the early morning, empty and still, as if awaiting the comings and goings of his usual customers. Men came for a trim, a shave or more shady dealings, but there was always a bustle during the day. She inhaled deeply. The place smelled just like him, of wood and fresh cologne.
They passed a row of chairs and the small table where Raoul kept his razor blade and soap, to a door at the back of the shop leading to a larger room—where the real business took place. Who could tell how many smuggled goods and radical pamphlets had passed through here? Suzanne glanced around. This room, too, was emptier than usual.
“Are you running out of clients?” she asked. “Usually, you can barely see the walls for all the boxes and clutter.”
“I’m taking fewer clients,” he corrected her, and opened a narrow door on the side. “Nicolas’s gymnasium has been keeping me busy.”
Suzanne followed him up a flight of rickety stairs. Had these always been here, then? She hadn’t even noticed there was another exit to the room.
They soon arrived on a landing, just above the shop. A mattress lying in the corner, a massive trunk, a window with a broken pane… Raoul’s room, such as it was.
She frowned. “You live here?”
“I sleep here.”
“I don’t understand. You made money investing in Nicolas’s project. Why don’t you go looking for a nicer place?”
Raoul shrugged his massive shoulders and knelt on the floor. “After my mother died, I moved around a lot. Then I came to Paris and settled here. It’s enough for me. What would I do with myself in some fancy apartment?”
He wouldn’t have to be by himself. In fact, if only he would ask, she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to leave her garret room in favor of living with him. But she pressed her lips together and kept silent.
Raoul ran his hand over a wooden plank and pressed down. It sprang open. “There we are.”
He took a small wooden box from its hiding spot, and she joined him on the floor. The box was decorated with chipped paintings of flowers, and the hinges were almost rusted through. Raoul opened it and removed a wrinkled letter, unfolding it carefully and letting his gaze run over the penned words.
Suzanne sighed. “I wish I knew how to read.”
“My mother taught me. I will teach you, if you like. It is not so hard.” He smiled at her. “This is a letter she wrote to me, not long before she died.”
“What does it say?”
His smiled softened, and she thought his eyes shone a bit more. “That’s between me and Maman. But she did write something my grandfather used to say all the time. A family motto of sorts. To have compassion for those who suffer is a human quality which everyone should possess .”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s from an old book by an Italian author my grandfather liked, though I can’t remember the author’s name.” His expression darkened. “And I have often failed to live up to that motto.”
She reached out to stroke his cheek. “It is not too late. You are a good man, Raoul. I would not love you if you were not.”
His lips parted slightly but no sound came out, as if he was too stunned to reply. No matter if he needed more time. She had given these words to him freely, without expecting anything in return.
“What I wanted to show you is this,” he finally said, and set the letter aside to take something else from the box.
Suzanne dropped her hand. Good Lord, how could this be? Between his thumb and forefinger gleamed a band of gold set with a red cameo. She leaned forward and squinted. It was exquisitely carved, a white eagle holding a sprig of laurel in its talon.
“ Seigneur , what a stunning ring.”
“It’s a gift from Bertrand’s mother, Floriane Bonnefoy.” His voice rasped with emotion, and he paused before continuing. “She loved my mother dearly. Helena was like the daughter she’d never had, and when my father abandoned her and left for Italy, Floriane was appalled at his callousness. She kept Helena in her household as a companion, cared for her throughout her pregnancy. I was born in that house, though I have no memory of the place. If not for Floriane’s kindness, I might have been born in a ditch.”
Suzanne sidled closer and lay her head on his shoulder as he went on.
“Two years later, Monsieur Bonnefoy died, and Bertrand returned to France. He was furious that Floriane had kept Helena with her, and ordered my mother out at once. Floriane begged him to reconsider, but what could she do? Bertrand was the head of the family now.” He held up the ring. “Before we left, she gave this to Helena. And then my mother gave it to me when she died. As a reminder that there are good, kind people in this world, and I should not close my heart to them.”
He took Suzanne’s hand, turned it, and gently laid the ring in her palm. Oh God, she must be dreaming, but would her heart thud with such force if she were asleep?
“Raoul, I—I…” She shook her head. “I cannot take this ring. It is too precious.”
“That’s what my mother would have wanted, I am certain. For me to give the ring to someone I loved, and not repeat my father’s mistake.”
She looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes, and he bent down to kiss her. “See if it fits you,” he murmured.
She took the ring and tried it on several fingers. “It is a bit too large for me, but no matter. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to go around with such a jewel on my hand.”
Raoul kissed the top of her head. “I’ll have it fitted for you. And over time, you will certainly get used to it.”
*
“What an extraordinary tale!”
Nicolas poured Raoul another glass of bordeaux. The hubbub of the restaurant, the truffle pie, the wine… All of it was making Raoul dizzy. Though perhaps it was simply having Suzanne by his side, wearing his ring and a lovely peach silk gown he had ordered from Violette’s modiste. Suzanne would never be the type to lay around in bed all day waiting for him, but he could still cover her in silks and jewels as she deserved.
“You exaggerate as always,” Raoul grumbled. “Stranger things have happened at the Palais Royal.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Suzanne teased him. She’d delighted in telling their friends the story in every little detail, from Jourdan to Albain Marchand to the contested will, though she had let Raoul tell the part about the ring. “And like all the best stories, it has a happy ending. Tout est bien qui finit bien .”
Violette raised her glass. “I will drink to that, and to your future happiness. Santé! ”
“ Santé! ”
After they had all taken a sip, Guillaume de Marbois leaned over from Raoul’s left to address Suzanne. “I wonder, madame , if I could have a look at your engagement ring.”
“Be my guest.”
She held out her hand and De Marbois took a small magnifying glass from his pocket to inspect the ring.
Raoul raised an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair to give Suzanne more space to stretch her arm. “Good Lord, man, do you always carry that around with you?”
“One never knows when there is a precious antique to be found,” De Marbois replied. “Why, this is most interesting.”
“Are you done, monsieur ?” Suzanne asked. “I’m starting to cramp.”
“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” De Marbois tucked the magnifying glass back into his pocket. “Prevost, do you know what Madame Bonnefoy’s maiden name was, or if she had any Italian origins?”
“No idea. Why do you ask?”
“If I’m not mistaken, and I’m usually not, the crest on the ring is that of the ducal house of Guastalla. The line died out, but Madame Bonnefoy may have had noble ancestors in the peninsula.”
Suzanne grinned. “How very exciting! I may be engaged to a secret aristocrat—an Italian duke, even. My darling, we will have to ask Floriane about it when we see her.”
Nicolas blinked. “You are traveling to Marseilles?”
Raoul nodded and took Suzanne’s hand. “As soon as we are wed. It is time for me to show this most admirable woman that her generosity was not in vain.” He turned to his friend again. “You will manage without me for a month or two, yes?”
“I suppose I must. And Suzanne, you better make sure he stays out of trouble.”
She looked at Raoul with a brilliant smile, and at that moment, she shone brighter than the gold band on her finger. “I will do my very best.”
The End