Forty-Eight

“Beau! Beau? Hey, Beau! Percival says your bath is ready.”

Beau startled awake, unsure of where he was. Then he saw Florian’s face hanging over him, and he realized he’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. He rubbed his eyes, then slowly stood, ready to head to the servants’ quarters.

“Oh, but wait! I forgot. There aren’t any towels,” Florian continued. “Claudette used a ton of them to dry off the mistress. Percival said to ask Josephine for some.”

Beau rolled his eyes.

Camille looked up from the batter she was mixing. “Josephine’s in the mistress’s chambers,” she said. “Go to the linen press, Florian. There are more stacked there.”

Florian hurried off, and Beau walked toward the baker’s worktable. “Could I get a hot cup of coffee?” he asked. He needed something to beat back the tiredness or he’d fall asleep in the bathtub.

Camille set about filling a mug for him from the pot that always seemed to be warming on the stove.

“Here you go,” Florian said, reappearing with two towels. He handed them to Beau. He glanced around, then leaned in close to Beau so Camille couldn’t hear him. “I think you were a little hasty, turning down that supper invitation.”

Beau groaned. “Not you, too.”

“Chef is in the larder, cutting some nice thick fillets.”

“Thanks, Florian. But that would be a big mis-steak.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Tucking the towels under one arm, Beau picked up the mug Camille had placed on the table for him. He wanted to thank her, but she was all the way across the kitchen now, talking with Phillipe. He gulped down a mouthful, closing his eyes as its warmth spread through his chest.

“Hey, macarons! This is my lucky night!”

Beau’s eyes snapped open. Faith was standing there, her fingers hovering over a tray of Camille’s treats. Hope was with her. Faith picked one of the sweets up and bit into it. “You certainly are a stupid ass,” she said as she chewed.

“Nice to see you, too,” said Beau, putting his mug down.

“Can’t you smell the smells? Phillipe’s cooking up a storm.” She finished her treat, walked to the stove, and dipped her finger into a pot. “Mmm!” she said, licking her finger. “This sauce right here? It’s some serious—”

“You should have supper with Arabella,” Hope said to Beau.

Beau stubbornly shook his head. “No.”

“Why?” Faith pressed. “Because you’re mad that she hasn’t told you everything you want to know? Like she should just hand you the key to her soul? You can’t steal every key, boy. Some you have to earn.”

“You’re four feet tall,” Beau said. “Stop calling me boy.”

“You going to have supper with her? You have to eat, don’t you? And it’s steak night!”

Beau hesitated, unsure now. These two obnoxious children had a way of doing that, of shaking him out of his closed-door certainties and pushing him into the realm of possibilities.

“I’ve never dined with nobility. What would I do? Behave like a courtier? I don’t know how,” he admitted. Then, hating that he’d showed even a modicum of vulnerability, he grinned and flippantly said, “Guess I could always be the charming, devastatingly attractive lady-killer that I am.”

“How about being a friend, Beau?” Faith said. “Why don’t you try that?”

Before Beau could reply, they heard footsteps.

“Bye!” Faith whispered. She snatched another macaron, then ran out of the kitchen.

Hope lingered. “Guilt never built a bridge. Or saved a life.”

Beau felt a chill move through him. It was as if Hope had seen deep down inside him, to the real reason he didn’t want to join Arabella—because he felt that he shouldn’t be sitting in a grand dining room, eating fine food, when his little brother would be lucky to get a bowl of hot soup.

“How do you know—”

The footsteps drew closer.

“Kindness is a rare gift in this world, Beau. Take it when it’s offered.”

“I don’t need her kindness. It’s not going to help me.”

“Who said anything about you?”

And then she was gone, too.

Percival strode into the kitchen. Rémy trailed him. They were carrying platters. As they set them down, Percival said, “Why are you still here? Your bath is getting cold.”

Beau nodded. He started toward the servants’ staircase. But then he stopped. And turned around.

“Hey, Perce?” he said.

“Do not call me—”

“Tell Chef he’s got two for supper.”

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