Essence Of Absinthe

By Tony-Paul de Vissage

The noble family of Vaurien has secrets, and one Étienne Vaurien and his wife have suppressed for twenty years is about to be discovered. Taking his family from France to escape the murmur of revolution places his son David in mortal danger.

A city may change but some things remain the same. Hatred and the desire for revenge are at the top of the list. David’s resemblance to Étienne’s deceased eldest son, Absinthe, is remarked upon by many but to one person it means more than a mere likeness of features.
Genevieve, Etienne’s abandoned mistress and Absinthe’s amour, has pined twenty years for her young lover. Now, she has a chance to get him back...and she isn’t going to let death stop her.
In a short time, David’s living body will house the spirit of a dead man who wants once again to live...and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Class Act Books
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017

Book preview

Prologue

Petit Rivière de Loire

June, 1732

Lapped by the lazy current, the toy boat floated to the riverbank. The little boy knelt, pulling it from the water.

Hey you! That’s mine.

He turned to see a child running toward him. The newcomer was dressed much as himself, in well-made clothing as expensive as his own. He was his own age or a little younger, so dark as to be almost swarthy, with black hair and the most astonishing pale green eyes.

I didn’t hurt it, he assured the child, defensively. I just wanted to see it. It’s a nice ship. He turned the boat over, admiring the carving on its sides. Much nicer than mine.

He indicated his own little wooden boat lying on its side on the riverbank.

"It is nice, isn’t it? the child agreed. My papa had it made for me. He says it’s like one he sailed in to America."

America? I know that place, the boy answered, brightening at finding common ground with this stranger. My papa once lived there. In a place called Louisiana. He puffed out his chest slightly, thumping it with a thumb. I was born there.

Really? The child looked delighted with this information. That’s where my papa lived, too, but I was born here in St-Nazaire. He pulled the boat from the other’s hands. Why don’t we sail them? We can race and see which is faster.

With a nod, the boy agreed, and got his own boat.

Do you live here? he asked. "I live in Angers with my maman and grandpère. He had business in St-Nazaire and we came with him. Grandpapa said if I was good, we’d come to the park afterward, so I behaved though I was bored. They’re over there. He nodded to a tall oak and the two people sitting under it, then whispered, I sneaked away because Maman’s so smothering."

He grimaced.

She hardly ever lets me out of her sight. He put a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. We mustn’t make too much noise or she’ll tell me the river’s dangerous and make me come away.

The other child nodded and copied his gesture, giving a conspiratorial grimace.

"I live in Château Vaurien. He waved a hand vaguely behind him. My mama and papa come to the park often."

He pointed to a couple on a wrought-iron bench, an older man with white hair and a much younger woman.

The boy studied them. Your mama’s fat, he said, bluntly.

She’s going to have a baby, dunce, the child snapped. Papa’s happy about that. I guess I am, too. He wants another son. I think I’d like a brother. I already have a sister, a twin sister, he added, with a little pride.

I’d like to have a brother. The boy looked envious. "I don’t have any brothers or sisters."

Why not?

Because my papa died just after I was born.

Why don’t I ask my sister to come play with us?

I don’t think so. He said that with the scorn only an eight-year-old could produce. Girls aren’t any fun.

Dominque is. The child defended his sibling. She’s not like ordinary girls. She likes to ride and sail boats, too. See? There she is. He pointed further downstream where a little girl knelt at the river’s edge.

Her skirts spread around her as she leaned forward, setting her boat into the current. Their hems were muddy with river water, as were the cuffs of her sleeves. The older boy noted that fact approvingly.

Isn’t your mother afraid when she gets so close to the water? he asked, thinking of his own parent’s over-protectiveness.

Of course not, the younger one replied, adding with a surprisingly mischievous twinkle, Maman doesn’t worry about us all that much. Papa’s the one who frets.

My mama won’t worry either, unless we make a lot of noise, the other boy retorted. He studied the little girl. She’s pretty, he concluded, then made a decision. Maybe you could invite her to sail her boat with us. He paused, then added, "My name’s Rouge, by the way, Rouge Aubert Meurtrier, fils."

The younger child frowned.

What’s the matter?

Nothing. He shook his head. I thought your name sounded familiar.

No reason it should, Rouge answered. We’ve never met before. Who are you?

"Étienne-Philippe Armand David Vaurien, le tiers," the child answered, executing a very formal but awkward bow.

"Le tiers?" Rouge asked and laughed. Are there three of you?

I’m named after someone, the child explained. My older brother, and he was named after Papa. He died before I was born, so Papa named me for him. That makes me Number Three. This was his.

He reached into the neck of his shirt and brought out a small oval pendant in which a large green peridot was embedded. The edges of the pendant were misshapen and blackened.

What happened to it? Rouge caught the pendant so it rested on his palm. He studied it before releasing it to again hang against the boy’s throat.

It was in a fire. That’s where my brother died, David explained. He was wearing it. Papa gave it to me for my last birthday. I’m seven now. He made that statement proudly.

I’ve a pendant, too, Rouge said. It was my papa’s.

He copied the other’s action, producing a small round locket.

Is there anything inside? David studied it, fingers worrying the minute catch.

I don’t know. The catch is jammed and I can’t get it open. Rouge pulled the locket from David’s hand, turning to more important things. "What do they call you, Étienne-Philippe Armand David, le tiers? Not all that?" he asked practically.

"I’m David. I’m also le Vicomte Mauvais, but I’ve a secret name I like much better."

"A secret name? You mean like a surnom?" Rouge looked interested.

That’s right. Not even my parents know it. David glanced over his shoulder.

His father was speaking to his mother, holding her hand. He looked around with a slightly furtive air, then kissed her fingers, making her smile. David wrinkled his nose and the freckles on it seem to wiggle.

"Papa’s always doing that, kissing Maman, though not usually in public. He dismissed his parents. Would you like to know what it is? My secret name? I’ve never shared it with anyone."

You’re supposed to share secrets only with friends, Rouge pointed out.

That’s right, David agreed.

If you tell me, does that mean we’re friends?

I hope so. It’s no fun having a secret name if no one knows it. Cupping a hand to his mouth, he stood on tiptoe, whispering into Rouge’s ear, "It’s Absinthe."

What’s an ab-ab…I can’t say that. What is it?

I don’t know, but I like the way it sounds, don’t you?

I guess. Rouge thought a moment. Could I just call you ’Sinthe? I can say that.

If you like, David gave his permission, adding, but only in private. After all, it’s a secret.

Where did you hear such a name?

It was on my brother’s vault stone. I liked it and wished it were mine, so I pretend it is. Now I remember… David laughed and snapped a finger, obviously copying an adult gesture. His chubby fingertips barely made a sound as they brushed together. "There was another name carved there, too…Rouge…I know where I saw your name. It was below my brother’s…Rouge Aubert Meurtrier."

That’s my name, all right, Rouge agreed. How very odd. Perhaps that’s where my papa’s buried.

You don’t know?

"Maman won’t tell me, no matter how much I ask. Rouge looked thoughtful. Do you suppose your brother and my father knew each other?"

I don’t know, David answered. Papa doesn’t like to talk about him. It makes him sad. I think he loved him very much.

Could you show me sometime? Rouge asked wistfully. "Maman doesn’t like to talk about my papa, either. I guess she loved him, too. He looked up, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. Wouldn’t it be odd if your papa and mine had been friends, too?"

"…and now we are, David declared, the wonder of such a coincidence reflected in his expression. I’m glad we’re friends. I get lonely sometimes, though I have Dominique."

I’ve an idea. Rouge laughed as if he’d solved a difficult problem. "When I grow up, I’ll marry your sister and then we’ll be real brothers."

"That’d be fantastique. David laughed, too. He looked around, first in his sister’s direction, and then at his parents. Why don’t we tell Papa and Maman? They’ll be glad I’ve made a friend."

Then we’ll ask your sister if she wants to race boats, Rouge added.

Clasping hands, the two children ran to where Josette and Étienne sat.

Part 1

France

Chapter 1

Château Vaurien

St-Nazaire, France

April, 1745

David Vaurien, le Vicomte Mauvais, was completing his prayers.

Eternal Father, Thy Son has promised Thou wilt grant us all the graces for which we ask Thee in His name. Therefore, by the merits of Jesus Christ, I ask the following for myself and for all mankind and especially those whom I love…

He had sought protection for his mother and father, his sister Dominique and his younger brother. He would’ve included his best friend also if at that moment, a thundering barrage upon the chapel door hadn’t told him Rouge was on the other side, demanding he take his attention away from the Lord and give it to him. He knew it was Rouge because it wasn’t the soft scratching of fingertips the servants employed. Therefore, he merely asked that Rouge be blessed and let it go at that.

’Sinthe…are you in there? Absinthe?

David ignored the call. …in an especial manner. I recommend to Thee all who hate me, or who have in any way offended me; I beg of Thee to render them good for the evil they have done, or may wish to do me…

David!

The knocking grew louder, more insistent. He raised his voice, hoping to drown out the clamor.

O Mary, Mother of God, pray to Jesus for me. Have him make Rouge realize how rude he’s being to the Lord. David spoke hastily, with hurried guilt as if fearing the Lord might think him blasphemous for asking such.

Behind him, another battering began, echoing through the chapel’s quiet.

Looking up, David was certain he saw an abrupt shiver from one of the saints’ statues lining the walls.

If he doesn’t stop, he’ll make them topple and how will I explain that to Papa…or to the Lord?

So-I-hope-so-may-it-be-amen. David closed the prayer, with a strung-together rush he prayed wouldn’t be considered a sacrilege. Crossing himself and scrambling to his feet, he muttered, "Excusez-moi, Lord, one of your undisciplined flock is calling."

He spun, hurrying down the red-carpeted aisle to the door. Throwing it open, he found Rouge with fist raised to deliver another shattering blow.

I was nearly finished with prayer. You couldn’t wait?

Sorry, ’Sinthe. Rouge didn’t look repentant, not at all, nor even apologetic.

Haven’t I told you not to call me that where others might hear? David glanced up and down the corridor as if expecting to see servants with their hands cupped to their ears.

What does it matter? That name’s engraved on his tomb plate so all know who he is, as is my father’s. I don’t see…

Of course you don’t, David snapped, letting his irritation briefly get the best of his good nature. Do you ever see anything not concerning yourself? He took a deep breath, explaining in a tone indicating he’d said this often. "Because it saddens my father to hear that soubriquet."

As he’d explained to Rouge on the day they met, David had been named for his elder brother who died before he was born. Étienne-Philippe Armand David, fils, was buried in the family tomb on the Vaurien estate grounds.

He truly cared for my brother, Rouge, and I don’t wish to cause him any more suffering than I have to. David couldn’t know how much he and the man for whom he was named were alike in that one desire. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t confided that name to you, he muttered. Why didn’t you simply come inside instead of beating on the door?

What…and burst into flame the moment I sent foot in that holy place? Rouge affected horror.

~ * ~

Rouge Meurtrier was well aware everyone thought him an incorrigible rogue and all wondered how the Marquis Delafée could dare betroth such a scoundrel to his only daughter.

If asked, the marquis would’ve said it took one to know one. While he occasionally spoke disapprovingly of the youngster, he personally was highly doubtful most of Rouge’s scandals had actually happened, certain many of those misadventures were mere falsehoods generated by the young man himself in a rebellious flaunting of society.

Rouge Meurtrier was no better or worse than any of his peers but being young, he didn’t think ahead to how his sins might one day strike back. At this point in his life, he only wanted to shake off the shackles of his mother’s possessive love and prove himself une homme.

~ * ~

You won’t, I assure you. David pretended to take his question seriously, adding, I’ve asked the good Lord to bless you, by the way.

"Merci, mon ami, but I think I’ll need more than a blessing to get me inside a chapel again, Rouge declared. He glanced around, giving a theatrical shudder. If you insist on coming here, why don’t you lighten it with some strategically placed sconces? Damn, this place is as gloomy as a tomb…and as dark."

What would get you inside a chapel? Such as what, exactly? David persisted, ignoring the rest of that statement.

Such as… Rouge grimaced as if in deep thought. He brightened. Perhaps a marriage might do the trick.

He smiled and it was such a startling expression no one seeing it would’ve thought him anything but the most noble bon homme in existence, an angel in disguise.

That’ll come in due time. David’s expression also changed as he thought of his twin sister Dominique, the woman Rouge was to marry. What do you want anyway?

Your sister, of course. Rouge’s answer was prompt, with a wicked sparkle in his blue eyes.

I mean, why were you trying to beat down the chapel door? David asked, with marked patience.

Oh that. I’ve come with a message from Dominique.

Why didn’t she send Gaston or someone else? That’s what we have servants for.

"Because she’s in a pique with me. Rouge shrugged and looked sheepish. We had an appointment at two and I’ve only just arrived. As punishment for my tardiness I was dispatched to find you."

He stated this last as if quoting someone.

In that case, I hope you’ve a good excuse for your lateness. Reaching behind him, David pulled shut the chapel door, which was still ajar after his hasty exit.

I do. Her name’s Odette. Rouge didn’t look ashamed at this admission of unfaithfulness to his betrothed.

Rouge… The look David gave him held enough shame for both, as well as a certain amount of exasperation. You may be my friend but sometimes I think you’re a fool.

’Sinthe, you wound me. Rouge clasped a hand to his heart and looked comically distressed. Why do you say such a thing?

Don’t you think it a trifle indiscreet to admit you were late visiting your affianced because you were with another woman? David ignored his friend’s cavalier posturing. He began walking down the corridor leading into the château proper. Especially saying it to her brother?

You’ll never tell. Rouge’s reply was overconfident.

David was already the keeper of too many keys where he was concerned. He never thought perhaps the weight of all those secrets might one day cause his friend to discard a few.

No? David stopped, looking back at his friend who hadn’t moved.

No.

Convince me I shouldn’t. David crossed his arms over his chest and gave a good impression of a man considering doing exactly that. He waited while Rouge ran to catch up.

I’m merely finding someone to sate that lust my beautiful Dominique refuses to satisfy. His friend didn’t look worried.

David shook his head and looked away as if seeking an escape. That’s another thing I don’t wish to hear. He spun back so quickly Rouge actually halted in mid-step. Does that mean once you’re wed, you’ll give up this Odette and all other women and be faithful?

It means I hope marriage will release the deep-dwelling passion I believe your sister possesses. Rouge carefully sidestepped answering that question directly.

He stopped. They were nearing the door connecting the chapel corridor to the château and he didn’t want anyone hearing their conversation.

If Dominique fulfills my expectations, I’ll have no need to stray.

What if she doesn’t happen? David stopped also, fixing him with a stare in which there was a great deal of sincere concern.

Rouge shrugged. A man must do as he must. As I said, you won’t betray me if…

I don’t think I want to hear more. David put one hand over an ear and crossed himself with the other. I’m serious about this, Rouge. I don’t wish my sister finding herself in Mamère’s predicament.

Your mother? Rouge looked confused. "How did Mme. la marquise get into this conversation? I don’t understand."

"Then I’ll explain it to you, mon ami."

Though that little endearment was tinged with sarcasm, Rouge didn’t react, waiting for an explanation of that mystifying statement.

However, I want your assurance what I saw will go no further.

A family secret? Rouge looked cautious. I think I know when to be discreet.

"Know, perhaps, but do you practice it?"

David, I swear… Rouge made the childish gesture of crossing his heart and placing his hand over the spot. I won’t repeat whatever you say to anyone.

Good enough. David accepted that and took a deep breath, stating, Don’t pressure Dominique to give in to you and discover herself in a delicate way as my mother did.

"A delicate…you mean… She and the marquis…? Rouge’s expression held disbelief, then suspicion as if thinking his friend was playing an elaborate joke at his expense. How do you know this? Surely it’s something no parent would tell a child."

She didn’t. Neither did Papa, David answered. You know my interest in antiquities, especially family lineages?

I do and always thought that a boring way to spend one’s leisure, Rouge retorted.

"I was looking through the family Bible and something about our birthdates and their marriage date struck me as odd. A little bit of math informed me, Maman and Papa were married seven and a half months before we were born. Therefore…" He waved a hand as if the conclusion were obvious.

"Merde." For once, Rouge was quite literally shocked.

He’d known the marquis was very much in love with his wife but to be told he’d actually seduced her and gotten her with child before their marriage…well! Having no knowledge of the life Étienne led before he inherited the title and his late son came into his life, he would’ve been more shocked had he learned what a libertin the marquis had been. Rouge always viewed Étienne Vaurien as a dry old stick who kept his emotions under rigid control when he wasn’t giving his future son-in-law an icy eye.

Even if that were to happen… he argued, adding as David started to reply, "…and I said if, you know I wouldn’t shirk my duty."

True…if you’re able.

What does that mean? he demanded.

What if you had an accident…fall from your horse…or exited a tavern after drinking too much and tripped, breaking your neck…and left my sister less than a widow and a future mother with no husband…

That isn’t going to happen, Rouge protested, stifling a shiver at how accurately David described his probable demise.

Perhaps not, David agreed. Why chance it?

Rouge didn’t answer.

I’ll definitely include you in my prayers from now on. You need it.

Your prayers…that’s another thing. Rouge’s expression perked in relief at the change of subject. Things had taken a sudden serious turn and he had no wish to go into more depth about his future post-marital fidelity. Dominique’s worried about you, David.

Why? David looked surprised. What harm could I come to in a chapel inside my own home?

He waved a hand, indicating the corridor where they stood. It led in only one direction, back into the château.

She fears you’re becoming too pious. You read too much, especially the Bible. She’s afraid you’ll be caught in religious fervor and decide to take holy vows.

David didn’t look shocked as Rouge hoped. Instead, he accepted the statement with remarkable composure.

Surely not the way I would…if someone were fool enough to say such a thing to me. Rouge would’ve laughed the unfortunate soul out of the château.

Would that be so bad?

It wouldn’t be good.

David laughed.

Don’t, Rouge ordered. I’m serious. Look at you. You’re already halfway there in the way you dress. He gestured at the cassock coat David was wearing.

They were definitely a contrasting pair. While Rouge’s garments were colorful almost to the point of garishness, David’s clothing was dark and somber. His friend’s apparel was as elaborate as fashion could dictate, with ruffles on his cuffs, his neckpiece a folded splendor showing his valet’s skill, and his riding boots polished to a high gloss, David’s cuffs were undecorated flat bands, his neckpiece a narrow, wrapped cloth, a mere three feet of linen, and his shoes low-heeled with buckles which, though highly-polished, held no false stones or engraving.

His justacorps, more closely resembling a priest’s cassock with its many buttons closing the front to the upturned collar at his throat, was of a serviceable summer-weight wool. Rouge’s own coat was more of the frock variety, its buttons extending only to the waist, and the skirt, while narrower than in the previous century, still flared away from his body.

Nothing about the two suggested they should even be acquainted, much less best friends, except the adherence to conformity in their hairstyles. Perhaps through the marquis’ influence, neither’s hair was powdered or whitened in any way. Rouge’s blond locks as well as David’s dark ones were tied back in a tame enough club, though in both cases little curls were already escaping to bounce around ears and at the napes of their necks.

At least I don’t look like one of those parrots captivating courtiers in the royal aviary, David retorted, indicating the bright cyan of Rouge’s coat as well as the gold brocade of his thigh-length waistcoat.

What about the rest of your behavior? Rouge ignored that, beginning a serious listing of reasons why a marquis’ heir shouldn’t be considering a cleric’s life. "You’ve the title to think of. Besides, it’d break your father’s heart. Again…by having him lose another son…this one to the priesthood."

He shuddered visibly. To Rouge, a celibate existence would be a fate worse than dying.

Think also of all you’ll miss…wine, women…if you ever lower yourself to notice a female. It was of great concern to Rouge that as far as he knew, his friend was nearly a teetotaler and most certainly still a virgin at age twenty, a fact not seeming to bother David at all.

Neither acknowledged that his father’s interference in David’s personal life, demanding an itinerary whenever the youngster left the château, was partly to blame…that and David’s own infernal shyness. It was well known the marquis kept a tight rein on his eldest son’s activities. What really bothered Rouge was that David accepted it without argument.

I doubt that. David still didn’t appear concerned. Besides, if Papa lost me to the cassock or if I died, he has a second son. Louis…remember? I’m certain my little brother would be glad to step into my shoes.

That I doubt.

To Rouge, those words were cold, too serious, and not at all as carefree as when he and David usually spoke. Lighthearted banter was more their forte.

Death? Holy orders? When did this conversation get so morbid? You know very well Louis is perfectly happy being an apprentice wastrel…exactly like his soon to be brother-in-law.

Placing a hand on his heart and bowing with an impudent ducking of his head, he struggled to inject a light note and turn the conversation.

He succeeded.

Another reason I should protest this marriage. David grinned, clapping Rouge’s’ shoulder. You’re a bad influence on my younger brother. As for women…I’ll find one, Rouge, have no worry…but in my own good time. Right now, however…go. He waved a hand in the direction of the door opening into the château, giving his friend a gentle push. Spend the rest of your visit getting back into my sister’s good graces.

Rouge turned to go, but David’s hand, still on his arm, detained him. He gave him a raised-brow stare.

Aren’t you forgetting something?

Oh, of course…I’m invited for supper, so I’ll see you later.

Not that. David shook his head and raised one dark brow. What’s Dominique’s message?

"Oh, that. The message was brushed aside, a neglectful nothing. Your father wishes to see you."

Then I must go. Thankfully. David gave his friend a rueful grin. If Papa wishes to speak to me, it must be something important. He moved to the door as he spoke, seizing the heavy brass handle.

I’ll see you later at supper, then. Rouge followed. As David pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor, he continued, Perhaps after Dominique forgives me, the three of us can go for a ride? If we eat early, it shouldn’t yet be dark.

Perhaps. David started down the hall to his father’s study. He turned, looking back at his friend while continuing to back away. It depends on what Papa and I talk about.

With a wave of his hand, he left Rouge standing there.

~ * ~

The study door was an ornately carved walnut slab, polished to a mellow sheen. As if expecting him, it was open. David stopped in the doorway studying the man seated at the desk.

Papa…the thought was filled with a surge of true filial devotion.

Étienne-Phillipe Armand David Vaurien, père, le Marquis Delafée, was now in his mid-sixties but still appeared much younger than his contemporaries. He was an active man and not one to shut himself away in his home simply because Age inevitably came upon him.

Papa will never age, was his son’s thought. Sometimes he felt as if his father were as young as his mother, who was nearly two-score her husband’s junior, a fact her son never questioned but simply accepted.

As if sensing his son’s gaze upon him, Étienne looked up from his writing. David, come in, son.

You wished to see me, Papa? David obeyed.

"Oui. It took you long enough to get here. I told Gaston over half an hour ago that I wished to see you. Where were you? The words were chiding but his tone held nothing but affection. At prayers again, I suppose."

Yes, sir. David stopped before the desk, waiting for some brief condemnatory statement similar to Rouge’s but without the sarcasm. He didn’t tell his father his sister appropriated the errand, sending Rouge looking for him. I was in the chapel.

The chapel, Étienne looked slightly annoyed. I wish you wouldn’t spend so much time in that place.

So does Dominique, David retorted. Before his father could reply, he continued, Don’t worry, Papa. I’m not going to become a priest. I simply… He paused as if attempting to gather his thoughts into understandable reasons. It makes me feel calm to be there.

Calm? Étienne repeated and looked concerned. "Do you have such turmoil in your life, mon fils, that you need the sanctuary of such a place?"

Of course not, David denied.

That was the truth. Life at the château was pleasant, both nobility and servants alike seemed content. David himself was a tranquil person, evennatured and optimistic, always managing to see some good in anything, in spite of his father’s stifling protectiveness.

Once, Dominque had teased him by calling him St. Francis Vaurien. I’m surprised birds and little beasts don’t follow in your wake, brother.

I simply…never mind. He decided to ask something always bothering him. I know you’re not a particularly religious man, sir.

He smiled as he said that, to show he wasn’t being critical. In David’s opinion, no good son should ever criticize his father.

Why don’t you like the chapel? They say you haven’t been inside since the fire.

Immediately he wondered if he should’ve mentioned that, since it brought up a reference to the near-forbidden subject of Étienne’s lost son.

"They? Étienne’s eyes held a surprising twinkle at his son’s remark. What else do those mysterious ‘they’ say? He gave his son a direct, near-confrontational stare. Who are ‘they’, exactly?"

I don’t know…servants…townspeople…visitors… David waved his hands.

Ah…that hazy and indistinct group forming our opinions for us. His father nodded, a finger going to his lips. I see. He appeared amused by his son’s vagueness. You still haven’t told me what else ‘they’ve’ said.

Nothing, David admitted. Apparently, no one wishes to speak of it.

"As I wish you wouldn’t. Étienne’s reply was abrupt. Softer, he went on, You know I don’t like to be reminded of what I lost that day."

I’m sorry, sir. David truly was.

Though he didn’t judge Étienne’s staid conduct as harshly as Rouge did, he acknowledged his father kept a tight rein on his emotions. He might be affectionate to his wife and loving to his children, but any overt display was generally done within the confines of his home. When in public, even if a mere visit to the village, he was, while not cold, at least aloof…polite and friendly, but reserved and a little distant. Very rarely did the Marquis Delafée let outsiders see his gentler side.

"Not that I haven’t regained it through you, mon