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inthewildwoodFleur had been attempting to pay attention for the past hour, but she found it more difficult than she had anticipated. Her new classroom was a small chamber on the upstairs level of a merchant’s house, and her teacher a middle-aged widow who had taken it upon herself to open a small school for the daughters of the middle class. Fleur supposed she ought to be grateful for the opportunity; she is grateful, though mostly for the fact that she’s managed to escape marriage and childbearing thus far. But her new teacher is no Ninon; rather than encouraging discussion among her pupils, she sits them in chairs and instructs them to copy down information from their books until they have it memorized. Talking is strictly forbidden, unless they are answering a question posed to them by Madame Joubert. She’s grateful for the opportunity to continue learning, knows it’s something she couldn’t have expected without these classes- but there’s only so many pages Fleur can copy out before she wants to fall asleep over her workbook.
At that precise moment, she was distracted by the sight of a woman standing across the street from the Joubert house. Fleur had happened to glance up and out the window almost two hours earlier, and noticed a young woman standing beneath the awning of the neighbouring house, hugging her shawl close around her shoulders. It had been pouring rain since Fleur woke that morning, and the weather hadn’t abated since she’d arrived for class; she could see the woman’s hair curling damply against her arms, the sodden tassels of her shawl drooping towards the ground. At first, Fleur had simply taken notice that she was there and gone back to her work; but she’d finished her copying for the day (a selection from The Education of a Christian Woman; not edifying in the slightest) she had looked out the window again and spotted the same woman, still shivering in the rain. She wanted to hurry across the street and invite her into the classroom, but as she was still forbidden from speaking, she couldn’t ask to be excused. So for the remaining hour of class, she gazed out the window, wondering why this woman would choose to stand there for hours, in the freezing rain, rather than seeking shelter indoors.
“You may stop,” Madame Joubert announced, and Fleur closed her workbook with a sigh of relief. “Give your books to me as you leave, and I will evaluate them and tell you tomorrow how well you have done.”
Fleur didn’t need telling twice; she hastily thrust her book at Madame Joubert, who made a disapproving sound, and picked her skirts up, hurrying out the door. The other girls were still milling around the room, making quiet conversation, but she was in a rush to see if the woman across the street was still there. Perhaps she was a beggar; if so, Fleur had a handful of pocket money from her father that she could give her. If not, she could at least learn why she had spent the morning out in the rain.
As she burst out the front doors of the Joubert house, she saw that the woman was still standing there, and hurried across the street. “Excuse me!” she called. “Mademoiselle, aren’t you cold out here? There’s room indoors, if you need to take shelter.”
The woman turned towards her, eyebrow raised. Now that she was standing in front of her, Fleur could see that she wasn’t that much older than Fleur herself; a few years, at most. Her skin was brown and flecked with freckles, and her dress was a plain woolen blue that hung from her frame as though it had originally been made for someone else.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I was instructed to wait here. I can’t move from my post.” Despite her words, there was irony in her tone. Whoever has instructed her, Fleur thought, she couldn’t like them overmuch. She could hardly blame her.
“Surely whoever asked you to wait couldn’t mean that you had to stand in the rain,” Fleur protested. The other girl smiled at her in a way that suddenly made her feel very young. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what they meant. In fact-” She lifted her gaze to point over Fleur’s shoulder. “Here they are now.”
Fleur turned to look and saw one of her classmates, Athénaïs, bearing down on them with a frown forming between her eyebrows. “Louise, what are you doing?”
The other girl- Louise- sighed, gesturing to Fleur. “Your friend asked me a question. I was only being polite.”
“Hmph.” Athénaïs turned to Fleur, her expression turning sickly sweet. “You don’t want to converse with her, Mademoiselle Baudin. She’s just the maidservant.”
“But-” Fleur began, before Louise silenced her with a kick to her shin. Athénaïs smiled pityingly. “You’ll learn these things as you get older, mademoiselle. You oughtn’t be seen in conversation with the help.” Dismissing Fleur, she turned to Louise and snapped her fingers. “Bring the parasol. I’ve already gotten wet.” Her hair was barely damp from her hasty walk from the Joubert house to their side of the street, but Fleur- upon glancing at Louise- thought better of pointing it out. Louise stepped obediently out from under the awning, holding the parasol over Athénaïs’ head and becoming even more drenched in the process. “As you please.”
Fleur watched them go, feeling the corners of her mouth turn down. Just before they turned the corner at the end of the street, Louise turned back towards her, glanced at Athénaïs, and made an extremely rude gesture with her free hand.
Fleur covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
The girls in Fleur’s class came from different walks of life, though none of them were members of the nobility. There were several like Fleur, who attended only by the indulgence of their merchant fathers and who could only barely afford to pay Madame Joubert. Then there were others, like Athénaïs, whose families had been comfortably in funds for generations and could afford to indulge their whims by attending class. Those girls rarely lasted long before deciding that they could find more entertaining ways to spend their time. Fleur tried very hard not to resent them for it. There had been wealthy girls- even noble girls- at Ninon’s, careless with their prosperity, but most had had the decency to not flaunt their good fortune in front of the students who had less. Athénaïs and her friends appeared to have no such compunction. Besides, the way she spoke to Louise rankled; Fleur attended classes, but she also helped her father bring in money sewing shirts for clients whose pay helped them keep a roof over their heads. If her classmates knew, they’d probably refer to her as “the help”. So it didn’t surprise her when she arrived at Madame Joubert’s house the next day and found Athénaïs giggling with her friends and whispering behind her hands when Fleur entered. Also in the room with her was Madame Joubert, looking like a thundercloud.
“Mademoiselle Baudin,” she began, and Fleur cringed in anticipation. “Mademoiselle Delacroix has informed me that you were in conversation yesterday with her maidservant. I hope you understand that I intend to instill good breeding and propriety among you ladies as well as knowledge. You must understand what such niceties demand.”
“I do,” Fleur said meekly, sliding into her chair. Her seatmate gave her a sympathetic look, knocking their elbows together. “I’ll conduct myself better in the future.” Privately, she wondered what good an education was if they were only meant to use it in proper ways. Hadn’t Ninon told them that they had to look beyond the ways they’d been taught to behave? Now, more than ever, Fleur missed the salon.
“You had better,” Madame Joubert said darkly. She dropped Fleur’s workbook on the table in front of her. “Now open the book to yesterday’s work. There are corrections to be made.”
Fleur wasn’t sure if the previous day’s misstep had influenced the way her work was being evaluated, but Madame Joubert kept at her for half an hour, ticking off every misshapen letter and incorrect piece of punctuation before moving on to the next student. Finally given a respite, Fleur glanced out the window again. There was no sign of Louise. Perhaps Athénaïs had sent her to wait somewhere else, to avoid contaminating the students again. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.
But when the day’s work was done- it seemed to drag on even more than usual, though she supposed that might just be because of her newfound dislike of her classmate- and she left the building, she was stopped in her tracks by a soft hissing sound. “Mademoiselle!”
Fleur stopped and looked around. A familiar brown face, smiling mischievously, was peering around the corner of the house. She reached a hand out and gestured for Fleur to come closer. “Quickly, before someone sees!”
Fleur, too startled to do otherwise, took the offered hand and let Louise pull her around the corner. The other girl’s smile had grown no less mischievous, but there was something contrite in her expression as well. “Fleur Baudin, isn’t it?” She continued when Fleur nodded, “I apologize if Athénaïs got you into trouble after yesterday. She’s-” Her mouth twisted. “-any number of words I shouldn’t be using in polite company. I’m sorry.”
Fleur, startled, laughed a little. She’d never heard someone speak so frankly about a girl of Athénaïs’ breeding before. “You don’t need to be sorry. She’s the one who caused the trouble.” She paused. “Did she really insist you wait across the street in the rain?”
“‘And don’t dare move an inch,’” Louise said, mimicking Athénaïs’ high-pitched voice. “She’s petty like that. I imagine you’ve noticed.”
Fleur thought back to sitting next to the other girl in class, watching her pinch her seatmate when she thought no one was looking. “It’s difficult not to.” Louise smiled at her, open-mouthed, and she smiled back. “It’s a shame you can’t come up to learn with us. You’d probably be a far better student than her anyway.”
Louise made a scoffing noise, tossing her head. “I doubt my aunt and uncle would ever let me. Besides, I don’t have any wish to. I don’t need an old woman with a room full of books to tell me how the world works.”
Fleur was about to comment on the second half of her reply when the first half caught up to her. “Your- your aunt and uncle?”
Louise sighed. “Athénaïs is my cousin, though-” she spread her arms wide, gesturing to herself. “-I know I hardly look it. But as the impoverished relative, I’m forced to earn my keep. Hence my title. Or lack thereof”
Fleur shook her head, frowning. “It hardly seems fair that you should have to work when you’re related to them. After all, you’re-” She stopped, unsure of how to finish her sentence.
“Of good breeding? Or old money?” Louise rolled her eyes. “Would it truly be a better thing if they employed me because I was the by-blow of a cook and a seamstress? Either way, I would still be left standing out in the rain. Besides, it would hardly make a difference. No matter where I can trace my lineage, it doesn’t much matter when you look like me.”
“I think you look beautiful,” Fleur said, then blushed to the roots of her hair, knowing instinctively that she’d said the wrong thing. But Louise just laughed, and fondly touched the side of her face. “You’re a very sweet girl. Ill-suited to sit in class with my cousin.” She glanced around. “I’d like to continue this conversation, but I suspect Athénaïs will come looking for me at any moment. May we agree to meet again tomorrow?”
“I’d love to,” Fleur said immediately. Louise smiled, delighted. “Then meet me again here, tomorrow, after your class lets out. And-” She leaned closer, and on instinct, Fleur did too. “-try to make sure you have the rest of the afternoon free. I think I’ll be able to sneak away, if you can.” With a wink, she turned and walked back around the corner, leaving Fleur hugging herself with delight.
Fleur wasn’t sure what to take with her to meet Louise again, but she thought she shouldn’t go empty-handed. While preparing herself to leave for class, she packed her remaining pocket money into a small purse, thinking that she could buy them both a sweet bun, if Louise wanted to. She also, on an afterthought, added one of Ninon’s pamphlets to the bag. Perhaps Louise might like to borrow it. When she was done filling her purse, she turned to the selection of dresses she had on hand, which were admittedly not many. She had two dresses for everyday, and a deep violet one which was normally kept reserved for Sundays and holidays. Louise had already seen her in the two everyday ones, but her hand hesitated as it hovered over the Sunday dress. She’d need to find some way of explaining to her father why she was wearing her best clothes for class, and she doubted very much that he would accept “meeting a friend” as an acceptable excuse. Still, she’d been told she looked nice in the violet.
When she came down the stairs, settled in her best dress, her father raised his eyebrows. “Are you going somewhere unusual?”
Fleur had prepared her answer before descending. “Madame Joubert has invited a distinguished scholar to come and visit us today. I thought I should wear my best for him.” She put the slightest bit of emphasis on him, hoping that the dangled prospect of a suitor would cut off any further questions. She’d been right. Her father nodded approvingly. “I’m glad to see you take an interest in your future, my girl.”
Fleur fairly rushed out the door before he noticed the pamphlet sticking out of her bag.
Class dragged by, as it had the day before, and Fleur was reprimanded several times for squirming in her seat. Her dress also garnered a few comments, most notably by Athénaïs, who smiled sickly sweet at her and complimented her “aspirations.” On an ordinary day, Fleur would have had to bite the inside of her cheek so as to avoid snapping back; today she only smiled and thanked Athénaïs for noticing, leaving the other girl scowling in confusion. Nothing was going to spoil her mood.
When class was dismissed at last, Fleur hurried out the door, clutching her purse tightly against her chest. When she reached the door, she stepped outside, then stopped to look around. The street was bustling, as usual, with merchants and housewives seeking goods and groceries, but there were no familiar faces among the crowd. She craned her neck to peer up and down the street. No sign. Had she forgotten? Or had Athénaïs sent her away to keep her from getting into more conversations with Fleur? Her heart stuttered erratically in her chest.
“Will you move?” one of her classmates said from behind her, and Fleur stepped to the side to let her pass. As she turned her head, she finally spotted Louise’s face peering at her from across the street. The other girl grinned and waved; Fleur waved back, then picked up her skirts and ran to meet her.
“Did you think I’d forgotten?” Louise asked as soon as Fleur had reached her. Fleur shook her head, knowing her face had already given her away. “I’m sorry about that. I got to stay behind today because I told my aunt that I needed to catch up on the mending. It took me longer than I thought to slip away.”
“If you’re caught, won’t you be in trouble?” Fleur asked.
Louise shrugged. “Probably. But I won’t get caught.” She looked Fleur up and down, smiling slowly. “Your dress looks nice.”
Fleur felt herself blush hotly. “Thank you.” Louise was wearing the same blue dress she’d worn on the day they met. “Yours does too.”
Louise shook her head, chuckling. “It doesn’t, but it’s nice of you to say. It belonged to my cousin before she decided it was out of fashion.” She linked her arm through Fleur’s. “Come, let’s walk.”
Fleur fell into step beside her. “I did mean it- about the dress.” Louise raised her eyebrows, and Fleur amended her sentence. “That is- you look nice in it.”
“It doesn’t fit.”
“I could fix that,” Fleur said, as the idea struck her. “I sew for a living. If you could come to my house one day with the dress, I could take it in for you, and-”
Louise was already shaking her head. “I’d never be able to get away that long. Besides, my aunt would notice. And I couldn’t pay you.”
“I wouldn’t ask for money!” Fleur said, unaccountably stung. “I’d just like to help.”
“And I’d like to be able to pay for my clothes.” Louise shrugged. “We can’t have everything we want.”
“We can try,” Fleur said stubbornly. What had Ninon said- you are only limited by the extent of your imagination? She’d written something similar in the pamphlet she’d brought with her. With her free hand, Fleur drew it out of her purse. “I brought something for you. To read.”
Louise took it, eyes scanning the front page. “What is it?”
“A pamphlet,” Fleur said, allowing a note of pride to creep into her voice. “My old teacher wrote it. It’s about women liberating themselves from bondage.”
“From bondage?” Louise’s eyebrows rose up underneath her hairline. “What bondage did your teacher labour under? Not much, if she was able to have her writings printed like this.”
Fleur’s face stung as though she’d been slapped. “Cardinal Richelieu had her brought to trial for witchcraft.”
“Ohhhh.” Louise’s gaze had dropped down to the bottom of the frontpiece, where Ninon’s name was printed. “Your teacher was Ninon de Larroque? I heard my uncle speak of her, when she went to trial.” She snorted lightly. “He wasn’t very flattering.” She handed the pamphlet back to Fleur. “Thank you, but I don’t think her works would have much to teach me. I’ve known too much bondage to be freed from it by a pamphlet.”
They came to a bench on the boulevard, and Louise sank down on it, pulling Fleur with her. Fleur looked sidelong at her friend, wondering what bondage she was referring to. Her aunt and uncle? “Is that why you said earlier that you didn’t have anything to learn in a classroom? Forgive me, but I-” She wet her lips, trying to find the right words. “I fought so hard to learn. I couldn’t imagine giving it up.”
Louise smiled kindly at her. “I’m sure you did. But- and please, correct me if I’m wrong- you’ve spent your life in Paris, have you not? All you know of the world is the city.”
“Not quite,” Fleur said, knowing she sounded slightly ridiculous. “I grew up just outside the city. We only came here last year.”
“But you were born and raised in France.” Fleur nodded. “Would you like to know where I was raised?” Louise leaned closer, so she was speaking directly into Fleur’s ear. “My mother was born in Sainte-Christophe, in the West Indies, when the Spanish still ruled. She bore me there, to a French soldier who came to claim the land for your King Louis. Our French lords were little better than our Spanish ones, but she reared me to speak Spanish because her mother had learned it from her mistress.”
Fleur hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out. “You were- that is, your mother-”
“Slaves?” Louise said dryly. “No; my grandmother’s mistress was fond enough of her that she granted her freedom after she died. My mother’s family were indentured servants. It wasn’t much more of a pleasant life than slavery, to hear my abuelita tell it, but we had rooms of our own.” Her eyes darkened. “And then one day when I was eight, my father came to see us- he did it rarely enough, you’d think he would have forgotten where we lived between visits- and announced that he was taking me away to France to be raised by good people. Good people!” She laughed harshly. “And he picked me up and carried me off without another word, no matter how loudly my mother cried. I haven’t see Sainte-Christophe since.”
She fell silent. Fleur felt as though she ought to say something, but couldn’t think of what. “I’m sorry” was what she came up with, knowing it was horribly inadequate.
“You didn’t bring me to France,” Louise said, low and dark. “My father did. So I came here to learn a new language, a new life. And every night at supper, my aunt and uncle and cousin fold their hands and pray for the health of good King Louis and his Spanish wife. Whichever one I should thank for my existence, I don’t know.” She sighed, tipping her head back up to look at the clouds. “So you see now why I don’t wish to learn of bondage from a Frenchwoman who’s known nothing of it. And why I’d rather not take lessons from those who pray for the life of your king. I know where I came from. I don’t wish to hear it from someone who doesn’t understand.”
Fleur stared at Louise- not because she was confused, but because she felt that after being confided in thusly, she ought not to look away. “I’m so-” She cleared her throat. “I know my apologies don’t mean anything to you. But I’m sorry you’ve suffered so. I would help you, if I knew how.”
“It means you’re kind enough to care.” Louise said. “Which doesn’t mean much, in the grander scale of things. Half your country ought to be begging forgiveness from my mother and grandmother. But at least you realize it.” She paused. “You’d like to help?”
Fleur nodded.
“There is one thing.” She leaned closer, holding both of Fleur’s hands in hers’. “You’re a student, yes? You want to learn new things. How would you like to learn Spanish?”
It took Fleur a moment to realize what she was proposing. “I would love to.”
“It’s a small thing.” Louise half-shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. “But I haven’t had anyone to converse in my mother tongue with for a long time. I miss it.”
Fleur clutched her hands tightly. “I’ll do anything to ease the load.”
Louise rolled her eyes, but there was affection to it. “You don’t need to swear to lay your life down for me. But our lessons can begin soon, if you like.”
“I’d love to,” Fleur said immediately.
If Louise was caught for slipping away, she never mentioned it to Fleur. They met whenever one or both of them could manage it, sneaking away from chores and errands to steal a few moments over the workbook Fleur had bought for the task. Louise herself didn’t have much use for the book; she was more interested in teaching Fleur to speak the words aloud. But Fleur found she learned better when she was reading, so she wrote down everything Louise told her.
“One word first,” Louise said to her, smiling. “And it’s not really a word, it’s a name. Luisa.”
“Luisa,” Fleur repeated. “That’s Spanish for your name?”
“It is my name,” Luisa corrected her. “It’s what my mother called me. They changed it when I came here so that I would seem more French.”
Fleur rolled the word around in her mouth. Luisa. It seemed lighter and smoother than Louise. “It suits you.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Luisa said, grinning. “Now proper words: for that book in your hands, libro or cuaderno . . .”
Spanish, Fleur discovered quickly, was similar to French in many ways, and she was adept at languages. She proceeded in leaps and bounds, until she was able to converse in small, halting sentences. Her poor grammar didn’t seem to bother Luisa; she laughed with delight the first time Fleur introduced herself in Spanish.
“Hola Flor; mi nombre es Luisa,” she said. “Do you know, your name just means ‘flower’ in Spanish? I’ve never met anyone named Flor.”
“My mother named me,” Fleur said. “She used to say I looked like a daisy.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” Luisa said, and she kissed Fleur’s cheek. Fleur felt a glow begin in her chest, and hastily reminded herself not to get her hopes up. Even if Luisa was like her (and that was something she had only recently begun to consider in earnest; finding others who shared her feelings seemed an insurmountable task) that didn’t mean she looked on her that fondly. “¿Cómo te va?”
“Estoy bien, gracias.” Fleur replied. And they continued as they had before.
As her lessons progressed, and her skills grew stronger, they sometimes deviated from the lessons to talk about other things. They told each other stories about their childhoods; Fleur’s had been one of relative leisure, though there’d always been work to do, and Luisa hugged her memories of her early years close. Luisa told her of Sainte-Christophe, where everything had been painted in bright colours (the ocean, she swore, was a shade of blue she’d never seen in all her years in France) and the air had been sweltering, even in the shade. Fleur felt that her own stories paled in comparison- what were descriptions of the Parisian suburbs to someone who had lived in the city for years?- but Luisa asked, so she shared tales of crowded streets and the smell of the dirt roads when rain hit, and seeing livestock wandering the avenue outside her house.
“I was nearly run down by a pig once,” she said. “I was only three or four, and it was fleeing from some boys who’d been pelting it with stones. It came galloping down the street you wouldn’t believe how fast such a creature can gallop until you see it- and I was crouched down playing in front of my house and didn’t see it. I only avoided being trampled because my mother came out of the door and whisked me out of the way.”
Luisa laughed, then grew sombre. “You remember her well? Your mother?”
Fleur cast her mind back. “Not as well as I would like.” Her mother had passed away when she was ten years old, leaving her with a series of half-formed scrap memories that never seemed to quite fit together. “She looked like me, mostly. My father says I have her hair and mouth, but his eyes and my grandfather’s chin. She liked to fill the house with flowers. I remember that.” Lilies, most often; she’d crowned her daughter’s head with them, and carried her down the street for May Day. There’d also been dog roses in the kitchen, and sprigs of lavender that tucked in with the bedclothes to keep them smelling fresh.
“My mother liked flowers too,” Luisa said. She sat back on her elbows, stretching her legs out in front of her. “But they were a different variety than you know, I suspect. Bright red and orange poincianas and purple orchids. Every way you turned, there was a different colour.” Her expression turned wistful. “I’d like to see orchids again, but they could never bloom in France. The weather would kill them.”
“You could keep them indoors,” Fleur said.
Luisa laughed. “You have an idea for everything, don’t you? Whenever someone says a thing can’t be done, you’ve got a million reasons why it can.”
“Not a million,” Fleur said, unsure as to whether or not she was being laughed at. “Just the one.”
“And it’s one more than most people would think of.” Luisa reached out and ran a hand down Fleur’s cheek. Fleur felt the blood rise in her face again and fought to keep herself from showing her hand too obviously. “I admire that about you. I don’t know whether to call it bravery or stubbornness, but you don’t let anyone tell you what is and isn’t possible.”
“And you do?” Fleur said. “You’ve snuck away from your aunt and uncle to give a stranger lessons in Spanish just because you felt like it. I’m not half as brave as you.”
“Well I only teach you because I like you.” Luisa tipped her head back, smiling broadly. “And isn’t that just a form of selfishness? Doing what you wish and damn the consequences?”
Fleur chewed on her bottom lip. “Bravery can mean doing something selfish. My teacher- Ninon- said that if one person lead the way, a hundred more would follow. Maybe we’re the ones leading the way. If you- we- do what we want and others follow, aren’t we being brave?”
“I suppose that’s the difference between us, then.” Luisa rolled her shoulders, massaging out a kink in her neck. “You see the world as something that can be made new. I see it as something to be made the best of.”
“It can be both,” Fleur said.
Luisa shrugged. “Like I said, I like you. But I don’t know that you’re right.”
Fleur felt her smile grow from ear to ear. “I’m just glad you like me.”
Luisa reached out and took Fleur’s small hand in hers’. Her palm was warm, fingers callused and strong. They sat there in the sunshine for several long moments, enjoying the quiet.
“I wish you didn’t have to go back to your aunt and uncle,” Fleur said finally. “I wish you could come and stay with me instead. My father isn’t a gentle man, but he would let you sleep as much as you needed and eat at the table with us.” And we could spend all our time together she thought but didn’t say. Perhaps Luisa was right; what they did was equal parts bravery and selfishness.
Luisa touched her cheek again, brushing away a stray lock of hair. “I would leave with you in a heartbeat, if I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
The other girl sighed. “My aunt and uncle maintain that I owe them services in exchange for room and board. I would dispute them in the courts, but they have money and a good name to back them up. All I have is my word. It’s not enough.”
“Your father?” Fleur asked. Luisa made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Died at sea when I was thirteen. And he paid little attention to my welfare before that. Bringing me to France was his one act of paternal interest.” She snorted. “For all the good it’s done me.”
“It’s not right,” Fleur said helplessly. She wished she could offer Luisa something- anything- that could help her escape from her aunt and uncle and Athénaïs. But she’d learned after offering to alter the dress that her friend spurned anything that smelled of charity, even when it was offered in a spirit of friendship. And she was no lawyer. She didn’t know any lawyers. She knew some of the King’s musketeers, vaguely, through Constance, but what help would they be? They couldn’t fight the likes of the gentry. Most of them were as poor as Fleur herself.
“Never mind,” Luisa said, squeezing her hand tightly. “Someday I’ll sneak away for a night, and we can share a bed and keep ourselves awake in conversation until daybreak. Until then, we can content ourselves with this.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be content with just this.” The words were out of Fleur’s mouth before she could stop them, and as soon as they left, she felt her face and the back of her neck burning scalding hot. She hadn’t meant to say so much, but the picture Luisa had painted was so beautiful, she’d forgotten herself. “That is- I mean-”
“I know what you mean,” Luisa said. “I feel the same way. But that’s always how it is, isn’t it? The likes of us have to content ourselves with what moments we can steal.”
The likes of us. Surely she didn’t mean- but no, she couldn’t. It couldn’t be that simple, that easy. “I don’t call it stealing,” she said cautiously. “Surely it’s only stealing if it’s something we aren’t entitled to? I think we’re entitled to be happy.”
“Entitled,” Luisa said, musing. “En-titled- it sounds as though it should mean having a title, being one of the lucky ones. We don’t, and we’re not. But if we decided that we ought to and declared ourselves duchesses tomorrow, would that make it true? Your king surely wouldn’t think so.”
Fleur bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think the King knows everything.”
“And on that, we are in agreement,” Luisa kissed her cheek, then paused. Something bright and beaming was hovering in the air between them, and Fleur felt as if trying to catch it would make it fly away. But she couldn’t bear to just leave it as it was. “Luisa?”
“Mmmm,” the other girl said. For the first time, she looked as though she felt uncertain. “Fleur?”
“Yes?”
“Would you be angry with me if I kissed you just now?”
Fleur’s heart was thumping violently against her throat, but it wasn’t painful. Whatever this was, it was the opposite of pain. “No. But I think I’d be angry if you didn’t.”
“I would never wish to make you angry,” Luisa said. She looked up and down the street, and Fleur looked with her, making sure there was no one who could spy what they were doing and raise the alarm. Satisfied that they were alone, she leaned forward and caught Fleur’s mouth with hers.
It was chaste at first- or at least, what Fleur assumed to be chaste, having very little experience to compare it to. But then Luisa sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and any thoughts of chastity flew from her mind. The other girl’s mouth was warm and wet and seemed to be drawing Fleur’s breath into her; she felt as though she was scrambling to keep up, but it was the furthest thing in the world from unpleasant. Fleur locked her hands around the nape of Luisa’s neck, both to keep herself steady and to make sure she didn’t do anything rash like dive for the buttons on her dress and throw her clothes aside in the middle of a public street. Impulsively- she’d heard of it being done, but never done it herself- she pressed the tip of her tongue to Luisa’s mouth, and the other girl instantly opened her lips to let her in. She tasted like honey and the sticky sweet buns they’d eaten for lunch, and it was so good. Fleur hadn’t known it was possible to feel this good.
Luisa pulled away, and Fleur made an unhappy noise in her throat. Luisa looked no less regretful, passing her tongue over her lips as if she wanted to taste the last traces of Fleur’s mouth on hers’. “I don’t want to stop,” she said. There was a hitch in her breath. “But I’m afraid if we continue on like this, we won’t be able to stop.”
Fleur’s impulse was to say “good” and take Luisa’s face in her hands; she didn’t want to stop. But she recognized the wisdom in what she was saying. If they carried on, their hands would begin to wander, or someone would come down the street and see them, and that would be an end of that. If they adjourned to someplace more private, they could go further- much further. Fleur felt an involuntary shiver pass through her. “Is your room-”
“No,” Luisa said. “It’s connected to Athénaïs’, and she comes in without knocking whenever she wants something. Yours?”
“No,” Fleur said, regretful “The walls are thin; my father would hear us.” What would her father think, if he could see her now? Nothing good. Fleur found she didn’t care a bit.
Luisa sighed in frustration, running a hand through her windblown hair. “There must be some place.”
An idea struck Fleur. “I know someone,” she said slowly. “She might let us stay at her house for a night. But it would have to be when her husband was away.” Constance, of all people, would be sympathetic to them. She’d been the one who let Fleur go to Ninon’s in the first place. And she wouldn’t tell Fleur’s father. A reckless sort of hope swept through her. She’d never done anything this daring before- sneaking away to classes paled in comparison- but she’d also never done anything that made her feel more alive, or more loved.
Luisa looked at her, half-cautious, half-hopeful. “When can we?”
“As soon as possible,” Fleur said. “I’ll go to her house and ask her tonight.” She was almost certain Constance would say yes, and then Luisa would come and then- ? She wouldn’t let herself think beyond that. It was too much.
“Tell me tomorrow,” Luisa said, and kissed her cheek. Fleur wished she could do more, but understood why she couldn’t. “I can slip away after dark- once Athénaïs falls asleep, she won’t wake up again until the morning. And then- well. Then.”
Fleur beamed.
“Constance?” Fleur slid into the seat across from her. “I have a favour to ask.”
Constance looked up in surprise. She’d been writing in an account book, and barely glanced up when Fleur had arrived. “What can I do for you?”
Fleur leaned across the table, biting her lip. She was confident Constance wouldn’t object or go to her father, but now that the moment was here, she wasn’t quite sure how to explain what she needed. “I- that is, a friend and I- need to stay here. Just for a night.”
Constance raised her eyebrow, and pushed the ledger to one side. “Do I know this friend of yours?”
Fleur felt herself turning slightly pink. “No, she- she’s from my class.” It was true in its own way; she had met Luisa because she’d been going to class, and she and Luisa had been taking lessons together. She was just leaving out the illegitimate nature of the lessons for expediency’s sake.
“Mmhmm,” Constance said, folding her arms. “And why exactly can’t the two of you stay at your father’s house? Or hers’?”
Fleur squirmed a bit under her steady gaze. “She doesn’t really . . . her family wouldn’t approve. Nor would my father.”
“I see,” Constance said. Her voice was neutral; Fleur couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “And what, pray tell, would you be doing, at my house, at night?” The corner of her mouth curved slightly.
“Um.” Fleur said.
Constance laughed lightly. “This friend of yours- what’s her name? You did say it was a her, yes?”
“It’s her,” Fleur said. “Luisa.”
“Luisa.” Constance repeated. “Well, if you and Luisa can be reasonably quiet and I have your assurance that your father won’t have my head for it, I don’t see what harm it could do.” She gave Fleur a searching look. “She’s nice, this Luisa?”
“Yes,” Fleur said immediately. “Very.”
“Well I’ll have to meet her, then.” Constance said, sitting back in her chair. “My husband won’t be back from Neirs until next month. You can bring her here tomorrow night, if you like.”
Fleur bounced up out of her seat, and dashed around the table to kiss Constance’s cheek. “Thank you so much!”
Constance squeezed her hand, smiling. “You’re welcome.” She fixed Fleur with a steady look. “Be careful, all right? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Fleur spun away in a whirl of skirts. Her heart felt lighter than air. “She won’t hurt me.”
Constance looked wry. “I wasn’t worried about her.”
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