Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Twenty Three

 

The early afternoon sun shone through the trees, laying its beams on the road to Rosefarm cottage. Maurice Vian, a man of two and thirty with some position in the world and sufficient experience for one of his age and status, indolently observed pictures of Scottish nature rolling by outside the window of his newly acquired carriage. It had been fifteen years since he had visited his godfather and his family. All he could remember was that his aunt was a cheerful self-conscious woman and his cousin a stubborn one, although a very sweet little girl. Understanding well that his father meant for him to preferably marry his godfather’s daughter, he sincerely hoped that Holly had grown into a beautiful woman, with just a pinch of that spicy stubbornness combined with all the sweetness of inclination to laughter. He has met enough women during his life to know what he could truly cherish in a wife and how her disposition would stir his senses. What he had heard about her also added to his curiosity. Being an eager lover of poetry, literature, and music he wished his wife would be equally talented and able to value and support his endeavours.

He sighed heavily. The serpentines of the road seemed to continue with no end.

Eventually his carriage passed a village and after a few more miles arrived at a small but cosy cottage. He got out his coach without further delay and hurried to meet his family. There were two women awaiting him in the parlour.

“Ma tantine, bon jour!” he moved to his aunt, kissed both of her cheeks and turned to the younger woman. “’Olly?! C’est vous? Mon Dieu, you have grown into a beauty!” He took her hand in his and put his warmest kiss on it. Without releasing it, he covered it with his other and looked deeply into her eyes. “Vous êtes une perle du nord, ma chérie.”

“Monsieur”, Mrs. Tournier interjected, “I am afraid you are mistaken. This is my niece, Miss Bennet. Your cousin, Hortènse, is on her way to London on business. Miss Bennet is visiting from Hertfordshire. That is just north of London. Elizabeth, this is Monsieur Maurice Vian, the son of my good friend Monsieur Gerard Vian. My late husband was Monsieur Vian’s Godfather. We have not had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur or his family for fifteen years. A fair respite in any relationship, I should say.”

Lizzy's eyes glittered and she smiled indulgently at the exuberant greeting she had received from the new visitor once she realised he had mistaken her for Holly. “Welcome, Monsieur Vian,” she said warmly, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He kissed her hand again, only this time for herself rather than for her cousin.

Her aunt and he exchanged further words, her aunt quickly establishing that he was to stay in Holly's room and arranging to have his things taken there straight away so that he could freshen up. Mrs. Tournier then went off to make further arrangements with Higgins relating to his stay.

Thinking it would be some while before he made another appearance, Lizzy was surprised when he returned to the parlour almost immediately. His thick and curly dark blond hair was still in the dishevelled state that travelling sometimes brings. The disarray seemed to suit him. His chocolate brown eyes, with an obvious lively curiosity in them, cast about the room and came to rest where she was sitting.

Maurice Vian sat himself comfortably and very closely to Elizabeth. He searched her eyes before he started to speak.

“Mademoiselle Bennet! Je suis enchanté, vraiment. Oh, excusez-moi, I keep forgetting myself. English is not the language I am used to speaking in the company of beautiful young ladies. I truly hope you do not hold my faux pas against me. Although I must admit I would not be disappointed one bit if my little cousin appeared to be such a beauty as you. Pray, tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.”

Lizzy was a little disconcerted at his intense gaze and the compliments he showered her with.

"You are too kind, Monsieur Vian. But as you know, beauty is relative, and you may find Miss Tournier much prettier than I. Only you can answer that when you meet her, but one would hope you would keep the final answer to yourself to appease both our vanities. As to telling you about myself, shall I start the story from the cradle on, or would you wish to jump ahead in the tale just a little?" and her eyes held his amused gaze with one of her own.

Vian’s eyes turned serious when he spoke to her.

“Mademoiselle Bennet, the truth may be relative, but not the very beauty in front of my eyes. Please, do not suggest that my words are empty, for if they are imperfect it is only in their inability to give justice to my feelings. If you wish to find another meaning in my words, it is always more, never less.”

He gave her a long partial look before continuing. “Please, start your story wherever you wish. You can tell it in a series and I will wake up every morning to hear another episode, or you can give me a general narration and I will beg you for more details every day.”

Lizzy smiled graciously and allowed herself a short laugh where a longer one was in the making, before she recalled herself and realised this man before her may think her laughing at him instead of with him.

“Why, Monsieur Vian, you are too much. I am certain that you will not get a coherent story from me if you continue to flatter me. No, I will not tell my own tale like a book opened and read in the evenings after all are well fed. I am afraid it will have to unfold more naturally. Pieces told only occasionally here and there, and then only after a proper question has been asked. After all, a woman might wish to remain somewhat mysterious at first, saving at least some things for another time.”

His face turned sad and he lowered his voice.

“Oh, I have hurt you. I am so sorry. I did not wish to. Please, do not let me forget myself. Give me instructions and I will follow. What can I do to have you start? Would it be too much for now if I asked about your family?”

Having not had much experience with it before, Lizzy was discovering that conversing with a French man might not be all that easy. Or was it simply this French man?

“On the contrary, Monsieur Vian, I am not sad at all. I just do not wish to bore either of us with such a long story at the beginning of our acquaintance. Let us begin by my telling you that my family is well, and then I shall ask after yours. Shall we take it in small steps instead of one large leap?” she laughed. “May I inquire after your family, Sir?”

He inclined his head. “Very well, Mademoiselle. Ma famille is in good health. Actually my father and my sister are spending the summer at la Côte d’Azur. Do you have brothers and sisters? Do they live here in Scotland?”

“I have four sisters and no brothers. All but one lives in England, just north of London, with my mother and father. One is married and resides further north of there.”

She smiled to herself because this conversation reminded her of her first dance with Mr. Darcy where he had asked her if she talked by rule. Yes, she thought, sometimes it is best, and since this talk seemed to begin much like that, by rule, she took inspiration from the memory and continued in the same vein.

“And now I might ask you how you came all the way to Scotland for a visit. That would logically come next,” she looked at him questioningly.

Vian hoped she would show more spirit in the conversation, but maybe it was his own fault. He proceeded patiently.

“Mon papa suggested it. I have not seen ma tantine for 15 years, and since I have mostly visited foreign countries in the meantime it is very nice to be with family again. I guess you came to visit as well. I hope you will be staying for some weeks.”

“I do not know how long I shall stay, but I know that I shall be here for that long at least. I am sure you will have plenty of time to learn my story, and I yours.”

Maurice stood up and bowed. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle. I hoped you would like my company, but it seems you were looking for some solitude, and I have been imposing on you. I trust we will have an opportunity to continue our conversation at a more convenient time.”

Lizzy felt very confused. She was at a definite loss to understand what had just happened. Her inclination was to let him leave, but she impulsively stopped him. “Monsieur Vian, I think you have somehow misunderstood something I have said. I did not dislike your company nor was I necessarily seeking solitude. Pray, forgive me if I have given you that impression.”

She was going to have to spend a long time in close quarters with this man. She certainly hoped that they would be able to communicate better than this, or it would be a difficult and confusing time indeed.

Vian smiled cheerfully, and for several silent moments curiously studied the expression in her eyes.

 

 

After having seen to the arrangements with Higgins, ordering tea and making certain there was still grouse for dinner left in what she could only perceive to be Mrs. Higgins' cornucopia of game hidden in her pantry, Mrs. Tournier returned to give attention to her guest and niece.

She eyed the young man shrewdly. Her memory of him as a shy and awkward youth slowly gave way to new reflections. He had changed remarkably little: his face was still open, friendly and inviting to discourse but quick to change, mirroring every little alteration in his sentiments and feelings. But instead of one-syllable answers, he seemed to have acquired address and vivacity. His countenance was also marked by obviously being exposed to the sun, and Mrs. Tournier felt herself grow curious. Curious enough not to pay any attention to tea being brought and amused enough to see her niece, who usually was the lively and sanguine one in their midst, clearly loose out to Msr. Vian's lively temper.

"Now, my dear boy", she said and slipped her arm through his as he stood in front of Lizzy, "I have settled everything that needs be for your stay, and so I can devote myself to your lively company. First of all you must assure me your dear papa and maman are well. Inform me briefly that chère Sophie is happy in her marriage and with her darling Mimi and if any of your other siblings have any claim on my attention. On this you will be brief, for I correspond with your papa, and although he is an appalling letter-writer he is very informative. Then we shall sit down, have tea à l'anglaise, and you can tell me where and how you have acquired this shockingly tanned skin you flaunt so to your advantage. There must be a story of interest there, and I wish you to tell it. Lizzy, pour the tea, please!"

“Oh, ma chère Tantine, you are very kind in your interest. They are all in good health, indeed. As I told Mademoiselle Bennet, Papa and Mimi are spending their vacances at la Côte d’Azur. Maman is with my cousin Marie à Paris. Marie is expectante.”

He grinned joyfully. “I have travelled beacoup, ma Tantine. It is difficult not to tan in all the sunny countries. I see my appearance must be shocking to both of you. I must look like a peasant in comparison to your alabaster skins. I hope you, ma Tantine, and your chère niece can change my savage person into an English gentleman. I promise to be an obedient student.”

Mrs. Tournier gave a chuckle and allowed herself to pat the young man on his knee.

“Oh, dear! You look nothing like a peasant, let me assure you, you silly man! And I will have no more English gentlemen in this house, if you please. I am sick of English gentlemen and find French adventurers much more to my liking at present. But what is this about Marie? Expectante? In Paris?

“Lizzy? Two pieces of plum cake, please.”

Vian smiled at his aunt teasingly, took her hand from his knee and kissed it. “Ma chère Tantine, you cannot imagine how much I have missed you.”

He turned to Miss Bennet. “I would love to share my little Paris gossips, but are you sure Mademoiselle Bennet would not mind? It is a very romantic story, but maybe a bit too French for a young lady anglaise, if you know what I mean.” He looked at his aunt questioningly.

Mrs. Tournier gave a hearty laugh. She winked at Lizzy.

“I should say, Monsieur, that in this Anglo-French household we combine frankness and sense with wit and an understanding for life with all its humanities. My niece knows this well. She has my leave to concentrate on the plum cake and tea if it is not to her liking. And provided your little story fulfils those requirements, I shall insist upon hearing it.”

Lizzy poured tea and served while her aunt and Monsieur Vian talked. She listened with a great deal of curiosity, still trying to understand what went wrong in their earlier conversation. Perhaps if she talked less and listened more she would learn how to speak with this French man in a language they could both understand?

She was unsure what story he would unfold for them, so she prepared herself to be shocked but to not show it, although she doubted anything he would say would have that effect.

Vian smiled, “Very well, Madame. Well, cousin Marie is not really our cousin. In fact she is not related to us at all. Why, she is not even French. Oh, maybe I had better start from the beginning.”

He sat back so that he could see both his aunt and Miss Bennet well and started his tale.

“Ma chère Tantine, I am sure your husband told you about his and my father’s best friend of their youth, Nicolas Chopin. Although, because of the Revolution, their paths split and my Godfather emigrated to Scotland, my father stayed in France and Chopin went to Poland, they all remained good friends throughout the years. Chopin married a few years ago. His wife is charming and plays the piano beautifully for their son Frederic, but they are not rich, and he works as a teacher. For six years he held the position of the tutor of Count Laczynski’s children.”

He stopped his story for a minute to see if the ladies followed his telling of it.

“At the age of seventeen Marie Laczynska married Count Walewski. Many things may be said about the fate of young women married to gentlemen older than half of a century, but certainly one thing should be said about Marie Walewska: her love and devotion to her country are remarkable.

Like all Poles, she awaited Napoléon’s arrival impatiently. When he was finally heading towards Warsaw she dressed herself in a Polish folk gown, put her hair in two long braids, and waited along the road to meet the Emperor. He was in awe and did not want to hear about any other woman. In spite of her great admiration for Napoleon she wanted to remain faithful to her husband, however, the Polish nobles had persuaded her otherwise. She is very loyal to the Emperor, and now she is expecting his child. Napoleon provided her with a living in Paris, but she felt quite lonely there so Chopin wrote mon papa asking for assistance, and ma maman went to keep her company.

“There is also more gossip parisienne to this. Rumour has it that once Napoléon has proven he can have children he will divorce Marie Josèphine and marry a woman who can give him an heir.”

He finished and looked at the ladies to observe their reactions.

Lizzy, try as she might, could not keep from being a little shocked by it, although she kept her face calm and even smiled at him at its finish. To think that this man's mother was even now visiting with Napoleon's mistress while they themselves drank tea in Scotland made it seem a small world indeed!

"Then it is likely that your mother has met Napoléon. Can you tell us how she finds him? Is he an interesting man with many quirks or as normal as one might find any French man to be?"

Mrs. Tournier had pursed her lips and was watching him closely.

“Monsieur. I sincerely hope Madame Walewska proves to be a better mother than her child’s Corsican grandmother for all our sake. More tea perhaps?”

Vian caught Mrs. Tournier’s hand and kissed it. “Oh, ma chère Tantine, that is exactly what I was worried about. I should have known better than to tell such a story to English gentle ladies. Why, Napoléon is regarded either as a tyrant or a saviour, but no matter what his war achievements are, he conducts himself terribly.” He pressed her hand to his heart. “Pouvez–vous me pardonner, Madame?”

She of course forgave him, and the conversation continued for some time, Monsieur Vian and Mrs. Tournier carried most of the conversation while Lizzy simply listened. The entire day passed in a like manner. It seemed obvious to her that her aunt had made her judgement and was disposed to like this man whom she had not seen in years.

As far as Lizzy was concerned, she felt the coming weeks would be interesting. She would practice speaking with him and at least gain some social skills in talking to French men if nothing else. She laughed to herself, thinking that possibly she could use Lydia's presence or even Caroline Bingley here to help.

She then thought of Mr. Darcy, writing his letter to his sister at Netherfield while Miss Bingley constantly made silly comments to him, annoying him to no end, and she then thought better of it. Certainly she could do without that lady here, whose skills would not be of the least help. She went to sleep with visions of Mr. Darcy before her eyes, and the tender care he always took of her and her feelings. That relationship, while complicated enough, was more to her liking.

 

 

 

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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