The Consequences of Champagne and Murder

Chapter Four - For Once, I'd Rather Not Be a Disaster

Renée had fancied Madeleine de Froix for as long as I could remember. She was the eldest daughter of the Vicomte de Narbonne, and thus, we’d been thrown together during social events since the both of us were old enough to walk. Unfortunately, that also meant she was present during my accident five years prior, when panic and the high summer heat had caused me to faint during a rather intense game of paille-maille at a garden picnic—and split my head open on a rock. In front of absolutely everyone. 

She never mentioned the incident afterward, but I knew she remembered. Which meant whenever we were forced into polite conversation, I became so mortified for both myself and my sister, I started sprouting off random birdwatching facts I’d heard from Étienne over the years. And if anything made someone sound like an ostracized old goat, it was discussing the mating rituals of the Black-Footed Albatross over after-dinner cordials. 

Though tonight had nothing to do with Renée’s affections or my past public spectacles, I couldn’t help but feel a familial duty toward my sister not to make an embarrassment of myself. Again. 

“Are you unwell, Monsieur d’Aumont?” Madeleine asked after I hadn't budged from my spot on the floor, despite Renée's attempts to help me to my feet. 

“I, uh. . .” I trailed off, every word I wished to say stuck to the back of my throat like melted candle wax on silver.

“He’s fine,” Renée answered, giving me a none too subtle smack in the back of my head. “He’s terrified of dogs, is all. The pug running around the salons gave him a good fright.”

Madeleine raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Madame de Leon’s pug is quite harmless, I assure you. After all, it’s rather. . . small.”

“I’m not afraid of dogs!” I leapt up, and far too quickly, for I banged my elbow into the golden candelabra next to my head. One of the candles came loose and tumbled to the ground, nearly setting my sister's dress on fire before I stomped on it with the heel of my shoe. “Definitely not afraid of dogs.”

Madeleine said nothing, her blue eyes fixed on the pile of crumbling candle wax and ash underneath my shoe. I wasn’t sure if her silence was out of politeness or embarrassment, but I was too scared to inquire further. So, I turned and started down the hallway, ready to leave the downright horrendous last twenty-four hours behind me. A second later, Renée grabbed my cravat and yanked me right back to where I was before.

“You have information about Étienne?” she asked Madeleine, one hand firmly wrapped around my arm to prevent another escape attempt. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I was the one who was nervous in front of Madeleine when it was Renée who fancied her. 

“Yes,” Madeleine said. “I heard what happened between him and the man he. . . murdered.”

“He didn’t murder anyone, actually,” I spoke up. “It’s all a lie.” 

“Right. Of course.” 

Renée’s grip tightened around my arm. “What did you hear?”

Madeleine fiddled with the brown curl trailing down her neck. “I heard the coachman was fighting with your brother when the murder took place. The man’s body was found with scratches on his neck and arms. He also had rocks in his pockets. I assume to ensure he drowned.”

Renée dropped her hand from my wrist with a resounding gasp, but I was too shocked to make any noise at all. Why in God’s name hadn’t Henri mentioned this? 

The coachman fought with my brother, and Étienne retaliated by stabbing him, loading his pockets with rocks, and shoving him into the Seine. 

No, a thought punched through the back of my mind, you know that didn’t happen.