Page 44 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
They’d look like paupers. Gilles rubbed his brow. What would Marie-Caroline think? When he’d dined with them in May, the Daubins had served their guests four elegant courses of delicacies. And his family was returning the favor by serving a medley of leftover fish in broth.
“You lovebouillabaisse,” Maman chided. “Go set the table.”
Yes, but he’d never served it to a lady before. Especially not a lady whose good opinion he wanted to keep. Gilles trudged to the dining room, stomping down the urge to peek into the sitting room. He opened the great chest, with a rope-and-knot decoration carved onto it by his great-grandfather, and carefully removed the gold-rimmed dishes from their wrappings.
Really, a Jacobin should not care that he was serving a modest meal to a wealthy family. A strange energy pulsed through his hands as he laid the dishes with as much care as he could manage. If Marie-Caroline were his lady, as Émile suggested, then he would be justified in feeling this offering inadequate. But she wasn’t. And she never would be, as she had no trouble reminding him.
“I do not wish to kiss you.”
Gilles startled at the voice that seemed to materialize from his thoughts. Marie-Caroline leaned against the doorframe of the dining room in a deep-blue round gown. That color did look well on her. “Will you ever tire of that greeting?” He went for the nicer utensils in their corner of the chest. It was hard to imagine her changing her mind on that point, but a boy could dream.
“I have found from recent experience that if I do not lay out the reminder at the beginning of our interactions, that my desires on those regards are forgotten.”
“I would not have kissed you in front of half of Marseille. And your father especially.” Though he’d certainly come close without realizing it. If Monsieur Daubin hadn’t been preoccupied with his wife’s hysterics, Gilles might not have been welcomed back at thesavonnerieWednesday morning.
Marie-Caroline folded her arms. “I would not have believed that. You were certainly admiring my lips at a close range.”
“Eyes!” Gilles threw up his arms, still clutching a table knife. “I was admiring your eyes.”
She raised a brow.
“I speak the truth. You have very fine ones.”Imbecile. He could hear Max’s and Émile’s snickers in his mind.
Something played at the corners of Marie-Caroline’s mouth. A smile, a laugh, a sneer—Gilles could not tell. But the heat creeping up his neck gave him no doubt she clearly saw his humiliation. What was the matter with him? He’d told plenty of girls they were pretty. All he had told this one was that she had nice eyes. He could appreciate a friend’s eyes.
“Thank you.” She watched him as he finished setting the table, the sensation of those nice eyes on him making Gilles fumble with the dishes.
“I think you might find our dinner very simple,” he stammered to cut the silence. “We are havingbouillabaisseas our main dish.”
“I have no problem with simplicity. Nor does my mother.”
He made a pointed glance at her attire. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“We are notaristos, Monsieur Gilles,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which nearly matched his. “My father worked hard to build up hissavonnerieandparfumeriewith his father. Just as your father’s uncle has done with his ships.” A little white rosette clung to the soft fichu about her neck. She should not have been wearing that inle Panier. The Étiennes’ house was too close to the Hôtel de Ville, where several counterrevolutionaries had been quickly tried and executed.
“And yet your mother’s family is made up ofaristos. And you miss the life you lived in their company until a couple of months ago.” He adjusted the plate sitting on the table before him. “I do not think your aunt would servebouillabaisseat her table. So you can understand my worry.”
“If fish stew is offered by a friend and eaten in good company, who am I to complain?”
Gilles tilted his head to one side. Perhaps he had overestimated her love of the fine, expensive things. Of course, that idea had been planted and encouraged by her brother.
His mother hustled in with a chorus of apologies and a steaming tureen that trailed the aroma of garlic and saffron. A flurry of motion brought Madame Daubin to the dining room at the same moment that Florence covered the table in a full course of vegetable dishes and crusty bread.
Madame Daubin did not turn up her nose at the simple fare, which contained far fewer dishes than she usually served. Did she know there was only one course and then dessert? Florence served the broth and fish, and still neither of their guests gave questioning glances.
“You are too kind to ask us to dine with you,” Madame Daubin said between sips of the savory broth. “My husband has worked so many late hours in recent weeks. He does not even come to dinner most nights.”
Late hours? The monsieur hadn’t stayed at the office much longer than normal. Gilles had seen him off in the carriage on several occasions at the end of busy days. He must have been tending to work at home. But what tasks, Gilles could not fathom. Themonsieurhadn’t mentioned them to any of the clerks.
“It has been so lonely, with only the two of us at dinner.” The woman dipped her head, lower lip trembling. To her right, Marie-Caroline’s chest rose and fell in a sigh.
But before the daughter could speak, Maman touched Madame Daubin’s arm. “It is so difficult to send family members away,” Maman said, offering an encouraging smile. “I find the company of friends one of the best remedies to the melancholy that comes from times such as these.”
The quivering lip stilled. “Yes, I think you are quite right.”
“Madame Étienne, this stew is positively delicious,” Marie-Caroline said. She avoided Gilles’s gaze and took another spoonful of thebouillabaisse. Either she was attempting to prove a point to him, or she wished to return the favor his mother had paid to hers. Whatever the reason, Gilles could not help a grin.
The conversation among the women continued in an easy fashion, far smoother than Gilles would have guessed. Florence cleared the dinner dishes away to the Daubins’ praises, then brought out the bowl of waffles and pots of jam and compote.
