“You don’t want me to dredge up the past?” Ben asked, his tone incredulous. “Monsieur, my father left us a fortune the likes of which I have never seen, a sum lost to time. One that drove my sister to the brink of insanity. I think we are well past the point of ignoring the past.”

Lamotte tapped his fingers against the grain of the desk, moderately annoyed. “Point taken.”

“All my father has left me is the past.” Ben’s eyes flickered to Remi for a moment, the anger deepening the ridges of his brows. She flinched away from his hard stare. “A home on the verge of collapse, crumbs of an inheritance, if you can even call it that, and a widow. It’s a fine mess he’s made, Monsieur.”

A beat passed before anyone spoke, and it was Remi who found her voice again.

“We’re stuck in an unfortunate predicament,” she said. There was no denying that everything he said was true.

“Unfortunate for some,” Ben said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. There was no humor in his dark eyes, just contempt. “Fortunate for one. You and your family gain the most from this little arrangement.”

“My family?” Remi said, taken aback.

“Yes, your family.” Ben approached her then, advancing like a lion prepared to pounce on its prey. He towered over her by a foot, and she strained to look up at him. He was close enough that she could scent his cologne; cypress and juniper. “Devious and money-hungry. I have no doubt that your aspirations are no different than your aunt’s and that you’ve been cowed by her desire for status and wealth.”

Remi felt herself still as her fury renewed.

“You took advantage of him,” Ben said, his tone accusatory.

“You don’t truly believe that.” Remi couldn’t wrap her mind around the image he painted. Am I really as horrible as Tante Beline?

“I believe you to be quite capable of anything.” Ben spat.

How could she tell him that their marriage meant nothing? Because for Remi, it felt like a sham. She was as empty with him as she’d been living with her aunt and uncle; one cage exchanged for another, a moth pinned inside a glass dome. But she couldn’t. It wouldn’t assuage his temper.

“If I’d been here”—Ben leaned closer, his voice above a whisper— “you would have never weaseled your way into our family.”

“That’s enough!” Remi snapped. Her right hand connected with Ben’s cheek. A second of silence spanned the length of an echo as the throbbing in her palm pricked with an unfamiliar heat.

Lamotte gasped, but Ben remained quiet.

Remi did not wait for him to tread on her further. She cupped her sore hand to her chest and summoned what composure she could muster. “No matter what odious opinion you might have of me, it does not change the fact that Edgar has left us both an equal share.”

She turned on her heel and reached for the handle of the study door. It was cool on her palm as she pulled it open, letting it fall shut behind her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, daring to spill if she did not blink them away. There were voices down the hall, a sign that guests were already arriving; she didn’t have time to cry or break down. As if it was as simple as fixing a stray hair, she pushed back her wounded pride, and walked down the hall.

THE WAKE

BEN

“That…was a pleasant surprise.” Ben rubbed his cheek where it still stung from Remi’s hand.

“Was it really?” Lamotte was skeptical. “What a foolish thing you’ve done.”

Ben considered his words. “I suppose I underestimated her.”

“You do her an injustice then,” Lamotte grumbled. “I had hoped your father might have talked some sense into you, but I suppose I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“The envelope I gave you last night.” Lamotte arched a brow. “Curious of you to forget it so soon.”

“His letter? No, not forgotten,” Ben said. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what happened to it. He’d left it on the bedside table before turning in, and by light, it was gone. He asked Sylvie to keep an eye out for it that very morning, but in all of the disorder of the day, he had forgotten.

“Watch your temper and mind yourself around her.” Lamotte paused before adding, “Lest she raise her hand in opposition again.”

Ben didn’t disagree. It was a warning he would do well to heed.

She could certainly hold her own, he was now certain, and that put him at odds with the emotions warring inside of him. He wanted to be mad at her, to blame her for everything, but his cheek was still buzzing with her reply. Her passion excited him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

As Lamotte packed up his things, Ben milled around aimlessly and stopped to observe a moth under its dome. One of his father’s many victims and prized possessions. A dead thing encased in glass, a dark reminder that he would be seeing his father next.

“I’m off.” Lamotte tottered toward the door, an austere look on his face. “Do behave yourself with Madame Leone around.”

“Safe travels.” Ben said, feigning interest in the moth.

“And Ben,” Lamotte said, already halfway in the hall. “While he was my good friend, I will always disagree with his decision to send you away. It was sad to see you go, but I’m very glad that you are home.”

The door to the study closed softly, ending the conversation.

He would be on his own the rest of the day, forced to entertain and supply condolences to people he didn’t recognize or remember. But then, so would Remi. Both of them were forced to comply when either would prefer silence and solitude over chatter and empty tears.

We are stuck with each other.

His father’s will be done.

Moments later, a knock sounded at the study’s door. It creaked open lightly and Jacques peeked in. He looked vexed.

“What’s your face about?” Ben chuckled.

Jacques frowned. “You’ve been asked to join Madame’s family in the dining room.”

Ben felt the humor leave him. “I don’t think so.”

“She insists.”

“She?” Ben’s brows drew together in confusion, but then it struck him. He snickered. “I see you’ve met Beline then.”

Jacques’s eyes rolled emphatically as he crossed his arms.

“My employer,” said a second voice, “commanded it. She’d like to speak with you.”

“Who are you?” Ben asked as a young man entered the room.

“Guillaume.” The young man bowed, his curly brown hair falling forward. “Can’t say that I blame you if you’ve forgotten me. Elise and I were good friends, once upon a time. We used to play together as children.”

Oh yes, he thought, now I remember him.

If he recalled Elise as the bird, then her childhood friend turned footman was most certainly the worm she pecked at. Elise’s life was the gilded type, with the finest gowns and the most popular toys at her disposal. Meanwhile, Guillaume was a pauper, clothed in the scraps left over by such extravagance.