“First, I want to thank you all for your years of service to the family, however long it has been,” he said. “While I’ve been away, it has been a great comfort to see familiar faces upon my return. My father, God rest his soul, was surely grateful for your presence all these years.”
“He will be missed.” Martin sniffed and wiped at his eyes. His son lingered beside him, almost too small to be seen but just as upset as his father.
Sylvie nodded, her silence her solidarity. They all shared some short story, a meeting, a conversation, or a memory about Edgar. It was special for them, even if the same could not be said for Remi. This was their time to say goodbye. After tears were shed, they all fell back into a comfortable silence.
With Remi’s blunder forgotten, the staff shuffled out in their own time, leaving Ben, Remi, and Jacques.
“Shall we return?” Remi asked gently.
“I’ll be staying behind a moment longer,” Ben said.
“Oh.” She felt her shoulders sag. “I’ll be sure to have a tray kept warm for each of you.”
“Thank you, Madame.” Jacques bowed his head. “But I will be returning. My hands are no more helpful here than a pianist’s in a tailor’s shop.”
“It’s true.” Ben nodded. “I’ve only kept him near to keep me in line.”
“You mean sober,” Jacques mumbled under his breath.
Ben waved him off, mildly irritated, but the footman smirked, excusing himself with a bow. From what she had discerned, the two shared a bond like the one she held with Elise. Family, brothers, friends. It was admirable.
“Then I shall see you this afternoon,” Remi said, excusing herself.
As she stepped forward, she felt a hand press against the small of her back. Ben was beside her, leading them from the mausoleum. It took a great deal of collectedness on her part to keep the butterflies in her stomach from rioting, for once they started, she knew she would come undone. She was grateful for the fresh air when they stepped outside. They stopped a few paces from the doors, Remi on solid ground and Ben leaning against the doorframe. Tired though he looked, he still cut quite an attractive figure.
“That was lovely,” Remi said, releasing a breath. “Thank you for that.”
Ben shook his head dismissively. “You seemed distracted. It was the least I could do.”
“I admit I wasn’t prepared to speak.”
Ben glanced over her shoulder, then settled again on her eyes. “Are you well?”
“I am.” Her voice was weak with exhaustion. Observant as he was, she could see he was not convinced. The way he held her in his gaze sent a rush of heat to her face. She adjusted her collar and forced a smile. “How are you feeling after last night?”
Ben’s brows drew together. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much after our excursion.”
“I must admit that I didn’t, either,” Remi said, bowing her head.
“Were you worried about me?” Ben said, a teasing note in his voice.
“Partially. Though, if I’m to be honest with you, I had other worries on my mind...a trifling thing really, but all the same concerning.”
She didn’t want to admit it, but waking up was a difficult task. Groggy and chilled from the night before, she had rediscovered the note on her bedside table. It felt like a dream, reading it again, as if it could not exist outside of her imagination. Yet, it lay heavy in the pocket of her dress.
“Something worse than my own brush with death?”
She watched his expression—measured its sincerity as his brow deepened and the bow of his lips dipped into a frown.
“Perhaps.”
“Would you tell me?” he asked. “I feel I owe you that much.”
“For saving your life?” She considered him a moment longer. “I believe you owe me a great deal.”
“Do I?” His eyes narrowed as he attempted to be serious, but they held a playful gleam.
“Yes. In fact,” she said while crossing her arms over her chest, “you may very well owe me a lifetime—an exchange for what remains. Interfering with Death is no easy feat.”
Ben smirked. “And yet you managed.”
“Yes.” She agreed. “I seem to recall that I am quite capable of doing just about anything.”
“My own words used against me. Touché.” He smirked. “Know that you’ll have my time whenever you need it.”
The tenderness in his tone was hard to ignore, and she found herself fighting against the blush creeping up her neck and to her ears. Curse my traitorous body for betraying my heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Just then, a light-footed Martin cleared his throat, drawing their attention to where he stood a few paces behind her.
“Pardonne, Madame.” He pressed his hands together. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but we must return within the hour. The kitchen is expecting a delivery.”
“Of course. We’ll go now.”
“Merci, merci,” Martin said as he left.
She turned to Ben. “Do you truly intend to stay behind?”
