Chapter Eighteen

Antoine left his parents in their drawing room and took the carriage to Rue de Fortuny. Traffic was heavy through the city center, and the ride seemed like the longest he'd ever taken. After so many angsty days of passing her house and sending off letters, he was taking definitive action. He'd waited long enough, so long he may have already lost Charlotte. She could be somewhere in the city, in the company of another man. She could have gone to another city altogether. He'd given her enough money to leave France if she wanted. When the carriage reached the house, Antoine didn't let the driver come to a complete stop before he jumped down onto the pavement.

He took both stairs at once and knocked on the door before he could think better of it. But there was nothing to think better of anymore. He was here with the purest, highest intent for Charlotte. There was nothing to hide. Now there was only his rush to finally remedy the situation. After a long minute and no response, he knocked again, harder this time. After another long minute, the door swung open and a red-haired woman in a flimsy gown was standing there.

"Bonjour." She dragged her eyes up and down his body without indicating her thoughts about what she saw. "How can I help you?"

"Bonjour. My name is Antoine de Larminet, and I'm looking for Charlotte Deveraux. Can I find her here?"

"You can't." She stepped back and made to close the door.

"Wait! Please. Can you tell me where I can find her?"

"I don't think so." The woman started closing the door again, but another woman appeared. She was older and conservatively dressed.

"Nadine, who is it?"

"A gentleman looking for Charlotte."

The older woman faced Antoine through the door. "Are you the one who's been sending the messenger around at all hours?"

"I am." He couldn't tell if this would help or hurt his cause.

The older woman apprised him and squared off. "Monsieur, you should be ashamed of yourself, chasing after a young woman like that. Have you no decency?"

Antoine raised his hand to protest. "I beg your pardon, Madame, and with the utmost respect. I am here with the most decent intentions. I wouldn't have knocked on your door if I didn't. I want to marry Charlotte. She doesn't know this. I have recently behaved very badly toward her, and I must make it right. I must see her. Please. Tell me where I can find her."

The first woman, Nadine, shrugged. "That's not what it said in the paper."

"The paper is wrong. Rather, it's no longer accurate. I am not engaged to anyone and only want to be engaged to Charlotte Deveraux. Is she still in the city?"

A third woman appeared now. This one had blonde hair and was dressed in a light gray suit. "She's gone home to Vernon."

"Stop it, Vanessa. I wasn't going to tell him," Nadine said.

The blonde woman, Vanessa, shrugged. "I can't keep my mouth shut apparently."

Nadine laughed wickedly. "You're terrible."

"And you," Vanessa said, pointing over the threshold at Antoine. "You are terrible too, from what we've heard."

"I am aware of my flaws, mademoiselles, thank you. But I have to go. I have to get to Vernon."

Antoine took the carriage directly to the train station and then sent his driver home. The station bustled around him and the line for the ticket counters was exceptionally long. When he finally made it to the window, the attendant smiled and greeted him with an artificial sweetness.

"I need a ticket on the next train to Vernon, or thereabouts."

"Of course, monsieur. Is it just you traveling today?"

"Yes. When does the next train leave?"

"Well, you're missing one right now. But another leaves in two hours."

"There's a train leaving now?" Antoine gripped the ticket counter.

"Yes, monsieur. It's leaving now. You'll have to take the next one."

He rose on his tiptoes to see around her, but there was no way to see down to the platform from there. "Can't I try and catch the one leaving now?"

"Oh, there's no way you'll make it." The woman's doe-eyes masked her lack of helpfulness.

"I'd like to try."

"I'm sorry, monsieur."

"While we're standing here arguing about it, I could be catching the train. Please." He opened his wallet and put the money for the ticket on the counter. "Keep the change and give me a ticket. I'm going to try to make it."

"Yes, monsieur." The woman relented and rang up his ticket sale without another word.

Antoine, ticket in hand, thanked her and took off running for the platform. Dodging other people and moving as fast as he could through the station, Antoine made it to the platform just as the train was pulling away. Nearly crashing into a gentleman, Antoine moved as fast as he could, like he was after a tennis ball and about to beat Guillaume. The train picked up speed, and Antoine's chest ached from running so hard, but after a few tense moments of pursuit, he leaped onto the departing ride. He grabbed the handle on the side of the car and slipped in the most undignified way, but he recovered his footing for a graceless landing.

The ground beneath the train whizzed past at increasing speed, and Antoine went inside the cabin. He found a seat and caught his breath, watching the city pass by through the window.

"You almost didn't make it there," the gentleman across from Antoine said after a few minutes.

"It was close." Antoine straightened his jacket and placed his hat on the empty seat next to him. "Do you know when we're scheduled to arrive in Vernon?"

"Should be about two hours."

Antoine nodded and sighed.

"So, since we've some time to pass, perhaps you can tell me what business in Vernon is worth running for?"

"A woman." Antoine smiled at the thought of soon seeing Charlotte.

"Ah! Of course. The best reason." The man was neatly dressed in a brown suit, though the seams of his clothes showed wear.

"She's very angry with me at the moment."

"Well, then it sounds like you have good reason to be in a hurry."

"I do, yes."

A coffee cart came around then, and Antoine ordered a cup for himself and the gentleman. When they'd been served and the attendant moved on, the gentleman said, "I ran after a woman once."

Antoine listened to the gentleman's story and told him about Charlotte and how he hoped to win her back. The gentleman, who was a butcher from Vernon, even knew of her parents' bookshop and gave him directions on how to find it from the train station.

Antoine had traveled by train before and enjoyed it immensely, speeding over the landscape, arriving at a destination in a fraction of the time it would take by horse and carriage. Railroad expansion was one of the greatest accomplishments of the modern world. But there hadn't been time to purchase a first-class ticket or private cabin, which was the way he'd always traveled before. This would have made his parents crazy, riding next to the regular people and not sequestered away in some catered experience. He could imagine Mother, nervous as a cat in a hand-basket in the company of the lower classes. It was as if she could hear them sharpening the guillotine. But a sense of well-being and deep connectedness came over Antoine. He'd never spoken with a butcher at length before. And here they'd conversed without preconception or prejudice for over an hour. He wouldn't tell Charlotte about this feeling, because it was probably snobby of him to notice. However, he recognized class as an invisible barrier to meaningful experiences and social connection. And that life was far more interesting when those boundaries came down.

Just when they should have been closing in on Vernon, the train jolted and ground to a stop. Everyone in the car looked around curiously for some sign to indicate the cause of the delay. Some, including the gentleman, speculated about the holdup. Cattle on the tracks, a broken this or that on the engine. After nearly ten minutes, an attendant walked through the carriage, telling people that there'd been a mechanical breakdown and they were working to get the train moving again.

When the attendant passed Antoine, he asked, "How far are we from Vernon?"

"About seven kilometers, monsieur."

Gently rolling green hills and fields surrounded the train. In the distance was a little farmhouse and barn, the only dwelling in sight. It was no bother. Technical failures were a normal part of technological advances, and this sort of minor delay was to be expected. They'd surely be on their way in a few minutes. Antoine remained unbothered until someone on the other side of the car shouted with disbelief, "They're getting off the train!"

Antoine and everyone else moved to look. People were stepping down from the cars up ahead, milling about in the grass on the sides of the track. Then another attendant came through, apologizing and asking everyone to exit the train in an orderly fashion. With no choice, Antoine disembarked. The attendant didn't provide many specifics, but information traveled among the passengers the way it did when something was happening and people were talking. The train couldn't be fixed right away. They were waiting for help to arrive. Another train would take them back south to Mantes-la-Jolie temporarily. They would likely miss dinner. And they might not see Vernon until morning.

The grass was soft and dry under Antoine's feet and the sky above was clear and liquid blue. Some were sitting in little groups on the grass, commiserating. His former seat mate, the butcher, was gingerly squatting down to take a seat next to a family that he seemed to know. Standing there, Antoine grew more anxious. He wanted to be moving toward Charlotte. Antoine's gaze swept the horizon and landed on the little farmhouse, straight across the field. If he could borrow their carriage, he could be in Vernon in an hour.

"Thank you for your company," Antoine said, shaking the butcher's hand as he passed him. "I'm going to head on from here."

The butcher nodded knowingly and wished Antoine luck. And Antoine set off across the field.

At first, the going was easy. The soft swish of his feet against the grass was pleasant. The train and his fellow passengers shrank into the distance. But he came to a place where the soft field was bisected by a thick bramble. Unaware, he stepped high and tried to go through it, but his pants snagged on a thorn. And when he tried to work himself free, he cut his hand on the sharp weed. When he emerged, scraped and bloody, a thick cluster of nasty burrs had attached to the arm of his tailored jacket. They were so sharp, he had to find a twig to wrench them free. His clothes were no longer pristine, but he pressed on. Not long after that, he stepped in a deep and well-camouflaged puddle that soaked his left foot completely up to his ankle and coated it with what Antoine could only hope was mud. His new Italian leather shoe, singular, was destroyed, and he was officially a mess.

When he reached a fence on the other side of the field, Antoine spotted the corral's inhabitant. A dappled gray horse stood in the shade of a some sort of tree. The beast seemed content chewing on whatever it had in its mouth, but there was a menacing rhythm to its swishing tail. Rather than contend with the animal, Antoine followed the fence all the way around and approached the house from the side. A man was standing in the yard, partially obscured by a buggy. Antoine called out to him and the man waved. He looked kindly enough to give a desperate man a ride. Antoine, sloshing in his shoe, strode across the yard and greeted the farmer.

The man's weathered face cracked into a broad smile. He was dressed in rugged workwear, with shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and patches on the knees of his trousers.

"Monsieur, pardon the intrusion. But I've arrived here on the train." Antoine gestured toward the distant tracks, where everything still appeared to be at a standstill. "I'd do anything for transportation into Vernon, including paying you whatever you want for the favor."

A woman came out of the house then, suspicion on her brow. "What's this about?"

"This gentleman's from the train."

"It broke down, as you can see." Antoine carried on jovially. "They're waiting for a ride back to Mantes-la-Jolie, but I am in the middle of a critical errand upon which my future depends, and must continue to Vernon. I'm begging for your assistance and the use of your carriage."

Antoine pointed at their humble conveyance.

"You can't do that, I'm afraid. Not at least until I can fix the wheel." The man tipped his head toward the side of the house where a broken wagon wheel was leaning against the stone wall. "But if you can give me some sort of insurance that you'll see to the animal's return once you arrive in the city, I'll let you borrow the horse."

"You don't have another carriage? Or a cart even? That you could drive for me?"

"Afraid not, monsieur."

"How far from Vernon are we?"

"About six kilometers or so."

"Do you have any neighbors who might have a carriage?"

The woman made a demonstration out of looking around. There was nothing anywhere except for a broken-down train.

"Afraid not, monsieur."

"A bicycle?"

"No, monsieur."

"Any other sort of conveyance besides a horse?"

"Not today, monsieur. But our son will be back with our wagon tomorrow. Coming from Vernon, in fact. And there's always the chance that someone will come by on the road."

"You're welcome to stay here with us until we can get you off." The woman offered, not unkindly. "I can make coffee."

Antoine knew how to ride a horse in theory. He'd taken riding lessons as a boy like all upper-class youths did. But after being bitten by an ornery stallion at the equestrian club stables, his skittishness hardened into something more like fear or hateful tolerance. He didn't trust horses. Dogs and cats, he could manage and predict with some authority, but horses were not his animal. They were dangerously large. Each one had a mind of its own and an expressionless face that revealed nothing. But could he really let that stand in the way of his mission? He'd made it through a treacherous course in wilderness survival. His clothes were ruined. But the sense of urgency within him hadn't eased off through any of it. As nice and hospitable as these folks surely were, Antoine needed to carry on. There was no messenger for him to send, no cab to hail or servant to summon. A horse ride might take thirty minutes. He could be in Charlotte's arms in no time. They could be back in Paris tonight.

"Damnit. I'll take the horse." Antoine fisted his hands. "I'll pay you for the trouble, and believe me, I have no intention of keeping the beast."

In no time, the farmer had the gray horse saddled and standing ready in the drive.

"Don't worry. I know how to ride a horse," Antoine said, though no one had asked.

"A gentleman such as yourself, monsieur, I assumed so."

"It's just been a while, is all."

"Don't worry, monsieur. It's like swimming. Once you learn, you can't unlearn it. Diablo here is a fine horse. Very easy to manage. I trust him to get you there." The man patted the horse's haunch and the animal flinched.

Antoine took a step back. "Does he bite?"

"Not unless necessary." The farmer laughed. "Just follow this road into the town center."

Antoine shuddered, accepting his fate. Then he put his hands on the saddle. The animal shifted its weight. Antoine took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he raised his muddy foot into the stirrup, stepped up, and slung his other leg over. Shifting onto the saddle, his heart thumped in his chest. His hands were sweating in his filthy gloves. Again, the animal shifted under him. Antoine's stomach dipped like the earth was spinning off course. But Diablo didn't buck or bolt or throw him off. The horse knew what to do, even if Antoine was not so sure.

He gave the steed a gentle squeeze with his legs and Diablo started forward. Antoine waved and thanked the people as he and his mount trotted out onto the road and headed toward Vernon, toward Charlotte. After several minutes of trotting, he cued the horse into a canter and they were off, to Antoine's dismay.

With each step, the animal surged under him, warm and alive and terrifying with its strength. Antoine was wildly uncomfortable. His wet, filthy shoe only amplified it. He would give anything for a hot bath, clean clothes, and enclosed carriage. Not that he wasn't grateful to Diablo. He told the horse several times during the ride that, if he could just get him to his destination this one time, he would never ride another horse again for as long as he lived.

The horse's feet thumped with sickening power on the ground underneath them. And before long, the green landscape gave way to clusters of houses outside town.

When they were coming over a bridge, the horse came down hard enough to knock Antoine's hat from his head. He'd carried it so carefully from Paris, and it was his newest hat, so he stopped the horse and circled back to grab it. It took a moment for Antoine to overcome his hesitation about getting off the horse. Anything could happen if he dismounted—Diablo could take off and get away. Antoine might not be able to get back on the saddle for any number of reasons. It seemed safer to stay mounted where he was. But he really didn't want to leave that hat. Just as he stepped down and found his footing, the horse stepped back onto his hat and crushed it flat. When Antoine threw a frustrated fist at the sky, the horse flinched and whinnied ominously. But the animal didn't protest when Antoine mounted him again.

Aside from that minor delay, the horse got him to the Central Vernon Bookshop on Rue Carnot in downtown Vernon. But Antoine was so out of breath when he arrived that he may as well have run there himself. He managed to dismount and tie up the horse, and then Antoine collapsed flat onto the sidewalk with relief. They'd made it six kilometers, but the trip had done nothing to reduce his fear of horses. Absolutely nothing.

The bookshop loomed over him. It was a tall, narrow building with a pretty storefront and painted sign. Charlotte could be in there right now. Or upstairs where she lived with her family. The sun came out from behind a cloud and flashed in Antoine's eyes. She was so close. A woman approached, then gasped and swerved away from Antoine in a wide arc. Vernon was a quiet town, and not many people were on the street. But they apparently weren't used to filthy well-dressed men washing up on horseback. Antoine, remembering his manners, stood up in a hurry and brushed himself off. He was so dirty it didn't matter.

He might be able to find a hotel and get cleaned up, but he'd still have to wear his dirty clothes. So Antoine went inside the shop to see if she was there.

The walls were lined with shelves of books, and a counter sat to the left of the door. Charlotte wasn't there, but a handsome woman who looked like an older version of her was. She was alone and looked up when he stepped toward her. She smiled at him, and Antoine extended his hand and introduced himself.

"I'm looking for Charlotte Deveraux. I'm her friend. I've come from Paris."

"I'm sorry, monsieur. But Charlotte isn't here." She was looking at him harder now, taking in the spectacle of his dishevelment. "But you're welcome to wait for her. She's gone out with friends but shouldn't be long."

The bookshop and this woman were perfectly welcoming, but Antoine had never felt more out of place in his life. Not because he was in a bookshop in Vernon and not Paris. But he'd stepped into Charlotte's life. Her real life. Something that existed, until this moment, completely without him. And the weight of his actions fully settled on him while he was standing there, wishing he were clean. They really were from two different worlds. "I would like that very much, if you don't mind, madame. And please forgive my appearance. I started on a train, and it was all very civilized. But the last leg of my journey here was something more akin to that of a cowboy."

Though she made a face like she was trying to hold it in, the woman laughed aloud at that. And Antoine laughed too.

"I'm not kidding. My horse is right out there. And I'm not sure I'll ever be the same."

She laughed even harder and then apologized. "Come with me, I'll get you some coffee. And we'll see about getting some water for your horse. I'm Charlotte's mother, by the way."

Antoine followed her up the stairs in the back of the shop to the family's home, where he met Charlotte's father and brother. Despite Antoine's apprehensions about being rude or indecent, Madame Deveraux insisted that he remove his wet sock and shoe so they could dry on the hearth. Then they all sat around the kitchen table and had coffee together. And it wasn't long before he felt completely at home. That was until, nearly two hours later, the sounds of Charlotte entering the shop downstairs and calling out a cheerful bonjour carried up to the kitchen, and Antoine's heart began to race anew.