Not for the first time, Belle thought of the enchantress who had cursed Lio and she felt rage simmer in her gut. He had been a boy left alone in the world, wounded and angry, and the enchantress saw fit to punish him for it. But Belle and Lio had grown accustomed to dancing around the topic of the curse, so she said nothing.
Silence stretched between them as they came to a stop at the largest hôtel particulier she had seen yet. One would be forgiven for thinking they had left Paris proper and emerged at a country estate. Once they cleared the immense gate, they arrived at a vast courtyard of smooth, pale pink stone. Artfully pruned shrubs and small trees were dotted throughout, mingling with the Grecian statues that lined the perimeter and the thick Romanesque columns that supported the home itself. It was absurdly ostentatious even on a street full of magnificent homes. But Belle could hardly judge such extravagance now that she herself lived in a castle.
Lio gently shook Lumière awake. The maître d’hôtel swallowed a snore that became a yawn. “We’re here already?”
“That’s what happens when you sleep through a journey, my friend.”
“Ah, but sleep was my only respite from the constant declarations of undying love.” Lumière winked and then hopped out of the carriage to begin attending to their luggage, a task he had taken upon himself from the start, despite their insistence that they could more than manage it themselves.
Belle stepped down from the carriage, emerging into the oppressive heat of the sun, and was struck by how much warmer the summer was in Paris. Aveyon’s forests and mountains kept the temperature in the kingdom relatively mild no matter the season. The seasons in this part of France, by contrast, could vary wildly. She knew that the kingdom had just experienced a harsh winter, and the droughts of the year before had left France’s farmers to contend with failing crops and hungry bellies.
Liveried men stood guard between the columns, perspiring in their thick uniforms under the hot sun.
“Surely this level of protection isn’t necessary for a duc so heavily ensconced in the safety of Saint-Germain?”
Lio looked to the guards and sighed. “No doubt Bastien uses them as a show of his status.”
Belle paused. “I must say he sounds lovely.”
Lio grinned. “If you look past the arrogance and superiority, he’s quite charming.” He pulled her close to him. “Just remember, I was once as wretched as my dear cousin, and you still managed to fall in love with me.”
“Be careful, I might take my chances with the duc.”
“Good luck with that,” said Lio, nudging her gaze to the townhome’s front door. Emerging from within was a man who could only be the duc de Vincennes. He cast a wealthy figure: His wig was curled and powdered the same pale white as his skin, ruffled lace cuffs poked out of his salmon velvet overcoat, an elaborately embroidered collar reached high up his neck, and his gray knee breeches gave way to cream-colored socks and ended in a heeled leather boot. He carried a walking stick with a carved ivory handle as he clattered down the stairs to greet them, his jeweled rings glinting in the sunlight.
“Dearest cousin,” he called out to Lio, removing his cocked hat. “Welcome to my humble abode. It has been a long while since we’ve been graced by the presence of a prince.” His tone was just sarcastic enough to suggest he thought Lio’s title to be a great joke. By then, Belle and Lio had reached him on the steps. “And this must be your bride. I must say, her name hardly does her justice.” He reached a hand out for Belle’s and brought it to his lips. She could see that he was fine-looking underneath all the paint and artifice.
She resisted the urge to withdraw quickly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bastien.”
His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered and placed his hat back upon his head. “And you, Belle.” She could hear the absence of the title he would have said if she had not addressed him so. He thought it an insult to be informal with her, but she preferred it that way. He gestured with his cane to Lumière and their coachman and frowned slightly. “How odd that you’ve come without a retinue, Cousin. We were expecting a crowd.” He pulled at his collar and squinted up at the sun. “No matter. Shall we get out of the heat? Perhaps some champagne to cool us?”
“Can we beg the same for our companions?” Belle asked.
Bastien paused as if he didn’t understand the question. He looked to Lio, who merely smiled. “If you insist,” Bastien said. Belle was surprised, but she understood that the way they did things in Aveyon might not be how things were done in Paris. She looked to Lumière, who shook his head at her as if to say she shouldn’t even bother, but she wasn’t about to back down from the idea that everyone in her employ be treated with respect.
The duc signaled to one of his servants to help Lumière with their luggage. The maître d’hôtel turned to them and bowed low, his movements fluid and graceful.
“Unless you need anything else from me, I have a whole city of dishes to sample,” he announced with both a signature flourish of his hand and a mischievous wink.
“Enjoy, Lumière,” said Belle.
Bastien looked at them, struggling to understand their dynamic before giving up. He then guided Lio and Belle into his palatial townhome, and Belle was immediately struck by the interior. She had heard tell of mythical Versailles, and from what she could see, it seemed Bastien was doing his best to emulate France’s monument to extravagance. Everything was gilded—from the furniture to the light fixtures to the crown moldings. The walls were covered with mirrors and portraits and wall hangings of richly stitched brocade, and a liveried servant stood at every threshold, ready to open the door and dip into an efficient bow. Bastien led them on a tour through the labyrinthine home, each room grander than the one before, pointing out which tables had been procured by Bastien’s mother from Madame de Pompadour, explaining the differences between Greek- and rocaille-style furniture, and pausing to insist that they appreciate the gilded laurel garlands on what he called a Riesener original cabinet.
“He’s Marie Antoinette’s favorite ébéniste,” he told them, waiting for them to be sufficiently awed and impressed, and tutting when they did not appreciate it enough. “His pieces are notoriously difficult to come by. This cost a fair deal more than I am willing to admit,” he added, by way of explanation.
Lio let out a low whistle that Belle recognized as an attempt at placation. She swallowed a laugh as they continued on through the halls.
Belle quickly fell behind as she studied the frescoed ceilings, the intricate crystal chandeliers, and the innumerable marble statues. She had thought Lio’s castle back in Aveyon the height of opulence, even when it had fallen into disrepair. But all it had on Bastien’s home was its size; the duc’s residence won in every other respect.
It took her a few false turns to find Lio and Bastien again. They had come to rest in something of a parlor, perhaps an office, though the duc did not strike her as someone particularly married to his work. The walls were lined with bookcases, and a large mahogany desk sat heavy in the center of the room. Bastien was over by a cart bursting with bottles of liquor, pouring champagne into thin flutes. He offered one to Belle when she joined them, and she took it out of a sense of politeness. He turned back to pour one for Lio and began to speak.