Upon A Time

Chapter Thirteen

Thomas escorted Charlotte back, and then headed home for some much needed rest, though he doubted he would sleep much this night.

The sight awaiting Charlotte when she opened the door was one that stopped her where she stood.

Julien was out of bed. He was wearing one of her father’s dressing gowns, sitting in a chair by the kitchen fire. Before him was an empty bowl and a glass of wine. He held a piece of bread in his good hand and appeared to be eating with a healthy appetite as Charlotte’s parents looked on approvingly.

“My, what is this?” she said, smiling as she hung her shawl up on the hook by the door. “Our guest is finally moving about? Father, however did you manage it?”

“It seems Julien’s strength has increased greatly in the last few days, which is a relief and a joy to see,” Walter replied, hoisting his glass toward Julien as if to toast. “It was with but minimal assistance and the new crutch I procured for him that he was able to make it from your bed to the table.”

“Remarkable. I am so happy for you, Julien.”

“I hope to begin walking up and down the halls in the house. I know that it is too dangerous still for me to be seen out of doors,” Julien replied, before taking a sip of his wine. The halls of their house consisted of one short, narrow passage that led to the two small bedrooms; the walk would have to be monotonous and often repeated to gain him any real exercise. Still, Charlotte was overjoyed he was so much improved.

“Eat something, Charlotte, you must be hungry,” her mother entreated, gesturing toward the pot suspended above the fire.

Charlotte looked at the small gathering before her, and thought better of beginning any sort of serious discussion tonight. The hour grew late, it would have to wait until morning. “No, thank you, I could not. I am actually quite tired, I was thinking I should sleep. If His Highness feels that he can be left alone for a few hours’ time now…”

“Are you feeling all right?” Walter asked, concerned. “You look quite pale, Charlotte.”

“It is only tiredness, Father, I will be fine after a good night’s rest.”

“It’s been a while since you have had one, and that is all down to me,” Julien said, as a puzzled expression crossed his face and he suddenly realized something. “I have been sleeping in your bed, haven’t I?”

“Of course,” Charlotte replied, “We have only the two rooms, where else were we to put you?”

“But then, where have you slept?”

Charlotte felt color and heat rising to her face. “I have done just fine out here by the fire. Some nights I sleep in the barn.”

“The barn!” Julien sat up straighter in his chair, appearing overwhelmed. “I won’t hear of it. Tonight I shall sleep in the kitchen, or the barn. You shall have your bed back, Charlotte.”

“I must object,” Walter said, raising a hand. “Your honor is admirable, but you are still at risk of infection, and I insist you remain in the house and in that bed. Perhaps I was foolish to give you that liberating stick so soon?” He gestured toward the wooden crutch leaning against the wall behind Julien.

“It’s all right, Julien,” Charlotte whispered, self-conscious now as Julien’s gaze never seemed to leave her for a second. “I’ve suffered no harm from sleeping in another place. One does what one must.”

“You’ve done an awful lot for me.”

The pair stared at each other, and suddenly, Marie Rousseau tugged upon her husband’s sleeve. “I am tired, Walter, and I know you are exhausted as well. Shall we retire?”