Where the Light Falls(49)

André’s cheeks flushed with heat. “I know that your uncle told you my full name. We were forced to change it when my father was denounced.”

Sophie nodded as she considered this, licking lips that had been stained a light purple. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper: “But surely memories aren’t that short. Don’t people know who you really are?”

André replied in a hushed voice, “This uniform has been a shield, so far. Remy and I will be serving in the army, willingly, until the day that all of this madness has been sorted.”

Sophie folded her hands on the table between them, letting out a long, slow exhale.

“Speaking of soldiers,” André continued. “Your uncle, the great General Murat…” André rested his chin on his propped elbows. “How is it that someone like you could share the same blood as someone like him?”

Sophie flashed half a smile but didn’t censure André for the slur against her uncle. “He was my mother’s brother. You know he was a count, the Comte de Custine, before he renounced the title?”

André nodded.

“That is how it was even possible for someone like me to marry the Comte de Vincennes. My mother was, at one point, nobility.”

“Was your mother like him?”

“Not in any way, neither appearance nor demeanor.” Sophie paused, and André let her sit in the silence of her memory. When she continued, her voice was quiet, and she seemed years younger. “I didn’t know my mother well, as she died when I was a little girl. But I do remember thinking that she reminded me of the angels I read about in my catechism.”

As do you, André thought to himself.

“I’m not sure who Uncle Nico resembles.” Sophie drained the rest of her wineglass. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked up at André, her blue eyes sad. “But as my mother is gone, I’ll never be able to ask.”

“I’m not sure whom he scares more—his enemies or his own men,” André confessed.

“He certainly has that effect on people.” She smiled, accepting a refill of wine from the waiter. The crowd throughout the tavern had begun to thicken, and bodies drifted closer to their table, filling up the empty space beside their banquette.

André agreed. “I doubt any man would willingly take on General Murat.” Lost in these troubled thoughts, André was shaken out of his daydream when he caught a pair of uniformed soldiers enter through the front of the café. He realized, with a stab of panic, that it was Remy and LaSalle, accompanied by two pretty, young women. Remy’s eyes had landed on the two of them, sitting together in the back, and he waved, marching with his companions through the crowds toward their table.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is my brother actually dining in the presence of a woman? And a very pretty one, at that.” Remy made an exaggerated bow, lifting Sophie’s hand to his lips. “Citizeness.” He flashed a dazzling smile at Sophie before turning to André. “Big brother, hello.”

“Hello, Remy,” André said, his jaw clenched. “LaSalle.”

“So I see you’ve found her at last?” Remy smirked at them, looping his arm around the waist of his date. “The elusive beauty from the Jacobin ball.”

André, the impatience and irritation apparent in his voice, replied, “And we were just about to have dinner, Remy, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Perfect. Surely a good idea that we eat before we drink any more.” With that, Remy pulled up two chairs for the ladies and slid his body into the booth beside Sophie. LaSalle sat down beside André, who felt as though he might groan in frustration. But, to his relief, Sophie did not seem upset by this development. In fact, based on the way she smiled across the table at André, she seemed amused.

“I did not hear your names.” Sophie turned to the two ladies who accompanied LaSalle and Remy. “I’m Sophie.”

“Please excuse my terrible manners, ladies. Sophie, please meet Captain LaSalle’s date, the beautiful Henriette. And this here”—Remy took the hand of the girl seated nearest to him—“is Celine.” Turning his gaze back toward his brother, Remy said: “Celine is a ballerina.”

“A ballerina!” Sophie remarked, smiling delightedly.

“That’s right. I call her Celine la ballerine.” Remy leaned over and kissed his date, a pretty woman with thick black hair and hazel eyes. “To have Celine, and my brother, and my brother’s…friend…all together. This calls for a celebration. Raspail!” Remy called over the waiter. “A bottle of wine for my brother and his lovely companion.” Turning back to André, Remy asked: “You will join me in a drink, brother, won’t you?”