The Perfumer's Secret by Fiona McIntosh Page B

to our children; I certainly looked forward to being a mother and that couldn’t happen if my husband was off to war, and might be injured, maimed, killed. He might never be able to father children, which meant I’d be left with him in a dry, barren marriage.
    Again, I was making this about me, I realised, and admonished myself. My father would be ashamed to listen in on my selfish thoughts, which now quickly rearranged themselves to focus on what was truly important.
    Felix might be hurt . . . Henri too. They could be killed: a stray bullet, an unlucky shell, disease, starvation . . . If I could take back all my sourness and loathing of today, I would. If absorbing it, reliving today with a smile and glad heart might change this evening, I would accept that burden in a heartbeat and romp into bed with Aimery, if it meant the declaration of war might change.
    Why was I bargaining like this? What a useless waste of energy.
    After stopping various staff, I found my husband in the side courtyard delivering brisk orders to the youngest stablehand. ‘Aimery?’ My voice was noticeably tender and I could see him register it as new from the way he swung around.
    He gave the reins over to the nearby stable lad and strode up to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. I can’t say I felt affection, but this was a step up from earlier. I was in a neutral state with my affections but my emotions were escalating. It meant I couldn’t find the right words for this moment. What was I supposed to say? Lie and tell him I would miss him? Or remain impartial and utter placations like ‘Stay safe’? My hesitation left it to Aimery to fill the awkward pause.
    ‘I have to change into uniform and leave, Fleurette. We’re gathering at the barracks but leaving in the early hours and we have plenty to organise in between now and then. My
fascicule de mobilisation
strictly requires me to leave.’ He pulled a watch from his fob pocket.
    Perhaps I gave a look of doubt.
    ‘As an officer,’ he reinforced, ‘I set the example. Imagine how it looks when their superior leaves on his wedding night; it shows my commitment and will inspire them to follow their duty as rigorously.’
    How heroic, I heard myself in bitter thoughts. This was clearly about how he might appear and how he might inflate a legend around himself. Nevertheless it saved me from what I most feared. He was waiting for me to say something. I blinked. ‘You’re riding to the barracks?’ Nothing quite so irritating as stating the obvious.
    But Aimery was more caught up in his courageous act. ‘No coach drivers,’ he qualified.
    And it will look so brave, of course, I thought, if you arrive at the station urgently, cantering loudly across the cobbles on your steed, having deserted your marital bed on your wedding night. ‘Monsieur Blanc has packed for you,’ I blurted. ‘He seemed to know what he was doing.’
    Aimery gave a wolfish grin. ‘Froze you out, did he?’
    I shrugged. ‘It’s his world. I’ve only just arrived. Best I let everyone get used to me.’
    ‘Wise girl,’ he admitted and kissed the top of my head.
    Curiously, I found that show of affection more endearing than anything Aimery had ever said or done. While none of his theatrical exhibitions of today had impressed me, this simple, private peck felt sincere.
    ‘Aimery . . . ’
    He waited.
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘The war —’ he began.
    ‘I don’t mean the war. I’m sorry that I’ve been’ — I wondered what the right word was — ‘reluctant,’ I settled on. ‘I wish I could change it, but . . . ’
    He seemed to understand and pulled me close. I wanted to feel love – even a trickle of fondness might have helped in this moment – but I felt nothing other than relief that I didn’t have to lie naked beneath him tonight.
    ‘I don’t plan on getting killed, Fleurette, so let’s start again when we can. We’re married. No one can take that away.’
    ‘The civil ceremony