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Aramis hesitated as they turned to follow d’Artagnan. He'd seen that look in a husband's eyes before—the look currently clouding Bonacieux's visage. It bespoke a small man whose pride had been wounded and needed to reassert its superiority. Most often, in Aramis’s experience, the result spelled pain for a wife—bruises, at the least, but sometimes broken bones, or worse. It was a husband's right, of course, to deal with his wife as he pleased (short of murder.) That didn’t mean that Aramis had to like it, though, especially when the wife was Constance.
He hadn't known her long, certainly not long enough to claim to know her well. Still, Aramis felt an ever growing respect and admiration for her feisty spirit, her strong will, and her quick wits. He hated the idea of any of that being dimmed because they had upset Bonacieux and then her left to his mercy.
His duty at this moment, though, was to protect d’Artagnan. Something he was reminded of as the shouts of Red Guardsmen rang through the streets, followed by the sound of gunshot. Worry for d’Artagnan pushing aside all other concerns, Aramis raced after his brothers in search of their young spy.
They found him in an alley just a few streets away, bodies of Red Guardsmen strewn about his feet. It was impressive—taking on the soldiers by himself and coming out the unscathed victor—but Aramis didn’t waste time remarking on it. Now that the immediate threat to d’Artagnan had passed, concern for Constance began to creep back to the forefront of his thoughts.
Aramis tried to ignore the growing knot of worry as he and Athos took care of the dead Guardsmen, but once that task was completed, he found himself twitching with the need to check on Constance. Perhaps he was wrong about Bonacieux—Aramis dearly hoped he had misjudged the man; he could not rest this night without being certain, however.
“Can you manage Treville without me,” he asked Athos, smiling only a little at the raised eyebrow he received in response. “I’ve some urgent business to attend to,” he explained, keeping it vague for the sake of being politic. There was no need, after all, to alarm anyone else when it was entirely possible the threat was purely imagined. And even if it isn’t, I do not think Constance would appreciate her private affairs being made public.
Athos rolled his eyes, but simply nodded his reluctant assent, before disappearing down the street in the direction of the garrison. Aramis waited a minute before turning back toward Bonacieux’s, just in case Athos’s curiosity got the better of him, and then hurriedly retraced his steps.
He slowed as he neared the house. It was late; Aramis didn’t want to disturb the couple if they had retired to bed. The house remained as lit up as it had been when they departed, though, so he decided one of them, at least, was still awake. All the same, he approached the door as silently as possible, listening for any sounds of disturbance. He heard none and paused uncertainly outside the door.
What if I am wrong? I will be disturbing them, AGAIN, for naught, he considered. But then, what if I am right? I may only make it worse for her by interfering. Aramis sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. No, I cannot leave until I am certain we have not put her in harm’s way.
With his resolve solidified, Aramis knocked. Constance answered the door, and he frowned, despite his intention to smile politely; the red marks on her cheeks were barely visible in the flickering light, but were plain enough to searching eyes.
“Aramis? What has happened?” he heard her ask, sounding alarmed, and he pulled his attention away from her cheeks to meet her eyes. They were filled with worry. She heard the shot, and now I am at her door looking grim. I’ll have her thinking d’Artagnan is dead in a moment.
Aramis managed a smile, then, trying for both charming and polite. “Your pardon, Con...Madame Bonacieux," he corrected, as Bonacieux came out to see to whom Constance was speaking. “Nothing of note has happened. I did not mean to alarm you.”
His smile fell away as Bonacieux charged up behind his wife, chin high and feathers ruffled, and demanded, “What do you want, now?”
“I bed your pardon, Monsieur,” Aramis offered, with a bow and a flourish of his hat. “If I may...” he hinted, and Constance shifted to allow him entrance.
“Well...” prodded Bonacieux, once Constance had closed the door behind the Musketeer. He tapped his foot when an answer was slow in coming.
Aramis, though, would not be rushed. I must be certain not say anything that will make the situation worse; yet he must be made aware that this will not be tolerated... He watched his own foot tap the floor once, before settling on an approach and looking up to meet Bonacieux’s impatient glare.
“I have come to apologize,” he explained. “My companions and I were remiss in our duty, being forced to depart before properly concluding our business here. Let me say how wretched we feel for quite unintentionally and most unfortunately involving you and your gracious wife in this complicated affair. I assure you, on my honor as a musketeer, that it will all be explained to your satisfaction once matters have been fully settled. In the meantime....,” Aramis paused a moment, uncertainly, but then pushed forward. “I wanted to be certain that you send word to the garrison should your entanglement in all this business cause you any trouble that might endanger your health or security in any way,” He shifted his gaze from Bonacieux to look directly at Constance. Catching her eye, he glance at the lingering redness on her cheek, then back into her eyes again, and could see she knew what he had seen when he added, “I assure you, we are at your service night or day, should the need for protection arise.”
“I should think so,” huffed Bonacieux. He opened his mouth to say more, but Aramis shifted his eyes upward and met Bonacieux’s gaze unflinchingly, then flicked his eyes back to Constance’s cheeks, before returning his gaze to her husband, with a the look in his eyes that was cold and threatening. The glower quickly cowered the peacock, and Bonacieux's shoulders wilted. “Fine, then,” he stated, somewhat meekly, but then his chin rose again, and he added, “You’ve passed on your message. Now if you would not mind, it is late...” He waved an arm grandiosely toward the door. “Constance, show the man out.”
Bonacieux bowed slightly, remembering his manners, but did not wait for a reply before turning his back to them and departing the room with a sharp slam of a door.
Constance smiled apologetically at the rudeness, before following Aramis to the door. “I should apologize...”
“Do not apologize for him, Constance,” Aramis interjected. “He is a grown man, and so responsible for his own behavior.”
Constance dipped her head, but said nothing.
“Are you alright?” Aramis asked, one finger softly caressing the fading red blotch upon her cheek. Constance raised her eyes to meet his as she gently pulled his hand down.
“I am alright,” she confirmed. “Though I admit I feel somewhat badly now for my treatment of you earlier...”
Aramis smiled at the reference to being slapped not once, but twice, by her that day. “I assure, Madame, no lasting damage was done.”
Constance smiled wanly. “And I can say the same,” she assured. “Truly!” she added, as his glance shifted again to her cheeks.
Aramis nodded. “I shall bid you adieu, then, Madame,” he bade, with a bow and extravagant flourish of his hat.
Constance caught his sleeve, though, as he turned to go. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Any time, night or day, Constance,” replied Aramis. He waited until she nodded before pulling away; then turned back toward the garrison.
The end.