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How fortuitous! My master and I landed just in time to witness a wedding that had taken over much of the town's main thoroughfare. Monsieur Fogg blinked at being invited to join the festivities, but after I did my best to persuade him with my eyes, he relented. Now that we were no longer trying to win a wager, my master was more open to properly enjoying the places we visited.
As we observed the dancing, we sipped a fermented beverage that the families of the happy couple had graciously shared with us. I found it quite agreeable, and based on how little was left in my master's cup, he must have thought the same.
"Do you think you will ever marry, Monsieur?" I asked idly.
"I would not bet on it," he answered in a deadpan, the smallest lift of an eyebrow the only outward reflection of his little joke.
"Why not?" Monsieur Fogg was not yet forty, handsome, and, especially after we had won our bet on our first mad dash around the world, comfortably established. Despite his reserved nature, he had attracted the attention of several ladies on our journeys. (And, I strongly suspected, some men as well.) To their collective chagrin, he had largely ignored them.
"I…" He paused, and I feared that I had gravely overstepped — in public, no less!
"My apologies, Monsieur, that was impertinent of me!"
The corner of my master's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Thankfully, I have grown accustomed to having an impertinent valet. It is just that I have come to an unexpected realization about my…er…experiences with love." However, he did not elaborate.
Not until that evening, that is, when I helped remove his jacket in our hotel room. "When I was little more than a boy, I met a woman little more than a girl." He did not meet my eyes.
"What was the difficulty, Monsieur?" I asked encouragingly, removing his necktie and unbuttoning his collar. It was rather unusual for my master to share personal anecdotes, so this was a rare treat.
There was a flash of piercing blue that caught me unawares before he returned to staring at the far wall. "She was a servant. At my club."
I swallowed, and began to undo the cuff of his right sleeve.
"At the time, I thought she was happy to receive my affections, but now I am not so sure. Our stations were not equal, and I fear…" He trailed off, and let out a sigh. "She disappeared one day, without warning."
The left cuff was giving me trouble. "Did you try to find her?"
He shook his head slightly. "I did not think that she wished to be found. The head housekeeper told me she resigned of her own volition."
Monsieur Fogg began unfastening the rest of his buttons himself, and it was my turn to look away.
Not having to face him restored some of my courage, and I decided to press my luck. "Would you have married her, if she had stayed?" It would have been a scandal, but it was not entirely outside the realm of possibility. (A valet asking his master such a question was also a scandal, but after many months together in close quarters, I allowed myself the liberty.)
There was a pregnant pause in which I scarcely dared to breathe. "I do not know," Monsieur Fogg finally admitted. "It is not something I am proud of."
I considered all our adventures. While my master was upon occasion small-minded — this was improving with time — in general, he conducted himself with honor. He was a complicated man, but not a bad one.
"And has there been no one else?" I inquired, partly out of curiosity, and partly to allow Monsieur Fogg to change the subject from his youthful indiscretion if he so desired.
"I do not want to take advantage," he said firmly. "Not again."
I was ready to object that surely that didn't preclude all of his options for romance, but Monsieur Fogg let out an exaggerated yawn and I followed his cue.
"You must be tired, Monsieur." Flying was exhilarating but could be exhausting depending on the particular airship, and our latest transport was not built for luxury. Immediately attending a wedding reception had also not been on our original agenda.
"You must be too." He gave me the smallest of tight smiles before retiring. "Sleep well, Passepartout. See you in the morning?"
I nodded — as if there would ever be a day when he didn't — and found my own bed. It didn't occur to me until I was trying to sleep that my master had never actually explained the nature of his little epiphany, but I supposed he was entitled to his secrets.