Favorite Things

"I thought I just might find you here."

Clarisse startled, caught in what was very nearly a schlump, with her head down and her back bowed forward over her clasped hands.

(She did not notice the way Joseph's eyes traveled the graceful line of her neck, the supple curving of her spine; nor did she realize she was incapable of schlumping, looking instead like a ballerina in repose.)

She had felt alone - truly alone, not the illusion of solitude that Joseph tried to create for her, which she conceded was a sort of luxury in and of itself. He was generous with that faux alone-ness, often giving her more space than his job description technically allowed.

She straightened up and smoothed the layers of her filmy blue gown, only to have the late evening breeze ruffle them again. He was moving toward her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his presence; she blinked and his form took firmer shape in the dimness. The light from the palace was in remnants by the time it reached the gazebo, and there were festive lanterns in the gardens, but mostly it was moonlight and starlight and a warm glow that she would have sworn came from the man who was always dressed for the shadows.

Clarisse smiled, hoping it reached her eyes. From the wary expression he wore, she guessed it didn't. "Did you? Er, think you would find me here, that is?"

"No." He frowned. "It pains me to admit it, but I looked in quite a few other places for you first."

She laughed then, and was pleased it sounded real to her own ears. She had certainly felt it come from someplace secure and untarnished inside herself. The smiling was easier after that. Joseph took the spot next to her on the bench and gave her his own, almost shy smile.

"Bit chilly, isn't it?" He moved to take off his jacket, but she stopped him.

"I'm fine."

"You're not cold?"

"No. It's cool out here, but it's nice. It was rather warm in the drawing room."

He started to say something, then cleared his throat only to lapse into silence. He was waiting for her to speak. He wouldn't tread on her quietude any sooner than she wanted him to.

Joseph. Dear Joseph. He had treated her so carefully since Rupert had passed away. Surely, their years together had left no doubt in either of them as to the nature of their feelings for each other, but he hadn't pushed, hadn't pried, hadn't tried to insinuate himself in her grief. He had given her a different sort of space this past month, and she had been endlessly grateful for it. But she had missed him, too. Nothing was safer or more comforting than his easy presence, his conversation, his companionable silence.

Dear Joseph. Profound joy and deep despair mixed together, and she forgot herself for a moment, almost reached out to him to touch his face.

Too soon for a gesture that meant too many things.

She swallowed and it hurt. Her voice was husky when she spoke.

"Did they send you to look for me then?"

He shook his head. "They'll want you soon, when they're ready to leave."

"Still in the drawing room?"

"Yes. After dinner drinks. Mostly coffee and tea."

"How tame. Dinner was hardly the indulgent affair Rupert's ball always was."

"Quieter, to be sure. The Princes did an admirable job."

Indeed they had - the Crown Prince and the Priest. They had insisted a small affair would not be in bad taste. Clarisse had relented, if for no other reason than it prolonged the time she had with them under one roof again. Her heart was lighter every time she came across them with their heads together, comparing notes and arguing amiably as they ironed out the details of her birthday dinner.

Losing Rupert seemed to make her love their boys even more, and sharpened her sense of dread at Pierre's impending departure. Everyone she loved most felt too far away in one sense or another, and she wanted nothing more than to gather them close to her.

"Yes, an admirable job. The occasion of the Queen's birthday has been observed."

Joseph gave her a pointed look. "As well it should be."

"Our enemies would have balked gleefully at anything more."

"King Rupert - may he rest in peace - would have been appalled at anything less."

Clarisse laughed quietly, a soft, breathy sound. "He would have been. Probably is. Pierre and Philippe might be haunted for this. No dancing, no drunken parliament members, no gifts."

"Actually." Joseph fidgeted for a moment before reaching into his pocket.

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You know you didn't have to. You never have to," she lied.

"Of course, I don't have to," he lied back.

He did have to. He couldn't help himself, and Clarisse was glad her protests always went unheeded. Joseph's gifts were the best gifts - never too big or boastful, never too small or thoughtless. Only ever just right.

But most of all, there was a smile he wore when he gave her something, proud and sure without being presumptuous. He enjoyed giving her things she didn't have, and she relished receiving things she hadn't known she'd been missing.

He opened his hand to reveal a small vial and held it out for her. She took it from him and eyed it curiously. In the pale light of the moon and the distant glow of lanterns, she saw it was clear, cut glass sealed with a simple silver cap.

"One of my sisters has a hobby," he explained. "She makes perfume."

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed softly. She removed the lid and was immediately met with the aroma, delicate but defined, of the concoction. "Oh, it's lovely. It's -" Clarisse paused to analyze the layers of scent, and as she recognized each one, it gently but firmly brought with it light memories and feelings of nostalgia.

"Bergamot?"

"Yes."

"Lavender."

"I believe so."

She placed her fingertip over the top of the vial and tilted it until she felt the liquid kiss her skin. Carefully, she replaced the cap before dabbing the perfume to the inside of her wrist where its last scent bloomed unmistakably. She smiled. "Roses," she stated with confidence.

"Roses," he confirmed.

She brought her wrist to her nose and inhaled slowly. "Some of my favorite things," she murmured.

"What a coincidence. They are mine as well."

His voice roughed the words enticingly. She looked at him and saw his jaw was tight, his eyes shimmering darkly.

"Are they?" she breathed, quickly turning back to study the vial as though it contained the antidote for all her emotional turmoil - grief at the loss of her best friend and partner in royalty; an ache to see her sons move on compounded by wanting to keep them where they were; desire to no longer keep the man she loved at arm's length.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You are all my favorite things, Clarisse."

He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. It took the chill out of the air around her and in her, and soothed her troubled thoughts.

She asked, even though there was no way he could know all her question encompassed. "Everything will be alright, won't it?"

He considered the question, chose his words carefully. "Sometimes," he told her honestly. "Not always. But no matter what happens, there will always be a time when things are right again. And right or wrong, there will never be a time when I am not with you."

She ran her thumb along the glass, warmed first from resting near him in his pocket, now sheltered in her hand from exposure to the cool breeze. "If I should lose you, Joseph -"

"You will not," he vowed.

She very well could. Not even Joseph, who regarded his position as one entrusted with the most sacred of duties, could promise otherwise. But he sounded so sure of it, she decided to believe him, to be buoyed up by his determined faith. She looked over, and the words she needed to thank him caught in her throat.

His eyes shone with the certainty of what existed between them, and she saw she had been right before: it was no illusion that the space around him seemed brighter.

Darkness is not dark for you. The words sprang to her mind in her older son's voice, something comforting from the homily he had given - had insisted he give - at his father's funeral.

The words Clarisse and Joseph had never said, that they had guarded in the secret spaces in their hearts, were forming on Joseph's lips. Clarisse moved in to collect them directly on her own.

Not too much, but just enough. That's how Joseph's gifts always were.

And still too soon, but life was fleeting and Rupert would have wanted her birthday to be perfect.

For the moment, everything was right.

The "darkness is not dark for you" quote popped into Clarisse's mind because it popped into mine when she and I realized Joseph was her own personal light source. It's from Psalm 139. And of course, there were a few borrowed lines from The Sound of Music.

Next chapter has Joseph and Mia. (And Clarisse. It's her birthday, after all.) It's completely done, but if it's anything like these previous three chapters, I will end up re-writing it a ridiculous number of times.