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François suddenly opened his eyes, breathing rapidly.
For a second or two, he remained motionless and disoriented before realizing that he was in his bed at Montrouge, dressed in nothing more than a simple nightshirt. Beside him, Onatah was still asleep. She lay on her left side, her back turned toward him. Sleeping on the other side had become impossible for her. It caused pain in her stomach, sharp little pinches that made her uncomfortable.
Her breathing was light and steady.
François took a deep breath and quickly looked around, attentive to the slightest sound, before resting his head once more upon his pillow. It was as deep as it was comfortable, and beneath the heavy blankets it was wonderfully warm.
The Lord of Montrouge stared at the plain ceiling for a long moment. There was no gilding, no ornamentation. Then he gently turned his head toward his wife. All he could see was her long black hair. He felt the urge to caress it, to let his fingers glide along her perfect back, to move closer and rest a hand upon her slightly rounded belly, but he restrained himself for fear of waking her.
So he remained still, simply savoring the moment until it was time to rise.
The first thing François did was take a hot bath, a luxury he had denied himself during the three months he had spent in New York. It had been so long since he had truly taken care of himself that he remained in the large wooden tub until the water had cooled completely.
When he finally emerged, the water had turned brownish.
He then shaved carefully, combed his hair, and dressed in a manner befitting his rank. By the time he descended to the main room, dignified as a prince, his wife and sons had already eaten. Thus, he ate his first meal of the day alone, in a heavy silence broken only by the gentle crackling of the fire burning in the hearth.
Once he had swallowed the last bite, he looked up at Jeanne, who was waiting on the other side of the room near the kitchen door.
"Jeanne?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Where are Onatah and the children?"
"Madam is upstairs with little Louis. As for Master Pierre, he is in the study room with Monsieur Gaston."
Monsieur Gaston?
François frowned slightly before remembering.
"Ah, yes. Romain Gaston. I had almost forgotten him."
He was relieved to learn that the young clerk hired by Onatah was still at Montrouge. Despite the comfortable conditions he enjoyed, he could very well have decided to return to Québec.
"Wait... What study room?"
François had supervised the construction of the manor and even participated in some of the work. There had been no such room.
"That is simply what we call the room used for Master Pierre's lessons. Since other children sometimes come to the manor as well, it would not have been appropriate to use his bedroom."
He nodded slowly and followed his servant to an ordinary door located in the manor's northern wing. Beyond it lay a large room that had originally been intended as a storage space.
When he entered, he discovered that it had been transformed. The room no longer resembled a storeroom in the slightest and instead looked like a modest classroom designed to accommodate a small number of pupils.
A large table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs and a long wooden bench. Eight children, in addition to Pierre, sat there bent over sheets filled with exercises, awkwardly holding quills between their fingers.
Standing behind them with his hands clasped behind his back, Romain Gaston watched over the room with an almost military rigidity. He stood one pace behind Pierre and observed his every movement. The young clerk scarcely seemed to breathe.
The tutor wore a simple, clean outfit, nearly identical to the one he had worn five months earlier when he first arrived at Montrouge.
François slowly swept his gaze across the room. The sight awakened a distant memory.
He saw himself again as Adam, laboriously learning to trace the letters of the alphabet, copying a model as best he could. Two lines for each letter: one for the uppercase form and one for the lowercase.
That had been long before he invented the persona of a troublemaker to become popular. Before the lies, the boasting, and the foolish behavior designed to attract attention. Back when he still took his work seriously and did not bring shame upon his parents.
Suddenly, the children looked up and discovered their lord, splendid in his finely embroidered coat. Pierre saw him, and immediately his eyes lit up with joy and pride.
Of course, he had seen him the previous day, but the man standing before him now was very different from the one who had eaten supper with them.
"Father!"
The boy practically leapt from his seat before freezing abruptly, remembering that he was in the middle of a lesson. He looked up anxiously at Monsieur Gaston. The tutor observed him in silence.
Fortunately, Pierre had realized his mistake before intervention became necessary. Monsieur Gaston could be very strict, and Pierre's special status offered him no protection whatsoever.
Romain Gaston then stepped around the young boy's chair and approached his employer to greet him.
"My lord, good day to you! I learned of your return this morning when I arrived. I hope the road was not too unpleasant."
Then he bowed so deeply that he seemed almost to fold in half.
The children watched the scene with wide eyes. This was not merely their companion's father—it was their lord.
Like startled rabbits, they sprang from their seats and bowed awkwardly, but with the utmost respect.
"Good day, my lord!" they exclaimed in unison.
François blinked several times, shifting his gaze between the tutor and the children before smiling softly.
"Good day to you as well. Hmm, you may sit back down."
The children obeyed at once, though they continued to watch him attentively, fascinated. They were not all the same age. Some were as young as Pierre, while others were ten or older. Their level of instruction, however, was quite similar.
The Lord of Montrouge turned once more toward the tutor.
"As I can see, you have accepted new pupils. How is it going?"
Romain Gaston discreetly swallowed before answering.
"My lord, as I was instructed, I have begun teaching them the alphabet and basic writing exercises. These boys," he said, gesturing toward the children seated around the table, "now come quite regularly to receive instruction. Especially since the harvest ended. Before that, their parents needed them in the fields."
He let his gaze wander over the small assembly.
Hmm... Last I checked, there must be between thirty and forty children in Montrouge. And at least half of them are old enough to be educated...
"The other children of the seigneury never come?"
"Sometimes others do," the tutor replied after a brief hesitation. "When their presence is not required elsewhere... But in several families, mistrust remains high. The Lady of Montrouge is trying to persuade them. Unfortunately, many still believe it would serve no purpose..."
His eyes drifted toward the children before settling on Pierre's face. His features softened slightly.
"But I have noticed progress. A few are beginning to change their minds... And that is partly thanks to your son."
François' gaze fell upon Pierre, bent over his page and working with a seriousness almost excessive for a child his age. The sight was endearing.
"My son? Why?"
"Hmm, he is progressing quickly, my lord. He is beginning to read properly, although he still hesitates over certain words. Several of the inhabitants have seen him read entire passages from the catechism, and it impressed them. Then they look at their own children and begin to wonder whether giving them an education might, after all, be a good thing."
The tutor discreetly pointed toward a boy with very curly black hair, perhaps seven or eight years old.
"This one, Laurent, has only been coming for a few days. Yet he has already caught up with the others."
François studied the boy for a moment and nodded with satisfaction. Such progress could not be explained by talent alone. The boy genuinely wanted to learn, and it showed.
A faint smile formed on his lips.
The seigneury had progressed during his absence. Even if only by a single step.
Only then did he notice Alexis Madec, Yann Madec's eldest son. The boy was so focused on his letters that one might have thought it a matter of life and death.
His gaze returned to the tutor.
"You have worked hard, Monsieur Gaston. Thank you for your efforts."
Then, quite unexpectedly, the lord inclined his head slightly in a gesture of gratitude. François did not want the man to think his work went unnoticed and decide to leave.
That was not how the tutor interpreted it.
He immediately panicked and turned pale.
"M-my lord! Please! This... this is mostly the work of your wife! The Lady of Montrouge accomplished a great deal during your absence! I merely followed her instructions!"
The children—even Alexis, Pierre, and Laurent—had once again stopped writing to observe the scene with curiosity. To them, it was a great surprise. They had never seen him so nervous.
François had to make a genuine effort not to smile.
When the children noticed that their lord was looking in their direction, they hurriedly returned to their exercises.
François resumed in a calmer voice.
"And the girls?"
The man flinched and did not dare meet François' eyes.
"As for the girls... it is more complicated."
François had expected as much, but he wanted to know more. He made a discreet gesture inviting Gaston to speak freely.
The young man visibly chose his words with care.
"Some already consider it useless to educate boys destined to become farmers. So for girls..."
"Useless..." François repeated slowly, his voice deep.
His tone was not loud, but it cut through the room like the blade of a perfectly maintained saber.
Before departing for New York, he and Onatah had spoken at length about this ambitious project: they wanted education for all the children of Montrouge, regardless of sex. Onatah had not opposed the idea, in fact, she strongly supported it, but the mentality of the age proved to be a far sturdier wall than he had imagined.
"Yes, my lord," Gaston continued cautiously. "Some even believe it would be dangerous to teach them subjects unsuited to their sex, such as Latin, scholarly history, philosophy, or theology."
François narrowed his eyes.
Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to grow colder.
"Really? That is what they said?"
"N-not in those exact words," he admitted quickly. "Hmm... They are very grateful for the opportunity you are offering them, because they understand that it would greatly benefit their daughters—whether in running a shop, managing a household, or obtaining a better dowry..."
"But?"
"But, just as with their sons, they fear it might give them dangerous ideas. That they might become proud, less obedient... They fear that they would begin to think themselves above their station, become difficult to marry, and no longer know their proper place..."
François remained silent for a long moment.
"So," he finally said, "they are willing to let them be educated, but only so that they may become good wives and nothing more. Is that correct?"
Romain Gaston lowered his eyes and nodded.
When he had discussed the matter with the mistress of the manor, he had found the project extraordinarily ambitious. He had never encountered a lord as generous as this one.
Whether in France or New France, education was expensive. Very expensive. Families among the common people who wished to send a child to learn under religious orders often had to tighten their belts for a long time, even for a single year of instruction.
But the result was not necessarily proportional to their sacrifices.
Here, the lord and lady of Montrouge wanted to go much further.
Even he, who was relatively open-minded, had found it excessive. In his view, and any educated man would likely agree, girls could be educated, that was not a problem in itself, but certainly not in the same way as boys. Their education had to be suited to their station.
Above all, he believed that giving these peasant children the same education as young Pierre was a mistake. All he could do was focus his attention on the son of the lady and lord of Montrouge.
He then saw his employer frown and easily perceived his irritation in his voice.
"I understand," he finally said. "If that is what they fear, I will speak to them myself."
His gaze lingered for a moment on the children before returning to Gaston.
"And if that is not enough… then I will discuss it with my wife before deciding what comes next."
He stayed a few more minutes to observe the lesson before slipping out discreetly so as not to distract the children.
As he left the room, François could not help but think of all those transmigration manga and manhua he had come across in his previous life. How many protagonists had received a mysterious system to help them? He bitterly regretted not having such a tool at his disposal to help develop his seigneury, reveal hidden talents, rare stats, and skills. Under those conditions, turning Montrouge into a great town within a few years would not have been a dream.
But he had nothing.
Only his eyes, his judgment, and a great deal of uncertainty.
Everything took a considerable amount of time, and the obstacles were numerous. Every improvement required years of effort, persuasion, and patience. Being lord of these lands gave him a certain authority, but it did not allow him to do whatever he wanted, and even less to reshape the world according to his desires.
He was not even certain that a single lifetime would be enough to make Montrouge remarkable enough to be noticed by Versailles. So all he could do was prepare the ground—offer these children and future generations a place to grow up in better conditions, laying solid foundations for something great and beautiful, even if he would no longer be there to admire it.
That thought stayed with him as he went upstairs.
As he approached the half-closed door of his room, a burst of laughter reached him. He immediately recognized Louis's.
A warm smile formed on his lips and he gently pushed the door open.
On the bed, Onatah was leaning over their son. She was covering his neck with kisses while imitating the sound of an animal. Louis was laughing so hard he seemed unable to catch his breath. His face was red and his eyes shone like gems.
François remained for a moment on the threshold.
He savored the scene as if trying to etch it into his memory forever. It was not something new; it was a game they were used to playing, and neither he nor Onatah ever grew tired of hearing him laugh. Yet at that moment, this small scene felt extremely precious.
Then Louis noticed his presence. He immediately opened wide his eyes and stretched out his arms toward him, almost bumping into his mother.
"Papa!"
François chuckled and stepped forward, taking the boy into his arms. He lifted him high as if to make him touch the ceiling. It was something he had always enjoyed.
"Uf! How heavy you are! Or maybe I'm just starting to get old."
Onatah smiled faintly.
"You're getting old."
François stuck out his tongue at her.
"I'm only thirty-three."
"But you already have white hair."
He clicked his tongue.
Unfortunately, she was right.
He had not discovered it the day before. For several years already, a few long silver strands had appeared at his temples.
The previous evening, Onatah had amused herself by counting them. She had found twelve.
"Tch! A few white hairs don't make me an old man. I still have time."
"Hehe, of course, my husband," she replied, amused. "But that's how it starts."
Louis then tried to grab his father's wig.
"No, no, no," François said gently, blowing softly on the boy's face. "Don't touch that."
Louis laughed even harder, thinking it was a game, and redoubled his efforts to grab the wig. François lifted his chin to keep it out of reach.
Eventually, the child tired and lost interest. He asked to be put down.
François met his wife's gaze. It was filled with tenderness, just like his a few moments earlier.
"Oh, I went to see the study room before coming up."
"Oh? What did you think?" asked Onatah, still watching their son, knowing he was capable of doing something foolish before she even finished saying his name. "Is it as you imagined?"
"You've done a good job with the former storage room. It's impressive."
Onatah blushed faintly.
"I'm glad you like it. I know you have great plans, but like a long journey, you have to proceed step by step."
"I know. When there are enough students, we'll build a proper school. Not just a room arranged in our manor."
He paused.
"But that's not what's bothering me…"
Onatah understood immediately. She took little Louis into her arms and placed him on her lap.
"You're talking about the girls, aren't you?"
"Yes. I spoke about it a little with Monsieur Gaston. He seems very good… He genuinely wants to educate the girls, but we don't see things the same way."
Onatah kissed Louis's hair.
"You're asking for the impossible, François. He is not like you."
François fell silent for a moment and looked at Onatah.
"But you agree with me, don't you? About giving girls the same education as boys."
"I am your wife. Of course I agree with you."
She watched Louis playing absentmindedly with his hands.
"But you cannot force people to think like you. You can only convince them to take a step in your direction. Our children will do the same, then their children, and so on. That's how these things move forward. Little by little."
François let out a deep sigh.
"I know. I just wish it could go faster."
He moved closer to Onatah and Louis, and stroked his son's brown hair.
"From what I understand, several families still refuse to send their daughters, fearing they will become proud simply because they are a little more educated than average, or that they will get strange ideas, or I don't know what…"
Onatah's smile slowly faded.
"I have spoken to those families… many times. But they are parents. It is natural to fear for one's children."
"Do you think it is possible to convince them?"
"Of course," she replied confidently. "Because just as they worry for their children, they also want them to live better lives than they did. Most of them are hesitating now."
François looked up at his wife, as beautiful as on the first day.
"And if I went to speak to them myself, do you think it would make a difference?"
"I think so. And besides, not doing it guarantees that nothing will change, doesn't it?"
François smiled faintly, then leaned in to kiss his wife's soft lips.
Onatah shifted slightly, without any sudden movement, then gently rested her head on François's shoulder. At least, she tried, but his shoulder was a little too high for her to rest her head comfortably.
They remained like that for a long time.
Then she murmured, as if thinking out loud:
"Now tell me… what were the British colonies like?"
François did not answer immediately.
Before leaving, he had told her he was going on a mission for his kingdom in the enemy colonies, but he had not gone into detail. After all, he was not supposed to speak of it to anyone.
"It's tense, as you can imagine. Perhaps more than I expected."
Onatah bit her lip slightly but did not lift her head.
"So… there will really be a war?"
"Certainly. As I told the governor and the marshal, I would not give it more than five years."
"English against English… the situation could become chaotic very quickly."
François remained silent, thinking of what would soon happen in America, and then in France, if everything unfolded as the history books of his previous life had taught him.
"It will be a painful time," François said softly, glancing at his son. "A great deal of blood will be spilled. I pray that this storm will spare us."
"I will have to speak with my father… We must be ready for any eventuality… while making sure we do not get involved."
François nodded slowly.
"We will also need to monitor the frontier more closely. The Redcoats will have other priorities. And if the British authorities stop enforcing the treaties, some will see Haudenosaunee lands as up for grabs."