“My, my, it seems that you’re not having much luck with the ladies tonight,” the man said, his voice oily with innuendo. “I thought I’d taught you better than that.” He reached out to stroke Guy’s cheek with the backs of his long, thin fingers, but Guy slapped his hand away in disgust.
The man seemed surprised. He stepped back, reached into the pocket of his heavily embellished waistcoat, removed an elaborate snuff box and availed himself of a pinch of the contents. All the while his eyes never left Guy’s.
“Oh, come now,” he said at last, when Guy still refused to speak. “Beauty like yours is not to be wasted on those simple-minded creatures.”
“What are you doing here, Julien?” Guy was unable to hide the revulsion he felt.
Julien smiled, his heavy-lidded gaze slipping languidly over Guy’s body before he answered. He made no effort to disguise the longing he felt.
“Why, escorting Mademoiselle Montredon to the party.”
“And however did you manage that?” Guy couldn’t keep his lip from curling into a sneer. Isabelle Montredon was one of the homeliest—and wealthiest—spinsters in the district.
“Her aunt, Madame Tarnay, has taken a liking to me, and since I find myself…ah…should we say, ‘between positions’?” He shrugged as if to indicate he was a helpless victim of circumstance. “But they’re both impossibly boring. I do hope I shan’t have to marry her, though I wouldn’t mind becoming the master of her estate.” He shuddered at the thought of such a union, then took a step closer to Guy, this time reaching out and running his hand over Guy’s chest.
Guy, caught between Julien, the edge of the balcony and a large stone planter, was unable to move.
“I hope that you’ll see your way clear to spend some time with me. It’s been far too long,
chéri
,” Julien said softly.
As his thin lips slowly spread in a crooked smile, his hand moved lower and Guy pushed him away, squeezing past him and rushing to the door. Behind him, he could hear Julien’s laughter ringing through the clear night air.
As Guy flew into the ballroom, he ran directly into Richard, giving his friend a good jolt.
Richard caught Guy by the arm. Christina and Marco looked up, surprised.
“Guy? What is it?” Richard asked.
Before Guy could answer, Julien strode through the door. He inclined his head slightly in Guy’s direction, but Guy didn’t turn around. Julien went on into the room, disappearing among the other guests.
Marco, realizing something was wrong, attempted to distract his sister.
“Tina, you’ve promised me a dance.” He offered her his arm.
Richard, his hand firmly in the middle of Guy’s back, urged his friend back outside, saying nothing until Guy seemed a little more composed.
“What on earth is Julien doing here?” Richard finally asked, surprised that the man who had been Guy’s tutor for so many years should materialize at a social event of the magnitude of the Marquis’ party.
“Escorting the ugliest woman in Provence, what else?” Guy sneered.
Richard was astounded by the venom in Guy’s tone.
“Well, what?” Guy snapped, resenting Richard’s presence and at the same time surprised to find he wanted to tell him about Julien—to tell him everything, not just what had passed between them tonight.
But to Richard it seemed Guy wasn’t in the mood to elaborate, so he made an effort to change the subject.
“What happened to that pretty blond? She certainly seemed fond of you.”
Guy just glared at him and Richard thought perhaps the young lady—or rather the fact that she was no longer with Guy—was the problem.
“Guy, I’m sorry. Is there something I can do?”
“Yes, I’ll have the next dance with Christina, if that’s all right with you.”
This odd response surprised Richard. “It’s up to Christina, of course. But I’m sure she’ll be happy to dance with you.”
It was late afternoon and the weather was warm, but the breeze blowing across the fields outside Arles brought with it the smell of rain. The fertile farmland had once been a marsh from Arles to the Alpilles until it was successfully drained by the good brothers of the Abbey of Montmajour a hundred years earlier.
As their carriage passed that imposing structure with its twelfth century tower, Christina regarded it with a feeling of warmth borne of memories of many happy summer days spent there with Richard. They’d visited Robert often as children and had climbed that very tower, spending hours together on the sun-warmed, moss-bordered stone at the top, weaving together their hopes and dreams.
She rested her head against Richard’s shoulder, letting her thoughts take her back to the events of the past four days at Cybelle’s. She was lost in her reverie until she heard her brother mention the word “marry.” Her eyes flew open.
The three young men were all watching her, expecting some reaction, and they laughed.
“You see,” Marco said, “Mention matrimony and you immediately have a woman’s total attention.” He was not above teasing his precious little sister, despite his devotion to her.
Christina felt her skin flush and once again hated herself for being so susceptible to their teasing. She sincerely hoped the day would come when she would outgrow her tendency to scarlet cheeks.
“Marco, stop teasing! What did you say about marriage?”
“Only that some of us aren’t as fortunate as Richard here, who picked himself a wife when he was only six years old.”
Richard laughed. “Actually, I knew that I loved her when I was six, but I wasn’t sure that I was going to marry her until I was nine.” He squeezed Christina’s hand as he said it, letting her know that it was all in fun.
“Marco, tell me! Did one of the girls at the party catch your eye?”
“You might say that,” he answered noncommittally. He turned and directed his attention to the passing fields as though the conversation held little interest.
“Marco…” This was big news and Christina was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if she had to pull a confession from her brother, one word at a time.
“Calm down, Tina. I haven’t proposed to anyone. I merely mentioned that I was considering calling on Mademoiselle Rouffet.”
Christina smiled broadly. The object of her brother’s attentions was one of Christina’s favorites among the girls in the area.
“Oh, Lise will be so pleased! She’s quite fond of you and she’s been so nice to me.”
“Now, hold on, Tina. I said I was going to call on her, that’s all.” Marco laughed and Richard joined him. A faint smile was the most Guy could manage.
“What about you, Guy?” Christina asked. “Did anyone special catch your eye?”
“Sylvie Bret seemed quite taken with you,” Marco added. “In fact, I think I remember seeing the two of you headed for the balcony at some point.”
Richard tried to catch Marco’s eye, but was too late. He didn’t know why Guy had seemed so volatile these past few days, but he thought it best to let it ride until Guy chose to either work it out himself or to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him.
Guy’s expression clouded as he remembered Sylvie’s closed eyes and the look on her face as he kissed her throat. He had certainly wiped that lascivious expression off her insipid little face!
“She’s a slut,” he muttered. That was putting it mildly, he thought.
“Guy!” Richard’s eyes flashed with anger.
Guy stared boldly back at Richard for a moment, then quickly looked away. Christina, embarrassed by both what Guy had said and Richard’s haste to protect her, stared at the floor.
Guy willed himself to relax and inclined his head slightly in Christina’s direction. “I beg your forgiveness, Christina, but I firmly believe women should maintain a suitable degree of purity and virtue, something that Mademoiselle Bret seems incapable of.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Finally, Christina broke the silence, hoping to end the difficult moment by changing the subject.
“Richard, since we’re staying the night in Arles, will you join Marco and me for supper?”
“No, Dear Heart, I’m sorry. I have some business I need to take care of.”
Guy snorted and looked out the window at the
quais
as the carriage turned and followed the river into the city. He could well imagine just what sort of “business” it was that Richard had to take care of.
Christina’s disappointment was obvious. They had so little time left together before she would be off to Venice again.
“Why don’t the three of you go on back to Beauvu tonight?” Richard suggested. “Then I can join you in time for supper tomorrow.”
“What do you think, Tina?” Marco asked. “Father’s away on business anyway, so there’s really no reason for us to stay over.”
The thought of spending the night in town was not very appealing to Christina, and without Richard it would make for a dull evening. Besides, she was tired and the idea of getting up early only to endure another carriage ride tomorrow was not very pleasant.
“Richard, promise me you’ll be home tomorrow?”
“I promise,” he said solemnly. “What about you, Guy?”
Guy gave Richard a pointed look. “I have some business in town, as well.”
“Good. Then perhaps we can ride out together tomorrow afternoon?”
Guy looked hard at Richard, sensed his friend’s sincerity and regretted his own foul mood.
If it wasn’t for that unexpected encounter with Julien…
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Baron’s warehouse and Guy and Richard got out, bade the others farewell, and watched as the carriage pulled away. Richard took Guy’s arm and led him out of the street.
“Guy, I know something has upset you, but please watch your language around Christina. Sometimes we all tend to forget she’s still a child.”
“She didn’t look like a child at the party,” Guy said defensively.
Richard was exasperated. He hadn’t spent much time with Guy lately and he was completely baffled by his behavior.
“Guy, is there something you want to talk about, something I can do?”
For a moment, Guy just stared at Richard. He thought of Julien and found himself longing to share all the pain and humiliation and terror of those lonely years. If only he could tell someone, someone he could trust—someone like Richard. But how could he make him understand? Richard’s tutor, the kindly old Monsieur Pagni, had been a warm and generous man and an inspired teacher, as well.
“Could we have supper together?” Guy ventured hesitantly.
Richard frowned as he pulled out his watch. If he delayed by sharing supper with Guy, he might not be able to see Maryse. Surely whatever it was that was bothering Guy could wait until tomorrow.
“There’s something I really have to take care of, Guy. And I do want to talk to you. But can we meet tomorrow afternoon and ride back to Beauvu together? We can talk then.”
“Yes, of course. It’s not all that important.” Guy kept his tone even, but he was burning with resentment. It was plain where Richard’s real concerns lay.
“Good.” Richard said, clasping his shoulder. “I’ll meet you here then. About three?”
Guy nodded and attempted a smile. How, in heaven’s name, could a whore possibly be more important to Richard than their friendship?
Mon coeur, chéri, le cadeau que tu m’offres est sans prix.
—Bariant
Dearest Heart, the gift thou givest is beyond price.
Septembre 1749
Arles
“Oh, Gigi, aren’t you excited?” Maryse asked as she put the finishing touches on the younger girl’s honey blonde hair.
Geneviève, sitting at Maryse’s dressing table, nervously regarded her mentor. Although she’d been at Madame Dijol’s nearly two months, she still felt abandoned in a world she was only just beginning to comprehend. Maryse had been so kind to her, the only friend she’d made in this strange new place. The other girls seemed so much older and they were all quite busy with their customers and with each other. Occasionally they took time out to make a joke at Geneviève’s expense, but other than that, they paid little attention to the newest member of their little family.
“No, I’m…I’m a little frightened.” She hated to admit it.
Maryse studied the girl’s reflection as a fleeting memory of her own first night flickered across her face. She recovered quickly and forced a smile. Unfortunately, a woman’s first experience with a man was ofttimes best forgotten—especially if her virginity was put on the block. The highest bidder rarely made the most considerate lover, virgin or not, a sad fact of life that all women in her profession quickly learned. But this life offered certain advantages and Maryse had no wish to frighten Geneviève. Somehow, the girl would get through the night and tomorrow things would be different. She directed an encouraging smile at the innocent face in the mirror.
“Nonsense,
ma petite
! Tonight you become a woman. What could possibly be more wonderful?”
“Maryse, I can’t, I’m not ready.” Geneviève looked up, tears starting to fill her beautiful blue eyes.
“Now, stop that!” Maryse scolded. “It’s one of the most important nights of your life and you’re behaving like a child!” Maryse relented, bending down and putting her arms around the girl who was perched like a frightened bird on the edge of the little damask covered stool.
“You mustn’t worry, really. Tonight your life begins,” she whispered.
“If only I’d been a boy, my father never would have left me here,” Geneviève said sadly, staring down at her blue satin slippers.
Annoyed, Maryse stood up, her hands on her hips. “Oh yes, that would be nice. Then you could spend every day of your life grubbing in the fields, until you married and had a hungry family of your own to feed!” Far better for this child to wish for a gentle lover, Maryse thought, than to wish herself back to the hard, grinding life of a peasant. She pulled Geneviève to her feet and began to help her slip her arms into the pale blue silk
casaquin
that matched her eyes perfectly.
“What your father has done is given you a chance for a decent life. He wanted something better for you, Gigi, than a hut full of squalling brats, half of whom would probably be dead before they learned to walk. Now you’ll be able to have children when you’re ready for them, and when you can afford to educate them.”