Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (20 page)

“How do you do, Lucie?” he says
with a sweet smile. “Looking as alluring as always!”

Lucie offers him a small curtsy. “At
your service, marquis. May I introduce my companion to you, the young Isabelle.”

“A pleasure to meet you, milady,”
says the marquis, turning to face her. He bows and, as he does so, Isabelle
notices the spreading bald patch on the top of head.

This man must be at least in his sixties
, she thinks.
But Lucie
called him “marquis” so he’s clearly a nobleman of some description
. So she
curtsies politely. “Thank you, monsieur marquis.”

“Oh, please, dear lady,” he says,
taking her hand and giving her his best smile. “Call me, Cedric.” He bends down
as kisses her hand. “How you are doing, Isabelle?”

To her surprise, Isabelle feels
her nervousness draining away thanks to the marquis’ easy affability. “I do
well, Cedric. Though it could always be better.”

The marquis looks at her a
moment, then laughs. “What a treasure!” he says to Lucie. “Where did you find
her?”

“Oh, I never reveal my sources.
You know that.”

With a chuckle, he takes hold of
Lucie’s arm, drawing her away. “Come on, you saucy girl. Time for a little
dance while my legs can still take it!” And then they are gone, swallowed up by
the crowd of dancers, leaving Isabelle alone.

Peering through the eyeholes in
her mask, she looks around the room, amazed by how many people there seem to
be. At one end of the ballroom a small orchestra accompanies the dancers,
playing a fast paced tune that Isabelle decides to try and work out as soon as
she’s back home. Scattered around the outside of the room are a number of
chairs for the ladies to rest in after dancing, and tall tables for people to
stand around and place their glasses of champagne. As her gaze moves slowly
around the room, Isabelle becomes aware that a couple of middle aged men, both
dressed in exquisite finery, are leaning against one of these tables watching
her. As her eyes meet theirs, she lowers them quickly, as though studying the
pattern of the tiles.

Oh no
, she thinks, as she looks up slightly
in their direction.
One of those men is
coming this way! He’s heading straight towards me. What do I do?

“Good evening, milady,” says the
man in a rich voice, rich in every sense. Isabelle looks up at the man, who
bows slightly. She is pleased to see he is not balding.

“Very good evening, milord,” she
replies, repeating the curtsy that Lucie had taught her.

The man leans in closely to
whisper in her ear. “Are you here on your own?”

“No,” she says with a slight
shake of her head that causes her cheek to brush slightly against his. “I am
here with a friend of mine called Lucie.” At that moment, she spots Lucie,
still dancing with the marquis, and gestures towards her with her mask. “That’s
her.”

But the man does not turn to look
at Lucie. Instead he is looking in admiration at Isabelle’s uncovered face.

“What is your name, my dear?” he
asks, still gazing at her.

“I am Isabelle, milord.”

He smiles kindly. “Well,
Isabelle. I am Vicomte Bernard du Bois and I would like to offer you a ride.
Would that be acceptable?”

Blushing, Isabelle raises the
mask back to her face and responds with a small nod.

“And how much would it be for the
pleasure of your company?”

Although Lucie has gone through
the practical details of such a transaction with her, Isabelle finds herself
lost for words now that she is faced with this elegant, influential gentleman.

“This fine, young pearl is quite
a discovery, wouldn’t you say, milord?” Isabelle breathes a sigh of relief at
the timely arrival of Lucie. The Vicomte nods his head in agreement so Lucie
continues, “This is her first time here, a fresh, new fruit, ripe and ready for
plucking.”

“I see,” he says, turning to
Lucie to discuss matters further. “Then perhaps you might enlighten me as to
the cost of such a fruit, of borrowing this beautiful pearl for tonight.”

Lucie purses her lips as if
considering nothing more the price of a loaf of bread in the market. “A mere
five hundred livres.”

Isabelle coughs, amazed at this
staggering amount of money.

Five hundred livres? Has Lucie gone mad? Surely no one would pay
such a price for a single night with her!
But the
Vicomte does not seem at all phased by Lucie’s words.

“It’s reasonable,” he says with a
shrug as though he, too, was discussing nothing more than the purchase of some
bread.

“Excellent. You won’t be
disappointed, milord.”

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t be,” he
says, offering his arms to Isabelle. “Not one bit.”

~

“What an amazing night!” says
Isabelle, as she and Lucie drink their morning coffee together the next day. “I
guess all men are different.”

“Of course they are! They’re not
all rutting bulls like Jean-Pierre. Some are kind lovers, some are gentle. Some
will take you to heaven and back, and some are into some pretty weird stuff.
But one thing that unites them all…”

“Yes?” Isabelle puts down her cup
and leans forward, intrigued.

“They all love sex!” She chuckles
happily. “And it’s a good thing too. Otherwise, we’d have no hope of getting
rich.”

“Talking about money,” says
Isabelle, pulling out a sheaf of notes. “Thank you for helping me with Bernard.”

Lucie raises her eyebrows in
pretend shock. “Bernard, is it now?”

Isabelle blushes slightly, but
ignores her friend’s interruption. “I want you to have half of it.” And she
holds out a number of notes to Lucie. Instead of taking them all, however,
Lucie pulls out a single note and tucks it into her bodice. “That will do,” she
says. “Consider it payment for the loan of my pearls.”

“Are you sure, Lucie?”

“Of course. We’re friends, aren’t
we?”

Isabelle nods. “Yes, we are.
Thank you.”

Lucie pauses a moment,
considering the cookies. Finally she says, “You’re going to need the rest for
yourself. The Marquis wants to meet you so you’re going to have to look your
best!”

“Me?” says Isabelle, taken aback.
“Why does the Marquis want to see me?”

“Don’t mess about. You know why!
Why does any man want to get together with a beautiful young lady?”

“Oh. But wasn’t the Marquis with
you last night?”

“Of course he was!” Lucie laughs
at her friend’s naivety. “But he fancies something a bit younger. That’s men
for you. They’re always on the lookout for something new!”

Isabelle, still frowning in confusion,
says, “But I like the Vicomte. And he told me he wants to meet up again.”

“Listen.” Lucie dips her cookie
into the steaming drink and takes a bite. “I’m going to let you into a little
secret, Isabelle. The Vicomte? He has a wife. Not only that but he has at least
two mistresses that I know of as well. That’s the way this works. A wealthy
gentleman will have as many women as he can afford, and some of them can afford
a lot.” Isabelle stands staring at her friend as she calmly eats her biscuit,
desperately trying to take it all in. “Well?” says Lucie, brushing the crumbs
from her lap. “Do you need money or not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then go and see the Marquis.”

“Why do men do this?” Isabelle
asks after a while, reaching across for a cookie.

“Do what exactly?”

“You know what. Why do they feel
they need to have several women on the go at the same time?”

Lucie shrugs. “Who knows? It’s
just the way they are. There could be many reasons I guess. But the point is,”
she lays a hand on her friends knee and gazes into her eyes, “we’re fine with
that, aren’t we, Isabelle?”

“I guess so,” she says, but then
she finds herself thinking back to that elegant young man from the dark
Parisian streets, the man
who
left a mark on
her heart
. What she really wants is her own man, a man for herself. “So how
do you become a man’s
special
lady?
His
only
lady?”

“That, my dear, takes talent. Real
talent. Because to be ‘the one’, you’ve got to be the best!”

~

And so, by the time Jean-Pierre
returns from his hunting trip, Isabelle has visited the Marquis and the Vicomte
a number of times, earning herself sufficient money to expand her wardrobe and
pay for some fine pieces of jewelry with plenty to spare.

This is amazing,
she thinks, as she
stashes away the money in one of her dressing table drawers.
At this rate, I will be able to afford to
rent a decent place of my own. Imagine that!
Even Jean-Pierre’s evening
visit to her chamber does not dampen her joy at this thought and, when the deed
is over, she turns to face him.

“May I ask a favor of you, Jean-Pierre?”
she asks in her most angelic voice.

He looks at her, happy from his
hunting and love-making, and eyes her up and down, enjoying her naked body. “But
of course, my dear.”

“I would really like to take
singing lessons. And I was hoping you might find me a good teacher.”

“Singing lessons?” He raises his
eyebrows at this request. “Whatever do you want them for? I’ve heard you
singing along when the music teacher is here. Your voice sounds fine to me.”

“But I want to improve my talent,”
she says, turning her whole body towards him. “I want to be the best singer I
can be!”

Jean-Pierre frowns as he
considers this. “Well, I guess it is good for a young lady, such as yourself,
to have a hobby. And since the leather business is booming and I’m making a
handsome profit, I don’t see why not. Yes!” he says, laying a gentle hand on
her bare skin. “I shall find you a good teacher, Isabelle.”

And he does; an Italian, one of
the finest singing teachers in Paris. Isabelle is delighted and, over the
following weeks and months, she hones her singing skills, while continuing to
learn the piano and study dancing with the help of Lucie. Then, one evening, Jean-Pierre
hosts a small, select gathering at his house, mostly of those he has conducted
business with and people of influence, though Isabelle does not recognize any
of them. After dinner, Jean-Pierre calls everyone to congregate in the music
room to listen to Isabelle sing.

“You should hear her!” he says. “I’ve
never known anyone take to music like this young lady.”

Slightly nervous at being the
focus of everyone’s attention, Isabelle selects one her favorite songs, a
melody that her aunt used to sing and which her singing teacher found the music
for, and stands in the center of the room, her teacher sitting at the piano
poised to accompany her. Everyone is silent and all eyes are on Isabelle as she
begins to sing. It is a beautiful song about a love that is lost, but then
found again many years later, and as Isabelle sings it she pours all of herself
into the words and into the music, filling every note with the sorrow and the
joy in her heart. There is something enchanting about the song, drawing people
into its spell. Her audience sits and listens with open mouths and glistening
eyes and when, eventually the song comes to an end, they burst into applause.

“Bravo!” someone cries. “Bravo,
mademoiselle.”

“Oh, Jean-Pierre!” shouts someone
else over the sound of clapping. “What a treat! This young lady’s voice could
delight even His Majesty, the King’s ear. I do not doubt it!”

These words stun Isabelle and,
feeling weak at the knees, she leans against the piano. Looking up, she sees
Lucie standing in the doorway, joining in with the applause. She mouths a ‘well
done’ and gestures for Isabelle to join her in the other room.

“Do you know who that man was?”
says Lucie, when they are shut away together. Isabelle gives her a blank look. “Of
course you don’t. That man is part of King Louis’ court.”

“Really?” Isabelle is amazed. Not
simply at the man’s words, but at the fact that a member of the King’s court
was here in this house, listening to her sing!

“Yes. And he will be the man to
get you into the palace. Trust me. You may have to wait a while, but he is your
way in to His Majesty.”

“But why?” Isabelle asks, unable
to take it all in. “Why would he want to take me to see the King?”

“That’s how things work in the
palace. It’s all about favor. Everyone wants to be the King’s favorite and the
way to do that is to ingratiate yourself with him, pleasing him and giving him
gifts. And you, Isabelle, would be a great present even for His Majesty, King
Louis XIV.”

“You really think it’s possible
for someone who was living on the streets only eight months ago? You really
think that I could end up going to the King’s palace? Me?” She gestures to
herself with both hands as if to make it clear that it was
her
they were talking about, not some Duchess or similarly highborn
lady.