The Taker (33 page)

“He must have said as much to you. Believe him: he is your god now. You live or die at his whim. And”—his expression softened entirely for a moment, as though a shield was being lowered briefly—“you should be careful with Adair. He has given you everything a mortal could want, but only as long as you please him. He will not hesitate to take it away if you anger him. Never forget that.”

I quickly realized that whether I wanted it or not, I was part of this strange household now and it would be to my benefit to figure out my place in it. My life had changed irrevocably and I wasn’t at all sure
how to survive. Adair, however, had hundreds of years of experience. The others he had chosen had all stayed with him, probably for good reason.

I also resolved to try to forget Jonathan. I believed I’d never see him again, despite what Alejandro had said. My old life was gone in every way: Boston was as different from St. Andrew as cream from water, and I was no longer a poor country girl with only a dreary future to look forward to. I’d lost the baby, the only thing that would have connected me to Jonathan. Better to put it behind me now, all at once.

Within a few days I saw that the house’s rhythms were unlike anything I’d experienced in my Puritan hometown. First of all, no one in the household besides the servants rose before noon. Even then, the courtiers and their guests remained in their rooms until two or three in the afternoon, though you could hear low sounds behind the doors, murmurs or a shriek of laughter or the scrape of a chair leg as it was dragged across the floor. Alejandro explained that it was the European way: evenings, the most important part of the day, were given over to socializing—dinners, balls, gaming tables—and days were spent getting ready, to be properly appointed, with hair coiffed and the most fetching ensemble donned. They’d brought a few key servants with them from Europe, those skilled in styling hair and maintaining the wardrobes. I thought it a decadent way to live, but Alejandro assured me this was only because I was a misguided puritanical American. There was a reason the Puritans left England in search of a new world, he pointed out.

Which brings me to the second strange thing about Adair’s household: no one seemed to have purpose to their lives. No business concerns or finances were ever discussed in front of me. No mention of the old country, no reminiscing about past lives (as Alejandro told me, “We let the dead sleep”). No letters arrived, only calling cards from members of Boston society eager to meet this mysterious European royal. The tray in the hall overflowed with invitations to parties and salons and teas.

The only subject that interested Adair and his entourage, the only endeavor they undertook with any seriousness, the preoccupation that filled their days, was sex. Each member of the entourage kept a playmate, whether for the evening or for a week; it could be a Brahmin met at a soiree or a comely footman co-opted for the night. There was a stream of women parading through the mansion, too, blowsy prostitutes, as well as daring society daughters. No one in the household ever slept alone. Neither Alejandro nor Donatello seemed interested in me at all, and when I asked Alej if he didn’t find me attractive, he laughed and told me not to be obtuse.

The family was given over to seeking and experiencing pleasure, it was as simple as that. Everything about my surroundings was the antithesis of how I was raised and eventually their lack of industry would disgust me, but at first I was seduced by luxuries I’d had no idea existed. St. Andrew had been a town of homespun linen clothing and raw pine furniture. Now I lived surrounded by finery, each new temptation better than the last. I ate food and drink I had never known existed, wore dresses and gowns made from exotic European fabrics by a professional tailor. I learned to dance and play cards, was given novels to read that would expose me to even more worlds.

Adair was fond of parties, and since he was still a sensation in Boston, we went to one almost every night. He took his entourage with him everywhere, letting Alejandro, Dona, and Tilde charm the Bostonians with their continental ways, outrageous fashions from Paris and Vienna and London, and tales of decadent European aristocracy.

What really stunned the Brahmins, though, was when Adair forced Uzra to accompany us. She would venture outdoors wrapped in a swath of burgundy cloth that covered her from head to toe. Once we had arrived among the partygoers, the wrapping would fall to the floor to reveal Uzra in one of her costumes, tight organza bodice and a skirt of veils, her eyes rimmed thickly in kohl, adornments of brass ringlets circling her bare waist, hands, and ankles. The richly colored silks were pretty, but sheer; she was practically naked compared with
the rest of us women in layers of petticoats and corsets and stockings. Uzra jingled softly as she walked, eyes downcast, aware that she was being ogled and leered at like a carnival animal. The women clapped hands over their mouths, now fallen open in shock, and the men—the air would become thick with the musk of their desire, frock coats hastily rearranged to cover their clumsy erections. Adair would laugh later about the propositions he received, men offering huge sums of money for an hour with his odalisque. They would part with their souls if he gave them the chance, Adair would say later, when we had decamped to our house after the party and sat around the cook’s table in the kitchen, next to the still warm hearth, sharing a bottle.

“You could do the same,” Adair said to me in private, as we walked up the stairs to our bedchambers, his voice soft as velvet. “A man’s desire is a powerful thing. It can reduce a strong man to nothing. When he sees a woman who fascinates him, he will give up everything for her. Remember that, Lanore: everything.”

“Give up everything for me? You are mad. No man has ever given up anything for my company,” I scoffed, thinking of Jonathan’s inability to give himself wholly to me. Deep in self-pity, I wasn’t being fair to him, I know, but I had been stung by my faithless lover and was hurting.

Adair gave me a strangled look and said something I had never considered. “That is sad to hear said about any woman, but especially sad to hear said about you. Perhaps it’s because you have never asked for anything in exchange for your attention. You don’t know your own worth, Lanore.”

“My worth? I understand my worth only too well—I am a plain girl from a poor family.”

He took my arm and tucked it under his. “You are hardly plain. You have an appeal for certain men, the type of man who values a discreet freshness and disdains a vulgar display of womanly charms. Too much breast pouring out of a bodice, too prominent a bustle, too voluptuous—do you understand?” I didn’t follow him; in my experience
men seemed bedazzled by these very parts, and the fact that I did not possess them had seemed a detriment my entire life.

“Your description of ‘vulgar’ womanly charms sounds an awful lot like Uzra to me, and she never fails to render any man who sees her agog. She and I are as opposite as two women can be,” I said, meaning to tease Adair.

“There is not only one measure of beauty, Lanore. Everyone adores the red rose, and yet it is a common sort of beauty. You are like a golden rose, a rare bloom but no less lovely,” he said, meaning to flatter, but I nearly laughed out loud at his attempt. I was thin as a boy and nearly as flat-chested. My curly blond hair was as unruly as a thistle. I could only think he was flattering me for some purpose of his own, but his sweet words were appealing all the same.

“So if you trust me, let me guide you. I will teach you how to have power over ordinary men. Like Tilde, like Alej and Dona,” he said, stroking my hand. Perhaps that was their purpose; maybe that was their industry. They did seem able to make most people—most men, and they were the ones with power—do what they wanted, and that seemed to be a good skill to have.

“It is not enough to be able to conquer your enemies; in order to control them, you must be able to seduce them as well.”

“Consider me your pupil,” I said, letting Adair lead me into his bedchamber.

“You will not regret it,” he promised.

TWENTY-SEVEN

A
nd so began my schooling in the business of seduction. It started with evenings in Adair’s bed. After that night when Adair opened my eyes, he seemed determined to prove to me that I was worth a man’s attention: his. We continued to go to parties, where he charmed the Bostonians, but he always returned home with me on his arm. He took me to his bed every night. He indulged me and gave me anything I asked for. I had beautiful undergarments made, corsets (though I hardly needed them to hold up my breasts, modest as they were) and stays of colored silks, trimmed with ribbon. Garters decorated with tiny silk roses. Delights for Adair to find when he peeled off my clothing. I devoted myself to becoming his golden rose.

I would be lying if I said I did not think of Jonathan during this time. He was my first lover, after all. Still, I tried to kill the love I felt for him by remembering the bad moments between us, the times he wounded me to the quick. The times I’d heard that he’d taken up with a new girl. Standing next to him on the hill as we looked down on
Sophia’s funeral, knowing he was thinking of her. Kissing Evangeline in front of the entire congregation mere moments after I’d given him news of my pregnancy. I tried to see my love for Jonathan as a malady, a fever burning up my heart and brain, and these wrenching memories were the purgative, the cure.

And the attentions of my new lover would be my restorative. Comparing my experiences with the two men, it seemed that the act with Jonathan filled me with such happiness that I felt I would die. At those times, I was barely aware of my body, I could have floated to the ceiling in his arms. It was sublime. With Adair, it was all sensation, a neediness for flesh and the power to have that hunger satisfied. At the time, I wasn’t afraid of this newfound hunger Adair had created in me. I delighted in it, and Adair, instead of judging me indulgent and sluttish, seemed pleased that he brought this out in me.

Adair confirmed as much one evening in his bed, lighting up the hookah after an acrobatic session. “I judge that you have a natural disposition for the business of pleasure,” he said, grinning obscenely. “I’d daresay you
enjoy
your adventures in the bedroom. You’ve done everything I’ve asked, haven’t you? Nothing I have done has frightened you?” When I gave a little shake of my head, he continued, “Then it is time to expand your experiences, because the art of love is such that the more expert lovers one has, the more expert one becomes. Do you understand?” I greeted this statement with a frown, sensing that something was amiss. Had he tired of me already? Was the bond that had developed between us an illusion? “Don’t be cross,” he said, feeding the narcotic smoke from his mouth to mine in a kiss. “I’ve made you jealous, haven’t I? You must fight feelings like that, Lanore. They are beneath you now. You have a new life ahead of you, one filled with a richness of experience, if you aren’t afraid.”

He wasn’t inclined to explain any more to me at the time, but I found out the next night when Dona slipped into the bedroom with us. And Tilde the night after that. When I objected, protesting that I was too self-conscious to enjoy myself in front of the others, I was
given a blindfold. The next morning, when I glanced at Tilde shyly as we passed on the stairs, still dazzled by the pleasure she had given me in bed, she growled, “It was only a performance, you stupid cuny,” and trotted away, dispelling any doubt that it had been anything more. I suppose I was naive, but the pleasures of the flesh were new to me, the sensations overwhelming. I would become numb to all of it, and numb to what it did to my soul, soon enough.

It was not long after this that a most notable event occurred, though I didn’t gather its significance at the time. It started with a lecture on astronomy and navigational arts that we attended at Harvard College. Science was a bit of a fad in that day and sometimes the colleges would host public lectures. These were places to be seen as much as any party, a way to show that even though you were a socialite you still had a bit of brain, so Adair made it a point to attend. The lecture that day was of little interest to me, so I sat at Adair’s side and borrowed his opera glasses to scan the audience. There were many faces I’d seen before even if I couldn’t remember their names, and just as I was thinking the outing was a waste of time, I spied Tilde chatting up a man on the far side of the auditorium. I could see only a quarter profile of his face, and mostly my view was of his back, but I could tell he had a striking physique.