Affaire de Coeur

by Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Colette opened up the Gazette, the Paris newspaper filled with mostly gossip and some sensational news. It also had little puzzles and trivia in the back that she often liked to obsess over.

  “So, what should I say to Constanze?” I asked, pulling apart the croissant.

  She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes never leaving the paper. “Whatever makes sense. I am sure you will think of something.”

  I sighed heavily, looking back down to my plate. Her obvious disinterest bothered me, but did not surprise me. Such is Colette, I almost wanted to laugh.

  She grabbed another piece of brioche, slathering it with butter once again, and still not taking her eyes off the paper. “All that matters is finding out what Vachel is up to. I want to know why he has been in town and why he has been telling people he has been coming to see me when he, in fact, has not.” She turned the page of the paper angrily. “I look like an idiot when people ask me questions like that, and I have no clue what they are talking about. You should have seen the look on Étienne’s face! ‘Oh, poor Colette. She doesn’t know.’ Ugh!”

  I looked up to her, swallowing my piece of croissant hard. “Étienne? Étienne is the one who told you this?”

  She looked to me finally, struggling to find words to explain herself. “Well…yes…no, he just—”

  “—is Vachel’s best friend!” I shouted, leaning toward her, lowering my voice. “Do you really think he does not know what Vachel is up to?”

  “Exactly! He does. He knows exactly, but you know Étienne. He will not say anything bad about Vachel, no matter how terribly he treats him.” She shook her head lightly.

  Everyone knew exactly how badly the Chevalier Vachel Gautier treated Étienne Galland, his friend since they were around thirteen, and some would say his partner in crime. They were a lot alike, though most found Étienne to be kinder and not as arrogant. He also made Colette smile often. I was quite sure that she in fact preferred Étienne, but she would never choose one over the other, unless it favored Vachel.

  She looked at me from the corner of her eye, her shoulders pushing back in agitation. “So, what? You think that Étienne would start something?”

  I shook my head. “No, I think he would try to get you on the right track, though. After all, as you said, he knows what Vachel is up to. At least, he has his own suspicions, and you know that Étienne fancies you.”

  “Ha,” she scoffed. “He would never do anything about that. He will always be Vachel’s best friend, no matter his feelings for me.” She then turned back toward me, dropping the paper and wiping her hands. “It is not like Étienne thinks him so bad. He is always trying to talk him up. He acts as if Vachel is some God damned saint, still. We both know how much he has changed.”

  I nodded. I knew how much he had changed, and Colette certainly did, but that never really deterred her from wanting to be with him. She always hoped he would change back. I did not see it happening, and she was well aware of it.

  “In fact,” she started, grabbing her cup of coffee and taking a sip, “Étienne is still convinced that Vachel and I are going to wed and be some fantastic couple. I am a little concerned with that thought.” She leaned forward once again and got a third slice of brioche, slathering it with a thick layer of butter and making my stomach turn slightly. Her love for brioche and butter was quite disgusting sometimes.

  “Why is that?” I struggled, looking away from it to my plate, my half-eaten chocolate croissant staring me in the eye. Would I be able to eat it, now?

  “Because,” she replied, swallowing a bite, “if he is unfaithful, why would I want to marry into that? Divorce is only something they do in England. My mother and father would kill me if I were to do that. Besides, look at them! They are absolutely miserable. They can barely stand to be in the same room together after all these years of being married with no way out. They sleep in separate bedrooms, dine separately! I do not want history repeating itself.”

  It was true. The Marquis and his wife were not on the best of terms, something that obviously affected her view of marriage. Not to mention the scandals in Paris. Nearly all the aristocrats had lovers, married or not. No matter what, it seemed Colette was doomed to marry someone who would eventually stray.

  “I do not want to talk about this, anymore.” She shoved the last bite of her brioche into her mouth, shaking her head. “I have enough on my mind as it is. We will find out from Stanzy what is going on, and from there, I will make a decision about Vachel and our future…if there is one.”

  I could only nod once, finishing my croissant quietly before I started to reach for the pink, frosty macaron I had been eyeing. I stopped as a loud voice filled the room.

  “The Mesdames la Vicomtesse Constanze de Guillaume, la Duchesse Christine Von Strack, and Mademoiselle Yolande Beaumont.”

  Colette stood up from the chair, smiling. “Stanzy!”

  I stood as she dashed forward to the three women standing in the doorway. Colette grabbed hold of the center woman’s hands, laughing casually as she smiled back to her.

  “Ah! Hello, my darling. What a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice ringing out shrilly, much like the Marquise’s.

  Colette leaned forward, kissing her on each of her cheeks before leading her over to the table. I stood with my hands folded in front of me.

  “Stanzy, this is Madeleine Dumont, my friend who lives near my grandmother in the country,” Colette smiled.

  This woman, who was really not much older than us, was already married and a Vicomtesse. She was taller than both Colette and myself, though that was probably due to her higher heels. She probably acquired the satin slippers from the best shoemaker in town. The telltale, red colored heels of an aristocrat popped out from her skirt.

  Her hair was a strawberry blonde with sticky powder caked onto it as it was pulled up much the same as Colette’s and myself. A little yellow hat pinned to her head matched her shocking lemon yellow gown. Her face was oval shaped, her nose a little large and sloped, and her eyes a dull green with something sinister sparkling behind them. I may have exaggerated that fact, based on what I heard of Constanze “Stanzy” de Guillaume.

  “Madeleine,” she said, bowing down in a deep curtsey, which I duplicated. “These are my dear friends, the Duchesse Christine Von Strack and Yolande Beaumont.”

  The two women behind her curtsied as well. Their shocking orange and lime-colored gowns nearly blinded me from the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Their dark hair was swept up, not a curl out of place. They all wore diamonds around their necks, wrists, fingers, and on their ears, hats with silk flowers and lace, and too much rouge on their cheeks.

  Constanze turned to Colette. “So, this is what they have out in the country?” She looked to the other women, who smirked and stifled a laugh.

  Colette smiled, pointing to the table. “Would you like anything, ladies? Coffee, tea? I know Maddy has been eyeing those macarons.”

  A blush came over me as I looked to the floor. The other girls laughed lightly and shook their heads.

  “No, no,” Constanze said as she waved her hand. “We all had ours this morning. Though, you should hear the news I have for you!”

  They all nearly sprinted for the table, not even bothering to take off their hats or gloves before they sat down. Colette was to my left, Constanze to her left, and the other two girls to my right.

  “Tell me!” Colette said giddily, clasping her hands together.

  “Well,” Constanze started, “you remember Petyr, right? The one I introduced you to at Yolande’s party a few weeks ago?”

  Colette nodded. “The one with the crooked nose!”

  “Yes!” Constanze smiled, delighted that Colette remembered. “Well, you know he was looking for someone to be his mistress, to fill the position. Well, he had his eye on you, even going so far as to try and have me invite you to his little soiree the other night.”

  “Oh,” Colette laughed, looking to me with her eyes sparkling in del
ight, just the same as Constanze.

  “Well, I of course, told him that you are too good for him, which he did not like. We went to his party anyway, and while he was there, he got so drunk he could barely remember his own name. He was flirting with just about every woman there, and he even made a pass at one of the men!”

  Colette burst out laughing, covering her mouth, “Oh, that is terrible! He didn’t!”

  Constanze nodded, “Oh, he did! Then, he was caught in the linen closet, locked inside and claiming he was waiting for you to join him!”

  “While I was not even there!” Colette laughed, turning to me, signaling a smile from me. “Oh, that is terrible. Nice to know I am the talk of the party.”

  “Well,” Constanze said, putting her hand up for the servant in the corner of the room to pour her a cup of coffee. “That isn’t all. He was then caught with Amiee de Boucher, the Baron’s daughter. Let me tell you. They were in such a position that I never thought possible for a woman of our class.”

  “Oh, goodness,” Colette sighed, looking down to her hands.

  Constanze smiled, “He had it coming, now. Didn’t he?”

  All four of them burst out laughing, as I smiled uncomfortably, the chatter continuing as it went from people we knew to the courtiers at Versailles to the Royal family themselves.

  “She is Austrian, after all.” Yolande sat back, fanning herself lightly with her glove, which she had taken off somewhere between the shift in subjects.

  “Apparently, they have yet to seal the deal,” Constanze called out, placing a sugar cube in her coffee.

  “I can understand that,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. The table went quiet, and everyone stared at me. I had been quiet up until that point, the “oohing” and “ahhing” and laughter usually coming from Colette or one of the other women. “I mean, well. They are so young. She is fourteen, and he barely sixteen. They are complete strangers at this point, only married but a week.”

  “They are the future of France,” Constanze tried to rebut.

  I nodded. “Yes, they are. They are a new hope for France—a promise for a new golden age. Who cares if she is Austrian or English or what have you that has nothing to do with their ability to produce an heir. Especially when they are both practically still children. Her mother has, what, fifteen or sixteen children?”

  Everyone stared at me in shock, the silence aching against my ears.

  “What?” I asked quietly, looking around to each of their faces.

  Colette smiled. “I think Maddy has a point. Besides, the way the old King is going, there are a few years yet until they will have to fill the position.”

  The other women nodded and chatted, smiling and agreeing with Colette.

  Was it my actual thought that shocked them, or that I had actually voiced my thought?

  We all turned as the Marquis walked into the room, looking us over. His medium-sized, powder blue frame and white bagwig stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Oh, hello ladies. Colette, a word?”

  Colette nodded and stood, “Excuse me, please. I will be but a moment.” She looked down to me, signaling me to do what I had to do.

  I nodded once as I looked to the other women. As soon as Colette left the room, silence ached against the walls.

  Constanze cleared her throat, “So, Madeleine. What is it like in your part of the country?”

  I shifted lightly, my dress swishing against my legs, my shoulders pushing back. “It is lovely, very quiet. Not as decadent or beautiful as Paris and the Du Lorme home. I am quite enjoying my stay here.”

  “We have yet to see you at any of our little get-togethers.” Yolande brought her cup to her lips, her eyes anywhere in the room but on me—the person I was sure she was speaking to.

  “Well, I have only been in town for about two weeks, but, the Chevalier Gautier has invited Colette and myself to a ball in the next fortnight.”

  “Oh, Vachel,” Constanze almost sang, looking to the other women. A little smirk pulled at her mouth. “He would, now. Wouldn’t he? What about the little fête I am throwing tomorrow evening. Has he not invited Colette to that?”

  I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “We were not informed there was such a celebration tomorrow evening.”

  Constanze looked to Yolande who pursed her lips in a sinister smile. Constanze herself smiled wickedly as she turned to me, leaning forward. “Well, we will need to fix that, won’t we?”

  I tried to smile. Colette happily skipped back into the room. “I am sorry. My father wanted to speak to me about some ever important news.” She rolled her eyes, standing next to me and looking everyone over. “Did we find something to talk about?”

  Constanze stood, the other women joining her. My own legs did not seem to work as I stumbled up. “Oh, yes. We certainly did. In fact, we actually were speaking of my little soiree I am throwing tomorrow evening. Madeleine informed me that you two had not received an invitation, and that just will not do. So, I insist that you both come. Wear your finest gowns and jewelry. It will be a grand time.”

  I saw it, that sinister sparkle behind her eyes. That smile on her lips curled up into a sly smirk as she shrugged her shoulders.

  Colette nodded, smiling. “Oh! Well, yes. That would be marvelous.”

  Constanze looked to the other ladies quickly before she turned back to us. “Well, I have much to plan. My husband is completely inept when it comes to such things. So, we shall say adieu for now.”

  Colette nodded, hugging and kissing them on the cheeks and leading them out into the foyer, Constanze’s arm in hers.

  Chapter Four

  “So? What did she say?” Colette pulled me into the stateroom, her eyes filled with expectation.

  “She didn’t. She just found it interesting that Vachel invited us to the ball in two weeks as opposed to her event tomorrow night.” I could not hide that Constanze enjoying the thought of us not knowing of her party the next evening did not settle well with me.

  “Ugh,” Colette stomped, turning away from me and looking to the portrait of her great-grandfather. “I hate the way he stares at me…oh, well. At least my father is fetching those diamonds for me. I can wear them tomorrow night.” She excitedly turned to me, a smile bursting across her face. “You must wear that white gown, the one with the silk flowers on the bodice and the turquoise petticoat. And pink powder in your hair! You will also wear my amethyst and diamond necklace!”

  My eyes widened as I shook my head. “No! Colette, that necklace is worth a fortune. Your grandmother gave it to you!”

  “Exactly,” she smiled, turning away from me. “She will understand and be quite pleased if you wear it. I already asked Father to fetch it from the safe as well.”

  I groaned lightly, turning and chasing after her as she walked into the foyer and toward the staircase.

  “Colette,” I called out, my heels clicking off the floor behind her as she stopped and turned.

  “Yes?” She smiled.

  “That necklace is—”

  “Mine to do with as I please. I will be wearing my new yellow and black gown. I cannot wear it, as it does not match,” she replied frankly.

  I sighed. “I do not want to seem ungrateful. I just…I would be forever distraught if I lost it or damaged it.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed. “You, Madeleine Dumont, lose something? The person who can remember the tiniest details from over ten years ago. Who remembers where I misplace my things all the time? Do not be ridiculous, Maddy.”

  She was right. I suppose I honestly did not like wearing her effects, no matter how pretty. Everyone would know it belonged to Colette and that I was just her poor friend wearing it.

  The evening came quickly. Colette bustled around the house, trying to find her other yellow slipper—it was in the music room—with her entourage of servants behind her.

  “Where is the other God damn thing?” I heard her call out, wincing as Brielle fastened the necklace around my neck, the diamonds sparkling and the amethyst g
ems’ sharp corners shining. Four little amethyst gems and four square-cut diamonds alternated on either side until the point, which had another one of the little, purple stones. It was a breathtakingly beautiful necklace, and one that I wished was my own. My eyes bounced in my reflection as it sat heavily on my neck to the matching earrings, which were a square diamond and amethyst.

  The gown I wore was, thankfully, my own. My father bought it for me the last time he went on business. It was a beautiful cream silk gown—a robe à l’Anglaise—with a vibrant, turquoise petticoat. The stomacher ended three inches below my waistline, and the petticoat disappeared under the open robe. Three pink silk flowers attached to the left side of the bodice, up the neckline.

  Ruffles hid underneath, then sprang up around my shoulders, and joined back where the flowers began. I loved ruffles. My father knew this, and he also knew my hatred for lace. This gown did not have a speck of lace on it. Instead, it had flounced light shear gossamer fabric around the sleeves, which was much more to my liking.

  My hair was, as Colette wished, powdered light pink. My cloak—a light pink satin piece of large fabric with a white fur hood and trim—was around my shoulders. It swung around me as my feet reached the bottom landing of the staircase.

  “It is in the music room,” I called out, pulling my gloves on as I stopped in the foyer.

  “Why would it be in there?” her voice called out, her one dainty, silk slipper clicking everywhere frantically.

  Silence filled the area for a few moments, until her voice called out, “Where in the music room?”

  “Under the harpsichord.” I laughed.

  “Ah! Found it!”

  She ran out of the music room, the shoe firmly on her foot as she ran forward. Her gown, a golden yellow robe à l’Anglaise trimmed with black passementerie, snaked around in little floral and bell shapes. Black lace stuck out around her neckline and sleeves, and the same black passementerie lined the seams of her stomacher.