I never seen a man so beautiful, a man as enchanting as the Comte. He was still on my mind as I curled up into bed, the darkness swirling around me as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Five
Nearly two weeks went by. The entire time, the Chevalier Vachel Gautier sent Colette hundreds of notes, trying to convince her to meet with him for just five minutes so that he could explain to her the situation at Constanze’s fête. She ignored nearly all of them.
I had found out when Constanze and Yolande dropped by that the woman with Vachel was in fact a courtesan that he had paid for that evening and on many evenings. Constanze stood by that she did not know he was planning on bringing her with him, that when Vachel told her he was arriving with his lady, she thought it was Colette. A true pile of shit. She most certainly knew. My opinion on the Vicomtesse was even lower than before.
Colette busied herself with other suitors, going to gambling parties and other fête’s, dragging me along a handful of times. She strangely did not oppose her parent’s wishes of a chaperone—one of her maids—due to the embarrassment of her outburst at Constanze’s.
The guests were always more interested in keeping the conversation on Colette and Vachel, seemingly only interested in the events that occurred on that evening. I was hoping to hear something about the Comte de Laurent, but it seemed he didn’t run in the same social circle as Colette.
Of course, there were a few nights I chose to stay in. Even Colette steered clear of Paris with the deaths of so many still hanging in the air from the riot on the last night of May, during the Spring Festival.
One afternoon, Colette was off in the house, most likely arguing with her father over his pleas for her to meet with a new music tutor, while I sat reading on the stone terrace. I took a deep breath as I looked up from my page. Vachel stood at the bottom of the landing. My eyes widened as I nearly jumped, clearing my throat as I adjusted in my seat. “What are you doing here?” I glared at him.
“I came to see Colette,” he said, walking up the steps, his peach colored suit reflecting the sun in my eye.
“Humph,” I said, shaking my head. “One would think you would take the hint.”
“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked, walking up to me while holding his hat in his hand.
I looked to him, not missing a beat. “No, I really do not. Again, one would think you would take the hint. You seem to miss the obvious.”
“Come on, Madeleine,” he said, sitting down beside me. “Is it really so bad that I wish to speak to her?”
“Ha,” I scoffed. “Really so bad? Does it not register in that little brain of yours what you have done? I am surprised that Colette answered even one of your notes, even if they were rejections. Do not forget that I was there. I saw just as she did, clear as day.”
“I need to speak with her,” he said again, leaning forward.
“That’s nice,” I said, standing up and turning to walk away from him.
He quickly sprang up, running to me and grabbing my arm. “Madeleine—”
I stopped, looking down to my arm, which his hand squeezed lightly. I looked up to him. “Let go of my arm, Monsieur.”
“Maddy—” he started.
“Madeleine. My name is Madeleine, and you still have not removed your hand from my arm.” I pulled away from him angrily, my face feeling hot under my powder. “When will it get through your thick head that you do not deserve her? Do you really think that I will stand here and let you lie to her, let you try to weasel your way back into her life when she has finally done what I have dreamed of her doing for so long? She has escaped your clutches, Chevalier. If I have any stand at all, it will be between you and her, making sure she sees you for what you really are.”
He looked down to his feet, his eyes keeping away from mine.
“Now, if you were smart, you would take your leave. Believe me, Colette will not know that you were here.” I looked to him one last time before I turned, making my way into the salon, stepping into the shadows as I tried to calm my heart. I did it! I had said everything I wished to say to that horrid little creature, that so-called man who enthralled my best friend into a toxic relationship that seemed only to break her down. I had told him exactly what I thought of him!
It was Monday night, and Colette sat with me in the little adjoining boudoir, wearing only her chemise and stays, lying on her back on the frilly pink chaise longue. I sat in my peignoir on the matching armchair across from her, a low rectangular, white table in between us.
I still had not told her of the Chevalier, our encounter, and I had planned not to. I guessed she had not heard of the events from Vachel. After all, if she had, she would have confronted me on it, wanting to hear details or possibly yell at me. I could only assume that Vachel was too embarrassed to bring it up. After all, a woman stood up to him and spoke back.
The little boudoir was much like my own room in theme, though all the furniture was violet, like Colette’s room. It was as if they had both been fused together, all the finer feminine points from each brought together to create one perfectly delicate room.
Colette seemed fine with her situation, though she spent an entire day in bed following Constanze’s fête. Since, she had busied herself and shrugged off Vachel, much to my delight. As things were going so well, why bring up the little moment I had with the Chevalier?
She had one leg crossed over the other and a piece of dark chocolate between her forefinger and thumb, biting little pieces off of it.
“So…who is it, tonight?” I teased.
“Hmmm, Étienne Galland. I never noticed before, but he has the most amazingly blue eyes, much like the sky.”
“Do you not think that is a tad strange? Going after Vachel’s best friend?”
She looked over to me. “Oh, please. Vachel deserves it. Besides, Étienne has all of Vachel’s finer points. I have yet to see if he has any of the bad.”
I put my book on the little table beside me, folding my hands before me. “Have you two…been intimate?”
She shook her head. “Goodness, no. He is too afraid to pursue me formally. He thinks Vachel will find out and challenge him to a duel. I told him, Vachel is not my suitor anymore, nor will he ever be, again. It’s over.” She turned on her stomach, kicking her feet up. “What about you? Are you going to let the Comte de Laurent steal a kiss?”
My mouth fell open with shock.
“Or did he already, while I wasn’t looking?” She smiled wickedly.
My face blushed as I turned from her, unable to speak.
“Oh, he did! Come now. Tell me what it was like!”
“He did not! We have not. I am quite sure that was the furthest thing from his mind. We barely even had a conversation. Everyone was preoccupied with you and your little moment.” I pulled the fabric of the peignoir over my knees, covering my leg.
“Hmmm,” she hummed, popping the last of her chocolate into her mouth. “Do you think he will be there, tonight?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I will not lie and say I would not be pleased to see him…”
Colette smiled wickedly. “Oh, so we like the Comte. Do we?”
My head fell to the side as I glared at her.
“Ha!” she laughed. “You do!”
I stood up from the chair. “Can we get ready, now?”
She continued to laugh as she stood up, skipping out of the room and into her bedchamber.
I sauntered back into my own. Brielle and the other two chambermaids awaited me and quickly got me changed into a bright pink taffeta robe à la Française with long sleeves that cut off just above my wrists. Delicious ruffles filled out the end of the sleeves and the neckline, spreading out from the center in an upside down “V” shape to my waistline, and continued down the overskirt to the floor.
The petticoat was the same, candy pink taffeta, with little pleats sticking out around my waistline from under the tight stomacher. Of course, the gown was a hand-me-down from Colet
te—a gown she wore in the spring and couldn’t bear to give away to anyone else. She could no longer wear it, having worn it three times and seemingly got away with it.
My hair was powdered white. I wore my own lone diamond bracelet and plain earrings, with a diamond hanging from a filigree design.
Colette wore a darker pink, almost red robe à la Française, an échelle of four pink bows on the bodice and a bow on each sleeve filled out with lace.
We were both dressed and ready to leave for a private performance we received invites to, making our way into town as quickly as we could.
While sitting in the Marquis’s blue and gold brocade and velvet carriage, my heart frantically beat at the thought of the Comte de Laurent attending. As was evident, he did not run in the same social circles as the Marquis’s business partner—the man who invited us to the event. It was less likely that he would attend with the other guests—children of other aristocrats.
We arrived at the large manor just outside of town, making our way through the small foyer to the large, domed music room. Here, at least fifty chairs were set up, and guests milled around.
Colette and I looked around the room, a giggle escaping us.
“Do we even know any of these people?” she asked, trying to stifle her laughter.
I shook my head, covering my mouth as I looked to the floor. “No, I don’t think so.”
“They all have to be over forty years old!” Colette looked around once again, trying to spy someone our age. “Wait,” she stopped laughing suddenly, pointing over to the corner of the room to a younger gentleman in a brown powdered bagwig, creamy white justaucorps, and dark black breeches. “Who is…is that?” she asked breathlessly.
I looked over, shrugging my shoulders. “I do not know. Why don’t you ask him?”
She laughed, turning to me and wiggling her eyebrows, “Perhaps I will.”
She began walking away, but I grabbed hold of her hand. “Do not leave me here alone!”
“You will not be alone. You can talk to yourself!” She pushed my hands away as she laughed and gracefully made her way over to the gentleman across the room.
I sighed heavily, looking up to the ceiling at the painted fresco of little, chubby cherubs with their harps dancing and bouncing around, playing in the clouds.
“Ah, hello there,” a deep, familiar voice rang out.
I felt my heart stop as I looked to the Comte de Laurent smiling at me. His black justaucorps had gold embellishments and designs slithering up the seams, edging it, the collar flat. Was this a more formal occasion than Constanze’s fête?
“Are you all right?” His brow furrowed as he smiled, concerned as he looked at me.
I smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry. Yes, hello. I just…I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He laughed lightly. “Why is that?”
“I didn’t know you knew any of the Marquis’s friends. You don’t seem to run in the same social circles as Colette’s family.”
“Ah,” he began, nodding, “I should actually be honest. The reason you two are here is because of my request, my invitation.”
I swallowed hard, “You…requested? Why…why is that?”
He licked his lips lightly “I wished to see you both here, be in familiar company.”
“Oh.” I nodded, looking him over. His creamy white breeches matched elegantly with his dark justaucorps and white stockings. A stock and solitaire adorned his neck, like the other gentlemen in their formal wear.
I stopped for a moment when my eyes went back to the top of his head, where I noticed one important thing missing—something that adorned the other men in the room.
“Is it not proper for a gentleman, a noble gentleman, to wear his wig at such a function?” I noticed that, though he didn’t have a bagwig on, his natural hair was dressed quite the same, only not powdered.
“Ahhh. Very true, Mademoiselle, but I hate them. They are hot and sweaty, and I look like an ass in them.” He smiled, finding myself smiling along with him and trying to stifle a small giggle. He continued, “My grandmother tries to thrust them upon me. When I was a boy, she used to pay me to wear it for even an hour at functions.”
I couldn’t help the large smile that crossed my face, though I tried to cover it up, keeping my face away from him.
He slowly raised my chin, looking to my mouth. “You have a beautiful smile, Madeleine.”
I cleared my throat, my breath getting caught in my chest as I looked up to his eyes, “Thank you.”
He stood for a moment, looking into my eyes until Colette charged over, shaking her head angrily.
“Colette,” I said, clearing my throat once again.
“Ugh! That man! The nerve of him, telling me I have no taste for music!” Her face turned red as she fumed, her green eyes glaring at whomever she set them upon.
The Comte smirked as he looked over to the man in question, nodding his head. “Yes, Armand Durand. I believe he studied under a composer, not sure which.”
“Ugh. Well, I hate him!” She shouted, crossing her arms like a defiant child.
“Colette, this is the Comte Lucien de Laurent. You remember, from Constanze’s fête.”
Colette nodded. “Yes. Yes, I remember him.”
“Actually, the Comte is the reason we received our invite,” I said to her, looking her in the eye and stopping her anger. Her face instead melted into curiosity.
“Oh? Well, we need to thank you, then. Don’t we, my lord?” she said, looking to him and a smile crossing her face.
He shook his head. “No, no. It was my pleasure. Please, I dislike formalities immensely. Call me Lucien.” He looked to me. “That goes for you as well, Madeleine. If you will excuse me, I must thank our host before the performance begins.” He nodded respectfully to us before he dashed off into the crowd of people.
“Oooh, he is quite the gentleman,” Colette said, rubbing her hands together. “He is definitely interested in you. Did you see the way he was looking at you?”
I shook my head, looking to her skeptically. “You are seeing things.”
“Oh, yes., I see everything, Maddy,” she laughed.
“Tell me what this man, Monsieur Durand, was on about.”
“Ugh.” She shuddered. “I do not want to talk about it. I am going to get us a glass of champagne.”
She turned from me, making her way across to a servant with a silver tray filled with glasses.
I found a few empty seats in the middle of the room, quickly making my way through the crowd of people and sitting on one of the chairs. I looked over to Colette, who was flirting shamelessly with the male servant. I frowned lightly, looking back up to the ceiling. An older woman’s voice behind me chattered away.
“Yes, a pension. Can you believe that? He pays for friends.”
Another gasped at the scandal. “Really? Well, he is the King. It does not surprise me. Did you see his new little playmate? It sickens me, the power she has. Worse than that previous one…the Pompadour.”
My ears perked up to the voices, listening carefully but as nonchalantly as I possibly could.
“Well, the Comte is one of them. Have you not heard?”
“The Recluse? Really? Apparently, he adores the court more than he puts off.”
“Not much of a recluse these days now, is he? He attended many balls in the past two weeks. It even did not surprise me to see him here, tonight.”
My brow furrowed as I looked about the room, looking for this “Recluse” but no one fit the description I had in my head. My eyes came to the Comte de Laurent in the corner, his eyes already on me. A man was in front of him, talking away. He did not even notice the Comte was not paying much attention.
“De Laurent must think very highly of himself to make such appearances.”
My eyes went wide, nearly spinning around to the old women to exclaim, “Lucien de Laurent?” I contained myself, surprisingly, my whole face going red.
“He certainly is provoking all
the gossip that is around his return to society. I wonder what prompted such a glorious thing.”
They both laughed lightly.
“Seems the King does not have him on such a short leash after all.”
I continued to listen closely. All their gossip pulled out all the gory details I thought about the Comte were nowhere to be found.
Colette and I arrived home late. I didn’t even bother looking to the clock, but the chambermaids looked quite sleepy while they helped us get ready for bed. The entire conversation back to the Du Lorme estate was the gossip I heard from the older women during the performance, which I could not be bothered to pay attention to. Some soprano from Italy.
“So, wait. What is with this one? Why is he so special? Other than his strikingly good looks, that is,” Colette asked, running her fingers through her hair as she stared into the looking glass wearing nothing but her nightgown.
“He is a Comte, Lucien de Laurent. His family is rumored to have some sort of tie with Madame de Pompadour, a distant cousin of some sort. God rest her soul,” I said, sitting at the edge of the bed. Brielle stood behind me, combing through my curls, turning them into large, glossy waves.
We decided to make our couchér together in my own bedchamber after we both bathed. It was a luxury I enjoyed taking advantage of as much as possible. At home, I never had the liberty of a large, soaking tub.
Colette turned to me. “The Marquise de Pompadour? Wait, wait. Is he the one Stanzy was going on about? That the King has invited hunting and such?”
I nodded my head. “That is the rumor. The King’s own genealogist has to certify that noble blood dates back to at least the fifteenth century. No wonder only the oldest families are in the King’s intimate circle, and it seems the Comte is a part of that circle.”
She stood up, waving her hand to the maids in the room, who gathered our gowns and made their way out quickly. “So, not only does he have land, inherited land, but he rubs elbows with the even higher classed than our social circle?”
Affaire de Coeur Page 6