A profitable beginning. A beginning.
“I never sought to sell any sketch of mine, Monsieur Montand.”
“Then I suggest you think of your art in new ways, Madame.”
“Why would anyone wish to buy my sketch of Monsieur le duc?”
Whether Montand could not believe she was that naive, or if he simply wished to educate her in the way of the art business, she had no idea. But he said, “Your view of Remy shows his character, Madame. Thousands hear of him, few know him, fewer still may ever meet him. And what we see in your sketch is more than a carte de visite could show. You care for him. And here, as he gazes back at us through the page, we see how he cares for you. You have captured him as a man of flesh and emotion. He is all too human.”
All too human. Real.
She’d glanced at her sketch once more and pulled back at the sight of Remy’s portrait. She saw him through Montand’s eyes.
‘You care for him.’ Montand had said.
I do.
“What’s the problem?” Killian strode round to the rear of their carriage.
Marianne stepped backward, away from Killian and Pierce, Ada and Chaumont.
Pierce told his father the summary of his tally of the luggage. “Madame le Comtesse thinks we have misplaced one item. I still count only eleven.”
“Does it matter that much?” Killian barked, sweeping off his straw boater and tucking it under his arm. He’d been in a terrible mood the past few days. Out late at night, surly with every one during the day. “If we’re missing clothes, we’ll go naked. Or buy what we need.”
Ada fidgeted. She’d been irritable since she’d returned from Rheims with her friends yesterday. “Oh, please. Let’s just go.”
Killian fished out his pocket watch. “The train leaves in fifteen minutes. The conductor waits for no man. Take in the bags,” he ordered the footmen.
Marianne stood, rooted to her spot, staring at Killian.
“What’s wrong?” her uncle asked her. “Do you remember what’s missing?”
“I do,” she told herself more than him. “I’m not going with you.”
“What?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Killian asked, skeptical.
She took his arm and led him a few steps away from the others. “I would like to take my vacation elsewhere.”
“Marianne—”
“Please don’t chastise me. Please don’t bargain with me.”
“I’m not. But—”
He peered at her. “You’re not going home to Rue Haussmann, are you?”
She shook her head. “To Remy’s atelier in Montmartre.”
He flinched, came closer and lowered his voice. “You’re a grown woman, my dear, but I fear for you, if this goes wrong.”
“I know you do. But I must go. I am ever grateful to you.”
Killian trained his gaze on the circle of carriages drawing up to the front of station. “Gratitude won’t save you from physical consequences.”
“I understand.” She hadn’t been careful about bearing children as a result of her intimacies with Remy, but what she’d never shared with anyone, what none of them knew was that she doubted she could become pregnant. During her married life, she’d never experience a halt in her monthlies. Frederick’s hasty, feral couplings with her were so fierce, she’d been glad of her barrenness. Believing herself incapable of bearing children, she’d never worried about it. Never had reason to worry…until now that she had a lover whose caresses drove her to a sweet oblivion. “But I must have this time to myself. If you wish to disown me, you may.”
“Disown?” Killian gripped her hand. “Never think it. You are my darling child as much as my other three. My sister would disown me on Judgment Day if I ever did that. For what she did for me, my girl, how she never disowned me, do you think I’d have the heart to do it to you?”
Tears sprang up.
“Don’t cry, please.” He took a handkerchief from his vest pocket and tucked it in her hand. “Take the carriage.”
“No. People will know where I go. The scandal could affect you—”
He put two fingers beneath her chin and raised her face to smile at her. “We’ll hold our heads up and laugh at them.”
She put a hand to the brim of her hat, so she could see him more clearly. As he truly was, generous. Kind. “You are an extraordinary man, sir.”
He barked in laughter. “Tell that to my rivals, will you?”
“Why, sir, I did not think you had any.”
“Get on with you, you minx. Take the damn carriage. Remember the door to Rue Haussmann is open to you, if you need or want to return before we do. We are your family, come what may.”
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Hanniford.” She gave him a small curtsy and bussed his cheek. “I will return to the house at the latest on the day you return from Cherbourg.”
“Go, before I change my mind!”
With great thanks for his solicitude to drive her to Montmartre before returning to Rue Haussmann, Marianne bid the Hanniford coachman adieu. He’d offered to wait for the owner of the house to open the doors so that he could take her trunk and valise inside for her. But she had not wished to cause him any delay.
A thin young man opened the broad blue door for her, then stood there bewildered. He pointed to a sign hooked to the knocker. ‘Ferme!’ “We receive no one, Madame. My master is at work.”
This must be Carré, Andre’s apprentice, about whom she’d heard little, save his existence.
“Monsieur, I do believe if you tell Monsieur le duc that a Madame Roland is here, he will permit my entrance.”
The youth’s gaze traveled over her with curiosity. “He is not tolerant of interruptions, Madame.”
“Monsieur, I will tell him you bear no blame for allowing me to call on him.”
“That’s not the problem, Madame.”
“No?”
“He awoke late and he is…unpleasant. He does not receive anyone today. My strict orders are not to let anyone in.”
“Then would you give him a message for me?”
“Very well.” Carré glanced over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Say to him, ‘Marianne did not take the train’.”
“I will tell him. Good day.” And he slammed the door shut.
She folded her hands and waited. Up in the square, a violinist was tuning his instrument. A huckster barked his wares. Mussels! Shrimp! An old woman appeared in the upper story window across the street to peer at her and shake out her bed linens, then drape them over the sash.
The blue door was ripped open.
“Marianne?” Andre stood in the portal, shirt askew, pants tied by one of his leather ropes, bare feet, hair on end and sky blue eyes bloodshot. “Mon Dieu. Carré, get her bags.”
He reached for her hands. “Come in. Quickly. Let me look at you.”
She smiled at his shock and dawning delight. “Good morning.”
The apprentice scurried about, grunting as he hauled the trunk over the threshold. “Where should I take—?”
“The bedroom along the foyer.” He pulled her near to him.
Andre meant her to sleep down here, away from him? “Andre, if you do not wish me here, I can—”
He had her in his arms. “I most certainly will have you here. The bedroom on this floor has a larger wardrobe than the one in my studio. A bureau, too. And I see you have brought enough clothes to show the petite bourgeoisie of Montmartre how a fashionable lady dresses.”
Wincing, she smacked a hand to his chest and turned her face aside. “And I can tell you had a bit too much wine last night.”
“Pardon e moi.” He stepped backward, still holding her hands. “I awaited a verdict. I could not work. So I drank.”
Carré disappeared down the main hall, dragging her trunk behind him.
She pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time. “Do you drink to distraction often, Monsieur le duc?”
He cast her
a sideways look. “What do I detect in your tone?”
She’d come here today ready to be open with him about so many things. This too she’d impart. “I don’t like dealing with drunkards.”
“I’m not. Usually not. I had reason the past few days, if you give me leave for it.”
She tipped her head to and fro, testing him, forgiving him. “I can.”
“What else should you tell me about drunkards?” He lifted her chin, his fingertip tracing the swell of her lower lip. “There is more. I hear it. Tell me.”
“I saw what drink can do to men. One or two and they’re happy. Three or four and they’re mean. Five or six and they can be murderous.”
“I can drink five or six and I am still happy. Until of course, the next morning.”
“And the next morning, can you work?”
“After a bath and shave, I consider it.”
“And this morning?” she pressured him.
“I can. Under one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You keep me company.”
She grinned at him. “That I can do.”
He smiled and then the joy drained from him. “You’re here for August? All of it?”
“All of it. They return from Cherbourg the first week in September.”
“Was your uncle angry with you?”
“He was more understanding than angry.”
“Thank God.”
“He wouldn’t have stopped me, I don’t believe. He was no angel himself. A scrapper on the docks of Baltimore. Winning with his fists and his wits. A gambler who bet that he could run the Union blockade and make money at it. Now, if he tries to burnish his reputation, I can’t fault him. He wants to buy the world for his family.”
“Including you.”
“He recognizes I am older and that I have…”
“What?”
“A different background than Lily or Ada, even Pierce.”
“They did not experience the war, did they?”
“They were children.”
“So were you, ma cherie.”
“Let’s not talk of that, shall we? I’m hungry and I need to get out of these hot traveling clothes.” She spread her arms to indicate the heavy walking dress, the cumbersome petticoats and bustle. The corset too.
“Shall I help you?” He wiggled his brows.
“You must.” She put up a finger. “Just don’t breathe on me.”
“Of course not.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her along the foyer. “Come with me.”
Within minutes she was released from her layers of petticoats and stays, the bustle and her corset. He had unbuttoned, unlaced, untaped all her garments and kissed bits of her revealed to him. Her loins flooded with wet desire as he slipped his hands over the welts from her corset, the straps of her chemise. And when he put his lips to her nipples and sucked her up into his arms, she moaned her approval. But he smelled and she smacked a hand to his chest. “A bath, please!”
He chuckled and left her to dress. Her old gingham gown was one she added to her collection for the seaside. But here in happy Montmartre it suited her with its yellow stripes and lime green trim. It had faded but pleased her. And it was cooler.
She buttoned up the front to the broad collar, but decided it was so warm, she’d leave it undone.
From afar, Andre had watched her pull on the gown. As she finished he pushed away from the bureau to cuddle her close, his smile at her reflection in the full length mirror one of chivalry and devilry. “Now we’ll go upstairs.”
In the studio, Carré bustled about, filling up a long porcelain tub in the far corner of the atelier.
“Does he do that every time you wish to take a bath?”
“Horrible, isn’t it? But we up here in the butte will get pipelines soon. Down in Rivoli, we have running water. A tub big enough for both of us, too.”
She blushed and sneaked a look at Carré. He did not seem to notice her discomfort. Instead, the tub full, he hurried away and closed the door.
“We’ll go down to the big house in a few days.” Andre stripped, climbed in the tub, naked, and submerged himself head, hair and all. He came up, sputtering, reaching for a thick bar of soap. “I have to check on the servants. My mother’s butler is aging and I must look to see if he’s taking his tonics.”
She strolled to the window and the view down into the City. In the heat, the skyline looked as if it misted in a mirage.
“What happened with Montand?” he asked her. “You did go, I hope?”
“I did.” She walked to the work bench were one of Andre’s sketch books lay open. Balls of paper scattered about indicated the frustration he had. “I gave him the portrait of you that he liked. He believes he can sell it. I remain utterly astonished.”
“You had no idea your skills were superb?”
“Does one hope for it? Of course. Can one compare one’s work to what one sees? Naturally. But to be so enamored with one’s abilities as to hope it is…what?…commercial? No. I did not.”
Andre was thoughtful, quiet as he washed.
“My uncle allows me use of Rue Haussmann, if I wish it.”
Her abrupt change in subject and tone had him pausing to meet her gaze. “Do you?”
She licked her lips and took a few steps to perch on a stool that faced him.
He sat forward, sloshing water to the floor. “Tell me, Marianne. I must know sooner or later. I thought you said outside that you wanted to stay here for the month. Now—”
“I have a favor to ask of you. A few, in fact.”
He rose. His glorious body sluicing bath water, his beauty touched her. Brought tears to her eyes. She would draw him like that. More impressive than any man she’d ever known.
He picked up toweling that Carré had draped over the lip of the tub. Running his fingers through his long hair, he hooked the cloth around his hips and climbed from his bath. “Well?”
“First, I must thank you for the introduction to Monsieur Montand.”
“You did once.” He picked up both her hands and kissed her fingertips. “You are welcome.”
“I know I would never have met him were it not for you.”
“It’s what friends do for each other. Colleagues who share the same challenges.”
She liked that. “Friends and colleagues.”
“And lovers, ma cherie. You are my talented lover.” He winked, and strode to his shave stand where he took tooth powder and brushed his teeth. When he was done, he sat on a large stool on the opposite side of the room. Far away.
“What do you wish to negotiate, ma petite?”
“I want to enjoy you here. That means I must tell you a few facts.”
His good humor died. And he waited.
“I want you to know that I doubt I may ever get with child. I had no fear of it when we began our affair the other night and I have none now. I don’t want you to worry that I would become pregnant and use it as a means to trap you.”
Andre glared at her. “That would be no—”
“Stop.” She clamped shut her eyes. “Please. Let me finish. I want you to understand that I know I am incapable. I was married for nearly a year before Frederick took his commission and went off to fight. We were intimate. He was…frequently attentive. He wanted a child. A son. Badly. Still I didn’t ever show signs I might have been pregnant. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have wanted his baby.” She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Andre’s expression turned mellow. But he remained silent.
“That was awful to say. But it’s true.”
“I’m sure you had a reason.”
“Reason? Oh, yes. Many. First among them, he was a terrible lover. I suspected it but affirmed that five nights ago here with you. He knew nothing about tenderness or rapture like you do. He was crass and quick and—” She swallowed deeply, loudly. “I was glad there was no child. Glad. If that makes me a monster, so be it.”
Andre narrowed his gaze on her, as if he concentrated
on what she said beyond her words.
“I have had no lovers. Only you. So I am unable to tell you, if there is something wrong with me. If I am deformed or—”
In a second, he was on his knees before her, his fingers wrapped around her wrists. “My darling, you are perfectly formed. There is nothing wrong with you.”
“But…but inside? It’s possible.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I—he—”
“Go on.”
“He was cruel. He was clumsy. Crude. He liked doing it harshly. Often. On a whim. Anywhere. I was his property, he said. Just like his slaves.”
Andre stood and attempted to take her in his arms.
But she pushed away. “After that wedding night, he took me so often, so quickly that I bled. I think I was torn. It was painful to have him inside me.”
“Marianne—”
She put up a palm. “I was glad he went to war. Glad? No, that’s too mild. I rejoiced when he was gone. So did our slaves. The field hands that he whipped until they bled and could not walk. The maids and our cook were liberated from his lewd attentions. He had them too, you see. Had them over and over, so often that they bore his children. Five of them. Five, I counted. Maybe there were more by the time he rode off to join General Lee. I could see they were his children. They looked like him. Every one. Blue-eyed. Sharp noses. Distinctively his.”
Andre still stood, arms folded, his gaze full of sympathy.
She must be blunt. “You cannot expect any children from this.”
“I want only you.”
She bit her lower lip. He could and would say that. He wanted her that much. She felt it in his touch. Good thing then that this interlude was just that. Temporary. Fleeting. A love affair that would be an elusive butterfly, quick, charming, borne on a lightness of air. “I must have something else.”
“Name it.”
“You must not to do anything as you did with Monsieur Montand to introduce me to anyone who will advance me.”
“Very well.”
“If I have any talent, I want others to see it as they will. Not because you promote me.”
“As you wish.”
“And finally, I would ask that when our four weeks are over, you let me go without argument.”
Daring Widow: Those Notorious Americans, Book 2 Page 19