The Duchess

by Danielle Steel

  Angélique went out of her way to reassure everyone the next day. And she and the girls discussed installing some kind of alarm system that would ring a bell, or a whistle they could keep, to use if any of them were in trouble, but nothing like it had ever happened before, and was unlikely to again. They knew who all of their clients were, and all of them were so kind. It took Ambre two weeks to recover, and everyone cheered when they saw her in the drawing room again. She knew she was among friends. All of the girls had taken care of her, just as Angélique had done for Fabienne when they first met.

  To reward and cheer them up after Ambre’s incident, Angélique took them shopping again. She wanted to keep their wardrobes fresh, and the house had a reputation for being fashionable, which she wanted to maintain. And this time, when they went to some of the best shops, there were no snubs or slights. Shopkeepers recognized Angélique, from having sold expensive gowns to her, and they welcomed her patronage and that of the girls. She spent a huge sum of money on their clothes and her own. But the house had become extremely profitable in a short time. Mountains of boxes arrived at the house after their shopping spree, and they were thrilled with their new gowns, and even more new lingerie. And they had selected a pile of gifts for Ambre as well. Angélique had become known as the most generous madam in town, and girls were clamoring to work for her, but she was extremely careful about who she hired. She still wanted two more girls, but hadn’t found the right ones.

  Despite their caution about who they let into the house, an unfamiliar American appeared in late September, referred by one of their best clients. He said he was in Paris on business, and had been told about Le Boudoir by his friend. He was an older, distinguished-looking, white-haired man, and appeared to be a man of substance. He said his name was John Carson, which the letter confirmed. But Angélique had an odd feeling about him. And he seemed to feel uncomfortable being there, as Americans sometimes were. Angélique had noticed that before—many of them were far more puritanical than the French. He looked nervous at first, and Angélique spent time putting him at ease. He finally relaxed and chatted with her. They talked mostly about politics and business, and avoided personal subjects, but she had seen immediately that he was wearing a wedding ring. After an hour in his company, she casually introduced him to some of the girls, but by then he only wanted to talk to Angélique. He made his interest in her clear when he lowered his voice, averted his eyes, and asked if she would go upstairs with him. And then he added in barely more than a whisper that he had never been to a brothel before, and she believed him. He had looked nervous and guilty from the moment he walked in.

  “I’m sorry, John,” she said in a kind voice, wishing she could reassure him. “I don’t go upstairs. I love talking to our clients, but I don’t entertain them personally.” She could see that he understood what she meant. “I’m better in the drawing room,” she said lightly, and he smiled.

  “My friend told me about you. You’re even more wonderful than he said. I love talking to you.”

  “Thank you, John. You might enjoy some of the young ladies too.” She always referred to them as ladies, not women or girls.

  “I would have gone upstairs with you,” he said with a look of regret. “My wife and I…we haven’t…we…we married a long time ago. We’re very different, we’re not close.” It was a story she was familiar with, and she nodded.

  “I understand,” she said sympathetically, wanting to free him of his inhibitions so he could enjoy the full services of the house. She thought he might like Agathe, who had other clients like him, but he showed no interest in her when she walked by. He only had eyes for Angélique, and left at last after two hours with her, and promised to return the next day. Angélique assured him she would be delighted to see him when he returned. And after he was gone, one of their clients had recognized him and mentioned to her that he was a very important financier in the States. And he clearly wasn’t a habitué of brothels, he had looked uncomfortable all night, except while in deep conversation with Angélique. He had told her that he frequently did business in Europe, though more often in London. They had talked about England for a while, and he’d been startled when he first talked to her to discover that she was British. And the moment he heard her very upper-class accent, it was obvious to him that she was no woman of the streets. Like everyone else, he was fascinated by her. He came to the house every night for a week after that, to talk to Angélique, and he took none of the girls upstairs, he just sat with Angélique and talked to her for hours. And on the last night he told her how much he enjoyed meeting her and that he was leaving the next day.

  “I’ll come back to see you the next time I’m in Paris, probably in a few months. I come several times a year,” he said wistfully. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind about going upstairs with me next time,” he said with a determined expression. He was obviously used to getting his way.

  “I won’t do that,” she said firmly with a warm look in her eyes, to soften the blow of rejection. “But I’ll be very happy to see you. Have a safe journey home.” When he left she thought about him for a while afterward. He seemed like an unhappy man, but his eyes lit up when he talked to her. She could sense that he was used to being in command, and was unfamiliar with not getting what he wanted, but if what he wanted was Angélique in a bedroom upstairs, he would be disappointed again. And he left a surprisingly large amount of money for the time he’d taken talking to her. Angélique had never expected to be paid for the time she spent in the drawing room conversing with their clients, and she put the money away to split later among the girls. And she had the strong feeling when he left that she’d be seeing him again.

  —

  Le Boudoir was becoming more and more well known, and their business was increasing. In October and November, she finally had to take on two more girls. Both were extremely pretty. One was a Swedish girl named Sigrid, who spoke English, French, and German. And the other was a striking Spanish girl named Carmen, who had been a flamenco dancer and had grown up as a gypsy in Seville. There was something very wild about her, and the men loved her as soon as she started to work. Both women were great additions to the group. Carmen was rarely in the drawing room for five minutes before she was taken upstairs again. She was playful and loved to tease and taunt the men, and they loved it.

  They gave a party in December a few days before Christmas, which was lavish and elegant. The champagne flowed, they served caviar, and two hundred men crowded into the house. All their regular clients brought friends. Thomas came to wish her a merry Christmas, and as usual, didn’t stay for long, but she was touched that he’d made the time to come. And the day after the party, Angélique was chatting with several of their regulars about how much fun it had been. She had worn a spectacular white satin gown to the party, which showed off more of her body than she usually did, tantalizing their clients more than ever, since they all knew they couldn’t have her. For the madam of a brothel, she was unwaveringly chaste, much to the men’s dismay.

  She was wearing an elegant black dress the night after the party, with a handsome pearl choker around her neck that had been her mother’s, when she heard two Englishmen walk in, and explain that they had been sent by friends. She recognized one of the voices immediately. Glancing into the hallway as he took off his coat, she saw her brother Edward, swaying unsteadily. He was drunk and saying that he wanted to meet the girls. Without hesitating, she excused herself to the man she was talking to, disappeared into the kitchen, and sent for Fabienne, who came to find her a minute later to discover what was wrong.

  “The drunken Englishman in the drawing room by now is the younger of my brothers,” she whispered. “He can’t see me, or he’ll tell all of England. Give him one of the girls, and send him upstairs quickly. I’m going to my room. Tell everyone I have a headache.”

  “I’ll take him myself,” Fabienne reassured her. She could do at least that for her, and she didn’t have a client at the moment. “Don’t worry, it will be
fine.”

  “Thank you,” Angélique said gratefully, and disappeared up the back stairs, as Fabienne went back to the drawing room, and nearly threw herself at Angélique’s brother, oozing charm. He was very drunk, and quite flattered.

  “Do I get a choice?” he asked, weaving. “Our friends say all the girls are terrific, and some are pretty exotic. There’s an African girl I want to meet.” He was emphatic about it, and fortunately Yaba was nowhere to be seen—she was upstairs with a client.

  “She’s with a regular client,” Fabienne told him. “She won’t be back down tonight.” And then Fabienne pouted at him and looked like an innocent cherub. “My feelings will be hurt if you don’t pick me.”

  “Oh, all right then,” he said, lurching at her, as she took his hand and led him toward the stairs. “Who’s the phony duchess, by the way? That’s pretty funny, a whore calling herself a duchess. You know, my brother is a duke.”

  “Really?” Fabienne cooed at him as they headed toward her room, wishing she could slap him for what he’d said about Angélique. “I’m sure he’s not nearly as exciting as you are, and only half the man.”

  “Well said,” Edward answered as they walked into her room, and she closed the door as he lurched unsteadily toward the bed, lay down, and unbuttoned his pants. He was anything but exciting, or imaginative. He told her what he wanted, and with the amount he’d had to drink, it was over in five minutes, and he passed out and lay unconscious on her bed. She went to find his friend a little while later to come and get him, and Jacques helped carry him downstairs. Edward had been anything but charming or fun. His friend paid what they owed, and Fabienne was relieved when they left, and went to tell Angélique they were gone. She looked shaken from having seen him for the first time in two years. But at least it wasn’t Tristan, which would have been even worse. She was still dressed and went back downstairs with Fabienne, to say goodnight to the other guests.

  But seeing Edward had upset her. She lay in bed that night, thinking of him and their older brother, how terrible they had been to her, the home she would never see again, and the life she had chosen now. She hadn’t had the courage to write to Mrs. White since she’d come to Paris nine months before. She felt terrible about it, but she hated to lie to her, and she couldn’t admit what she was really doing. She decided then to write her a letter and tell her she had taken a job in Paris as a nanny, and had been very busy. There was no way she could tell her the truth. And as she fell asleep that night, tears rolled into her pillow. She was the most successful madam in Paris, and she was so homesick for her childhood home and her father that she was crying like a child.

  Chapter 15

  Angélique and the girls at Le Boudoir spent a quiet Christmas Day at the house. Most of their clients were at home with their families or away, so they assumed they’d have the day off. But they hadn’t told anyone officially that they’d be closed, in case one or two of their clients were lonely or alone and wanted to come by. They kept their doors open to their customers at all times.

  But on Christmas Day, much to the ladies’ relief, no one came, and they set the table for what they called a “Boudoir Family Dinner.” Their off time together always had a family feeling, like a group of loving sisters who got along. They wore whatever they wanted, with no makeup, no fancy hairdos, no elaborate gowns. It was the first time any of them had relaxed in a long time. They were never closed, and one or another of their clients was always dropping in unannounced. The men loved that they always felt welcome at any time, and the girls were happy to see them. They could talk or relax or play cards or play the piano, or just read a newspaper, almost like a club. They didn’t have to go upstairs if they didn’t want to. And if they wanted glamour, they could arrive in the evening, and find the girls beautifully dressed and waiting for them as the maids served champagne.

  The girls all exchanged gifts with each other, and had bought or made lovely, thoughtful gifts. Angélique gave each of them a new purse or blouse or bonnet, something to wear when they weren’t working, and a large bonus to each girl.

  “I’ve never had so much money in my life,” Philippine said happily. “I’ve been saving it for something special.”

  “I’m saving mine for a trip to Italy in the spring, if we get a holiday,” Camille said. “I want to go to Florence or Venice. I’ve never been there.” Angélique had opened doors for them that they’d never had access to before, with a steady stream of income. With the sophisticated, educated men they were dealing with, they had grown into more polished women, and many of them were more interesting than the men’s wives, and certainly more exciting. Everyone had benefited from Le Boudoir. And Angélique found herself thinking of the Ferguson children and wondered how they were. She would have liked to send them all Christmas presents, but she didn’t dare, and was sure their parents wouldn’t have allowed them to have them. Even less so if they knew what she was doing now, but fortunately they had no way of knowing. In the end, they had done her an enormous favor by firing her. She had already been able to replace the money she had used from her father’s pouch, and had even more now. She was building a sizable nest egg for herself.

  She had also finally written to Mrs. White at Belgrave, and told her about a nanny job in Paris with two lovely children that she made up as she went along. Mrs. White was relieved to hear it and responded immediately. They were still redecorating, and had hired more staff for the big parties her brother and Elizabeth were giving. And she said they were redoing the house in Grosvenor Square and modernizing it completely, which was extremely costly.

  Jacques came in after dinner and sat with the girls for a while. He and Fabienne played cards in the drawing room after that, and eventually they all gathered around the piano while Camille and Philippine took turns playing, and everyone sang Christmas carols. It was a tender day of shared memories, talking about the families they had left and most of them no longer had. They had become family to each other now. And in the late afternoon, Angélique noticed Jacques and Fabienne walking in the garden and kissing, and she wondered what would become of that. Some of the girls had formed close attachments to their clients, but most of them maintained superficial relationships with the men who came there. It was simpler that way, although almost all of them, except Angélique, talked about getting married one day. It was a dream she no longer shared. She had never fallen in love and didn’t want to now. Her life was simpler alone than with a man. And she knew too much now. Almost all of their clients were married, and some had established mistresses as well as making visits to the house. She preferred not to be the wife a man cheated on, or a couple like the Fergusons, where each of them had a roving eye and affairs on the side. She was sure her father hadn’t been that way, but most of the men she knew now saw no reason to resist a pretty woman, whether married or not.

  The girls shared an easy, pleasant day, and a few of their clients wandered in that night for a quiet evening. And the day ended on a warm note.

  And on New Year’s Eve they gave another grand party that went on until the next morning, and all of their clients had too much to drink and had to be helped into their carriages by Luc and Jacques. And there were some very heavy heads when they came back the next day.

  It was a week after that that John Carson, the older American financier, returned to the house, looking for Angélique, and seemed delighted when he saw her as soon as he walked in. She was surrounded by admirers in the drawing room, who all hoped that she would relent one day and give in to their pleas to spend a night with them. She was a challenge for them all, but she was staunch in her resistance to their entreaties and enjoyed playing with them. John sat at the edge of the group, admiring her, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He was a very prosperous-looking man, and he waited until the others had drifted off to speak to her quietly. There was something very strong and determined in his eyes, and he wasn’t as uncomfortable being there as he had been before.

  “I’ve been thinking about you a gr
eat deal since the last time I saw you.” He looked deep into her eyes, and she smiled, but he didn’t see there what he hoped to, or obviously felt for her.

  “Thank you, John,” she said quietly. She had thought of him occasionally too, and wondered if he’d return. He hadn’t been to Paris in several months and said he’d been busy in New York. He told her the economy was booming, and he had his finger in many pies, and exciting new ventures. But he hadn’t come here to talk business with her, and had been planning what he had to say for months. He said he was leaving for London in a few days for meetings there to assist the government, as the king was seriously in debt. The king had spent a fortune rebuilding Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, and a number of other important buildings, and his advisers had been unable to discourage him from his excessive spending, which went hand in hand with his heavy drinking. He had become a most unpopular monarch by then. And they wanted John to help set things to rights, and advise the king, which was a great honor for him.