I applied myself to our plate of food, making sure that I left Seth half of everything.
“I think I must still be growing,” I said, pulling at the pheasant with my teeth because we had neglected to provide ourselves with knives and forks. “I am always hungry! Madame Odette says that I have hollow legs, but Cook thinks that because I am so tall I will never be satisfied because everything I eat is used up as soon as I eat it. You have seen how tall I am; nearly as big as you!”
“You’re magnificent!” he said, toasting me. “I like big girls.”
“Do you? I am glad. I daresay that I am the biggest girl you will find in Paris, or anywhere. But I don’t mind. Madame Odette says that it makes the men notice me.”
“I noticed you the minute I came into the ballroom,” he said. “I saw your blond head bobbing out on the dance floor, and I wanted to meet you.”
“And then you discovered that we had already met,” I laughed. “You were surprised, weren’t you? You cannot call me dirty little Gypsy now, can you?” He grinned and shook his head. “Ah,” I sighed, taking a bite of pheasant, “it is too bad to have to eat tonight without a fork. I cannot show you what a really fine lady I have become. You know, I can take the meat from an entire chicken without once touching the bones with my fingers!”
“Very impressive!” Seth nodded. “I doubt that I could do that myself.”
“Really?” I felt pleased. “Then I can teach you!” I heard voices and looked up. “Ah, it is Monsieur Delacroix and Mademoiselle Simone! Come, come, Mademoiselle, and share our pheasant and champagne!” I hoisted our remaining bottle by the neck. “Do not be afraid. I have forgiven you for your bad manners in the ballroom.”
“Have you, indeed!” Simone said. She and Delacroix were followed by a small knot of guests. “I thought that Monsieur Delacroix should be informed that there is an imposter in our midst. This girl isn’t nobility! She’s a little beggar that Seth Garrett picked up in God knows where, and Odette Mornay is trying to pass her off as a little Russian countess. But in fact, she’s been in Paris for over a year, serving as Odette’s scullery maid!”
“Did you really?” Seth asked me, with a laugh.
“Oh, yes,” I said nonchalantly. “Not a bad job, although I was not very good at it. Warm kitchen. Plenty of food. I was never hungry when I was a scullery maid. It is honest work.”
“Take note, Simone,” Seth grinned.
“One moment. Monsieur Garrett,” Monsieur Delacroix said. “I do not recall that you were invited to this ball. I must kindly request that you leave at once.”
Seth reached inside his coat and pulled out a heavy buff envelope. “But of course I was invited, my dear Pierre,” he said smoothly. “In fact this invitation was delivered to me in person, last night, by your lovely wife. Would you care to verify her signature?”
A woman in the crowd shrieked; another gasped. Delacroix flushed and said, “Why, no, of course not. All the same—”
“And we know why Simone was invited,” Seth went on. “You will see, Rhawnie, how helpful social contacts can be among civilized people. Simone Gallier would never be encouraged to attend such grand affairs as this if she weren’t carrying on some grand affairs of her own.”
“That’s a lie!” Simone squawked.
“My dear Monsieur Garrett!” our host sputtered.
“Oh, you mean that Monsieur Delacroix tolerates Mademoiselle’s bad manners because he is fond of her?” I chirped. “What strange customs the French have!”
“You little bitch,” Simone seethed. She lunged at Seth, who stepped neatly aside. I crouched down near the balustrade and as Simone approached me I grabbed her ankles and lifted. She disappeared over the railing and we heard a loud splash.
Seth and I leaned over and looked down at the fish pond.
“White water,” Seth remarked, pointing at the foaming and splashing below us. “It means there are sharks present.”
“Do you think I have killed her?” I asked, concerned. In answer we heard angry bellows.
“Pierre! Pierre!”
Monsieur Delacroix leaned far out over the balustrade, calling out Simone’s name. Other guests jostled for room at the railing, too. Suddenly Seth bent over, seized Monsieur Delacroix’s ankles, and tipped him neatly into the fish pond, too. Soon his water-logged shouts joined Simone’s.
“And now it’s time to go,” Seth declared. He grabbed my hand and his cane and led me back through the salon. As we passed a serving table he helped himself to another bottle of champagne.
“But the ball isn’t over!” I cried.
“It is for us. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
He called for our wraps and asked a footman to order our carriage. In a few minutes we were darting down the marble steps at the front of the house. Angry echoes from the area of the fish pond reached our ears. A carriage pulled up and Seth opened the door and helped me in. We sat back against the cushions, gasping and laughing, and Seth popped the cork on the champagne and offered me the first swallow.
“They will be very angry with you,” I said. “You will never be invited back.“
“Doesn’t matter. I got what I came for.“ Seth lifted the bottle to his lips, then passed it back to me.
“And what is that?“
“Diversion. Amusement. Mischief." He tweaked my cheek playfully. “And you. You are the loveliest little mischief-maker of all!"
“Ah, you have been a very bad influence on me," I said sadly. “Madame Odette will not speak to me for a week when she hears what we’ve done. Perhaps two weeks! And those boys will not come to see me. They were going to take me riding."
“Don’t be sad,“ said Seth. “I’ll take you riding."
“You will? You are so kind! Can we go tomorrow?"
“We’ll see. Would you like more to drink? It’s almost gone."
I looked out. “Are we going to the Rue de Vaugirard? I do not remember riding this way when we came."
“I thought we’d stop at my house first for more champagne. Wouldn’t you like to see where I live?"
“Oh, yes! Is it very grand? Are you very rich?"
“You’ll see." We rode for a while longer. My eyes felt very tired and I must have dozed off, for my head came down on his shoulder with a bump. “You are very kind," I said sleepily. “You are much nicer to me now that I am beautiful than you were when I was skinny and ugly, no? But I can understand that. Be careful when you choose a wife, though. The Gypsies have a saying: ‘You cannot eat beauty with a spoon." That means you must look for more than beauty when you marry. You’re not married, are you?”
‘‘Lord, no!”
After a few minutes I began to hum softly. “This is a Russian song, about a soldier who goes away and the beautiful girl who loves him. She waits many years for his return, until her hair is white. And then one day she is hoeing in the garden and she sees a white-haired man coming down the road, and he comes closer and closer and she knows that it is her lover! Very nice song, very happy.” I sang the verses for him, very softly. The tune was slow and dirge-like.
“It doesn’t sound particularly happy,” Seth observed. “Oh, but it is! That’s just the way the Russians are. Even their happy songs sound sad because they think that happiness will not last. But Gypsy songs are much better. Gypsies know that life is good, and they think that if they are happy today, they will always be happy. Why not? Why worry about tomorrow? Why think about yesterday? Life is so good! Now listen to this song.”
I sat up straight, feeling wide awake again, and I began to sing a fast, bright tune. I bobbed my head and clapped my hands. The carriage came to a halt.
“We’re here.” Seth threw open the door and stepped down. He held out his hands to assist me. I climbed out and suddenly my knees refused to support me. Seth steadied me.
I threw back my head and laughed. “This is so strange!” My words danced on little waves of laughter. “I cannot feel the earth under my feet! And my head is floating away, li
ke a balloon!”
“Let’s go inside,” Seth urged gently, leading me up the path to the front door and into the house.
“You live here all alone?” I asked wonderingly. “It is so big!”
The round foyer was tiled with black and white marble squares. The walls and arched ceiling were painted white and between the windows, fluted Grecian-style pilasters supported beautifully molded cornices. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its hundreds of prisms catching the light from the low gas flames that burned in sconces on the walls. Matching inlaid cabinets flanked the front door, each bearing a white vase holding crimson roses. Two white marble busts on pedestals guarded the bottom of the staircase that curved upwards into the shadows.
“My man has gone to bed,” Seth told me. “Would you like to see the drawing room?”
“No,” I said. “No. I want to dance. Will you dance with me again, Monsieur Seth? Just once more! I shall not ask it again, I promise. But I must dance—!”
Seth propped his cane against the wall and put his arms around my waist. I put my hands on his shoulders and we started to waltz, very slowly, while I sang softly. I closed my eyes and felt his arms tighten around me. Around and around we turned, faster and faster. My song turned to laughter. Then Seth’s lame leg gave way and we sprawled on the floor, still clutching each other. One of the ropes of pearls in my hair broke and beads rolled in a thousand directions.
“Oh, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” I laughed. We lay panting for a few minutes, recovering. “But I am sorry, my friend!” I exclaimed. “Did you hurt your leg?” I focused on his face with a little difficulty.
“No.” He lay half on top of me. I could feel the pounding of his heart under his ribs. He smoothed straying tendrils away from my face and I caught my breath. Our eyes met and I saw no laughter in his, only something— something that I had seen a long time ago, in my uncle’s eyes, when—
He framed my face with the palms of his hands and kissed me gently, once, twice. Then he rolled off and helped me to sit up. I leaned against him and gazed into his face. He smiled. “What’s the matter, Rhawnie? Haven’t you ever been kissed like that before?”
“No,” I whispered. “No, never.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, I think so.” I lifted my face to be kissed again. He complied. Then I sighed deeply and grasped the lapel of his coat and rested my cheek on his shoulder. His arms were like a fortress around me, and I felt warm and safe inside. “When I said that I did not think of you when you were away—I lied.”
“I know,” he said gently, stroking my head.
“I thought of you often. Every day. And every time I learned something new, I said to myself, "I hope I see that Seth Garrett sometime so that he can see that I am not a dirty Gypsy any more." I am glad you came to the ball. I hoped you would come. I knew you would come.”
He toyed with the pins that anchored my braids. “I thought about you, too, Rhawnie,” he said, starting to remove the pins. He was so deft that I wasn’t aware of what he was doing until a fat braid fell to my shoulder. I jumped slightly and he said, “It’s all right. I just wanted to see what it looks like loose. Do you mind?” He lowered his head and kissed my neck. A tremor, like a little earthquake, rippled through my entire body. One braid was undone. The second strand of pearls slid to the floor, rattling on the marble. Seth undid the second braid and ran his fingers through the strands. A shower of golden hair enveloped us both. It fell in shining ripples below my waist, covering my shoulders and back and arms like a bridal veil. He buried his face in its softness. “Magnificent,” he breathed reverently. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re like a Renaissance Venus.”
“What is that?” I wondered happily.
“The most beautiful woman man has ever envisioned. The goddess of love, and beauty.”
He began to plant soft, light kisses on my face and neck and shoulders. Every time his lips touched my flesh I gasped and shivered. I could feel myself growing heavier and more languid in his arms. He kissed the corners of my mouth and just brushed my lips with his. His breathing was shallow and labored, and I could sense his great excitement. It excited me, too.
“It’s getting late,“ he said in a voice like heavy velvet. “I should take you home.“
“Oh, I do not want to leave,“ I said dreamily. “But I suppose I must. Madame Odette would be very angry with me."
“Oh, she wouldn’t mind," Seth assured me. “She and I are old friends, remember? You can sleep in my bed."
“But where will you sleep?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about me.” He helped me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
A small oil lamp was burning on a low bureau near his bed, casting long, wavering shadows. The furnishings in the room were heavy and massive. The windows were draped in dark green velvet that looked black in the dim light.
He left me alone for a few minutes and came back with a bottle of champagne in a bucket and two exquisite tulipshaped glasses.
“We have a lot to celebrate,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to join him. I did so without hesitation. You will think I was very foolish, and so I was, but I was also rather tipsy from all that champagne he had made me drink. He popped the cork and filled the glasses. “I drink to you, Mademoiselle Countess Rhawnie,” he said warmly, handing me a glass. “You have grown up. You are the most beautiful woman in Paris, and I am delighted that I have found you again.”
“And I drink to you, Monsieur Seth Garrett,” I said, raising my glass. “You helped me long ago, even though you didn’t like me. And I, too, am happy that we have met now that I am grown.”
We emptied our glasses. “Now let me help you with your gown,” he said, taking my glass. “I can’t promise to be as quick and expert as a lady’s maid in unhooking your bodice, but I can try.”
I turned my back to him and swept all my hair to the front of my shoulders. He blew playfully on the back of my neck. I shivered and giggled. When my bodice was loose he told me to get out of my dress so that he could unlace my corset.
“I could not let you do that!” I said in a shocked voice.
“Why not?” He tugged at my hair and laughed. “It’s not as though you didn’t have anything underneath to cover your modesty. Besides, do you think I’ve never seen a lady in a corset before?”
“I am sure you have seen ladies in much less,” I said slowly, suddenly remembering the scene with the landlord’s wife.
“And I have seen you in much less, too,” he laughed. “Come on, off with your gown.”
I stood up and climbed out of my gown, then after some hesitation, I undid the strings that held up my petticoats and let them fall to the floor, too. He stood behind me and worked to release me from the whalebone cage that had imprisoned me all evening.
“Whoof!” It fell away and I rubbed my aching middle. I still wore a thin chemise that came just below my waist and my silly pink drawers. “Oh, it feels good to be free of that thing! I think that the people who make clothes for women do not like them very much. So foolish, to pinch and squeeze the body like that! Now I really feel like a Gypsy again.”
“And,” said Seth, handing me a brimming glass, “you have room for more champagne.”
“Ah, life is good!” I emptied my glass and plumped myself down in the middle of Seth’s bed. I kicked off my dancing slippers and wriggled my toes. Seth took the glass out of my hand and removed it to safety. “Don’t you think so. Monsieur Seth?” I asked, looking at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you agree that life is good?”
Seth was making himself more comfortable, too. He shed his coat, his waistcoat, and his white silk tie. He lounged across the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. “I think that life has been very good to me tonight, little Gypsy,” he said. He reached over and touched my hair. “You are beautiful. And amusing. And you haven’t called me gorgio once all evening!”
I
laughed merrily. “How can I call you that, when I am one, too?” I threw up my arms and fell back on the bed. “Ah, we are both gorgio now! We are both very civilized! You do think I am civilized, don’t you?” I asked anxiously, turning my head.
He slithered closer. His shirt was open and I could see the soft hairs on his chest, mostly black but sprinkled with gray.
“In my opinion you are ultimately civilized, Countess,” he said. He put his fingers under my chin and kissed me once, lightly and tenderly.
“Why do you do that?” I asked in a small voice. I did not try to move away. I didn’t want to.
“Because you said you like it, remember?” He kissed me again, moving still closer until I could feel his weight pressing against my left shoulder and hip and thigh. The kiss was longer, warmer, and I wanted it never to end. On the third kiss he parted my lips and teeth with the insistent pressure of his tongue. I sucked in my breath and turned my head away. “I caught you by surprise,” he said, laughing softly. “But you’ll get used to it. It’s the best way to kiss.” He kissed me again, deeply and languorously. Yes, it was good, almost magical the way he made his tongue feel like it was licking at my heart. Hesitantly, I lifted my hands and stroked the back of his neck very lightly. He shivered and lifted his head. “You’re supposed to close your eyes when you’re being kissed, Gypsy,” he said, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
“Why?”
“Makes it better,” he promised me. “Try.” He kissed my eyelids. “Now keep them closed.”
His kisses grew rougher and more demanding. He murmured my name and kissed my throat and neck and shoulders, and he rubbed his hand lightly over my right breast, coaxing it out of my flimsy chemise. He lowered his head to kiss the small pink nipple. I stiffened and cried out, and he kissed me reassuringly on the lips again. Then he untied the ribbon around the waist of my drawers.
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