“I cannot understand,” the Marquis interrupted, “why Lady Brompton should worry her head with our problems, unless of course she is one of those ardent reformers who always wishes to interfere in other people’s affairs and forget their own.”
Before Loretta, trying to think of some rather stinging retort, could answer, the Comte on her other side said,
“As far as I am concerned, Lady Brompton can interfere in as many of my problems as she likes! All I want is to make sure that she does not forget me.”
He spoke as if he supposed that such a thing was impossible, but because Loretta wanted to show the Marquis that she was not interested in him, she said with a sweet smile,
“I assure you, monsieur, I should find it very difficult to forget anyone who can say such charming things to me.”
She thought as she spoke that perhaps this was a little out of character with her supposed dislike of men, so she stiffened and became silent for a while.
In fact she found it fascinating to listen to the discussions and arguments being conducted.
She guessed that Ingrid had been clever enough to have a narrow dining table so that her guests found it just as easy to talk across it as to their immediate neighbours.
She thought that Frenchmen, when discussing politics, seemed to want to speak as if they were on a platform and hold everybody else attentively silent.
The whole atmosphere was so different from the rather stiff luncheons and dinner parties she had experienced at home, that, despite herself, Loretta could not help becoming animated and joining in eagerly on any subjects that were familiar to her.
When they moved from the dining room, the Marquis came to her side to say,
“You did promise me, Lady Brompton, that you would let me show you Paris. I suggest we start by seeing how beautiful it is by night.”
Loretta looked at him in surprise and he went on,
“I will take you to dine in a place that is essentially French, where you will have the best food in Paris and afterwards we will drive along the Seine. It is a sight you should see also in the daytime, but I think you will agree with me that there is nothing more beautiful or romantic than the river at night.”
For a moment Loretta hesitated, thinking that to dine alone with a man was something she should certainly not do.
Then she remembered that she was a married woman and she had heard that in France, unlike England, it was possible for a lady to dine in a restaurant, especially when she was already flaunting convention by staying with Ingrid.
“I will not take ‘no’ for an answer,” the Marquis said before she could speak. “So do not, Lady Brompton, make me go down on my knees to persuade you to accept my invitation.”
“There is no need for you to do anything so exaggerated or theatrical,” Loretta said coolly, “as I have no previous engagements, having only just arrived in Paris, I should be delighted, monsieur, to accept your kind invitation.”
“Thank you! I am very conscious of how privileged I am.”
He spoke in the same quiet calm manner as she had and she was aware as he did so that his eyes were twinkling and she knew that actually he was laughing at her.
It was then that Ingrid came up to them and asked,
“Did I hear you inviting my friend Lora to dine with you this evening, Fabian?”
“I have asked her and she has accepted,” the Marquis replied.
“Then I beg you to be very careful not to upset her.”
“Why should I do that?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Ingrid said. “She has come to me because she needs my help and advice and I can only say that you are not the right person, certainly not one I would choose, to assist her at this particular moment.”
“Now you are being unkind to me again,” the Marquis protested. “What have I done to get into your bad books?”
“You know that Hugh and I are very fond of you, Fabian,” Ingrid answered, “and we accept you as you are. But I feel I ought to protect my friend from you, simply because living quietly in England she has never met anyone like you before.”
“If Lady Brompton has any complaints to make about me, then I will apologise and make restitution,” the Marquis said, “but I cannot really be contrite for sins I have not yet committed!”
He bent over Ingrid’s hand as he spoke.
“Au revoir ,” he said, “and thank you for another delightful luncheon.”
He then took Loretta’s hand in his and once again she was acutely conscious of the vibrations emanating from him as he looked into her eyes and said quietly,
“Until tonight and I promise that you will not be disappointed.”
He walked away and, as she looked after him with his square shoulders tapering down to narrow hips she thought he looked very athletic and at the same time more elegant than any other man in the room.
As soon as the last guest had gone, Ingrid said,
“Now, if you are to dine with Fabian tonight, we must hurry. You will need a new gown and one which will give you confidence.”
“Do you think that is what I will need?” Loretta enquired.
“You have to steel yourself against not only what he says, but the way he will exude a personal magic which, as I have already told you, no woman can resist.”
Loretta thought of the magnetism she had felt coming from the Marquis and knew what Ingrid was saying was the truth.
She hoped that a new gown would help her to think herself more securely into the part she had to play.
She would, at the same time, gain enough evidence about the Marquis with which to confound her father and convince him that he would be an impossible husband.
“There are two great Fashion Houses in France, as I expect you are aware,” Ingrid was saying, “Worth and Laferrière. I think on the whole, Laferrière will suit you better than the more famous and rather spoilt Frederick Worth.”
When later they returned from the Rue de la Paix to the Champs-Élysées, Loretta was ready to agree that nobody could have made her look more sophisticated, more French and more chic than Laferrière.
She had intended to buy only one evening gown, but Ingrid insisted on her purchasing three and also several very elegant day gowns, which were all so becoming that it was impossible to choose between them.
Fascinated by clothes that were different from anything she had worn before, Loretta was also listening to everything Ingrid told her about the Marquis .
“I suppose in every century there have been a few women who were irresistible to men, not only because of their beauty, but because of their character and personality,” Ingrid said, “and the same applies to the opposite sex. When we refer to Fabian as a ‘modern Casanova,’ or a ‘Don Juan’ it is, in a way, a compliment because he has something which other men do not have.”
“Magnetism!” Loretta said beneath her breath, but Ingrid went on,
“No one could be more delightful, more intelligent or more charming as a companion, but as a husband he would be very different. I am only frightened, my dearest, that despite everything I have said, you will fall in love with Fabian and allow Cousin Arthur to persuade you into marrying a man who will make you more unhappy than you can even begin to imagine.”
“I realise that,” Loretta replied. “The only difficulty is to find out something substantial against him that will persuade Papa that I am not just a stupid young girl, shocked because a man has had a number of love affairs before he takes a wife.”
“Only the English believe that a rake can be reformed,” Ingrid said sarcastically. “The French have learnt that a leopard never changes his spots. A Frenchwoman therefore expects her husband to be unfaithful and it comes as no surprise to her when he is.”
“That must make her very unhappy.”
“I suppose it does,” Ingrid agreed. “Equally, as the marriage is arranged and takes place when the man and woman are still quite young, it is doubtful if she knows what love is or what she is mis
sing until she is much older.”
Loretta knew that she too was still young and yet she was thinking of the idealistic love that a man like the Marquis would never give her.
Ingrid had not found it until after her marriage and both she and the Earl had made great sacrifices rather than lose it.
‘That is the love I want,’ she thought as she had thought ever since she had come to Paris.
It was impossible to see Ingrid and the Earl together without knowing that they vibrated to each other.
She had been aware at luncheon that the Earl’s eyes kept going down the table to where Ingrid was sitting at the end of it.
There was an expression on his face that Loretta knew was very different from the way the Comte de Marais was looking flirtatiously at her.
During luncheon he had said in a low voice,
“I have to see you again, madame. I have a great deal to say to you and we must be alone.”
There was something about the way he spoke, and her instinctive feeling that he was intruding on her that made Loretta wish to move away from him.
It struck her that he was in fact quite repulsive and she disliked the caressing note in his voice.
When he put out his hand to touch her before they left the table, it made her feel as if she had been touched by a reptile, something that made her shudder.
She did not answer his request to see her alone, but merely turned away as if she had not heard what he said.
As she did so, he gave a low chuckle as if he were amused by her effort to avoid him.
Now, as they drove back from their shopping through the Place de la Concorde, she said to Ingrid,
“You may be nervous because I am dining with the Marquis this evening, which is something I want to do, but I am very glad indeed I don’t have to deal with the Comte.”
“I agree with you. He is a rather sinister man,” Ingrid replied, “a womaniser and a success with most women. Needless to say, he is jealous of Fabian and they have on one occasion fought a duel.”
“Fought a duel!” Loretta exclaimed. “But surely that is something which is out of fashion and should not take place nowadays.”
“That is true of England, but duels are still quite frequent in Paris. They take place traditionally in the Bois be Boulogne, just as they have for a hundred years.”
“It seems very uncivilised,” Loretta remarked, “and I hope nobody ever fights a duel over me.”
“You must not allow them to do so,” Ingrid said quickly. “But I warn you not to play the Comte off against Fabian or they will undoubtedly call each other out.”
“I hope not to see the Comte again.”
Loretta spoke too soon, for when they arrived back a servant informed Ingrid that the Comte Eugene de Marais was waiting for them in the silver salon.
“Now see what you have done!” Ingrid said. “I can think of no reason why Eugene Marais should come here twice in the same day – unless it is to see you.”
“Then tell him I have gone upstairs to rest,” Loretta said quickly and, without waiting for Ingrid to agree, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom.
She did rest before dinner, but it was not for long, because she wanted to take a great deal of trouble in arraying herself in her new gown.
She also wanted to make sure that her cousin put the finishing touches to her face to make her look older and not in the least like a jeune fille.
“You look lovely, dearest,” Ingrid said when she had finished. “Much, much too lovely. Promise me you will be careful!”
“You are fussing over me like a mother hen with only one chick!” Loretta teased. “I promise you, I can look after myself.”
“Touch wood!” Ingrid said quickly. “And remember, it is quite easy to put the Channel between yourself and Fabian.”
“I have not forgotten, but I keep remembering also that he will cross it when he accepts Papa’s invitation.”
When a footman announced that the Marquis de Sauerdun had called for her, she went slowly down the stairs.
She was conscious that her new gown with its train floating behind her like a small wave gave her a dignity which would not have been expected in a young girl.
Her hair was also arranged in a new style. Not in the rather ugly knot which was the fashion in England, but closely swathed around her head which gave her, she thought, the Grecian look to which the Marquis had referred at luncheon.
She had not expected him to notice it, but, as they drove away in his carriage, he turned sideways to look at her and said,
“Perfect! It is quite obvious tonight that you belong to Olympus and are very much aware of it.”
She raised her eyebrows as if she asked for an explanation and he said,
“Now not only your nose is Greek, but also your hair, and may I say and I want you to believe me, that I had no idea that any woman could look so lovely!”
Again there was that note of sincerity in his voice, which Loretta told herself was all part of his act and yet if he was acting, he was a very skilful performer.
“Where are we dining?” she asked, to change the subject away from herself.
“Because I don’t want to be disturbed by friends and acquaintances who will be bound to come and talk to me, if only because they are curious to learn who you are, I am taking you to Lapérouse. It is by the Seine and is a small place where we can feel almost as if we are alone.”
“It will be the first time I have ever dined in a restaurant,” Loretta confessed.
“I was sure that would be true,” the Marquis said, “and there are so many other places where I want to take you, Lora. I shall find that more fascinating than it is possible to say in words.”
She did not know what he meant and after a moment she declared,
“My name is Lady Brompton!”
“It’s too late for such formalities!” the Marquis replied. “I think you were aware, as I was, when we met today that we recognised each other across time and space.”
Loretta looked at him swiftly and then away again before she said,
“How can you – say such – things.”
She knew as she spoke that strangely enough it was indeed what she had felt.
She had been vividly conscious of his magnetism and she thought now, although of course it could not be true, that his face, which she had to admit fascinated her, could fit into her dream man, who until now had been faceless.
Then she told herself that she was crazy and this was just the way she must not think. She must remember instead all that Ingrid had said to her.
It was only a short distance to the restaurant where they were dining. It was in a tall house and, when they climbed the narrow stairs, they were shown into a small room in which there were only three tables for two, all of them empty.
They were given the best table, which was the one in the window and through it they could see the Seine with the lights reflected in it.
Yet there were also deep shadows, which to Loretta seemed filled at the moment with questions turning over and over in her mind.
A waiter brought her a menu, but without looking at it Loretta said to the Marquis ,
“Will you order for me? I have always heard of the specialities that are obtainable in French restaurants, but I would not know how to ask for them.”
“I know your taste,” the Marquis said, “without your having to explain it to me.”
She thought this was a strange thing for him to say.
Yet she had the uncomfortable feeling it was the truth and that he was aware of what she wanted not only to eat but also to drink.
“This is how he makes every women he is with feel,” she told herself.
Yet it was impossible not to be aware of his vitality as he sat at the other side of the small table and even harder to prevent herself from staring at him.
He took a long time in choosing what they should eat.
Then a bottle of champagne was ordered and, as Loretta took a sip from h
er glass, she realised that it was finer than any champagne she had ever tasted before.
She continued to look out of the window, because, although she fought against it, she felt shy.
However, the Marquis , instead of saying anything complimentary, as she had expected or speaking in the way he had in the carriage, now said conversationally,
“I expect you realise that electricity has given Paris an added splendour. It is now known as ‘La Ville-Lumière’ or ‘The City of Light’ in English, which is why I want you to see La Fée Électricité, as it is nicknamed, as I know you will admire it.”
“I am already fascinated by Paris!” Loretta replied in the same way that he had spoken to her. “I had no idea that the Champs-Élysées was so green and picturesque and surely Paris must be the only Capital City where the great private mansions, like that of the Earl, are sheltered amongst the trees?”
“You are right,” the Marquis said, “for, although London has an atmosphere and attraction all its own, I do not believe any City could be more beautiful than Paris!”
“You know London?”
As she asked the question, she realised that her father had never spoken of the Marquis being in England, although he often referred after various race meetings to having met the Duc there.
“Yes, I know London quite well and, of course, I am an admirer of its women, who I concede are the most beautiful in the world!”
He paused for a moment before he added,
“It is strange that I have not seen you at any of the balls I have attended.”
“I-I live very quietly in the – country,” Loretta explained.
“Does that bore you?”
“No, I love the country. I would hate living permanently in a City, even one as beautiful as Paris. I ride and there are dozens of things to occupy every minute of the day.”
“What about the nights?”
Loretta looked at him enquiringly and, as she realised what he meant, she felt the colour come into her cheeks.
She looked away from him out of the window at the river.
“Have I shocked you?” the Marquis asked.
“I am not – shocked,” Loretta managed to reply. “It is just that I consider it in bad taste to speak of – anything so – intimate!”
Dancing on a Rainbow Page 7