“You look much better this way. Why hide such charming curls?”
Her curls made her stand out far too much. “I thought I should look more like the other girls, blend in.”
“That’s exactly what you should not do. Nor should you hunch your shoulders as you’re doing now.”
“I am not,” she protested, but she knew it was probably true. Maman, who was petite and had excellent posture, was forever admonishing her to stand up straight.
“Your stature and hair make you unique and intriguing. If anything, you should call attention to those features.”
He found her intriguing. A thrill fluttered in her belly, a sensation depressingly reminiscent of the past. This new arrangement of theirs rested upon uncertain ground. One wrong move could ruin everything. She couldn’t afford to act like a lovesick adolescent. He probably just flattered all women as a matter of course.
Then again, he’d never thought to say such things to her before.
The little hatch above opened, and the cabman’s weathered face peered down at them with indifference. “This is it.”
Leo quickly opened the door, hopped out, and offered his assistance. Slightly disoriented, Claudine placed her hand in his and stepped down to the sidewalk. A six-story apartment building stood before her. She lived in a tiny garret on the top floor. She recalled giving him the address now.
“Shall I escort you upstairs?”
“No, no. That won’t be necessary. The landlady is nosey about visitors.” That much was true.
“Then I’ll say goodnight. My ship sets sail in two days so I’ll have to arrange passage for you quickly. We should leave for Le Havre before noon tomorrow at the latest. Can you pack up all your things tonight?”
What things? She’d left nearly everything behind when she’d left home. “Certainly, monsieur. My needs are simple.”
“Good. The simpler, the better.” He turned and took a step toward the waiting cab. Then he faced her again as if something had just occurred to him. “All the steamer lines are bound by governmental regulations regarding immigration. They’ll likely ask to see your baptismal certificate and vaccination record at the port prior to boarding. Might you have those items?”
Even if she did, she couldn’t use them. She was supposed to be Madeleine, not Claudine. This was getting more and more complicated. Soon she’d be lying to the government of two countries. What if they caught her? Would she be sent to jail?
“I thought not. Well, there’s no need to declare an intention to immigrate if you’re really not certain what you plan to do. You might be miserable in America and wish to go home. I hope that won’t be the case, but I want you to have that option. Changing nationalities is a very big decision to make, one that mustn’t be rushed. We can always take care of the details later.”
Immigration? Changing nationalities? Something prickled inside her chest as she contemplated these unappealing concepts for the first time. Retaining the option to change her mind relieved some of her anxiety and, she supposed, his as well. If he was displeased with her in any way, he could return her to her homeland without guilt or complication.
He gave her hand a brief, impersonal squeeze. “You look worried. Don’t be. The officials don’t scrutinize first-class passengers as they do those in steerage. More importantly, you’ll be with me, and I can talk my way through anything.”
She didn’t doubt he could, but despite the calming tenor of his deep, rich voice, she could see nothing but problems now. “What do you suppose the other passengers will make of us travelling together?”
He grimaced slightly. “They might look askance at such an arrangement in first class.”
“We’ll have to pretend we don’t know each other then.”
He considered the idea for a moment or two. “And leave you to fend for yourself on a ship full of randy males hunting for easy prey? I think not… I’ll say you’re my sister. No one would dare harass you then.”
“We look nothing alike. We’ll never be able to carry off such a lie.”
“Would you rather I claim you as my wife again?”
The question was casual, completely lacking in innuendo, yet the notion made her pulse leap with apprehension. Once, becoming his wife had been her most secret fantasy though at the time her concept of marriage consisted entirely of adoring gazes and hand holding.
Ghostly sensations ran through her. Invasion. Contempt. Shame. She shuddered under their grip. Reality was the antidote to infatuation. She wasn’t a girl anymore, and she would never be any man’s wife, even if they were only pretending.
Leo had given no sign that he desired her in that way, but she was not the ignorant girl she once was. Men made promises, implied one thing when they intended quite another.
What if he simply presumed she would become his chère amie? Not even the gorgeous Leo could tempt her into repeating such a degrading act. Would he become angry with her then and rescind his offer of employment?
“I promise to maintain a respectful distance.” Both his grin and tone were sardonic.
She felt as though he’d read her thoughts and found them amusing. A man like Leonardo Barnett would not need to go to such trouble to find a mistress. He probably had several waiting for him in Manhattan. She was letting her imagination overtake her common sense. “Very well. I’ll be your sister.”
Chapter Four
The illusion of beauty was much easier to achieve when one had help. Claudine swept a tendril of hair away from her face as she emerged from her apartment building onto the sidewalk. Her maid Suzette used to arrange her hair into a fashionable upswept swirl. On her own, Claudine could only manage to twist the heavy mass into a chignon. Nor could she properly tighten her corset without assistance. On the bright side, the looser lacing felt marvelous.
Leo tipped his hat as he approached, giving no indication that he noticed how disheveled she looked. He looked neat and stylish in ecru linen trousers, a patterned brown necktie, and a beige sack coat that conformed precisely to his broad shouldered, lean physique.
He walked with such smooth coordination he seemed to glide. “I was looking for you over there. All of these buildings look alike. For a moment I feared I’d lost you forever.”
His lightly sarcastic tone put her at ease. She far preferred this aspect of his personality to the nosey, overbearing side she’d experienced last night.
He took her valise from her. “Is this all you’re bringing?”
She’d left home hastily, taking only the basic necessities of her toilette, undergarments, photographs of her family, and a change of clothing, the navy blue travelling costume, which she wore today. Her other ensemble had been left in the dressing room of the cabaret, and would likely remain there forever.
“We’ll stop at Au Bon Marché. You can get whatever you need there. You seem to be an ideal size so I don’t foresee any time-consuming tailoring issues.”
She looked up at him with a bemused expression. No one had ever characterized her generous proportions as such. She’d been told she was shaped like her Scottish grandmère, a dubious gift from a woman she’d never met. She always felt like a mythical monster standing beside other girls her age no matter how she tried to downplay her stature. “I’m afraid I don’t have sufficient funds for such an expenditure at present.”
“I’ll take care of it, of course.” His skin looked very tan against the bright white of his standing-collar. Two women, so alike with their dainty figures, striped dresses, and jaunty hats that they might have been twins, stared at him as they walked by.
“I cannot accept such generosity,” Claudine said quietly. “I intend to recompense you for the cost of my passage to America.”
“Nonsense. I consider it an investment.”
As grateful as she felt toward him, his characterization bothered her. “I’m not a piece of property, monsieur.”
One dark eyebrow lifted a notch. Then he said blithely, “Of course not. I’ll deduct it from your salary
if you insist.”
“I do.”
He nodded stiffly and guided her in the direction from which he’d come. “I have a cab waiting at the end of the street.”
The fleeting contact of his hand at the back of her waist brought a rush of conflicting sensations, uncertainty foremost among them. There were far too many undefined terms in their relationship. They reached the cab in silence.
“Did you have a good night’s rest?” he asked, helping her into the weathered black hansom.
Her new neighbors seemed to forever be in a celebratory mood despite their abysmal living conditions, and they were determined to include her, no matter how late the hour. “Indeed.”
Traffic was light. They reached the Place de la Concorde in little time, then crossed the bridge into the Seventh Arrondissement and passed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Assemblée Nationale, and the Musée d’Orsay.
She’d never been to Au Bon Marché or any of the department stores that sold ready-to-wear clothing. Preoccupied with her art and her social causes, Maman showed little interest in keeping up with the latest styles.
Aunt Henriette had interceded about a month before Claudine’s eighteenth birthday and took her to a dressmaker on the Avenue Montaigne. Measurements were taken, and soon Aunt Henriette and Madame Husson were deep in debate about material and trim for walking skirts, travelling costumes, and ball gowns.
Claudine was grateful for the practical clothing, but she saw no reason to waste her aunt’s money on something she’d never wear. “I don’t go to balls anymore. It’s too humiliating. The young men don’t ask me to dance.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I’m too tall for most of them, and I’m not skilled at light conversation.”
Aunt Henriette cut her off with a wave of her hand. “You only need to practice more, and you won’t achieve that by staying at home. You’re a sensitive, cautious girl, maybe too much so. You’ve locked yourself away into a tower of your own making. You must force yourself to go out into society now and again. The right man is out there, just waiting to make your acquaintance. I’m certain of it.” A wistful look spread across her aunt’s still youthful, strong-featured oval face.
They never spoke of the underlying problem, but the question surrounding Claudine’s birth always hovered like a dark cloud. As a struggling painter, her mother frequented dance halls, modeled in the nude, and lived independently as no proper lady would.
Her father, on the other hand, was a cavalry officer who always did what was expected of him until the day he met his future wife. They’d married despite myriad obstacles, including a scandal involving a renowned artist.
Some insinuated that her mother had been the mistress of both men and that Claudine’s father might be either one.
Maman claimed she was not bothered, even after repeated snubs by certain members of society. She had her own artistic circle of friends. Claudine likewise told herself she didn’t care, but she did. The supposition that Papa was not her real father wounded her, especially when she heard some older girls gleefully recounting the whole sordid tale at a garden party.
She knew it wasn’t true, but she also knew her mother’s disregard of societal norms gave credence to the monstrous accusation. Claudine resolved at an early age to be the opposite of her mother by striving to be careful in her manners and circumspect in her behavior at every moment.
She didn’t realize until it was far too late that all her proper deportment made her somewhat boring. Long after the gossip about her parentage had trailed off in favor of fresher topics, Claudine continued to be reticent and wary. This did not aid her in social interactions. She was often overlooked at balls and soirées. She began to avoid the sting of rejection by refusing invitations.
After Alex and Jacqueline left home, she spent way too much time by herself, reading, writing songs, and planting citrus trees in pots. Her mother referred to her collection as “The Grove”.
Sometimes Madame Grousse, the cook, would give her cooking lessons, but that was their secret. Claudine had no trouble conversing with the kitchen staff because she trusted them not to talk about her when her back was turned.
The cabman steered the horses onto the boulevard Saint-Germain and turned again on the rue du Bac, lined with Haussmann buildings, stately hôtels particuliers, and upscale shops. Crossing over the rue de Varenne, they came within blocks of her family’s home.
She’d left a letter for her parents telling them only that she had to go away and not to worry about her, but she’d given no explanation for her decision. The less they knew, the better.
Would she ever see her parents or her wonderful, outspoken aunt again? Or Jacqueline and Alex? Her throat ached with suppressed emotion. She forced herself not to think of her family. Leo might change his mind if he thought her given to crying.
Au Bon Marché stretched out along the rue de Sèvres, a pale stone department store five stories high, embellished with hundreds of windows and rounded pavilions on each corner. The sheer enormity of the place overwhelmed her. They paused just inside the entrance of the vast emporium. Light showered down through an ornate glass skylight.
Leo took her hand and guided her past Baroque staircases, filigreed iron catwalks, and every luxury item imaginable. “Too many choices can be as problematic as too few, don’t you think?”
He asked a saleslady for guidance, explaining that “his sister” required a new wardrobe, packed and ready for transport within the hour. Neatly coifed and attired in a simple but stylish black two-piece ensemble, the slender brunette smiled and nodded a lot in response, batting her long lashes so frequently she looked as though she were having some sort of fit. Then she asked a series of questions about his tastes, taking it for granted that his preferences were the only ones that mattered.
When her line of questioning turned to boldly flirtatious inquiries about Leo’s plans for the immediate future, he used charm to return her focus to the task at hand. Claudine marveled at his ease in dealing with people.
She also marveled at the amount of money he passed to the saleslady to ensure her helpfulness. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he said, turning away.
Anxiety returned. “You’re leaving me?”
“Only for a short while. I need to make your travel arrangements and settle some other business, and I’d be of absolutely no use to you here. You’ll be in good hands with Mademoiselle Halpern. She knows exactly what you need. Just follow her recommendations and don’t dally or we won’t have time for luncheon before we board the train for Le Havre. I’ve heard good things about a restaurant only a few blocks from here.”
What if someone recognized her? In this neighborhood, she might well encounter an acquaintance. “You wish to dine at a restaurant? With me?”
“Should I enlist the services of a chaperone?” His tone suggested the very idea would be an absurdity.
“No, of course not.” Her attempt at laughter sounded lame.
She stared at his broad back as he headed for the exit until the vendeuse said, “Let’s begin with day dresses, mademoiselle. You have much to decide.”
Claudine followed along, agreeing to all the woman’s choices, but all she could think about were the complications that lay ahead.
* * *
The neighborhood showed signs of gentrification, but the apartment building in which Leo had spent the first ten years of his life had only become more dilapidated with time.
The vestibule still smelled of onion soup and turpentine. The central wooden staircase still creaked. Gas wall brackets had been added at random intervals, but they failed to illuminate the common areas. That was probably for the best.
He knocked on the first door on the third floor landing, and a buxom woman in her thirties or forties appeared. Hardship and excess weight had distorted what must have been a striking face at an earlier time. Her auburn hair was thinning.
He could still recall a whole succession of pretty, redheaded m
odels traipsing through his father’s atelier. Gerard Barnett had a fascination with redheaded women and made no secret of it, much to the anguish of his beautiful brunette wife.
Leo introduced himself, and the woman scowled as though he’d just confessed to being a notorious criminal. In lieu of any sort of greeting or acknowledgment that she’d asked him to come here, she gave him a thorough lookover, concluding, “You must take after your mother.”
“I’ve been told I do. You are Mademoiselle Arestine, I presume?”
She rolled her eyes as if his presence were a tremendous inconvenience. “That’s for you.” She pointed to a wooden crate shoved up against a wall papered in a floral pattern he recalled from his youth. It had yellowed from age and peeled off in places.
The rest of the parlor, if one could call it that, looked equally neglected. A thick layer of dust coated the floorboards and threadbare rug. How could anyone care so little about their surroundings?
“The rest is mine so you can leave off with your appraisal. He left it all to me in his will.”
Leo’s attention shot back to the woman. His father was born in England, visited Paris in his early twenties to study the light, and stayed for the rest of his life without ever announcing an intention to do so. It was not his way to plan beyond the next day of his life. “My father left a will?”
Her dry lips pinched together. “You doubt my word?”
This was not going at all as expected. He had no wish to antagonize this woman. “What reason would I have to doubt you? I don’t know you. I only came here because your letter implied you had some vital message from my father to impart.”
“Concerning you?” She shrugged as if the notion were an absurdity. “No. I needed to make certain there would be no misunderstandings, no legal disputes about who gets what. Your father will be considered an important artist someday.”
The Rake's Proposition Page 4
