Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

“I cannot help it!” I replied. “That is the way I walk!”

  “You are a hussy!” Madame Odette sniffed.

  “I am a woman,” I laughed impudently. “Why should I not move like one?”

  To Madame’s annoyance I still refused to cut my hair so that I could wear it in the style of the day. Finally she decreed that it would be permissible for me, as a visiting Russian countess, to keep my long, thick braids and to wear them wound around my head in a shining, golden coronet.

  “And for your debut,” she decided, “we will lace them with strings of pearls!”

  Even though I hated the idea, I slept on white sheets as a concession to civilization. But I could not bring myself to wear white, even white undergarments. Madame Odette and her dressmaker begged, cajoled, and threatened. They said that for a young lady of my breeding and presumed social standing not to wear white was most improper! And they considered my liking for bright greens, dark blues, sunny yellows and oranges and crimsons deplorable, if not downright tasteless. Ultimately we reached a compromise, and my new wardrobe was made of fabrics in pastel shades that were near enough to white to satisfy society, yet colorful enough to meet with my approval.

  The Delacroix Ball, given in May of each year, was to provide the setting for my debut. The Delacroix family was ancient and awesomely respectable. According to Marie-Claire and Cook, Madame Odette had once been “very friendly” with old Grandpere Delacroix, and that was how she managed to procure invitations for us to the ball.

  With the arrival of Spring, excitement began to build in the house on the Rue de Vaugirard. Our harried dressmaker rushed to and fro, paying countless calls on me because Madame refused to permit me to be seen in public before the ball. She said she wanted me to burst upon the Parisian social scene with all the dazzle and brilliance of a firecracker. I was heartily sick of my cloistered existence and tired of all the restrictions that had been placed on my freedom, but I took comfort in the knowledge that my seclusion would soon end.

  I was like a butterfly ready to break out of my chrysalis.

  My training period had been exacting and thorough, and Madame Odette was convinced that I would be able to snare a husband without any difficulty. She was even so rash as to predict that I would be engaged within one month after the ball. Nothing could go wrong, she declared. Nothing could spoil her plans for me.

  5

  Paris: May, 1843

  "YOU ARE A vision! An absolute vision!”

  Madame Odette stood back and pronounced judgement on her handiwork. The night of the Delacroix Ball had arrived. In just a few minutes we would step into our hired carriage. But first Madame had to make a final inspection.

  My gown was a rich ivory satin, almost a pale gold. Madame Odette had tried to persuade me to wear white for just this one night, as a debutante should, but as usual her pleas went unheard and we compromised on an off-white shade. The bodice of the gown came to a point in front, emphasizing the smallness of my tightly corseted waist. A panel of fine Belgian lace, lined with the same pale gold satin, covered my bosom, rising modestly halfway to my throat. Little puffed sleeves were trimmed with a lace ruffle that dropped to the elbows. Twelve yards of satin flared away from the waist, and a ruffle of fifty yards of lace a foot wide brushed the floor. I carried an ivory fan with lace inserts, and I wore short gloves of ivory silk. The evening was mild, and I had need of no more than an embroidered silk shawl for a wrap. My shoes were delicate kid slippers that matched my gown. My two heavy braids were entwined with ropes of tiny seed pearls, and they were pinned into a massive glowing crown that seemed to add inches to my already breathtaking height. A dainty necklace of similar pearls encircled my throat, and pearls set in gold dangled from my earlobes.

  “Now if you can just remember everything I’ve taught you,” Madame Odette said breathlessly. “I am exhausted already and the most difficult part is still ahead of us. I am certain that if anything goes wrong I shall collapse and die on the spot. I beg you, Rhawnie, go slowly and think before you speak!”

  I bent over and kissed her withered cheek. “Do not worry, dearest friend! Have I not been taught by the greatest and most beautiful lady in Paris? Oh, I am so excited! Surely it is time to go?”

  I could hardly contain myself. Those long weeks of confinement in the house on the Rue de Vaugirard were finally over. I could enjoy music and dancing and laughter, things which I hadn’t had since the Grandfather took me away from the Gypsies, over two years ago. I felt absolutely no fear or nervousness about facing the Parisian lions for the first time, only an overpowering desire to have fun.

  We donned our wraps, bid farewell to the servants who had gathered to watch our departure, and left the house. Then we entered our carriage and were borne off to the ball.

  The Delacroix mansion looked like an illuminated birthday cake, vast and white with tiers of columns and balconies. Strings of colored lanterns supplemented the glow cast by a hundred gas lamps, indoors and out. A long line of carriages crept up the looping driveway, discharging passengers at the entrance. A swarm of exquisitely dressed Parisians of all ages made their way into the house.

  “Oh, oh, we should have waited,” Madame Odette fretted. “Why did you rush me? You could have made a grand entrance—a really special moment!—and now to arrive with all the rest—! Where were my wits?”

  I bounced at her side, craning my neck to see out of the closed windows.

  “Stop gawking!” Madame instructed me. “Do you want these people to think you have never been to a ball before?”

  “But I haven’t.”

  “That’s not the point! When you get inside that house you must act as though you have seen it all before, a hundred times. You are a Russian countess, remember that.”

  “But why?” I wondered absently. “Why do we have to pretend that I am nobility?”

  “We are not pretending anything! You are nobility! And besides, do you think that any of these people would have anything to do with you if they knew that for the first thirteen years of your life you lived like a beggar?”

  “I lived like a Gypsy,” I corrected her. “We only begged because—”

  “Enough!” Madame Odette shivered and fanned herself. “If you dare breathe one word of that to anyone, I will—disown you! Now remember, come back to me after each dance so that I can read your card to you. I don’t want you running off by yourself where I can’t keep an eye on you. And don’t accept an invitation to supper without asking me first! And don’t touch the champagne!”

  She went on and on, issuing last-minute instructions. I patted her hand distractedly and promised mechanically to behave myself. But in my mind I was already at the ball, whirling around the dance floor in the arms of a man I was going to marry. I wanted marriage as much as Madame Odette wanted it for me. A home and babies and a husband to love me. The Gypsies believed that marriage was the sole purpose of a woman’s life, and that nothing but marriage could make a man of a boy. What would this husband of mine look like, I wondered? I decided that he would be very tall, and fair, and very handsome. And of course he would be rich!

  Madame Odette’s worries about our arrival going unnoticed were unnecessary. As soon as our carriage drew up to the door and I stepped out, assisted by a liveried Delacroix footman, a hush fell over the crowd at the door. Madame Odette and I walked up the broad marble stairs, and the cluster of people waiting to get inside actually parted to let us pass! I saw Madame lift her head a little higher, and I guessed that this was one of the great moments of her life. Every third person we passed knew of the scandal of her faded finishing school, and she hoped that they would witness the triumph of one they had scorned.

  Relieved of our wraps, we went into the ballroom to greet our hosts. Heads swivelled as I passed—and most of them tilted up to gasp at my size. I felt regal and beautiful and so excited and happy that I wanted to shout out loud.

  Monsieur and Madame Delacroix received us coldly. I suppose they were still smarting from havin
g to endure Madame Odette’s presence at their grand affair.

  “This is the Countess Rhawnie Nicolaevna Oulianova, the granddaughter of a very old friend of mine,” Madame Odette said, presenting me. I curtsied deeply and offered Monsieur Delacroix my hand to kiss. He smiled appreciatively, while his wife, a small woman with dark hair and a mean mouth, nearly broke her face trying to look disapproving. But our grand lie was launched, and I didn’t care a whit whether or not those people believed that I was of noble Russian blood and had been gently raised in Moscow. They couldn’t prove that I wasn’t, could they?

  I turned a dazzling smile on Monsieur Delacroix. “l am so happy to have been invited here tonight! Thank you so much, "your home is very beautiful, Madame,” I said to the unsmiling hostess. “Much grander than anything I have seen in Moscow.”

  “Perhaps you will honor me with a dance later in the evening. Countess?” Monsieur Delacroix said with a little bow. I handed him my card and he put his name down near the top. I saw his wife give him a sharp look, which he ignored.

  A group of new arrivals came into the room and we moved on. Madame Odette squeezed my hand and whispered, “Nicely done. And here come the young men you are to meet. I know most of them because of their sisters.”

  A crowd of young men swarmed around us, presenting themselves and asking for the honor of dancing with me in the course of the evening.

  “Could I not dance with you all, at the same time?” I asked gaily. “In a large circle, as we did in the Gyp—in Russia!”

  I felt Madame Odette stiffen apprehensively, but they all laughed and the oldest in the group, a slim, brownhaired man of twenty, said warmly, “We are fortunate that customs in France are different from Russia, Countess. You will have to endure us one at a time.”

  I smiled around the circle and said, “I think I shall find your customs most delightful, gentlemen. After all, a man who buys a horse does not watch to see how it runs in a team, does he? Yes, I think I would like to see your paces alone.”

  Madame Odette winced, but the men were all utterly captivated and laughed heartily. My dance card was filled in a matter of minutes. Then my admirers begged to show me the delights of Paris.

  “I would love that!” I exclaimed truthfully. “Perhaps we could go riding sometime? It must be possible to hire a horse—”

  They hastened to assure me that it was certainly possible, and the slim young man with the brown hair and nice smile offered his own prize-winning mount for my inspection and enjoyment.

  “A fine thing,” Madame Odette muttered to me when they had drifted away to seek out other less desirable partners for the evening. “Now I will have to pay for an equestrienne outfit! And what was all that nonsense about dancing in circles and buying horses in teams? I never told you—”

  “I am supposed to be Russian, no?” I smiled. “They would not believe it if my manners were too perfect like their own. I think they like me better with just a little straw in my shoes, so they can show me how cultured and civilized the French people are compared to the Russians.”

  Madame Odette gave me an astonished look, then she nodded approvingly. “Very shrewd, girl. You will go far. Did you see the first name of your card? No, how could you? It’s young de Vernay. He’s a duke, Rhawnie! And a favorite nephew of King Louis Philippe himself!”

  She led me away to introduce me to some of her old friends. I had met some of the old gentlemen at the house when they came to call on her. They might have been arthritic and hard of hearing, but they were still ardent connoisseurs of female beauty.

  “Charming! Exquisite! Delightful!” they breathed. “Yes, the Count was such a dear, dear friend,” Madame Odette said with a meaningful wink which I did not understand but which made the men chuckle. “Of course I was delighted to take his dear granddaughter into my home. Her manners are still rather provincial—Russia is such a backward country!—but she is a very quick learner.”

  “I should say she is,” said a voice that I recognized. I looked around and saw Simone Gallier smirking at me. “Your protégée seems to have made remarkable progress since I saw her last, Odette.”

  Madame Odette seemed unruffled by the threat in Simone’s tone. She said. “Yes, Rhawnie’s noble origins have stood her in such good stead. But then breeding always tells, doesn’t it, Simone?”

  Simone’s smile became glacial. She favored me with a sneering stare, and then moved away.

  “What if she tells everyone that I was your scullery maid?” I asked Madame Odette in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “She won’t,” Madame Odette said confidently. “For one thing, she wouldn’t want the story of your last meeting to come out. So humiliating. And for another, I know all about Simone Gallier and her antecedents. And she knows I know. Tit for tat, dear Rhawnie. Silence for silence.”

  The orchestra finished tuning up and launched into the first dance of the evening, a polka. Monsieur and Madame Delacroix led the ball and the young Duke de Vernay claimed me.

  “You dance very well,” he said at the end of the dance.

  ‘‘They do the polka in Russia, too,” I said. “And the waltz. And all the other dances you do here.”

  “I wish I could experience them all with you, Countess,” he said gallantly. “But I was quite sincere in my invitation to ride. Will you come? Tomorrow? My horses are very fine—”

  “I would love to ride with you,” I said. “But I must ask Madame Odette. I didn’t bring anything to wear you know!”

  He looked crestfallen, then hopeful. “Then perhaps we could ride in my barouche? I have a splendid team of blacks. You must see them. Will you?”

  I gave him my consent and we drifted over to Madame Odette, who was seated in a small chair under an enormous gilt-framed mirror. As we stood chatting, a sudden movement at my elbow caught my eye. I heard Madame Odette gasp, and as I looked up a familiar face joined mine in the mirror. Our eyes met. I saw myself turn pale, then rosy.

  I suppose the young duke made his excuses and went away. I really don’t remember. The noise of the crowd faded away and a little shiver of delight and anticipation went through me. I faced the newcomer squarely.

  Madame Odette stood up quickly and grasped my elbow.

  “Ah, Monsieur Garrett!” she said a little too loudly. “May I present the Countess Oulianova, from Russia. Child, this is Monsieur Garrett, a very well-known, ah, traveller. You have never met him before.” Her bony fingers dug into my arm.

  I extended my hand. He took it and raised my fingers to his lips. As he bowed over my hand he raised his eyes to mine and said, “I am honored, Countess.”

  I wondered how I could have forgotten the beauty of his voice. It was rich and deep, with a cutting edge that commanded attention. I studied him. He had changed, but only slightly. His hair was longer and swept straight back from his forehead in a wavy mane. His beard was gone. The knife scar that the beard had partially concealed now shone vividly against his skin, giving him a devilish and more dangerous look. The cut had scored his cheek from the corner of his left eye down to his jawbone. He wore evening dress as unselfconsciously and gracefully as he had worn heavy furs and stout boots. His shirt front was dazzling white and punctuated with little diamond studs, and his black cutaway coat fit him perfectly, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist.

  He leaned indolently on a shining black ebony cane with a gold lion’s head at the top, and his eyes flickered appreciatively over my figure. When we were face to face I noticed that our eyes were exactly on a level. At least he couldn’t look down on me now. His look paralyzed me and my mouth went dry. I collected my wits and cleared my throat.

  “You have been away from Paris a long time, Monsieur,” I said pleasantly. “Do you find the city changed?” A silly question, but just the sort of thing civilized people said to one another when they met.

  Seth looked puzzled. “Somewhat, Countess. I am pleased and surprised that my absence has come to the attention of su
ch a charming visitor.”

  “My dear, we must go,” Madame Odette said, dragging at my arm.

  I ignored her. “But of course I know that you have been away,” I said to him.

  And then I realized that he didn’t recognize me.

  “Ah,” I said, savoring the moment, “you do not remember me!”

  He smiled apologetically and said, “You must think me very rude, Countess. I am certain that—”

  Madame Odette tugged at me but I stood fast. My feet might have been nailed to the floor.

  “You are certain that if we had met before you would remember me?” I finished for him. “Why? Because I am so beautiful? Ah, but Monsieur Seth, I was not so beautiful then. Do you not recall the little Gypsy who travelled with you from Russia?”

  Madame Odette released my arm and fell back, bracing herself.

  He stared at me, and blinked, and stared some more. “Rhawnie?” he said incredulously. I gave a happy little nod.

  Then to my amazement and horror, he started to laugh. The sound was awful, terrible, deafening. It boomed to the four corners of the room and a hundred and fifty heads swung in our direction. But I didn’t see them then. I didn’t notice that we had suddenly become the center of attention. Hatred and loathing and fury boiled up inside of me. How dare he. How dare he laugh at me when I had endured the most incredible torments for the past year, learning to be a better gorgio than if I had been born gorgio!

  I pressed my mouth into a grim line and my eyes flashed. I heard Madame Odette murmur, “No, no, Rhawnie, come away, I beg—”

  “Filthy swine,” I said through my teeth. I stepped right up close to him and struck him viciously on the cheek with my open hand. “Uncivilized boor!” I shouted.

  The thunder of his laughter died away but a mischievous light still danced in his eyes. “Forgive me, Countess,” he said, stressing my title mockingly, “but I seem to have forgotten the correct way of paying one’s addresses to Russian nobility.”

  He put his arms around me and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. Then he kissed me full on the mouth. I squirmed in his arms.