by Jackie Ivie
The colonel would probably even hear of it, but Helene didn’t care. There wasn’t much of her Gillian could touch, even if he resorted to violence. She was so busy counting that the experience became nicely blurred. When she looked about her, the inside of the carriage looked like every other space. Vacant. Dark.
The horses started up. And Gil started speaking.
“Well? I’m waiting. And you can cease that damned blank look!”
Helene turned her eyes at him and leered.
“I’m warning you, Helene!”
“Helene? Cor! Ye’ve gone an’ lost yer wits again, me fine dream man.”
She watched Gil’s mouth tighten to a thin line, ruining the pouting, kissable look they’d just been in.
What an insane thought.
“As I’m not invited to Napoleon’s mistress’s chambers, I certainly hope you gain your wits soon, Helene. It’ll hardly become me for my wife to act the idiot.”
“Napoleon’s mistress? Ye should-a listened at keyholes more, dream man. Bonie’s gone and wed with the woman! Ye’d think a spy would figure these things out, wouldn’t ye?”
“A spy? Me? Oh please. I’ve been called many things, darling, but never that.”
“Why else would ye take yer bonny body out of England’s safe shores then? Ye must think Brandy has no brains at all.”
She shook her head sadly and watched him frown. She didn’t like that, but didn’t want to ponder why.
“I didn’t want to come to France at all,” he said. “I only did it, because I hoped to jolt some truth out of that little mouth of yours.”
“Is it working?”
“Oh…I believe I’m going to need a very large bath and some privacy to find out. Followed by a lengthy afternoon session of worshipping your body. Hmm. That sounds more like pleasure, but what the hell? I always was a failure at dealing out punishment. What do you think, Helene?”
She narrowed her eyes and considered him for long moments while her pulse thumped loudly through each ear. He returned the look. Gillian Bartholomew Tremayne. And he was in perfect focus. It wouldn’t do to rue the loss of her dream state. That was why he said it.
Damn him. She didn’t want reality back right now! Maybe later. Tonight. In the dark. With no one to watch her tears. But not now.
“Does this mean you’ve decided to see sense?”
She nodded.
“Excellent. I’ll direct the driver take us back to Peacockville. Driver!”
He rapped on the roof and gave instructions through the sliding panel behind his head. Helene watched without comment.
“Do you know how I can tell, Helene?” he asked when he turned back to her.
She didn’t answer. He smiled.
“I don’t know how you blank out the world, but your eyes have the strangest film over them when you do. And since I dearly love their burgundy color, it’s especially obvious to me.”
She made a sound and turned her head away. If he continued, she’d be unable to attend Josephine’s invitation, because she’d be crying too hard.
Stupid man.
“And now…perhaps you’ll explain what you’re doing dressed like a whore in the worst section of Paris? No? Shall I hazard a guess? Come on, Helene. You owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Let’s summarize, shall we?”
“I hate it when you do that!” she hissed.
“Oh good. I’ll have to remember that. Now…where was I? Oh, yes. Colonel Fontenelle has been showing me all the places where I might find masculine amusement of a sordid nature. Paris seems to be bursting at the seams with it. He warned me specifically away from Concord Street, however, because I might catch a disease or two. I admit to being curious about what horrors the Rue de Concorde could possibly hold after some of the salons I visited, so I asked the driver to take me there — after we dropped off the colonel, of course.”
He waited for so long, she had to reply.
“Of course,” she mumbled.
“Very good. I’d hate to think you weren’t listening. Now, imagine my consternation at seeing what appears to be a lively lover’s spat. I decide I’d better rescue the poor girl and report the soldier for shoving her, so I order my driver to stop the carriage. And join the fray. And then…what happens? By thunder. It’s my wife! And she’s dressed in...what are you dressed in?”
“Evette’s Sunday best.”
“Evette? I don’t recall hearing that name before. Which of your colorful acquaintances is she?”
“One of the maids.”
“I see. So. Here’s my wife, dressed in her maid’s Sunday best clothing. And I have to say it. Any reverend will have a severe problem lecturing about the sins of the flesh if Evette attends wearing such an outfit for the sermon.”
Helene glanced down at where she displayed four inches of her chemise, more skin than Brandy ever had, and she’d lost the shawl. The effects of the morning were all bad.
“I can explain,” she whispered in the silence.
“Of course, you can. And it’s always a joy to hear your explanations. Perhaps you’ll accept the offer of my coat before we reach our lodgings?”
“Thank you.”
She was forced to look at him as he held out the article of clothing. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked more like he was withholding laughter. Laughter. At her. After she’d just suffered one of the worst experiences of her life.
Helene yanked the coat from his fingers and shoved her arms into the sleeves and then bunched them so her hands were exposed. And damn everything! It smelled like him, too.
“Well. It fits as poorly as my shirt earlier. But, as I offered before, you’re welcome to any item of my wardrobe you wish. Jacket. Shirt. Socks. Oh. Will you need a lift to our rooms, or did you wear your own shoes?”
She lifted her voluminous skirt and showed him the walking boots she’d laced on. He probably recognized them, because he helped choose everything she wore.
“I hadn’t considered the peasant look for you, Helene, but, if you’ll wear it only for me in the future, I believe I could learn to appreciate the style.”
She refused to answer that, letting him think what he liked. It didn’t help that he followed her up the steps at the Blouet Palace when they arrived, chuckling at how awkward her skirts and his greatcoat were for her. But one thing was different.
She didn’t feel remotely like crying.
***
“Madame Bonaparte will see you now. If you’ll please follow me?”
Helene murmured her assent, but she would’ve followed the servant, anyway, to prevent becoming lost. Madame Bonaparte didn’t decorate in the ordinary fashion. She seemed intent on creating a fashion of her own — the fabrics that formed walls were simply draped about, attached to hooks in the ceilings and fanning out as they reached the floor.
It was difficult to tell where the rooms ended and began or where the doors were. It was probably a nightmare for the staff to keep clean, but Helene didn’t waste any time thinking about that. She was almost too tired to think.
Gillian hadn’t left her alone for one moment once they got back. Evette, amid plenty of stammering and blushing, managed to fasten her mistress into a violet dress with dark maroon accents. She was very talkative, however, probably due to nervousness, and she told Gillian almost everything about their morning excursion — except the diamonds.
Evette must not want anything to do with being blamed for that, but at least Gil didn’t think Renee had designs on his wife. Renee was taken, Evette had assured him.
Helene followed the servant through the gauzy, rose-colored fabric. She barely saw the shape of a tub, with Madame Bonaparte residing in it.
“Oh, my dear Citizen Montriart! No, I say it wrong. You’re not known as that, are you? You’re wed to that handsome English gentleman, aren’t you? A fine couple you are, too. We remarked on it, didn’t we?”
“Oui, Madame.” The answer came fr
om one of Josephine’s attendants.
Helene reddened despite herself.
“However did you find such a fine gent, Madame??” Josephine’s brow lifted inquiringly.
“Mistaken identity, actually. He thought he was wedding my cousin, Helen. I was rather a shock.”
“You have a cousin named Helen? Why wasn’t I informed?”
Josephine spoke to her entourage, but Helene couldn’t resist answering.
“I didn’t know your address, Madame.”
The room became silent, and then Josephine laughed.
“I’d forgotten how wonderful it is not to be surrounded by fawning puppets, whose occupation in life seems to be agreeing with me. Madame Tremayne. Come, you may help me choose a gown for this evening.”
She stood, and Helene was shocked by not only the audacity, but the woman had a perfect form. And it was covered in a white film.
“You bathe...in milk, Madam?”
“Shhh! Don’t say it too loudly. I try to believe it’s my secret, but that’s stupid, is it not? Milk helps keep away age and makes my skin so soft Napoleon notices. He doesn’t notice much, does he, ladies?”
One of her attendants answered in the affirmative, two more held Josephine’s robe for her. For some reason, Helene found herself comparing the way Josephine acted to what she’d expect of a queen, even one as ill-fated as Marie Antoinette.
“Come, Madame Tremayne,” Josephine said. “Tell me all about this lovely husband of yours. I haven’t seen many of his size, strength, and appearance. He’s quite handsome. I noted that as well, and spoke on it, didn’t I, ladies?”
A different attendant agreed that time. Helene wondered if they took turns.
“Surely you’d not have me believe him caught by devious methods,” Josephine continued. “Why, you two look perfectly in love, you do.”
Helene repeated the lie about her guardian’s temper and Gillian’s love at first sight. She didn’t even stumble.
“Delightful,” Josephine said. “I’ve been thinking of wearing the peach satin, but it’s not opaque enough, don’t you agree?”
“Opaque?”
Helene walked into the room Josephine used for a dressing chamber. It looked like all her clothing was made from the same filmy material as the draperies that made up her walls.
“Oh, yes. We’ve quite set the world on its ear with our fashions. Don’t you agree?”
“I…haven’t seen anything like it in London.” Helene tried to sound complimentary.
“Oh, you’ve become quite British, Madame Tremayne! Only those stiff-necked Brits can say something and mean the opposite. You’ll visit again, won’t you?”
She was dismissed. It didn’t appear to be a good sign, but at least she could leave and not be blamed if Madame Bonaparte’s nipples were hidden. She giggled at the thought and wished there was someone to share it with.
She stopped dead at the realization there was someone who would appreciate the acerbity of her comments and probably add a few of his own. Oh no. No. Wasn’t it bad enough to suffer from unrequited love? Did she have to like his company, too?
CHAPTER FIVE
“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Helene said.
“I’ve given it some thought, darling,” Gil replied, “and I think the new fashions are immensely becoming.”
“I won’t wear it. You might as well save your coin, My Lord.”
Helene didn’t have much more time to argue before he’d have her at the dress shop, and the last thing she wanted was a dress remotely resembling Madame Bonaparte’s.
“Come along, Helene. I admit the new style is a trifle revealing, but you’ve got the classic form for it.”
“You jest, Gillian! I’ve all the curves of a stick, and you know it!”
“Don’t you ever look in a mirror? Christ, Helene! I’m tired of arguing that you’re a splendid-looking woman, and I should know!”
Of course, he would say something to deflate her. She purposely turned to look out the window. She didn’t know why she bothered arguing, anyway. It was a waste of breath. If the great Lord Tremayne wanted her to parade nearly naked at the countess’s little soiree, it was bound to happen. He never seemed to lose.
She could take comfort in the glance she’d had of the Countess of Tilbury. The woman looked to wear the sheerest fabrics, available. Surely, Gillian wouldn’t choose something equal for his wife. Not after his censure over the maid’s outfit Helene had worn just that morning.
He wouldn’t…would he?
“Gillian?”
“Not to worry, love,” he patted her knee. “I’d never allow anything that sheer. Imagine the consequences.”
“I didn’t say a word.” He’d read her mind again?
“But you were thinking it. Come on. ‘Fess up.”
Why must we do this, anyway? I’ve several gowns I could wear already…and I need time to rest before the festivities.”
“Rest? You?” He hooted and slapped his knee. “Surely you jest. You looked fairly chipper when you woke me this morn. And let me also add your little expedition to the seediest section of town when you were supposedly resting before luncheon. Honestly, Helene, you stretch the bounds of my imagination to no end. Did you know that?”
“You are not amusing.”
“Oh, I’m very amusing. Just not to you. Why, darling, I don’t believe you’ll feel tired until you’ve had a chance to stomp my toes tonight. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“I won’t.”
“Let’s not forget we’re invited to the countess’s buffet, too. I’ve heard rumors about her entertainments, and I’m certain, if I keep you occupied enough, there won’t be any way in hell you’ll wake me as early tomorrow morning as you did today.”
He folded his arms as if he made a valid point. Helene swung toward him.
“I didn’t wake you, and I’m tired of repeating it! I did nothing to wake you, yet you just blather on and on about it. If that’s your usual method of discussion, you must have few takers for your bets, My Lord!”
“It’s a waste of time and money to bet, Helene. I’d advise you against it with the way you warp the truth.”
“I didn’t wake you.”
“Did.”
“I most certainly did not!”
“Did too.”
“You’re a complete juvenile, Monsîeur!”
“Did you, or did you not, get out of bed first?”
“Stupid question, My Lord. I got up first, and we both know it.”
“There you have it.”
“Have what, pray tell?”
She tossed her hands theatrically, tired of his stubbornness. She was ready to welcome the dress shop if it got her away from his voice.
“You woke me by your absence. You know it.”
“That’s…ridiculous.”
“If you’re trying to anger me so I won’t make you stand for a fitting, it’s not going to work. Know why? I already sent your measurements to the good woman. She should have your new gown ready when we get there.”
“But, why?”
“I’ve a very good reason for acting like we’ve all the time in the world, love…or hadn’t it concerned you that Colonel Fontenelle and his pups aren’t escorting us, anymore?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Helene. Darling. As much as I’d like to believe that, I know better. You? Not notice something? But, I’ll just breeze past that little white one and ask. Why do you think, after acting like a sticky bun I’d sat in, would that fellow just up and disappear?”
“Oh. I’m sure his orders lie somewhere in my boudoir, My Lord. I just haven’t had time to review them and approve yet. I’ll let you know the moment I do.”
“What happened at Madame Josephine’s, then? I barely had time to drive around the block before you came back out. There I was, thinking you’d be in long enough for me to at least sample the coffee.”
“She wasn’t ready to receive, unless she usually does s
o from her bath.”
“Her bath? Damn. I rather wish I’d been invited. Then again, we know she’s not the least bit blond, is she?”
“Where’s the dress shop, My Lord? We’ve been driving for hours, and I’m tired of conversing with you. I rather fancy a few stick pins as more entertaining.” She yawned for emphasis.
“Perhaps my company does dull a bit, darling. You’ll have to forgive me, but there’s actually no one else I’d trust to accompany you. Colonel Fontenelle isn’t wasting any more militia on us, and your maid miserably failed her chaperon’s test earlier.”
“What if I gave you my word, Gillian? I promise I wouldn’t do anything more than fall asleep in place.”
“You have such a word? Hold, while I catch my breath.”
He grinned, and she wished for something more sturdy than her reticule to hit him with.
“Very well,” she began. “Tag along, then. I don’t imagine women’s dress shops hold much interest for you, anyway. I’ve seen how boring you find them, if you recall.”
“Please. Darling. Credit me with eyes. You can’t possibly compare the sights in the shops of London to the one I’ll get here. The material here is much more interesting…from a man’s point of view, of course.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Find another word. I’m growing bored with that one.”
The carriage stopped before she had one, and it would’ve been useless, anyway. Every other word that came to mind was too complimentary. Of course, that was before the golden mesh material was brought out and shown. That’s when Helene couldn’t hide her reaction. The net wouldn’t keep out insects, and Gil expected her to wear it? She wouldn’t wear it! He had no sense!
“Gillian, I...I refuse. Do you hear me?”
She whispered as loudly as she dared. The dressmaker seemed very pleased with the film of material on her arm, and it wasn’t her fault that Gillian was acting senseless and blind.
“You don’t even want to try it on, love?” Gil asked.
“No.”
“Even if I assist you in putting it on?”
“Go to hell!” she hissed, then turned to the shopkeeper, smiling as if she hadn’t just looked daggers at her husband.
