Thérèse let a full smile appear and continued to tease, “I will proudly be promoting the pleasure of all my fellow women who are fortunate enough to come across my étudiants.”
Maybelle lowered her chin but did not break their gaze. “No. You will proudly be promoting the idea that women are poodles and should be petted at will.”
Thérèse tsked, puckering her lips. “Ma chére. If a man knows nothing about seduction, the courtship becomes merely poom-poom. Animal copulation. And it is the woman who suffers, for a man can always find pleasure. But a woman? Not so. We cannot keep men from the conquests they seek, but we can educate the lust-ridden fools and in turn benefit, oui?”
A withering look appeared. “All right. Name your price.”
Thérèse paused. “Price? You mean for the school?” It varied depending on what these men could or could not afford but… “I agreed on one hundred pounds per week.”
Another gasp escaped her granddaughter. “One hundred pounds per week?” she squeaked. “For mere advice? Are they mad?”
No. They were desperate. Like her. “It is a very respectable price. Understand that an experienced demimondaine such as myself could actually demand much more.”
Maybelle sighed. “Grand-mére, please. I will gladly bargain with you, if need be, but for heaven’s sake, you must close the school before you become an even bigger celebrity of the wrong sort.”
Why did no one share in her vision of educating men when it came to relationships? They all needed it. They all seemed to think their money and good looks would save them. Not that her granddaughter understood. The girl avoided men at every turn and sometimes Thérèse blamed herself for it. She had spent too many years educating the girl about life, sex and men and apparently had over-educated her.
Her own past aside, she wanted great-grandchildren. At least ten of them. Was that too much to ask for, given her days of ever having a bigger family were at an end? Her own family back in France, rot them all, right down to her ten brothers, had abandoned her when her finances ran out, joining the rest of the world in accusing her of immoral ways.
It was her and Maybelle now.
“I will not bargain for the school but--” Thérèse paused, then turned toward her. “I will bargain for the money you wish to travel with. Since I still hold all the purse strings.” Purse strings that had long frayed and let the purse hit the floor. She had been spoiling her granddaughter and buying the girl everything and anything she wanted since she first met the glorious little, rambunctious thing.
Finances aside, Thérèse had only ever been truly broken twice. When she was forced to let Gérard go to save him and when her own son, Henri, had hied off to England at fifteen, unable to accept what it was she had to do to enable them to survive. Her ability to save those she loved seemed only possible when she let them go. And when her beloved Henri had succumbed to illness and died, leaving behind a daughter after he had married so incredibly young, she sought to do everything right by ensuring she protected the girl. Maybelle was all she had left and yet even that would soon be gone given the girl was clearly intent on travelling as opposed to giving her great-grandchildren.
There were good men out there. Her Gérard had been one of them.
Maybe it was time to insist. Before she ended up completely alone. “Once, ma chére. It is all I ask.”
Maybelle lifted both brows. “Once what?”
The subject of the girl’s abstinence needed to be touched upon. “I have taught you everything I know, and yet here you are at one and twenty, and have only kissed one man. Why?”
“I did not kiss that man,” Maybelle sternly corrected, holding up a rigid finger and shaking it. “He kissed me.”
This was definitely a problem. That disinterest seemed to only grow.
Thérèse sighed. “I do not understand. You have no intentions of ever marrying, and yet you hold onto your virginity as if it were worth a dowry. A woman’s innocence is only valued by men. The moment you dispense of it, you take your first step toward freedom. Your first step toward ensuring you do not belong to anyone but yourself.”
“Yes. I am well aware of that.”
“Then what is the problem?” Maybe the girl was…? “Do you prefer women? Hm?”
Maybelle’s cheeks flushed. “I want it to be memorable, is all. I want to look upon a man and say to myself, oh, yes, I’ll bed that one please. Besides. You know the ton. They keep all the titled, good-looking men to themselves and give us their horrid remnants no one else wants.”
Pausing before her, Thérèse shook her head almost pitifully. “You think the ton is keeping the good men away? Pffff. The ton has no power over us. We are our own government which no man rules. We define ourselves. And that is why I am asking you to define yourself. Without the ton’s ridiculous restrictions. I say, storm the Season. Claim the man of your choosing and enjoy life. Perhaps then you would not be so horribly tense.”
Maybelle glared. “Horribly tense? Need I remind you, we cannot even attend social gatherings unless they’re being hosted at a brothel.”
Everyone was a pundit these days. “You, Maybelle, are my granddaughter. As such, you have the ability to place every man at your feet. Make a name for yourself, and the sort of men you want will come by the dozen.”
“Grand-mére, I am not interested in becoming a demimondaine. Life is difficult enough with you being one.”
Thérèse tried not to whine. “But you have the makings of greatness.”
“Greatness indeed. I learned from Papa long ago never to overextend myself to anyone as it leads to very bad things. Surely, you remember how obsessed he was with Mama. And she’d been dead for twelve years.”
“Henri was born a romantic.” Like his father. “What can I say.” Thérèse sighed, reached out and took hold of Maybelle’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “Have I returned to being a demimondaine after becoming your guardian? Non. Yet why is it men continue to roll at my feet, begging to be patted at any cost? Because I cannot escape the name I have created. Nor do I want to. I enjoy sex.” And passion. She had a great teacher.
Maybelle released her hands, shook her head and stepped back. “I will not watch you destroy whatever integrity London has left by teaching all the men how to take advantage of women. It is not right.”
Thérèse lowered her voice. “I will tell you what is not right, Maybelle. Because of who I wish to be, because of who I have always been, I have not only sent my son to an early grave, but am now forcing his child to flee from me in the same manner he did. I know what will happen once you leave today. You will not return. You will disappear from my life. As Henri did.” As his father had. Of course, she had wanted it that way. For him.
Maybelle’s pretty features softened. She took hold of Thérèse’s shoulders and squeezed them gently, assuredly. “I would never abandon you. Ever. Seeing the pyramids is a dream of mine. You know that. And the way that Ferlini man is going about destroying them, there may very well be nothing left for me to see. You’ve read the papers. He is damn well smashing tops off pyramids and plundering tombs wherever he goes.”
How was she going to tell the girl they couldn’t afford the trip? Thérèse pinched her lips together, her eyes now burning with tears. Tears she hadn’t cried since she threw herself at her son’s bedside while he lay dying.
Blinking back tears that threatened to fall, Thérèse pulled away and sniffed. She fingered the emerald bracelets she had on, bracelets given to her by Lady Madeleine who had gone on to marry a Persian prince, but knew they wouldn’t fetch enough. She would have to sell the diamonds and pearls Gérard had given her when she was the girl’s age. It would allow her Maybelle to travel to her heart’s content and be abroad for however long she wanted to be.
Which could be a long time. Maybe she would meet a man and never come back.
Waving a hand, Thérèse eventually muttered, “Go. Follow your heart, your love. I will pay for everything and manage the school on my own. You
will see.”
There was a moment of silence.
After a moment, Maybelle announced, “I will stay for two months. But only two months.”
Bless you for loving me. Two months would allow her to gather enough funds without selling the diamonds or pearls. Oh, how she loved the girl! This girl had shown her the one thing she had failed to learn in her lifetime. That mercy and forgiveness equaled real love.
Turning back toward her, Thérèse half-clapped, unable to contain her joy. “Two months will be magnifique! You will join me at the school on opening day, oui? Aside from all the men you will meet, I have countless rooms filled with all sorts of treasures and adventures.”
Maybelle pointed. “Let us not get carried away. I am not interested in school-boys learning how to please a woman. I know more than the basics thanks to you. Understand, Grand-mére, that the trouble with most men, even the experienced ones, is that they are forever seeking out attachments and are for the most part quite possessive. Albeit in different forms, but it all ends the same. If it isn’t a wife they require, it is a mistress, and if it isn’t a mistress, it is some other form of convention they ultimately define in their own terms. Which is why I see absolutely no point in pursuing a single one of them.”
Thérèse had certainly over-educated the girl. She had tried to keep her from getting hurt by over-sexed blighters only to— Merde. Her granddaughter apparently wanted the sex without the commitment. Too much like a man. But in a man’s world…she supposed it was a good thing.
Maybelle took in a deep, calming breath and let it out. “Now. I propose that over the next two months we point all of our efforts in the direction of your school and then in the direction of my travels. Then we will both be happy. And that is what we want, yes? To be happy?”
Maybe the girl needed an introduction to what she loved most but thought was unattainable: titled men. And she knew just the man to offer the girl a ballroom full of them.
Thérèse held up a finger into the air, causing all of her bracelets to fall down the length of her wrist. “I have an idea.”
Her granddaughter stepped back.
Thérèse ignored that poor humor. “Lord Hughes owes me a favor. A considerable one, I admit.” She had finally let the poor man kiss her after dealing with well over a year of pleading. It wasn’t bad. It didn’t make her toes curl, but at her age, nothing ever did anymore. She liked him.
Thérèse winked with great exaggeration, trying to remain playful. “I shall therefore see to it that he invites us to several of his soirées. He does not care what the ton thinks.” She smiled and folded her hands before her. “I promise to find you a man incapable of demanding any attachments.”
Maybelle’s blonde eyebrows rose.
“And when we find him,” Thérèse went on, “it will then be entirely up to you to make the best of it.”
Maybe the girl would even find a man right here in London and…stay.
Three weeks later at the house of Lord Hughes, evening
As elegantly dressed men and women whisked in and out of sight, adorned in perfectly tailored and expensive satiny hues of onyx, periwinkle, and alabaster, Thérèse kept her granddaughter tucked near the oak paneled wall to ensure they had the best view of every man in the house.
A young mustached gentleman, a mere baron grinned and nodded his pleasantries toward Thérèse as he passed by.
No chance, Monsieur Baron. Keep walking. I only have sex with grown men, not boys. She did, however, politely return his nod, given she had no intention on being rude to potential candidates for her school.
Maybelle leaned in from behind and peered past the double bouffant sleeves of Thérèse’s low-cut, plum evening gown.
A tall, dark-haired gentleman clad in expensive black evening attire strode past making her granddaughter pause.
It made Thérèse also pause. She glanced back at her granddaughter.
Those big, eager blue eyes followed the gentleman, her lips parting.
Oho. And there it was. Lust at first sight.
A breath escaped Thérèse. Oh, to be young again. She missed the excitement of seeing a man that made her skin tingle and her stomach flip.
Maybelle gathered her cream satin skirts and bustled out from behind Thérèse to place herself on better display. She pertly waited.
Thérèse bit back a smile. Youth was so adorably stupid.
Maybelle released her satin skirts and silently watched as the gentleman rounded the dance floor and disappeared through the French doors leading out onto the darkened terrace.
Well, well. Her granddaughter had taken an interest in a real challenge. And in a duke, no less. Dukes, when done right, were certainly hard to resist. She should know. “You have very good taste. That, ma chére, is none other than the Duke of Rutherford. Better known to London as the man tragically ruined by his father’s lust.”
Oh, yes. She had every finger on the pulse of London’s throat. It had enabled her to survive its prudish, overly regulated ways.
Maybelle’s eyes widened. “Ruined by his father’s lust? You don’t mean his father actually--”
“Och, mais non!” The dirty, dirty thing. “Where is your mind tonight?”
Thérèse glanced around, snapped open her ostrich fan and leaned toward her. She hid the bottom half of their faces behind the confines of her fan and lowered her voice. “You see, a little over six years ago, his father died in the arms of a courtesan. Laudanum overdose. Dreadful, dreadful scandal. But then the réel rumors commenced. That the woman was not a courtesan at all, but a lady of high, respectable society. Well. That made it even more difficile for the ton to accept and ever since, the duke’s poor mama has desperately tried to marry him off to whoever will have him. Despite his dire circumstances, the man refuses to compromise his lineage and will not marry below him. And so there you have it. Ruined by his own father’s lust.”
Maybelle eyed her. “What if I wanted him? For a night, that is. What would you suggest?”
Who knew getting great-grandchildren was going to be this easy. She only hoped the girl didn’t get into too much trouble. Thérèse leaned away and snapped her fan closed, letting it dangle by its velvet string attached to her gloved wrist. “Seeing you want only one night, I suggest you keep it simple.”
“How simple?” Maybelle prodded.
Thérèse lifted her other hand, pulled out a small, tin box from the wrist of her glove, opened it and held it out for her. “Here. Have a mint. I will make an introduction for you before the end of the hour.”
Maybelle lowered her voice a touch more. “Why an introduction? Is it because of his rank?”
Thérèse laughed. “Of course not. It is because of my rank. You want him, oui?” She shook the box at her, rattling the candies within. “Do take one, ma chére. Men adore the smell of mint. It seduces their senses.”
Maybelle wrinkled her nose, plucked up the mint between two fingers and tucked it into her own glove. She turned and watched the doors leading to the balcony. “So how does one even go about seducing a man of such status? Surely it complicates matters.”
Whilst, yes, everyone in London might consider her to be a bad grandmother for pushing her granddaughter toward pursuing lust, she knew the girl only wanted an experience, not a commitment. Lust was tamable and eventually fled. Whilst commitment? That was complicated.
Besides, at one and twenty, how much longer did society expect such a passionate, pretty girl to wait? “A title is but a barrier, not a complication.” Thérèse plucked up a mint, placed it onto the tip of her tongue and slid the tin back into the unbuttoned space at the wrist of her glove. “Perhaps you should consider visiting the school and sitting in on a few lessons. We discuss social barriers all the time.” Or rather, she did. The men were a touch shy.
“No. No, thank you. I shall manage. Without stepping onto your pirate ship.” Maybelle eyed the balcony again. “I wish to approach him out in the garden. Might I?”
And she thoug
ht she was brash when she was younger. Thérèse sighed. “I will not argue.” She paused. “But. Before you go. Be certain that I do not notice you are abandoning me or I shall come across as a very bad chaperone.” She would go out and check on the girl in exactly twenty minutes to ensure it did not get too out of hand given they were in public.
Maybelle took to busily arranging her skirts. As she did so, she snuck one dainty step to the left. Toward the direction of the balcony. Then another. And another.
Thérèse did her best not to laugh. Instead, she lifted her chin and continued to stare out before her, appearing genuinely occupied with listening to the orchestra and watching all of the couples whirl and dance. Twenty minutes will allow for conversation that I will then…interrupt.
Her granddaughter, being well outside of chaperone scope, sashayed her way toward the French doors leading outside and casually disappeared out into the night.
A breath escaped Thérèse. She missed being naughty.
Someone sidled up next to her. A gent whose ivory waistcoat could not hide a touch of a belly protruding forth from his evening jacket, leaned in. Mischievous brown eyes brightened as they searched her face. “You look glorious, as always. I am ever so pleased you came. How are you, my dear?”
She fully turned toward her good friend of several years, Lord Hughes. She smiled. “I am incredibly well, merci. More so than usual. For tonight is a very glorious night. My granddaughter is officially interested in men, which means I may still have a chance at great-grandchildren. How is your evening?”
“Complicated.” He puffed out a breath and leaned in. “My nephew is in a devilishly awkward position. He needs a bit female perspective. I was hoping you could talk to him. Do you have time for him this week?”
She eyed him, now curious. She had met Hugh’s nephew, Lord Caldwell, once before. Dashing, blond and playful. Or so he liked others to believe. “Of course. Is he having problems with women?”
“Yes and no. I will put it into writing given there is too much to say. Simply know that he will be calling on you soon.”
The Duke of Andelot Page 26
