Before the Storm (24 page)

Venetia looked at her curiously. ‘So you don’t want to marry?’ She sank down on a chair by the fire and fanned herself as if in shock. ‘Are you sure you can bear to miss out on such delicious and blissful happiness?’

Phoebe laughed. ‘Maybe.’ She finished her champagne and went to look out of the window. Venetia’s apartment was in an old house on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré and the street beneath was swarming with fashionably dressed shoppers, most of whom were sporting red, white and blue
tricolor
ribbons either as sashes or in their hats. One lady even had an entire gown made from
tricolor
striped silk with matching ribbons in her powdered hair and was the object of many envious looks as she sauntered down the street. ‘I’ll tell you one thing - when I do marry, it won’t be for money or a title. It will be for something else altogether.’

‘Something else?’ Venetia repeated with a frown. ‘Love?’

Phoebe turned back from the window and shook her head. ‘No, not love,’ she said. ‘I want to marry a man who is my equal.’ She laughed a little self consciously. ‘Does that make sense?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Venetia replied, still frowning. ‘You know, Eliza always said that you had a lover back in London,’ she said, helping herself to another glass of champagne then sadly holding the now empty bottle upside down.

Phoebe looked suddenly wary. ‘Eliza said that?’ She reached up instinctively to touch the beautiful cameo necklace that she wore. She’d told her mother that it was a present from one of her Parisian admirers and to her relief, Mrs Knowles had seen nothing wrong with this explanation.

Venetia laughed and did a little dance, making her sea green silk skirts fly around her. ‘I never knew if it was true or not.’

Phoebe took a deep breath. ‘It was true.’ Oh God, the relief of finally admitting to it. She had to stop herself telling everything - after all, Venetia was so drunk now that there was a good chance that she might not even remember any of it tomorrow. ‘I had a lover in London. I was madly in love with him but, as you have no doubt already guessed, he had other commitments.’

Venetia stopped dancing and stared at her in amazement. ‘Goodness! Who is he? Is it someone I know?’
 

Phoebe hesitated for a moment, still fighting the urge to confess all before finally she shook her head.
 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Since the court’s return to Paris six months earlier, the National Assembly had held their daily meetings in the draughty and rather malodorous old Salle du Ménage, or riding school, next to the Tuileries. At first, it had been highly fashionable to attend their meetings and the balconies above the deputies’ rows of benches had been crammed with gorgeously dressed and often distractingly lovely women. They’d had behaved in much the same way as they did at the Opéra, ignoring the political debates happening below in favour of sipping wine, chatting with their friends and ogling the more handsome young deputies with their
lorgnettes
.

This fad had lasted only a few months though and when Venetia first took Phoebe to the Menage, they had no trouble finding a seat at the very front of the viewing balcony. ‘It’s incredibly boring,’ Venetia warned Phoebe as they sat down. ‘But some of the deputies make it worthwhile.’ She leaned in. ‘Best of all, they adore the English because of our parliament.’

‘Let’s hope that they don’t also admire our habit of murdering our monarchs,’ Phoebe replied wryly. She leaned forward and peered down at the rows of soberly dressed men below. ‘Most of them look so young,’ she said. ‘It’s inspiring isn’t it? That they should be so young and yet hold the destiny of an entire country in their hands.’

Venetia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’ She turned to buy a glass of lemonade from a passing vendor, who was selling drinks and food from a wooden tray attached to straps that went around her shoulders. ‘It’s getting hot isn’t it?’ she remarked, fanning herself with a pamphlet that she had picked up on the way in. ‘You should have been here during the winter when it was absolutely freezing. I swear that I almost got chilblains in my toes one morning.’

Phoebe was barely listening - all of her attention was on the floor below, where a debate was raging about the dissolution of feudal rights. She was fascinated by the youth, passion and eloquence of the deputies as they shouted each other down and milled around the wooden podium where one of them was feebly trying to make himself overheard.

‘That’s Monsieur de Robespierre,’ Venetia whispered. ‘People keep saying that he will go far, but I don’t understand why. He has such a little voice that no one ever listens to a word that he has to say.’

‘Who is the tall man with long black hair shouting at him?’ Phoebe asked, pointing him out.

Venetia looked but shook her head. ‘I don’t know him,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been here since the winter so he’s probably arrived since then.’ She pulled out her
lorgnette
and took a closer look. ‘He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?’ she remarked with a sly smile at her friend. ‘Have you decided to give up on the aristocracy then?’

Phoebe laughed. ‘Who knows, maybe a red hot revolutionary with fire in his veins, a pinch of ambition and a good head on his shoulders would suit me better?’

When the debate had ended, they hurried down the rickety wooden steps to the entrance foyer where they loitered with a few other women, all of them pretending to be fascinated by the stalls of political pamphlets that lined the walls. ‘Your mother would be furious if she found out what you are up to,’ Venetia whispered as Phoebe picked up a leaflet and idly began to read it.

‘That’s never stopped me before,’ she said before showing the pamphlet to her friend. ‘Have you seen this? It’s rather interesting.’

Venetia laughed. ‘Of course I haven’t,’ she said before clutching Phoebe’s arm. ‘Here come the deputies.’

Phoebe turned around just as the long haired deputy came out and without so much as a glance in her direction, strode across the tiled floor. ‘Excuse me,’ she called before she had time to lose her nerve. ‘Monsieur, I wanted to compliment you on the speech you gave this morning.’

He turned unwillingly and looked at her, his dark grey eyes bored and a little impatient. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ he replied, giving her a cursory and uninterested look over until his eye caught the pamphlet that she was still holding in her hand. ‘You are interested in politics?’

His surprised tone was somewhat unflattering but Phoebe pinned a smile to her face and nodded as if he had paid her a huge compliment. ‘I find it fascinating,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been here for one day and already I feel exhilarated and inspired by what is happening in Paris. How fortunate you are to be a part of something so wonderful.’

He smiled then, revealing straight white teeth. ‘You are English, mademoiselle?’ he asked. ‘We could learn a lot from the way you do things on the other side of the Channel.’

‘You mean the way that we like to lop the heads off our Kings as easily as if they were dead roses?’ Phoebe said with a smile.

‘Perhaps.’ He looked past her at Venetia, who strolled towards them now, curious to see what they were talking about. ‘You know Madame la Comtesse Jules?’ he asked, less friendly again now.

Phoebe nodded. ‘We’re old friends.’ She looked at him with her pretty head to one side. ‘Oh dear, you aren’t one of these revolutionaries who believe that the aristocracy are the rotten and corrupt root of all evil, are you?’

He bowed. ‘I think that I must be,’ he replied before swiftly turning on his heel and walking away leaving her staring after him with a frown between her eyes.

‘So it didn’t go well then?’ Venetia murmured at her shoulder.

Phoebe sighed and linked arms with her friend, leading her out into the sunlight. ‘It was going very well indeed until he realised that I am friends with a fine aristocratic lady such as yourself.’

‘How rude.’ Venetia pouted staring at his back as he strode through the Tuileries gardens, his black coat flapping around his thighs. ‘And to think that I went to some trouble to subtly find out his name just in case you weren’t able to. He’s called Lucien Delorme, if you’re interested.’

Phoebe laughed. ‘What would I do without you, Venetia?’ she said, kissing her friend’s petal soft, lily scented cheek. ‘You may scare men away from me but at least you can be counted on to find out their name.’

They walked together along the gravel paths that wove between the formal flowerbeds, where the first spring flowers were beginning to bloom and blossom in a fragrant explosion of colour. Most of Paris seemed to be out that day and they even saw Clementine in the distance, taking a stroll on the palace terrace with a few of the Queen’s other ladies.

‘Shouldn’t we go and say hello?’ Venetia whispered with a rueful look. ‘I’m afraid that I am rather impossible to miss.’ She wore her crimson hair in long silken ringlets which streamed behind her in the wind.

Phoebe shook her head. ‘No, let’s not. I don’t feel ready for the Garlands quite yet.’
 

‘I don’t blame you at all,’ Venetia replied as they turned and went down a different path, leaving Clementine staring after them in confusion.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Madame d’Albret’s parties were as talked about and well attended in the age of Revolution as they had ever been. In fact, the removal of the court from Versailles to Paris meant that she welcomed even more fabulously dressed aristocratic guests to her lovely yellow and white
salon
overlooking the Place Royale, along with a heady mix of philosophers, writers, artists and deputies from the National Assembly.

In the height of summer she opened all of the windows wide and allowed the sweet scent of the potted jasmine, roses and lavender on the balconies to drift into the room, refreshing and intoxicating her guests as they talked of the latest events.

‘I wish I had a better understanding of politics,’ Clementine whispered to Sidonie as they stood at a window and looked across the beautiful square with its terracotta and white houses. ‘Coming here always makes me feel so stupid.’

Sidonie smiled and gently patted the girl’s cheek. ‘You are as intelligent as anyone here, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘There’s no shame in not sharing their interests.’ She looked across to where Phoebe was chatting with a crowd of fascinated deputies and reflected, not for the first time on how useful a grasp of politics and current affairs could be to an ambitious young woman.

‘I have started writing again,’ Clementine said with a smile. ‘I stopped for such a long time, but lately I’ve felt the urge to pick up my pen once more. Isn’t that strange?’

‘Not really.’ Sidonie leaned forward and plucked a sprig of lavender, which she crushed between her fingers. ‘It’s only natural that writing should have become less important to you in all the excitement of coming to France and getting married.’

Clementine nodded and pulled her cashmere shawl closer as a sudden breeze rippled through the square. ‘It’s just scribbles at the moment but, who knows, maybe I will write a book one day.’ She lowered her voice and looked quickly around to see who was near them. ‘Only, don’t let my husband know. I fear that he would not at all approve.’

Sidonie looked across at the Duc de Coulanges, who was standing beside the fireplace and giving the appearance of listening intently to the Duc d’Orléans and the Vicomte de Mirabeau as they held forth on some dull subject or other. ‘Why do you think that?’ she asked, her old feelings of misgiving returning as she watched him nod along with them, a benign smile on his pockmarked face.

Clementine shrugged. ‘He only likes books about history and religion or sermons,’ she confided, ‘and he absolutely doesn’t approve of lady writers. He thinks they must have loose morals to be able to write as they do about romance and love.’

‘How peculiar of him,’ Sidonie replied. ‘Surely he knows that
you
don’t have loose morals though?’

Clementine blushed. ‘I’m not sure. He used to talk all the time about how young and innocent I was but since we... well, since then he’s been quite different with me. It’s as though he has lost interest now that I am no longer a virgin, but it can’t be that, can it?’

Sidonie sighed, hating the look of hurt confusion in her former pupil’s hazel eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Have you tried talking to him about it?’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Clementine said simply, watching her husband across the room. ‘I feel like he would be deeply embarrassed should I ever mention it to him. He talks a lot about how people should be concerned with more than what he calls mere carnality.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I had known how religious he is
 
before
I agreed to marry him.’

‘It’s understandable that he might well be embarrassed to be asked about this, but the rest is nonsense, my dear!’ Sidonie exclaimed. ‘You are his wife! Do you not wish to have a normal marriage?’

Clementine turned away. ‘I don’t know. I thought I did but now, I am not sure. I don’t know what I want any more.’ She hastily wiped away a tear. ‘It’s too late for me though, isn’t it? We’re married now and I just have to make the best of it.’ She sighed and turned back to the governess with a sad smile. ‘Besides, in other ways he is so very kind to me. He didn’t even want me to convert to Catholicism, remember.’

‘I remember and that was indeed very kind of him,’ Sidonie said with a smile, ‘but a true marriage requires more than that as I am sure he is very well aware.’