Glass Slipper (4 page)

“I can only wonder at how uncomfortable it will be at court,” she said, her cheeks dimpling when she smiled.

“I will send Madame Brujon to see to your needs. You should rest until the afternoon. We will have much to discuss then.”

After seeing Joséphine adequately settled, Julien made straight for his room. The large, round space mimicked the shape of the turret it occupied. A fireplace jutted from the wall, and above that a particularly gruesome boar he’d slain in the hunt stared down at his former adversary with glass bead eyes. His bed filled a good portion of the floor in the center of the room, with heavy curtains hanging from the canopy. All around, his books and clothes and trappings lay exactly as he’d left them, and he smiled to himself. It was good to be home, even if home had not been immaculately kept.

“She will be a disaster at court,” Madame Brujon said, startling him. “She says you’re going to present her to the prince?”

Julien made a noncommittal noise. Of course, he would keep his word to his friend, but his housekeeper was right. Joséphine was innocent, seemingly loyal, and far too frank with her opinions. None of that would be fixed with mere lessons in table manners.

“Imagine what Philipe would make of her. She’d be laughed out of one of his orgies. The soul of innocence, you can tell looking at her.” The old housekeeper described the girl the way another person might describe a nasty smell. “She’ll never make it. You need to find her a stableboy to tumble her, show her a few things.”

The hell he would. A girl like Joséphine deserved a competent lover, not a fumbling boy. No stablehand could appreciate those pillowy breasts, plump thighs...

An idea, born from the lascivious beast of his mind, sprung to the forefront of his thoughts. He had promised Henrí that he would teach Joséphine the skills she would need to impress Prince Philipe. It wouldn’t be breaking the letter of their agreement, though perhaps it did bruise the spirit.

“Not a stableboy,” he said slowly. “Someone who understands the kind of woman that Philipe is drawn to. Someone who has seen him giving and receiving pleasure, and who has heard tales of his exploits in graphic detail.”

“Is that so?” Madame Brujon lifted an eyebrow like an executioner raising the axe. “And I suppose you know just the man for the job?”

Julien did, and though his conscience would likely war with him, he could not wait to take Joséphine under his tutelage.

Chapter Four

Though she’d slept miserably on the ride to Julien’s home, Joséphine could not force herself to sleep during daylight hours. Just as she had managed to doze off, the horrible housekeeper intruded into the room and dusted more noisily than Joséphine thought possible for such a quiet task. After that, sleep seemed hopeless.

When the sun was sinking in the sky above the beautiful, tree-lined avenue which Joséphine spied from her window, the housekeeper returned to dump an armful of fabrics onto the bed. Not fabrics, Joséphine realized, her heart pounding. Dresses. Beautiful dresses, all in the latest fashion. She pawed through the pile eagerly, knowing all the while that she looked like a pig digging up a truffle.

“Find one that isn’t too fancy. This isn’t the place for frills and bows. Save that nonsense for court.” With that, the old housekeeper flounced from the room as though the task she’d just finished had been wholly unnecessary and completely humiliating.

She probably knows all about my family, Joséphine thought with a stab of shame. Then, she forced it aside. Poverty or riches, she was still Henrí Thévenet’s daughter. She was still of a station far above some cranky housekeeper.

For dinner, she selected a lovely dress. Not too frilly—the old woman hadn’t needed to instruct her on how to dress appropriately for a country house!—but not as plain as a day dress. The pink silk rustled as she slipped it over her head. Though her stepsisters had servants to help them dress every day, Joséphine had managed quite well on her own, as she did now. With no brush or tongs to curl her hair, she settled for a simple braid that hung down her back. Rather like a princess from a story, she thought with satisfaction as she viewed her reflection in the tall looking glass. The dress fit a bit tight, and the neck scooped a bit low for someone with as generous a bosom as she possessed, but she could not deny that the color flattered and she looked far better in silk than in plain cotton lawn that was wearing through at the elbows.

The housekeeper announced dinner informally—a rap at the door and curt shout of “food’s done!”—and Joséphine found her way to the great hall, where a long dining table was set with a sumptuous banquet. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the sight and scent of all the food. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

At the head of the table, Julien stood, offering her a chair to his right. “I thought Madame Brujon would have brought you down, herself.”

“I found my own way,” she said brightly, determined that she would not say anything ungracious to her host during her entire stay. “Thank you for the dresses.”

He helped her push her chair in, then sat in his own. “You look lovely. I’m glad I could provide them. A seamstress will arrive tomorrow morning to help with the fit.”

She flushed, both pleased that he found her lovely and ashamed that he had noticed that her not-slender physique strained the seams. “Thank you. I will try not to eat very much. I don’t usually, I mean, but I will try to be…smaller.”

“Nonsense,” he said, reaching for a delicious-looking savory tart overflowing with cream and sliced mushrooms. He dropped it neatly onto her plate. “The prince prefers a nice, plump girl to a skinny one.”

“He does?” It was hard to imagine that any man would desire her. At least, that was what her stepsisters had told her constantly.

Julien nodded as though this fascinating bit of trivia was common knowledge. “Of course he does. I do. Our tastes are so similar that we’ve occasionally butted heads over a prospective conquest.”

“That is…very frank talk for a dinner conversation,” she admonished quietly. Why on earth would he tell her such a thing? Unless his plan was to seduce her, as she had hoped--no, suspected!--all along?

He motioned to the food on the table. “Please, help yourself.”

She looked around for some servants, like the ones who served Papa and her stepmother and stepsisters at dinner. She ate in the kitchen, owing to the fact that her stepmother had bought one too few dining chairs and did not wish to have a mismatched set at her table. There were no servants present, not even the old housekeeper. “Pardon me for questioning you after you’ve been so kind to me, Julien, but aren’t I supposed to be learning how to conduct myself at court? Shouldn’t we be served, rather than serving ourselves? And should we not talk of more--delicate things?”

He laughed at that. “I forget that you have never been to court. There is very little delicate talk when you gather men and women who spend their days doing nothing but gambling and dancing and fucking.”

She gasped at the shocking word, then composed herself when an apology did not appear to be forthcoming. “But surely there are some manners.”

“Madame Brujon is an excellent tutor where manners are concerned,” he began. “She will instruct you on these things during the day, while I am hunting or reading or otherwise occupied.”

That was some relief. Joséphine could hardly believe that she would learn any manners from this man. What on earth had her father been thinking, sending her along with him? Furthermore, she could not understand how her sweet, gentle father had ever maintained an acquaintance with someone so crude. She cut into the tart on her plate and took a dainty bite.

Julien continued, “And during the evenings, you will have dinner with me and I will instruct you in all the carnal matters you must know about in order to please his highness the prince.”

She choked noisily on the bite she had taken. Julien sprang from his chair to slap her on the back, and the chewed up bit of pastry flew from her mouth in a horribly undignified fashion. She covered it with her napkin, her face burning with shame and lack of air.

“I am used to a somewhat more enthusiastic response,” he quipped, settling back into his seat.

Gulping in great lungfuls of air, she snapped, “I am sure you are. From ladies of much lesser virtue!”

“Virtue has very little to do with it,” he said, completely unaffected by her insult. “Doesn’t it seem silly to you, to put such value upon ignorance?”

“I am not ignorant. I know what occurs between a man and woman in their marriage bed.” Her entire head must now resemble a poppy blossom, round and bright red. Never in all her life would she have thought to have such a conversation with a man.

Julien shrugged while cutting a thick slice of venison from the roast. “You know the mechanics. Every woman of an age to bleed knows the mechanics. To impress the prince, you will need a more specialized knowledge.”

“You don’t mean to imply that I will…that we…” Now, another part of her grew warm, despite her every good intention to remain outraged at this indecency. “Am I going to bed with you?”

“Yes, eventually,” he said casually, taking a bite. “Is that distasteful to you?”

Distasteful? She grew wet between her legs just imagining a kiss from him. Yes, he was older than her, but a horridly wanton part of her went weak just imagining all of his experience, how he would make her feel. Her breath quickened and her breasts strained against the tight bodice, swelling further over the top of the fabric. She could not trust herself to speak, but averted her gaze from his and shook her head.

“Then I don’t see how this would not work to your benefit. You will have a very skilled instructor and you will learn how to beguile the prince. If you’re a good enough student, he might marry you. He might make you the royal mistress. Either way, you would be provided for far more capably than any prospect your father might have been able to wrangle for you.” Julien took a sip from his glass, then, as an afterthought, asked, “Wine?”

She lifted her glass and let him pour her some from the crystal decanter on the table. Though it was bad manners to do so, she gulped it down as quickly as she could. She needed something to steady her nerves. “So that I am fully aware of what I am agreeing to…you propose that you should teach me how to…make love? So that when we go to court I might…seduce the prince?”

Julien nodded “Of course, you have every right to refuse me. You will still learn all you need to interact capably at court, and I will lend every one of my advantages to you in helping you secure a fine husband.”

“But not a prince,” she said, adding his unspoken warning for him.

“The prince is a man very much like me. He is not interested in having a wife or a mistress who does not know how to please him, or how to please herself.” And he left it at that, waiting for her to answer.

Her head swam with confusion and doubt. Could she let him ruin her? Her body was completely willing, and a large part of her mind, as well. But she must remember to think logically about this. Her stepsisters would have been in his lap in the carriage, but not her. She was good. She was virtuous. Even if her thoughts weren’t always so. “Perhaps we can come to a slightly different arrangement?”

“What would you propose?” he asked, lifting his fork for another bite.

She took a deep breath. “I know that there are other…things. Besides a man putting his…into…well, there are just other things. Perhaps you could teach me those, without completing the act.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying not to smile. He chewed and swallowed the bite he had taken, paused thoughtfully, then said, “Yes, I suppose I could.”

Without finishing the food on his plate, he stood. She wondered if he would leave now, if it had been a test to see if she were pure enough for his friend, the prince, and she had failed. But he came to kneel beside her chair, leaning close enough that his lips grazed her ear when he asked, “So, have we come to an agreement, then?”