The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian (6 page)

"Oui!"
Leonie agreed. "He is a true artiste with his love lance. He has a wife in Bavaria. They have been wed for twelve years, and they have eleven children. That is why he comes to Paris so often. The baroness is always breeding, poor woman."

"If that is so," Marguerite fretted, "can we not become with child? Has it ever happened to either of you?"

"Madame sees we are given a little potion that prevents any unfortunate
accidents
. It is put in the food we eat, or perhaps the wine, but Madame Renée protects us. She has always protected her girls."

"Oh," Marguerite said. Then, "Are those all the gentlemen?"

"The regulars,
oui
. The duke did bring us his American cousin last night," Leonie said. "He is as handsome as the duke, but"—she giggled—"his accent is so funny despite his French heritage. He is, however, as enthusiastic and charming a lover as his cousin," she concluded.

"Mais oui!"
Josie seconded.

"He had you
both?"
Marguerite's voice was very shocked.

"Oh la la,
chérie
, he had us both
twice!"
Josie said, laughing.

"Oh, my," Marguerite said nervously.

Blond Leonie put an arm about the beautiful widow. "Do not let us frighten you,
chérie
. Once you have been fucked a few times by a few of the gentlemen, you will no longer consider that it is anything special. In fact, you will have to work hard to prevent yourself from being bored. That is why we know all manner of little tricks that keep us, and our guest, interested and interesting. And the men who come to Chez Renée come only by recommendation and invitation. Madame carefully screens them so there is little likelihood of troublemakers or dueling."

"What about the authorities?" Marguerite asked.

"Madame always has friends in high places. Sometimes King Louis comes to call," Josie said. "He likes Madame Renée. She speaks to him of the old days, of the
ancien régime
before the revolution. He is comfortable with her, and she understands him."

"I never knew," Marguerite said slowly.

"Why would you,
chérie
. You were a respectable married lady with problems of your own to manage. Tell me, how old is your little girl? Does she look like you?"

"Emilie is almost seven," Marguerite answered, "and Charles always said she looked like me. I wish I could send her to school in England, but her half-brother is an evil man. He has threatened my child."

"She will be safer here in Paris, where you have friends," Josie said firmly. "Now, what will you wear this evening?"

"I do not know," Marguerite said. "Tante Renée says she will have a gown for me. My wardrobe was not large, and with Charles ill these past few years, we did not entertain, so my clothing is simple."

"For a woman with a child, you have such an air of innocence about you," Leonie noted, almost enviously. "The men will be attracted to you like flies to a honey pot. They love seducing virtue."

"Her beauty complements ours," Josie remarked. "A redhead, a blond, and a brunette. Oh la la!
Quelle trio!"

The others laughed. Leonie gave Marguerite a cup of the fragrant green tea, and she nibbled on a pastry of minced quail. It was, she thought, like being back at school again in England. Then the door opened, and Clarice entered the room.

"Madame
, your aunt has sent up a gown for you. Come, and let me make certain it fits, but if not, I will need time to alter it. Her maid tells me you are to come to the salon tonight." Clarice's tone was disapproving.

"This is my faithful serving woman, Clarice," Marguerite said. "Clarice, Mademoiselle Leonie and Mademoiselle Josephine."

"Is that burly serving man with the twinkling eyes yours too?" Josie asked Marguerite.

"You keep your hands and your bold looks from my Louis, Mademoiselle Brazen!" Clarice snapped angrily. "We are a respectable married couple."

"Oh, dear," Leonie said, struggling not to giggle.

"It isn't my fault,
chérie,"
Josie replied pertly, "if a man looks at me and winks."

"Impudent baggage!" Clarice responded. "I'll scratch your eyes out if you toy with my man."

"I haven't time to trifle with a servant,
chérie,"
Josie answered her. "Not when there are so many rich gentlemen to entertain me and give me presents."

"Come, Clarice," her mistress said quickly, standing up. "I want to see the gown
Tante
has sent me to wear tonight. What color is it? Is it pretty?" She hurried her servant out the salon door.

"We shouldn't be here, my lady," Clarice said.

"Where else are we to go?" Marguerite asked quietly.

Clarice was silent.

"Tell me about the gown," Marguerite repeated.

"Lavender silk with a neckline that is, I think, far too low to be decent, but then I suppose that isn't its purpose,
madame,"
Clarice replied, her voice deprecating.

"No, you are right," Marguerite agreed as they climbed the stairs to her room. "The gown will have been made so I may show my wares to my aunt's visitors. I know little about shopkeeping, but I do know to sell an item one must display the goods prettily, Clarice."

"My lady! My lady!" Clarice almost moaned. "I do not know how you can do this!"

"I don't know either," Marguerite said, "but I know that I must." She opened the door to her room and stepped inside. "Let us look at this situation in a logical fashion, Clarice. If you remove morality from the equation, what is left? I have known a man. Now I will know a variety of men."

"But you loved his lordship, and you were his wife," Clarice protested. "You will not love these men."

"No, I will not," Marguerite replied, "and isn't that better? A workman has his tools. My tool is my body. I hope to use it well enough to earn my living with it. One day Tante Renée may choose to retire from the hurly-burly of Paris. When she does, if I have done well in my apprenticeship, I will take over her little enterprise. I shall never again be at the mercy of any man, Clarice. I know Charles did not mean to leave Emilie and me helpless, but he did. I cannot ever permit that to happen to us again. I have no parents or relations other than Tante Renée who can help me. Without her I would have died or starved, or worse. She gave up everything for me. Now I will do the same for my darling child. I realize that you do not approve of my decision, Clarice. I want you to stay with me, but if you feel you cannot, I will give you a reference now so you and Louis may seek employment elsewhere. Perhaps the new owners of my home might desire your services."

"As if we would leave you, my lady!" Clarice huffed.

"Then perhaps we should look at the gown now," her mistress suggested gently. This was difficult enough for her without her servant carping and fussing at her over her decisions. Did Clarice really think given another choice she would have taken this path? And now tonight she would be put on display to tempt the carnal appetites of strangers. Gentlemen who would be willing to pay her aunt good coin to use her body for their temporal pleasures.

She swallowed back a cry of despair. Yet her aunt was not forcing her to this. Indeed Renée was more than willing to support her without this sacrifice, but Marguerite knew she couldn't allow it. At sixteen her aunt, daughter of an aristocratic and noble family, had given up her virtue to save Marguerite from certain death. And for all of Marguerite's twenty-eight years Renée had labored as a courtesan, guaranteeing that her niece lived the life to which she had been born. Now Marguerite felt she had no choice but to do the same in order to protect her own daughter.

Clarice helped her into the gown Renée had chosen. It was very beautiful, but as Clarice had noted, the neckline was shockingly low, particularly given the fact that her little corset pushed her breasts up so high they were practically tumbling from the bodice.

"Oh, my," Marguerite said softly.

Clarice wisely held her tongue, but shook her head with open disdain.

Marguerite gazed at herself in the long mirror that was in a corner of her bedchamber. Her dress was of lavender watered silk with delicate black lace roses decorating the full skirt, and a matching black lace falling tucker that fell over the fitted bodice with its narrow waist. The sleeves were small and puffed, leaving her arms bare. Her breasts, despite the modest deception of the falling tucker, swelled over the top of the neckline. There were kid gloves to her elbow, dyed to match the gown, and fastened with a long row of tiny pearl buttons. And there was a black lace fan. On her feet she would wear black silk slippers. While she was not used to such elegance, Marguerite knew her gown had been designed in the latest fashion. There was nothing vulgar about it. Although the neckline was suggestive, wasn't that the idea? She sighed. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Needs a bit of a nip in the waist," Clarice remarked dryly. "Your aunt ain't the slip of a girl she once was."

Marguerite giggled. "Don't tell her that, I beg you," she pleaded with her servant.

"Can't fault a woman who houses me and Louis without a word of complaint," Clarice remarked. "She don't keep many servants, you know. Cook in the kitchen with a helper, a housemaid, two footmen, a wench to serve them two mademoiselles of hers, her own Bertilde, and Monsieur François. There's a mother and daughter who comes in daily to do the heavy cleaning. They're all well paid, fed, and housed to keep their mouths shut regarding the nature of this house, of course, and the two dailies don't know what goes on here, not that they would complain."

"You've obtained a great deal of information in just a day," Marguerite noted, unbuttoning her gloves and stripping them off as Clarice unfastened the gown.

"Best to know the lay of the land in a new situation," Clarice said tartly. "I'm happy to say that everyone is pleasant to deal with here, my lady. If here is where we're going to be for the rest of our lives, it's better to be friends with everyone."

"Yes, it is," Marguerite assented. "While they are different from the women I have known, I must admit that Leonie and Josie are really very nice, Clarice. They have promised to educate me with regard to, as they so delicately put it, their
little tricks
. After all, if I must be a whore, I should be a good one, eh?"

"Courtesan,
ma petite,"
her aunt said, entering the room. "Whores are those poor souls walking the streets who can only fuck a man, but know nothing of how to entertain him elegantly, with charm and grace. Now, let me see the gown before Clarice takes it off of you."

Lady Abbott's maidservant rolled her eyes at Madame Renée's fine distinction, but she dutifully did up the gown's bodice again.

"It is a beautiful garment,
tante,"
Marguerite said.

"Mais oui, chérie
, and it certainly suits you," her aunt agreed. "The color is perfect, and in deference to your mourning, I have chosen a less potent color trimmed with black. It gives you a fragile look." Her blue eyes narrowed speculatively. "Men will, I think, want to protect you,
chérie
. A little training, and you will be a sensation." Then she continued in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. "Tonight you will come to the gold and white salon just before ten o'clock. You will seat yourself at the pianoforte and play. If I choose to introduce you to any gentleman, I will. Each will be advised before entering the salon that you are not for their amusement at this time. You are to be decorative, no more. And,
chérie
, only one man will really approach you tonight. That is the Duc de Caraville, César d'Aubert. I have chosen him to be your tutor, Marguerite. He will force you to nothing, so you need not be afraid of him, or any of the others for that matter. I do not allow ruffians in my house."

"Is he your lover,
tante?"
Marguerite asked, curious.

"On occasion,
oui
, he is," Renée responded frankly. "And you may believe me,
ma petite
, when I tell you that he is a marvelous and very skilled lover. He will awaken your senses,
chérie
, and give you a great deal of pleasure when and as he does. He is a most charming man as well."

"You like him then," Marguerite said.

"Yes, I do," her aunt answered.

"Is there a Duchess de Caraville, tante?"

"Non
. César is too much of a sybarite to take a wife. He will probably always be. His brother has sons so the title will not go to waste."

"His family survived then," Marguerite said inquisitively.

"César's father saw the handwriting on the wall. He got his family, his servants, and his wealth out of France before the Terror," Renée replied. "He had a younger brother who had already gone to the Louisiana territories, somewhere near New Orleans." Renée turned to Clarice. "Alter the waist," she said. Then she advised her niece, "Get some rest, Marguerite. Tonight will be a very exciting evening for you, I promise."