Gabrielle Read online

  “It is so grand,” she murmured inanely, feeling unsure under his speculative gaze. “I cannot believe this is to be my home.”

  “It will be your home for as long as you wish,” he replied easily, and taking her arm he helped her out of the carriage.

  They entered the hotel and Gabrielle mentally exclaimed over the richness of the furniture, the wall hangings, the carpets. Everything was so lovely and in such exquisite taste. She felt sure that in another moment someone was going to pinch her and she would wake up from the delightful dream world. But no, they had mounted the staircase now and were being shown into their respective suites, and still Gabrielle found she was not dreaming.

  “I trust you will find your rooms suitable, Gabrielle,” the marquis was saying amiably. “Unfortunately, as you can see, this balcony window looks directly into the bedroom of our neighbor, but he hardly ever uses the house—travels a great deal.” As if to assure himself of his neighbor’s absence, the marquis walked to the balcony window and pulled aside the long damask curtains, peering out in a manner that suggested he was slightly nearsighted. He stood for a moment thus, as if watching or waiting for something, but then shrugged and turned aside, smiling at the questioning look on Gabrielle’s face.

  “Your neighbor and you—are not friendly?” she asked uncertainly.

  He laughed. “Quite the opposite, my dear. The captain and I get along together very well.” He bowed and went out into the hall, where Aunt Louise was admiring some of the portraits that hung there.

  Once her two elders were gone, Gabrielle flitted about her bedroom, touching the softness of the lemon-yellow counterpane, the hand mirror with its border of pink-tinted seashells, feeling the luxury of the real Turkish carpet underfoot. Besides her bedroom, there was also an adjoining sitting room, a large closet which was, she suspected, for her maid’s use, and to her immense delight, a tiny bathroom, tiled in pink and white and with a huge copper tub.

  Oh, what luxury this was! She kicked off her slippers and dug her stockinged toes into the carpet, revelling in its texture. She tried out each of the three dainty-looking chairs, then sank blissfully onto the bed, uncaring as to the state of her gown.

  As if she had chosen just that moment to come in, the maid returned with an admonition that her dress would be horribly wrinkled if she insisted on lying down in it. Gabrielle would have felt affronted by her impertinence if the warning had not been made in such a kind voice and with such a wide smile.

  “Are you to assist me personally?” she asked, obediently rising from the bed and shaking her skirts.

  The woman nodded. “For the time being. Actually, the housekeeper will be retiring in a few months, and I am to be elevated to her position, so we will be looking for a younger girl to suit you. My name is Pauline.”

  Gabrielle circled the room and came to stand by the same window where her patron had stood some minutes before. “I expect M’sieur de Chevalier will require me for dinner tonight, Pauline. Please choose something you think would be suitable.”

  The maid curtseyed and began to open the wardrobe trunks which had been set in the room, beginning to hang gowns away and unpack slippers and handkerchiefs.

  Curiously, Gabrielle drew the draperies back from the window and gazed at the opposite balcony which couldn’t be more than ten yards away, trying to peer through the closed windows into the dark interior of the house itself. She gave up presently but still wondered about her new guardian’s neighbor. The captain, he had called him—probably of some vague outpost on the French frontier. Wasn’t the marquis’ son in the army too? It would be nice, she admitted, to have a soldier for an escort to some of the balls and parties, and she hoped that one of the unknown men would arrive home in time for the Christmas gaieties.

  Chapter Two

  It was well past nine o’clock and Gabrielle glared at the small china clock on the nightstand as if willing it to disappear. She had been up late last night at a small party given by a close friend of the marquis. Her patron had insisted she call him Alexandre; after two weeks the strangeness had subsided, and she felt towards him the way she would regard a long-lost uncle. After all, if her aunt’s languishing looks meant anything, he might very well become just that one day.

  She must have drunk too much champagne at the party, for now her head ached dully and she only half-remembered struggling coyly out of M'sieur Burchand’s amorous embraces. Really, that young man was diligent with his unwanted attentions.

  She turned away with a sigh from eyeing the clock and buried her head in the pillow, wishing she could go back to sleep and escape this abominable headache. But such was not to be, for a quick knock, followed by Isabel’s light laugh, bade her lift her head and regard her friend wearily.

  “Goodness, Gabrielle! Still in bed, chérie! How can you bear to miss this beautiful morning? Crisp October air, says Maman, is the best thing for a headache. I assume by the way you’re glaring at me that you do have a headache?” Isabel pulled off her gloves and hat and threw them on a chair, coming to sit on the bed and pat Gabrielle’s hand. “Poor dear, I know you’re not used to wine. You know I tried to keep you from indulging, but that odious rascal, Pierre Burchand, kept filling up your glass until I had the unpleasant sensation that he was going to try and claim your maiden’s virtue last night.” She glanced casually at the younger girl. “Umm—you are still intact, aren’t you?”

  “Isabel, sometimes I don’t know whether I should laugh or get angry with you! Do you think I would let that man touch me?” She shivered involuntarily. “His hands are faster than a pickpocket’s—and up to just as much mischief!”

  Isabel laughed, at which Gabrielle begged her to stop, holding her aching head between her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Gabrielle. Believe me, I do sympathize with you. Of course, Pierre and I would do better than you and he, but he seems to prefer the untouched ones.” She grimaced comically and Gabrielle tried in vain to suppress a giggle.

  “Isabel, what would I do without you?” she said affectionately.

  The other girl shrugged. “Be bored, I expect.” She walked to the dressing table and studied her wind-flushed cheeks and patted the smooth, dark coils of her hair. “What I came for, Gabrielle,” she said idly, moistening her lips with her tongue, “was to ask you to go shopping with me. I’ve heard of this marvelous new designer who is all the rage.”

  Gabrielle’s brows flew up in some surprise. “But you just ordered three new gowns from Madame Marie, the day before yesterday!”

  Isabel pouted and tossed her head saucily. “I know, I know, but M’sieur LeRoy is reputed to be the best in the business now. Josephine, our dear empress—for I still think of her so, despite that horrid divorce—allows him to dress her. So, of course, we must not be laggard, Gabrielle. Besides, I must have a new gown for my engagement party.” She glanced slyly at the other girl’s happily surprised face.

  “Isabel! You’re teasing me ... ?”

  Isabel laughed and threw her arms around Gabrielle, who laughed with her. “Yes, it’s entirely true, my friend. I still cannot believe I am to be a married woman! My parents only announced it to me this morning.”

  “But—but, who is it and—when is it to be?” Gabrielle asked her excitedly.

  “The engagement party, darling, is set for Christmas, which is only two months away, so let us go and see this M’sieur LeRoy so that he will have ample time to make us our dresses. Of course, you will be maid of honor,” she added smoothly, enjoying the delighted look on the younger girl’s face.

  “Wonderful!” Gabrielle clasped her hands together, forgetting her headache entirely. “But, Isabel, you sly puss, you will not answer my question, will you? Who is it?”

  “Get up and ring for your maid. I’ll tell you while you’re getting primped.”

  Gabrielle obeyed, choosing a gown at random. She reflected for a moment that perhaps Isabel was not as happy with the choice of bridegroom as she might have been had she herself been able to
choose. She eyed her friend covertly as the other commenced trying on each of Gabrielle’s rings and bracelets to while away the time while Gabrielle was being dressed.

  “The Duc de Gramount!” The name was shot out like a cannonball, making Gabrielle nearly jump out of her seat.

  “The Duc—?” She puzzled over the name. It was unfamiliar to her, and she looked questioningly at Isabel for further information.

  “Henri Lenoir, Duc de Gramount,” Isabel amended. “He owns lands in the south of France, quite close to Marseilles—extensive, I believe. At least that’s what my father says. Of course, he would say that.”

  “But who is he?” Gabrielle asked.

  “He is a captain under General Murat; in fact, his regiment is with the one commanded by your dear benefactor’s son, the Comte de Chevalier. In case you didn’t know, they are both fighting on the Austrian front—very brave men, so my father takes pains to insist, although it is probably truer that they drink and wench in the sacked towns, waiting for their men to take the next one.”

  “You are saying, then, that you do not approve of this match?” Gabrielle speculated, her eyes trying to define the look on the other’s face.

  Isabel shrugged. “The duc is reputedly attractive enough. He is a soldier and supposedly a good one, so it is most probable that we will not see much of one another after we are married. That will suit me fine, I can assure you. I’m afraid I’ve developed a taste for lovers that my husband would find hard to tolerate were he with me all the time.”

  “But, Isabel, once you are married, surely there will be no more lovers. I mean, wouldn’t it ruin your reputation, your husband’s honor, if you were to—?”

  “Gabrielle, really, you should know by now that scandal these days merely enhances one’s social position. Besides, my husband is one of those men who enjoy war, and my affairs will not interest him one whit”

  Gabrielle was dressed and they were descending the stairs after dispatching a message to the maid to deliver to her aunt. “And when is the wedding date, then?” she asked.

  “The wedding is set for June, of course, as that is maman’s favorite month.”

  “June of next year,” Gabrielle thought dreamily. The months would probably fly by. She would be seventeen in April, and perhaps by then she, too, would be making plans for a wedding.

  They set out in the chaise, enjoying the leisurely ride, nodding to acquaintances as they passed. On entering the dress designer’s shop, they caught their breath at the sight of the exquisite satins, silks, peaux-de-soie, and laces heaped on the shelves that lined the inner room.

  In no time, they were greeted by M’sieur LeRoy himself, and their measurements were taken by two young seamstresses who went about their work with the efficiency of those used to the impatience of their elite clientele. Materials and designs were chosen with painstaking care by the grand fashion designer whose face had lighted up when he was informed that the emperor himself might be in attendance at the forthcoming festivities.

  “Isabel, surely you were stretching the truth when you said the emperor would attend the betrothal party?” Gabrielle inquired excitedly when they were seated once again in the carriage.

  Isabel shrugged. “Why shouldn’t he come to witness the marriage of one of the oldest names in France?” she asked haughtily.

  “Perhaps because he cannot boast the same distinction,” Gabrielle returned drily.

  Isabel glanced at her. “Then he will at least send a present,” she commented in a tone that brooked no refusal.

  The two settled back in their seats. Gabrielle gazed out the window after a time and saw that they were passing the Rue Montmartre. The Hotel Chevalier was not far, but she did not want to go home yet She was still too caught up in the excitement of the morning.

  As if sensing her thought, Isabel sighed. “I really am starving, Gabrielle. I didn’t eat a thing before I rushed over to tell you the news—and you didn’t, either.” She threw a positively wicked glance at her friend before continuing. “Let’s stop at one of those new little cafes where they sell hot chocolate and tea and pastries. Oh dear, my mouth is watering already! ”

  Gabrielle gazed askance at the girl. “You cannot mean it, Isabel. Your father would be outraged and would bellow something terrible if he found out. And Aunt Louise—I shudder to imagine what she would think!”

  “Oh, they aren’t that terrible. Justine de Larges and I have already visited one, and no one tried to accost us or leer at us. We went in, ate a roll, and came back out, just like that. We both felt marvelously dangerous with all those dandies and loose women about.”

  Gabrielle, against her better judgement, was finally talked into going—but just for a few minutes, she said adamantly.

  “To La Petite Fleur,” she said sharply to the driver, who mumbled something indistinctly but did as ordered.

  “Your aunt will be told the minute we return,” Isabel observed drily, and Gabrielle nodded.

  They waited, with suppressed excitement, as the carriage slowed in front of a cheery-looking establishment, painted green and gold and nearly bursting with customers.

  “Oh, God, there’s no room to move an inch!” Isabel exclaimed, biting her lip in exasperation.

  “We can go to another one, or wait a bit,” Gabrielle suggested.

  They decided on the latter course and sat, eyes wide, as they watched the painted women, resplendent in gowns cut to show the tips of their breasts and so sheer as to leave nothing to the imagination. There were a few sailors, some soldiers from the city militia, and a dozen or so prosperous-looking merchants, discussing business around enclosed booths. The rest of the company comprised two or three expensively dressed women and a handful of rakishly outfitted young men, who boldly handled the prostitutes. After a half-hour had passed, most of the merchants had left to return to their shops for the afternoon’s business. Some prostitutes had also retired from the scene, escorted by soldiers and a few of the dandies.

  Inwardly, Gabrielle was thankful that the three well-dressed women were still there as well as a couple of quiet-looking gentlemen who must be professors at the Sorbonne. Boldly, Isabel descended from the carriage, motioning to her companion to do the same.

  Gabrielle, still a little reluctant, followed her into the shop. At their entrance, the remaining dandies looked up, saluting them with their insolent smiles, but the girls bustled over to one of the empty booths, careful to keep their eyes on the cafe owner who hurried over to take their orders.

  “Ah, ma’m’selles! My cafe is indeed honored by your presence. I might hope that you will come again and bring more of your friends, please. Maitre Rosambeau is an honest man and one who seeks only to please his customers.”

  After this little speech, he took their order for hot chocolate and sweet pastries, returning quickly with their food.

  “What do you think?” Isabel inquired between mouthfuls of the sweet confection she held in her hand.

  “Rather exciting, but really not so bad once you’re inside,” Gabrielle conceded, attacking her portion vigorously.

  They had finished the last few sips of chocolate, but before they could catch the owner’s attention to pay their check, a slight stir in the room caused both girls to look up at the doorway where a tall man was just stepping into the cafe, leading two other men to a table close to their booth. The three men were accompanied by a woman, whose slanted black eyes, small stature, and yellow-tinged complexion told them that she was an Oriental. She was careful not to look at any of the gaping, wide-eyed men who were staring at her as if she were a freak. Once she looked up, and Gabrielle caught the gleam of contempt and disgust that was reflected in her eyes.

  After the new arrivals were seated, Gabrielle beckoned to Isabel. But the other girl shook her head, a half-smile on her lips. “Isabel, you mustn’t stare at her!” Gabrielle reproached her nervously, aware suddenly of a feeling of tension in the room.

  “I’m not,” Isabel replied huskily. ‘But Gabriel
le, just look at that man!”

  Unwillingly, Gabrielle turned her eyes to study the apparent leader of the strange group. Certainly, he was tall and well made, with wide shoulders and a broad chest that looked out of place encased in the expensive cloth of his coat. His hair was not quite as dark as Isabel’s, more of a deep chestnut that complimented the deep-brown tan of his complexion and made the white of his teeth startling when he laughed, as he was doing now at some sally from one of his comrades.

  “Don’t think she’s a whore, Rafe, my lad, but she’s a-starin’ at you as though she’d welcome a proposition, that’s for certain,” Gabrielle heard one of the men say. In the next instant, she found eyes so deeply green, so utterly dark green as to be almost black, gazing boldly at her with an accompanying insolence held barely in check as the man smiled lazily.

  Quickly, a blush suffused her face and she looked away in acute embarrassment. Dear God! Those men thought she was a prostitute, of all things! She could see the contemptuous glance of the Oriental woman in her mind’s eye, sweeping over her, seeing her as being no better than herself.

  “Isabel,” she nearly hissed at her companion, “let’s leave, for pity’s sake, this instant!”

  Isabel shrugged airily. “Goodness, Gabrielle, they’re not going to rape you on the spot! And even if they were,” and she smiled her most wicked smile, “it might not be so terrible.”

  “But Isabel, we’re making a spectacle of ourselves!” Gabrielle returned, helpless against her friend’s self-assurance.

  Before Isabel could answer, they both were drawn to the commotion ensuing as two swarthy-skinned sailors swaggered recklessly over to the table of the three men and the Oriental woman.

  “Did you pick up that woman on one of your sea raids, Savage?” one of the sailors leered drunkenly.

  His companion laughed no less drunkenly. “Yes, she looks like good booty, although one never knows how clean she would be, considering—” They moved closer to the woman, who remained with her eyes downcast, refusing to play their game.