Versailles Porn
Cassandre Laure Gabrielle Violette Célestine de Vautière, Comtesse de Chainier, Vicomtesse de Barthèlmy (1767-1793).
I am obsessed with eighteenth century France, Versailles, Marie Antoinette and the French Revolution and have been trying (and failing) for years to write a book that encompasses this. I finished one rather lengthy novel but then decided it was rubbish and started rewriting it so that it is now two books called City of Light and City and Darkness. I am not sure how this is going to end, really but we shall see. Other people seem to like it anyway.
The story runs from 1785 until 1794 and focusses on two aristocratic families - the Vautières and the Saliexs and their various connections through marriage. It has quite a light feel because I didn't want loads of doom and gloom and there isn't much Social Reality also I don't like that whole depressing Catherine Cookson type thing and would rather write about the super rich aristocracy than peasants.
Basically the whole thing was just an excuse to name drop and go on about dresses. I loved writing it.
Adélaïde Maria Clémentine Isabelle Beatrix de Saint-Valèry, Madame de Saint-Benoît.
It was a bitterly cold day and a meagre sprinkling of snow drifted through the air and settled on the hedgerows. Adélaïde pulled her heavy white fur cloak closer about her shoulders and leaned back wearily against the comfortable red velvet upholstered seat of her carriage to watch from behind sleepily half closed eyes as houses and twisted denuded trees whirled past the mud and slush streaked window. She ached all over and wearily felt as though she had been travelling forever when in fact it was only a few short hours since she had said goodbye to her aunt Lady Devereux at her pleasingly ramshackle Jacobean mansion in Essex, which had been home to so many generations of their family.
Adélaïde had always been very close to her pretty, lavender scented, good natured aunt Helen, who had been left alone to manage the family estates after her younger sister, the accredited society beauty Araminta, had caused a huge scandal by running off to France to marry a Duc and bring forth a dusky trio of half French, lamentably Papist bratlings before her noble husband had fallen from his horse and broken his handsome neck a mere ten years later.
Helen had for a while lost quite a bit of her natural good humour after Araminta's departure and it had taken a great deal of time to reconcile the two sisters, formerly so close ? one of whom was living a life of indolence and excitement in Versailles while the other sat alone and resentful in the house in which they had grown up. However, Helen was pretty and rich and it was not long before she married and produced her own brood of hopeful (Protestant) children. Letters of congratulation and presents were exchanged and soon things were much as they should be. There had even been visits between the two families, during which Helen had privately decided that her eldest son Edward should marry his French cousin Adélaïde, who was such a clever, biddable girl if not precisely pretty with her unruly dark curls and sallow, woefully French looks.
She and Araminta talked it over and the Duchesse had given her amused consent to her sister's schemes, thinking that maybe it might suit Adélaïde very well. The girl had no taste at all for court life, as a unsuccessful trip to one of the Queen's children's balls at Versailles had demonstrated, and so she might well prefer to settle in England and spend her days as chatelaine of the considerable Devereux estates. It would not have done for herself at all, she was obliged to admit, but Adélaïde's temperment was sadly quite different.
The clever, biddable Adélaïde, had other ideas however and relations between herself and her aunt had become rather strained of late as a result of her continued refusal to bend her head meekly and accept the addresses of the Honourable Edward, who was the eldest and adored favourite of Helen's numerous brood.
Despite her own misgivings, she could not help smiling in amusement as she recalled the impassioned speech that Edward had felt compelled to utter when aunt Helen had rather imprudently made her excuses and contrived to leave them alone together in the Music Room, which had been newly redecorated in pale, shimmering greys and greens by Robert Adam himself and was quite the most exquisite setting imaginable for a proposal if the foolishly stubborn Adélaïde would only realise it.
At the time, however, she had not realised it and had in fact thought it the most painfully embarrassing situation imaginable. Somehow, the normally exquisite Edward had ended up groveling at her feet in the most unbecoming manner with one of her hands imprisoned unwillingly between both of his.
'Oh, my beautiful cousin! Please believe that my heart belongs entirely to you!' He covered her hand with kisses and she rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling in irritation, while struggling to disengage herself.
'Nonsense, Ned! Really, do not speak such absolute rubbish! You would never have shown the slightest interest in me if your mama had not told you to do so!' Adélaïde struggled some more. 'Please do unhand me, Ned! This is all extremely foolish and I do not believe that you mean a single word of it!'
There was no possible escape and she had had to continue to endure the most improbably poetic language until this horrible little interlude had been broken up by the sudden entrance of Edward's younger sister Sophia, a remarkably graceless girl of fifteen with tangled blonde curls who had evidently not been warned by her fond mama that important things were afoot in the Music Room. She had been greeted like an angel of mercy by the beleaguered Adélaïde, who even found herself able to bear the girl's giggles and astonished cry of: 'Why, Edward! What are you doing on the floor? Your new breeches will be quite ruined and only think how cross mama will be!'
She was shocked by her ability to laugh at the scene now, although the fast retreating memory of the ardent Edward's limpet like clinging to her hand still caused her to wince a little with mortification and embarrassment. She had no doubt that her cousin would soon find himself a far more suitable bride amongst the dozens of rosy cheeked, pretty, sweet natured girls with which English society abounded so did not feel obliged to spare any pity for him. No, her mournful sighs and guilty looks were all for the sake of poor aunt Helen, who had been exceedingly distressed by the failure of her dearest hopes. Neither lady had felt able to discuss the situation at length but Adélaïde had tactfully made it clear in a private interview with her aunt that she had no thoughts of matrimony at present. Her meaning was unmistakeable and Helen had regretfully relinquished her scheme. It had made life a little awkward to be sure but Adélaïde trusted that it would not be long before things were back to normal again.
She gave a loud sigh, realising too late that she had drawn the unwelcome attention of her travelling companion. At the request of Lady Devereux, who had a terrible dread of highwaymen thanks to an unfortunate incident in her adolescence when she had been held up and robbed of her favourite pearls by some masked desperado, she had agreed to travel with her maid Harriet alongside her in the carriage. This was rather against her own natural inclinations as she by far preferred to travel alone and not have to endure idle chatter, but after the debacle with Edward she was willing to do anything to please her aunt and so agreed, although she was at a loss to comprehend what actual good the other girl would be in a crisis.
Sharp faced, mousy haired Harriet was not the most endearing travelling companion and had been only too willing, Adélaïde thought, to hold forth upon the deficiencies of every part of their journey. Her excuse invariably being that it was not good enough for her mistress, when in fact what she meant was that it was not convenient for herself. In vain, Adélaïde attempted to bury herself in her book, Cecilia by Frances Burney, but even that was fruitless as Harriet now seemed determined to engage her in conversation and in the end she was obliged to regretfully lay the book aside.
In France such behaviour on the part of a servant would have been severely reprimanded and indeed no French servant would have dared to behave in such a fashion, but here in England it seemed to be quite normal for maids to be forward to the point of impertinence with their mistresses and Adélaïde was constantly amazed, as well as intimidated by the airs that gentlemen's valets assumed.
Adélaïde reflected that it was her own fault for having hired Harriet in the first place instead of making more of an effort to retain the more biddable and elegant French maid Lucie, that she had brought with her from Paris, but that well trained and extremely correct maiden had taken one look at the dismal London skyline and thick smog that hung over the grimy streets and broken her usual polite reticence by demanding to be allowed to go straight back home on the next available packet from Dover.
'Well, and I will be glad to return to London, Miss,' Harriet was saying now, staring with some satisfaction out of the window at the snow and sleet. 'I have never been very fond of the countryside, myself.' Harriet was a Londoner born and bred, and was fiercely proud of her heritage. She was only a few years older than Adélaïde, but it seemed like a lot more as she was by far more worldly than her mistress, who had been convent school educated and, like all girls of her class, protected as much as possible from the grim realities of life beyond the Faubourg Saint Germain and Versailles.
Adélaïde sighed. 'I am sorry you did not like Essex, Harriet,' she replied with some irony. 'I will try to contrive without you next time I go into the countryside.'
The other girl frowned at that. 'And to be sure you will not, Miss!' she cried. 'I am not trusting you to the clumsy hands of those country wenches! Why, they have straw for brains, Miss Adélaïde, and not a particle of sense among them!'
Adélaïde laughed. 'Yes, my aunt did inform me of your disagreements with her staff.' She tried to look scolding, but failed in the face of Harriet's indignation. 'It was not at all well done of you, Harriet.' Every day had brought some fresh drama as Harriet took on Lady Devereux's maids, cook and finally even the formidable housekeeper herself. 'Tell me, is there no one that you will not argue with?'
The girl shrugged. 'I just wanted you to have proper respect, Miss,' was all she would rather cryptically say about the matter, before she abruptly changed the subject. 'And are you looking forward to seeing your new sister?'
Adélaïde stared at her in some surprise, before deciding that it was pointless remonstrating with her maid's unbecoming nosiness. 'Well, yes, of course I am.' She could not meet the girl's eye and knew that another interrogation was brewing.
Harriet sniffed. 'And she is only a chit of sixteen!' she uttered mournfully. 'Fancy that!' She favoured her mistress with a gimlet stare. 'Well, I imagine that you Frenchies have very different ways of carrying on, saving your presence Miss! But married and a Duchess at only sixteen? Well!'
Adélaïde sighed and picked up her book again, determined to make no reply. She had been rather surprised when her eldest brother Fabrice had written four months earlier to announce his betrothal to one of the daughters of the Marquis de Vautière ? he was one of the most eligible batchelors at Versailles and his marriage to a girl of rank and fortune was inevitable but Adélaïde had been surprised that his choice had fallen on a girl who was younger sister to one of the most notoriously wanton beauties at court, the Comtesse de Choiseul-Chainier, whom she recalled very well from her days as a boarder at the exclusive Penthemont convent school in the Faubourg Saint-Germain when she had been Mademoiselle Cassandre de Vautière and quite the most popular girl in the school. Lucrèce de Vautière, however, she could not at all recall but still she rather feared that she would turn out to be a copy of the fascinating, russet haired Cassandre. She remembered with a pang the veiled contempt with which she had been treated by Cassandre and her clique of chattering, fashionable friends at the convent and was very much afraid that her comfortable life here in England was at an end if Lucrèce was cut from the same cloth.
Harriet was not put off by Adélaïde's blatant attempt to ignore her, but instead leaned forward. 'I would have thought it better by far for your brother to choose someone older, who could take the place of your mama!'
Adélaïde's head came up at that. 'Remember your place, Harriet!' she snapped, provoked to unusual anger. 'I will not tolerate such impertinence!' The mention of her errant, widowed mother had stung her. It was impossible to pass four months in the house, Devereux Hall, in which her mother had grown to womanhood without her thoughts turning to that distant figure, formerly Miss Araminta Devereux, who had left Paris for Italy so suddenly only a few short weeks before Adélaïde's own departure for London. She had received copious letters from the erstwhile Madame de Saliex who was now residing in a rented palace in Venice, but had not set eyes upon her mother since the night when she had suddenly announced her decision to leave. They had been at dinner in the Hôtel de Saliex at the time and Adélaïde could still recall her feeling of acute loss and the tinny sound of the Sévres clock on the mantelpiece as it ticked relentlessly into the shocked silence. 'I am so bored here in Paris,' was the only explanation proffered by giddy little Madame de Saliex and with that her children had had to be content.
Harriet accepted the unusual rebuke with good humour and complied by shrinking back into her corner of the carriage and remaining ominously silent for the duration of the journey, leaving her mistress to arrange her disordered thoughts and prepare herself for the ordeal ahead.
She had not time to think for long, for within the hour they drew up before the steps of the elegant house on Berkeley Square which her father, the Duc de Saliex had bought several years beforehand to accommodate his family's visits to the English capital. The windows were ablaze with light and, swallowing her anxiety, she barely waited for the carriage steps to be let down before she jumped down from the vehicle and ran lightly up the stone steps into the house.
The enormous marble hallway was empty and sadly draughty as ever and so she proceeded swiftly up the stairs to the lovely drawing room, which she herself had recently hired Adam to refurbish in the latest Etruscan style with yellow walls and painted 'grotesque' work. There, sitting at ease before the blazing fire, she found not a cosy domestic scene but instead the more the more unexpected sight of her other brother the Marquis de Saint-Valéry. He had several weeks previously pronounced himself bored with the English debutantes, their vulgar mamas and their clumsy attempts to flirt with him and was supposed to be well on his way back to the more sophisticated delights of Paris but here he was instead seated at his leisure before the fire with a glass of claret in one hand and an English newspaper in the other.
'Antoine!' Adélaïde ran into the room with her hands outstretched before her, delighted by the surprise of finding him still there. They were very much alike in looks and temperment and had always been extremely fond of each other. 'What are you doing here? I had thought that you would be back in France by now!'
Antoine grinned up at her. He was not exactly handsome but had a pleasant face and a charming, rather whimsical smile. 'Goose! Is that any way to greet your favourite brother? I thought they had taught you some manners at that expensive school of yours?'
Adélaïde laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. 'I am sorry, my dear! Did I offend you?' She threw aside her black velvet hat, huge fur muff and gloves and settled herself at his feet, warming her face in the fire's glow. 'I missed you, you know.'
Antoine dropped a kiss on the top of her neatly arranged dark hair. 'And I missed you, dearest sister.' He gave a low chuckle. 'So, was it fearfully dull at our cousin's house? I have found that the English have not quite the same notions of sport as we French and I, for one, could not do without the hunt.'
'You should have come with me,' Adélaïde said with a smile. 'We did go out with the hounds on several occasions and I think that even you, brother, would have been tolerably amused.'
'How bloodthirsty you have become, chérie,' Antoine mockingly reproved. He reached across and poured out a glass of claret for his sister, which she gratefully accepted. 'You look chilled, dearest.'
'It is snowing outside.' Adélaïde shrugged and sipped at her drink, enjoying the sensation of warmth returning to her finger tips. 'So why are you still here?' she enquired. 'You know that Fabrice will not be best pleased to find that you have not yet set out for France.' The last time she had seen Antoine he had been fulminating about the fact that Saliex had all but ordered him to return to Paris before he himself arrived in London. The two brothers had been born six years apart, which had rather precluded closeness as children and had never been on very easy terms since gaining adulthood and especially not since their father died and Fabrice inherited the title and all of its accompanying dignities, which put an increased distance between the two.
Antoine shrugged. 'I care not for his pleasure. But I find myself wondering why it was so urgent that I return to Paris? Is this new wife of his deformed do you think? Does he intend to always hide her away?' 'I doubt that very much, dear Antoine.' She put down her drink and reached out to warm her hands. 'I cannot imagine Fabrice agreeing to marry anyone that was not beautiful. He is far too proud and vain for that.' She sighed. 'I imagine that the new Duchesse de Saliex was chosen as much for her looks as for her good breeding and fortune.'
Antoine nodded. 'That is true.' He replenished his glass. 'I have seen the elder Vautière sister many times and she is far from being hideous! She married my old friend Louis-Charles de Choiseul-Chainier last year and I am sure she leads him a merry dance. I saw her at Versailles before I came to London and she seemed to be enjoying the attentions of the Comte d'Artois, which must be rather awkward as she is also lady in waiting to his wife.' The Comte was the King's youngest brother and a renowned libertine.
'Well, I only hope that your friend does not come to regret his decision to marry Cassandre de Vautière,' Adélaïde commented rather sourly and a silence fell between them.
Seven years earlier, as a callow and naïve youth of eighteen, Antoine had been introduced at a ball to the undeniably ravishing but sadly impoverished Manon d'Espignac. It was her first ball, as thanks to the voracious gambling habit of her spendthrift grandfather her family had lost their fortune and now lived very quietly on the edge of good society. However, her mother's sister had generously agreed to take Manon about with her that season in hopes that her beauty might enslave an eligible gentleman and so low were the family's fortunes that Madame d'Espignac had instructed her daughter to accept any lucrative proposal, even if it did not include marriage.
Antoine had immediately fallen under the spell of her pale beauty and for weeks after the ball could think of nothing but her dainty figure, her fine blue eyes and her voice, which had seemed to him to be the sweetest he had ever heard. Manon was a natural coquette and taking to heart her mother's instructions to captivate by any means and flattered by the attention of a wealthy Marquis, she was livelier and more outspoken than all the other girls he had thus encountered and had a mutinous air that he found extremely endearing.
With the cheerful assistance of her family, who could hardly believe their good fortune, they were secretly married within the month and Antoine lost no time in introducing his bride to his family, fully expecting that they would welcome her with open arms and love her as much as he did. Surely her beauty and enormous charm would be recommendation enough? However, as soon as they set foot in the ornate gold encrusted salon of the Hôtel de Saliex on the Rue de l'Université, he could sense that something was very wrong.
Manon looked horribly out of place; she was too loud, too extrovert and looked vulgar and clumsy when placed against the delicate pale blue upholstered furniture and refined Sévres ornaments. She had chosen to wear her newest and most flamboyant pink taffeta dress, which had looked so pretty that morning when she had first put it on and done an excited twirl for his benefit but now looked cheap beside the elegant and restrained pale grey watered silk ensemble his mother had uncharacteristically donned for the occasion.
His mother and brother had been chillingly polite to Manon, but Antoine had sensed their dismay. He could not help noting the contemptuous manner in which his mother surveyed her new daughter-in-law's outfit, or the way she frowned whenever Manon gave that loud laugh he had previously thought so enchanting and so carefree.
The meeting was far from successful and Saliex, taking him aside to his book lined library afterwards, made it clear that the young couple could expect no extra help from the Saliex family beyond what was decent in the circumstances.
'Are you casting me off, brother?' Antoine had demanded, hardly believing what he was hearing. Saliex had smiled and touched his shoulder. 'No, Antoine, not casting off,' he said. 'Only...put aside for as long as it takes for you to come to your senses.' He bowed. 'And when that day comes, be sure that I am entirely at your service.'
The couple had set up house on the Rue de Saint-Honoré, aided by Antoine's own private fortune, which remained untouched. At first they were very happy together and enjoyed their life, which was not luxurious but still very pleasant. It was only later that things became less harmonious, thanks to Manon's expensive taste for gambling and also her flirtation with a handsome army officer, who seemed to haunt their movements and could always be counted upon to appear wherever they happened to be.
'My dear one, you must stop gambling all of my money away!' Antoine pleaded with her as he handed over another full purse, which would be whisked away to pay yet another debt of honour. 'I do not understand how you can lose so much.'
Manon looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes in the way that she knew he could not resist, as she secreted the purse in her bodice. 'But, my darling Antoine, you know that gambling is in my blood and I cannot help it at all!' And with this he had to be content.
An enormously wealthy banker who presented Manon with expensive jewellery and publicly begged for kisses in exchange for repaying her gambling debts succeeded the officer. The banker was soon followed by an elderly Comte, who insisted upon visiting every day, weighed down with arm loads of hot house roses. And all the while, Manon laughed in Antoine's face and tried to convince him that these men were meaningless, that she encouraged them out of pity, that she accepted their gifts to be polite.
After ten months of marriage, they agreed to go their separate ways. He had returned home to the Rue de Saint-Honoré unexpectedly and surprised her in bed with the elderly Comte, surrounded by crushed rose petals and with the banker's diamond necklace glittering around her white throat.
Despite Saliex's claims, the marriage had proved indissoluble, especially as Manon had refused to cooperate. She rather liked being Madame la Marquise de Saint-Valéry and backed by her now hostile family was not going to give up her title without a fight. However, the title proved to be a worthless one, as the powerful Saliex family ensured that she was never again received in polite or fashionable circles and she was condemned to exist forever more in the disreputable demi-monde of Paris, being passed from man to man and making occasional appearances at the Opéra, dripping with jewels and bowing ironically to her estranged husband's family.
Now, as he sat staring into the fire, Antoine found himself wondering where she was. It was a long time since he had done so and it was even longer since he had cared. He had been distraught after discovering her adultery and had refused to see her or answer her pathetically contrite letters. He had even taken a horrible pleasure in his family's terrible revenge upon her, glad that their paths would now only rarely cross. If he had had his way she would have been immured in a convent forever, which was the usual fate of erring wives but now with hindsight he found himself glad that she was at liberty still. He would not have liked to have had the imprisonment of another person on his conscience.
Adélaïde quickly guessed the direction of his thoughts and reached up to silently hold his hand. Her brother's marriage had taken place whilst she was at Penthemont and she had therefore never had the opportunity to meet her notorious sister-in-law, although that lady had since been pointed out to her in the Tuileries gardens, where she had been dressed in the height of fashion in startling bright pink and diamonds and surrounded with an adoring bevy of admirers.
'Come, let us talk of more cheerful matters,' said Antoine now, forcing a smile.
Adélaïde sighed. 'I wish I knew what to expect,' she replied, thinking again of Cassandre and shuddering. What was that nickname she had given her again? Ah yes, Miss Prunes and Prisms. She hoped now that Lucrèce had not been told about this.
'Why are you so afraid that she will disorder your life here?' Antoine asked with a more genuine smile. 'She need not be anything like her sister, my dear! She may well be quite different!' He laughed. 'Besides, I wonder how she is enjoying being married to Fabrice!'
Adélaïde smiled at that. 'Or more to the point, how well is our brother coping with playing husband to a chit of sixteen?' She could not at all imagine it as Fabrice had always been very much concerned with his own dignity and the very idea of him playing suitor to a flighty young girl was quite inconceivable. What on earth did they find to talk about?
It was not until the two siblings had sat down to play cards in front of the fire that the sound of great bustle outside announced the arrival of the Duc and his bride. Adélaïde dropped her cards in horror and instinctively reached across the little table for Antoine's hand.
'Adélaïde?' The Duc's voice could be heard echoing in the marble entrance hall. 'Are you there?'
She abruptly stood up, unable to resist his summons, and after smoothing down her plain green silk gown, made her way to the door, which an attendant footman swung open for her.
She came out into the hall and was immediately seized by her elder brother, who embraced her then held her out so that he could look at her properly. She had not inherited their mother's luscious russet haired beauty but Adélaïde had outgrown her childhood plainness and was a remarkably pretty little woman with a fresh complexion, rosy cheeks, fine dark brown eyes and a profusion of curling, dark hair which she wore neatly dressed close to her head. He would have liked it if she had dressed with a bit more style and worn her hair elaborately frizzed and curled like other ladies of her station but there was something very elegant about her, which pleased him.
'Well, the English air certainly seems to be agreeing with you, sister!' he said, kissing her cheek. 'Maman always did say that you were the most English looking of her children whereas Antoine and I are as swarthy as Turks!'
'And how does our mother do, Fabrice?' Adélaïde enquired with a smile. 'I was very sorry to miss the opportunity of seeing her again.' She craned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the figure that stood behind him and caught a fleeting impression of tumbled blonde ringlets, a small, pale face and a pair of enormous, shy hazel eyes before Saliex embraced her again and the elusive Lucrèce was hidden from view.
'Maman does very well,' he was saying. 'She is considering marrying an immensely wealthy, very handsome Italian Count that she met during Carnivale. I think this is an excellent idea as maman really does need a husband to keep her in order.' He caught Adélaïde's hand and swung her around so that she faced Lucrèce, who immediately sank into a low curtsey. 'My dear, may I present to you my wife?' The pride in his voice as he called Lucrèce wife was obvious and Adélaïde could not help staring in astonishment at her brother. 'Lucrèce, my darling, this is my sister Adélaïde.'
Adélaïde curtseyed then moved forward to take Lucrèce's hand, touched by the girl's obvious shyness and by the fear in her eyes. 'I hope that we will be friends,' she said in low voice, and was rewarded with a grateful and very lovely smile. To her relief she immediately saw that this bashful, trembling child was nothing like the supremely confident Cassandre de Choiseul-Chainier, and was in fact quite the opposite although she could see that there was a superficial resemblance between the two. 'I should imagine that you are exhausted by your journey, my dear. We have been putting off supper until your arrival but I can ring for it now, if you would like?'
Lucrèce nodded and allowed Adélaïde to remove her heavy black velvet travelling cloak and lead her into the drawing room, where Antoine awaited them. 'This scapegrace, dearest, is our brother Antoine,' Adélaïde said with a smile. 'He was supposed to go home to Paris but remained here in England just to see you!'
'Madame la Duchesse,' Antoine murmured, bending over her tiny hand which trembled slightly in his. 'May I offer my congratulations?'
She blushed then and quickly looked at her husband, who had followed them into the room. 'Thank you, Monsieur.'
'Surprised to see me, brother?' Antoine said with a grin. 'As you can see, I took the liberty of ignoring your recommendation that I return to Paris!'
The Duc smiled and greeted his brother. 'No, I am glad that you did, Antoine!' He said with a smile. 'You know that I am always happy to see you!'
After supper was over, Adélaïde took Lucrèce upstairs to her new room, and the two gentlemen were left alone together. Antoine remained at the table, whereas his elder brother immediately got up and poured himself a measure of brandy.
'Now, tell me the truth, mon cher,' Antoine said with a laugh. 'You are not at all pleased to see me, are you?'
Saliex smiled and tossed back the brandy. 'Do not be foolish, Antoine.' He poured himself another drink, then after a pause poured a glass for his brother. 'I am always pleased to see you.'
Antoine laughed and stretched his long legs out in front of him. 'I am excessively glad to hear it! However, if you would prefer that I went away while you enjoy your honeymoon, I am, as ever at your command.' He grinned. 'I am sure that you would much rather be alone with the charming Lucrèce.'
Fabrice smiled. 'On the contrary, mon cher, I am more than happy that she become acquainted with my family. I very much hope that you will become friends.' He shrugged and turned back to the decanter. 'She has an elder brother, Lucien, who is about your age and I believe that she misses him very much.'
Antoine nodded sympathetically. 'Poor child.' He had the grace to smile at his brother's suddenly frosty expression. 'Oh come now, Fabrice, she can't have been out of the convent for very long and she really is the merest baby! When you told me last year that you planned to take a wife I expected you to find someone rather older and more experienced!' He grinned and shrugged. 'After all, your taste so far has always been for, shall we say, the more mature ladies.'
'For a mistress yes,' Fabrice agreed, 'but for a wife I prefer something younger and more malleable.' He shrugged. 'Lucrèce is a perfectly charming and well bred young girl and I am sure that she will make me a perfectly charming and well bred wife.'
'Are you in love with her?' Antoine asked with a smile. 'She is certainly very pretty.'
Fabrice shrugged. 'What is love, after all?' He turned to his brother and smiled. 'I will admit that I was very taken with her when I first saw her at a ball in Paris and that my admiration has grown tenfold since that occasion but as for love? I do not know if I am capable of it.' He thought now of Lucrèce as he had first seen her only a few short months beforehand. She had been dressed in apricot satin spangled with gold and pearls and had been dancing extremely decorously with her mother's cousin, the disreputable Duc de Polignac. He had been immediately struck by her lovely face and the perfectly adorable way that she frowned as she concentrated on the complicated dance steps and cast occasional shy glances up at her partner. He was agreeably pleased to learn that she was the second daughter of the immensely affluent and well connected Marquis de Vautière and thus the sister of that famously langourous beauty, Cassandre de Choiseul-Chainier, whose charms he himself had admired on several occasions. His informant also added that it was common knowledge that the Vautière girl was the favourite of her grandmother, the dowager Marquise de Vautière, and on marriage would receive from her an enormous dowry of 500,000 livres. As Duc de Saliex, it was not difficult to arrange an introduction and mere moments later he was taking her hand in his and smiling down into her wide hazel eyes. He had been lost from that moment onwards.
Antoine watched his brother for a moment then laughed. 'Well, if you aren't in love then you are certainly in thrall to her.' He finished his brandy and stood up. 'I wish you joy!' he said with a grin. 'I was starting to think that you would never marry and that Manon would end up Duchesse de Saliex after all!'
Fabrice shuddered. 'If I thought that that hideous event was liable to happen then I would almost certainly marry the first woman that I saw, even if she were a washerwoman.' He shrugged. 'It was always my intention to marry at some point and cut her out from the succession.'
Antoine laughed, then offered his brother his arm and together they strolled from the room, discussing the latest Paris gossip and whether or not it was to late to visit one of the fashionable gaming clubs that the Duc favoured during his visits to London.
Copyright Melanie Clegg 2007.
Lucrèce Angèlique Athénaïs Honorine Lucie Yolande de Vautière, Duchesse de Saliex.
Return to the top