Chapter 15

Angélique and the girls at Le Boudoir spent a quiet Christmas Day at the house. Most of their clients were at home with their families or away, so they assumed they’d have the day off. But they hadn’t told anyone officially that they’d be closed, in case one or two of their clients were lonely or alone and wanted to come by. They kept their doors open to their customers at all times.

But on Christmas Day, much to the ladies’ relief, no one came, and they set the table for what they called a “Boudoir Family Dinner.” Their off time together always had a family feeling, like a group of loving sisters who got along. They wore whatever they wanted, with no makeup, no fancy hairdos, no elaborate gowns. It was the first time any of them had relaxed in a long time. They were never closed, and one or another of their clients was always dropping in unannounced. The men loved that they always felt welcome at any time, and the girls were happy to see them. They could talk or relax or play cards or play the piano, or just read a newspaper, almost like a club. They didn’t have to go upstairs if they didn’t want to. And if they wanted glamour, they could arrive in the evening, and find the girls beautifully dressed and waiting for them as the maids served champagne.

The girls all exchanged gifts with each other, and had bought or made lovely, thoughtful gifts. Angélique gave each of them a new purse or blouse or bonnet, something to wear when they weren’t working, and a large bonus to each girl.

“I’ve never had so much money in my life,” Philippine said happily. “I’ve been saving it for something special.”

“I’m saving mine for a trip to Italy in the spring, if we get a holiday,” Camille said. “I want to go to Florence or Venice. I’ve never been there.” Angélique had opened doors for them that they’d never had access to before, with a steady stream of income. With the sophisticated, educated men they were dealing with, they had grown into more polished women, and many of them were more interesting than the men’s wives, and certainly more exciting. Everyone had benefited from Le Boudoir. And Angélique found herself thinking of the Ferguson children and wondered how they were. She would have liked to send them all Christmas presents, but she didn’t dare, and was sure their parents wouldn’t have allowed them to have them. Even less so if they knew what she was doing now, but fortunately they had no way of knowing. In the end, they had done her an enormous favor by firing her. She had already been able to replace the money she had used from her father’s pouch, and had even more now. She was building a sizable nest egg for herself.

She had also finally written to Mrs. White at Belgrave, and told her about a nanny job in Paris with two lovely children that she made up as she went along. Mrs. White was relieved to hear it and responded immediately. They were still redecorating, and had hired more staff for the big parties her brother and Elizabeth were giving. And she said they were redoing the house in Grosvenor Square and modernizing it completely, which was extremely costly.

Jacques came in after dinner and sat with the girls for a while. He and Fabienne played cards in the drawing room after that, and eventually they all gathered around the piano while Camille and Philippine took turns playing, and everyone sang Christmas carols. It was a tender day of shared memories, talking about the families they had left and most of them no longer had. They had become family to each other now. And in the late afternoon, Angélique noticed Jacques and Fabienne walking in the garden and kissing, and she wondered what would become of that. Some of the girls had formed close attachments to their clients, but most of them maintained superficial relationships with the men who came there. It was simpler that way, although almost all of them, except Angélique, talked about getting married one day. It was a dream she no longer shared. She had never fallen in love and didn’t want to now. Her life was simpler alone than with a man. And she knew too much now. Almost all of their clients were married, and some had established mistresses as well as making visits to the house. She preferred not to be the wife a man cheated on, or a couple like the Fergusons, where each of them had a roving eye and affairs on the side. She was sure her father hadn’t been that way, but most of the men she knew now saw no reason to resist a pretty woman, whether married or not.

The girls shared an easy, pleasant day, and a few of their clients wandered in that night for a quiet evening. And the day ended on a warm note.

And on New Year’s Eve they gave another grand party that went on until the next morning, and all of their clients had too much to drink and had to be helped into their carriages by Luc and Jacques. And there were some very heavy heads when they came back the next day.

It was a week after that that John Carson, the older American financier, returned to the house, looking for Angélique, and seemed delighted when he saw her as soon as he walked in. She was surrounded by admirers in the drawing room, who all hoped that she would relent one day and give in to their pleas to spend a night with them. She was a challenge for them all, but she was staunch in her resistance to their entreaties and enjoyed playing with them. John sat at the edge of the group, admiring her, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He was a very prosperous-looking man, and he waited until the others had drifted off to speak to her quietly. There was something very strong and determined in his eyes, and he wasn’t as uncomfortable being there as he had been before.

“I’ve been thinking about you a great deal since the last time I saw you.” He looked deep into her eyes, and she smiled, but he didn’t see there what he hoped to, or obviously felt for her.

“Thank you, John,” she said quietly. She had thought of him occasionally too, and wondered if he’d return. He hadn’t been to Paris in several months and said he’d been busy in New York. He told her the economy was booming, and he had his finger in many pies, and exciting new ventures. But he hadn’t come here to talk business with her, and had been planning what he had to say for months. He said he was leaving for London in a few days for meetings there to assist the government, as the king was seriously in debt. The king had spent a fortune rebuilding Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, and a number of other important buildings, and his advisers had been unable to discourage him from his excessive spending, which went hand in hand with his heavy drinking. He had become a most unpopular monarch by then. And they wanted John to help set things to rights, and advise the king, which was a great honor for him.

“I wanted to speak to you about an idea I had,” John said quietly. “You’re young, Angélique, and you’re having a fine time here, and I can see your business is going well, and you’re surrounded by the most interesting people in Paris. I daresay every man of means and power turns up here at some point, even frequently, but this isn’t a profession you can stay in forever. One day it will become a heavy burden for you, and at any point something could go awry and everything you’ve built could disappear. It’s a house built on sand,” he said seriously. “I’d like to offer you something more solid.” He paused for a moment as she looked at him in surprise, not sure where he was going with his carefully planned speech. She could tell he had put a great deal of thought into it, and she was right, he had. “I’d like to offer you a fine house in New York, a home just for you, with all the servants you want. You can decorate it as lavishly as you like, and have anything you desire. You can entertain, travel with me, lead the life of a respectable woman, to the degree that I can make that available to you, since I am married. I suppose there is no proper way to say this to you, but I would like you to be my mistress, with anything you want, and me at your feet.” He smiled at her, certain that she’d be impressed, and she was. It was an extraordinarily generous offer, and for most women it would have been an alluring one, but not for her. She didn’t love him, and she didn’t want to be his woman on the side, or even his main one. And she knew that if she were to ever ally herself with a man, it would have to be respectable, and for love. “I would spend a great deal of time with you. My wife has been ill.” He paused then. “And it’s been an ill-fated marriage since the beginning. We have a wonderful son, but other than that we have nothing in common and never did. Even when she was well, we led separate lives and have for nearly thirty years.” She guessed him to be about sixty, and he was a handsome man, but there was something missing. She had the strange feeling that he wanted to own her, not love her. She was sure that he would give her everything he promised, and would have kept his word. She knew that many women would have leaped at the chance he was offering her, but she couldn’t. She had no desire to sell herself into slavery, to him or anyone else, or to be a bird in a gilded cage, and someone’s mistress. She had given up a respectable life when she opened Le Boudoir, but she had acquired independence, and the ability to make her own decisions and do what she wanted, and she didn’t want to give that up now, and wasn’t even certain she could. The taste of freedom was too sweet. She didn’t have a husband or employer, a benefactor, or brother or man to answer to and tell her what she could and couldn’t do and make decisions for her. She would be turning twenty-one in a few months, and it seemed much too soon to give up all she had achieved. And she considered what she was doing temporary. Being his mistress would be forever, like being his wife, only worse. No matter how kind or intelligent he was, Angélique had no wish to be owned, and a man’s possession.

“I’m very touched by your offer,” she said, looking at him, trying to guess at what he felt for her. She couldn’t tell if his ego was involved or his heart. And she could sense that her refusal would be a blow. “But I can’t do that. I want to stay in Paris, and I’m not ready to give up Le Boudoir. I like running my own business. I don’t want to be any man’s mistress, no matter how tempting or kind the offer, and I doubt I ever will.”

“I can’t marry you, Angélique,” he said sadly. “I couldn’t do that to my wife after all this time. Particularly now that she’s ill.” He respected her even if he didn’t love her and hadn’t in years.

“I don’t want marriage. I want to be free to make my own choices and decisions. I couldn’t do that if you were supporting me lavishly. All the decisions would be yours, as though we were married. And the house and everything in it would be yours.”

“I would give it to you as a gift, of course. Every gift I gave you would belong to you.” He wondered for a moment if she was negotiating from strength and bargaining with him, but he could see that she wasn’t. She was a woman of conviction, who didn’t sacrifice her values or beliefs or what she wanted, for anyone or anything.

“And I’m happy in Paris. I’m not at all sure I would be happy in New York. And one day I might want to go back to England.” Although she couldn’t see how. For the moment, and perhaps forever, there was nothing left for her there except memories and heartbreak and loss. But it was still her country, more than France. She had grown up there and felt more English. But she had no tie at all to America, and couldn’t envision herself there.

“I think you’d like it very much, especially with a grand home of your own.” He tried to entice her, to no avail. And the look in his eyes was one of steely determination. He did not want to lose. But he was not going to win with her.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, but he could see that he hadn’t convinced her, and he seemed angry for a minute and then sad.

“Will you think about it?” he urged her, and she shook her head.

“I don’t want to mislead you and give you false hopes,” she said honestly. She didn’t want to lie to him. “I don’t think I have the temperament to be a mistress. A courtesan perhaps, but not a mistress.” It sounded much too confining to her. Her friends were the most powerful men in the city and the country, and increasingly men were coming to Le Boudoir from all over Europe, including her own brother, who was only a pathetic drunk and a second son. But others were more important and more interesting. And John was certainly one of those. He was a very important man in the States, from what she knew of him. “It’s a very, very flattering offer, but I can’t accept it.” He nodded. He could see he was getting nowhere, and he left her with regret that night. He came back again the next day, and told her he was leaving for London, and promised to come to see her again the next time he was in Paris.

“Think about my offer. Maybe you’ll change your mind,” he said in the tone he used in business, to try and close a deal. She could tell that he meant it, although it didn’t sound like love to her.

“Take good care of yourself,” she said kindly. He didn’t look like a happy man. “And go save the finances of our king.” She smiled at him. “He’s a cousin of my father’s. I went to his coronation when I was a little girl.”

“You’re a most unusual woman,” he said with longing. He kissed her on the cheek then and left. His mission to convince her to be his mistress had failed, and he felt the sting of it, as he went back to his hotel. It only made him want her more.

Things went well at Le Boudoir all through the spring. Their clients came regularly and frequently, and people had heard of them in other cities in Europe. They’d had several new British visitors, Italian princes and counts, a Spanish duke. Nobles and aristocrats crowded into the drawing room along with their familiar clients, and the girls who worked there were treated well, and often received beautiful gifts and generous tips from their clients.

In May, they celebrated their one-year anniversary of the opening of the house. Angélique had already replaced and refurbished several things, and the house was slowly becoming more opulent and luxurious, and the girls more elegant when they were dressed. And Angélique’s wardrobe was one of the most fashionable in Paris. She was twenty-one years old and more beautiful than ever, and the girls were infinitely more polished than they had been in the beginning. They were worthy of the men they served. And other girls frequently contacted Angélique to ask to work for her, but she was content with the number they had. It was a small, exclusive group of people, both the men and the women who came together at Le Boudoir. None of them had expected it to be the success it became.

A few days after their anniversary, another group of Englishmen came to the house one night. They were rowdy and jovial, very well dressed, and more than a little drunk. Angélique noticed them when they arrived. And she heard them tell Jacques they had been sent by friends. Jacques looked at her, and she nodded. They seemed fine to her, and then she saw a familiar face in the group. It was Harry Ferguson, her employer when she was a nanny, and she discreetly disappeared, as she had when her brother Edward had turned up. She whispered to Fabienne that she was going upstairs and left.

“Your brother again?” Fabienne asked as Angélique slipped by, and she shook her head.

“I’ll tell you later. Take care of them,” she whispered, and was gone up the stairs to her room in the attic. It was already late, and she didn’t intend to come down again, so she undressed and went to bed. She wasn’t really surprised to see Harry at Le Boudoir. And she was sure he would never make the connection between the Duchess and the nanny he had sacked fourteen months before. He had done her the favor of a lifetime, and it no longer mattered to her that they hadn’t believed her, and had listened to the lies of their friend. She was infinitely happier now, although she still missed Emma and thought of her at times.

Fabienne asked her who he was when they met at breakfast the next morning.

“He was the man I worked for as a nanny, that my brother sent me to, when they disposed of me like so much baggage.”

“The one who fired you?”

“Yes,” Angélique said with a smile. “Was he with you last night?”

“No, he wanted Ambre. He had heard about her. He wanted Yaba too, but she was busy. They stayed a long time, and paid very well. He seems to have a lot of money to spend.” Angélique nodded, and read the newspaper. Harry Ferguson meant nothing to her, nor his wife, nor their money.

She saw that there was unrest in Paris again over the French king. He was threatening to dissolve the cabinet, and people were angry about it. She had discussed it at length with Thomas, who as minister knew a great deal. Politics always intrigued her. Thomas had told her he was worried that things would take a bad turn. There were rumors about trying to overthrow King Charles, and fear of another revolution, but he didn’t think it would come to that. He had promised to warn her if it looked that way, but for now, all seemed to be in control. And none of their other clients in government seemed worried.

She was saddened in June to read of the death of King George IV in England, her father’s cousin. He’d had a heart attack at Windsor Castle and died suddenly. He had been obese for many years, and given to excesses of all kinds. She wondered if John had solved some of his financial problems when he’d gone to England. King George was only sixty-seven years old, ten years younger than her father. And he was being succeeded by his younger brother William, who was to be King William IV. The newspaper said that the date for the coronation had not been set, and was not imminent. George had only had a daughter and several illegitimate children, so his brother William succeeded him, although he was only three years younger. And his succession would eventually become a problem as well, since none of his legitimate children survived infancy, and he had ten illegitimate children by an Irish actress, Dorothea Jordan, whom he had never married. The vagaries and misbehavior of the British monarchy were complicated to follow, but Angélique was familiar with them.

And in July, a month after King George’s death, Thomas came to visit her quietly, as he often did, to spend a little while with her. He was a familiar figure at the house, and the girls always wondered if more would come of it, but Angélique insisted they were just friends. He said he was extremely concerned for her safety when he arrived that day. King Charles had dissolved the parliament, which he considered too liberal, and had censored the press. Outraged citizens were gathering, and barricades were going to be erected in the coming hours, and there was likely to be fighting in the streets. The people were tired of the Bourbons, and a dangerous clash was likely to occur, or even lead to another revolution.

“You and the girls must leave the city immediately, by tonight,” he told her.

“But to where?” Angélique looked panicked. She was frightened at the thought of another revolution like the one that had killed her grandparents and most of her relatives, and had sent her mother to England as a baby.

“I strongly suggest a holiday at the seaside until things calm down.” She could see that he was serious, and her mind was racing. She didn’t want to leave the house, but she didn’t want to risk their lives and safety either, and she was responsible for the ten women who lived there with her, and worked for her. “Can you be ready to leave in a few hours?” he asked, gravely concerned, and she knew he had enough inside information that if he told her to leave Paris, she’d be a fool not to. She trusted him completely and knew his concern for her was genuine.

“We will if we have to. I’ll organize it at once,” she said, as she tried to figure out what to do.

“Don’t come back until it’s safe,” he warned her, and left a few minutes later with a gentle kiss on her cheek.

She sent Jacques and Luc out immediately to hire three carriages for them, and went from room to room to tell the girls to pack their bags. They would be leaving for Normandy in an hour, and would stay at an inn if she was able to get enough rooms for them. She wasn’t sure if others would be fleeing the city, and fill the local inns. She was grateful that Thomas had warned her.

The girls hurried to pack their bags, and an hour later climbed into the three carriages the boys had found on short notice, and they used the old coach they had for their luggage. The carriages were less than elegant, but serviceable, and the horses looked strong. And two hours after the minister’s visit they were on the road to Normandy and had left the city. They arrived that night, and she was able to secure rooms for all of them at a comfortable inn with a view of the sea. And they settled in to wait for news of the city. Angélique had brought her small trunk with her, with her fortune and jewelry in it, and she had brought enough clothes to stay for a month, and a large box of bonnets, and the other girls had done the same at her direction. Jacques and Luc had stayed to protect the house and the two maids, and assured her they would take good care of them.

The news for the next few days was alarming. They were calling the uprising a revolution, and forced King Charles to abdicate. But the small-scale revolution was over in three days, and a week later, the throne was offered to Charles’s cousin, Louis-Philippe, of the house of Orléans, and they had a new king. Ten days later, as Angélique and the girls walked along country lanes amid wildflowers, far from Paris, Charles abdicated and left for England peacefully, and by then order had been restored in the city. In theory, they could go back. But Angélique thought it best to wait at least another week, to be sure that all was in fact peaceful again, and nothing further would happen. They had already been there for three weeks and could wait a few more. They were hardly suffering in the country, which had provided them with a pleasant and unexpected vacation, and had kept them far from the chaos in the city, thanks to Thomas’s warning. She was very glad they had avoided it all and left in time, and the girls were having fun at the seaside, and enjoying the break from Paris life.

They had gotten several fierce stares from country women who saw them in their elegant dresses, all of them beauties, and the fact that there were eleven of them caught people’s attention wherever they went, and women scolded their husbands for looking at them.

Angélique took the girls back to the city at the beginning of September, after Jacques sent them a message that all was peaceful and safe again. They had been gone for six weeks, and came back to the house energized and refreshed and in high spirits, ready to receive their clients again. The minister was their first visitor, wanting to be sure that they were well.

“Thank you for the warning,” Angélique said when he came to see her. “It must have been very unpleasant here.”

“Only for a few days. It was over very quickly. And we’ll see how the new king does. I hope he’ll be more reasonable than the last one.”

“The girls loved their little holiday,” she admitted, smiling at him, happy to see him again.

Their clients rushed to see them the moment they came home, delighted they were back. They had missed the girls in August, but many of the men had been away too, at their country homes and châteaux, as they were every year. But everyone had returned, and September was busy, and the weather unseasonably warm, even more so than it had been in Normandy, where there was always a pleasant breeze.

The week after they came back from Normandy, Angélique was surprised to see John return to Paris. He said he had business there, and had an appointment in London with the new king, but he said he had something to tell her that might make her see things differently. A significant change had occurred in his life since his last visit in January. His wife had passed away in June, and he said he would be in mourning for the next several months, but he wanted Angélique to know that after his period of formal mourning, he was prepared to marry her. He was no longer limited to offering her to be his mistress—he could make an honest woman of her. His eyes, as he spoke to her, begged her to accept. But the simple fact was that she didn’t love him. He was forty years older than she was, and she liked him, and enjoyed talking to him in the drawing room, but she had no desire to marry him, no matter how generous he was prepared to be. And she was shocked by his unexpected proposal.

“John, I can’t,” she said, looking unhappy. “I told you before, my life is here. I don’t want to go to New York. And I don’t want to get married. We barely know each other. And what if someone finds out how we met? That you met me here? I’m a madam in a brothel. How would that fit into your life if someone should find out?”

“Why would they?” he asked confidently. “No one ever needs to know how or where we met. You’re from an extremely dignified family. And I’m old enough to do what I want. I’m too old for it to hurt my career. And no one will find out.” And even if they did, he didn’t care. He wanted her desperately, and had thought of nothing else since June, and he had believed her when she’d said she would never be any man’s mistress. He was willing to risk it, and deny this piece of her history if anyone recognized her. He wanted her to the point of it being an obsession. She didn’t know if he loved her, although he said he did, but he wanted her more than anything on earth. He had to have her. Reason no longer entered into it, except for her.

“I cannot accept your offer,” she said gently. “Not as a mistress, nor as your wife. I am deeply sorry about your wife’s death. Even if you weren’t happy with her, I’m sure that you’re very sad about it. But I can’t marry you.” He stood up then and looked down at her, and for a moment he seemed furious. He was distraught, and seemed unable to believe she had refused him, even with a proposal of marriage. He was willing to put everything on the line for her. But Angélique was adamant. She didn’t want to be pressured by him into something she had told him repeatedly she didn’t want. She didn’t love him, didn’t want to leave Paris. And she didn’t say it to him, but she thought he was too old for her—he could have been her grandfather. But whatever his age, she didn’t love him, which was essential to her.

“I won’t come back to bother you again,” he said, and with a last ravaged look at her, he strode across the room, and walked out the door without looking back. And this time she was certain she would not see him again.