Chapter 17

The morning Angélique left, after a year and a half in Paris, she rose at dawn to get ready, after a sleepless night, and wondered if she’d ever see Paris again. She wore a very elegant dark gray silk suit with a huge hat and a veil that concealed her face, as she got in the carriage for the ride to Le Havre with Claire, who was to become her lady’s maid. Their other maid had gone home to her parents in the South.

Angélique was thinking of Thomas, as they rode along. He couldn’t come to see her off, it would have been much too visible, and awkward if he were recognized. They had said all they needed to say the day before. There were no words left, only memories between them.

She watched Paris and the outskirts slip away as they traveled into the countryside toward the port. The journey took many hours, and the packet boat looked large to her as she boarded, and was painted black. She had never traveled so far before, and she had adopted the story of being a young widow once again. It still seemed more respectable than being a very young woman traveling alone, even with a maid. Claire was excited to board the ship too and to go to America with her. It seemed like an adventure to her, but Angélique had a heavy heart as she looked around her cabin. It was spacious, well-lit, and airy, and the mattress seemed comfortable. Well-wishers had come to see the other passengers off. It was still hard for her to believe that a whole new life had ended with a single bullet five days before. She and Fabienne had burned her dress and the towels, and she was sure that, just as Thomas said, none of the men who had seen the murder would talk. They had far more at risk than she did. But she had paid a high price for one client’s hot temper and a disagreement about politics. One man had lost his life, and now she was losing hers.

She watched the ship slip away from the dock with her hat pulled low, and her veil over her face, and felt the pleasant sea breeze as they set sail. Several people had already noticed her, a small, elegant, fashionable woman, who looked mysterious, and was traveling alone. She took a short walk around the deck after they were under way. There were pens for sheep and goats, a cow house, and a space for hens, chickens, ducks, and geese. Then she went back to her cabin, and read for a while. She had written to Mrs. White from the hotel, and told her that the family she worked for was moving to New York, and she was going with them to settle them in, she didn’t know for how long. She hoped not too long. And she promised to let her know where she was. She wondered if the old housekeeper would believe her, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t. Angélique hated lying to her, but there was no way to tell her the truth about her reason for leaving France. She was sure that in her wildest dreams Mrs. White couldn’t possibly imagine that Angélique had run the best brothel in Paris for the last sixteen months. Nor could anyone watching her on the ship. She looked like a distinguished, well-born lady, and the young widow she claimed to be.

She had dinner in her cabin, and then took a long walk around the deck, and explored the ship. There was a handsome saloon with wood paneling and gilt decoration. Her fellow passengers passed the time reading and playing cards. And she’d been told that tea was served in the afternoon. The luxury of the appointments made her think of the Fergusons. She thought wistfully of Emma and wished she could see her again. She remembered then too seeing Harry Ferguson at Le Boudoir, and wondered what other lascivious mischief he was up to, and whether his wife was almost as busy as he was, pursuing other men.

Angélique had learned a great deal about the human race during her time in Paris: the people who were unexpectedly far nicer than you expected, those who pretended to be and weren’t, the strength, values, and principles of the women who had worked for her despite what they did for a living, and the lack of those same values in others who claimed to have them, how easily people betrayed each other, and how strong one had to become to survive. She had been learning that lesson for three years since her father’s death. It was impossible to imagine what his reaction would be to what her life had become, and if he would be proud of her for surviving, or deeply ashamed. She hoped more of the former, but there were things she wasn’t proud of either. She had done the best she could in the circumstances she had, and hoped that if he was watching over her, he’d understand.

She was thinking about it with a look of longing and regret as she stared out to sea under the billowing sails, and then closed her eyes, and a moment later she heard a voice beside her and glanced up. It was a tall man with a pleasant face.

“It can’t be as bad as all that,” he said sympathetically.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” She smiled shyly at him through her veil.

“Of something not very happy, I’m afraid.” He had seen her twice on deck, and didn’t intend to speak to her, but she had looked so heartbroken, as she gazed out to sea, that he felt he must. No one deserved to be that sad.

“I’ve lost my husband, and I’m leaving home,” she said, grasping at a rapid explanation for her situation and grief. It seemed the right thing to say and all she could think of just then.

“Which proves that there is always someone with worse troubles than one’s own. I just lost my fiancée. To another man,” he added openly. “I came to Europe for a change of scene, from all the gossip in New York. It turns out that running away doesn’t really work. So I’m going home, after a month of solitary pursuits and feeling sorry for myself,” he said ruefully, and smiled. She wondered what he’d say if she told him she had lost the brothel she’d built and was grieving for her business and clients and the wonderful women who worked for her. It made her smile to think of it. Her honesty would have been so absurd and would have shocked him profoundly.

“I’m sorry to hear about your fiancée,” she said sympathetically, surprised and touched by how honest he had been, which was very different from the European men she knew, who were always more hidden about their feelings.

“And I about your husband. Do you have children?” He hadn’t seen any when she boarded the ship, and he had first noticed her then. He had seen her only with a maid. Their cabins weren’t far apart, on the same deck, although hers was larger—he could tell from where it was placed. But his was pleasant too. She shook her head in answer to his question.

“No, I don’t.” And probably never will, she almost added. She would never have children now. Who would marry her if she was honest with him? She had chosen her destiny in Paris when she opened Le Boudoir. Some of the girls might marry eventually, like Fabienne, but in her world she couldn’t. The man she was talking to on the deck of the ship had no idea what she was or where she’d been. She was sure he wouldn’t have spoken to her publicly if he did—only in a house like the one she’d run, if he was inclined to those pursuits. And the fact that she’d never engaged upstairs with her clients made no difference. She was tainted forever, and she knew it. All she could do now would be the same thing again when the time was right, and open another, similar house. All the girls were hoping she would. And her clients would be delighted to return, and grateful for her having spared them from the scandal of the murder. And in the meantime, she had enhanced the gift from her father by a healthy amount. She and the girls had benefited handsomely from the success of Le Boudoir.

“Will you be visiting New York for long?” he asked politely, and she looked vague.

“I don’t know. A few months, perhaps a year. I have no reason to hurry back.” He had realized by then that she wasn’t French, but English, although he had heard her speak French to the deck stewards when she declined a deck chair and a blanket they had offered, and said she didn’t need them. He spoke enough French to understand, and she sounded fluent to him.

“Do you live in England, or Paris?” he asked, curious about her, and the correct answer was “nowhere,” which was why she looked so sad.

“We moved to Paris from England a year ago, and then my husband died. I thought I’d go to New York while I decide what to do now. It’s all rather a big change.” He liked the aristocratic sound of her voice, and she was friendlier and more accessible than most of the English women he’d met, and she seemed comfortable speaking to a man, which wasn’t always the case for a woman of high rank alone. It was a practiced art she’d learned, and had overcome most of her initial shyness in Paris, which he had no way to know.

“Do you have friends in New York?” he asked her.

She hesitated before she answered. “Not many.” And those she did know, she couldn’t look up and wouldn’t have known how to find them anyway. It would have been most inappropriate to contact them, given where they’d met. They’d had several American clients in the past year, mostly from New York, and a few from Boston. His question made her think of John Carson, and their difficult final exchange, when he’d been so unhappy over her turning down his proposal. She had no regrets about it, even now. She wasn’t going to marry a man she didn’t love, for money. She simply didn’t love him and was sure she never could. There was something about him that was wrong for her, despite his generous offers, first to be his mistress, then his wife, after his previous wife died. She still remembered something hard in him, and anger when he didn’t get his way.

The man Angélique was speaking to thought she was brave to go to New York, with few friends. It was an unusual thing for a woman to do, and he admired the courage it showed.

“My name is Andrew Hanson, by the way,” he said, extending a hand, which she shook with her delicate black-gloved one. He noticed how small her hands were, and she had tiny feet in elegant black shoes.

“Angélique Latham,” she introduced herself, praying he didn’t know her brother Tristan or who he was, or even worse, Edward. He had been as repulsive as ever when she saw him in Paris.

“That’s a very pretty name,” Andrew commented, and she was a beautiful woman. And he liked talking to her. They stood in silence for a while, looking out to sea, each lost in their own thoughts, and then she made a move as though to leave.

“I’m going to read in my cabin for a while,” she said quietly, and he smiled at her. He was a great deal taller than she, and appeared to be about ten years older. He had guessed her age to be about twenty-four or -five—she seemed older than she was because of the elegant wardrobe, which was her intention. She loved pretty clothes, and had developed a taste for them in Paris, and indulged it whenever possible. He didn’t ask to see her again. There was no need to. They would meet often on the ship in the next weeks. It was a long trip. They had the luxury of time to get to know each other better, if they chose. They might make it to New York in three weeks in good weather, or four if conditions were less favorable or the wind was poor.

He didn’t want to intrude on her mourning, particularly not knowing how recently her husband had died, and he didn’t want to ask. He had been jilted nearly at the altar, two days before the wedding, in early August. And the wound inflicted by his fiancée had finally begun to heal six weeks later, enough so to be content talking to a pretty woman on a ship. As she walked away he smiled and then he went for a long walk alone on the deck.

Angélique fell asleep on her bed reading her book, in the gentle movement of the ship, and never appeared for tea. Claire came to check on her, found her asleep, and left her alone. She woke in time for supper, but decided to eat in her stateroom. She didn’t emerge again until the next day in a striking white wool suit and another enormous hat, which this time showed more of her face. She noticed Andrew again when she came onto the deck, and he looked pleased to see her as he approached. She was far more beautifully dressed than any woman on the ship, and the other women stared in envy at what she wore.

“I didn’t see you at tea or supper yesterday,” he commented. “Were you all right?”

“Yes, just tired. The book I was reading was very boring, and I fell asleep.” She smiled at him, and he laughed.

“I always fall asleep when I read. And that’s not a good thing. I’m a lawyer, and I have to read a lot.” They fell into step together, as they walked along, while others read or dozed, the women under parasols to avoid the sun. He noticed that Angélique didn’t seem to mind the sun and didn’t carry a parasol of her own.

“What sort of law do you practice?” she asked, seeming to care about what he did. She was an expert at drawing men out about themselves—it was second nature to her now, and she enjoyed it. He seemed like an intelligent, interesting man, even though he was young.

“I’ve been practicing general law, and some constitutional law, which is very dull. I want to go into politics. I’m hoping to run for Congress or the Senate in a year or two.”

“Maybe you’ll be president one day,” she teased him, but she had no idea who he was, or what his connections were. Perhaps he really would. America was so different from England, where you had to be born to the ruling class. For Americans, everything was possible, for anyone.

“Maybe,” he said cautiously, “although that is my father’s dream for me more than my own,” he added honestly. “I’d be content to be a congressman or senator. I think that was one of the things that frightened my fiancée. She didn’t like the idea at all. She thought being a politician would be ‘vulgar’ and a very unpleasant life. She tried to talk me out of it several times.” He smiled ruefully at Angélique again and was surprised himself by the things he told her.

“I feel the same way about being king,” Angélique said with a straight face. “So vulgar and so much work.” And then she laughed, and he did too. He noticed that she looked very young when she laughed.

“Have you ever met the king?” he asked. He had the impression it might be possible, but she shook her head.

“Not this one.” She didn’t say she was related to him, and to the new king of France. It was interesting that both countries had new monarchs in the same year.

They walked along for a while longer, and he introduced her to some people he knew, who looked intrigued by her. And then they sat down on two deck chairs and ordered tea. It came with delicate biscuits, which were delicious.

They talked about American politics then, and the election of Andrew Jackson two years before, who seemed like an impressive person to her. And Andrew explained some things that she didn’t understand and found confusing about American elections. It was all unfamiliar to her, but she found his explanations to her easy to understand as they talked.

“What did you do in Paris to keep busy?” he asked her, and she thought about it for a minute, trying to decide how to translate it palatably for him.

“Some charitable work, helping young women who had grown up disadvantaged, and many of them had been seriously abused and exploited. I did what I could to help them improve their lot in life.” She made it sound like a noble cause, and in some ways it was, and was the truth, although she didn’t try to change what they did for a living and had benefited from it herself. But she had seen to it that they were paid handsomely, and the money they earned made it possible for them to follow a different path now if they wished.

“And did you succeed?”

“I think so.”

“That’s a little bit like politics, trying to help the masses and get them a fair deal.”

“I never thought of it that way. Sometimes I think our kings just eat a lot and drink too much, and indulge themselves at our expense.” It had certainly been true of the previous kings of England and France, both of whom were obese, drank excessively, and had lost touch with their subjects, with dire results. And the economies of their countries had suffered because of it.

“Are you interested in politics, Angélique?”

“Sometimes. The brief revolution in Paris in July was very unnerving.”

“Were you in the city?”

“No, I was a coward, and took refuge in Normandy with friends.”

“That sounds sensible,” he approved. “And the monarchy in England certainly seems more solid than the one in France.”

“They haven’t had a revolution in England. My French relatives were all killed in the last one, except my mother, who was sent to England as a baby, which is how she met my father later. She was French.” Hence her name, he surmised.

“Are your parents still alive?” She shook her head, looking sad for a moment.

“No, they’re not. Both of them are dead. I have two brothers, but we’re not on good terms.” To say the least, she thought.

“I’m an only child, and I lost my mother too. And I have a father I don’t always get along with, and sometimes try not to see. He’s very ambitious about my political career, more so than I am, so we frequently don’t agree. I see politics as a chance to make a difference, which is important to me. I’m not content to just accept things as they are. I want to have a voice in how the country’s run.” She looked fascinated as he said it. She would have liked to do something like that too, which was impossible for a woman.

“You’re lucky to be a man. Women don’t get that opportunity.”

“Maybe they will one day. Things change.”

“Very slowly. That probably won’t happen in your lifetime or mine.”

“Sometimes things happen faster than we expect,” he said hopefully. He had a lot of ideals and exciting ideas, some of them too early for his time. But he believed that someone had to take the first step. “Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asked cautiously, not sure if she would think it proper, and she nodded and smiled. She went to change a short while later, and met him in the saloon, where tables were set up. She was wearing a black taffeta dress, with a diamond pin on her shoulder that caught his eye, and he complimented her on it.

“It was my mother’s,” she said simply, and had been in her locked trunk for a while, although she’d worn it once or twice at Le Boudoir on special nights, where it had been admired too. “My father gave it to her.” She didn’t tell him that her brother’s wife, Elizabeth, had gotten most of the jewels. There were many things he didn’t need to know. He was curious to know who her father was, but not enough so to ask, and he didn’t want to be rude.

They had a very pleasant time during the meal, and she dined in her stateroom again that night. Claire came to visit her, and said she was having a good time with the people in steerage, there was a very nice Irish girl in her cabin, going to meet her relatives in the States, and they had made friends. She hoped to see her in New York. Angélique felt the same way about Andrew, and hoped they’d meet again. And for now, a comfortable friendship was developing. It made the trip more agreeable for them both, as they nursed their respective wounds and losses, although hers were different than he thought.

On the third day of the trip, when they met on deck, she noticed several people watching them as they walked along. They made a striking couple, and the women admired her clothes and watched to see what she wore each day, and they thought there was something mysterious about her. Andrew had noticed their attention too, and the admiring gazes of other men. He liked being with her, and being the lucky one she was talking to. And she looked deeply intent on everything he said, as though he was the only man in the world she wanted to be walking and having a conversation with. She made him feel important and special, which was how he was coming to feel about her. When she listened to him, she was fully engaged, unlike so many women he knew who seemed bored, or were overly interested for all the wrong reasons. There was none of that with Angélique. She was a straightforward person, who was comfortable talking to a man, with no ulterior motives behind it, other than the pleasure of his company.

On the fourth day, she agreed to have supper with him, and he was delighted. She wore a spectacular, simple black evening gown with a discreetly bell-shaped skirt, and a low-cut neck, diamonds at her ears, a string of pearls, and long white gloves, which she only removed when she ate. And they both enjoyed listening to the musicians play for the entertainment of the guests. And after a while, Andrew suggested they go out on deck for some air. The sea was very calm and the boat steady, as he helped her put a small fox wrap on her shoulders, and they stepped outside. They had met the captain, and he was very pleasant to both of them, as they passed him leaving the saloon, where he had been visiting some of the passengers. And he greeted Mrs. Latham like the lady that she was. He didn’t address her as Her Ladyship, because he didn’t know, and it didn’t occur to Andrew that she had a title. As an American, he didn’t think in those terms.

They dined together many nights thereafter, when she didn’t dine in her cabin. By day they walked on deck, talked for hours about a multitude of subjects, and played cards. The weather had been perfect, and the trip went faster than expected under cameo blue skies.

They got to know each other during the voyage, and felt like old friends by the last day, after just over three weeks on the ship, seeing each other night and day. Andrew had had a wonderful time with her, and told her so as they sat in the saloon sipping champagne on the last night.

“I’d like to see you again in New York, if that would be all right.” He hoped that she’d agree, and she had enjoyed the voyage as much as he. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone, and didn’t want to. She had been intending to mourn her lost life and prepare for a new one, and instead he had swept her off her feet like a fairy tale, and it made the prospect of New York much more exciting.

“I’d like that very much too,” she said demurely, lowering her eyes. It was hard to look at him sometimes. His gaze was so direct, and his infatuation with her so obvious. He was the first man she had ever met that she genuinely wanted to spend time with, and where it was even a serious possibility. The others were all either unsuitable, too much older, or married. Andrew was none of those, although Angélique knew full well that she was the unsuitable one, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it, but she knew she didn’t want the fantasy to end. She had become accustomed to him, and didn’t want to lose that now.

“Where will you be staying?” he asked quietly.

“I have a reservation at the City Hotel.” It was the best hotel in New York, and supposedly quite large, with a hundred and forty rooms, a ballroom, shops, a library, a dining room, and several large suites, one of which she had written to reserve. “I thought I’d stay there for a while, and perhaps find a house to let for a few months, perhaps six months, or longer, until I go back.” He nodded thoughtfully.

“I can help you find one, if you like. I know New York better than you do, and you’ll want to be in the right neighborhood.”

“Yes, I would,” she agreed, as they smiled at each other. New York was going to be so much more fun now because of him.

“I’d like to show you around the city,” he offered, and she looked pleased, and then they went back inside for a last glass of champagne. He left her at her cabin with regret that night. He liked having her to himself and not having to compete with all the men he knew would pursue her in New York. He had been well aware too that there were several who would have liked to do so on the ship, but he had happily monopolized her for the entire three weeks, and she didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she seemed to be as delighted as he was to spend time together.

They stood side by side on deck as the ship docked the next day. Claire had packed all her trunks and bags, and they were waiting in Angélique’s stateroom to be removed. She was wearing a dove-gray satin dress and matching coat, with a hat made of the same fabric by her favorite milliner in Paris, with a small silver fox around her neck. She looked like a picture in a magazine, as the other women stared at her in envy one last time. They had been watching her wardrobe for the entire trip and so had he.

“Is anyone meeting you?” Andrew asked with a look of concern, and she shook her head.

“I asked for the purser to arrange for a carriage to take me to the hotel.” He nodded, satisfied.

“I’ll come to check on you at the hotel later, to make sure that everything is all right.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, but she appreciated his help. This was a turn of events she had never expected. She would have managed without him, and had been determined to do so on her own, but his appearance in her life was a gift she was grateful for now. And she had had fun with him, and could tell that he had enjoyed it too. It had been healing for them both. “Will you be very busy?” she asked him, and he nodded, as they watched the dockworkers secure the ship with enormous ropes.

“I have to go back to work. I’ve been dodging my responsibilities for two months. That’s about as long as you can get away with for a broken heart.” He smiled as he said it, and looked as though it wasn’t troubling him anymore. He turned to Angélique seriously then. “You’ve changed everything for me in the past few weeks. I never expected this to happen,” he said in a gentle voice. He wanted her to know how he felt before they parted and went on to their lives in New York.

“Neither did I. I thought I’d cry for the entire trip.” She smiled at him. “I had a wonderful time with you, Andrew. Thank you.” He didn’t answer her, and slipped her small gloved hand into his until the disembarkation was announced, and then he walked her to her cabin and left her with Claire, and went to check on his own bags, and then returned to escort her off the ship and see her to her carriage. They walked off the ship together, both of them beaming, and when he handed her into the carriage, she turned, and he kissed her on the cheek. He could barely tear himself away. He could no longer imagine not being with her every day.

“I’ll see you later,” he said gently. He had given her his address, and told her to send a message if she had any problem. And she waved as they rolled away, with a separate carriage behind them for her bags. Claire was riding with her, and seemed sad to leave the ship and her new friends. They had both had an unexpectedly happy voyage, and exchanged a smile as they rode to the hotel.