“Placing Clea’s schedule on top of the bedside table, I made my way toward the front of the room ready to escape, excited to explore. Before I could walk the fifty or so steps to the door, there was a knock. I pulled open the double doors to reveal the Duchess.
“Well, my dear, now that you’ve had time to recover from your journey, you look absolutely gorgeous. None the worse for wear.”
She threw open her arms, enveloping me in a soft hug. Clea smelled like talcum powder, mixed with what I suspected to be a little wine. She was a lovely woman in her fifties with white hair and powdery skin. Clea’s average height was filled out nicely by a soft, voluptuous figure. Her ivory day dress, decadently ruffled down the front, was much more elaborate than mine, and lower cut, to emphasize she was still an attractive woman.
“I decided to throw together a tour of the grounds. Are you ready?”
“Of course,” I answered, “but, ready for what exactly?”
“One of the guests, my painter, caught a glimpse of you from the verandah. He discreetly inquired as to whether you are married. Apparently, in what was but a moment, you quite entranced the man.” She smiled at me. “Of course I told him you are married, enjoying one of the finest and most spotless reputations in all of France. He looked awfully forlorn, but I suspect he will quickly move on to the one lady in attendance who is unattached. So, not to worry, my dear.” She linked her arm with mine, patting my hand, as we set off down the hallway.
I was a little stunned. And, if I was being truthful, flattered. I knew my cheeks were flushed but could only hope that my makeup covered my true feelings. Her painter also caught my eye. All I could do, however, was shrug it off. Unhappy as I was in my marriage, for me to be unfaithful was unthinkable. The consequences would be severe.
The Duchess and I walked, talking all the while. Our conversation was nothing more than shallow chitchat. It occurred to me there was nothing I wouldn’t give for a real escape, alone. Putting on a fake smile, day after day, was exhausting.
The others were gathered on the eastern lawn of the estate. The weather had cleared, and the sun shined brightly. Thankfully, the party was rather a small one. There were two couples, of which I was acquainted, and one single lady, who was a stranger to me. She was young and lovely, with chestnut brown hair, green eyes, and a trim figure. I greeted my acquaintances, then the Duchess introduced me to the young lady, whose name was Eve. As Eve and I were shaking hands, the man Clea had called her painter, walked up to the party.
“Millicent, Marchioness of Mirabeau, allow me to introduce you to Julien Delacroix, master painter.”
I couldn’t avoid his gaze, and not seem rude. But as I looked directly his eyes, I felt an electric current go through me. Monsieur Delacroix took my hand, bowed over it, and pressed my fingertips to his lips. It was all I could do to keep breathing steadily.
“A great pleasure, my lady.” His voice was deep, gravelly, and masculine.
“Thank you, Monsieur, likewise.”
When he released my hand, I lowered my eyes and took a step back. His voice was even more hypnotic than his eyes. I let myself imagine, this man in my bed whispering in my ear with that penetrating voice. Warmth spread through my face, and I quickly told myself to think of other things. I didn’t know what was coming over me. Surely, this man would treat me no differently in the bedroom then my husband given the chance. The thought quickly sobered me up.
The Duchess called us to attention and began the tour. I was grateful for the distraction. Eve came to walk along side of me. Monsieur Delacroix walked behind us. I tried to keep my focus on what the Duchess was saying.
While Clea was telling her guests the history of her impressive, marble statue of the goddess Aphrodite, I slipped away into a copse of rose bushes. Behind the thicket of roses was a tiny stone cabin. The cabin reminded me of my regular dreams of a man I thought of as Jupiter, and a feeling of safety and belonging came over me. The blooms were fragrantly sweet, the sharp contrast between blood red and snowy white was arresting. I reached to pluck one of the red flowers, when I heard someone come up behind me. Thinking it must be Clea, I turned with a smile, ready to confess my poaching of her rose.
I was startled to see it was Monsieur Delacroix, all alone.
“Don’t worry Madame, I will not tell on you.”
He smiled at me wickedly, as he moved along side of me.
He took my hand in his, reaching it up to stroke the petals. Shocked, I pulled my hand away, ready to turn and leave. But something held me back. Curiosity maybe. More shocking still, Monsieur Delacroix plucked the rose, tucking it in the bust of my dress.
“Monsieur, how dare you touch me.”
I pulled out the rose, throwing it on the ground.
“No one is here to see, Madame. Your reputation shall remain…spotless. You could have been Aphrodite yourself, wrapped as you were on the verandah,” he said with a laugh, but then abruptly stopped.
I looked stonily into his eyes, refusing to run away.
“I am sorry, Madame, truly. I meant no offense.”
We continued to hold each other’s gaze for a moment longer. He bent down to pick up the rose, then pressed it gently into my hand. Monsieur Delacroix turned away, leaving me there, more confused than I had ever been in my life.
Rejoining the party in front of the statue, I willed myself to look anywhere but toward him. Our walking tour continued down a gravel path with perfectly groomed hedges on one side, and an expanse of mossy green ground cover on the other. After several minutes of Clea talking about the hedges and how she trims them herself, we turned, to face a little stone bridge, the same stone as the little cabin. From what I could see, the bridge crossed a tranquil stream which looked shallow but was quite wide.
“If we walk over the bridge, we can cross back to our waiting food and drink more quickly. We go two at a time and watch your step, the stones are rather uneven,” explained Clea.
Clea took the arm of Eve and the two stepped up onto the bridge. The two couples followed, which left me with Monsieur Delacroix. I felt a panic rise in my chest. What if he reached for my arm? Wearing a veil over my emotions had become second nature for me, but this man had succeeded in making me question everything in the short span of two hours.
“After you, Madame,” said Monsieur Delacroix, quietly.
He did not reach out his arm for me. Daintily, I picked up my skirts, stepping up onto the first stone. I continued up the next two stairs, until I almost reached the top. The second my foot descended onto the top of the bridge, it slipped out from under me, toppling my body backward.
Two strong arms plucked me out of mid-air, pulling me into a firm embrace. Relieved to be on solid ground, I didn’t pull away.
“You’re alright, I have you,” his breathy voice whispered against my neck, sending a current straight through me.
My throat constricted. Only two people, my dear Blanche and my dreamy Jupiter had ever spoken to me with such tenderness.
Clea’s screeching voice pulled me back into reality.
“Is she hurt?!”
Immediately righting myself, I turned toward Clea. Monsieur Delacroix kept his hand lightly on the small of my back.
“I’m fine, don’t fuss. This gentleman saved me from breaking my neck.”
“You scared me terribly, dear. Take my hand and let’s all finish making our way over this treacherous bridge.”
Monsieur Delacroix removed his hand. Suddenly, I felt alone.
After our lengthy walk, we were ushered onto an immense portico. There were several intricately carved, silver vessels, each filled with a different type of wine. Many crystal glasses also littered the large banquet table, along with several delicate and delicious looking finger foods. The guests immediately helped themselves. Monsieur Delacroix poured a glass of wine. Instead of drinking it himself, he handed the glass toward me.
“Madame, if you would.”
I took the glass, bringing it to my lips. He took a step closer to me, close enough that I felt the heat from his body. He smelled like paint and sunshine. My breath quickened.
“Madame, let me teach you how to savor wine, properly.”
Taking the glass from me and in a gesture, I found too intimate, swirled the glass, breathed in the scent of the liquid, then took a drink.
He handed it back. “Swirl the wine in the glass, and then breathe it in. Tell me what you smell.”
I felt incredibly awkward but did as he bid. At first, I smelled nothing but wine. On the second try, I had it.”
“Cherries,” Jack says, startling me out of my skin.
“How did you…” I begin.
“All of a sudden, I could smell cherries.” Jack taps his foot so hard, I’m afraid he may break a toe. “Keep going,” He urges.
“Monsieur Delacroix smiled, turning back to the table to fill another glass. I took the opportunity to back into the crowd. Moving to the edge of the portico, I let my mind wander, as I took in the beauty of the southern grounds.
When I turned back to the crowd, I saw Julien, Monsieur Delacroix, conversing with Eve. She was smiling, laughing at something he was saying. She placed a small, gloved hand on his arm. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I felt frustrated, foolish even. Those were not feelings I was accustomed to.
After a few more minutes, the Duchess announced it was time for the ladies to rest before dinner. Setting down my glass, I practically bolted inside, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. I welcomed the solitude with relish.
Once in my room, I flung myself on the bed. Lying there, I began to contemplate feigning illness. Anything to get out of the evening. A rustling sound outside the door reminded me that the ladies’ maids were probably coming to help me refresh for the evening. I found it odd, when after several moments, no one knocked or entered.
I walked over. A note had been slipped underneath. It was half under the doorjamb, daring me to pick it up. I was frozen, terrified at what it could say, or from whom it could be. I stooped down to pick up the creamy paper sealed with red wax, stamped with a Fleur de Lis.
Returning to the bed, I slid my finger underneath the seal.
“Madame,
Please forgive me. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. I expect nothing and only wish to convey a few words. Your charms have quite enchanted me. I understand you to be a virtuous wife. I mean no disrespect. However, it is not in my nature to ignore such things. You are not like any woman I have ever met.
Yours, Julien.”
For a moment, I was overwhelmed. Never had anyone said such things to me. Even my own husband was never romantic. These beautiful words made me feel joy, not shame. Smiling the first genuine smile of the day, I folded the note and slipped it into the bottom of my jewelry case.
Ready for the evening, I stood in front of the full-length mirror unable to help but wonder if Julien would be pleased. My robe à la française was a blush pink satin, with buttons of the same color down the front and delicate snow-white lace at the sleeves. The skirt embroidered with swooping, golden birds. My hair was styled in a simple pouf, pinned together in the back, by golden birds that matched my dress. Pink diamonds set in gold adorned my ears, throat, and wrist.
Once downstairs, I was immediately happy with my simpler hair and makeup. The other ladies all donned massive wigs with so much powder on their faces, they looked like corpses with bright pink lips. Looking around the table, I did not see Julien, so I inquired to the Duchess where her painter might be.
“Oh, dear. Monsieur Delacroix was feeling tired and has retired early.”
I smiled and said I hoped he would feel better soon. Inwardly, I was bitterly disappointed. In fact, I was shocked at just how keenly the disappointment was felt.”