Affaire de Coeur Read online

  Affaire de Coeur

  By

  Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Eternal Press

  A division of Damnation Books, LLC.

  P.O. Box 3931

  Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

  www.eternalpress.biz

  Affaire de Coeur

  by Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-868-8

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-869-5

  Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

  Edited by: Andrea Heacock-Reyes

  Copyright 2013 Stephanie O’Hanlon

  Printed in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  1st North American, Australian and UK Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For Karina—my socially versed friend. You will always be an inspiration.

  My mother, Angella, for always putting up with my eccentricities. I wouldn’t be

  able to do it without you.

  Chapter One

  The day was warm, and the sky was clear as the wind blew mildly through the surrounding great oaks filling out the property before the large forest, abundant with game.

  It was a typical, early summer day in France as I sat on the stone terrace. I sighed deeply, comfortably, as I looked down to the fan in my hand—my favorite fan. It was made of pink silk—the finest and softest—and the small buds delicately painted on it in red, pink, and white sprang to life. The gold embellishments on the Mother of Pearl handle made it stand out, shimmering and swirling in the bright sunlight on the warm, May day.

  My eyes fell over it once more, looking to every corner until I stopped—there was a small tear by one of the corners. A once bright smile faded as my eyes concentrated on the small tear. The fabric frayed out. It was hardly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but I knew that was the end of its life. I knew the moment that anyone found out that it had that small flaw, it would be discarded, thrown away, and replaced with a new one, perhaps a more extravagant, more appropriate one.

  Was that not the way of fashion? Every season emerged with a new color, a new fabric, a new look for the young ladies of the world. Paris was the heart of such extravagant and delectable indulgences, setting it all in motion—knowing what to wear, how to wear it, when to wear it, and especially the courtiers. The Dauphine herself is a paragon of style.

  I looked down to the table beside me—the white and gold marble swirling together in beautiful patterns in the sunlight. A large, lacy doily lay on it with a delicate, porcelain tea set on top of it. A vase of large red, pink, and orange Gerbera daisies sat in the middle of it.

  My eyes swept over to the teacups. The white porcelain had silver patterns swirling around it and small, blue flowers painted carefully around the rim. My own had a chip by the handle on the rim of the small cup, which caught my eye. Another thing that was replaceable. Another item that once damaged, in the eyes of others, would be easily thrown aside and another put in its place.

  Was the small flaw really enough to deem the little cup low quality? Who would notice the small flaw? Who would, other than myself, be looking close enough?

  My eyes surveyed the large, stone landing of the terrace. The brim of my little, white tricorne hat barely sheltered me from the sunlight as the large white and violet plumes that lay flat against it fluttered with the wind. The wind caught my interest. The way it swept through the leaves of the trees and the beautiful garden that lay just down the stone steps into the courtyard. If I tilted my head and sat forward in my chair just right, I could see the trees in the orchard shaking and the hedge maze down the way.

  “Madeleine! Madeleine!”

  Colette ran toward me, her light orange robe à la Française waving in the wind as her attendants tried to keep up with her. They ran after her, trying to keep her parasol over her head.

  I smiled as she sat on the chair to the left of me, leaning back as one of her attendants tried to put the parasol over her, to shield her from the light.

  Colette was never one for hats, of which she had many. She would toss them off on me, except for this occasion. She had one pinned to her head made of orange silk with a small tier, gold braid around the turned up rim. Her gown was the latest style—white with light, thin orange stripes on the sleeves, stomacher, and overskirt. She had a solid orange petticoat. A milky orange that made me think of oranges and cream whipped together. The sleeves were long, cutting off three-quarters of the way down her arm. Orange ruffles edged the gown and around the neckline, down the center of the stomacher, and around the sleeves, and a little bit of white lace stuck out.

  Orange was one of the latest colors, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear it. My gown was white with pink flowers patterned all over it. It had frilly ruffles up the skirt as well as around the neckline and my sleeves.

  “Why are you stuck up here? Why don’t you come down to the orchard? We could walk in the sun.” She sat forward, grabbing one of the small, delicately frosted cakes off a plate. She used her finger to take off the vibrant, pink icing.

  I looked down to the fan. “My fan has a hole in it.”

  She didn’t look away from the cake as she waved her free hand and said, “Such is life.” It was her favorite thing to say.

  I would say that Colette tried not to look at anyone as different, though that proved hard in her social circle. She always tried to accept everyone, even though she would always be the daughter of the Marquis du Lorme, and rumors were one of her favorite pastimes.

  Her father and mother brought her up with everything that she could have possibly desired in the large estate. Gaping, spacious rooms and windows stretched from floors to ceilings. There were amazing, silk drapes, wonderful and expensive art on the walls, and parquet floors. One would have thought she would be snobbish, more demanding. She could be at times, but not nearly as much as one would assume. I think everyone has those moments.

  She loved to dance and go to parties, loved to walk the Paris streets and gamble with her allowance. She was much like the “others” who had knowledge of the inner workings of the Paris social society, truly understanding them. She knew her place and how to act when and where as well as being versed in every rule in society and keeping a high standing. She also knew all the ways to seduce a man. In fact, she did it with no real effort on her part. She did this often—entertaining her fair share of gentlemen—though not always in a romantic or sexual capacity. Flirting was another one of her favorite pastimes.

  I was fortunate enough to be invited to her home when my father had to travel. I was not blessed with her amount of wealth. My father needed to work to earn his little share of money. Being nothing but a merchant’s daughter makes it hard to move up in the world. You are not expected to move up in the world.

  I looked to her and smiled lightly. “Yes, I suppose. Such is life.” My eyes went down to my fan as she smiled largely, as she always did. Her teeth looked a bit big, but attractively so—almost in a charming manner. It was a genuine smile.

  She grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let us go down to the garden.”

  I reluctantly stood up, following her as the attendants scrambled about, grabbing our parasols and walking after us. Co
lette stopped at the steps and turned to them, grabbing our parasols from them and dismissing them with an aggravated wave of her hand. Colette had been brought up in wealth and stature, but she hated that she had little to no privacy. Her attendants were always two steps behind her. They would anger her easily. The times when she wanted to be alone seemed difficult with such an entourage. They did as she commanded and dispersed quickly so as not to anger her further. They learned this the hard way. Her outbursts caused her to throw some of the expensive china at them on more than one occasion. She never meant for the china to be a weapon. It was always what was within reach…sadly.

  We walked down arm-in-arm into the garden. The flowers all pointed toward the sun and soaked up its rays. The flowers were very bright and vibrant in the light—a welcomed sight since winter had cleared up.

  “Have you had word from the Chevalier Gautier? He seems to be quite interested in you…again.” I looked over to her as she smiled brightly, skipping away from me as she twirled her parasol in her hand.

  “Indeed, I have. Vachel has asked me to a ball within the next fortnight.” Her smile somewhat faded. “I must admit, though. I have heard some rumors. That is the way of Paris, I suppose…” It was obvious she had something else to say, but she shook off whatever thought she had. She faced an elderly servant who was tending the flowers, speaking to him as she smiled and laughed, making conversation.

  I had to admit I was jealous of Colette. Her beauty certainly surpassed my own. Her hair was silky. It lay just past her shoulders, though her maids always made sure to pin it up and keep it in order. Curls that were the latest fashion piled atop her head. Her hair was a dark burgundy, though it was really a shocking violet when it shimmered in the light. Against her golden skin, it always made her green eyes magnify and deepen. Colette’s eyes were likened to cat’s eyes. She often displayed a type of feline seduction on all—not only the men in our company.

  Then, there was me. I was a bit taller than she was, though she was far smaller than me, being extremely petite. I was fortunate, or perhaps unfortunate, to have small hips and a large bust. Thankfully, my stays took the emphasis off of them and made my waist look moderately small.

  Colette’s hair was always pulled up because of style, mine for practicality. My hair was long to my waist, and in the warmer months, terrible for the heat. It was curled and pinned with a single, loose curl over my shoulder, unlike Colette’s, who preferred all her hair to be pinned up. Usually, little decorative flowers or plumes adorned it, depending on the day and function, and it was something I actually rather liked.

  As Colette was dark and seductive, I was fair and perhaps innocent, maybe even a little bit naïve. My skin was milky white, my hair almost white blonde, and my eyes a striking blue-violet, or so I was told.

  Colette was not one for love, true love, romantic love. I was the one awaiting my knight, my chevalier, to come to my rescue and take me away. She always said I was living in a novel…I needed to join the real world. Perhaps I did.

  The servant cut off a long-stemmed, pink tulip. The flower opened fully and beamed in Colette’s smile. In reality, she had many gentleman callers, many who wanted to be the object of her affection. She seduced everyone—absolutely everyone!

  Then, there was me. I was never in love or courted. I was always in the background of everything. Colette was the center of attention. Her social life was always booming, all men wanting her, and I was quite sure that all the other women wanted to be her. She always got what she wanted. She became bored easily, using that as her reason for procuring everything she wanted. I never really understood what she meant, being forced to stand by and watch.

  She looked over to me, smiling. “We will need to buy new gowns for the ball. Let us hope it is a masked ball. I know how much you love those.”

  I walked over to her, confused. “I thought that the Chevalier only invited you.”

  She turned to me as the gardener walked away, tilting her head. “Well, everyone knows that wherever I go you are sure to follow. I believe Vachel knows this as well, or else he would not have asked me to go.”

  I nodded my head and smiled slightly. “Yes, I see.”

  Always sure to follow.

  “Oh, Madeleine. Do not look so sullen! You underestimate your beauty. We will dress you in such a gown that all eyes will be on you. We will treat this as your ball. Fair? There will be many a valiant fellow there.” Her eyes twinkled at the thought of it, pointing the tulip at me.

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  She frowned. “We do not have to get a new gown. You can wear one of your old ones or one of my old ones. As long as we go! I do not care what you wear. You could wear nothing but your chemise if you wish!”

  “My chemise, Colette! I suppose that would certainly garner attention. Perhaps I should. Also, all your old gowns are my gowns,” I reminded, sighing heavily as I looked over toward the orchard. One of the stable hands was leading one of the chocolate brown stallions across the way.

  She grabbed my hands, catching my attention. “You need to go to this ball. You need to have fun! That is what being young is all about. That is what my grandfather always used to say.”

  She turned away from me, not letting go of my hand. She pulled me with her over to the large hedge maze, making our way through it quickly and dizzily. It was always Colette’s sense of privacy; no one would venture in to look for us. They would simply call our names, and we would find our way out. The large labyrinth was easy to get lost in—that is if you weren’t Colette or myself. We knew it like the backs of our hands.

  “Now, tell me. Why so sullen? What is wrong?” She walked over to the stone bench by a birdbath where two small, yellow birds played around, splashing in the glistening water.

  I continued to stand; the lone, silky curl that was swept around my shoulder brushed along my bodice in the light wind. “Nothing at all. I just do not wish to impose on the Chevalier, but as you said, sure to follow.”

  Her mouth scrunched to the side. “What does that mean? I do not like the way you said that. Madeleine, I didn’t mean anything by it. You are my best friend. Of course I would want you to accompany me. I only truly have fun when you are with me.”

  I suddenly felt shame fall over me. My eyes lowered to my feet, my fan clasped in my hands. “I am sorry, Colette. I did not mean…I am just being foolish. My mood seems to have dropped. I am taking it out on you, and I’m sorry. Yes, the ball should be fun.” I smiled weakly.

  She glared at me. “Nice smile. It would mean more if it was genuine.”

  I sighed heavily.

  “Now, honestly. Tell me what is wrong.” She looked up from under her parasol to me, her green eyes peering at me and seeming to do as she did with everyone else—seduce me into telling the truth.

  I nodded lightly, pacing over to the large “L” shaped hedge. “Loneliness, I suppose. To be honest, as you have asked, I sit and watch you. How easily you charm people and how well versed you are. Jealousy…envy. I suppose we will need to stop off at the chapel for me to confess my sins to the Abbé.” I tried to let out a laugh, but it came out stale, forced.

  She looked down to her hand. “Oh, I see. Well, we will have to fix that. The ball is the best place. We will simply find you a gentleman. As I said, it will be your ball.”

  “What if no one wants me?” My voice came out weakly, stuck in my throat.

  Her eyes widened as she looked up to me. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  I turned away from her as my eyes filled with tears. “No reason. None at all.”

  “Colette! Madeleine! Where are you?”

  We both looked up at the sound of our names being hollered.

  “That will be maman. Time to dine.” Colette stood, grabbing hold of my hand. “We will talk about this later, and you better believe we will continue this conversation, Madeleine.”

  She tugged on my hand as we made our way out of the large maze easily, barreling down the path, up the steps,
across the terrace, and into the salon.

  Colette took off her orange hat, set it down on the little table, and threw her parasol on the chaise longue. I did the same, following her as we made our way into the dining room where we sometimes had our mid-day meal and, if we weren’t going out for the evening, our late day meal as well. Breakfast was either enjoyed out on the terrace or in the salon, and sometimes in the parlor on the second floor.

  Awaiting us on the table was a large selection of fish, pheasant, brioche, cheese, and fruit, as well as the Marquise. Colette’s mother sat at the end of the table with a copy of the Gazette in her hand, reading it over.

  I looked at her plate, seeing it empty save for a few crumbs. A look of complete disinterest covered her face. She always wore the dullest colors—the same brown or beige, perhaps a cream color—and kept her shawl pulled tightly around her. She didn’t care for what was in style in Paris. Of course, as she was now older, no one expected the Marquise to wear any of the fashions the younger crowd was adorned with. She looked much like Colette, except a bit bigger—having filled out after having a child, though her face was always strict and uninterested.

  Colette sat at the opposite end of the table. A servant pulled out her chair for her as well as mine, as I sat down to her right. “Good afternoon, Maman. Anything interesting in town, today?”

  Her mother sighed heavily, not even looking away from the paper. “No.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Colette grabbed her napkin and placed it on her lap as she rolled her eyes.

  It was awkwardly quiet as the servants dished out our lunch for us. The Marquise took her leave just as we lifted our forks, getting up from the table and exiting the room.

  Colette turned to me. “Thank God. I thought she would never leave!”

  I smiled lightly, almost laughing. “Why must she do that every day? She just sits here and doesn’t say a word until our food is dished out. Then, she takes her leave. She always eats before us, and it seems a little rude to me.”

  Colette grabbed her brioche, tearing a piece out of it. “That is maman. As we were discussing before, we will need to find you a gentleman.”