Read Online Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Callaway
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Madame Rousseau murmured. "Merely
the wisdom to allow Nature to shine through. As expected, the daffodil silk most
becomes you, my lady."
Marianne
inclined her head gracefully at the compliment, her fingers brushing lovingly
over the intricate gold-thread embroidery on her skirts.
"May
I suggest, however, a very small adjustment to your ensemble?"
So
saying, Madame Rousseau spoke in rapid French to her assistant. The latter scurried
out of the room and returned shortly to press something into her employer's
hand.
The
modiste motioned Marianne toward a cheval glass. "If I may?"
Reaching
for Marianne's nape, the modiste unclasped the chandelier necklace of amber and
gold. In its stead, she tied a simple ribbon of aquamarine satin.
" Maintenant, c'est parfait ," Madame Rousseau said.
Helena's
breath caught at the change. Earlier, she had admired Marianne's necklace,
remarking upon how perfectly the dripping mass of golden jewels matched the
yellow silk. Madame Rousseau's action, however, aimed for an entirely opposite
effect. Helena could see now that harmony had dulled rather than elevated her
friend's charms. The new contrast of blue to yellow, of plain to intricate, suggested
a mystery—a hidden vulnerability, perhaps, beneath all the glittering sophistication.
Marianne appeared more enticing than ever.
Watching
her friend preen in front of the mirror, Helena felt twin stabs of desperation and
hope.
"Madame
Rousseau, do you think you can help me?" she blurted.
The
other two women turned to look at her.
Helena flushed. "I am no beauty like Marianne. But I
would be most appreciative of anything you could do to help me."
"What
she means to say is that she needs a wardrobe to seduce a man," Marianne
said sotto voce .
"Ah,
no need to say more. Je comprends tout ." Madame Rousseau's eyes
gleamed. "For this, we must retire to a private salon. Follow me, please."
The
modiste led them into one of the dressing rooms at the back of the shop.
"Please."
Madame Rousseau gestured for Helena to step onto a small wooden platform
surrounded by mirrors on three sides.
Helena took a deep breath and did as the dressmaker asked.
Once upon the little stand, she kept her gaze trained on her slippers.
" Oui ,
I see the problem," Madame said, after several long minutes.
Helena felt her heart thudding. "Yes, Madame Rousseau?"
"You
hide too much of yourself."
At
that, Helena raised her eyes to the mirror and met the modiste's penetrating
black gaze.
"I
said the same thing," Marianne chimed in.
"To
lure a lover into an intrigue, one must, as the English put it, set the bait ."
Madame Rousseau circled Helena as she spoke, her eyes darting like curious
fish. With clever hands, she took measure of assets and weaknesses, muttering
to herself all the while. Helena blushed when Madame Rousseau's touch smoothed
over her breasts and hips and dipped lower to cup her bottom.
"'Tis
not a lover she hopes to seduce, but her husband," Marianne said.
"Your
husband!" Madame Rousseau stopped circling. "Lady Harteford, I see
that you are a woman of many surprises. Alors, you must tell me all as I
work my magic."
*****
Sometime
later, Helena found herself sitting opposite Marianne in the latter's smart
barouche. With a contented sigh, she sank back against the lavender velvet squabs.
Madame Rousseau had lived up to her reputation as the finest modiste in all of London. If these gowns did not entice Nicholas, nothing would. Madame had even agreed to
rush the order so that Helena could have the first of her new dresses within
the week.
"Do
you think Harteford will like my new gowns, Marianne?"
"I
should hope so, given the exorbitant sum he paid for them," Marianne said.
Helena's
brow furrowed. "Do you think I was too extravagant? I have never opened an
account before, but Madame Rousseau said that is how all the ladies handle
their transactions. Perhaps I ought to have adhered to the allowance I have on
hand."
"Do
stop fretting. If Harteford can
the wisdom to allow Nature to shine through. As expected, the daffodil silk most
becomes you, my lady."
Marianne
inclined her head gracefully at the compliment, her fingers brushing lovingly
over the intricate gold-thread embroidery on her skirts.
"May
I suggest, however, a very small adjustment to your ensemble?"
So
saying, Madame Rousseau spoke in rapid French to her assistant. The latter scurried
out of the room and returned shortly to press something into her employer's
hand.
The
modiste motioned Marianne toward a cheval glass. "If I may?"
Reaching
for Marianne's nape, the modiste unclasped the chandelier necklace of amber and
gold. In its stead, she tied a simple ribbon of aquamarine satin.
" Maintenant, c'est parfait ," Madame Rousseau said.
Helena's
breath caught at the change. Earlier, she had admired Marianne's necklace,
remarking upon how perfectly the dripping mass of golden jewels matched the
yellow silk. Madame Rousseau's action, however, aimed for an entirely opposite
effect. Helena could see now that harmony had dulled rather than elevated her
friend's charms. The new contrast of blue to yellow, of plain to intricate, suggested
a mystery—a hidden vulnerability, perhaps, beneath all the glittering sophistication.
Marianne appeared more enticing than ever.
Watching
her friend preen in front of the mirror, Helena felt twin stabs of desperation and
hope.
"Madame
Rousseau, do you think you can help me?" she blurted.
The
other two women turned to look at her.
Helena flushed. "I am no beauty like Marianne. But I
would be most appreciative of anything you could do to help me."
"What
she means to say is that she needs a wardrobe to seduce a man," Marianne
said sotto voce .
"Ah,
no need to say more. Je comprends tout ." Madame Rousseau's eyes
gleamed. "For this, we must retire to a private salon. Follow me, please."
The
modiste led them into one of the dressing rooms at the back of the shop.
"Please."
Madame Rousseau gestured for Helena to step onto a small wooden platform
surrounded by mirrors on three sides.
Helena took a deep breath and did as the dressmaker asked.
Once upon the little stand, she kept her gaze trained on her slippers.
" Oui ,
I see the problem," Madame said, after several long minutes.
Helena felt her heart thudding. "Yes, Madame Rousseau?"
"You
hide too much of yourself."
At
that, Helena raised her eyes to the mirror and met the modiste's penetrating
black gaze.
"I
said the same thing," Marianne chimed in.
"To
lure a lover into an intrigue, one must, as the English put it, set the bait ."
Madame Rousseau circled Helena as she spoke, her eyes darting like curious
fish. With clever hands, she took measure of assets and weaknesses, muttering
to herself all the while. Helena blushed when Madame Rousseau's touch smoothed
over her breasts and hips and dipped lower to cup her bottom.
"'Tis
not a lover she hopes to seduce, but her husband," Marianne said.
"Your
husband!" Madame Rousseau stopped circling. "Lady Harteford, I see
that you are a woman of many surprises. Alors, you must tell me all as I
work my magic."
*****
Sometime
later, Helena found herself sitting opposite Marianne in the latter's smart
barouche. With a contented sigh, she sank back against the lavender velvet squabs.
Madame Rousseau had lived up to her reputation as the finest modiste in all of London. If these gowns did not entice Nicholas, nothing would. Madame had even agreed to
rush the order so that Helena could have the first of her new dresses within
the week.
"Do
you think Harteford will like my new gowns, Marianne?"
"I
should hope so, given the exorbitant sum he paid for them," Marianne said.
Helena's
brow furrowed. "Do you think I was too extravagant? I have never opened an
account before, but Madame Rousseau said that is how all the ladies handle
their transactions. Perhaps I ought to have adhered to the allowance I have on
hand."
"Do
stop fretting. If Harteford can
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