Read Online Mademoiselle Chanel by C. W. Gortner - Free Book Online
Authors: C. W. Gortner
Ads: Link
my exquisite talent for free, monsieur?”
Adrienne sat with her mouth agape. To my surprise, he said softly, “Touché, mademoiselle. I regret to have caused you offense.”
“No offense,” I said. I retrieved the last three cakes on the plate and folded them into my handkerchief, then stood. “It has been a delight, monsieur, but I’m afraid we are expected elsewhere. We thank you for your hospitality and bid you good evening.”
He stood at once, bowing. “The delight has been all mine, mademoiselle.”
“I’m sure it has.” I smiled at Adrienne. “Shall we?”
She stumbled up from her chair, a faint trace of coffee on her upper lip as she quavered, “Excuse us, monsieur. We are indeed late and we—”
I turned to the café entrance without looking back, though I had to hesitate at the doors until I heard Adrienne rush up behind me, heels clattering. Once we were outside, I strode down the boulevard to the auberg e, not stopping until she grasped my arm and pulled me to a halt.
“Gabrielle, are you mad? Do you realize who he is?”
“I do. He is Étienne Balsan and he assumes too much for an alleged gentleman.”
She gripped my arm tighter. “Étienne Balsan and his brothers are heirs to one of the largest fortunes in France. His family owns factories in Lyons; they produce all the wool cloth for military uniforms. Why, they practically own the town of Châteauroux and have any number of exquisite châteaux. He is not any alleged gentleman, Gabrielle. He is a very rich one!”
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he has any decency. You heard what he said, about how well he tipped. I am not one of those women; I do not sell more than my songs.”
Adrienne released my arm and took my hand in hers, uncoiling my clenched fingers to set a cream calling card with embossed lettering between them.
“Here is his card,” she said. “He must be mad, too, because he wants to see you again. He said you are as irrepressible as he could expect and will call on us in Moulins next week.” I looked at her, silent, as she added, “I suggest you be less rude when he does. Men like him do not come around often. You never know where an acquaintance like this might lead.”
I almost said I had a very good idea of where Balsan wanted it to lead but held my tongue. Adrienne still nurtured her silly dream of marrying some knight, while I doubted anyone besides the butcher’s son would ever see us as more than playthings.
It was the summer of 1904.
Though I pocketed his card and promptly forgot him, I had just met my savior.
IX
É tienne Balsan did appear at the shop, sending Madame G. aflutter when he delivered several shirts for repair—though I didn’t find a single rip or tear on them and thus was not swayed. Nevertheless, he persisted on calling on me after work to take me on carriage rides, strolls about the square, and suppers. He often brought his well-heeled friends, sons of affluent families who, like him, served in the military—though, unlike him, they were eager for war to break out with the Prussians or Germans.
Balsan smirked as they stamped their boots and declared that only in war could a true gentleman prove his mettle. “They wouldn’t know a cannon from a trumpet until the Huns were upon them,” he said, leaning to me. “Such fools does money breed.”
Despite my misgivings, I found his dry wit amusing. But I was not attracted to him. He did not press his advantage, either. We passed the next months in a whirlwind of drinking and dining, with Adrienne and I eating better than we ever had, squired about town by some of the barracks’ most eligible bachelors. One in particular, Baron Maurice de Nexon, became enraptured with Adrienne and she reciprocated his interest, for he met all of her qualifications for knighthood. But she had several others panting ather heels and her sudden popularity kept me up until dawn in our room as she anxiously deliberated over whom she should most
Adrienne sat with her mouth agape. To my surprise, he said softly, “Touché, mademoiselle. I regret to have caused you offense.”
“No offense,” I said. I retrieved the last three cakes on the plate and folded them into my handkerchief, then stood. “It has been a delight, monsieur, but I’m afraid we are expected elsewhere. We thank you for your hospitality and bid you good evening.”
He stood at once, bowing. “The delight has been all mine, mademoiselle.”
“I’m sure it has.” I smiled at Adrienne. “Shall we?”
She stumbled up from her chair, a faint trace of coffee on her upper lip as she quavered, “Excuse us, monsieur. We are indeed late and we—”
I turned to the café entrance without looking back, though I had to hesitate at the doors until I heard Adrienne rush up behind me, heels clattering. Once we were outside, I strode down the boulevard to the auberg e, not stopping until she grasped my arm and pulled me to a halt.
“Gabrielle, are you mad? Do you realize who he is?”
“I do. He is Étienne Balsan and he assumes too much for an alleged gentleman.”
She gripped my arm tighter. “Étienne Balsan and his brothers are heirs to one of the largest fortunes in France. His family owns factories in Lyons; they produce all the wool cloth for military uniforms. Why, they practically own the town of Châteauroux and have any number of exquisite châteaux. He is not any alleged gentleman, Gabrielle. He is a very rich one!”
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he has any decency. You heard what he said, about how well he tipped. I am not one of those women; I do not sell more than my songs.”
Adrienne released my arm and took my hand in hers, uncoiling my clenched fingers to set a cream calling card with embossed lettering between them.
“Here is his card,” she said. “He must be mad, too, because he wants to see you again. He said you are as irrepressible as he could expect and will call on us in Moulins next week.” I looked at her, silent, as she added, “I suggest you be less rude when he does. Men like him do not come around often. You never know where an acquaintance like this might lead.”
I almost said I had a very good idea of where Balsan wanted it to lead but held my tongue. Adrienne still nurtured her silly dream of marrying some knight, while I doubted anyone besides the butcher’s son would ever see us as more than playthings.
It was the summer of 1904.
Though I pocketed his card and promptly forgot him, I had just met my savior.
IX
É tienne Balsan did appear at the shop, sending Madame G. aflutter when he delivered several shirts for repair—though I didn’t find a single rip or tear on them and thus was not swayed. Nevertheless, he persisted on calling on me after work to take me on carriage rides, strolls about the square, and suppers. He often brought his well-heeled friends, sons of affluent families who, like him, served in the military—though, unlike him, they were eager for war to break out with the Prussians or Germans.
Balsan smirked as they stamped their boots and declared that only in war could a true gentleman prove his mettle. “They wouldn’t know a cannon from a trumpet until the Huns were upon them,” he said, leaning to me. “Such fools does money breed.”
Despite my misgivings, I found his dry wit amusing. But I was not attracted to him. He did not press his advantage, either. We passed the next months in a whirlwind of drinking and dining, with Adrienne and I eating better than we ever had, squired about town by some of the barracks’ most eligible bachelors. One in particular, Baron Maurice de Nexon, became enraptured with Adrienne and she reciprocated his interest, for he met all of her qualifications for knighthood. But she had several others panting ather heels and her sudden popularity kept me up until dawn in our room as she anxiously deliberated over whom she should most
Similar Books
