Content notes can be found here

Chapter Seventeen

Edward and Jean were starting on their second cup of coffee when Lady Forthenby descended upon their hangovers like a particularly merciless goddess. Edward very nearly spilled half of his drink down his front as he and Jean scrambled up to their feet. 

In the normal course of things, Edward had always found his wife an extraordinarily taking sort of girl, but no prettier than a half dozen others he might see at any large gathering. This morning, however, something had changed. 

Her red hair was curled up all about her head and sparkling with ornament. Her skirts swept and flowed about her, and her whole soft, generous figure was draped and sculpted by stays and petticoats until she was the very definition of voluptuousness kept in check by fashion. Her eyes sparkled, her skin was powdered and there was a brush of rouge upon her cheeks that made her seem to glow. 

So much for artistry. 

She was also furious, and the anger that crackled and blazed through her only brought a regal, merciless quality to all that beauty.

Edward bowed. “My lady,” he said, fumbling his usual cold and repulsive tone because dear Christ. 

“My Lord,” Lady Forthenby barely inclined her head. The opals at her throat and in her hair caught the light and threw fire about her. 

“Jean,” said Edward, a little strangled, “might I introduce Serafina Valance, the Lady Forthenby?” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jean bow with consummate composure. 

“My dear, this gentleman is a very old friend of mine. Monsieur Jean Trintig... er, Trin...” 

No, he couldn’t even manage that name at the best of times.

Jean, smooth fellow that he was, approached the vision, took its hand, bowed again. “Trintignant d’port d’Saint Denis, my Lady.”

Again, Lady Forthenby inclined her head.

“Your husband is a very fine man,” Jean went on in a soft, respectful tone, “but my name always evades his English tongue.”

“Nonsense, Jean, I would have got there eventually,” he said, forgetting to act like a bastard.

“But such delay would be a poor tribute to your beauty, madame. My friend is, I think, a more fortunate man than he understands.” Again, the Frenchman bowed over the Countess’ hand. 

“You will join us, madame?” Edward said, trying for his usual role.

She gave a tight, disdainful smile, and took her place at the table. “I hope you gentlemen dined well last night.”

Edward raised his eyebrows at this conversational foray, but resumed sipping his coffee, “Tolerably.”

“I wish to attend the opera tonight. Do you dine out again, or will you be accompanying me, my Lord?”

No, he was utterly lost. That sounded like she actually wanted to spend time with him.

He flashed a glance at Jean. 

“If it would give you pleasure, my dear, I would gladly attend you.”

“You know my feelings upon the matter, my Lord.”

There was a flicker of silence about the table.

“Shall I have the carriage ready at eight, madame?”

“I would not wish to miss the first act.”

“I am afraid my Countess is something of an aficionado,” he confided. 

“It is only fitting,” said Jean, “in one so fair.”

Lady Forthenby inclined her head to the compliment. “Will you be accompanying us, Monsieur?”

“I am afraid… no, my Lady,” Jean said. Edward could catch the tease in his voice, even if everyone else was oblivious to it. He always was a sly dog. “I must leave you tête-à-tête. My time in the City of Lights is never long.”

Just looking at the Countess was making Edward feel a little short of air. 

Time to leave. 

“You’ll ride with me today, though, Jean.” 

“Naturally, my Lord. Although I fear I may not linger.”

“Do, er, do you ride, madame?” 

For the first time there was a little crack in her armour, as though she had not expected the question. She repaired it in an instant, relaxing back in to all the majesty afforded by her jewels, her velvet and silk, sipping her chocolate, and not condescending to answer.

“Or would you prefer the carriage?” 

“No, my Lord. I wish to visit the Faubourg rue Saint-Honoré.”

Oh. Edward fidgeted with his whip and executed a swift bow. “Then I’ll shall have the carriage sent around. And a chaperone.”

Jean was clearly enjoying the scene too much to make a bolt for it quite so promptly. He bowed fully and said, “It is a pleasure to have made your acquaintance, my Lady,” with such sincerity and tenderness it was hard to remember he was one of the biggest lechers in the city. 

Lady Forthenby gave him her chilliest smile, “Likewise, monsieur. Please, do not allow me to detain you.” And she nodded her head, dismissing them both

In the hallway, Edward heard Peaches give a low whistle behind him. 

“Public place, Peach.”.

“Your man, he has a point,” Jean insisted. “You told me your Miss Tooting was fair but...”

“I swear, I’ve never seen her look like that.” Edward let out all his breath at once. “You could have nailed me to the floor.”

“I thought that you said she was parvenu, Edward.”

“She is.”

“But she is every centimetre the aristo.”

He nodded, still struggling with it, “That contempt! I knew a Duchess once who looked at men like that. She liked to get four or five lads, and...”

“Perhaps this is a story to be heard over several cups of wine?”

Yes. Yes, daytime was for decency. 

Hedge tended to get a bit nasty, otherwise. 

Still, hard to remember that with such a merciless Empress sitting mere yards from where he stood. 

“You are well, Edward?”

“Doing my best, yes. Will own to being a touch flabbergasted, but am trying for an even keel.” He paused, and then repeated the sentiment in slightly simpler English.

They descended to the courtyard together, Jean deep in thought. 

“When a woman dresses so well,” he said at last, slow, measuring his words, “when a wife dresses so well... Tell me, is that her habit?”

“She’s more a bluestocking, in the usual run of things.”

“So I feared.”

Edward raised his eyebrows, and, turning, gave a signal to the stable boy. “Horses,” he said in French, “the grey and the roan,” and tossed a coin to the boy. 

When they were alone again, he asked “Do I need to be careful around stray bits of cutlery?”

“My friend, your language often leaves me bewildered.”

“I mean, uh, is she going to try a little,” he made a stabbing motion, “mariticide?”

Jean only smiled, damn him, “No, my sweet Edward. Nothing so coarse. If a woman dresses so well when it is not her habit? It means either she has taken a lover, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or, my friend, it is war.”