Pleasure for Pleasure

Page 11

A moment later Josie was curtsying before Miss de la Broderie, and one thought was foremost in her mind. Everything about Sylvie de la Broderie was exactly as Josie most longed to be. She was slim, of course, and dressed in a gown that was clearly French. Imogen kept telling Josie that clothing construction was all in the seams. Well, Miss de la Broderie’s gown didn’t have any seams. It was made of a sheer material that swept down her body and then swished out around her toes. All around her bosom was exquisite embroidery in silver-gilt thread. A beautiful little twisted tie ran under her breasts and fell down the length of her body.
But it was her face that Josie kept looking at. Mayne was marrying a woman with a perfect face. It was the face of all the heroines in the romantic novels that Josie loved. Sylvie had huge eyes and a laughing mouth, and one beauty mark, just above her crimson lips. She looked—well, she looked utterly confident. Why shouldn’t she be?
Josie curtsied, feeling as dumpy as a bowl of yesterday’s porridge.
“I am enchanted to meet you,” the goddess said with a ravishing French accent. Mayne stood beside her with a gaze of helpless adoration. Without even glancing at him, Miss Broderie waved her fingers in his direction and said, “Mayne, chéri, leave us if you please. I should like to make Miss Essex’s acquaintance.”
And just like that Mayne was gone.
Josie must have shown her astonishment on her face, because Miss Broderie suddenly smiled at her. “You think I am too peremptory with my fiancé, yes?”
“Well, of course not,” Josie said. “That is—”
“Men must be treated with the same courtesy that one treats a good strong farm animal. Firm, yet kind. Now my dear, I have heard all about your disasters.”
Josie swallowed. Of course she had. Everyone had.
Miss Broderie leaned over and said, “Shall we visit the ladies’ retiring room? I assure you, it is quite my favorite place, and in this house there is a beautiful one.”
Josie blinked at her. Over Miss Broderie’s shoulder she could see Timothy Arbuthnot bearing down on them. Timothy was one of her most faithful dance partners; she frequently reminded herself that his four orphaned children did not disqualify him from matrimony. Although his lack of hair might.
Miss Broderie shot a look as well, and then before Josie even knew what had happened, they were slipping through the door into the ladies’ retiring room. Josie never went to those rooms on her own. She knew what went on there. The ladies sat around on little spindly chairs that made her feel like an elephant and talked about who was expecting a proposal of marriage from whom.
When they weren’t gossiping, they were staring in the mirror while powdering their noses, or adjusting their hair, another of Josie’s least favorite activities, right along with being mocked, or sympathetized with. Although she had to say that none of the debutantes she’d met had been unkind, and in truth, they had no reason for malice. She presented no threat whatsoever to their marital ambitions.
Luckily, there wasn’t anyone in the retiring room when they entered, but a second later Josie’s luck ran out because her sister Tess strolled out of the privy chamber. “Josie, darling!” she said, giving an equally large smile to Miss Broderie.
Josie sat down while the two of them curtsied and generally summed each other up. She’d got to know the ritual. Women eyed each other and then quickly decided whether they considered each other worthy. Since Tess was beautiful and married to the second richest man in England, she rather thought that she would pass Miss Broderie’s inspection. And since Miss Broderie was just as beautiful, and engaged to Mayne, it was a friendship made in heaven.
“I have longed to meet you in private,” Miss Broderie was saying. “After all, we share quite a bit, have we not? If I am not mistaken, you are the only other woman whom the Earl of Mayne asked to marry.”
“It was only a matter of a few days,” Tess said hastily. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Of course,” Miss Broderie said. “I completely understand.” She sat down beside Josie. “Please, Mrs. Felton, won’t you sit with us? I just met your beautiful little sister.”
Josie suppressed a snort. She hadn’t looked in the mirror but she knew just what she’d see there: a rigid, plump girl with a face like a moon. The only good thing about her was her posture, and that was because her corset laced from the middle of her shoulders all the way down to her hips.
Tess sat down and took Josie’s hand. “I can think of nothing I’d prefer than sit for a bit. When they talk about carrying a child, no one mentions how much it makes your feet hurt!”
Now they would start chattering about babies, and such; after all, Miss Broderie would likely be having a baby as soon as she married. Lord knows, Annabel was enceinte within a month. But Miss Broderie looked no more than politely interested.
“I have heard that there are some discomforts involved in the—the procedure,” she said, waving her hand.
Josie couldn’t help giggling.
“How have I spoken incorrectly?” Miss Broderie asked.
“It’s charming, Miss Broderie,” Josie said quickly.
“Please, you must both call me Sylvie. After all, I am marrying a man who has so many…ties… to your family.” Her eyes were twinkling. “I am practically an Essex sister myself, don’t you think?”
Tess giggled at that, and Josie laughed outright.
“You’d have to be Scottish instead of French,” Tess pointed out.
Sylvie shuddered. “Never. I am the French part of your lost family stick.”
“Family tree,” Josie said.
“Precisely. And as the French branch on that tree, I propose that we do something about Josephine’s unfortunate situation. Mayne told me about it and—”
Just like that, Josie stopped laughing. Mayne had talked about her? To Sylvie?
“I have heard of something like it in Paris,” Sylvie was saying. “It was some years ago, you understand, before Father became disenchanted with all the unpleasantness there—” and with a wave of her hand, she referred to the troubles that had presumably taken the lives of many of her acquaintances.
Josie had to get out of the room. It was bad enough that her sisters and Griselda considered her a pitiful case, and that her brothers-in-law had given her a dowry, just to lure a husband. It was—enough. “I’m sorry,” she said stonily, rising from her chair. “I must have forgotten—”
“Sit, please,” Sylvie said. Her voice had ten times the authority of Josie’s former governess. “Life is, you understand, young Josephine, full of these humiliations. Absolutely ripe with them. You must learn to swim the wave, do you understand? Turn everything these fools are saying back on themselves.”
Tess had obviously fallen under the enemy spell because she pulled Josie back onto her chair. “She’s right. The whole situation could switch in the blink of an eyelid.”
“I would wake up to find myself the most marriageable woman in London,” Josie said, hearing the grating desolation in her voice and not knowing how to hide it. “I find that truly hard to believe.”
“I believe that most things in life are within our control,” Sylvie said. “Now, is there any particular man whom you would wish to marry, Josephine?”