A Boudoir for Three by Alysha Ellis

Author:Alysha Ellis [Ellis, Alysha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Total-E-Bound Publishing
Published: 2012-07-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The bump of a maid gently placing a tray on the bedside table and the bitter sweet aroma of chocolate awoke Angelique. For a moment she tried to remember where she was, then it all came flooding back. The Marquis D’Arly. Christophe’s rescue. Armand’s house.

She sat up in bed, and the maid stepped back. “Monsieur asked me to bring this to you.” She gestured towards a chest lying near the door. “A footman brought it down from Madame’s room this morning.”

Madame? Armand’s wife? Even in Paris with its notorious flouting of the rules of morality other countries held so dear, bringing one’s… What was she? Mistress? Petitioner? Charity case? Whatever—a man did not simply install one such as she into his house under the very nose of his wife.

Cautiously, she slid out of bed and approached the chest. The maid bent down, unlatched it and threw back the lid. The rich golds, blues and reds of expensive fabrics glowed in the morning light. Reaching in, Angelique pulled out a heavy dress. The maid gave a cooing sound of appreciation. The garment was designed for evening wear—rich, cream satin, embroidered and brocaded, the bodice rimmed by seed pearls that still maintained their soft, warm lustre. Angelique recognised it as a style her mother had worn, in the long ago happy years before her father had died.

She draped it over a chair and dug through the other contents, extracting morning dresses, walking cloaks, and, at the bottom, an attiring robe, perfect for wearing to drink chocolate while one’s maid dressed one’s hair and prepared one for the day’s social duties.

The maid picked this last item up and draped it around Angelique’s chemise-clad shoulders. “This is what you need just now. The master said you are to use whatever takes your fancy, Mam’selle.” She must have mistaken Angelique’s silence for discontent and continued. “The master told us that your home has been destroyed and you can’t get at your own clothes. These are just to tide you over. You mustn’t mind that they are not in fashion right now. You can tell they were the best quality.”

“No,” Angelique gasped. “I mean yes. They are wonderful. What does it matter if they are not strictly à la mode? Armand… Your master has been more than generous.” She stopped and blew out a breath. “And Madame, too, of course—to give such things to a stranger.”

“Madame has been dead these five years. The master kept his mother’s things out of respect.”

Armand’s mother, not his wife, had owned these exquisite garments. “It is even more kind of your master, then,” Angelique murmured.

“Madame would have been glad to see them used once more.” The girl pulled herself up straighter. “If you are ready, I’ll help you dress and do your hair, Mam’selle.” She bobbed into a small curtsy.

Together they found a morning dress. A little too tight in the bodice and too large at the waist, nevertheless it fit Angelique well enough for her to feel comfortable venturing downstairs.

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