From a Paris Balcony by Ella Carey

Author:Ella Carey [Carey, Ella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503940505
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2016-10-11T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Paris, 1894

Louisa alighted from the carriage outside the Duvals’ Paris house in Ȋle Saint-Louis, her mind still concentrating on her encounter with Marthe de Florian. The footman handed her onto the cobblestones. Henry wouldn’t be up yet but she was impatient to talk to him about the woman, even though she suspected any such conversation between them would only end badly. The simple fact was, Louisa felt that she had a right to know. She had a right to know about this woman. What was her relationship with Henry? Did they have a past? Louisa had become even more sure that Marthe had to be a courtesan, a demimondaine—otherwise known as a high-class prostitute—who seemed quite content to hold court over Louisa.

Of course, she knew that these women only turned to prostitution out of desperation, and her conscience persisted with questions surrounding her own beliefs about women’s equal rights. She did not want to judge Marthe de Florian, but when confronted with her so close to home . . . the situation in which she found herself was confusing. If she were honest, it almost seemed as if her beliefs were being tested right here in Paris.

And yet, what she struggled with was this. The thought of Henry, of her husband, being with one of these women made Louisa feel ill. Were they—she hated to think about it—lovers? Half of her knew she would be naïve to think that they were not. But the other half of her still hoped. She still wanted to believe that Henry would not betray her now, to believe that even if he had a former relationship with the courtesan, he would stop it out of respect for his marriage.

She stopped in the middle of the cool marble entrance hall at the Duval house. And told herself she was definitely being unsophisticated. Everything she had seen since her arrival in Paris had pointed to the fact that Henry was not going to change his way of life, not for her, not for the future of his family, not for any reason at all. Waves of disgust seeped through her, along with indignation at the brazen manner in which the courtesan had approached her at the Bois de Boulogne. Suddenly, the hall in which she stood seemed even colder than usual.

Marthe de Florian didn’t seem to care in the least that Louisa was Henry’s wife. It just didn’t seem to factor at all. It was as if the courtesan was above the rules of normal society. It was as if she had thumbed her nose at every rule that had been dreamed up, while being a terrible product of the restrictions on women in society, and at the same time being utterly owned by men. Louisa frowned, took off her hat, and went into the salon. The nightingale moved a little on its perch. Louisa stroked the bars of its gold-leaf cage.

She sank down on one of the delicate sofas and closed her eyes for a moment in the silence.

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