Lady of Passion by Freda Lightfoot

Author:Freda Lightfoot [Freda Lightfoot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2013-05-16T12:00:00+00:00

Seven

Queen of the Courtesans

TARLETON, thy mind, above the poet’s praise

Asks not the labour’d task of flatt’ring lays!

As the rare gem with innate lustre glows,

As round the oak the gadding Ivy grows,

So shall thy worth, in native radiance live!

Mary Darby Robinson

‘Ode to Valour’

The day after my darling Maria turned seven, on the 19 October 1781, the pair of us, with a handful of servants, crossed the English Channel. I recalled my mother’s fears about going to sea but actually found the journey both pleasant and relaxing, and neither of us suffered the slightest discomfort. On our eventual arrival, Sir John Lambert went out of his way to procure a commodious and fashionable apartment for us, where we settled most comfortably. He also hired me a carriage, and a box at the opera, not that I had any great wish to face society.

I fear that for some days I hid in my chamber, thinking on circumstances, of how I came to be here all alone in a foreign land, leaving my lost love across the sea at home. How I ached for my Florizel, to feel his arms about me, his adoring gaze on mine. And how I regretted the loss of his letters which had ever comforted me. But wallowing in self-pity was doing no good at all for my oversensitive soul.

At length my valiant, if rather ancient, chevalier persuaded me to step out and see the sights of Paris. As amiable and stylish as one would expect a Frenchman to be, Sir John seemed determined to devote himself entirely to my needs, and I did begin to enjoy myself. We saw the Louvre, explored the Tuileries Gardens, and he readily escorted me to many Parisian establishments to allow me to take advantage of the new fashions. I marvelled at the Palace of Versailles with its gilt and mirrors, although I was appalled by the filth, with dog turds everywhere.

‘Can no one think to clean them up?’ I complained, but Sir John merely shrugged, in that delightfully Gallic way.

He held many literary gatherings, parties and entertainments on my behalf, which inspired further invitations, most of which I declined. At the few events I did attend, I met the most brilliant and celebrated of guests who overwhelmed me with their generosity and admiration.

The French seemed quite taken with me, declaring my beauty shone with bright perfection. They admired my sultry eyes, which I have always considered rather dark and unappealing, and my mesmerising voice. But they also remarked upon my cultivated manner, intelligence and firm, independent spirit. Comments which I greatly appreciated as it was all most flattering. It seemed everyone wished to meet La Belle Anglaise, which is how I came to be known.

It was at one of these affairs that Sir John introduced me to the Duc de Chartes, among other notables.

‘Ah, Mrs Robinson, permit me to say that you are even more beautiful in person than legend has it. No wonder the prince took you to his bed.’

My reputation, it seemed, had preceded me.

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