The Bookseller's Daughter by Pam Rosenthal

Author:Pam Rosenthal [Rosenthal, Pam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781619217997
Publisher: Brava
Published: 2004-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

She watched him stride down the gravel path to the house.

“Until then, mon vieux,” she called.

But it was evident that he hadn’t heard her, for he’d taken the letter from his pocket and was rereading it, head bent and steps slowing in rapt contemplation of its decent, cheerful phrases.

The Hôtel Mélicourt had fine bright lamps and splendid mirrors in its guest wing. Perhaps a bit too splendid, the Duchesse de Carency Auvers-Raimond found herself thinking that evening; there were times when one preferred one’s image rather more obscure. She scowled at the reflection of her chambermaid, struggling with the hooks at the back of her gown.

There was no escaping it: the truth confronted her as though illuminated by the clear light of reason. The satin around her torso simply would not sit smoothly; the new gown, which had fit perfectly a month ago, was clearly too tight around the waist. She waved the maid away. No time now to let out the seams—she’d simply have to go down to supper with the violet fabric wrinkled and bunched.

She nodded thoughtfully at her reflection. Embarrassing to appear at supper this way: she’d been raised to always look her best in company. But then (she assured herself), tonight’s supper could hardly count as company. Besides herself and Hubert, there would only be Joseph, his dreadful new wife, a doddering uncle, and that actress, Mademoiselle Beauvoisin from the Comédie-Française. And in truth, the actress was so beautiful that it wouldn’t matter what anyone was wearing. Ariane Beauvoisin had a way of absorbing all the candlelight in a room, leaving everyone else in shadow.

An odd friend for that dowdy bluestocking of a Marquise, the Duchesse thought. But perhaps it hadn’t been the Marquise who’d invited the actress to supper; perhaps it had been Joseph. Interesting, she’d have to keep an eye out for developments in that quarter.

She turned her attention back to the mirror. The badly fitting gown wasn’t absolute proof, but taken together with other signs it constituted definite encouragement.

Of course, she hastened to remind herself, she and Hubert had been eating and drinking at some marvelous tables since their arrival in Paris a month ago. Her new sister-in-law’s chef was as good as Monsieur Colet, and the dinners they’d attended at Versailles had been superb. Perhaps she was simply getting fat, like the overbearing, autocratic woman she and Hubert had saddled Joseph with.

No.

It was all very well to be cautious, the Duchesse told herself, but current circumstances allowed for more optimism. One missed menstrual period wasn’t enough to go on—but two, and it almost was two by now, could be taken more seriously. And there had been other changes—subtle but consistent ones that she’d been observing since Hubert had ascended to his title. Perhaps becoming Duc had helped him overcome his deficiencies. Or perhaps it was the reports she’d had his valet pass along to him, of what he’d overheard during his late-night spying.

But what had most likely done the trick for Hubert, the Duchesse decided, was the bargain she and he had struck.

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