Mistress of the Revolution (24 page)

I was far more timid as a widow than I had been as a maiden. At fifteen, I had let Pierre-André kiss and caress me. I had enjoyed his attentions and yearned for the closest intimacy with him. Those emotions had been buried and forgotten under the Baron’s ministrations.

Villers had never touched me before, save to dance with me, hand me into and out of carriages and help me mount or dismount. He had never made any attempts at further familiarity, either from delicacy or in anticipation of my reaction.

That night, I whimpered when he approached my bed. He looked like a new, strange kind of animal. His hair, without powder and falling in loose curls on his shoulders, was sandy like his eyebrows. Through the opening of his nightgown I could see freckles on his chest, matching those on his face. Silly as it sounds, one of the reasons why I had accepted him as a suitor was his slender build, but I noticed that his muscles were compact and well defined, and that he could have harmed me if he had been so inclined.

Without giving him time to reach me, I bolted from the bed as I had done at the beginning of my wedding night. Since he was standing between the door and me, I sought refuge in the far corner of the room, crouching in my chemise, my fists clenched against my eyes. I heard him walk towards me.

“I changed my mind,” I cried. “I cannot do it. Stay away from me. Please forgive me, Sir. Do not hit me.”

I felt that he was kneeling next to me.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why would I do such a thing? What has happened to you? Please look at me.”

I opened my eyes. I read concern and pity in his. I had not had the least intention of disclosing what had been done to me for fear of giving him ideas he might not already have on his own, but my reserve melted away. I gave him a summary of the brutalities of my married life. He put his finger to my lips.

“I have heard enough. What a shame. Poor Belle, so young, so pretty, so delicate. No wonder you are shy. Listen to me: I will never beat you, hurt you, force you. Never. I promise.”

I let him take me in his arms like a child and hold me.

“Let me put you back to bed,” he said. “You are shivering. Have no fear. I will not do anything without your permission.”

He tucked me in bed and lay down on his side next to me without removing his nightgown. I could not keep my eyes off him. He kissed and caressed my cheek. I stiffened, paralyzed with fear, whenever he touched me. He sighed.

“All right, my dear,” he said at last. “I am sorry to frighten you so. Please take some rest.”

He left. I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I dressed and went down to breakfast with much reluctance. I expected Villers to announce, when he set eyes on me, that I was no longer welcome in Dampierre. I would have to return with Aimée to Paris by the next stagecoach. I stopped for a moment at the entrance to the dining parlour, tempted to run back to my apartment. A lackey saw me and hurried to open the door. It was too late to retreat. I took a deep breath and, my eyes downcast, walked as fast as I could to my chair. I felt more than saw Villers rise and bow to me with his usual ease and courtesy. I did not know whether embarrassment or relief was uppermost on my mind. Madame de Gouville, after greeting me in a friendly manner, was watching him and me in turn with some curiosity.

“I hope you are well rested, Madam,” said Villers. “I would like to take you this afternoon to Saint-Laurent, a league to the east of the place we visited yesterday.”

I dared not look at him and, without accepting or declining, muttered indistinct thanks.

“Very well,” he said. “I am glad to hear that Your Ladyship likes the idea. Saint-Laurent it will be then.”

He left promptly after breakfast. I spent the rest of the morning in the drawing room with Aimée and Madame de Gouville. My daughter still would not approach within a few steps of the old lady, but could now bring herself to cast furtive glances at her. I directed Aimée’s attempts at drawing flowers in pastels and showed these works to Madame de Gouville, who joined me in expressing rapturous admiration. After my little girl tired of the pastels and turned her attention to dressing her doll, the old lady renewed her offer to teach me to knit. I accepted and drew a chair next to her sofa.

“Oh no, dear, not like this,” she said. “You pull too hard on the wool. See the result! It is tight as chain mail. No one could ever wear anything like this.”

In spite of my perseverance, my progress was slow. I was struggling with the needles, biting my lips, when Villers reappeared, booted and in riding clothes. I had forgotten his existence for a few hours and blushed at his sight.

I ate little and said less during luncheon. Villers did not try to engage me in conversation and was content to listen to Madame de Gouville’s account of our morning activities.

“And pray, dear Aunt,” he asked, arching his eyebrow, “how proficient do you find Madame de Peyre at knitting? She seemed quite taken by it when I arrived.”

Madame de Gouville thought for a minute before answering. “Well, Aurélien, she puts a great deal of effort into it.”

“Very commendable,” he said. “One should always, dear Aunt, show much indulgence with beginners.”

He was repressing a smile. I looked at him with some resentment.

At last it was time to ride. He kept silent. After we left Dampierre, I took advantage of a moment when we were slowing to a walk between two hedgerows. “I am sorry, Sir,” I said, “for what happened, or did not happen, last night. You must think that I am a complete simpleton. I am firmly convinced of it myself.”

“Please do not apologize. I am the one to blame. I expected too much too soon. From what I knew of your late husband, I should have guessed that you were no stranger to rough treatment.”

“It is kind of you to say so, but I breached my pledge to you. I promised more than I could give when I accepted your earrings. I will of course return them to you later today.”

“Please keep them at least until the end of our stay in Normandy. I hope that you do not intend to curtail your visit.”

“In truth, Sir, I no longer know what to do. I fully expected you to throw me out of your house this morning. Indeed I deserve no better.”

He laughed. “What sort of man do you think I am? I would be a fool to deprive myself of the pleasure of your company. I would of course take you back to Paris should you so desire, but it would be much against my own inclination.” He turned towards me. “Please say that you will not leave.”

I hesitated. He reined in his horse and caught my bridle.

“All right, Madam,” he said sternly, “I will no longer try to conceal it. I am indeed terribly angry with you for misleading me in so shameful a manner. I will forgive you only under one condition.”

I looked at him, amazed at the change in his tone. “What is it?”

“That you not say another word about last night, those earrings or your return to Paris.”

He was smiling. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“This is better,” he said. “The very first smile I have seen on your face today. I feared that these dimples in your cheeks were gone forever. Now let us enjoy this moment and forget about anything else.”

We climbed down a steep hill covered with pine trees and found ourselves on a beach that extended for miles. The receding tide had uncovered the sand, except for small pools and rivulets. The day was cloudy. Sea, sky and land all seemed to blend into shades of grey. He proposed a race. “I will let you start ahead of me. It would not be fair otherwise because you are riding sidesaddle.”

At his signal I left at a full gallop. He followed a minute later. I won and let out a cry of victory. In my joy, I forgot my apprehension and gladly received his congratulations.

Villers helped me dismount. I knelt and touched the sand. It was wet and compact in places, soft and shifting in others. I ran my fingers through it and filled my pockets with seashells, some tiny, ribbed and yellow, and some larger, irregular in shape and lined with pink mother-of-pearl. He was standing a few yards away with a look of amusement on his face.

“Are you mocking me?” I asked. “I am gathering these shells for Aimée. She likes to play with things of this sort.”

“So do you, Madam. You are not so much older than your daughter.”

“May we return with her someday?”

“Of course. Order and you will be obeyed. We will take the carriage then.”

Nothing in his behaviour betrayed any resentment. We were alone on the beach. Yet he was not making any gesture to take advantage of our isolation. At last he pulled his watch and remarked that it was time to leave. We walked back to the spot where we had left the horses.

“Thank you for your kindness, Sir,” I said. “When I rose this morning, I certainly did not expect to have such a pleasant day.”

“I easily believe it. I never saw anything so pitiable as you at breakfast, with your swollen eyes and uneasy gait. You made me feel like an ogre. I was quite ashamed of myself for causing such misery.” He paused, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “Please look at me.”

I did.

“If you did me the favour of leaving your door unlocked tonight,” he continued, “I still would not touch you against your wishes. Of course, you may also keep it locked if you prefer. There is no need to tell me now what you intend to do. Regardless of what you decide, you should know that it would not enter my mind to be angry with you. You will always retain my good opinion, as I hope that you will not withdraw yours. We should leave now.”

Fog was rising from the fields as we rode in silence. By the time we reached Dampierre, servants were lighting the lanterns in the courtyard. I ran to the drawing room to show Aimée the seashells. She was delighted with them, and still more with the prospect of gathering her own in a few days.

I do not recall anything of what was said, eaten or done during dinner that night. I was lost in my thoughts, unsure of what to do. I could not understand myself. I wondered why I had been ready to marry Villers if I did not want to let him approach me. Perhaps I would have been less shy with him had he wed me. I knew that, by accepting to accompany him to Normandy, I had lost my good name. I would be assumed to be his mistress regardless of what happened between us. My hopes of marrying, which had been slim, would become nil. My only choices would be to return to Noirvaux or to become another’s mistress. I shuddered at that thought. I remembered how Villers had respected my fears the night before, how he had made me forget my embarrassment during the day. I tried to imagine how another man would have behaved in his place. The comparison was to his advantage.

I left my door unlocked that night. This time, I remained in bed, breathing fast, watching him intently. He lay down on top of the covers in his nightgown as he had done the night before.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips.

He whispered words of comfort to my ear. His voice soothed me. I closed my eyes, not to avoid seeing him but to better listen to him. I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck. A strange numbness was spreading into my head and down my spine.

He pulled gently on the ribbon that tied my chemise around my shoulders. I shuddered. He stopped.

“You are not angry with me, my dearest, are you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

He opened my chemise. His lips wandered between my breasts. “I would give anything to see you naked,” he said.

I stiffened in fear. “Would you disrobe too?”

“Not if it made you uneasy, my love.”

“You promise?”

“Of course.”

I knelt on the bed. He followed suit and lifted my chemise.

“Oh, God,” he said, “you are beautiful.”

I covered my bosom with my hands. He slowly pushed them aside. We were still on our knees, facing each other. Holding me by the waist, he bent to suckle. Only Aimée had feasted on my breasts in this manner. I was troubled to feel the same kind of intimacy with a grown man.

To escape him, I leaned forward onto my stomach and hid my face in the pillows. He played with my hair and stroked my back with his fingertips. The pleasant numbness returned, only stronger. My skin prickled and quivered under his touch. He pulled on one of my hips to gently roll me onto my side. He explored my body with his lips and tongue. My thighs parted of their own accord. I ran my fingers through the locks of his blonde hair. In spite of its colour, it did not look so strange anymore.

The manner in which he was caressing me moved me as nothing had before. No thoughts, no memories clouded my mind. I became tense all over, then felt a sort of pause, as in anticipation of something unknown, before being shaken by successive pulses of pleasure, longer and longer. They emanated from the center of me and rippled through my entire body. The shudder was so powerful that I felt the muscles of my stomach contract as if a hand had kneaded them. It took my breath away; it made me dizzy. At last it subsided.

Villers looked up, smiling. “Are you surprised?”

“I did not expect anything like this.”

“What did you expect, dearest?”

“I do not know. Not pleasure.” I looked into Villers’s eyes as if to question him.

“Do not worry about me,” he said. “I cannot think of a more delicious torture than this. You may prolong it all night if you wish.”

“I would like to make you happy too.”

“Then come here, my love.”

He drew me to him. His lips pressed mine open. His embrace tightened until I felt him aroused against my stomach. A wave of fear overcame me. I pushed him away.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I startled you.” He caressed my face, looking into my eyes. “Have no fear. Even now, I will not force myself on you.”

I drew close to him again. He put his hand on my shoulder without holding me tight. I wanted to give him a token of my tenderness, my gratitude, my trust. All I could bring myself to do was to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Inadequate as my gesture was, he seemed to understand it.

“Thank you, my love,” he said.

He sat up and blew out the candles. Only then did he remove his nightgown and shirt. I was not so afraid of him in the dim glow of the fire. He lay by my side again and, seizing one of my hands in both of his, slowly kissed every inch of it. I let him guide it by degrees down his chest and stomach until it reached what he wanted me to feel. The skin there was silkier than anything I had touched. He breathed in sharply. I did not recoil.