Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (9 page)

Whatever the varying viewpoints, on St. Domingue there was no summons more coveted than one received from the Comtesse de Talonge. The Salvagnacs had not come, despite having accepted. This meant that the breach with the baronne had either become wider than the comtesse had anticipated, or something else had occurred to put her guests off—something which the comtesse had not as yet received word of. Both outcomes were reasons for concern, but the latter vexed the comtesse most greatly.

Madame de Talonge’s currency was information, both the collection and the dissemination of it. She prided herself on being in the know. News, gossip, innuendo, these were the sweets and morsel she hungered after, feasted on, savored—often going to great lengths and sometimes greater expense to acquire them. Like any good spinner of webs, she could feel when something escaped her netting, and she sensed it now.

The comtesse passed by the sitting portrait of her husband which was mounted to the right of the hearth in the main salon. It was a very good likeness of the Comte de Talonge in oil, and was the only view she’d had of the old man since she had stood by his side at the altar more than fifteen years ago. They had both married for convenience. He, because he wished to silence the rumors concerning his sexual preferences; she, because she wished to have the freedom of the marriage bed without ever having to submit to it. It had worked out well for both of them.

The comte remained in France, with his male lovers and his pigeons, whom he cared for and coddled as substitutes for the children the comtesse had never consented to bear him. For Charlotte, her husband’s absence made him the ideal partner. The only thing he lacked was a fortune large enough to support her voracious spending habits, which had grown in step with her maturation into real society.

What wealth the Comte de Talonge did have, which included the comtesse’s allowance, he kept with the bank founded by the Baron de Salvagnac. At times the comtesse paid a visit in person to the baron’s estate when she required an advance on her allowance, or a particularly large withdrawal. That is how Madame de Talonge and Madame de Salvagnac had come to know each other.

Though he doted on his wife, the baron much neglected her physical needs in pursuance of his mercantile and financial endeavors. This neglect, rare in the early years of marriage, then sporadic after the birth of Julienne, had become regular following a series of miscarriages, and once Éléonore was born, it had become habitual. Two daughters born twelve years apart, were thus, the sole fortunate fruit of the rare carnal visitations the baron had paid his wife over the long span of their marriage.

Once Éléonore was born, the baronne had begun sleeping apart from her husband. She had not intended the separation to last, but from a temporary convenience it soon became the normal routine. There were many excuses why this was so. Éléonore was sickly and often ill, and Agnès preferred to keep her close till her daughter was well into the toddling years. The baron kept late hours and was frequently away on matters of business. Yet they remained faithful to each other in word and deed. Neither took a lover, which would have been the routine thing to do. Instead they drifted further apart as lovers, but closer together as partners in marriage.

Still, the baronne and the comtesse would never have met were it not for a squabble about a family fortune, or more precisely, about the rumor of one. The crux of the matter was this. Agnès de Saint-Giresse had been raised on the fringes of neglect by her father’s spendthrift ways. But her mother was said to have had a very large and independent fortune of her own, which she was rumored to have successfully held apart from the debacle of her husband’s profligacy. She died soon after her husband and left her fortune in its entirety to her son, Agnès’ brother Jerome, who had become Vicomte de La Bouhaire upon his father’s death. Two years later, Jerome and his wife both died of smallpox not long after the birth of their first and only child, leaving the single baby girl as sole issue and heir to the entire La Bouhaire legacy.

Though rumors of the great size of the La Bouhaire inheritance abounded, more than fifteen years had passed since the birth of the little girl and nothing of the purported fortune had ever been made manifest. The young heiress and niece to the baron had come to live with the Salvagnacs after the death of her parents, confirming for most, the prevailing view that only the gossip of her grandmother’s fortune had been real. The steepest portion of the baron’s spectacular rise to prominence as a financier had occurred just after his niece’s entry into the Salvagnac household, which was enough to sustain speculation on the matter, but whether the baron’s meteoric rise was just coincidence or perhaps something more, was in the end, entirely a matter of conjecture for those outside the family, and a well-kept secret within it.

As the size of her husband’s fortune grew, Madame de Salvagnac developed tastes and lavish spending habits commensurate with her family’s ever-increasing prosperity and ambition. Madame de Talonge had been asked to investigate the rumors swirling around the baron as a discreet favor to a friend at court who was searching for an heiress of suitable pedigree for his second son. The comtesse’s inquiries had led to an introduction to the baronne. They discovered much in common between them and moved quickly from acquaintances to friends. The more the comtesse uncovered and learned of Madame de Salvagnac, the more the baronne intrigued her.

In a moment of unguarded reflection, the baronne had revealed to the comtesse that she and her husband rarely exchanged intimacies of the flesh. But Agnès professed that this did not disturb her as much as the loss of her husband’s special friendship. Yes, making love was fine, but what she really liked was the before and after, when he made her feel special and wanted, before the act itself. Charlotte had been intrigued by this revelation, and by the steadfastness of Agnès character. She revealed to Agnès a secret that she had never told anyone, that part of the reason for her many splendid soirees and parties, was that with an ancient husband and no particular favorite of her own, she often felt lonely and miserable. Agnès thought it absurd that someone as beautiful as the comtesse should lack for attention, and told her so. A treasured and sincere bond of attachment blossomed between them. In the fullness of time, it flowered naturally into something more.

“There you are, Madame de Talonge. We’ve been admiring the splendid décor of your sitting room while we waited to greet you. May I have the honor of presenting to you my eldest daughter, Virginie?”

The comtesse smiled tightly, hiding her distaste behind a mask of tranquil contentment. She had been brought to a halt on her rounds by Madame Dupluie, one of the few hardy weeds whose errant pod had strayed into her exclusive social garden where it had grown and flourished like parasitic ivy, despite all attempts to uproot it.

Madame Dupluie had a tongue as sharp as a lash and an aptitude for spreading scandal. As a consequence, she had become a fixture in the salons of the well-to-do who feared to offend her and be tarred by her brackish bile. She was trimmed back on occasion but considered too troublesome to wholly remove. And because she was dreadfully poor, the party circuit was a way to avoid spending on meals of her own. She therefore plagued the gatherings of both high and low. The only means of getting rid of her, was to talk up another’s salon and the great feast being served, and hope she was hungry and opted to venture there instead.  

Madame Dupluie trafficked in information, which is why the comtesse abided her. She brought news, often accurate and useful in nature, and in exchange, the comtesse allowed her to be a part of her gatherings, despite her very many shortcomings. She wore a large white sun hat, dreadfully out of fashion, but the comtesse supposed, a message to those in the know, that she was a part of the
Chapeaux Blancs.
Madame Dupluie was dressed in the one gown she owned which was suitable for the gatherings of the island’s elite, a dark colored
robe à la polonaise
with very garish floral embroidery whose shades had begun to fade from overuse. The comtesse thought the gown and the hat fitting for the personality and circumstances of its square-faced and too proud owner.

“How do you do, my dear?” Madame de Talonge said with sweetness, caressing the cheek of the plump but kindly young girl, whose face was pockmarked with so many pimples, even the copious amounts of white powder and rouge layered atop her skin like paint, began to peel and flake over so uneven a texture.

It was plain to Madame de Talonge, the dress Virginie wore, a red
robe à la française
, had been acquired second hand, as the fit was not quite right and there were blemishes upon the embroidered fabric where attempts had been made to patch it. But to her credit, Virginie wore it without shame. Madame de Talonge admired her forthright and honest spirit, which shone in vivid contrast to her mother’s.

“Very well, thank you, Madame,” Virginie replied with an awkward curtsey.

Madame Dupluie moved closer to her hostess, lowering her voice in confidence.

“Have you heard the latest rumors concerning Madame de Salvagnac? I understand the fortunes of that lady’s family have improved a great deal of late, through the most unexpected, and dare I say shocking, of alliances.”

“Oh?” Madame de Talonge said, as she turned to acknowledge the greeting of the Vicomte de Tollaincourt, a wealthy plantation owner, noted raconteur, and ardent admirer of hers of long standing.

“Madame de Talonge, how well you look today. Your salon is as splendid as ever and the enjoyment, nay dare I say envy, of everyone.”

The vicomte bowed in greeting as he kissed the outstretched hand of his hostess with sincere delight and an added flourish of hopeful panache.

“Monsieur de Tollaincourt, you are quite the outrageous flatterer everyone claims you to be, but I am very glad to see you, nonetheless,” Madame de Talonge bantered back.

The comtesse liked Tollaincourt. He was outgoing and witty and never bothersome as either a host or a guest. For years he’d tried to convince her to become his lover, but she’d always rebuffed him, though as gently and as graciously as possible. He was square-faced with a short nose and eyes set wide apart. At times he reminded her of an English bulldog, but what he lacked in looks was more than matched by his charm and equanimity.

“Vicomte, do you know Madame Dupluie and her daughter, Mademoiselle Virginie?”

Tollaincourt bowed to the Dupluies. He was dressed to impress, in a new court suit of pale blue, with abstract geometric motifs along the tails and lapels. He wore a wig and powder, with a long queue at the back which was currently in fashion, and a bright blue bow at the center of the queue. He paid the ritual courtesies to the other ladies, neither of whom he found comely enough to hold his interest. Tollaincourt beamed sideways at the pretty and vivacious comtesse, whom he had long tried to make his lover, so far without the slightest indication that his persistent and earnest efforts might one day lead to success.

“Madame Dupluie brings us interesting news, dear Tollaincourt, news of your friend Salvagnac,” Madame de Talonge said enticingly.

“Well then, I pray you continue, Madame,” Tollaincourt said with interest.

“You know I don’t like to gossip and do not abide gossipers myself, but I was informed by a reliable source that just a few days ago, Mademoiselle Julienne de Salvagnac was very advantageously engaged to Monsieur le Comte de Marbéville!” Madame Dupluie exclaimed.

Madame de Talonge raised her left eyebrow, a clear sign of the full degree of her skepticism. The right one went up when she was pleased. But only Casimir and she knew the secret meanings of her brows.

“Are you sure, Madame?”

“I am as sure as I can be without declaring it a certainty. We had word directly from a friend who passed by the Salvagnac plantation only yesterday.”

Madame de Talonge wondered if this was in fact the reason for the absence of the Salvagnacs from her gathering.

“It must be considered a splendid match for the Salvagnacs, as the Comte de Marbéville will one day inherit the titles and estates of his father, the Marquis de Blaise,” Tollaincourt observed.

“That’s true, my dear Tollaincourt, but it is also rather surprising when one takes into account Madame de Salvagnac’s openly stated opinions about the marquis and his family,” Madame de Talonge replied.

How could you keep such a thing secret from me, Agnès...or any secrets, for that matter? And to make alliance with the Marquis de Blaise! What words can I put to your actions other than those of treachery and betrayal?
The comtesse seethed inwardly, though her face remained an unreadable mask.

“I agree entirely with your general sentiments, Madame, though with regard to the situation of the comte, I feel no aspersion may be cast upon him for the faults of his father.
His
mother was, after all, of noble and pure French blood. Neither she, God rest her soul, nor her son should suffer any ill opinion because of the father’s shameful and abominable cohabitation with that black concubine of his,” Madame Dupluie opined, her eyebrows raised in defiance against any other point of view.

The vicomte cleared his throat to indicate his displeasure. He was offended by the slight uttered against Madame de Blaise, a lady he held in some esteem. It was disgraceful to slander another in public, and in a manner in which the other could not defend themselves. Such an attack lacked any sense of honor and was even worse when delivered upon one lady by another. He took up the gauntlet of Madame Dupluie’s challenge at once.