Humbled (11 page)

He leaned on the rail. “I wonder if France can keep La Nouvelle-Orléans. King Louis already lost most of the territory to Spain.”

Too much was unknown—the world as they had known it had crumbled. All she could do was laugh. “Then we will learn to speak Spanish.”

“So there is a language you do not know?” he teased.

Waiting to dock was sheer agony, time seeming to crawl by. It was chilly, and she did not have a proper wrap, although Moreau had granted her permission to take the gown. She bid Flora, her young admirer, farewell. When at last the ship had docked, Moreau called them over.

He summoned a dockworker up to the deck with them. “Tell us, are they targeting any aristocrats arriving from France?”

“No, Captain, not that I have heard,” the young man said.

“You see?” he said, turning to them. “You should be safe here.”

“I would thank you, Captain, had you not made a spectacle of me on your ship,” she replied tartly.

He chuckled. “I had my fun. But you survived it. Good luck to you both,” he said, sauntering off.

Even with his reassurance, she gripped Jean-Claude’s arm as they disembarked, scarcely breathing as she marched into the queue for customs. She stood out in the gown and began to regret not wearing the peasant dress, but it was too late to hide her identity.

The official took Jean-Claude’s name and occupation first, then questioned her.

“Full name.”

“Corinne de Gramont.”

“Reason for travel?”

She shifted from one leg to the other. Did she answer honestly? Tell him she left to escape the guillotine? Or did she pretend she had other business there?

“I wished to see the promise of the colony,” she answered.

He looked up from his papers with a doubtful look but jotted something down on the paper.

“What is the value of the goods you brought with you?”

She held her breath. Did she declare the ring? No, Jean-Claude had it, and he had declared nothing.

“Two hundred francs,” she murmured, guessing the value of the gown on her back.

He made a note. “Next,” he said looking past her.

She exhaled, hardly believing she had made it through. Jean-Claude swept her forward, out of the throng, as if he feared someone might change their mind and take them into custody. He did not stop until they had walked several blocks away.

“Now we must find someone with enough wealth to buy your ring,” he said, looking about.

“Can we simply ask for a jeweler?”

“Yes, but a jeweler may not have the funding to purchase such an expensive ring. He could probably arrange a buyer, though it may take time and he will take a percentage. It would be better if we could sell it directly, though I know not where to begin.” He looked at her. “I will find you a room and go out on my own.”

“No!” she interrupted.

He looked wounded. “Do you not trust me, Corinne?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do not be stupid, Jean-Claude! Of course I trust you. But I do not wish to sit alone at an inn. I want to go with you.” She looked about the busy streets, taking in the mixture of black and white faces, so different from anything she had seen before. “I wish to see La Nouvelle-Orléans.”

“Is it seemly? To go unescorted with a man pretending to be a silversmith on a business mission?”

She smiled. “No, it is positively unseemly. Like much of what we have done. But I want to go with you. Please, Jean-Claude.”

He released his breath in a wry chuckle. “All right. Perhaps you will provide the luck or the connection necessary to make this happen. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Pardon me,” he said, stopped a man who walked by. “Can you tell me where the very best hotel can be found?”

“You would want Hotel Jardin over on Bourbon Street,” he said, pointing the direction.

“Thank you, monsieur.”

Walking down the busy streets, he led her in the direction the man indicated. Carriages raced by and they passed people of all colors and costumes. They saw trappers, all dressed in animal furs, and the red-brown faces of the native peoples. They heard Spanish, English, French, and some languages they did not recognize. Corinne attracted some attention, but she held her head high, her eyes dancing as she took it all in with interest.

They located the hotel without problem.

“Good afternoon,” he said, approaching the counter. “I am escorting Mademoiselle de Gramont, just arrived from France. Do you have a room for the lady?”

“Certainly, monsieur,” he said. “How many rooms do you require?”

“Two, please.”

He gave the cost per night, week, and month. “How long will the lady be staying?”

“I am not certain. We will start with a fortnight.”

“Very well. I will have someone take your trunks to your rooms,” he said, looking past them.

“We have no luggage. In fact, we will be looking for your recommendation for a dress-maker and a tailor.”

The man’s face turned sympathetic. “You are one of many who left France in a hurry,” he said.

He felt Corinne relax behind him, as if the knowledge that there were others like her possibly in that hotel was a comfort.

“Can you help us in another regard?”

“I hope so. What is it?”

“Where might we sell an expensive piece of jewelry?”

The hotelier was shrewd, seeming to understand that two people who showed up without luggage might need to sell their jewelry immediately. “There are jewelers. Or you might try private sale.” He met Jean-Claude’s eye. “There is a broker who specializes in the immediate sale of fine jewelry for those who must liquidate in a hurry. Would you like me to send for him?”

“I suppose he pays a lowered rate for the convenience.”

The hotelier nodded. “He does. But it is fair enough. Similar to what you might make after a jeweler has taken his share from a consignment sale.”

“Send for him, please.”

The man nodded and handed him a slip of paper. “Here are the names of a few dressmakers and tailors that should suit your needs. The porter will show you to your rooms. They are adjacent. Does that suit you?”

“It does, thank you.”

Jean-Claude played the gentleman perfectly and remembered to allow her to lead up the stairs, opening her door and asking if she needed anything before he went to his room. As soon as she heard him dismiss the porter, she burst out of her room and opened his door without knocking, slipping inside and shutting the door.

He looked stern. “There is not much point to separate rooms if you are going to enter mine as if you belonged here.”

She ignored his remark, walking to his side and standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I honestly cannot imagine what I would have done if I had arrived here on my own. Thank you. I am so glad you accompanied me.”

“You would have managed it,” he said, his darkened blue eyes raking down her body. But he pulled away, leading her to the door. “It is unseemly for you to be in my room, Corinne. Your reputation is as important a commodity as your jewels right now. I cannot be your paramour any longer.”

Though she understood his logic, the edict still hurt. Turning away before he could see her wound, she left the room.

Chapter Six

The broker called the following morning. They were having coffee outside in a garden area when he arrived.

“Monsieur Armand?” He was a small man, fast-talking, with small eyes that darted around.

“Yes,” Jean-Claude said, standing and shaking the man’s hand.

“I am Antoine Besnard.”

Corinne stood, looking uncertain.

“May I present Mademoiselle de Gramont, the owner of the ring I wish to sell.”

He gave a low bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.”

The three settled into chairs at the table. “May I see the ring?” Besnard asked, wasting no time. He pulled out an eyeglass, examining every angle of the ring. “I will ask twenty-five thousand francs for it. I will get between fifteen and twenty. Your portion will be two-thirds of the final price I secure.”

“How long will it take to sell?” he asked.

“One day. Maybe two.”

“Where will you offer it?”

Besnard smirked. “If I told you that, you would not require my services, would you? It is my connections that earn my portion. Connections, which, I would have to guess as newcomers, you lack.”

Jean-Claude nodded.

“I will give the lady’s name everywhere I call. She will receive invitations and notes of welcome from her peers. My service will be well worth the cost.”

Jean-Claude glanced at Corinne, who nodded in assent. “We accept your terms,” he said.

The man stood and smiled. “I will return as soon as I have your money.”

“Do you think he will?” Corinne asked when he departed.

“Yes, I do, but I suppose there is a chance we just lost a very valuable ring.”

But it seemed Besnard spoke the truth because Corinne received two invitations to call before the day’s end, and by the following morning, they were fifteen thousand francs richer.

“Besnard?” Corinne said, when he stood to leave.

“Yes?”

“Do you deal exclusively in jewels?”

He gave a greedy smile. “No, I complete all kinds of transactions. What do you have to sell?”

“Monsieur Armand is an accomplished silversmith,” she declared.

Besnard turned his gaze on him with a mild interest. “Oh? What do you have to show me?”

“Unfortunately, I have nothing with me to sell,” he admitted.

“Can you get him a commission?”

“Without having seen his work?” He shook his head. “No, I will not vouch for work I have not seen. I have a reputation in this town.”

“I have seen his work and it is brilliant!” she exclaimed fervently.

“Forgive me, but I cannot take your word in the matter, mademoiselle. When you have something to show me, I will be happy to look at it.
Au revoir
.”

“Thank you for the attempt, Corinne.”

“Can you make something to show him?”

“I will need my own place, with a forge, and materials—pewter and silver and a great many tools.”

“Well, we have money now.”

“Yes. Are you sure you are willing to use it for this?” he asked, uncomfortable with accepting her wealth as his gain. It damaged his pride to have his lady provide for him rather than the other way around.

She frowned. “Is this not our plan?”

“Yes, yes it is,” he said hastily, giving himself a mental shake.

“Then let us go shopping!” she exclaimed with a wide grin. “I am in need of dresses, and you must see a tailor.”

As much as he wanted to accompany her on the errands, propriety prohibited it. He hired a carriage for her and set off on foot for the tailor.

That evening, Corinne knocked on his door, entering without waiting for him to answer. She wore a new gown, entirely different from the fashion she had worn on the ship. Gone were the large hoops under an expanse of skirt. This dress had a plunging neckline, a perfect frame for her ripe bosom, and the skirts hung in a straight line from where it was cinched just under her breasts. It had a classic, almost Greek look to it. She carried supplies for shaving—a razor, soap, and leather strap.

Noticing his attention, she gave a little twirl. “Do you like it? It is the fashion of the revolution. The aristocrats and peasants shall dress alike.” She was back in her element—the lovely courtesan ready to dance at a ball.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen a peasant in a dress like that,” he said drily, ignoring the straining of his cock. He could not have her—not until he became a gentleman and married her properly.

She lifted her eyes as if to gauge whether his comment held rebuke, and he smiled to soften it. “You look charming,” he said.

She blushed and hid it by walking to the dressing table where she laid the shaving supplies and waved imperially. “Shave your face and I will cut your hair. That is the new fashion, as well.”

“Corinne, you cannot cut my hair, and you cannot be in my room.” He walked to where she had set the supplies and picked up the razor strap, slapping it into his palm. “If you enter again, I shall be forced to teach you a lesson you will not enjoy.”

She jumped, then looked angry. “Cretin,” she huffed, flouncing to the door. He chuckled as she left.

* * *

That evening, an invitation to visit Madame Montpelier on the following day at her plantation manor arrived. She had heard of Madame Montpelier, who seemed to be the reigning queen of society in La Nouvelle-Orléans, as well as one of the wealthiest.

In the morning, she readied with care, arranging her hair in a cascade of ringlets in the back and dressing in a new gown of sheer embroidered India muslin over a new chemise. She ate a light breakfast with Jean-Claude and put on a warm cloak to go in the carriage Madame Montpelier had considerately sent to fetch her to the plantation.

She was shown into a tearoom where she met her hostess, a charming lady at least ten years her senior as well as a half-dozen other society ladies. She saw her mother’s sapphire ring glittering on her hostess’s finger, but the lady was tactful enough to say nothing when she caught her staring. Halfway through tea, she began to understand the nature of her invitation.

“Mademoiselle de Gramont, tell us how you escaped France,” a Mademoiselle Delacour demanded.

The other ladies leaned forward with avid interest. Well, if they wanted entertainment, she would provide it. With every flair of drama, she gave them a toe-curling rendition of her story, changing Jean-Claude’s status to silversmith and omitting the story of her saving him as a child. She made him a gallant hero, escorting her to safety, insisting on seeing her all the way to La Nouvelle-Orléans at the cost of giving up his very successful business in Gramont.

“And so now,” she concluded, “I am in his debt and anxious to help him reestablish his business here. I give him my highest recommendation if you have need of any silver.”

“Yes, certainly. I will inform my husband,” Madame Montpelier promised, and the rest of the ladies agreed.