Chapitre Vingt-Deux

La Fille Aux Cheveux Roux

Andre

“I’ll take your bags for you, my lord.”

Andre pulled his travel trunk away from the servant. “Oh no, terribly sorry. I don’t trust anyone with what’s in this bag.”

The servant gave Andre a suspicious look, but immediately deferred his attention to the ceiling, and then the door.

“What’s in there?” asked Leon, once the servant had left.

“My clothes.” Andre unlocked and opened the trunk to reveal a collection of all of his most expensive attire. He smirked to himself as Leon rolled his eyes at him.

It was good to be back in Senon again. Andre hadn’t visited his father’s apartment in the capital since he was a boy, and his home away from home hadn’t changed a bit.

Sure, it was smaller than he remembered, but that, as he’d come to accept, was just how childhood memories worked.

Lucien descended the stairs from the upper floor, adjusting his cuff-links.

“Shame that Fitzroy couldn’t come,” said Leon.

Lucien nodded. “He’s still recovering from his injuries, but he assured me that his agents will keep an eye on us.” He patted Leon on the shoulder as he passed him. “Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine.”

“So.” Leon crossed his arms. “What’s the agenda for today?”

Lucien threw on his long, blue coat. “I’m off to the Pain Street Club to smoke cigars. Leon, did you wish to attend?”

Leon caught his breath. What was that about? Andre cocked his head and shot Leon a look out of the corner of his eye before returning to hanging up his coats.

Leon’s eyes were wide and his mouth hanging open. Such a big deal over a cigar club? What secrets were these two keeping? Andre had half a mind to sneak on down to Pain Street that night and find out.

“Yes… I’d love to go,” said Leon.

“May I come along as well?” Andre asked. He knew it was rude to invite himself, but it was equally rude to speak as they did and hint at vague secrets.

Lucien reached into his coat and produced three orange and blue slips of paper. “For you I have something else in mind. Take these and redeem them at the bank.” Andre stared at the two banknotes his father was waving in front of him. Those bills were worth more gold than his father had ever trusted him with before. “Then spend that money on whatever you wish. Take a lady out for a nice dinner at a café. Or blow it all on gambling and harlots, I don’t care. This is Senon, have some fun while you’re here!”

Andre took the banknotes. Trying to buy off his curiosity? Bribe him into paying no attention to their secret dealings that night? Whatever went on at Pain Street was certainly an important secret. For now Andre was content with knowing that much.

“Thank you, Father,” Andre said, folding and pocketing the bills. “I hope you two have as much fun as I will.” He watched Leon’s face for a reaction. His father was too good at hiding what he really thought, but his

older brother always wore his emotions so plainly.

Leon smirked. Yes, whatever they were up to he considered fun. More fun than Andre would have, that was for sure. This only made him want to know all the more.

But he couldn’t see any way he’d be able to uncover their secret tonight. Besides, he had a small fortune to spend on debauchery.

He started with supper at Le Café de Saint Camille, a place that even the aristocrats of Salia often thought overpriced.

A live band played with string and wind instruments beautiful songs of which he’d only heard, he suddenly came to believe, terrible versions.

So this was what it was like to hear masters bring those notes to life.

The servants poured coffee for his cup and supplied him with tobacco for his pipe. Ah, yes, this would be a grand evening, he was sure of it. Let Leon and Father keep their secrets!

“His Highness, Prince Damond!” the herald announced at the door.

Andre wasn’t about to miss this! The second-born prince of Salia, second in line for the throne itself. A young man with more money at his disposal than all the richest dukes combined. A young man with all the power of the Empress herself, but none of the responsibility.

More importantly, a young man who enjoyed a good party as much as Andre did.

Andre feigned disinterest for a moment, allowing the more obvious sycophants their moment to faun over and annoy the prince. Once Prince Damond had

opening.

Only an amateur would cross the room to approach the prince face to face, and Andre was no amateur. He moved along the wall, pretending to watch passersby through the windows as he made his way over to his highness.

He was sure the prince’s bodyguards were watching him carefully as he drew close. From his coat pocket he produced a small flask and turned to Damond. “Care to add a little edge to your coffee?”

The prince looked at Andre, looked at the flask, smiled and said, “I’d be glad to drink with you. And I insist you have the first sip.”

A clever way to tell Andre to prove it wasn’t poison. He happily took a sip from the flask and offered it again to his highness. The prince held out his cup and Andre added Guillon to his coffee. This was the way to ensure a grand time and a great story to tell later; mixing caffeine with alcohol. It ensured that one was fully awake when all inhibitions were cast off.

Andre had heard stories of the sorts of crazy adventures the prince would often embark upon with his friends on during a night of revelry. He’d heard that they’d once stolen the uniform right off a member of the Imperial Guard, and rode about the city on a horse painted blue, waving the guard’s uniform about like a banner.

The prince took a sip from his cup. “I did not catch your name.”

“How rude of me! Terribly sorry. Andre of House Renart, your grace.” Andre bowed his head low.

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you,” Damond smiled. “Tell me, how is it that you work your craft?”

“My craft, your grace?”

Damond glanced back and forth, as if checking to make sure certain people were out of ear-shot, though Andre could not be sure from whom he wanted to keep this conversation secret. “You know what I mean. You’re notorious for bedding noble ladies, even those who… well, have a prudish reputation.”

Andre laughed. “Your highness, you’re a prince! Surely noble ladies fight each other for the chance to share your bed!”

“Not noble ladies, no.” Prince Damond took a stirrer and twirled it in his drink. “Plenty of courtiers. Common ladies from merchant families trying to better their families’ stations, but no noble ladies.”

“Only the beautiful daughters of merchant princes will shake sheets with you?” Andre chuckled again. “Would noble ladies be so much better?”

“They’d have less to gain,” said Damond, suddenly stone-faced. “So, it would be far more flattering than some commoner looking to become a prince’s mistress and live the high life.”

“Fair point,” said Andre. “Well, your highness, I will teach you what I know. Though, I confess, I’m not entirely sure what part of my craft actually works best. Furthermore, you must understand that you will receive far more rejections than anything else. You mustn’t let rejection dishearten you.” Andre looked around the room. “Look for a lady who’s not having as much fun as she hoped. One who came here not just to enjoy herself, but to escape something painful.” Andre turned back to the prince and raised an index finger. “See, Lyr blesses a good deed.” Damond nearly spat out his coffee when he heard Andre’s joke. “Cheering up a poor lady who’s having a terrible time is a good deed, wouldn’t you agree?”

Damond coughed and sputtered, ensuring that any coffee he spat out as he laughed ended up back in his cup rather than on the floor. “A good deed?” He coughed again and laughed. “A good deed?” He gasped

and recovered his breath. “I can honestly say I’ve never thought of it that way!”

“Well, best you start thinking of it that way, your highness!” Andre said in a mock-chastising tone. “Why, to not think of it that way suggests you only think of yourself when you pursue women. Here’s a good example right now. See, over there?” Andre gestured across the café. “Baroness Lenore of House Magali?”

“I see her… Andre, isn’t she in her mid-thirties?”

Andre shrugged. “That doesn’t make her any less beautiful, does it?”

“Well… you’re right, it does not.” The prince smirked. “Continue the lesson, professor.”

“See, we look at her and we can see her beauty.” Andre casually gestured towards her features as he spoke. “That dark hair gleaming in the light, those alluring eyes, those womanly curves. Even the few lines on her face just give her appearance some character. She’s beautiful, through and through. But you know who can’t see it?”

“I…” the prince thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“She can’t. Neither can her husband, apparently.” Andre turned his back towards Lenore and drew in close with Prince Damond. In a hushed tone he whispered. “You’ve heard of Baron Magali’s new mistress, yes?”

“I haven’t…”

Andre rolled his eyes. Why would the Imperial family cut the younger prince out of such news? “Baron Magali recently built a cabin in the countryside. He claimed it was a hunting lodge, but… well, witnesses have reported seeing a young woman there. A woman about seventeen years of age and as beautiful as a goddess.”

By the look on the prince’s face one might think it was he, not the baroness, who had been humiliated. “Poor Lenore…”

“Exactly! She’s been decimated.” Andre adjusted his collar. “Which is where young men like us come in. See, she’s not feeling beautiful, and she’s furious with her husband for rejecting her for someone younger and, presumably, more attractive than she. How much better would she feel about herself, about life, if a young man came along and made her feel young and beautiful again?”

The smile returned to Prince Damond’s face. “And she can get her revenge against her bastard husband.”

“Exactly!” Andre pointed both index fingers at Damond. “Now, I’m going to approach her. If you care to, get close enough to listen in, but don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

Andre made his way across the room, weaving in between tables and crowds of people gathered around. Damond moved along the wall, looking up at the ceiling the whole time. He would have been far less conspicuous were it not for the troop of Imperial Guards following him.

Andre soon approached his quarry, who sat in silence, sipping her coffee. “My dear Baroness!” he said as he approached.

She looked up from her cup and gave him a most confused expression.

“My lady,” Andre continued, “I was sitting across the café when I noticed you. I’ve heard of you before, Lady Lenore, but to actually meet you in person… why, the stories do you no justice!”

“Stories?” said the baroness. “What stories?”

Andre laughed. “Oh ho? You’ve not heard?” He took a step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back just slightly to maintain eye contact. “My

father and brother would often come back from a ball and speak of the beautiful woman who had married Baron Magali, and what a truly blessed man he must be.” Lenore looked away from him and bit her lip. He couldn’t let her dwell on her husband for too long. Tonight wasn’t to be about him, it was to be about her. “They said ‘Baroness Magali is an engaging woman! Well-read, and pleasant company too.’ They told me they wouldn’t be surprised if half the guests completely fell in love with you that evening.” Andre leaned in, placing one hand on the back of the baroness’ chair and the other on the table in front of her. “And, I must say, I quite agree. I can’t imagine anyone not finding themselves in awe of you.”

Lenore sat with her mouth open and her breath heavy. Andre could see her chest heaving up and down, a blush flooding her cheeks. She licked her lips and her eyes dilated. He knew he had her.

But he found himself gently brushed aside as someone else approached the baroness. “Lenore, my dear friend, come now. Let’s leave this poor poet to write more sonnets.”

The girl was about Andre’s age, a short, thin little thing. Her bright red hair was worn in a long single braid. She was dressed in a dramatic gown, with oversleeves and all the frills that indicated great expense. And… Are those freckles on her face? Andre almost laughed at the sight. A noblewoman with freckles? Most spent so little time in the sun they never had time to develop such marks.

“If you please, madam,” said Andre, sliding into their way again so that they could not hurry away so quickly. “I was having an engaging conversation with her ladyship.”

“A conversation you say?” The red-haired girl giggled. “My my, Lenore, have you learned how to speak merely through eye contact?”

Lenore laughed. “No, dear, I was just listening.”

“It hardly seems a conversation, then, does it?” said the girl.

“Certainly not one to engage the mind.” She patted Andre on the cheek twice in a most patronizing fashion. “Dear starving poet, your words are quite lovely. Hopefully you will find a patron to keep you fed while you write such beautiful sonnets.”

“I’m not a poet!” Andre protested. “Dear lady, how many poets do you know of who can afford to dress as I do?”

“Not a poet?” said the girl, hiding a wry smirk. “Then an actor, perhaps? Were you here to rehearse a dramatic scene? Keep practicing and one day you’ll be able to deliver those lines and make someone actually believe you mean them.”

Lenore laughed again.

Andre felt his face burn. “My lady, I am no actor either! I am Lord Andre of House Renart!”

The girl gave Andre a stern look. It was subtle, but there was an unmistakable fury in her eyes. It was as if she held the leashes of a dozen snarling, vicious hounds, and would release them instantly were he to push too far. “I know who you are. And I know of your insomnia.”

Why did Andre feel terrified? He’d faced angry husbands, fathers, and brothers countless times before and never been so frightened as he was by this girl whose head barely came up to his shoulders. “My insomnia?” he asked.

“The reason why you barely get any sleep most nights,” she said. Lenore glanced back and forth between Andre and the girl, clearly uncomfortable. A smile returned to the red-haired girl’s face as quickly as it had disappeared. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my lord, we truly must be going.”

The girls left Andre at the table, his head spinning with confusion and his pulse pounding with a strange mix of fear and excitement. His hands were shaking, and he was positive it wasn’t from the caffeine.

Prince Damond came up to Andre and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be honest, professor… that was just terrible.”

“I…” Andre stammered a moment. “What…”

“Not to say your technique wasn’t good, mind you,” said Prince Damond, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “But the end result is what matters, yes?”

“Who was that girl?” Andre asked.

“Oh? You’ve not heard of Baron Magali’s ward?”

Andre shrugged. “I can’t say I have.”

Prince Damond let go of Andre’s shoulder, sipped his coffee, and said, “The Magali family lost their children in a tragic carriage accident years ago. They adopted Cherise there as their ward to fill that empty nest.”

“She’s their ward… not their daughter?”

“That’s what I’m saying, professor.” Damond chuckled. “If I’d have realized you were this slow I would have found other friends to occupy my time much sooner. I’ll be off now, Andre. Don’t drink too much.”

The prince walked away, but Andre didn’t care. All his thoughts were focused on every detail of his encounter with Cherise. Such a strong-willed woman, and so quick-witted that even he didn’t realize he was being mocked at first. Fascinating. Truly fascinating. He didn’t know why, but he needed to know more about her.

He finished off his coffee, returned the empty cup, and then hurried out the door. The city would soon give up everything there was to know about Cherise.