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As Madame gratefully closed the door behind her, Esme observed, “I’m afraid the coincidence is not unusual. After all, Rees’s mistress must be flush with money, and there is no more fashionable modiste in London than Madame Rocque.”
Helene narrowed her eyes. “For the demi-mondaine, perhaps!”
“I have bought all my gowns from her for the past two years.”
“She should maintain higher standards in her clientele.” Helene shuddered. “That woman is wearing the yellow gown that I had on my body a mere moment ago. And Rees likely overheard everything we said!”
“Good,” Esme said uncompromisingly.
“Good?” Helene’s voice rose to a shriek. “What’s good about it?”
“Perhaps Rees will wish to join the competition for your favors.” Esme pointed to the mirror before which Helene still stood. “Look at yourself.”
Helene swivelled. “The last thing I would want is for that reprobrate to approach me.” But she looked, obediently.
“You must remove your corset. The fabric is so fine that I can see the trim on your chemise in the back. But the gown is vastly becoming to you.”
“Likely all the courtesans are wearing the same piece!” she said rather shrilly.
Esme shrugged. “You’re getting a little priggish in your old age, darling.”
Helene turned on her like a viper. “Don’t you dare call me priggish simply because I am overwrought at being made fun of—humiliated!—by my husband’s mistress. Lady Childe was never less than gracious to you, when you were married to Miles and she was his mistress.” She collapsed into a chair. “The woman was making a game of me. Did you hear that comment about her bosom? Clearly, Rees has told her everything about our marriage.”
Esme busied herself with looking into her reticule. She didn’t want to make Helene embarrassed, but naturally she was longing for more details about her marriage. “What might he have told?” she said, trying to look utterly uninterested.
“Oh, that he—we—”
“Yes?”
“Bedroom details!” Helene snapped. “He has told his mistress of private events.”
“I gather your marital intimacies were not all they could have been,” Esme said delicately.
Helene stared at her. “How would I know? Listening to your jokes about bedding men, I have always felt as if we lived in two different worlds. No sane woman could possibly wish to repeat that experience. And yet you have willingly engaged in—”
“Bedding,” Esme put in cheerfully, powdering her nose.
“How you do it, I shall never know,” Helene said with stark conviction in her voice. “I found the experience repulsive. It’s some defect in myself, no doubt. Rees said I was incapable of women’s pleasure, if there truly is such a thing.”
“But did it never occur to you, Helene, that perhaps the fault was with him? In my experience, men often try to cover up their own failures by blaming the woman in question.”
“I fail to see what skill has to do with it.” Helene seemed to have thrown her customary reticence to the wind. “It hurt. It hurt initially and then it continued to hurt, and I do think Rees was right in thinking that I simply am not suited to the act. And I have to say, Esme, I am much happier not having to perform those duties. It’s very hard to countenance a man pawing me about in that manner. Last year, for example, I could not bring myself to allow Stephen Fairfax-Lacy any intimacies. I am not accustomed to it.”
Obviously whatever happened between the bedsheets in the Godwin bedchamber was beyond repair at this point, so Esme reverted to practicality. “When do you think to wear your new gown?”
“If Madame Rocque can have one made up so quickly, I might wear it to Lady Hamilton’s ball,” Helene said.
“That’s not for two weeks! Believe me, Madame Rocque will make you a gown with two days’ notice at most, given what just occurred in her own establishment.”
“But I’m working on a new waltz and it’s going well. I don’t want to lose my direction with this sort of foolishness.” Helene rose and stood before the mirror again. “Do you truly think that I must discard my corset?”
“Absolutely.”
“What will I do with my hair?”
“Why don’t you wear it down?”
“It’s dreadfully unfashionable,” Helene said dubiously. She pulled a number of pins from her hair and undid her braids. When she was finished, she was surrounded by a shimmering curtain of hair falling, waterfall-like, to the top of her legs.
