her fingers shook with nervous excitement.
Ironically, she’d read about the Madame and her notorious “stable of studs” in the Evening Malborough . The prime attraction was that the Madame, or at least her stable, made house calls, for Phillipa doubted that she would have had the nerve to visit the infamous Pall Mall and its stretch of gentleman’s clubs.
Not really knowing what to expect, she had been surprised by the middle-aged woman who floated into her home a month ago. Petite of stature with pale blonde hair and strikingly beautiful, Madame was a ray of light in the dark room.
“For now, all you want is a companion?” Madame Valant regarded Phillipa closely over the rim of the delicate tea service.
Phillipa took a deep breath and replied, “Yes. Although Harry died over three years ago, I am not eager to enter into the confines of a conventional marriage. I just want the company of a man to brighten the halls of this home again, even if it’s just for a few hours,” she added quietly, unable to meet the other woman’s gaze. Instead, she looked down at her dress and straightened her tartan skirt for the hundredth time across the mahogany sofa.
“I truly understand, ma chérie. When my benefactor died, I was surprised at how much I missed not only him, but his very maleness, and the security and protection that his mere presence provided. And perhaps one day you will feel comfortable enough with one of mes garçons that you might be willing to quench your baser needs.”
Phillipa opened her mouth to refute that prediction, but Madame Valant leaned over and placed a creamy, heavily bejeweled hand on her knee. “Tut, tut, cherie. You are a woman in your prime. And one that I assume was well loved and was used to the pleasures between a man and woman. If you were not, you would never have called me. Sooner or later, I hope you will indulge in my fine stock to satisfy all your womanly needs.”
And tonight might be that night, Phillipa mused as her coach ambled through the crowded streets of inner London. Over the course of a few short weeks—while the Madame searched for a suitable placement—her initial disquiet had turned into one of anticipation.
Like a connoisseur of fine wine, Madame Valant had supposedly chosen her bevy of male companions well. Not only were they rumored to be handsome, but well educated as well, many of them the bastard children of the nobility.
So even if her visits remained innocent in nature, such as sharing the occasional evening meal, playing backgammon or even discussing the evening papers, she had the option of tasting from the Madame’s stock if she was sorely tempted. And considering her heightened eagerness for her unconventional company, sooner might be now rather than later.
The Merry Widow: Chapter 2
Although Reginald, Viscount Bellomont, knew what he was about to do was asinine and totally improper, he couldn’t help himself. When he was hell-bent on something, it was hard for him to give up without at least exercising all of his options.
And many of them had already dried up, for Widow Jones had turned out be a true anomaly by directly competing with him for the lucrative Canadian timber route. As the son of a wastrel earl, forced to amass his own considerable fortune, Reggie found the current situation intolerable.
Pushing his reservations aside, he climbed two at a time the steps to the three-story home at No 4 Pembridge Square, and lifted the lion-head doorknocker.
With startling efficiency, the door opened, flooding the stoop with a warm glow. A stout woman dressed in the customary servant’s uniform filled the doorway. Her gray eyes looked him up and down, and he suspected that she found him wanting. That was an unusual occurrence for him, considering his combined holdings brought in over twenty-two thousand pounds annually.
“Is Mrs. Jones home?” he asked as the woman looked past him to the street beyond.
“Yes! And you’re late!” she
Ironically, she’d read about the Madame and her notorious “stable of studs” in the Evening Malborough . The prime attraction was that the Madame, or at least her stable, made house calls, for Phillipa doubted that she would have had the nerve to visit the infamous Pall Mall and its stretch of gentleman’s clubs.
Not really knowing what to expect, she had been surprised by the middle-aged woman who floated into her home a month ago. Petite of stature with pale blonde hair and strikingly beautiful, Madame was a ray of light in the dark room.
“For now, all you want is a companion?” Madame Valant regarded Phillipa closely over the rim of the delicate tea service.
Phillipa took a deep breath and replied, “Yes. Although Harry died over three years ago, I am not eager to enter into the confines of a conventional marriage. I just want the company of a man to brighten the halls of this home again, even if it’s just for a few hours,” she added quietly, unable to meet the other woman’s gaze. Instead, she looked down at her dress and straightened her tartan skirt for the hundredth time across the mahogany sofa.
“I truly understand, ma chérie. When my benefactor died, I was surprised at how much I missed not only him, but his very maleness, and the security and protection that his mere presence provided. And perhaps one day you will feel comfortable enough with one of mes garçons that you might be willing to quench your baser needs.”
Phillipa opened her mouth to refute that prediction, but Madame Valant leaned over and placed a creamy, heavily bejeweled hand on her knee. “Tut, tut, cherie. You are a woman in your prime. And one that I assume was well loved and was used to the pleasures between a man and woman. If you were not, you would never have called me. Sooner or later, I hope you will indulge in my fine stock to satisfy all your womanly needs.”
And tonight might be that night, Phillipa mused as her coach ambled through the crowded streets of inner London. Over the course of a few short weeks—while the Madame searched for a suitable placement—her initial disquiet had turned into one of anticipation.
Like a connoisseur of fine wine, Madame Valant had supposedly chosen her bevy of male companions well. Not only were they rumored to be handsome, but well educated as well, many of them the bastard children of the nobility.
So even if her visits remained innocent in nature, such as sharing the occasional evening meal, playing backgammon or even discussing the evening papers, she had the option of tasting from the Madame’s stock if she was sorely tempted. And considering her heightened eagerness for her unconventional company, sooner might be now rather than later.
The Merry Widow: Chapter 2
Although Reginald, Viscount Bellomont, knew what he was about to do was asinine and totally improper, he couldn’t help himself. When he was hell-bent on something, it was hard for him to give up without at least exercising all of his options.
And many of them had already dried up, for Widow Jones had turned out be a true anomaly by directly competing with him for the lucrative Canadian timber route. As the son of a wastrel earl, forced to amass his own considerable fortune, Reggie found the current situation intolerable.
Pushing his reservations aside, he climbed two at a time the steps to the three-story home at No 4 Pembridge Square, and lifted the lion-head doorknocker.
With startling efficiency, the door opened, flooding the stoop with a warm glow. A stout woman dressed in the customary servant’s uniform filled the doorway. Her gray eyes looked him up and down, and he suspected that she found him wanting. That was an unusual occurrence for him, considering his combined holdings brought in over twenty-two thousand pounds annually.
“Is Mrs. Jones home?” he asked as the woman looked past him to the street beyond.
“Yes! And you’re late!” she
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