“My name is Marie,” said the woman. Juliet was embarrassed to be holding the pink dress up to view herself in the full-length mirror. “That’s a lovely dress, Mademoiselle LaCompte. We didn’t know your exact size, so I hope it suits you. Monsieur Varnier has excellent taste, n’est-ce pas?”
Juliet nodded. “I’ve never seen such beautiful things.” She looked down at her own dress that hung on her like a box.
“No matter,” said Marie. “I’m to help you with your bath and your hair for dinner with Monsieur Varnier this evening. He’s just returned.”
The fact that the mysterious Monsieur Varnier was now in the house made everything—this house, the dresses, this new life—seem real. This knowledge made her skin tingle. Juliet’s heart fluttered with nerves.
Marie opened a door, revealing the expansive bath attached to her room. When Juliet entered the bath, she was shocked. The room was as large as her family’s kitchen. She had never had a luxurious bath like this one, content to sponge off most days at the small sink she shared with Delphine.
After her bath, she took a nap while her hair dried. Exhausted from travel and nerves, she fell into a deep sleep until Marie woke her with some coffee and a biscuit. Seated in front of the vanity, Juliet watched as Marie sectioned off her chestnut hair with deep copper and gold pieces around her face and knotted it on top of her head, pulling tendrils down and curling them with pins.
“You have magnificent hair, mademoiselle,” said Marie. “It is like the mane of a lion.”
It was odd that Juliet had never considered herself beautiful. She’d thought only that Marchant had chosen her from all the other girls in the village because she lived in the next house, never because she was beautiful.
“Merci,” said Juliet. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Marie looked into the mirror at her.
“What is Monsieur Varnier like?” Juliet studied Marie’s face for a reaction, but she showed nothing.
“I have only worked for him for a short while,” admitted the woman. “He has been quite generous to me. He doesn’t seem to care much for details about the house, which is odd.”
“Is there a Madame Varnier?”
Marie shook her head. “Non. It’s a shame, really. He’s a most handsome man. The women notice him on the street, and a few have sent notes inviting him to parties, but he doesn’t go out much during the day.” Marie buttoned her into the blue dress and helped her with shoes that were horribly too large. “Oh dear. We’ll have to fix this tomorrow, but for tonight this will have to do,” Marie said, stuffing a cotton in the toes. Marie pulled a cameo pin from the jewelry box on the vanity and secured it to the center of the lace blouse, then pulled the pins from Juliet’s hair, positioning the tendrils around her face. As Marie studied her work in the mirror, she seemed pleased. Juliet could not believe the figure that stared back at her. The dress was too large in the bust, but the rest of it fit beautifully. Still, Juliet couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dressing up in her mother’s clothes and shoes—all too big.
Marie excused herself, taking Juliet’s old clothes with her.
At eight, a clock from the downstairs hallway chimed and Juliet heard a door creak slowly open from the first floor. She gathered her skirt to avoid tripping on it and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, listening for something, but the house was deadly still. She peered over the railing and finally saw a man pass under her. He stopped.
“Are you going to stand up there, Mademoiselle LaCompte, or are you coming down?” The man tilted his head and looked up at her.
His very presence and confidence made Juliet feel faint. She had never seen a man—or anyone for that matter—who filled a room like Monsieur Lucian Varnier. Not even Marchant, who was the most sophisticated man she’d ever met—up until this point—commanded a room with the energy of Varnier. He walked over to the steps and leaned on the banister, waiting for her to descend. Juliet started and then stopped, her heels falling out of her shoes until she pulled them off, holding them in her hand.
She compared every man with Marchant now. Varnier was shorter and slighter, but only a little so. His features were not soft like Marchant’s big green doe eyes and sculpted nose. Varnier’s features were not delicate. Instead he was all lines and angles. In fact, he looked like a handsome farmhand who’d come into money, where Marchant looked like he’d been accustomed to money and soft things all of his life.
Juliet couldn’t tell if she was a disappointment to Monsieur Varnier. She stepped onto the floor, her stockings slippery. She looked down at her shoes and then held them up. “They’re too big.”
He smiled. “Then leave them there. I’ll have Monsieur de Passe buy you new ones in your size tomorrow. Sadly, you won’t be able to enjoy a stroll of Paris after dinner, but perhaps we can do that tomorrow.”
Juliet bowed slightly. His friendliness had disarmed her.
“You look enchanting,” he added and pointed the way to the dining room.
The long table that Juliet had seen earlier was now set up for two with Monsieur Varnier at the head of the table and a place for Juliet to his left. The place settings were elaborate, and a spray of red, pink, and green flowers sat in the center of the table in a colored vase.
A server presented the first course, a soup—creamy vegetable bisque. Juliet ate in silence, only touching a few spoonfuls of the soup, her nerves making it impossible to eat. She watched his moves at the table, mimicking them as she maneuvered through her first formal dinner.
Finally, Varnier spoke. “I trust your travels were fine?”
“Yes… quite fine.”
“So how do you like Paris?”
“It is overwhelming, sir.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s an honest answer.”
Juliet put down her spoon. “Monsieur Varnier?” She wasn’t sure if it was stupidity or bravery that finally made her speak, for both emotions seemed to descend upon her simultaneously. “May I ask you something?”
He pushed the bowl away, folding his hands. “Of course.”
“I wished to inquire about my position here with you. I wanted to thank you, of course, first.”
He smiled, yet it was a hollow smile, not sincere at all. “You are most welcome, mademoiselle.”
“What exactly will I be doing for you?”
A door opened, interrupting Varnier as he was about to speak. The server, a man, removed the soup. In another moment the table was cleared and Marie entered the dining room carrying a plate of fish. “It is turbot with lemon and capers,” said the woman.
Varnier waited until the servants shut the door behind them. Then he cleared his throat. He leaned in toward Juliet. “You are my guest here, mademoiselle. There are no requirements of you.”
“But,” Juliet stuttered. “I don’t understand. Surely, I have a job. Cleaning or—”
“Or?” Varnier sat back in his chair. “Not to be crass, Mademoiselle LaCompte, but do you have any skills?”
Juliet looked down at the dish in front of her and shook her head, finally bursting into tears. “I have none, sir, other than farm chores, which honestly I did quite poorly.” Her body heaved in the chair, almost beginning to spasm. “I don’t know why I’m here, monsieur. I’m confused.”