Likewise, it was impossible that anyone should know what had happened while they were alone; and yet, the way Madame Auvray spoke…
Onora refused to be intimidated. TheFrenchwoman’s questionable morals colored all her conversation. Doubtless, she was entertaining herself by seeking a rise from her. “Were you seeking my assistance, Madame?” She ignored her line of questioning. “To borrow something, perhaps?” She was irritated that Madame Auvray had waltzed in so breezily. It was likely she who’d been touching her belongings.
Madame Auvray looked amused. “It is I who come to offer assistance. At thesoiréetonight, Seton wishes us to dress in some Egyptian-style costume. Maria is so handy with her needle. I asked her to make a tunic the same as my own for you to wear. She came earlier to ‘borrow’, as you say, your nightgown, to take the measurements.”
Onora fought hard to control her temper. She could hardly object to Maria entering, for she had done so many times before, overseeing the laundering of her small clothing, as well as helping her dress.
Rather, she disliked the assumption that she would wear a costume in which she’d had no say. Theimposition was yet another example of the Frenchwoman overstepping boundaries.
As usual, Madame Auvray seemed immune to Onora’s animosity. “Those dusty tombs have left you in need of a bath, yes? I shall order the use of Seton’s bathing room, and we may make the small alterations to the gown afterward. Then we shall arrange your hair and make you look just so.”
Some hours later,as Onora sat at her dressing table, she hardly recognized the person looking back at her in the mirror.
The gown Maria had sewn was simple but flattering, made from swathes of silk in brilliant blue. The skirt was unadorned, tied at the waist with golden braid, while the bodice—if one could call it that—comprised nothing more than a drapery of soft pleats from each shoulder. This plunged in front and behind. With her arms bare, and not asingle undergarment beneath, it was scandalously indecent.
Yet strangely empowering.
Onora took a sip from the delightful cocktail Madame Auvray had brought for them to enjoy.
For some reason, the costume did not make her feel vulnerable or exposed. Rather, she felt very much in control. The effect was heightened by the facial paints Maria had applied— emerald upon her lids, and a framing of darker kohl. Both came in metal compacts and had undoubtedly been purchased in Paris, but Onora believed the ancients wore something similar. Back then, the green paste was derived from malachite, while the kohl came from mixing crushed galena ore with soot and oil, to create a thick black ointment.
Covering her hair was a shoulder-length, ebony-wig, blunt chopped and with a fringe, emulating the fashion of old. Onora rather liked it, for she looked utterly unlike herself. This aided the fantasy of her playing a role—that of anEgyptian queen, perhaps. There was a golden diadem to be worn, a small rearing cobra mounted at the front, painted in bands of gold and cobalt, and with blue glass for its eyes.
“Magnifique,” murmured Madame Auvray. “Now, we have the scented oil for your skin.Authentique,yes? We’ll remove your beautiful ring, so the oil does not taint it.”
Onora slid off the ring and reached for the bottle, but Madame Auvray made a scolding sound and lifted her arm. She dripped the oil onto the back of her hand, gliding firmly up her forearm, past her elbow, toward her shoulder. The limb felt heavy, but the way the Frenchwoman was touching her, in such a relaxing way, made everything pleasant.
Onora took more of her drink, then Maria raised her other arm, and began stroking the oil upon it. As the women caressed her, the languid feeling grew stronger.
I ought to hate this, havinghertouching me, but it feels so very luxurious and…sensual.
Onora felt the muscles in her neck ease from their knotted state. Perhaps the Frenchwoman was not so awful as she had thought. It was mostly that her outlook was different. As for her previous jealousy over Madame Auvray’s behavior with Seton and with Jack, it seemed nonsensical now.
“That is it,ma petite. Our touch relaxes you. The body knows what it needs.” Madame’s soft murmur washed over her.
Her eyes were closing. It would be so easy to fall asleep.
“You are fortunate to be marrying Lord Seton.” Madame Auvray’s gentle lilt continued. “You’ve been dreaming of him, perhaps? Of how it will be when you are married?”
Onora stiffened.
Madame Auvray and her maid paused momentarily in their massage, and Onora saw them exchange a look. Then Madame laughed, resuming her soothing strokes. “I see I am right, but there is nothing to reproach yourself for. These are the deepest desires ofyour mind, and your body. In ancient Egypt, dreams were thought to bring messages from the gods. What are these night visions telling you, Onora? Do they show you how you will become a woman?”
It was not a subject Onora cared to discuss. Exerting herself, she reclaimed her arms from the two women, folding them in front of her.
Madame Auvray’s smile failed. However, she moved smoothly to stand behind Onora. Bending over, she looked into the mirror upon the dressing table, at the reflection of them both.
The Frenchwoman’s costume was identical to Onora’s, as were her cosmetics and her wig, down to the headpiece with the serpent. The effect was strange to behold—another version of herself, almost the same, but for some slight differences.
Madame Auvray bent further, so her face was alongside Onora’s. As she did so, her gown slipped slightly, bearing the inner curve of her breast. Before Onora had the chance to avert her eyes, she glimpsed the embellishment there.
What is that?
She’d seen something of the kind before.
“You likemon petit tatouage?” Madame Auvray pulled aside the silk to display the decoration. “You say ‘tattoo’,oui?”
Onora could not look away.
