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Reflection (Prouvaire): December, 1829
"You couldn't be prettier if you were a girl," Christophe said to me, and though he was laughing the phrase stayed in my mind. "And why not?" I asked him, thoroughly out of context, perhaps an hour later. He blinked at me. "Why not what?" "Why couldn't I be prettier if I was a girl?" He grinned. "Well, I suppose you could, if you tried." I kissed his cheek. "It might be interesting." "You would be devastating." He ran his fingers through my hair. "Jeannette, belle of the Latin Quarter." "Ah, well. It's an intriguing thought." "We could manage most of it, if you wanted." I frowned. "Most of --" Christophe shrugged. "A dress for my pretty mistress, seamstress, and such-and-so are her measurements. Powder for her fair cheek, and paint for her lips." "Christophe." I could feel myself blushing. "You would be splendid." I hesitated. "Would you like it?" "Very much, petite." His voice had gone softer. "And think of Aimery's face." I laughed. "You're terrible." "I know," he said complacently, and kissed me. "Tomorrow, then?" "Hmm?" "It will take a while to have everything made, won't it?" He grinned. "Ah. Yes. Tomorrow." We chose a lavender fabric for the dress, chattering loudly about Christophe's mistress and her tastes. He had it in mind to use the latest fashions, and would often declaim, "Nothing Imperial for my beloved." This led us away from the more relaxed, gentle outfits and into the realm of flounced skirts and fichus. The petticoats gave me pause, for I had no clear idea of how many were necessary, and the stays were frankly terrifying. Christophe had apparently assisted enough of his mistresses in the process to have some idea of what to ask for and what measurements were important in what area. It was all a gift for his betrothed, we had decided, and we laughed in private at the expressions of the shop attendants at his forward questions about which particular design was easiest for the wearer to put on or remove alone. We argued about the aesthetics once, but he solved the matter by pointing out two ladies on our way home, one in the height of fashion and looking terribly warm, whose hips and breasts were quite obscured, and one in an older gown, who was delightful to the eye because all of her charms were her own, helped only by the subtlest of stays. When we arrived, he had me put on one of his nightgowns and poked at me. "You have no breasts, cher, no hips, and nowhere to put either." "Even if I'm wearing a corset I won't have any breasts," I said, still uncomfortable at the thought of all those layers, let alone the expense. "Ah, but you'll have a place to put the handkerchief." I took off the nightgown and threw it at him. He caught it, laughing, and tugged me onto the bed, where he kissed me until I admitted that he was right. He was enamored of a particular hat in a milliner's shop. I thought it was hideously gaudy and would not go at all well with the outfit. He sulked until I offered to make it a present from me, rather than from him, and then he gave in and let me choose a simpler bonnet, tied with a puffy purple ribbon that I felt suited perfectly well. As we acquired each piece, we tested them for comfort under great duress, until I was certain that I could bear the costume. At last all of the paints and frills were completed and paid for, and I sent a note to Aimery asking him to meet me at home at ten-o'clock. Christophe lingered after we dined together, helping me into the corset, the carefully placed padding at the bosom, the slip, and the dress. He tugged at them as fussily as any lady-in-waiting, and we grinned at each other. And last, with a delicate hand, he painted my lips. We had only experimented with the cosmetics the night before, and that had been without the dress, without the ringlets the heated iron sealed into my hair, and without the delicate slippers, only finished that evening. "You're beautiful," he told me, and kissed my cheek. "I wish I could stay." "You can." He grinned. "Tomorrow, perhaps. I couldn't keep from laughing tonight." I frowned at him. "Why not?" "You're simply lovely, that's all." "Am I?" "Yes." He glanced at his watch. "And I've a meeting to attend in ten minutes. Good night, petite. Tell me everything?" I kissed him at length. "Of course." Christophe grinned at me. "Good luck." He put on his hat and left, whistling as he went down the stairs. It was not yet nine; Aimery was not due for another hour, if he were punctual, which is not one of his better traits. I had my wide skirts to contend with, but I could still use my chair. I sat and read quite peacefully until a curl fell into my eyes and utterly refused to be tucked behind my ear and stay there. I set the book on my desk and got up to look in my mirror. Because Christophe had done my make-up for me, I had not seen the full regalia completed until I paused, blinking at Jeannette's face framed in my mirror. I caught my breath at the sight of her, and her soft lips parted in a gasp. I blinked, and her blue eyes widened a little. She was the very picture of a beautiful young lady. Whatever Christophe had done with the powders, the paints, the neckline, had created a lovely girl whom I felt I had never met before, and who so bewitched my senses that I could not recognize myself in her. The mere sight of her -- as she bent her head, her long, fair neck; the hint of her tongue touching her bottom lip nervously; her pale fingers as she pushed her hair away from her eyes; her steady, flirtatious gaze -- all these things made my pulse race and brought more color to her cheeks, as if she were aware of my state and pleased to produce such an effect in me in such a short time. I grinned at her and she smiled back, a little shyly. I murmured, "Coquette," to her softly, and we laughed together at the endearment. I knew Aimery was coming, but a glance at my pocketwatch, discarded in a heap of clothes, showed me that he would not arrive for another forty-five minutes at the earliest. Jeannette glanced at me under her lashes, encouraging me, and I slid my hand under the layers of her skirts, seeking release. We had not invested in the lower halves of undergarments, as they seemed thoroughly unnecessary under the circumstances. And yet as my hand skimmed my bare thigh and Jeannette's eyes closed, I realized it would be far better to finish my preparations before Aimery arrived, before he was surprised and -- with any luck -- as enamored of Jeannette as I was. I nodded to her in farewell, and she glanced at me longingly over her shoulder as we parted, however briefly. When I had found the oil in the corner where Christophe put it, I glanced at her again. She blushed at me, and then smiled a little, bravely, as I knelt on the bed, I tugged the skirts up, out of the way, so as not to get anything on them. I had rescued several handkerchiefs from Christophe's overenthusiastic attempt at bosoms, and I kept them to hand should there be any mishaps. I wet my fingers with oil and then, half-avoiding Jeanette's embarrassed glances, pressed them inside myself, imagining Christophe's teasing hands. A little more oil, more gentle strokes, and I could meet Jeannette's eyes again. They were brighter than they had been before, though half-lidded with pleasure, and a fond smile played about her lips. Her history showed in her knowing glances at me. Surely she was no virgin -- and it came to me as I eased my knees farther apart and added a third finger how ludicrous it was to think she might have been. Christophe's mistress, whom he had bought trinkets for nearly every day for a month, a virgin? It was utterly implausible. I peered at her to ascertain the truth and saw her looking defensive, as if it were anything to hide from me. I smiled at her to reassure her and heard her soft gasp, felt the slick glide of my fingers within her. Hardly a virgin, this one, who brazenly met my eyes as she caressed herself, making herself fully ready to greet her lover's friend with every intimacy she had ever mastered and abandon herself to joy. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing brighter, and I could not bear the sight any longer. I caught up the handkerchiefs and caressed myself, pressing my fingers deeper, tugging and stroking in a practiced rhythm until I lost sight of Jeannette and came to the sound of her whimpers. When I opened my eyes, I could only see myself in the mirror with elaborate curls in my hair and careful paint on my lips. I was disoriented for a moment, wondering where she had gone, until I tugged my fingers out of myself and felt the twist of my hips. Then I knew she was in me, where she had always truly been. I wiped myself off and stood, brushing the skirts down and wriggling my toes in the unfamiliar slippers. I could feel her in my posture, and when I crossed the room, in the sway of my hips, which I had never been conscious of before I met her. I removed the evidence of my rendezvous, set the things I assumed I would need later in an accessible place, and sat down again to wait for Aimery, chuckling at myself and at Jeannette from time to time. She waited with every semblance of calm, trying to read but distracted by thoughts of the handsome boy who would visit her soon and the marvelous pleasure that awaited her at his hands. I smoothed my skirts, sure that Aimery would get on splendidly with such an eager and charming girl.
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