Phoebe almost blushed at the burst of pleasure she saw warm Max’s expression at her praise, and at the knowledge that her words had meant so much to him.
“Oh, and I know where he’ll go! He told me of a club,” Nina said, almost bouncing with excitement now. “He was eager to go there, to try his luck. It is run by two young men. One is the Comte de Villen, the other his illegitimate brother. It has become the place to be seen in Paris. It’s quite a sensation, from what he told me.”
“Ah,” Lemoine said, nodding sagely. “Casino Rouge et Noir. Oui, it is exclusive, très chic.” He looked them over and gave a delicate cough. “You will wish to… ah, see to your—” He waved a hand at their rumpled clothes with a little moue of distaste. “Only a select few may enter. Le Comte ’as nothing to do with the club, though, his brother is lord and master there. Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau. If you say at the door that Lemoine sent you, you will gain entry, but ’ave a care with both Le Comte and Demarteau. Do not underestimate them for their youth; they are ruthless.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Lemoine, you have been most gracious to help us,” Max said, at which Lemoine preened a little. “If you could furnish us with the address, and perhaps recommend a hotel where we might make ourselves fit to be seen, we will leave you to your day.”
“Bien sûr, bien sûr,” Lemoine said smoothly. “You leave everything with me, monseigneur, I will see to it.”
As good as his word, and generously recompensed by Max for it, Monsieur Lemoine had them installed in the elegant if surprisingly named Hotel Westminster, just on the other side of the Seine, and only a quarter of an hour from the exclusive destination of Rouge et Noir.
Phoebe looked at the selection of clothes she had to choose from and decided that, if there had ever been an occasion for something a little scandalous, this was the moment.
The hotel had supplied Phoebe with a maid to help her dress, and the young woman’s eyes grew round and wide as Phoebe selected the scarlet silk gown. The bodice was tightly fitted and low cut to display a generous amount of bosom, and the sleeves were set off the shoulder before billowing into large puffs of scalloped silk edged with black silk trim. From elbow to wrist, the material was fitted to her arm and secured with a parade of tiny black silk buttons. The waist was cinched in tight by a belt of black silk with a gold buckle, and the wide skirts were trimmed with the same scallop design as the sleeves, in a wide band of three tiers above the hem. Black silk gloves and red silk slippers completed her outfit. To Phoebe’s astonishment, the French had even more extraordinary fashions for hair than at home, and she winced and bit her lip as her blonde locks were wrangled into a complicated arrangement of curls and plaits, which were then adorned with three red roses.
“Magnifique!” the maid breathed with a happy sigh, as she stood back and inspected her handiwork.
Phoebe had to admit it was an impressive arrangement, if designed with the intention of giving her a migraine before this adventure was very much older. Still, it was nice to be dressed at the height of fashion, even if she did look more like a Cyprian than an earl’s wife. With a jolt, she wondered if she would be an earl’s wife.
Max had acted so very well when they had met at Monsieur Lemoine’s. He had been gracious, and he had apologised for his behaviour, and she believed he had meant it. After all, he had not once reproached her for worrying him so, and she had seen the relief in his eyes for herself. The poor man had been beside himself. Yet a tinge of doubt remained that he had only acted so to avoid a scene. Would not his instinct always be to keep her in the dark if there was something that might worry or disturb her? She still feared that he would not share his troubles with her and allow her to be a part of his world, a true partner in their lives together.
Well, tonight would likely be a good test for them both. Max would see what manner of woman he wished to tie himself to