Chapter 22: New beginnings

As the carriage rumbled along the road to Lille I saw that Matilde was still silently weeping. I pulled her to me and kissed her. She snuggled into me, glad to have a comforting arm around her, and gradually her tears stopped.

"I'm sorry to be such a melancholy travelling companion, Jacques, but I am already missing Blanchards, and Mimi and Chloe."

"As do I, but we must look to the future. I know you will be welcomed in London, and in no time at all you will be making new friends." I wiped a tear from her cheek with my handkerchief. "Besides, we will be making frequent visits to Blanchards – I also will miss the place, and its people."

She cheered up, and then started asking questions about life in London. I answered, as best I could, but I had spent only the merest time in London, having only taken up residence in Queen Street in January 1817, and then, from mid-February of that year, had been sent dashing hither and yon.

Actually, I had not given much thought to how my life would be changed, with Matilde living with me. No doubt she would be regarded by all and sundry as my mistress – which I suppose she was, and would remain so, at least until Caroline returned to England. It would then depend if the love between myself and Caroline was still ardent, or indeed if she was still a widow, whether Matilde would remain my mistress.

The English have a dislike of foreigners in general, and of the French in particular, and Matilde spoke very little English, which would isolate her from the general populace even more than her nationality. It was doubtful if London society would call upon me, or invite me to their homes, if they knew I was cohabiting with a French woman. I knew that Krish, Zinnia and Becky, and possibly Colonel Slade and Patrick Jane, would not shun me, but I wanted Matilde to be happy in London, and that would not happen if she spent most of her time staring out of the window at St James Park, instead of attending balls and soirées. I wracked my brain to how I could square the circle, of having Matilde live with me, while making it acceptable to the great and the good of London society.

Like a bolt from the blue the solution to my predicament suddenly came to me–I would make her my ward! Some eyebrows might be raised that a girl of near nineteen would be made a ward of a man less than ten years older than her. Tongues may wag, but ward-ship is a legal state, and to those who ascribed anything to the action, other than my gratitude for her nursing me back to full health, I could do no better than quote the motto of the Order of the Garter. For those who are not conversant with that order of chivalry, their motto is 'Honi soit qui mal y pense', which can be translated as 'Dishonour to him who thinks evil of it'.

Now I had an answer to the problem I would need to send letters: to Krish, so that he could affirm that Matilde's nursing had saved my life; to my brother Isaac, to draw up the relevant documents – I would promise him a good pay day for his trouble – like any lawyer he would swallow any disquiet he may hold and take the money; to my staff in London, to have them make ready a bedroom for Matilde, and in fact ready them for the imminent arrival of their master. I would be able to obtain a quill and paper, and a post boy to take the mail onward, at the hostelry in Hazebrouck where we intended spending the night.

As the day had gone on the weather had deteriorated, so that by dusk the wind was blowing strongly and rain was sheeting down. It was as well that I had decided to stop the night at Hazebrouck as the worsening weather was making the journey hazardous and unpleasant, besides tiring the team of horses. On arrival at the warm, dry and comfortable 'Le Voyageur' hostelry at Hazebrouck I let Matilde know of my plan to make her my ward.

She was puzzled as to why I thought it necessary, and I explained that living together as man and wife, and not being married, would offend the sensibilities of 'Society', and we would not be welcomed at the grand houses, nor at any of the events, where the gentry and 'Society' gathered.

"Do not Englishmen take mistresses? Surely I would be considered as your mistress, and you could attend the events as a man with his mistress, as would other men with their mistresses?"

I explained that in England a man did not flaunt his mistress in public. Both he and she would be shunned and ignored by 'Society', if they appeared together at a ball or the theatre.

"They could meet at the event, as if by chance, and no one would turn a hair, but if a married man arrived at a function, with his mistress on his arm and not his wife, then they might well be refused entrance."

"Does not the Prince Regent attend functions with Mrs Fitzherbert?"

I was surprised by her knowledge of English affairs, but knew the Prince Regent was the talk of Europe, occasioned by his flamboyant style of living.

"He does, from time to time, but as heir to the throne he may do as he pleases–but he is castigated and pilloried in the newspapers, and mocked by the satirists and cartoonists."

Matilde shook her head in bewilderment. "In France a man is judged by the number, and accomplishments, of his mistresses. His wife will take lovers, and all meet and mingle amicably at all functions. Is it not the same in England?"

I tried to explain to her the workings of the double standard that English society employs.

"The English expect the leaders of their society to have the most rigid of morals–but of course they do not. Therefore we have developed the habit of ignoring the decadent behaviour of our 'betters', just so long as they don't do it in the street and frighten the horses, or parade it in the face of the populace, We all know who is sleeping with whom, who has been cuckolded, who is a drunkard, or who a pervert, but if an immorality is not acknowledged to exist then it does not exist. One reason why so many of our writers live abroad is that they not only flout the 'status quo' but flaunt their actions, leading to them being ostracized."

"Well, if you ask me it seems to be a very hypocritical way to behave. It is no wonder that your nation is known in France as 'Perfidious Albion!"

I could only but agree with her.

We had a good supper in the hostelry – I must laud the high standard of the cuisine in even the meanest of taverns of France – then retired to our room, which I saw with approval had a roaring fire, and a large, comfortable looking, bed. Matilde began to prepare herself for bed, which I hoped included her taking precautions to prevent pregnancy, and I went back downstairs to write my letters – even between lovers some things are best done in private – and I don't mean just the writing of letters.

In the letter to Krish I gave brief details of my intention to make Matilde my ward. I noted that she was an orphan, with no other male relations, and that she was a wealthy woman, with a third share of an estate. Krish was no fool, and had probably realised the state of affairs between me and the three girls, long before I took Matilde to be my regular bed companion. He might not condone my relationship with her, but as a good friend he would do all to assist me. I also emphasized the fact that Matilde would be like a magnet to dissolute young men of the aristocracy, looking for a young heiresses that they might debauch, marry, and then spend/waste their inheritance. I would be a bulwark against such predators. As for Isaac, well, I made it clear that Matilde was an heiress – always a good ploy to gain the attention of a lawyer. With me as her guardian it would ensure that she would not be disadvantaged by the Renoir sisters in any division of the estate's income, not that I thought for one minute they would do such a thing.

Finally, in the letter to my butler, whose name I didn't yet know, as Krish and Zinnia had seen to the hiring of the replacements for Woody and Abigail, I asked that a French-speaking ladies' maid be employed immediately, and a bedroom, and separate sitting room, prepared, for what would be a long term guest. All three letters were placed in one package, which I addressed to Doctor Armityge; Horse Guards, Whitehall, London. That address would speed the mail, and when received I knew that Krish would see that the enclosed letters were delivered.

I sealed the package and enjoined Mine Host to send it poste haste with the next post boy that called. When eventually I went up to my room I found Matilde in bed, sound asleep.

She looked adorable; long dark hair fanned out on her pillow, ruby red lips, slightly parted, and her magnificent breasts slowly rising and falling as she breathed, the nipples peaking against the sheet. It was a sight that any man would enjoy waking up alongside. If things did not turn out as hoped with Caroline then I would be a fool not to keep hold of the this lovely, loving, girl. In fact, even if things did turn out as hoped with Caroline I would still be a fool to discard such a prize.

I got into bed quietly, trying not to disturb her. It had been a long tiring day, and in fact the previous night we had made The Beast with Two Backs several times, and I admit that a night of uninterrupted sleep would not come amiss.

I woke next morning at first light, with a rampantly erect plunger, a Morning Glory, as some call it.

Matilde stretched awake a few minutes later. "Good morning, Jacques. Forgive me for falling asleep before you joined me in bed." She then became aware of the mighty erection I was sporting. "However, I see that you are ready to make up for the lost opportunity!" She embraced me, and we exchanged a warm kiss as her hand took hold of my plunger, but before it could be guided into her portal there came a knock on the door.

"M'sieur, your coachman is ready. Shall you have petit dejeuner before leaving?"

I wanted to leave as early as possible, in order to catch the first available sailing from Calais. I estimated it would take five hours to reach the port from Hazebrouck, which would mean an afternoon crossing, then an overnight stay in Dover.

"Inform my coachman we shall leave in an hour, and prepare breakfast immediately."

Just over an hour later we were on the road to Calais. Although the rain had ceased, the wind soon picked up to the strength and ferocity of the previous day, and our journey took slightly longer than I had anticipated, as we needed to make several detours to avoid fallen trees.

On arrival at the port we learned that all sailings had been cancelled, due to the gales in the Channel. There was nothing for it but to put up in a dockside tavern and wait out the storm. As we had not eaten since breakfast, which in the French fashion had consisted only of coffee with croissants and rolls, Matilde and I had an early supper, and then went up to our room. It was not such a well-appointed chamber as 'Le Voyageur' at Hazebrouck, but as many travellers were stranded, waiting for a passage across the Channel, there was little else in the way of accommodation available in Calais.

Matilde was in a strange mood. I suspected that she was only now becoming aware of the momentous decision she had made. She was leaving all she knew at Blanchards, and casting her lot in with a man who did not love her with the same passion as she loved him. Matilde also knew it was more than likely that when Caroline Ashford returned to England I would rekindle my relationship with her. Indeed, I believe it was this factor that initiated what turned out to be a very testing and thorough examination of both of our characters that night.

"When do you think that Caroline will arrive back in England?"

Matilde posed the question in a sulky tone of voice, which was quite contrary to her usual light and pleasant way of speaking. She was lazing on the bed, leaning on one elbow, clothed in a short, skimpy, chemise that I had not seen her wearing before. The dark triangle of her pubic hair could be clearly discerned through the flimsy material; her stiffened nipples showed clearly against the bodice, which was so low cut that most of her left breast was on view. In fact she was the epitome of a slut, waiting, and wanting, to be ravished – which was so unlike her normal demeanour. In that wanton pose, with her dark hair and red glistening lips – both her mouth and her madge –Matilde bore an uncanny resemblance to Eloise de La Zouche, and she gave off that same sensual air which had so inflamed me in Cape Town. Mr John Thomas was definitely interested, and made his presence felt.

"That depends on when Caroline left Bermuda. She may not leave until she learns of her father's death, or she may have left some time ago, when she feared for his health. It could be as long as four months. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I think you should make the best use of me now, before she arrives, and I am cast aside like a worn out whore!"

"I don't think that is appropriate language for a young lady to use, Matilde. Whatever happens you know my affection and fondness for you will not diminish."

"I don't want your fondness or affection. I want that erect zob I saw this morning; pounding deep inside me, filling me with hot, throbbing, rigid flesh!" She hefted her left breast completely from her chemise. "I know you love to suck and bite on my nipples. Well, here. Suck on this!"

I was amazed, both at the coarse and vulgar term she had used in describing my plunger, and her harlot-like behaviour.

I should have made my displeasure at her conduct known to her, and jolt her from the licentious attitude she was displaying, but I am but a normal weak willed man when it comes to female flesh. Instead I buried my face in her warm enveloping breast, taking the nipple into my mouth and sucking on it like an un-weaned babe.