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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  512 Forest Lake Drive

  Warner Robins, Georgia 31093

  La Bonne

  Copyright © 2007 by Michèle de Lully

  Cover by Anne Cain

  ISBN: 1-59998-380-X

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2007

  La Bonne

  Michèle de Lully

  Dedication

  For S.C. La Bonne

  Chapter One

  The limousine had real leather seats, smooth and sensuous to the touch. My dress, on the other hand, was starched beyond all reason and terribly uncomfortable. Worse was the style, a horribly prim black sack with tacky white lace. It didn’t accent my figure at all.

  “It’s not supposed to,” the seamstress had told me. “You don’t want to be attracting the attention of the gentlemen of the household.” Because she knew my circumstances, she added, quite unnecessarily, “You’ve had enough of that.”

  Her comment was completely unfair. The particular man she was referring to was exactly the kind of man whose attention I needed. Older, true, but also stable, nice, and plenty handsome. I would have slept with him for free, just for a place to stay the night. Or maybe for the hope of something more, a relationship with a grown-up instead of a football hooligan. So when he hinted at a little something extra, I played along. Not having to go back to the apartment while my alleged boyfriend was still in a drunken rage and pick up a bit of cash? Well, why not?

  Because he was a gendarme, that’s why. One kiss, the money in my hands for ten seconds, and the cuffs came out. I have to admit, at first glance, I had been kind of excited. I hadn’t figured someone so clean-shaven for that kind of kinkiness. But then the speech, the ride downtown, a night in jail, and six months in a work-release program with used-up drug addicts and streetwalkers old enough to be on a pension.

  I had tried to explain that I wasn’t a professional, that I hadn’t ever done it for money before, but when my useless jerk of a boyfriend had shown up in court as my sole character witness, drunk as hell and shouting he’d teach me to whore around, and actually took a swing at me in the courtroom…the judge had turned to me and said, “And now we’ll make sure you never do it again.”

  They got me a job in a hotel, cleaning up rooms. I swore off men on my own, finally realizing that the punks and ruffians I had been with weren’t real men, and never would be. With a regular paycheck and no lad to drink it up, for the first time in my life, I had the chance to think about a future.

  That’s why I had leaped at the unexpected offer. I hadn’t planned on a career in the service industry, but I had always dreamed of what life in Cheroigne House would be like. The majestic old house stood outside of town, surrounded by acres of land that seemed untouched by the rest of the world. At some point in our lives, all of the children of the town had snuck up to the hedges and gazed at this legacy of nobility and wealth, wondering what it was like on the inside. Now I would find out. There was an opening for a personal maid.

  So here I was, in a limousine and a Victorian servant’s dress, riding up the half-mile driveway lined with stately old trees. Time seemed to flow backward, and the car almost turned into a carriage in my mind. I could imagine living here, like they had in the long-ago days, when everything was grand and simple, like a sepia photograph.

  Not that I had imagined doing it as a maid, but at this stage of my life, it was still a step up.

  “Just a moment, miss, and I’ll get your door,” said the driver as he pulled to a stop at the back of the house. He hadn’t been that solicitous when I got in the car in town, but the atmosphere of the house was irresistible.

  “You’ll use the back door,” he told me, almost apologetically, as he guided me up the stone-paved path. “We all do. It’s just the tradition. And you’ll find that tradition is still strong at Cheroigne House.”

  He turned me over to Maria, a plump woman in a white apron and the head of the downstairs staff. She gave me a cup of tea, a friendly smile, and stern words.

  “Dame Cheroigne has a long history of charitable efforts. Giving a girl like you a second chance isn’t usually one of them, but the detective on your case is a distant relation of the Cheroignes. It’s on his recommendation that you’re here. But it is my recommendation that allows you stay. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said weakly. So my handsome gendarme really had come through for me after all, in ways I had never imagined. He was a keeper, that one. Too bad he was married.

  “Your duties here will be simple housework. I’m sure you can manage. What will be difficult is living up to the standards of the House. The Dame will interview you in a while, you must demonstrate you know how to act in the presence of a lady.”

  I didn’t know how. But I guessed I could fake it by keeping my head down and being meek.

  “And stop staring at the floor. It makes you look…guilty.”

  Well, maybe not.

  I told myself to relax. After all, the worst that could happen was that I would be sent away, back to the halfway house, to live in the stinking, noisy city with the muggers and the car wrecks and the smog and the cheap, dirty hotel rooms full of cheap, dirty people.

  By the time I got to the bottom of the tea cup, I had made myself dizzy with wanting this job—even if it meant kissing up to old Maria every day. I gave her my sweetest smile and started paying attention to her lecture.

  Eventually, Maria decided I was at least worthy to see the grand old Dame, and went off to arrange it. She left her purse sitting out on the table. I thought that was rather untidy for a maid, until I realized it was supposed to be a test. I couldn’t resist. I checked to see how much she had staked out as bait.

  Her wallet had a lone bill in it. Nice, crisp, clean, and no doubt marked. At first I was insulted that they thought I could be tempted so cheaply. Then I decided Maria was just so out of touch with the real world that she thought such a pitiful amount was actually tempting.

  I did the only thing one can do in that situation. I added a bill from my own wallet to Maria’s. That would teach her.

  This little act of mischief boosted my spirits, and when Maria returned to escort me into the Dame’s presence, I was feeling ready to take on the worst Cheroigne House could throw at me.

  I was wrong.

  Dame Cheroigne looked me up and down and I shivered under her glare. She might have the elegant silver coiffure of a lady and the regal posture of a queen, but she had the eyes of a dragon. They missed nothing, and they could be misled by nothing.

  “Do you always sniffle so?” she demanded. I got the immediate impression that everything she would ever say to me would be a demand.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. It had been a long time since I had called anyone ma’am, but if I wanted this job, I would have to learn to like it.

  And in a way, I already did. It was nice to know exactly where you stood.

  “I like that,” she announced. “No excuses. Excuses are a waste of everyone’s time. Do you understand the nature of your position here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.
” Maria’s speeches were nothing compared to thirty seconds in the presence of the dragon. I’d be thrown out in a heartbeat if I broke the rules.

  “Very good,” the Dame said. That was it. I was dismissed from her attention until I broke the china, spilled the soup, or otherwise screwed up. Then she would notice me long enough to fire me.

  I was about to take myself back to the kitchen and my new life as under-assistant-chambermaid, when my attention was caught by a shining halo of gold floating into the room.

  She was young, perhaps eighteen. Her face radiated innocence, smooth white skin like skim milk under long yellow hair that hung down in curls and waves. Even in the overwhelming dress she wore, her perfect figure was obvious.

  The dress was just outrageous. An ocean of blue silk, with ribbons tied in knots so intricate that I could not count them from where I stood.

  “Grandma—” she started, but stopped when she saw me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “What is it, Amanda?” The Dame didn’t introduce me. Obviously she figured my uniform identified me as much as was necessary. Tradition, indeed.

  “I need help with this dress,” Amanda answered. “I can’t reach the buttons on the back.” And she turned around, revealing a disordered army of hooks and eyes.

  “Of course you can’t,” the Dame told her, looking in dismay at that forest of whalebone. “It’s a formal dress. But I’m not about to button it up for you twice, so you can wait until tomorrow to put it on.”

  Just watching made me feel like I was in a fairytale. I didn’t want it to fade away.

  “I’ll do it,” I blurted out.

  The Dame looked shocked, like she had forgotten I was in the room.

  But Amanda was grateful. She smiled shyly at me. “That would be wonderful.”

  My heart flopped to be the subject of that sweet gaze. I wanted to be her—this fairy princess, young and beautiful and pure. I wanted to be part of her world.

  I went over to Amanda and began fussing with the hooks while the old Dame glared at me.

  I had to move her golden hair out of the way, and the silky smoothness of it felt like cool water in my hand. Amanda’s bare back was unblemished ivory, firm and supple, creamy. I would have envied her perfection if I wasn’t so awed by it.

  Pulling on the hooks, I bound up the back of the dress. When I was done, I swept her hair back into place and turned her to face a small ornamental mirror hanging from the wall.

  “Stand up straight,” I murmured, pulling gently on her shoulder while my other hand pressed into her back. The change in posture made her chest stand out most impressively.

  The Dame watched me with a critical eye.

  “It’s lovely,” Amanda said.

  It was. But not half as lovely as she was.

  “But blue…I want to try on the peach one,” Amanda decided. She turned to me, hesitating, almost as if she thought I could say no, and asked, “Can you help me?”

  “The maid has duties to fulfill,” overruled the Dame.

  Amanda argued her case. “Tomorrow is my formal engagement dinner. Doesn’t preparing for that count as a duty?”

  “For a lady’s maid, perhaps,” the Dame said. “Not for a chambermaid.”

  Amanda looked me in the eye, and I smiled encouragingly at her. I saw something inside her come to life, a bright spark that was only noticeable by its previous absence.

  “Then make her a lady’s maid,” Amanda told the Dame. “Aren’t I of an age to have a personal attendant?”

  “I hardly think she is suitable,” snapped the old lady.

  Amanda looked at her grandmother, all innocence. “Why not?”

  Because she’s been arrested for prostitution. I waited for the Dame to say that, to put me in my place, to extinguish that brief flame of friendship and respect that had flared between us.

  Instead, the Dame sighed, and Amanda and I knew we had won. A grin spread across both our faces, a shared victory of the young over the old.

  “She might not wish to be your attendant.” But it was a question, not an objection.

  “I would be honored, ma’am,” I said. And I meant it.

  If I couldn’t be Amanda, at least I could be with her. Try on dresses for her to select from. Sort her vaults of jewelry. Wear her shoes after she discarded them after a single ball.

  And maybe even be her friend.

  “Then it’s settled.” Amanda smiled and held out her hand to me.

  The Dame intervened. “She is to be your personal attendant, Amanda. You don’t shake hands with her.”

  Amanda’s face colored, and she snapped her hand behind her back. Yes, it was a very traditional house.

  “Now go on upstairs, dear. I will send your maid up to you in moment.”

  With a smile like sunshine, she winked at me and flounced out on waves of blue silk.

  I wondered what had changed the old lady’s mind so quickly.

  The Dame gave me a piercing glance. “The job requires discreetness and propriety,” she said, almost as a challenge.

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  She twisted her mouth, just the tiniest bit. “My granddaughter is hopelessly naïve, having been spoiled useless by her mother. She knows nothing of the outside world, and simpers like a child. Perhaps it’s time that she has the company of a woman her own age. Someone she can talk to. About…whatever it is young women talk about these days.”

  I struggled to suppress my grin. She knew perfectly well we talked about the same things she did when she was young—clothes and boys. I could imagine the Dame speaking quite knowledgeably about clothing. So it was the talking about boys she wanted done.

  “Perhaps you will put some starch into her,” the old lady mused. Then, in case I had gotten the wrong idea, “But not too much. Remember your class and station.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, forcing myself to wait patiently.

  Not entirely willingly, the old lady finally waved her hand and gave me leave to go.

  I all but skipped out of the room to find Amanda waiting for me at the foot of a great staircase. She reached out for my hand, like a little lost duckling. “I hope we can be friends,” she said. “My mother never really let me know anyone my age.”

  How could I refuse such a pitiable request?

  “Sure we will,” I said. And it might even be true. The way her face lit up touched my heart. I took her hand and together we raced up the long stairs, two at a time, collapsing into a heap at the top, breathless and giggling.

  Once inside her room—which was larger than any apartment I had ever lived in—she grabbed a peach-colored dress from her massive four-poster bed and pranced in front of a floor-length oval mirror standing against the wall. Holding the new dress up before her, she looked at herself in the mirror, and so did I.

  “Do you think he would like this one better?” she asked wistfully.

  “He?” As I had guessed, there was a man involved.

  “His Highness, Petros the Fourth, last claimant to the Aechean throne.”

  Not just a man, of course, but a prince!

  “He will love it,” I assured her. “But let’s try it on, and see what you think of it.” As I helped her out of the hooks and bones of the blue gown, I reflected that any man would love anything that fantastic figure was wearing. I discovered just how fantastic when she stepped out of her dress. Her silk slip draped over a figure of surpassing perfection.

  Curious and just a little malicious, I stopped as she began to pull the peach dress over her head.

  “You don’t wear a slip under this kind of dress,” I told her. This dress was much more elegant, a slender dinner affair that wasn’t layered under ornate lace and embroidery.

  “You don’t?” she asked, surprised.

  Feeling wicked, I plowed ahead with my deception.

  “No, of course not.” I watched her pull the slip off, and that still wasn’t enough. I wanted to know just how perfect my fairy princess was.


  “Nor a bra,” I said, shaking my head at her naïveté. True to that unlimited quality, she believed me. With round eyes and a little blush, she unhooked her bra and let it fall.

  My voice dropped to a husky whisper. Possessed with some strange desire, I added, “Or panties.” For a heart-stopping moment, I thought she would refuse, call me a scoundrel, rat me out, and have me tossed out on my ear. But she didn’t.

  “Okay, if you say so,” she said demurely, and stepped out of her underwear.

  I had never really thought of women as sexually appealing, but I had never been this close to a naked, beautiful princess before. She was perfect, from the top of her golden, curly hair, to her firm and buoyant breasts, narrow waist, feathery lace of gold between her thighs, tight, firm buttocks, long legs, down to the tips of her manicured toes, all wrapped in a deliciously creamy skin as fresh as the morning dew.

  I helped her into the gown, pulled it down around her. Kneeling at her feet to adjust the hem made me feel intimately close, almost like I was kneeling in front of a man. Buttoning up the carved bone eyelets on the back of the dress, I brushed her soft golden hair out of the way, reveling in the sensation of it. After I was done, I adjusted her hair, combing it out with a brush I found on the dresser. Then I stood behind her, posed her head with a little arch, and asked, “What do you think now?”

  “I think you’re right,” she said, looking into the mirror. Without the underclothes, the dress clung to her like paint, making a surface so smooth and shiny I could barely resist running my hands over it. “This dress shouldn’t be worn with underthings.”

  The stunningly beautiful woman in the mirror agreed. She didn’t look like an innocent child anymore. I couldn’t imagine any man not breaking his neck when she walked by. Yes, I was envious, but only a little. Mostly I was just in awe. Amanda was too sweet to envy, too pure for spite.

  “And now the jewelry,” I said. Laughing with excitement, she pulled open the dresser drawers. They contained jewelry, all of them, nothing but jewelry, of every kind. Bracelets, pendants, necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches, tiaras, all studded with every precious gemstone I had ever heard of and plenty I hadn’t. For hours we laughed and played, trying everything on in front of the mirror, until they no longer represented wealth or privilege to me, but simply pure and untainted beauty.