Chapter 8: The Jealous Rival

Spring's vibrant colors brought with them new challenges. I soon learned that in rising so quickly, I had stepped on a few toes—one of which belonged to a woman who now sought to bring me low. Her name was Marielle Laurent, a courtesan who once enjoyed the favor of Baron d'Arcy before he cast her aside for me. I knew of her only in passing: whispers of her beauty and cunning had circulated, tinged now with pity or scorn that she'd been replaced. I had not given her much thought—an error I would come to regret.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a perfumed letter delivered to my townhouse by an unfamiliar footman. The note inside was short and barbed:

"To Madame V,We have much in common, you and I. It would be wise for us to talk.— M.L."

My heart skipped; the initials were unmistakable. Wariness prickled through me. What could Marielle want? Perhaps to air grievances, or to pry into my affairs? Part of me wished to ignore the summons, but I knew better. If I snubbed her, I might provoke a more public retaliation. Better to meet and gauge her intentions privately.

And so, the next afternoon, under the guise of visiting a modiste, I slipped away to the address Marielle provided—a fashionable tearoom on a discreet side street. I wore a veil, hoping not to be recognized by any mutual acquaintances. In a quiet private parlor, Marielle awaited me, sipping tea with all the poise of a queen holding court.

She was striking—tall and willowy, with hair the color of honey and sharp green eyes that assessed me coolly as I entered. We exchanged polite greetings, but her smile was thin.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet, Madame V," she said, voice dripping honeyed civility.

I lowered my veil and met her gaze evenly. "Your note was… intriguing. How could I refuse?"

Her lips curved, though not in warmth. "Indeed." She gestured to a chair. "Please, join me."

I sat, back straight, projecting confidence I did not entirely feel.

Marielle poured a second cup of tea with languid grace. "I hear Baron d'Arcy recently purchased a lovely sapphire necklace—for his new paramour." Her eyes flicked to the pendant glinting at my throat, the very one. "It suits you."

A compliment on the surface, yet my fingers twitched toward the gem protectively. "The Baron has been very generous," I replied carefully.

"Mmm." She took a delicate sip. "He was with me, as well, once. For nearly a year I had his devotion… until, of course, you appeared." There was a flash of bitterness beneath her refined tone.

I maintained a neutral smile. "The Baron's choices are his own. I never intended offense toward you, Mademoiselle Laurent."

"Offense?" she echoed with a light laugh. "My dear, this is not about offense. It's about business." She set down her cup and leaned forward slightly. "You have been busy beyond just ensnaring poor Nicolas, haven't you?"

A chill went down my spine. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."

Her head tilted. "Come now. We are birds of a feather, you and I. Ambitious women must stick together... or pluck each other's feathers out." The veneer of friendliness in her voice hardened. "I know you've taken young Marquis de Beaumont as a lover as well."

Blood pounded in my ears. How could she know? We had been discreet—or so I thought. I kept my expression schooled. "You seem misinformed."

Marielle gave me a knowing smirk. "Do drop the pretense. I have my sources. A footman in the Marquis's household, for one, who saw you arriving in secret more than once. Not many courtesans as beautiful as you cover themselves in a nun's cloak to slip into his side gate." Her eyes gleamed catlike.

I cursed inwardly. In striving to be stealthy, I must have drawn a servant's curiosity, and coin loosened his tongue.

Seeing my silence, Marielle continued, voice silken. "The Baron's little songbird is two-timing him. Imagine how he would react to that news. And what of the Marquis? Does he know he shares his 'angel' with a man old enough to be her father?"

A flush heated my cheeks—anger and fear warring within. "What do you want?" I asked quietly.

She sat back, satisfaction flickering in her smile now that we were getting to the heart of it. "Simple. I want what I lost: security, status, wealth. Baron d'Arcy dropped me quite suddenly. My lifestyle has... suffered since. You owe me, chérie, for taking what was mine."

I bit back a retort that no man is any woman's possession (we were both possessions of theirs, if anything). Instead I asked, "And how do you propose I repay this debt you imagine I owe?"

Marielle tapped a manicured nail on the porcelain teapot thoughtfully. "First, I want a sum of money. Consider it compensation. Five thousand francs should suffice for now."

It was a staggering amount—nearly a year's allowance from Nicolas. My jaw tightened.

"Second," she continued, "I want introductions. You have the Baron eating from your hand; you will persuade him to rekindle our... friendship. I'm sure there is room in his life for more than one beautiful lady, hmm? You will smooth the way."

She wanted me to share the Baron? The audacity made my stomach twist.

"And if I refuse?" I asked evenly, though dread coiled in me.

Marielle's gracious façade dropped entirely. Her eyes hardened like emerald flint. "If you refuse, I will personally ensure that Baron d'Arcy receives anonymous letters detailing your affair with the Marquis—dates, places, all of it. And another to the Marquis about your true arrangement with the Baron. I might even include a juicy tidbit about a certain scandal in a far-off province involving a ruined engagement." She arched a brow, and I realized with horror that she had indeed connected me to my past. "Yes, I know who you really are, Mademoiselle Renelle."

My blood ran cold. She knew my name—my real name. If she spread that around, any shred of mystique I had would be shattered. The old scandal would resurface, staining both me and any man associating with me.

For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm me. She had me in a vise: she could destroy both my relationships and my carefully crafted identity.

But I hadn't come this far to be undone so easily. I took a slow breath, steadying myself. I needed to buy time, and perhaps sow a little doubt.

"You seem very confident in your hold over me," I said softly. "But consider—such revelations could also reflect poorly on you. If you expose me publicly, you'll be seen as a spiteful harpy. The Baron despises scandal; he might not run back to you even if he leaves me."

Marielle narrowed her eyes. I pressed on, voice calm though my pulse raced. "And the Marquis—young and proud—if he learns he was deceived, he may quietly slink away, but he will hardly thank the messenger of such news. In fact, I imagine both men would be furious at you for meddling in their affairs."

She drummed her fingers, uncertain. My words had hit their mark—her plan wasn't without personal risk.

I leaned forward, lowering my tone to a gentle placation. "I understand your position, truly. You want stability again. Perhaps there is another way I can help that doesn't require destroying us both."

Her expression faltered just a fraction. I saw a glimmer of desperation behind her anger; she truly was struggling.

"I can't conjure the Baron's affections on command," I went on, "but I might convince him to... be more generous to past friends. And as for funds—" I forced a small conciliatory smile. "I don't have access to so large a sum immediately. But I could provide something now, and more over time. Quietly. We could have an arrangement."

Marielle studied me for a long moment, weighing the options. At last she sighed, a hint of frustration in the sound. "What are you proposing?"

"A truce," I said. "You keep my secrets, and I will ensure you benefit. Money, yes—I can give you five hundred francs today," (that would hurt, but I had it hidden away) "and a similar amount each month for a year."

She pursed her lips, clearly considering the math—far less than she'd demanded, but still a solid boon.

"And I will speak to Nicolas," I added carefully, "suggest that he provide a stipend to you. I'll say I heard you were unwell or some such, appeal to his guilt. He might not take you back, but he is a gentleman—he may agree to assist you financially once he hears of your plight."

This was a gamble; the Baron might also suspect why I cared, but I hoped his residual affection for Marielle and my coaxing could accomplish something.

Marielle's eyes flickered. She was tempted; it was safer than her scorched-earth approach. But bitterness dies hard. "And what assurance do I have that you won't have me tossed in a jail cell once I walk out of here? The Baron's influence could ruin me if you whisper lies about me to him first."

I spread my hands. "You have my word. If I wanted to ruin you, I would have ignored your letter or set a trap. I came here alone, unveiled myself to you. I'm trusting you as well, Marielle." I used her first name gently. "We don't have to be enemies. The world of men has enough power over us; we gain little by destroying one another."

She looked away, tension in her jaw. A long silence hung between us. Finally, she gave a curt nod. "Fine. Your terms are... acceptable. For now."

Relief swept through me, though I kept my exterior composed. "I will have the cash for you by this evening. Where shall I send it?"

"No, no—no paper trails." She rose, smoothing her skirts. "Bring it yourself to the address I send to your maid." Clearly she still had the upper hand enough to dictate that.

"Very well," I agreed. "And Marielle—I do appreciate this."

Her returning smile was thin and joyless. "Don't mistake necessity for friendship, Madame V. If you fail to uphold your promise, I will not hesitate to protect myself by any means."

The threat lingered in the air even as she swept out of the room.

When she was gone, I slumped back in my chair, realizing I'd been gripping my teacup so tightly my hand shook. I'd won a tentative reprieve, but at great cost. My finances would be strained to pay her, and I would have to concoct a careful tale to coax Nicolas into aiding her as well.

As I left the tearoom, veil drawn tight, I understood that this battle with Marielle was likely only the beginning. I had soared high, but the descent would be perilous if I wasn't vigilant. Enemies could wear smiles as easily as friends in this dance of pleasure and power.

While I had staved off disaster for now, I felt the walls of my lies closing in tighter. One slip, and everything could still crumble. With renewed determination, I steeled myself: I would play this dangerous game to the end and let no jealous rival or scorned woman undo what I had achieved.