Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 77
February 5, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 7
Chapter 7Lord Marmeduke’s honesty and vulnerability brought out a passionate tenderness in Noelle. His inexperience excited her. She embraced her husband and kissed him fiercely. Her lips swept his strong body and he be responded most eagerly. Their lips met and they kissed hungrily for what seemed like an eternity.
She wanted to explore every part of him, and she slid her avid mouth down to his muscular stomach and licked at his belly button, moving down to his throbbing penis. She took all of him in her large mouth and suckled on him with unbridled passion, stirring in him sensations that he had never experienced before.
He was gasping with astonished delight when she threw him down on the bed and placed herself strategically over him. As she moved herself down to enfold his rearing manhood, in her eagerly pulsing portal, she felt him suddenly go limp. Shocked, she stared down at him in disbelief. At the sight of his horrified chagrin, she once again placed her mouth over his penis and kissed and licked at him until she felt him throb and rise in her mouth. She sucked on him greedily until his juices erupted in her mouth.
Humphrey, wrapped in her arms, sobbed uncontrollably with mingled pleasure and shame.
She held him in her arms and stroked his face with gentle movements until he fell asleep.
She went into her dressing room, and with tears of desire and frustration in her eyes, caressed her own lush, tremulous body until she brought herself to the joyless spasms of a lonely orgasm.
Noelle woke up the next day in Humphrey's arms. She reveled in the affection and adoration in his eyes. Never had she felt so treasured, so loved, so protected. Soon, soon she’d overcome his fears, his trauma and his shame and bring this wonderful love to complete fulfillment.
"Today is a new day and I shall be a temptress and entice my husband into an insatiable appetite for me" - she thought, as she pranced in nude provocation around the room while he stared at her from the four-poster bed.
She shimmied her way into her corsets and silk stockings, and then, spontaneously, she stripped it all off again and walked seductively towards him. She glanced down, his rampant erection showed his desire. She kissed him breathlessly and he responded most favorably. Kneeling before him, she slid his manhood between her lush breasts. His groan told her how much he enjoyed the sensation and the sight of his penis rearing up between her scarlet tipped breasts.
She squeezed him, rolling him between her breasts, and with a gasp he started to thrust, sliding between the silken-white, cushioning flesh. He caressed her face, gazing at her with astonished adoration, plucking with feverish desire at her swollen, erect nipples. With a cry he was climaxing, pumping his desire and his pleasure between her breasts, jetting his juices on to her lovely body.
Gasping, Humphrey, drew her up onto the bed beside him, dabbing at the sticky residue on her lithe form, murmuring apologies incoherently. Gently, Noelle caressed him, drawing his tumbled hair back from his forehead. He kissed her hands reverently, and kneeling at her feet, gently parted her thighs, and with tender lips and eager tongue explored her moist folds, until she was crying and trembling, arching her hips to welcome his caresses, as her own pleasure rippled through her.
They dressed in companionable silence and walked hand in hand towards the large solarium. They had decided to delay their honeymoon for a few of weeks - a Grand Tour of Italy was what he had in mind for them - but first she had to bring her investigation to its conclusion.
*****
The Queen frowned. Her body felt different since the she had made love to the King in Jeanne’s presence. Her breasts felt tender and she could not keep her food down. Odors seemed stronger, even her beloved horses had acquired a nauseating smell.
Maria Karolina reflected on the night that Jeanne had joined her and the King in their ménage a trois. Things had changed between them since then.
That night she had fallen asleep and had had a strange feverish dream in which Jeanne had been astride her husband, frantically cantering on his hard member while sweat beaded her magnificent body. In her nightmare, Jeanne has been slack-mouthed and heavy-lidded with desire, whispering screams of pleasure into her fists, while streaks of virgin blood tricked down her lush white thighs.
It had been two weeks, and never again had she been alone with Jeanne. She knew Jeanne was avoiding her, avoiding intimacy. Why? Had the sight of Maria Karolina under the King’s thrusting body repulsed her?
Was she jealous? Did she not realize her pleasure had been as much in Jeanne’s presence, her caresses, as in the King’s male body?
The Queen was determined to have a heart-to-heart with her lover, her love, her only love and sort things out.
TO BE CONTINUED....
She wanted to explore every part of him, and she slid her avid mouth down to his muscular stomach and licked at his belly button, moving down to his throbbing penis. She took all of him in her large mouth and suckled on him with unbridled passion, stirring in him sensations that he had never experienced before.
He was gasping with astonished delight when she threw him down on the bed and placed herself strategically over him. As she moved herself down to enfold his rearing manhood, in her eagerly pulsing portal, she felt him suddenly go limp. Shocked, she stared down at him in disbelief. At the sight of his horrified chagrin, she once again placed her mouth over his penis and kissed and licked at him until she felt him throb and rise in her mouth. She sucked on him greedily until his juices erupted in her mouth.
Humphrey, wrapped in her arms, sobbed uncontrollably with mingled pleasure and shame.
She held him in her arms and stroked his face with gentle movements until he fell asleep.
She went into her dressing room, and with tears of desire and frustration in her eyes, caressed her own lush, tremulous body until she brought herself to the joyless spasms of a lonely orgasm.
Noelle woke up the next day in Humphrey's arms. She reveled in the affection and adoration in his eyes. Never had she felt so treasured, so loved, so protected. Soon, soon she’d overcome his fears, his trauma and his shame and bring this wonderful love to complete fulfillment.
"Today is a new day and I shall be a temptress and entice my husband into an insatiable appetite for me" - she thought, as she pranced in nude provocation around the room while he stared at her from the four-poster bed.
She shimmied her way into her corsets and silk stockings, and then, spontaneously, she stripped it all off again and walked seductively towards him. She glanced down, his rampant erection showed his desire. She kissed him breathlessly and he responded most favorably. Kneeling before him, she slid his manhood between her lush breasts. His groan told her how much he enjoyed the sensation and the sight of his penis rearing up between her scarlet tipped breasts.
She squeezed him, rolling him between her breasts, and with a gasp he started to thrust, sliding between the silken-white, cushioning flesh. He caressed her face, gazing at her with astonished adoration, plucking with feverish desire at her swollen, erect nipples. With a cry he was climaxing, pumping his desire and his pleasure between her breasts, jetting his juices on to her lovely body.
Gasping, Humphrey, drew her up onto the bed beside him, dabbing at the sticky residue on her lithe form, murmuring apologies incoherently. Gently, Noelle caressed him, drawing his tumbled hair back from his forehead. He kissed her hands reverently, and kneeling at her feet, gently parted her thighs, and with tender lips and eager tongue explored her moist folds, until she was crying and trembling, arching her hips to welcome his caresses, as her own pleasure rippled through her.
They dressed in companionable silence and walked hand in hand towards the large solarium. They had decided to delay their honeymoon for a few of weeks - a Grand Tour of Italy was what he had in mind for them - but first she had to bring her investigation to its conclusion.
*****
The Queen frowned. Her body felt different since the she had made love to the King in Jeanne’s presence. Her breasts felt tender and she could not keep her food down. Odors seemed stronger, even her beloved horses had acquired a nauseating smell.
Maria Karolina reflected on the night that Jeanne had joined her and the King in their ménage a trois. Things had changed between them since then.
That night she had fallen asleep and had had a strange feverish dream in which Jeanne had been astride her husband, frantically cantering on his hard member while sweat beaded her magnificent body. In her nightmare, Jeanne has been slack-mouthed and heavy-lidded with desire, whispering screams of pleasure into her fists, while streaks of virgin blood tricked down her lush white thighs.
It had been two weeks, and never again had she been alone with Jeanne. She knew Jeanne was avoiding her, avoiding intimacy. Why? Had the sight of Maria Karolina under the King’s thrusting body repulsed her?
Was she jealous? Did she not realize her pleasure had been as much in Jeanne’s presence, her caresses, as in the King’s male body?
The Queen was determined to have a heart-to-heart with her lover, her love, her only love and sort things out.
TO BE CONTINUED....
February 4, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Noelle felt like she was living a fairytale romance. Paris had been magical. She and Humphrey had been spending almost every minute together and he catered to her every whim, just the way she loved it.
She had not seen the Queen since her return. Humphrey would be a devoted husband and she would have a promising– and profitable - life as his pampered wife, a far cry from being the Queen's secret lover.
They broke the news of their engagement to a delighted Madame Deneurve, who immediately proceeded to make arrangements for the wedding.
It was determined that the nuptials it would take place at the sprawling chateau, and Madame Deneurve had undertaken to cover the exorbitant cost of entertaining the whole Court on a three day revel. It was to be lavish and splendid affair, an unforgettable day and a perfect celebration.
Madame Deneurve had insisted that the wedding should take place immediately.
“There is no time like the present.”
She seemed adamant about marrying her nephew to the right girl as soon as possible. She had determined that Noelle was the perfect wife and saw no reason for delay.
Her wedding day was fast approaching and Noelle was surprised to find herself filled joy and anticipatory excitement. The King, in an uncharacteristic burst of generosity, had insisted she take time off the investigation to prepare for her nuptials.
He suddenly seemed unconcerned with the murders, with the running of the kingdom and everything else, for that matter. Much to the consternation of his advisors, he drifted around the Palace with a dreamy expression in his eyes and a huge hard-on in his breeches, even when discussing such sobering matters as War, Starvation, and Social Uprisings.
The frantic Council decided to postpone balls, dances or functions of any description until the killer was caught and the King was behaving normally again. Philosophers and Physicians were summoned to examine the King, who although afflicted with an obviously constant erection, refused surcease from his many mistresses and walked around rubbing at his crotch and mumbling “After the flood, after the flood...”
***
Noelle was looking forward to her marriage and a few days rest from the Court shenanigans. She was, surprisingly, eagerly looking forward to her wedding night. Humphrey’s tenderness and respectful patience had aroused her to passionate desire for him. She was planning on spending the next week in bed.
Things seemed to be quiet and calm at the Palace and Desireé was available should there be any kind of emergency. Her little cousin was shaping up to be a most acute observer, and apart from a little naïve, her intelligence and sagacity couldn’t be faulted.
Noelle's wedding-gown had finally arrived. Madame Deneurve had arranged for it to be made by France's finest Seamstress.
When she’d stepped into it for the final fitting, she’d felt like a veritable princess and twirled and twirled until she almost collapsed from dizziness and mirth. It was absolutely perfect.
She sank onto a chair laughing, under the indulgent, loving gaze of Madame Deneurve.
“My dear, I have something for you.” Noelle watched as Madame Deneurve walked over to a beautiful inlaid desk and opened a secret drawer. She withdrew a blue leather box.
“My Father had this made for my mother, for a wedding present. Humphrey’s mother, my beloved little sister, wore it on her wedding day. I wore it myself as a young bride (four times, if memory serves me...Jacques, Pierre, Françoise, Luc...Yes! four)”
She opened the box revealing a magnificent pearl, diamond and ruby choker and earring set.
“I never had any children, and I love Humphrey as my own, and hope you will allow me to love you as my dearest daughter. As a beloved daughter...I’d love for you to wear it, my dear!”
Noelle embraced her tenderly, feeling the frail shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. She was growing to love Madame Deneurve more and more: her kindness, her tenacity, her unconquerable joie de vivre. She was finally going to be part of a loving family. A tender husband, a loving aunt, and one day, maybe, she would have children of her own; a daughter to wear the necklace and tell this story to.
*****
Finally.
Noelle ran to the window and threw open the tall shutters. The morning light poured in. This was her wedding day. Laughing with delight, she ran into Desiree’s room, dragging the covers off her cousins sleeping form.
“Up! Up, you sleepy head!”
“It’s too early for Matins, Sister...” Desireé grumbled.
“Up, lazy bones! It’s my wedding day!”
*****
Noelle tugged the bodice a little lower to reveal the provocative shadow between her breasts. The exquisitely cut ivory damask gown, richly embroidered with seed pearls, showed off her figure to perfection, the slim waist, the full breasts; the bell- shaped sleeves trimmed with Guipure lace accentuated the slender grace of her arms and hands; the square-cut décolletage framed her long slim neck with its glittering burden of pearls and rubies. Her hair was dressed high, in a simple, elegant style, a few stray scarlet curls tumbling artlessly to lie on one white shoulder. The ruby earrings swung against her cheeks. Carefully she lowered the cobweb-thin intricate lace veil over her face.
“Oh, Noelle!” Desireé gasped, “You look worthy to be the very bride of Christ!”
Noelle turned towards the crystal-framed Venetian mirror that had been one of the many wedding presents from Humphrey, a scathing retort dyeing on her lips.
She did look like a bride. An expectant beloved bride, pure in intent, her eyes lustrous with love, her lips trembling like a girl’s awaiting her first kiss. Today her life began anew. Humphrey’s tenderness had shown her a new side to herself: a woman learning that she was worthy of love and respect, not just an object of carnal desire: a woman capable and deserving of love.
*****
Noelle stood trembling by the four-poster bed. She could not believe how anxious and nervous she felt. You would think she was a virgin, not a very experienced woman. She smoothed the soft silken bed-gown down over her hips, and arranged her fiery ringlets around her shoulders.
A quiet knock and Humphrey walked in. He was wearing a long brocade dressing gown and his long dark hair was loose from its usual ponytail, framing his strong face and gentle eyes. In two strides he crossed the room, taking her hands in his.
“Oh my darling,” he kissed her hands tenderly, “at last, at last, you are mine!”
Tremulously Noelle raised her eyes to meet his adoring gaze.
“Humphrey...Oh, Humphrey! I...” She hesitated, “There is something...something I must tell you, darling.”
“Speak, my love, you know you can tell me anything.”
“I’m not...well, I’ve been...” Blushing Noelle lowered her face to his shoulder. Pressing her cheek against him, she whispered: “I’m not a virgin...”
“Oh my dear, my very dear, neither am I!”
Startled Noelle gazed up at him. Her emerald eyes filled with tears. “Humphrey, I have known many men...”
“It’s all right my love, so have I.”
“I...I...I mean...Carnally...”
“Yes, my love, me too.”
“But it meant nothing – nothing!” Noelle gasped as his meaning sank in. “You...you have?”
“My love...” Humphrey sank to his knees before her, “I have much to confess. My Father sent me to sea, with the British Navy as a young boy, it is a family tradition, you know, but...My ship was sunk by Turkish pirates and I was taken captive.” With a sob, Humphrey hid his face against Noelle’s soft belly, “I’m so ashamed...” Gently Noelle stroked back his silky hair.
“Speak, love, tell me all…I’m here for you.”
“They – they...I was so young...and pretty. Oh it was terrible, terrible...” Humphrey sobbed bitterly, “There was this big pirate, he...he...USED me, again and again...and I liked it...” He raised his soulful eyes to hers. “He grew tired of me, and passed me on. I was a toy. A thing...of pleasure to rough men and then I was rescued, and I came back and said not a word to anyone, I was so ashamed...” His mouth trembled, “I never saw a woman I could love until I saw you, my beautiful Noelle.”
Noelle drew him to his feet. “Darling, we will start again, as virgins, together. We will be new creatures, reborn in each other’s arms...” She pressed her lips to his, passionately.
“Ehr, darling....there is just one little thing...” Humphrey blushed, “I’ve never...you know...with a woman.”
TO BE CONTINUED....
February 3, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Noelle ran through the Palace corridors, sure her flushed cheeks and heavy lids advertised her arousal. She shuddered and her pointed tongue licked at her lush lips. She was meeting Lord Marmaduke in half an hour; she had to pull herself together.
Noelle rushed back to her rooms. She stepped out of her dress and left it on the ground, hurrying through a quick wash and reapplying her makeup, sweeping her riotous curls up into a chignon. She kept thinking of Humphrey.
Never had she refused pleasure before, certainly not at the thought of a man whose body she had never enjoyed. She had a superficial streak a mile wide. Being shallow was such a gift. Could it be she was actually feeling something for the Englishman?
There was a knock at the door. Veronique announced the arrival of Lord Marmeduke, who was impatiently waiting for her in the drawing room. With a last look at her mirror, final adjustments in place, she set off to meet her handsome Lord and presented him with her best smile.
He kissed her hands passionately, his eyes travelling respectfully over her perfection.
He had a surprise for her: an eight-horse carriage waited to take them Paris. He had set up a private viewing at his favorite Jewelers’ in the city: he wanted Noelle to pick out a diamond necklace and pearls. He had plans for them to stay over, at his luxurious Hôtel; each would have their own separate suite of rooms, naturally. He had arranged for dozens of gowns to be sent to Noelle's room from France’s finest Couturier, so she could choose whatever she wished.
He wanted her to look even more dazzling for the performance of the Comédie Française later that evening.
As they sat opposite each other on the coach, and he poured out the Champagne, he could only stare at this most ravishing beauty, and he hoped that now that he had captured her heart, could be deserving of such a woman.
*****
Paris was breathtaking: the lights dazzled, the people milled about on the streets laughing and filled with a joie de vivre that was contagious. So was the miasma rising from the city streets…
Noelle raised her perfumed pomander to her delicate nostrils. The smell brought back memories of the days when she had first arrived here after leaving Phillipe.
Paris had seemed to offer the perfect refuge for a beautiful ambitious young woman with no virtue left to lose.
She'd found a room in one of the more modest but respectable houses, and she had settled into her new life as an apprentice courtesan.
She’d managed a few invitations to the Salon of a rather loose-living but highly aristocratic Venetian Comptessa - the Doge’s niece, no less - where she’d met suitably wealthy and lecherous sponsors, eager to help her improve her lot in life.
Life was challenging and exciting, although tiring, and hard on the back.
One fine day she finally “talked” one of her admirer’s, the Duc d’Anjou, into issuing an invitation to live at Court. She was, after all, from one of France’s oldest families, impoverished it’s true, but rich in beauty and talent.
Lord Marmaduke kissed her hand as he helped her down from the carriage as they arrived at his Hôtel. She was unprepared for this surprise outing, but he had arranged for her clothes to be sent on from Versailles. The Hôtel was luxuriously appointed, and she followed the liveried Footman to her suite to freshen up and change into one of the divinely gorgeous gowns Humphrey had had made for her.
She swept down the curving marble staircase an hour later. Humphrey gasped at her radiance: her upswept scarlet curls, her emerald green silk flowing sack-gown; but most of all her eyes shining like jewels, overflowing with joy and excitement.
Noelle felt like a child in a candy store at the Jeweler’s. Humphrey ordered the man to show her the most exquisite collection of necklaces and coronets: tray after tray of priceless jewels was laid out before her. She fell in love with a gorgeous diamond and Brazilian emerald necklace with matching earrings and Humphrey slipped it around her neck. Tears of joy trickled down her cheeks: diamonds, emeralds. Jewels. A wave of gratitude and tenderness washed over her.
She never wanted to hurt this kind and gentle man, this most generous and perfect of men. The jewels matched her gown perfectly: life was good.
*****
Desireé pulled on a pair of men’s breeches, slipped on a fine linen shirt and laced up a heavy leather vest that Jean had had delivered to her rooms. She braided her silky silver gilt hair into a long plait, and twined it around her head and out of the way. She was looking forward to her very first fencing lesson. The next time anyone attacked her she would be ready.
At the appointed hour there was a knock on her door. She opened to find Jean d’Orleans standing there in a ruffled white shirt and no cravat, which left his chest bare. Just a peek, really, but enough to show her that he was built quite differently from Monsieur Lecler, the Convent gardener, who’d once been reprimanded by Mother Superior for hoeing with his shirt off and tempting the Sisters to sinful thoughts. Desireé had not found the sight of his slack chest and droopy paunch the least bit conducive to any kind of thought. She now thought Mother Superior might be right: the glimpse of his smooth flesh, lightly dusted with crisply curling dark hair was indeed arousing an unwonted curiosity in her. Did the hair continue down? How far? What would it feel like to brush her fingers over that hair? In fact, the very idea of Jean with his shirt off was very distracting. Feeling an unaccustomed heat tinting her cheeks, Desireé quickly looked away from his chest, dropping her eyes to his breeches. Worse and worse: his leather breeches clung to muscular thighs and outlined a disturbing bulge in his groin. Was Jean also afflicted with a tumorous growth? Poor man. Embarrassed, Desireé stammered out a greeting and hastily moved past him into the broad corridor.
“After you my dear,” Jean bowed gallantly and followed after her small figure, his eyes devouring the firm round buttocks in the tight breeches, swaying enticingly in front of him.
*****
At the practice ground, Jean took down two blunted foils and threw one at Desireé, who with unconscious grace plucked it deftly from the air. Jean found himself grinning:
“Good! Now….All begins with the stance…” He stepped forward and demonstrated.
“Now you…” Desireé complied. Frowning Jean walked around her, tapping thoughtfully at his boot with the blunted foil.
“Not bad…” He slipped behind her and dropping his foil, placed his hands on her hips. He pulled her back against him, slid his palm forward onto her softly rounded belly.
“You have to keep you centre of gravity just SO!”
Startled, Desireé felt his firm thighs press against her derrière, his affliction seemed to have increased alarmingly. With a gasp she broke away and spun to face him.
He was close, very close. His breath stirred the fine hairs that had escaped from her braid, the heat of his body branded her belly and her breasts. Alarmed Desireé backed away from him, her eyes locked to his. The hot, salty scent of him filled her nostrils. She ran. She ran to her room, she knelt by her bed, hands trembling; sweat trickling between her breasts and down to her belly. She prayed.
*****
Maria Karolina paced up and down her bedroom pondering over the King's words
“Why is it taking you so long to fall pregnant? Is there something you are not telling me?"
She knew it was her first duty to produce an heir to the throne. The Doctors and the Royal Midwives had deemed her perfectly normal and healthy. Her husband was a tender if infrequent lover, mostly due to her patent disinterest in pleasing or being pleased. Her mind wandered to the one who captured her heart: Jeanne de Pompadour. If only Jeanne could be present...
She knew with certainty that in an aroused state - in her ecstasy - her body would succeed in conceiving the longed for child.
“What if I see Jeanne first, have her pleasure me, and immediately after summon the King to my room?" Then she remembered the King suggesting a ménage a trois and even though he had been drinking too much she decided that might be the solution, and one that included Jeanne.
With a guilty twinge she remembered the morning’s activities with Noelle on the brocade couch. What on earth had possessed her to try to seduce the girl? If the possessive Jeanne ever knew of it, there would be hell to pay.
She knew what she had to do. First she would talk to Jean, and then she would invite the King to a private dinner in her chambers. Over supper she would ply him with some of his favourite champagne and make the suggestion. With any luck, she would fall pregnant.
The Queen took extra care to ensure she looked provocative, desirable. She wanted to arouse her husband's lust. She was well aware of the many women he spent his nights with, but tonight she would ensure he only had eyes for her.
*****
In the Queen’s candlelit private dining-room the string quartet played. Champagne flowed and as they prepared to be seated she insisted that they sit next to each other. Their usual positions on either side of the table, distant from each other, were out not an option this evening. Etiquette was definitely out.
The King was captivated by his wife’s vivacity; his eyes lustful as he looked her up and down and finally fixed them on her splendid breasts. She leaned forward so he could enjoy the view: modesty was out too.
The wine and champagne flowed all night. She giggled, sucked sauce from her fingers and licked at her lips suggestively. She was slipping her slim bejeweled fingers along his thighs, and fondling him through the skin-tight breeches. The inebriated King was positively drooling as he reached across the table to tease her breasts out of her bodice.
With an imperious gesture, the Queen dismissed the musicians and the footmen. This was the perfect moment to suggest the ménage a trois. His face lit up as she whispered her invitation, licking lasciviously at his ear lobe.
Smiling seductively, she opened the door to her private drawing room and led Jeanne into the King’s presence.
Boldly, she embraced her before the King, and began sensuously kissing her. The King was astounded by his own arousal at the sight of his wife running her hands over her lover’s pouty breasts. The two women kissed each other passionately and he approached them and began to slowly unlace their gowns, kissing their white shoulders, their silken backs. He cupped their breasts in his calloused horseman’s hands, plucking fiercely at their erect nipples, reveling in their muffled cries as he rubbed sly, cruel fingers against their tiny erect nubs and the wet openings of their womanhood.
They stepped out of their dresses still engaged in their devouring kiss. He dropped his drawers and released his enormous erection. The women pushed him down on the bed and began to tear at what was left of his clothing.
Maria Karolina, wild eyed and panting was stretching her arms out to Jeanne, who eagerly spread the Queens lush thighs and plunging her face into the thatch of wet curls, began to pleasure her.
The King gasped in astonished arousal at the sight of Maria Karolina’s body writhing and arching in pleasure, he took his rearing erection in both hands and ran his eager hands up and down his shaft. Maria Karolina was moaning as Jeanne lapped eagerly at her mound of Venus, nibbling at her folds. She reached her hand out, gesturing to her husband, summoning him to the feast. The King roughly pushed Jeanne out of the way and eagerly plunged his aching hardness into his wife’s soaking vagina. The Queen screamed with pleasure at his hard thrusts, while Jeanne moved up her body, washing her tongue over her delicate skin, suckling savagely on her swollen nipples.
With a wild orgasm shaking her body, the first ever with the King, Maria Karolina shrieked out her pleasure and the King reached his own jetting crescendo. Panting the Royal couple gazed in satisfaction into each other’s eyes. Maria Karolina reached for Jeanne and kissed her gratefully, but when her lover attempted to draw her slim fingers down to her own aching and unfulfilled slippery cleft, the Queen gently pushed her away.
The King lay back next to his sleeping wife and caressed her lush body, confident that he may just have been able to impregnate her. He sighed: closing his eyes, and was almost asleep when he felt gentle fingers trailing down his sated penis, cupping his genitals gently.
Startled he opened his eyes to see Jeanne looking down at him, lips parted in desire. In astonishment he found himself responding, coming erect under her sensitive fingers.
Jeanne trailed sharp nails over his body, licking at the red welts scored by her caresses with a sly tongue.
She cupped his testicles, ran her tongue over his gland, nibbled with a sensuality verging on cruelty on his painfully erect penis until he felt he would burst.
With a triumphant smile, Jeanne straddled him, guiding him to her aching portal, and thrust down on his vaunting erection, taking him all the way into her depths in one fierce movement.
Astounded the King felt her tight flesh tear, saw tears of gathering in her eyes, saw her bite back a cry of pain.
The inimitable Madam de Pompadour was a virgin.
A mingling of lust and tenderness he’d never felt before overcome him. Wrapping his hands around her tiny waist, he held her still on his rampant member, then, as her pain abated, he slowly started thrusting up into her wetness.The rosy mouth was parted in astonished delight as he licked and suckled on her tiny erect nipples, bruising them with his teeth. He was thrusting up harder and deeper into her, until Jeanne was arching back, stifling screams of pleasure with her hands.
Roaring, the King felt a surge of liquid pleasure burst through him at the sight of her ecstasy: a flood of pleasure such as he’d never felt before.
TO BE CONTINUED....
Noelle ran through the Palace corridors, sure her flushed cheeks and heavy lids advertised her arousal. She shuddered and her pointed tongue licked at her lush lips. She was meeting Lord Marmaduke in half an hour; she had to pull herself together.
Noelle rushed back to her rooms. She stepped out of her dress and left it on the ground, hurrying through a quick wash and reapplying her makeup, sweeping her riotous curls up into a chignon. She kept thinking of Humphrey.
Never had she refused pleasure before, certainly not at the thought of a man whose body she had never enjoyed. She had a superficial streak a mile wide. Being shallow was such a gift. Could it be she was actually feeling something for the Englishman?
There was a knock at the door. Veronique announced the arrival of Lord Marmeduke, who was impatiently waiting for her in the drawing room. With a last look at her mirror, final adjustments in place, she set off to meet her handsome Lord and presented him with her best smile.
He kissed her hands passionately, his eyes travelling respectfully over her perfection.
He had a surprise for her: an eight-horse carriage waited to take them Paris. He had set up a private viewing at his favorite Jewelers’ in the city: he wanted Noelle to pick out a diamond necklace and pearls. He had plans for them to stay over, at his luxurious Hôtel; each would have their own separate suite of rooms, naturally. He had arranged for dozens of gowns to be sent to Noelle's room from France’s finest Couturier, so she could choose whatever she wished.
He wanted her to look even more dazzling for the performance of the Comédie Française later that evening.
As they sat opposite each other on the coach, and he poured out the Champagne, he could only stare at this most ravishing beauty, and he hoped that now that he had captured her heart, could be deserving of such a woman.
*****
Paris was breathtaking: the lights dazzled, the people milled about on the streets laughing and filled with a joie de vivre that was contagious. So was the miasma rising from the city streets…
Noelle raised her perfumed pomander to her delicate nostrils. The smell brought back memories of the days when she had first arrived here after leaving Phillipe.
Paris had seemed to offer the perfect refuge for a beautiful ambitious young woman with no virtue left to lose.
She'd found a room in one of the more modest but respectable houses, and she had settled into her new life as an apprentice courtesan.
She’d managed a few invitations to the Salon of a rather loose-living but highly aristocratic Venetian Comptessa - the Doge’s niece, no less - where she’d met suitably wealthy and lecherous sponsors, eager to help her improve her lot in life.
Life was challenging and exciting, although tiring, and hard on the back.
One fine day she finally “talked” one of her admirer’s, the Duc d’Anjou, into issuing an invitation to live at Court. She was, after all, from one of France’s oldest families, impoverished it’s true, but rich in beauty and talent.
Lord Marmaduke kissed her hand as he helped her down from the carriage as they arrived at his Hôtel. She was unprepared for this surprise outing, but he had arranged for her clothes to be sent on from Versailles. The Hôtel was luxuriously appointed, and she followed the liveried Footman to her suite to freshen up and change into one of the divinely gorgeous gowns Humphrey had had made for her.
She swept down the curving marble staircase an hour later. Humphrey gasped at her radiance: her upswept scarlet curls, her emerald green silk flowing sack-gown; but most of all her eyes shining like jewels, overflowing with joy and excitement.
Noelle felt like a child in a candy store at the Jeweler’s. Humphrey ordered the man to show her the most exquisite collection of necklaces and coronets: tray after tray of priceless jewels was laid out before her. She fell in love with a gorgeous diamond and Brazilian emerald necklace with matching earrings and Humphrey slipped it around her neck. Tears of joy trickled down her cheeks: diamonds, emeralds. Jewels. A wave of gratitude and tenderness washed over her.
She never wanted to hurt this kind and gentle man, this most generous and perfect of men. The jewels matched her gown perfectly: life was good.
*****
Desireé pulled on a pair of men’s breeches, slipped on a fine linen shirt and laced up a heavy leather vest that Jean had had delivered to her rooms. She braided her silky silver gilt hair into a long plait, and twined it around her head and out of the way. She was looking forward to her very first fencing lesson. The next time anyone attacked her she would be ready.
At the appointed hour there was a knock on her door. She opened to find Jean d’Orleans standing there in a ruffled white shirt and no cravat, which left his chest bare. Just a peek, really, but enough to show her that he was built quite differently from Monsieur Lecler, the Convent gardener, who’d once been reprimanded by Mother Superior for hoeing with his shirt off and tempting the Sisters to sinful thoughts. Desireé had not found the sight of his slack chest and droopy paunch the least bit conducive to any kind of thought. She now thought Mother Superior might be right: the glimpse of his smooth flesh, lightly dusted with crisply curling dark hair was indeed arousing an unwonted curiosity in her. Did the hair continue down? How far? What would it feel like to brush her fingers over that hair? In fact, the very idea of Jean with his shirt off was very distracting. Feeling an unaccustomed heat tinting her cheeks, Desireé quickly looked away from his chest, dropping her eyes to his breeches. Worse and worse: his leather breeches clung to muscular thighs and outlined a disturbing bulge in his groin. Was Jean also afflicted with a tumorous growth? Poor man. Embarrassed, Desireé stammered out a greeting and hastily moved past him into the broad corridor.
“After you my dear,” Jean bowed gallantly and followed after her small figure, his eyes devouring the firm round buttocks in the tight breeches, swaying enticingly in front of him.
*****
At the practice ground, Jean took down two blunted foils and threw one at Desireé, who with unconscious grace plucked it deftly from the air. Jean found himself grinning:
“Good! Now….All begins with the stance…” He stepped forward and demonstrated.
“Now you…” Desireé complied. Frowning Jean walked around her, tapping thoughtfully at his boot with the blunted foil.
“Not bad…” He slipped behind her and dropping his foil, placed his hands on her hips. He pulled her back against him, slid his palm forward onto her softly rounded belly.
“You have to keep you centre of gravity just SO!”
Startled, Desireé felt his firm thighs press against her derrière, his affliction seemed to have increased alarmingly. With a gasp she broke away and spun to face him.
He was close, very close. His breath stirred the fine hairs that had escaped from her braid, the heat of his body branded her belly and her breasts. Alarmed Desireé backed away from him, her eyes locked to his. The hot, salty scent of him filled her nostrils. She ran. She ran to her room, she knelt by her bed, hands trembling; sweat trickling between her breasts and down to her belly. She prayed.
*****
Maria Karolina paced up and down her bedroom pondering over the King's words
“Why is it taking you so long to fall pregnant? Is there something you are not telling me?"
She knew it was her first duty to produce an heir to the throne. The Doctors and the Royal Midwives had deemed her perfectly normal and healthy. Her husband was a tender if infrequent lover, mostly due to her patent disinterest in pleasing or being pleased. Her mind wandered to the one who captured her heart: Jeanne de Pompadour. If only Jeanne could be present...
She knew with certainty that in an aroused state - in her ecstasy - her body would succeed in conceiving the longed for child.
“What if I see Jeanne first, have her pleasure me, and immediately after summon the King to my room?" Then she remembered the King suggesting a ménage a trois and even though he had been drinking too much she decided that might be the solution, and one that included Jeanne.
With a guilty twinge she remembered the morning’s activities with Noelle on the brocade couch. What on earth had possessed her to try to seduce the girl? If the possessive Jeanne ever knew of it, there would be hell to pay.
She knew what she had to do. First she would talk to Jean, and then she would invite the King to a private dinner in her chambers. Over supper she would ply him with some of his favourite champagne and make the suggestion. With any luck, she would fall pregnant.
The Queen took extra care to ensure she looked provocative, desirable. She wanted to arouse her husband's lust. She was well aware of the many women he spent his nights with, but tonight she would ensure he only had eyes for her.
*****
In the Queen’s candlelit private dining-room the string quartet played. Champagne flowed and as they prepared to be seated she insisted that they sit next to each other. Their usual positions on either side of the table, distant from each other, were out not an option this evening. Etiquette was definitely out.
The King was captivated by his wife’s vivacity; his eyes lustful as he looked her up and down and finally fixed them on her splendid breasts. She leaned forward so he could enjoy the view: modesty was out too.
The wine and champagne flowed all night. She giggled, sucked sauce from her fingers and licked at her lips suggestively. She was slipping her slim bejeweled fingers along his thighs, and fondling him through the skin-tight breeches. The inebriated King was positively drooling as he reached across the table to tease her breasts out of her bodice.
With an imperious gesture, the Queen dismissed the musicians and the footmen. This was the perfect moment to suggest the ménage a trois. His face lit up as she whispered her invitation, licking lasciviously at his ear lobe.
Smiling seductively, she opened the door to her private drawing room and led Jeanne into the King’s presence.
Boldly, she embraced her before the King, and began sensuously kissing her. The King was astounded by his own arousal at the sight of his wife running her hands over her lover’s pouty breasts. The two women kissed each other passionately and he approached them and began to slowly unlace their gowns, kissing their white shoulders, their silken backs. He cupped their breasts in his calloused horseman’s hands, plucking fiercely at their erect nipples, reveling in their muffled cries as he rubbed sly, cruel fingers against their tiny erect nubs and the wet openings of their womanhood.
They stepped out of their dresses still engaged in their devouring kiss. He dropped his drawers and released his enormous erection. The women pushed him down on the bed and began to tear at what was left of his clothing.
Maria Karolina, wild eyed and panting was stretching her arms out to Jeanne, who eagerly spread the Queens lush thighs and plunging her face into the thatch of wet curls, began to pleasure her.
The King gasped in astonished arousal at the sight of Maria Karolina’s body writhing and arching in pleasure, he took his rearing erection in both hands and ran his eager hands up and down his shaft. Maria Karolina was moaning as Jeanne lapped eagerly at her mound of Venus, nibbling at her folds. She reached her hand out, gesturing to her husband, summoning him to the feast. The King roughly pushed Jeanne out of the way and eagerly plunged his aching hardness into his wife’s soaking vagina. The Queen screamed with pleasure at his hard thrusts, while Jeanne moved up her body, washing her tongue over her delicate skin, suckling savagely on her swollen nipples.
With a wild orgasm shaking her body, the first ever with the King, Maria Karolina shrieked out her pleasure and the King reached his own jetting crescendo. Panting the Royal couple gazed in satisfaction into each other’s eyes. Maria Karolina reached for Jeanne and kissed her gratefully, but when her lover attempted to draw her slim fingers down to her own aching and unfulfilled slippery cleft, the Queen gently pushed her away.
The King lay back next to his sleeping wife and caressed her lush body, confident that he may just have been able to impregnate her. He sighed: closing his eyes, and was almost asleep when he felt gentle fingers trailing down his sated penis, cupping his genitals gently.
Startled he opened his eyes to see Jeanne looking down at him, lips parted in desire. In astonishment he found himself responding, coming erect under her sensitive fingers.
Jeanne trailed sharp nails over his body, licking at the red welts scored by her caresses with a sly tongue.
She cupped his testicles, ran her tongue over his gland, nibbled with a sensuality verging on cruelty on his painfully erect penis until he felt he would burst.
With a triumphant smile, Jeanne straddled him, guiding him to her aching portal, and thrust down on his vaunting erection, taking him all the way into her depths in one fierce movement.
Astounded the King felt her tight flesh tear, saw tears of gathering in her eyes, saw her bite back a cry of pain.
The inimitable Madam de Pompadour was a virgin.
A mingling of lust and tenderness he’d never felt before overcome him. Wrapping his hands around her tiny waist, he held her still on his rampant member, then, as her pain abated, he slowly started thrusting up into her wetness.The rosy mouth was parted in astonished delight as he licked and suckled on her tiny erect nipples, bruising them with his teeth. He was thrusting up harder and deeper into her, until Jeanne was arching back, stifling screams of pleasure with her hands.
Roaring, the King felt a surge of liquid pleasure burst through him at the sight of her ecstasy: a flood of pleasure such as he’d never felt before.
TO BE CONTINUED....
February 2, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 4
Chapter 4
A fat yellow moon peered through high misty clouds, there was a hint of crispness in the air as autumn began to make its presence known. Restlessly Noelle tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. The windows were open and she shivered under the thin covers, finally jumping out of bed to find where the maid had hidden the extra blankets.
As she reached up to the top shelf of the closet, the box with the Jester's belongings fell to the ground and as she began to gather the dropped items together she noticed an unusual button. The Jester's clothes were very colorful, and when she had looked through his clothes she had not seen anything that he had worn that would match this button. Could this quite possibly be their first clue?
As she pondered this, she took out her feathered pen and wrote a quick letter to Desiree' and Jean, requesting a rendezvous with them the next morning at 10am sharp.
No one was available at this ungodly hour to deliver the letters, so after placing Desiree's letter under her door, she put on her dressing gown and walked down the long cold passage in search of Jean's suite which was in the Royal wing.
She was approaching his room when a door opened behind her, and as she spun around startled, to see who it was. She came face to face with the Queen. Noelle's dressing-gown was open revealing her flimsy negligee and offering a glimpse of her perfect breasts. Maria Karolina's eyes fixed on them, and she reached out one long delicate hand and gently stroked them. Noelle stood speechless, trembling breathlessly, with her mouth wide open, and her heart racing.
A voice called out in the dark and the Queen turned away. Without a word she swept back through the open door, closing it behind her. Noelle stood stock still for a few more moments, gathering her thoughts. She slipped the letter under Jean’s door with unsteady hands and ran back to her room.
She curled up under the covers. She had just accepted Humphrey's proposal, how could she have such thoughts about the Queen? She spent the next hour tossing and turning, and as hard as she tried she could not fall asleep. Exhaustion lulled her to sleep and she awoke with the sun's rays on her face at 6am.
As much as she despised early mornings, Noelle’s thoughts turned immediately to seeing the Queen at breakfast. Excitement and curiosity surged through her. She carefully dressed and perfumed herself, hands trembling and her heart pounding.
*****
Desireé bounced out of her bed, and onto her knees. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to her prayers. She missed the quiet routines of the convent; the safe patterned life. Mostly she missed Matins: the morning prayers that seemed somehow to cleanse her soul and affirm her faith; her strength for facing life’s daily challenges.
She rose to her feet and stripping off her nightgown, proceeded to wash herself vigorously with the cold water in the laver by the bed. She was washing off the last of the soap when a tiny noise behind her made her spin on her heels. She was face-to-face with Jean, the King’s brother!
He stood with one hand on the door, his mouth opened; his eyes riveted to her body, on the small high virginal breasts, the taut pink nipples pearled with water.
With a cry, Desireé grabbed for her gown where she’d left it at the bottom of the bed, and pressed it to her chest.
Something fell from the gown’s silken folds: a box.
A red lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl rolled across the Persian carpet, spilling its contents at the Duc d’Orleans feet.
Jean bent down gathering the box and its contents, using the moment to mask his perturbation at the sight of the girl’s nudity.
Desireé ducked behind a Chinese screen and quickly pulled her gown on over her wet skin.
She heard an exclamation and peeked out to see Jean bent over the desk, examining the box: her curiosity was definitely stronger than her embarrassment. She slowly approached the table and peered around Jean’s bent back to try and catch a glimpse of what he’d found.
He looked up at her, black eyes snapping with excitement.
“Where is Noelle? Quick, call her.”
Desireé crossed the sitting room and knocked on her cousin’s door.
“I don’t think she’ll be up at this hour…” To her surprise Noelle opened the door immediately. She was fully dressed, immaculately made up and coiffed, and with a feverish gleam in her wide eyes.
Astonishing.
“Good morning Desireé, Jean…I thought our meeting was set for 10 o’clock…I was about to go to her Majesty’s sitting-room to help serve her morning chocolate.”
“Forget the chocolate.” Jean’s eyes glittered, “Look at this… Declarations on the birth of a Royal child, a Diploma signed by the Court Midwife, who reports that the Royal Tattoo was placed as is usual on a presumptive heir, but the date…This was eight years before Louis’s birth.”
“The child obviously died…” put in Noelle.
“You don’t understand! There was no other male child. Only three girls, one born dead, one dead at four, and one who is supposed to be deformed, she was sent to St Cyr (we have an aunt there too); then two years later Louis was born, and then last, (but not least!) myself.”
The three stared at each other in bewilderment: another Royal Heir, and older than the King. He would take precedence; he could overthrow Louis XV and take the throne…
*****
Two hours later Noelle was able to confidently face his Majesty Louis XV across his golden desk and present him with the evidence. It was with great satisfaction that she watched the color drain from the king’s saturnine features.
He gaped as he read and reread the papers. He placed a trembling hand over the Birth Diploma and gasped:
“Where... where did you find this, and does anyone else know about it?”
“Majesty, only I, my cousin and your Royal Brother. We found it in the Jester’s room, but I have reason to believe the killer knew about it, for he tried to attack my cousin when she found the box it was hidden in.”
“Find this killer! Find him, Madame Noelle, and your reward will be great.” The Royal lips narrowed, “Not only is he threatening the life of my Jesters, but the mere idea of the existence of a pretender can threaten the very stability of France.”
Noelle nodded, “Sire, I will continue to investigate, but this pretender has a tattoo, so we have only to endeavor to see it: we can contrive an athletic competition, a swimming party…”
“You don’t understand, Madame Noelle! The Royal Tattoo, a Fleur de Lys is placed only on the first-born son (Jean doesn’t have one). It is placed immediately below the base of the penis, on the scrotum. It will not be easy for you to identify this man…”
Noelle smiled. “Fear not, Sire, I will find a way…”
*****
Smiling as she exited the King’s Study, Noelle found herself in the Queens presence. Gasping, she quickly sank into a courtesy.
“Your Majesty….”
The Queens eyes travelled over Noelle’s face, slid down her long neck, caressed the deep shadow between her breasts, and then rose again, avidly, to settle on her trembling succulent mouth.
“Come with me. I need your help, Madame Noelle…Please…”
Turning, the Queen entered her own Study drawing Noelle in after her.
Noelle felt herself shivering with anticipation. She was shocked by her own reaction: she had never found herself attracted to a woman, but Maria Karolina was different…
She was beautiful and sensual and there was something so alluring about her. Maybe it was her exotic beauty, or more likely,her power and wealth. She simply could not resist her.
Inside her study, the Queen demurely sat on the sofa and invited Noelle to join her.
She offered her a cup of tea and a brioche with blueberry compote and cream. Even though Noelle had already drunk far too much tea, she accepted and sipped daintily. She ate every morsel of the brioche, leaving a smear of cream on her lush upper lip.
Maria leaned forward and wiped the cream off with one delicate finger. She licked the cream off of it, her long tongue lapping it up slowly, sensuously. Maria Karolina leaned in towards her and kissed her full on the lips, licking around the outside of her mouth with a silken serpentine tongue.
Their kiss was hot and passionate, but Noelle broke it off with a gasp. Humphrey’s kind, gentle smile flashed through her mind. She knew this could no more than a passing fancy, an afternoon’s pleasure; for she knew the Queens heart was taken, and held, by Jeanne de Pompadour, her first and only lover, to this very day. This was a bad investment, she told herself.
*****
Jean and Desireé pored over the papers scattered on the desk.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” exclaimed Jean, “look, a Royal Birth Diploma, a sealed letter - obviously never delivered - with a rather bad poem, a woman’s lace glove…here what’s this?” He held a tiny scrap of cambric, yellowed with age, trimmed with lace and long satin ribbons.
“It’s a baby’s cap!” carefully Desireé unfolded the fragile memento, “Look, there is a lock of hair…no, two.” In her hand lay two curls, each tied up with its own scrap of ribbon: one a pale blond baby curl; the other a long lock: a still lustrous dark chocolate brown.
Jean gasped as he took up the dark lock with gentle fingers.
“This is my Mother’s, I’ll never forget her hair.”
“Your Mother?”
“The Princess who was never Queen… Yes. Marie Adelaide, Princess of Savoy.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry… How did she die?”
“Measles. She died and so did Papa, one week later.” Jean turned away, “She was 26, all I remember was her beautiful hair and her smile. But everyone loved her, Great-Grandpapa the King was overcome with grief. He wept more over her death than over my Father’s.”
“But…Jean, why would the birth of a Royal Heir be hidden?”
“Not unless my Father wasn’t the father, but she was so young…she would have been fourteen or fifteen. And besides, the child would only be the Heir if the father were…” Jean stared at Desireé, “We must go to St Cyr. She was a very young child when she came to France; they sent her to school at St Cyr…”
How strange that the convent-school founded by Madame de Maintenon kept being mentioned: all roads through Versailles, it seemed, led to St Cyr.
From the tumble of clues a golden gleam suddenly caught Desiree’s eye. She picked up the mysterious button Noelle had found among the Jester’s belongings. A gold button, beautifully engraved with a Fleur de Lys; Jean frowned.
“That’s a button from a Musketeer’s doublet, an officer. What on earth is it doing in the Jester’s room? St Cyr and the Musketeers: what a combination.”
“We must go to St Cyr, speak to the Mother Superior...She is fond of me, she will receive us, I’m sure-” exclaimed Desireé.
“And when D’Artagnan returns from Calais we will ask for his help in finding this mysterious high-ranking Musketeer. We will get to the bottom of this, come Hell or high water.”
TO BE CONTINUED....
A fat yellow moon peered through high misty clouds, there was a hint of crispness in the air as autumn began to make its presence known. Restlessly Noelle tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. The windows were open and she shivered under the thin covers, finally jumping out of bed to find where the maid had hidden the extra blankets.
As she reached up to the top shelf of the closet, the box with the Jester's belongings fell to the ground and as she began to gather the dropped items together she noticed an unusual button. The Jester's clothes were very colorful, and when she had looked through his clothes she had not seen anything that he had worn that would match this button. Could this quite possibly be their first clue?
As she pondered this, she took out her feathered pen and wrote a quick letter to Desiree' and Jean, requesting a rendezvous with them the next morning at 10am sharp.
No one was available at this ungodly hour to deliver the letters, so after placing Desiree's letter under her door, she put on her dressing gown and walked down the long cold passage in search of Jean's suite which was in the Royal wing.
She was approaching his room when a door opened behind her, and as she spun around startled, to see who it was. She came face to face with the Queen. Noelle's dressing-gown was open revealing her flimsy negligee and offering a glimpse of her perfect breasts. Maria Karolina's eyes fixed on them, and she reached out one long delicate hand and gently stroked them. Noelle stood speechless, trembling breathlessly, with her mouth wide open, and her heart racing.
A voice called out in the dark and the Queen turned away. Without a word she swept back through the open door, closing it behind her. Noelle stood stock still for a few more moments, gathering her thoughts. She slipped the letter under Jean’s door with unsteady hands and ran back to her room.
She curled up under the covers. She had just accepted Humphrey's proposal, how could she have such thoughts about the Queen? She spent the next hour tossing and turning, and as hard as she tried she could not fall asleep. Exhaustion lulled her to sleep and she awoke with the sun's rays on her face at 6am.
As much as she despised early mornings, Noelle’s thoughts turned immediately to seeing the Queen at breakfast. Excitement and curiosity surged through her. She carefully dressed and perfumed herself, hands trembling and her heart pounding.
*****
Desireé bounced out of her bed, and onto her knees. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to her prayers. She missed the quiet routines of the convent; the safe patterned life. Mostly she missed Matins: the morning prayers that seemed somehow to cleanse her soul and affirm her faith; her strength for facing life’s daily challenges.
She rose to her feet and stripping off her nightgown, proceeded to wash herself vigorously with the cold water in the laver by the bed. She was washing off the last of the soap when a tiny noise behind her made her spin on her heels. She was face-to-face with Jean, the King’s brother!
He stood with one hand on the door, his mouth opened; his eyes riveted to her body, on the small high virginal breasts, the taut pink nipples pearled with water.
With a cry, Desireé grabbed for her gown where she’d left it at the bottom of the bed, and pressed it to her chest.
Something fell from the gown’s silken folds: a box.
A red lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl rolled across the Persian carpet, spilling its contents at the Duc d’Orleans feet.
Jean bent down gathering the box and its contents, using the moment to mask his perturbation at the sight of the girl’s nudity.
Desireé ducked behind a Chinese screen and quickly pulled her gown on over her wet skin.
She heard an exclamation and peeked out to see Jean bent over the desk, examining the box: her curiosity was definitely stronger than her embarrassment. She slowly approached the table and peered around Jean’s bent back to try and catch a glimpse of what he’d found.
He looked up at her, black eyes snapping with excitement.
“Where is Noelle? Quick, call her.”
Desireé crossed the sitting room and knocked on her cousin’s door.
“I don’t think she’ll be up at this hour…” To her surprise Noelle opened the door immediately. She was fully dressed, immaculately made up and coiffed, and with a feverish gleam in her wide eyes.
Astonishing.
“Good morning Desireé, Jean…I thought our meeting was set for 10 o’clock…I was about to go to her Majesty’s sitting-room to help serve her morning chocolate.”
“Forget the chocolate.” Jean’s eyes glittered, “Look at this… Declarations on the birth of a Royal child, a Diploma signed by the Court Midwife, who reports that the Royal Tattoo was placed as is usual on a presumptive heir, but the date…This was eight years before Louis’s birth.”
“The child obviously died…” put in Noelle.
“You don’t understand! There was no other male child. Only three girls, one born dead, one dead at four, and one who is supposed to be deformed, she was sent to St Cyr (we have an aunt there too); then two years later Louis was born, and then last, (but not least!) myself.”
The three stared at each other in bewilderment: another Royal Heir, and older than the King. He would take precedence; he could overthrow Louis XV and take the throne…
*****
Two hours later Noelle was able to confidently face his Majesty Louis XV across his golden desk and present him with the evidence. It was with great satisfaction that she watched the color drain from the king’s saturnine features.
He gaped as he read and reread the papers. He placed a trembling hand over the Birth Diploma and gasped:
“Where... where did you find this, and does anyone else know about it?”
“Majesty, only I, my cousin and your Royal Brother. We found it in the Jester’s room, but I have reason to believe the killer knew about it, for he tried to attack my cousin when she found the box it was hidden in.”
“Find this killer! Find him, Madame Noelle, and your reward will be great.” The Royal lips narrowed, “Not only is he threatening the life of my Jesters, but the mere idea of the existence of a pretender can threaten the very stability of France.”
Noelle nodded, “Sire, I will continue to investigate, but this pretender has a tattoo, so we have only to endeavor to see it: we can contrive an athletic competition, a swimming party…”
“You don’t understand, Madame Noelle! The Royal Tattoo, a Fleur de Lys is placed only on the first-born son (Jean doesn’t have one). It is placed immediately below the base of the penis, on the scrotum. It will not be easy for you to identify this man…”
Noelle smiled. “Fear not, Sire, I will find a way…”
*****
Smiling as she exited the King’s Study, Noelle found herself in the Queens presence. Gasping, she quickly sank into a courtesy.
“Your Majesty….”
The Queens eyes travelled over Noelle’s face, slid down her long neck, caressed the deep shadow between her breasts, and then rose again, avidly, to settle on her trembling succulent mouth.
“Come with me. I need your help, Madame Noelle…Please…”
Turning, the Queen entered her own Study drawing Noelle in after her.
Noelle felt herself shivering with anticipation. She was shocked by her own reaction: she had never found herself attracted to a woman, but Maria Karolina was different…
She was beautiful and sensual and there was something so alluring about her. Maybe it was her exotic beauty, or more likely,her power and wealth. She simply could not resist her.
Inside her study, the Queen demurely sat on the sofa and invited Noelle to join her.
She offered her a cup of tea and a brioche with blueberry compote and cream. Even though Noelle had already drunk far too much tea, she accepted and sipped daintily. She ate every morsel of the brioche, leaving a smear of cream on her lush upper lip.
Maria leaned forward and wiped the cream off with one delicate finger. She licked the cream off of it, her long tongue lapping it up slowly, sensuously. Maria Karolina leaned in towards her and kissed her full on the lips, licking around the outside of her mouth with a silken serpentine tongue.
Their kiss was hot and passionate, but Noelle broke it off with a gasp. Humphrey’s kind, gentle smile flashed through her mind. She knew this could no more than a passing fancy, an afternoon’s pleasure; for she knew the Queens heart was taken, and held, by Jeanne de Pompadour, her first and only lover, to this very day. This was a bad investment, she told herself.
*****
Jean and Desireé pored over the papers scattered on the desk.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” exclaimed Jean, “look, a Royal Birth Diploma, a sealed letter - obviously never delivered - with a rather bad poem, a woman’s lace glove…here what’s this?” He held a tiny scrap of cambric, yellowed with age, trimmed with lace and long satin ribbons.
“It’s a baby’s cap!” carefully Desireé unfolded the fragile memento, “Look, there is a lock of hair…no, two.” In her hand lay two curls, each tied up with its own scrap of ribbon: one a pale blond baby curl; the other a long lock: a still lustrous dark chocolate brown.
Jean gasped as he took up the dark lock with gentle fingers.
“This is my Mother’s, I’ll never forget her hair.”
“Your Mother?”
“The Princess who was never Queen… Yes. Marie Adelaide, Princess of Savoy.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry… How did she die?”
“Measles. She died and so did Papa, one week later.” Jean turned away, “She was 26, all I remember was her beautiful hair and her smile. But everyone loved her, Great-Grandpapa the King was overcome with grief. He wept more over her death than over my Father’s.”
“But…Jean, why would the birth of a Royal Heir be hidden?”
“Not unless my Father wasn’t the father, but she was so young…she would have been fourteen or fifteen. And besides, the child would only be the Heir if the father were…” Jean stared at Desireé, “We must go to St Cyr. She was a very young child when she came to France; they sent her to school at St Cyr…”
How strange that the convent-school founded by Madame de Maintenon kept being mentioned: all roads through Versailles, it seemed, led to St Cyr.
From the tumble of clues a golden gleam suddenly caught Desiree’s eye. She picked up the mysterious button Noelle had found among the Jester’s belongings. A gold button, beautifully engraved with a Fleur de Lys; Jean frowned.
“That’s a button from a Musketeer’s doublet, an officer. What on earth is it doing in the Jester’s room? St Cyr and the Musketeers: what a combination.”
“We must go to St Cyr, speak to the Mother Superior...She is fond of me, she will receive us, I’m sure-” exclaimed Desireé.
“And when D’Artagnan returns from Calais we will ask for his help in finding this mysterious high-ranking Musketeer. We will get to the bottom of this, come Hell or high water.”
TO BE CONTINUED....
LAST NIGHT'S MOON SHONE OVER-BRIGHT
I think most nightsI dream sweet
Odd dreams
Woven into
Bizarre imaginings.
The kind virgin maidens
Once swooned
And mooned over;
Fools' dreams.
When the sun rises
I take them
And drape
Them around
My shoulders
So when
The harshest light
Of scalding noon
Falls bright and white
And shows too much
(oh every cruel detail.)
Those are the dreams
I use to veil
The harshest
Contours
Of my reality.
I have seen
So much of it.
Reality.
Too much.
And soon, I think,
Will see even more.
Does it make me weak
If I sometimes needAnd so long
To believe?
Just for an hour.
Is it too much
To ask that between
This noon and dusk
There be one brief hour
When can I rest my eyes
From bitter sight?
A place to lay
My head and heart.
Most nights I dream,
But not last night.
Last night's Moon
Shone over-bright
And because I am
The thing that I am;
(much as I insist on conjuring up
that self-deceiving veil)
My eyes do not fail
To see what is or isn't
As the case may be,
And just as I cannot
Lie to others,
I cannot lie to me.
Last night the moon
Became a mirror
Brightened to a perfect
Sheen by the wine.
Shinning bright
With a pitiless
Mocking light.
And showed me
The cruel reflexion
Of the ill-made-night.
Manuela Cardiga
Odd dreams
Woven into
Bizarre imaginings.
The kind virgin maidens
Once swooned
And mooned over;
Fools' dreams.
When the sun rises
I take them
And drape
Them around
My shoulders
So when
The harshest light
Of scalding noon
Falls bright and white
And shows too much
(oh every cruel detail.)
Those are the dreams
I use to veil
The harshest
Contours
Of my reality.
I have seen
So much of it.
Reality.
Too much.
And soon, I think,
Will see even more.
Does it make me weak
If I sometimes needAnd so long
To believe?
Just for an hour.
Is it too much
To ask that between
This noon and dusk
There be one brief hour
When can I rest my eyes
From bitter sight?
A place to lay
My head and heart.
Most nights I dream,
But not last night.
Last night's Moon
Shone over-bright
And because I am
The thing that I am;
(much as I insist on conjuring up
that self-deceiving veil)
My eyes do not fail
To see what is or isn't
As the case may be,
And just as I cannot
Lie to others,
I cannot lie to me.
Last night the moon
Became a mirror
Brightened to a perfect
Sheen by the wine.
Shinning bright
With a pitiless
Mocking light.
And showed me
The cruel reflexion
Of the ill-made-night.
Manuela Cardiga
I HAVE A SPLINTER IN MY PALM
I offer up myself again
For nothing in return.
I stand here
With my hands full
Of all the little pebbles
And odd things in boxes:
The ribbons and pearls,
Fragments of sea-glass,
And bright bottle tops
A scale from a dragon,
And a splinter from a wheel
Of a Voortrekker waggon.
I offer these up,
All these childish
Treasures
I have gathered
And I tremble
Least I see them
Scattered
Or mocked.
These words
And dreams;
These foolish schemes
And baubbles,
They are all
I've got.
I have no more
Of value to offer,
Add or give.
And none
Of my treasures
Counted up
Are enough
To buy me
One spark of love.
But still I
Stretch out my hand,
Open my mind,
What ever the cost.
And if the dream be lost
It will not be the first
Nor the last.
Manuela Cardiga
For nothing in return.
I stand here
With my hands full
Of all the little pebbles
And odd things in boxes:
The ribbons and pearls,
Fragments of sea-glass,
And bright bottle tops
A scale from a dragon,
And a splinter from a wheel
Of a Voortrekker waggon.
I offer these up,
All these childish
Treasures
I have gathered
And I tremble
Least I see them
Scattered
Or mocked.
These words
And dreams;
These foolish schemes
And baubbles,
They are all
I've got.
I have no more
Of value to offer,
Add or give.
And none
Of my treasures
Counted up
Are enough
To buy me
One spark of love.
But still I
Stretch out my hand,
Open my mind,
What ever the cost.
And if the dream be lost
It will not be the first
Nor the last.
Manuela Cardiga
February 1, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 3
Chapter 3The slow ticking of the gilded mantel clock was the only sound in the dark chamber, as the killer moved, silent as a shadow across the floor. Gloved fingers tipped a tiny vial of murky liquid into a cup by a bed-side. The killer stopped dead still as the man on the bed turned over and grumbled in his sleep. The killer shook back lace cuffs, adjusted the position of the cup, and carefully stepped back from the sleeper. The deed was done. Sometime during the night, the sleeper would reach for his cup and down agonizing death.
*****
Veronique Bijoux let out a blood curdling scream that echoed through the palace walls, awakening all from a deep sleep. It was 5am. Part of her morning routine was to ensure she woke Francois DuPont, the Court Jester, before she pressed on with any other rituals.
Veronique had worked at the Palace as a Chamber Maid for over 20 years and Francois practiced his comedy act with her every day. She was always in a good mood, his jokes and dances kept her amused for the entire day. She was only expected to begin her shift at 6am but Francois was an early bird, and enjoyed his morning hot-chocolate in bed and he rewarded her with a few sous as an added incentive for her early start.
This morning Francois lay there on the floor with his one arm stretched out as if he was attempting to reach for something out of the bedside table, his face twisted into a mask of agony. Veronique screamed, shaking with hysteria and disbelief, until another servant arrived to see what all the fuss was about. Seems yet another Jester had been poisoned.
*****
Noelle was not a morning person; she loathed and abhorred waking up before 10am! This post at the Palace was perfect in every respect; she could sleep in late and conduct her investigations on her own schedule.
When she heard the scream, she instinctively ignored it and burrowed deeper into her pillows.
Desireé did not even knock on her door. She burst through and rudely insisted that Noelle come with her to see what had transpired. Noelle refused to be seen “au natural”. She was reaching for her patches and powder and attempting to brush her long thick red mane, but Desiree' snatched the brush from her and forcefully taking her by the hand, dragged her out of her room and down the long cold corridors of the Palace towards the Jester's wing.
"Not another dead Jester!" Noelle muttered under her breath. This made her assignment that much more difficult.
They followed the sound of raised voices and opened the door to find the two chamber maids bent over Francois.
Noelle insisted quizzing the poor maid on every detail. She called the Palace Doctor and ordered that a post-mortem examination be conducted immediately.
She was most irritated. Noelle had made lunch arrangements; she was to dine with Lord Marmeduke. He had been most attentive since the Masquerade Ball and they had spent many afternoons and evenings – chastely - together.
This murder came at a most inconvenient moment. She hoped she could get the preliminary investigation over with as quickly as possible, so she could get a few more hours sleep, and still have time to fuss over herself before meeting her charming Englishman.
She remembered Francois as a most jovial sort, and she had rather enjoyed his quirky ways and odd looks, and for just one moment felt guilty for being so nonchalant about the poor man’s demise.
When the Doctor completed his examination he advised Noelle that all evidence was pointing to yet another poisoning.
She knew that the King would be upset. She would be summoned to appear before him, and account for the death of his favorite Jester. He would once again complain about a woman undertaking such a responsibility, and how little faith he had in her abilities.
She wished she could get to the bottom of these awful untimely deaths. She decided to skip her morning nap and instructed Desireé to turn the room upside down, looking for clues, to this most perplexing mystery.
Desireé with the fervent enthusiasm of a novice detective carefully combed though the room an inch at a time. She drew back the sheets on the modest bed, tossed the covers, rummaged through the tall-boy. Other than his fanciful props and parti-colored costumes, Francois had owned very little. Nothing, in fact, pointed to his character, or his personal tastes.
On the bed-side table an overturned cup bore mute testimony to the murder weapon.
Careful not to touch the spilled wine, Desireé opened the drawer of the bed-side table.
Inside was a lacquered box: a Lady’s jewelry box. As the door silently opened behind her, Desireé tucked the little box into the capacious pockets the nuns at St Cyr so wisely sewed into all their clothing.
Pain and darkness overcame her, and Desireé sank onto the floor with a soft cry as the intruder stuck her viciously on the back of her head.
Leaning over the frail form of the unconscious girl, the intruder heard a crashing sound and ran to the open window in desperate attempt not to be caught...
Why did this beautiful innocent creature have to be in the room when an important piece of evidence had been so carelessly left behind? Desiree' lay on the ground unconscious just for a few moments and began to stir, mumbling incoherently.
Relieved that no serious harm had come to the fragile beauty, the intruder left the scene of the crime as quickly as possible, inadvertently leaving yet another clue.
*****
Noelle had been summoned to see the King, but as she entered the ante-chamber, his Secretary sent her away again, waving a languid hand; insisting she come back in the late afternoon after the King’s nap.
She made her way back to the death scene to see if Desireé had uncovered anything that could help identify the murderer. She could not help smiling at her young cousin's enthusiasm. She didn’t notice a large Chinese vase, precariously positioned on a commode in the corridor just outside the Jester's room. She accidentally jostled it, knocking it over, making a shuddering, and clanging sound. She left the precious vase in pieces. One of the chamber maids could deal with it.
As she walked into the room she found Desireé sprawled on the floor. She rushed over and lifted her head, checked her pulse, and thankfully heard her cousin's whimper.
She held her in her arms and then lifted her up and placed her on the Jester's bed, and propped her up on the pillows. She was reluctant to use any of the objects in the room, for fear of endangering Desireé.
She screamed for Veronique and curtly ordered her to bring her a laver with water and linen cloths “VITE! VITE!” when she appeared in the doorway, fearfully wringing her coarse red hands.
She gently wiped Desiree’s face with cold water. The girl looked entirely helpless, her face deadly pale, her silver-gilt hair splotched with blood.
Desireé, sat up suddenly, her dark eyes enormous; insisting she was just fine, and bouncing off the bed, starting sorting through the evidence.
Noelle was beginning to think she was completely out of her depth, how in heaven's name were the two of them ever going to find this most devious and violent murderer?
How on earth was she going to keep her naive, vulnerable and overenthusiastic little cousin out of harm’s way? With this in mind, she resolved to recruit a third party: a resourceful male with a quick sword and a slow libido...
But who?
She had to protect Desireé from the lascivious habitués of this most depraved of Courts. So who? Who?
But of course.
Who else but him?
The one, the only: the bravest of the brave, the boldest of the bold, the gayest of the gay! D’Artagnan the III, the Gay Galivanter, the King’s own favorite Musketeer.
Filled with determination, Noelle firmly escorted Desireé to their quarters and carefully cleaned and bandaged her cut scalp. She left Desireé in the care of Veronique Bijoux, while she ventured out to the military barracks on the other side of the Palace.
Hurrying along the parade ground, Noelle passed scores of bronzed muscular bare-chested young men sparring with foils and sabers. Curiously, the slick and sweaty bodies aroused not the slightest interest in her. She must be becoming jaded indeed, if the sight of so much prime male flesh left her indifferent.
*****
In the gloom of the armory the blades flashed like lightning: again and again the Master moved to strike and parry, and found his every move blocked.
The metallic striking and screeching of the blades against each other, the hoarse gasps and sharply indrawn breaths as the two adversaries sparred were the only sounds in the huge empty space.
Astounded, Noelle, watched as a swordsman in a mesh-metal face-guard fought D’Artagnan; the great D’Artagnan III to a standstill.
With a laugh and a lunge, the mysterious man struck the Master’s foil from his hand.
“Darling!” D’Artagnan affected tones belied the steel glint in his eyes and the tell-tale warrior’s spring in his step, “You RUINED my favorite lace cuffs!”
The swordsman laughed and tossed his mask aside gracefully.
“You let me win, you bloody pansy.” Noelle gasped! It was Jean d’Orleans. The King’s brother!
At the sound both men turned and looked at her. Noelle stepped forward and curtseyed gravely.
“Gentlemen.”
“Why! It is the beauteous Noelle!” D’Artagnan smiled with genuine affection.
“My dear Noelle, alone?” Jean d’Orleans peeked around her hopefully, “Where is that pretty little nun?”
“Not well, someone struck her unconscious in Francois the Jester’s rooms, which,” she turned to D’Artagnan, “is why I’m here! I need help, it is getting too dangerous, and now my little ward is involved.”
“Tres bien,” D’Artagnan twirled his thin elegant moustache and smirked, “From my friend Jean’s preoccupation, I surmise your ward is not so “little”…”
“…which is why I am asking for your help.”
“Cher! I’m so sorry! I leave today for Calais! But perhaps..?” He turned to Jean, “My friend here can help you?”
Jean grinned. Ha! The ripe peach would fall from the tree straight into his hand.
“It would be a pleasure to help such lovely Ladies.”
Horrified Noelle realized she could not refuse the King’s brother’s help.
She’d be offering up her lamb to the big bad wolf.
*****
Noelle was exhausted and relieved after the long day. She was eternally grateful for the addition of Jean to the investigation team, although suspicious about his deeper – or was it shallower – motivation.
The King had sent her a hand written message instructing her to report to his study the next morning at 11am. This allowed her to press on with her dinner plans with Lord Marmeduke.
Ever since the Masquerade Ball he seemed more than intrigued with her, and he could not get enough of her company. With his aunt prompting him, she felt that he might be getting closer to making a commitment to her. He was a perfect choice in every respect, and when he proposed she would indeed accept his offer, eagerly.
He was sending a coach to pick her up from the Palace and take her to his Country Home. She chose a lilac gown in damasked silk that enhanced the pink tones in her skin and her green eyes gleamed like emeralds.
She had kept the curling papers in her hair for a longer time and when she removed them the burnished curls bounced out flirtatiously, the lilac tones of the dress enhancing the red in her locks.
When she slipped into the gown it clung to her curves, the deep bodice framing her breasts enticingly.
As she added the final touches to her face, placing a tiny black beauty spot close to her lush mouth, she felt more than pleased with her looks.
She knew she had been blessed with beauty but she also could not rely on her looks alone to succeed: looks faded. Having a handsome, wealthy, aristocratic and very dedicated husband would certainly help. With that happy thought, she smiled seductively at herself in the mirror, picked up her pearl-embroidered matching lilac stole and after checking up on the sleeping Desireé, set off for what promised to be a most memorable evening.
*****
Humphrey Marmaduke was waiting impatiently at the broad gallery before his Chateaux. He opened the coach door himself, rudely pushing his butler out of the way to proffer his own hand to help her alight. He stared at her, dazzled. He kissed her hands, passionately, yet respectfully, his eyes conveying his boundless admiration.
Hand in hand they walked through the entrance hall and into the dining room where a table was set for two under a dazzling crystal chandelier.
The footmen served the Champagne and discretely stepped back, out of hearing. As she lifted her glass to Humphries toast, she noticed a gleam through the crystal.
She dipped her slender fingers into the Champagne and was struck speechless as she scooped out the most magnificent ring. A sapphire: perfect clarity, exquisite shade of azure, square-cut, at least five carats with a rim encrusted with rose-cut diamonds, and a high resale value. Emotion choked her: it was perfect.
Humphrey, Lord Marmaduke, went down on one knee and stuttering, blushing, begged for her hand in marriage. Overcome with emotion and joy, she could not control the tears that streamed down her cheeks. He leaped up and tenderly wiped her face with his scented handkerchief.
“No, my dearest, do not weep, I beg you....You are too lovely to ever cry...If you accept me, it will be my duty and my privilege to make sure you will never have reason to weep again...”
Looking into his earnest and loving eyes, Noelle gasped out her reply:
“Oh Humphrey, these are precious tears, tears of joy, my beloved! Yes, I WILL be your wife!”
With an ecstatic cry he swept her up into his arms and twirled her around.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur, both deliriously happy, making plans for their future life and as he respectfully kissed her goodnight, she set off in the coach back to the Palace knowing that finally her dreams were coming true.
TO BE CONTINUED....
*****
Veronique Bijoux let out a blood curdling scream that echoed through the palace walls, awakening all from a deep sleep. It was 5am. Part of her morning routine was to ensure she woke Francois DuPont, the Court Jester, before she pressed on with any other rituals.
Veronique had worked at the Palace as a Chamber Maid for over 20 years and Francois practiced his comedy act with her every day. She was always in a good mood, his jokes and dances kept her amused for the entire day. She was only expected to begin her shift at 6am but Francois was an early bird, and enjoyed his morning hot-chocolate in bed and he rewarded her with a few sous as an added incentive for her early start.
This morning Francois lay there on the floor with his one arm stretched out as if he was attempting to reach for something out of the bedside table, his face twisted into a mask of agony. Veronique screamed, shaking with hysteria and disbelief, until another servant arrived to see what all the fuss was about. Seems yet another Jester had been poisoned.
*****
Noelle was not a morning person; she loathed and abhorred waking up before 10am! This post at the Palace was perfect in every respect; she could sleep in late and conduct her investigations on her own schedule.
When she heard the scream, she instinctively ignored it and burrowed deeper into her pillows.
Desireé did not even knock on her door. She burst through and rudely insisted that Noelle come with her to see what had transpired. Noelle refused to be seen “au natural”. She was reaching for her patches and powder and attempting to brush her long thick red mane, but Desiree' snatched the brush from her and forcefully taking her by the hand, dragged her out of her room and down the long cold corridors of the Palace towards the Jester's wing.
"Not another dead Jester!" Noelle muttered under her breath. This made her assignment that much more difficult.
They followed the sound of raised voices and opened the door to find the two chamber maids bent over Francois.
Noelle insisted quizzing the poor maid on every detail. She called the Palace Doctor and ordered that a post-mortem examination be conducted immediately.
She was most irritated. Noelle had made lunch arrangements; she was to dine with Lord Marmeduke. He had been most attentive since the Masquerade Ball and they had spent many afternoons and evenings – chastely - together.
This murder came at a most inconvenient moment. She hoped she could get the preliminary investigation over with as quickly as possible, so she could get a few more hours sleep, and still have time to fuss over herself before meeting her charming Englishman.
She remembered Francois as a most jovial sort, and she had rather enjoyed his quirky ways and odd looks, and for just one moment felt guilty for being so nonchalant about the poor man’s demise.
When the Doctor completed his examination he advised Noelle that all evidence was pointing to yet another poisoning.
She knew that the King would be upset. She would be summoned to appear before him, and account for the death of his favorite Jester. He would once again complain about a woman undertaking such a responsibility, and how little faith he had in her abilities.
She wished she could get to the bottom of these awful untimely deaths. She decided to skip her morning nap and instructed Desireé to turn the room upside down, looking for clues, to this most perplexing mystery.
Desireé with the fervent enthusiasm of a novice detective carefully combed though the room an inch at a time. She drew back the sheets on the modest bed, tossed the covers, rummaged through the tall-boy. Other than his fanciful props and parti-colored costumes, Francois had owned very little. Nothing, in fact, pointed to his character, or his personal tastes.
On the bed-side table an overturned cup bore mute testimony to the murder weapon.
Careful not to touch the spilled wine, Desireé opened the drawer of the bed-side table.
Inside was a lacquered box: a Lady’s jewelry box. As the door silently opened behind her, Desireé tucked the little box into the capacious pockets the nuns at St Cyr so wisely sewed into all their clothing.
Pain and darkness overcame her, and Desireé sank onto the floor with a soft cry as the intruder stuck her viciously on the back of her head.
Leaning over the frail form of the unconscious girl, the intruder heard a crashing sound and ran to the open window in desperate attempt not to be caught...
Why did this beautiful innocent creature have to be in the room when an important piece of evidence had been so carelessly left behind? Desiree' lay on the ground unconscious just for a few moments and began to stir, mumbling incoherently.
Relieved that no serious harm had come to the fragile beauty, the intruder left the scene of the crime as quickly as possible, inadvertently leaving yet another clue.
*****
Noelle had been summoned to see the King, but as she entered the ante-chamber, his Secretary sent her away again, waving a languid hand; insisting she come back in the late afternoon after the King’s nap.
She made her way back to the death scene to see if Desireé had uncovered anything that could help identify the murderer. She could not help smiling at her young cousin's enthusiasm. She didn’t notice a large Chinese vase, precariously positioned on a commode in the corridor just outside the Jester's room. She accidentally jostled it, knocking it over, making a shuddering, and clanging sound. She left the precious vase in pieces. One of the chamber maids could deal with it.
As she walked into the room she found Desireé sprawled on the floor. She rushed over and lifted her head, checked her pulse, and thankfully heard her cousin's whimper.
She held her in her arms and then lifted her up and placed her on the Jester's bed, and propped her up on the pillows. She was reluctant to use any of the objects in the room, for fear of endangering Desireé.
She screamed for Veronique and curtly ordered her to bring her a laver with water and linen cloths “VITE! VITE!” when she appeared in the doorway, fearfully wringing her coarse red hands.
She gently wiped Desiree’s face with cold water. The girl looked entirely helpless, her face deadly pale, her silver-gilt hair splotched with blood.
Desireé, sat up suddenly, her dark eyes enormous; insisting she was just fine, and bouncing off the bed, starting sorting through the evidence.
Noelle was beginning to think she was completely out of her depth, how in heaven's name were the two of them ever going to find this most devious and violent murderer?
How on earth was she going to keep her naive, vulnerable and overenthusiastic little cousin out of harm’s way? With this in mind, she resolved to recruit a third party: a resourceful male with a quick sword and a slow libido...
But who?
She had to protect Desireé from the lascivious habitués of this most depraved of Courts. So who? Who?
But of course.
Who else but him?
The one, the only: the bravest of the brave, the boldest of the bold, the gayest of the gay! D’Artagnan the III, the Gay Galivanter, the King’s own favorite Musketeer.
Filled with determination, Noelle firmly escorted Desireé to their quarters and carefully cleaned and bandaged her cut scalp. She left Desireé in the care of Veronique Bijoux, while she ventured out to the military barracks on the other side of the Palace.
Hurrying along the parade ground, Noelle passed scores of bronzed muscular bare-chested young men sparring with foils and sabers. Curiously, the slick and sweaty bodies aroused not the slightest interest in her. She must be becoming jaded indeed, if the sight of so much prime male flesh left her indifferent.
*****
In the gloom of the armory the blades flashed like lightning: again and again the Master moved to strike and parry, and found his every move blocked.
The metallic striking and screeching of the blades against each other, the hoarse gasps and sharply indrawn breaths as the two adversaries sparred were the only sounds in the huge empty space.
Astounded, Noelle, watched as a swordsman in a mesh-metal face-guard fought D’Artagnan; the great D’Artagnan III to a standstill.
With a laugh and a lunge, the mysterious man struck the Master’s foil from his hand.
“Darling!” D’Artagnan affected tones belied the steel glint in his eyes and the tell-tale warrior’s spring in his step, “You RUINED my favorite lace cuffs!”
The swordsman laughed and tossed his mask aside gracefully.
“You let me win, you bloody pansy.” Noelle gasped! It was Jean d’Orleans. The King’s brother!
At the sound both men turned and looked at her. Noelle stepped forward and curtseyed gravely.
“Gentlemen.”
“Why! It is the beauteous Noelle!” D’Artagnan smiled with genuine affection.
“My dear Noelle, alone?” Jean d’Orleans peeked around her hopefully, “Where is that pretty little nun?”
“Not well, someone struck her unconscious in Francois the Jester’s rooms, which,” she turned to D’Artagnan, “is why I’m here! I need help, it is getting too dangerous, and now my little ward is involved.”
“Tres bien,” D’Artagnan twirled his thin elegant moustache and smirked, “From my friend Jean’s preoccupation, I surmise your ward is not so “little”…”
“…which is why I am asking for your help.”
“Cher! I’m so sorry! I leave today for Calais! But perhaps..?” He turned to Jean, “My friend here can help you?”
Jean grinned. Ha! The ripe peach would fall from the tree straight into his hand.
“It would be a pleasure to help such lovely Ladies.”
Horrified Noelle realized she could not refuse the King’s brother’s help.
She’d be offering up her lamb to the big bad wolf.
*****
Noelle was exhausted and relieved after the long day. She was eternally grateful for the addition of Jean to the investigation team, although suspicious about his deeper – or was it shallower – motivation.
The King had sent her a hand written message instructing her to report to his study the next morning at 11am. This allowed her to press on with her dinner plans with Lord Marmeduke.
Ever since the Masquerade Ball he seemed more than intrigued with her, and he could not get enough of her company. With his aunt prompting him, she felt that he might be getting closer to making a commitment to her. He was a perfect choice in every respect, and when he proposed she would indeed accept his offer, eagerly.
He was sending a coach to pick her up from the Palace and take her to his Country Home. She chose a lilac gown in damasked silk that enhanced the pink tones in her skin and her green eyes gleamed like emeralds.
She had kept the curling papers in her hair for a longer time and when she removed them the burnished curls bounced out flirtatiously, the lilac tones of the dress enhancing the red in her locks.
When she slipped into the gown it clung to her curves, the deep bodice framing her breasts enticingly.
As she added the final touches to her face, placing a tiny black beauty spot close to her lush mouth, she felt more than pleased with her looks.
She knew she had been blessed with beauty but she also could not rely on her looks alone to succeed: looks faded. Having a handsome, wealthy, aristocratic and very dedicated husband would certainly help. With that happy thought, she smiled seductively at herself in the mirror, picked up her pearl-embroidered matching lilac stole and after checking up on the sleeping Desireé, set off for what promised to be a most memorable evening.
*****
Humphrey Marmaduke was waiting impatiently at the broad gallery before his Chateaux. He opened the coach door himself, rudely pushing his butler out of the way to proffer his own hand to help her alight. He stared at her, dazzled. He kissed her hands, passionately, yet respectfully, his eyes conveying his boundless admiration.
Hand in hand they walked through the entrance hall and into the dining room where a table was set for two under a dazzling crystal chandelier.
The footmen served the Champagne and discretely stepped back, out of hearing. As she lifted her glass to Humphries toast, she noticed a gleam through the crystal.
She dipped her slender fingers into the Champagne and was struck speechless as she scooped out the most magnificent ring. A sapphire: perfect clarity, exquisite shade of azure, square-cut, at least five carats with a rim encrusted with rose-cut diamonds, and a high resale value. Emotion choked her: it was perfect.
Humphrey, Lord Marmaduke, went down on one knee and stuttering, blushing, begged for her hand in marriage. Overcome with emotion and joy, she could not control the tears that streamed down her cheeks. He leaped up and tenderly wiped her face with his scented handkerchief.
“No, my dearest, do not weep, I beg you....You are too lovely to ever cry...If you accept me, it will be my duty and my privilege to make sure you will never have reason to weep again...”
Looking into his earnest and loving eyes, Noelle gasped out her reply:
“Oh Humphrey, these are precious tears, tears of joy, my beloved! Yes, I WILL be your wife!”
With an ecstatic cry he swept her up into his arms and twirled her around.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur, both deliriously happy, making plans for their future life and as he respectfully kissed her goodnight, she set off in the coach back to the Palace knowing that finally her dreams were coming true.
TO BE CONTINUED....
OLIVER TWIST IS THE MAN FOR ME
Every oneI have ever met
Has always
Needed me
To be LESS.
Less funny,
Less bright,
Less intense.
Just LESS.
Less SOMETHING.
Some can't
Actually articulate
What it might be.
They just know
What ever it is
That I am
Is more
Than they are
Comfortable with,
So the request
Is always for LESS.
But now, after years
Of trying to please
I am finally tired.
So I must
Advise you,
Dear friend,
I have discovered
To my distress
That I cannot.
And will NOT
be LESS.
In fact this
Will likely appal?
But I have decided
To ask for MORE.
So if all that I am
Is just too much?
Don't worry, darling,
All it probably means
Is that YOU
Are not enough!
Manuela Cardiga
Has always
Needed me
To be LESS.
Less funny,
Less bright,
Less intense.
Just LESS.
Less SOMETHING.
Some can't
Actually articulate
What it might be.
They just know
What ever it is
That I am
Is more
Than they are
Comfortable with,
So the request
Is always for LESS.
But now, after years
Of trying to please
I am finally tired.
So I must
Advise you,
Dear friend,
I have discovered
To my distress
That I cannot.
And will NOT
be LESS.
In fact this
Will likely appal?
But I have decided
To ask for MORE.
So if all that I am
Is just too much?
Don't worry, darling,
All it probably means
Is that YOU
Are not enough!
Manuela Cardiga
January 31, 2014
Desire's Detective: A Novella by Jacqueline Sapphire Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Jean sauntered into his Grand-Mother's sitting-room. He was intrigued. The girl was lovely, but apart from that...something, an aura of innocence surrounded her. She practically glowed.
There was the Dowager-Dauphine, giggling like a girl at the antics of one of her Jesters.
As Jean approached, she skillfully flipped her farthingale over the boy kneeling between her legs. She was an old-fashioned Lady who insisted on keeping a modicum of modesty before her grand-children.
"Jean, Mon Cher," she kissed Jean on both cheeks, and gestured towards a carafe of wine and some crystal glasses. "My dear, help yourself." She was a stout woman in her sixties, with the florid complexion of a steady drinker. She downed her own glass and extended it to one of her Ladies-in-waiting for a refill.
"No thank you, Grand-mama, I've just had dinner, I don’t want to overdo it."
"Ah excellent! Excellent vintage!" She sighed, and then groaned as the invisible boy diligently applied himself. "Oh, yes...yes..."
"Would you prefer me to come back later, Grand-mamma?"
"No, no...Jean...Ah! Oh yes...OH!" She nodded at him her small eyes glazing, "Just a sec..." Biting her knuckles she shrieked discreetly.
"Ah...There! You were saying, my dear?"
"I'm concerned about these deaths in your household. That's the fifth one this year. Really, it's getting very awkward to explain to the foreign ambassadors who already bandy it about that we are the most debauched court in Europe."
"But Jean, we are... " The old Lady smiled proudly and ran her fingers through his dark curls, “And you have helped make it so, you are a chip off the old block.”
She frowned. “It is upsetting losing so many Jesters, awkward too. No one wants to clown for me anymore. It used to be my favorite slogan “Clown for the Crown”.”
“Well, Grand-mama, Louis has assigned Noelle de Jouissance as an investigator. There is a very thorough girl. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, she can.”
At that moment a strange little figure scuttled in, did a back-flip and landed with a brisk:
“TA DAN!!!”
“Black Berry!” The Queen-Mother gasped, “Haven’t you learned I hate being startled? You are my oldest retainer, you should know that.”
“Sorry! Black Berry is sorry! La! La! La!”
“The last time you jumped out of that closet (forty years ago, was it?) you gave me such a fright my little Princess was born black.”
“A fright wasn’t all Black Berry gave you! Oh no, no, indeed!” The bug-eyed little monster giggled, “And Her Highness loved it…Oh yes…!”
Jean looked down at the repulsive creature with distaste. His Grand-Mother’s tastes ran to the bizarre, but with Black Berry, she’d gone over the edge. Jean could not see a single redeeming feature or quality in the hideous dwarf: he was singularly unpleasant as a person, incompetent as a Jester; seeming to take pleasure in frightening rather than amusing his audience. There she was, smiling fondly at the horrendous little monster! She reached down and ran a caressing hand over the dwarf’s peppercorn curls.
“Oh we were so young, my little B.B.! Such days…and nights.” She leaned in to whisper confidentially to Jean, “SO gifted he was. Very. Before your Grand-Father…well, let’s not go into that!”
Jean caught a flicker of rage speeding through the dwarf’s grotesque features, an expression that somehow sharpened the goggling eyes to frightening intelligence. In a flash, it dissolved, leaving the same moronic blandness he’d always displayed.
*****
The Queen of France, Maria Karolina Zofia Felicja Leszczyńska, Princess of Poland, was expected to be by her husband's side during the entire duration of yet another ball.
She was so bored.
She was beginning to tire of this life. It was most unfortunate that she had been picked out of a group of European Princesses to marry the King of France. How sad, that she’d once believed being the Queen of France would bring endless excitement and contentment…
That first night that she was presented to him was a night she would never ever forget. Her mother had arranged for the finest silk damask for her gown, shipped from the far-east and delivered expediently to the Couturier chosen to make her presentation gown. Madame Gatineau had specialized in dressing the demanding French aristocracy for many years and had the ability to turn any woman from dowdy to dazzling within the hour. Maria Karolina was petite with a perfect hour glass shape, large breasts, long black curls and striking large brown eyes. The dress had transformed her into an exquisite vision and at that moment she had felt like the most beautiful woman in France.
Her mother had always doted on her. The impoverished Queen of Poland had struggled to fall pregnant and was in her thirties when she gave birth to Maria Karolina and from the moment she was placed in her arms, she made a promise to God that she would treasure this child. Her husband, Stanislaw, the deposed King of Poland, had shared her devotion, and Maria had had a carefree and happy childhood. Surrounded by their love, Maria Karolina grew joyful and boisterous; with her Mother developing a love of Art, Music and Literature, and with her Father a passion for horses, falconry and hunting. It was most surprising when she discovered her fondness for the female form. A mutual school-girl crush for Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour, swiftly developed into an overwhelming passion.
When she was introduced to the King as a prospective bride of suitable lineage, whose only dowry was neutrality, she’d been quite confident she would soon be returning to her country home and her bucolic life with her parents. Louis was a most handsome man with hazel eyes and brown hair, very tall with broad shoulders and a perfect smile. An easy friendship had blossomed between them, unfortunately never sparking into a passionate flame that would have placed them both beyond the reach of the temptation of their most sensual natures.
The Palace was spectacular and the grounds seemed to be an endless stretch of green paradise. Her love for horses was indulged in Versailles, and she spent hours riding her favorite stallion. The quiet part of her life she enjoyed immensely, when the King took his extended trips to Paris and she was left to her own devices. Long walks along the perfectly manicured lawns: riding through the meadows, swimming naked in the streams and quality time with Jeanne.
Flicking open her fan, Maria Karolina signaled her beloved Jeanne.
Bored - meet me on the balcony - 5 minutes
She was delighted to see her lover signal back her assent.With a gracious nod, she rose from her seat by the King’s side and slipped behind the heavy drapes leading to the balcony and into her lover’s eager arms.
The King watched fascinated as his wife’s slim figure vanished behind the drapes. Soon muffled sighs and moans stirred his appetite. With a groan the King slid his hand down to unobtrusively to cup his stiffening penis. These tight fashionable breeches were not as discreet as one might have liked. He looked back at the revelers and was startled to see Madame Deneurve staring in fascination at his burgeoning crotch. A few minutes later he somehow found himself in a closet with her skillful lips wrapped around his erection, writhing in ecstasy. Never had he believed such pleasure could be had by the judicious removal of a woman’s front teeth. Now he could only gasp and moan, and finally shriek in a most unmanly manner as she squeezed every last drop of pleasure from his tremulous body. Gasping his thanks, His Majesty stumbled back to the ball on trembling legs.
The moans from the balcony continued unabated.
Ah! To be capable of the multiple orgasm!
The King sighed and considered his child-less state. The Queen had never refused him, but somehow they always ended up discussing art, music and politics instead of humping merrily away. Their mutual passion was strictly intellectual. It did not bode well for the future of France, if his disreputable younger brother was the only heir. He had to find a solution. He was fertile, dozens of his bastard brats littered the court; he had only to impregnate the right woman, namely: his wife, the Queen.
*****
Jean Duc d’ Orleans walked away from his Grand-Mother’s quarters toward the left wing where Madame d’ O had her luxurious apartments. He was late. As he passed a hidden doorway he was startled to hear the muffled sound of weeping. Curious he peeked in and saw, to his surprise, Noelle’s little cousin sitting in a window seat crying her eyes out, the feathered mask crumpled on her lap.
An unusual concern gripped him. Thinking to himself that Madame d’ O could wait a few minutes, he slipped in and sat down next to her.
“My dear, what’s the matter?” A storm of further weeping greeted his arrival.
He proffered his handkerchief - a scrap of lace used to signal his assignations - and was startled to see her energetically blow her nose on it. This seemed to effectively calm her down enough to stammer out her sad little story.
“I’m a failure…a failure…that poor, poor man, and I ran from his pain, his distress…”
“Who? What? Where?”
“I was going to Noelle’s rooms when that old Gentleman called me in to the library, the poor, poor man!” A fresh storm of weeping overcame her, and Jean found himself patting her hands sympathetically.
“He was in such pain! I don’t know how he can even walk!”
“Pain? You are talking about de Villiers?”
“Yes... yes! Poor Mou Sieur de Villiers!”
“de Villiers in pain? I very much doubt it!”
“Oh he is very ill, a tumour…hideous…I ran...”
“A tumour?”
“Yes, he showed me,” Desireé gestured modestly in the general vicinity of Jean’s crotch “He asked for my help and I ran…I ran from a distressed soul.”
Jean found himself torn between a sudden urge to howl with laughter and an inexplicable tenderness towards this peculiar little scrap.
“Ehr, my dear…Let’s get you to your rooms, Noelle can explain the nature of Monsieur de Villiers’ “affliction” so much better than I can…”
Jean d’ Orleans, seducer extraordinaire, chastely escorted Desireé de Jouissance to her room and sat with her drinking tea and chatting innocently; until a dishevelled, swollen lipped Noelle, slipped in two hours later.
Jean beat a hasty retreat leaving the resourceful Noelle the dubious pleasure of enlightening her little cousin as to the facts of life as they were lived in the Court of Louis XV, King of France by the Grace of God.
Noelle sat on the edge of the sofa and gazed at her cousin.
“He showed you his “tumour” and said he wanted you to help him relieve his discomfort?”
“Yes...and I ran. I’m so ashamed.”
“Thank god you did. That wasn’t a “tumour”, that was....well....you see...Men...”
Noelle hesitated at the sight of Desiree’s wide innocent eyes.
“That’s a very contagious disease, dear, and next time anyone shows you a “tumour” you run.”
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Jean sauntered into his Grand-Mother's sitting-room. He was intrigued. The girl was lovely, but apart from that...something, an aura of innocence surrounded her. She practically glowed.
There was the Dowager-Dauphine, giggling like a girl at the antics of one of her Jesters.
As Jean approached, she skillfully flipped her farthingale over the boy kneeling between her legs. She was an old-fashioned Lady who insisted on keeping a modicum of modesty before her grand-children.
"Jean, Mon Cher," she kissed Jean on both cheeks, and gestured towards a carafe of wine and some crystal glasses. "My dear, help yourself." She was a stout woman in her sixties, with the florid complexion of a steady drinker. She downed her own glass and extended it to one of her Ladies-in-waiting for a refill.
"No thank you, Grand-mama, I've just had dinner, I don’t want to overdo it."
"Ah excellent! Excellent vintage!" She sighed, and then groaned as the invisible boy diligently applied himself. "Oh, yes...yes..."
"Would you prefer me to come back later, Grand-mamma?"
"No, no...Jean...Ah! Oh yes...OH!" She nodded at him her small eyes glazing, "Just a sec..." Biting her knuckles she shrieked discreetly.
"Ah...There! You were saying, my dear?"
"I'm concerned about these deaths in your household. That's the fifth one this year. Really, it's getting very awkward to explain to the foreign ambassadors who already bandy it about that we are the most debauched court in Europe."
"But Jean, we are... " The old Lady smiled proudly and ran her fingers through his dark curls, “And you have helped make it so, you are a chip off the old block.”
She frowned. “It is upsetting losing so many Jesters, awkward too. No one wants to clown for me anymore. It used to be my favorite slogan “Clown for the Crown”.”
“Well, Grand-mama, Louis has assigned Noelle de Jouissance as an investigator. There is a very thorough girl. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, she can.”
At that moment a strange little figure scuttled in, did a back-flip and landed with a brisk:
“TA DAN!!!”
“Black Berry!” The Queen-Mother gasped, “Haven’t you learned I hate being startled? You are my oldest retainer, you should know that.”
“Sorry! Black Berry is sorry! La! La! La!”
“The last time you jumped out of that closet (forty years ago, was it?) you gave me such a fright my little Princess was born black.”
“A fright wasn’t all Black Berry gave you! Oh no, no, indeed!” The bug-eyed little monster giggled, “And Her Highness loved it…Oh yes…!”
Jean looked down at the repulsive creature with distaste. His Grand-Mother’s tastes ran to the bizarre, but with Black Berry, she’d gone over the edge. Jean could not see a single redeeming feature or quality in the hideous dwarf: he was singularly unpleasant as a person, incompetent as a Jester; seeming to take pleasure in frightening rather than amusing his audience. There she was, smiling fondly at the horrendous little monster! She reached down and ran a caressing hand over the dwarf’s peppercorn curls.
“Oh we were so young, my little B.B.! Such days…and nights.” She leaned in to whisper confidentially to Jean, “SO gifted he was. Very. Before your Grand-Father…well, let’s not go into that!”
Jean caught a flicker of rage speeding through the dwarf’s grotesque features, an expression that somehow sharpened the goggling eyes to frightening intelligence. In a flash, it dissolved, leaving the same moronic blandness he’d always displayed.
*****
The Queen of France, Maria Karolina Zofia Felicja Leszczyńska, Princess of Poland, was expected to be by her husband's side during the entire duration of yet another ball.
She was so bored.
She was beginning to tire of this life. It was most unfortunate that she had been picked out of a group of European Princesses to marry the King of France. How sad, that she’d once believed being the Queen of France would bring endless excitement and contentment…
That first night that she was presented to him was a night she would never ever forget. Her mother had arranged for the finest silk damask for her gown, shipped from the far-east and delivered expediently to the Couturier chosen to make her presentation gown. Madame Gatineau had specialized in dressing the demanding French aristocracy for many years and had the ability to turn any woman from dowdy to dazzling within the hour. Maria Karolina was petite with a perfect hour glass shape, large breasts, long black curls and striking large brown eyes. The dress had transformed her into an exquisite vision and at that moment she had felt like the most beautiful woman in France.
Her mother had always doted on her. The impoverished Queen of Poland had struggled to fall pregnant and was in her thirties when she gave birth to Maria Karolina and from the moment she was placed in her arms, she made a promise to God that she would treasure this child. Her husband, Stanislaw, the deposed King of Poland, had shared her devotion, and Maria had had a carefree and happy childhood. Surrounded by their love, Maria Karolina grew joyful and boisterous; with her Mother developing a love of Art, Music and Literature, and with her Father a passion for horses, falconry and hunting. It was most surprising when she discovered her fondness for the female form. A mutual school-girl crush for Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour, swiftly developed into an overwhelming passion.
When she was introduced to the King as a prospective bride of suitable lineage, whose only dowry was neutrality, she’d been quite confident she would soon be returning to her country home and her bucolic life with her parents. Louis was a most handsome man with hazel eyes and brown hair, very tall with broad shoulders and a perfect smile. An easy friendship had blossomed between them, unfortunately never sparking into a passionate flame that would have placed them both beyond the reach of the temptation of their most sensual natures.
The Palace was spectacular and the grounds seemed to be an endless stretch of green paradise. Her love for horses was indulged in Versailles, and she spent hours riding her favorite stallion. The quiet part of her life she enjoyed immensely, when the King took his extended trips to Paris and she was left to her own devices. Long walks along the perfectly manicured lawns: riding through the meadows, swimming naked in the streams and quality time with Jeanne.
Flicking open her fan, Maria Karolina signaled her beloved Jeanne.
Bored - meet me on the balcony - 5 minutes
She was delighted to see her lover signal back her assent.With a gracious nod, she rose from her seat by the King’s side and slipped behind the heavy drapes leading to the balcony and into her lover’s eager arms.
The King watched fascinated as his wife’s slim figure vanished behind the drapes. Soon muffled sighs and moans stirred his appetite. With a groan the King slid his hand down to unobtrusively to cup his stiffening penis. These tight fashionable breeches were not as discreet as one might have liked. He looked back at the revelers and was startled to see Madame Deneurve staring in fascination at his burgeoning crotch. A few minutes later he somehow found himself in a closet with her skillful lips wrapped around his erection, writhing in ecstasy. Never had he believed such pleasure could be had by the judicious removal of a woman’s front teeth. Now he could only gasp and moan, and finally shriek in a most unmanly manner as she squeezed every last drop of pleasure from his tremulous body. Gasping his thanks, His Majesty stumbled back to the ball on trembling legs.
The moans from the balcony continued unabated.
Ah! To be capable of the multiple orgasm!
The King sighed and considered his child-less state. The Queen had never refused him, but somehow they always ended up discussing art, music and politics instead of humping merrily away. Their mutual passion was strictly intellectual. It did not bode well for the future of France, if his disreputable younger brother was the only heir. He had to find a solution. He was fertile, dozens of his bastard brats littered the court; he had only to impregnate the right woman, namely: his wife, the Queen.
*****
Jean Duc d’ Orleans walked away from his Grand-Mother’s quarters toward the left wing where Madame d’ O had her luxurious apartments. He was late. As he passed a hidden doorway he was startled to hear the muffled sound of weeping. Curious he peeked in and saw, to his surprise, Noelle’s little cousin sitting in a window seat crying her eyes out, the feathered mask crumpled on her lap.
An unusual concern gripped him. Thinking to himself that Madame d’ O could wait a few minutes, he slipped in and sat down next to her.
“My dear, what’s the matter?” A storm of further weeping greeted his arrival.
He proffered his handkerchief - a scrap of lace used to signal his assignations - and was startled to see her energetically blow her nose on it. This seemed to effectively calm her down enough to stammer out her sad little story.
“I’m a failure…a failure…that poor, poor man, and I ran from his pain, his distress…”
“Who? What? Where?”
“I was going to Noelle’s rooms when that old Gentleman called me in to the library, the poor, poor man!” A fresh storm of weeping overcame her, and Jean found himself patting her hands sympathetically.
“He was in such pain! I don’t know how he can even walk!”
“Pain? You are talking about de Villiers?”
“Yes... yes! Poor Mou Sieur de Villiers!”
“de Villiers in pain? I very much doubt it!”
“Oh he is very ill, a tumour…hideous…I ran...”
“A tumour?”
“Yes, he showed me,” Desireé gestured modestly in the general vicinity of Jean’s crotch “He asked for my help and I ran…I ran from a distressed soul.”
Jean found himself torn between a sudden urge to howl with laughter and an inexplicable tenderness towards this peculiar little scrap.
“Ehr, my dear…Let’s get you to your rooms, Noelle can explain the nature of Monsieur de Villiers’ “affliction” so much better than I can…”
Jean d’ Orleans, seducer extraordinaire, chastely escorted Desireé de Jouissance to her room and sat with her drinking tea and chatting innocently; until a dishevelled, swollen lipped Noelle, slipped in two hours later.
Jean beat a hasty retreat leaving the resourceful Noelle the dubious pleasure of enlightening her little cousin as to the facts of life as they were lived in the Court of Louis XV, King of France by the Grace of God.
Noelle sat on the edge of the sofa and gazed at her cousin.
“He showed you his “tumour” and said he wanted you to help him relieve his discomfort?”
“Yes...and I ran. I’m so ashamed.”
“Thank god you did. That wasn’t a “tumour”, that was....well....you see...Men...”
Noelle hesitated at the sight of Desiree’s wide innocent eyes.
“That’s a very contagious disease, dear, and next time anyone shows you a “tumour” you run.”
TO BE CONTINUED.....
January 30, 2014
GRUESOME GALWAY GRANNIE
Bugger that mugger
He ruined my whole day!
He bled on my blouse
And I can't wash
That stain away?
Blood is just the worse!
I tell you I have cursed
That stupid boy
And that silly ploy
Of his to try
And steal my purse?
I have tried club-soda
And pure lye?
That reddish shade
Is here to stay...
He really is to blame-
Did he think
I'd just stand
And let him take
My knitting bag
And that whole swag
Of baby clothes
I'd been working on
For a year?
I'm too old for fear.
That old bag
With the skeleton face
Has held pride of place
At my table for years...
I'm 89 for Christ's sake!
So when he stuck that knife
In my face?
You could say
His confidence
Was sadly misplaced-
I upped with
My knitting needle
Under his kirtle
And popped his pride
In a most painful place...
Last I saw him he was
Screaming and hollering
For him Mommy.
I took his wallet too.
Stupid jerk.
Let him play beserk
With some other woman
In some other place.
Here, in Galway,
We IRA pensioners,
We hold our space...
Manuela Cardiga
