Sherri Cobb South by French Leave

well.
    It was obvious to the meanest intelligence that her new husband had a marked preference for wicked women; therefore, she determined, a wicked woman he should have. She had no very clear idea how to achieve this admirable goal, but the chance encounter with Madame Hutchins had at least shown her a reasonable place to start. Lisette’s understanding of the English monetary system was rudimentary, but she was reasonably certain that the pin money of which the earl had spoken was insufficient for the purchase of an equipage such as Madame had driven. However, that lady’s kohl-rimmed eyes and rouged lips should not be beyond Lisette’s means to reproduce. With this end in view, she made discreet inquiries of the housekeeper, and set out for Piccadilly and the new Burlington Arcade, a veritable cornucopia of shops where, the housekeeper assured her, a lady might find anything she desired in the way of beauty aids.
    She wandered among these for some time, wishing she knew if the unspecified pin money would stretch to cover this branch of artificial roses, or that length of ribbon. Until she could be sure, she felt it was best to restrict her purchases. And so, with a small sigh of regret, she laid aside a pretty painted fan and selected instead a small pot of kohl and a somewhat larger one of rouge. These she gave to the shop’s proprietor, along with instructions as to remuneration.
    “You will please to send the bill to Lord Waverly,” she said in her lilting accent, as her purchases were wrapped in brown paper.
    “Pardon, mademoiselle,” interrupted a masculine voice as she bade the shopkeeper farewell. Lisette turned and saw a dark-haired young man doffing his hat in an elegant, if somewhat exaggerated, bow. Even if he had not addressed her in her native tongue, she would have known at a glance that he was French. Small and wiry of build, he displayed the fashionable extravagances of the Incroyables: in this case, a pair of billowing Cossack trousers in a salmon color, topped with a green cutaway coat boasting wide lapels. “I perceive from your speech that you are French. May a fellow traveler welcome you to these shores?”
    “Merci, monsieur,” replied Lisette with a smile, collecting her bundle from the counter before turning away.
    “Wait! You will allow your fellow countryman to relieve you of your burden, oui?”
    Lisette, looking down at a package which might easily have fit inside her reticule, had she thought to provide herself with one, had to laugh. “Mais non, monsieur, I would not so trouble you. It is not at all heavy.”
    “But you will allow me to escort you home,” persisted the Frenchman.
    “Merci, monsieur, mais non.”
    “You are too cruel, mademoiselle!.”
    While Lisette could not deny that it was pleasant to be admired by a personable young man, his importunings were beginning to attract an embarrassing degree of attention. Seeing that he might cause a scene if not given some rôle in her return to Park Lane, she offered a compromise.
    “You may not escort me home, monsieur, but you may call for me, how do you say, a hackney, if you will be so kind.”
    “You have only to say the word, mademoiselle, and Étienne Villiers, he will see that it is done!”
    With this declaration, M. Villiers all but hurled himself into the street, calling for a cab with great gusto and much Gallic gesticulation. In no time at all Lisette was settled within, the order was given, and the horses whipped up. Lisette bade farewell to the obliging M. Villiers, and whiled away the short journey in blissful dreams of her husband’s surprise and delight when he beheld his bride’s transformation.
    Alas, it must be said that these fell woefully short of her expectations. When the dinner gong sounded at eight o’clock, Lisette arose from her dressing table and made her way to the drawing room where the earl awaited her. Remembering the behavior of Mrs. Hutchins, Lisette paused just inside the door, flinging