‘You must understand, ma petite, we do not harbour those foolish romantic notions of marriage so adored by the English. I never loved my husband, the Comte de Buffon. Not a single moment of affection passed between us in the three years I was his wife. He was entirely devoid of wit and intelligence, which I might have come to forgive had he not also possessed such unnatural tastes. He recoiled from the female touch.’ She took her dish to her lips. ‘He preferred his valet to his wife. He passed no more than a handful of nights in my bed. I despaired of this at first, but soon learned that I had many admirers and that all the world laughed at the notion of fidelity to a husband.’ A smile rose between her cheeks. ‘It was Monsieur de Genlis with whom I first knew true love, and as I could no longer bear the depravity of my husband, I abandoned that life. Monsieur de Genlis kept me as his mistress, in my own hôtel particulier, away from that sodomite. That was when society turned from me, for the humiliation I had wrought upon Monsieur de Buffon and his family – his father, the renowned naturalist, so revered at court.’ She rolled her eyes, but there could be heard a strain of regret in her voice. ‘And so I was no longer a wife, but became to them a femme galante. Monsieur de Buffon took great pleasure in procuring a separation from me, so he might disgrace me as I had disgraced him.’ Her gaze fell from mine and she sighed. ‘But had it not come to pass, I might never have made the acquaintance of Madame de Genlis.’

I examined her with bemusement.

‘But . . . you came to know your lover’s wife?’

La Buffon laughed.

‘But of course. I offered her relief, Henriette! She was most grateful for it, too. Madame de Genlis held no love for her husband. Why, she scarcely knew him before they were wed; the entire matter had been arranged by her father.’ She seemed amused by my ignorance of the scandal. ‘You do know that she was Orléans’s mistress before me – for many years? She was governess to his children . . .’

I nodded.

‘It was she who introduced me to Orléans, when she wished to . . . retire from her obligations to him. She had come to know me and love me as might a mother . . . or an elder sister.’ La Buffon’s eyes reached for mine again. ‘There is no person who knows a man’s desires, his preferences and inclinations, his taste in female beauty better than does his mistress . . .’