Upon opening the tall compartment that formed its back, I discovered a sponge, a mirror, a small folded piece of linen and a hollowed half of a lime. I stood for a moment in contemplation. I had reconciled myself to this. It was for my dear Mrs Elliot and no one else that I consented to it. Indeed, that thought alone confirmed in my mind that the actions I would take were worthy ones. I would gain the ear of the Duke and secure the affection of La Buffon, I assured myself. My sacrifice was a noble one. I would assure the livelihood and happiness of my dearest of friends, my most devoted of protectors, ma chère maman.

La Buffon had discreetly arranged for this and I understood well enough the use she intended for the lime. I shut my eyes, not from the thought of the discomfort (of which there would be much) but from disdain for the deed I was about to commit and all that it represented to me. I lifted my skirts and pushed the lime inside of me, wincing until it found its natural resting place, covering my womb. I was then about to ring for Lucy to undress me when there came a faint rap upon my door. I did not call out an answer, but within a moment or so it cautiously squealed upon its hinges. Orléans stepped into the room, attired in his Turkish robe and nightcap, and bowed to me.

‘You are not indisposed, mademoiselle?’ he enquired gently.

I shook my head.

He approached me slowly, as if he feared I might dart away. When at last he stood before me, I came no higher than his chest. His round hill of a belly pressed into me as he reached slowly for my hands. His mouth lingered for a long while on the back of each one, in what seemed a polite display of gratitude. Then he took me by the chin and placed his lips on mine.

I would venture that he thought me cold and prudish, for I demonstrated no eagerness for his embrace. I did not reciprocate his hunger. I did not pretend to feel that spark of wanton desire men wish to believe is lit within the breast of every woman upon the instant of their touch.