Giselle: Keeper of the Flame: The Gastien Series, #4

New Year’s Eve 1930

(New York, New York)

I

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It was New Year’s Eve, and for the first time since coming to New York almost thirty years ago, Giselle wasn’t attending any parties. She had been invited to a slew of them, but had declined every one. This was her first year as a mother, and she wanted to spend the last day of 1930 with her son.

Five months had passed since Billie Beauchamp had abandoned baby Gastien, leaving only a note asking Giselle to take over as his mother. Since then she had heard nothing from the woman. There hadn’t been one phone call or letter asking about the well being of her baby, whom she had so callously walked out on.

At first, Giselle fully expected Billie to return any time. Surely not even Billie would be able to stand the guilt of leaving her son, even if she didn’t care about how he was getting along. But as the weeks went by, it became evident that Billie simply had cut all ties. She either didn’t care, or was afraid she would care too much.

Giselle quit being so worried that Gastien would be jerked out of her arms any day by his selfish mother only to be abandoned at a later date, when perhaps even Giselle would not be present. Still, the worry did not completely leave. Knowing in her heart that Billie could return at any time, Giselle changed the locks on all of her doors and hired a new wet nurse; one that didn’t know Billie at all. The new wet nurse was instructed to never allow Gastien out of her sight.

She also had the woman accompany her to work, along with Gastien. She was taking no chances. There was a nursery built in her offices, complete with a playroom. Gastien would not be taken away if she could help it.

Her attorney advised her that the letter releasing Gastien to her care, along with Billie’s reputation, would assure Giselle that she would retain custody if Billie ever did decide to make any claims. It might become a long legal battle, but Giselle had money, while Billie did not. If Billie was foolish enough to ever think she could get Gastien back again, she would be in for one vicious fight.

Dear God, how she loved little Gastien! She had never thought that she would have the chance to be a mother, to have the joy of hearing a baby’s cries for her after waking up from a nap. Every time he smiled at her she felt as if the room was enveloped in sunshine. But then, she found everything about him miraculous.

Gastien, who had been fretful the first few months of his life, turned into a calm, happy baby over the first several weeks after his birth mother had left. It was as if he realized that at last he was in the hands of a woman who would truly nurture and protect him. He sensed that the woman who cooed and cuddled him even more now was his real mother, regardless of who had given him life.

Gastien was already nine months old. How quickly the time had passed! He had started to crawl at eight months, along with acquiring several teeth. Once those teeth started coming they came quickly, and Gastien had not protested the arrival as badly as she had feared he might.

He now liked to be walked and she was certain that he would be taking his first steps before his first birthday. The baby had slept through the night since he was six months old. It seemed he finally trusted that someone would be there at his beck and call when he awakened, so he could allow himself to completely give in to sleep.

Although his hair had been dark when he was a newborn, that hair had fallen out; he was now a soft, dark blonde. So far his eyes had not turned from blue to brown, and Giselle wondered if he would instead inherit Billie’s blue ones. Time would tell, she guessed. It was definitely a surprise. Perhaps he would be blonde and blue eyed his whole life. That would be a first in the Beauchamp family as far as she knew. Of course, she didn’t know any of her grandfather’s siblings.

Her lover, Laurent, had inherited his father’s dark looks over his mother’s fair ones. His mother had been extremely blonde haired and blue eyed. Not a drop of those features had gone to Laurent. It appeared that Billie perhaps had stronger genes to pass to her child.

Thinking about Laurent brought another moment of sadness to Giselle. She had cancelled her month in Italy this year. That had not gone over well with Laurent. They had met every year for a month in Italy almost ever since she had come to America.

Still, he knew the heartbreak she had suffered by not being able to have children. When she had reminded him of that, he had stopped being so petulant about her cancelling. She simply did not want to leave Gastien with anyone for a month. He was too young, and Billie could come back.

Although she knew in her heart that she was never going to take that month in Italy again, she didn’t say so to Laurent. When he thought about it, he would realize that the affair was finally over. She was a mother now, and it was time to forget and move on.

Whenever she thought about never seeing Laurent again tears would fill her eyes and her stomach would constrict, making her feel as if she couldn’t breathe. He had been her one true love. The way things had turned out was a horrible tragedy for both of them. She used to think that she would rather die than never see him again. Even a month every year as his mistress was better than nothing.

But Gastien needed her now. She would not leave him for a month while he was growing up. He had been abandoned once; it wouldn’t happen again. Too much could happen. He could get hurt and wonder why she was not there. She could be killed, and who would he have then?

There had been a time when she had been certain that she couldn’t live without Laurent present every moment of each day. When she came to America, she found that she could indeed still breathe, even if it hurt like a knife gouging into her soul.

As time went by, she learned to not only survive without him, but to actually enjoy life. Still, she always looked forward to that month when she would steal away to be with her lover.

Giselle now realized that she had used that month every year as a crutch. It allowed her to always hope; to always believe that things would somehow work out. Many men had been interested over the years, but although she did go out with some, none ever became serious. She would not allow it. Her heart belonged to Laurent.

Yes, Laurent had once been everything to her, but he no longer was. All she had to do was walk over to the crib to look at Gastien peacefully sleeping, and she knew where her heart now belonged. Her lover didn’t stand a chance against the siren call of motherhood.

At midnight Gastien woke up crying loudly. Since he usually slept through the night now, Giselle was surprised. Then she smiled. How appropriate! It seemed he wanted a drink to celebrate the New Year. As the wet nurse, Sarah, obliged him, Giselle sat close by and watched.

Soon he was done drinking and sighed in contentment. Sarah transferred him to Giselle and went to get some sleep.

As Giselle burped him and sang him back to sleep, she smiled once again. Sarah was a godsend. She never complained, even though Gastien was quite a demanding little guy. He loved his milk, and he wanted it often! At least they didn’t usually get called out of their slumber during the night any more.

Sarah seemed to be enamored by Gastien too. Giselle made a mental note to ask the girl if she would like to stay on permanently as his nanny.

That would be nice for both her and Gastien. She would not have the bother of interviewing dozens of women, nor would she worry about how anyone she chose might take to the boy. As for Gastien, it would lend another layer of security if the same person stayed on. He could use all of the security he could get after what his birth mother had done by leaving.

As she sang, Gastien watched her through heavy lids. He called her Mama now when he was more awake and had learned a couple of other words, too. He cooed and smiled, trying his best to stay awake and watch his lovely mother. Gastien would always think of Giselle as Mother, which was how it should have been.

Giselle spoke softly to her son. Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. You can go to sleep. There isn’t going to be anything going on that you will miss out on. I realize it’s the first day of 1931, but we’ll both greet it more enthusiastically after a few hours of sleep. Say, about eight a.m.!

Gastien smiled as if he understood and slowly, in spite of himself, his eyes closed. She waited several minutes to make sure he was deeply sleeping, and then she placed him in his crib.

Laughing to herself, Giselle realized that this would be the earliest she had ever gone to bed on New Year’s Eve since coming to New York. She was not only a mother, but growing old. She would be 56 next August!

Her hair was half gray now and the lines on her face were growing more prominent. Still, people were always talking about how well she had aged. She was truly a rare beauty, and had kept her petite figure. She felt half starved to death most of the time, but in her business it would be suicide to turn to fat. She could hardly design high fashion and look like she needed to be upholstered!

Her mother, Nathalie, had stayed youthful looking until passing at age 65, when Giselle was 40. Elliot, her adopted father had lived a long time, to age 90, which was almost unheard of. In fact, he had kept his mind and seemed about twenty years younger.

He and Nathalie had gone skiing in the Alps, and there had been a horrible accident with the new chair lift. Seven of the chairs had tumbled to the ground, and none of passengers that fell survived. He and Nathalie had been on one of those chairs.

Giselle had begged them not to go skiing for the last few decades of their lives. They insisted on continuing, saying that they had both skied since childhood and were not about to give it up. Although, to be honest, they had resigned themselves to beginner trails for the last several years.

In fact, since turning 75, Elliot had waited in the lodge half way to the top of the mountain, sipping a cognac and waiting by the fire while Nathalie skied. He didn’t ever admit to anyone else that he no longer skied. It really hurt his pride to no longer be able to join his wife doing one of their favorite pastimes. Even the beginner’s trail would have been better than nothing! When they died, he had simply been riding along on the lift to see Nathalie off and would have stayed on the chair, returning to the lodge to wait.

Giselle prepared for bed and then decided to have a sherry by the fire before retiring for the night. It was another new year, and it seemed a good time for reflection. Times were tough now, and it didn’t look like the country would be bouncing back any time soon. In fact, all around her she constantly heard mumbling and grumbling. This depression had spread worldwide, and no one knew when it would end.

France had not been hit as hard as many countries so far, but Laurent had said that it appeared they would decline into depression in the upcoming year. He personally would not have to worry about never being wealthy, but businesswise he could still take quite a hit. He owned many banks and vast amounts of real estate. Even so, true to gentry form, he had been taught to always protect his own personal wealth. He would survive, and survive extremely well.

Giselle had been smart and was also doing well. She was not as wealthy as she had been, but she was still extremely well to do. Much of the old money knew how to take care of themselves and felt little from the economic collapse. They still partied and bought Giselle’s fashions as if nothing was wrong in the world. It sometimes turned her stomach, but she was not going to refuse their money.

Giselle sighed. She certainly didn’t have an answer. If economists were puzzled, how could anyone else know how to solve it? Things were much different now than they were in the twenties. Then, prosperity ruled – and the new money people spent it and invested in stocks like there was no end to the riches. So many of those people had lost everything; her brother included.

Yes, things were very different now from last decade, and vastly different from when she arrived in New York back in 1895. Back then, she had been a heartbroken wreck of a young woman; a woman who didn’t much care if she lived or died. Thankfully something inside of her had made her not only go on, but to excel in a business where a woman could make a name for herself: fashion.

Despite the broken heart, despite the ruined dreams, Giselle had pulled herself together in New York and made a success of her career. Her training in France, first from Nathalie and later from an apprenticeship with a well known French designer, served her well. Before she knew it, she had her own line of high end women’s fashions, and the very wealthy were flocking to her in droves.

Pouring another sherry, Giselle settled once again into her favorite couch in front of the fire. Gazing into the flames, she allowed herself to think further back. Soon she was twenty years old again, and the whole world seemed to have been created simply for her amusement.

So young, so innocent, so unprepared for what fate was going to deal her. She had never known heartache or disappointment. She had naively assumed that she was privileged enough to always live a sun-kissed life.

Unfortunately, no one lives a life full of only happiness and heart’s desires. Sometimes the knife of unhappiness is bad health or being abused; sometimes it’s lack of money. For the truly unfortunate, it comes as misfortune in love. In that case, the knife usually cuts deeply and cruelly.

At twenty, Giselle was about to fall in love.

True Love

Milan, Italy (June 1895)

I

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Giselle sipped her tea and looked around the luxurious dining room of the Albergo di Milano. Having just unpacked after arriving earlier that day, she needed to gather her wits and plan an itinerary before going out on her own. Now that she was in Italy, she was nervous! It was the first time she had been out of France alone.

Her parents, Nath and Elliot, had not been thrilled with the idea of their daughter traipsing off to a foreign country like some gypsy, but they eventually gave their blessing. After all, hadn’t her mother, Nath, wanted a life of freedom for a few years before settling down in the countryside, as the wife of a wealthy man? True, Nath had gotten pregnant with Giselle during that time; however, Giselle had assured them that romance was the last thing on her mind this summer.

Giselle had been studying fashion design for the past three years, first under the tutelage of her mother, and then (due to her mother’s connections) as an apprentice for the leading fashion designer of Paris: Charles Frederick Worth. He and Nath had been quite good friends, even though they had been each other’s competition.

Apprenticing for Charles hadn’t been easy work, even though he had been friendly with her mother. Giselle soon found out that Charles Frederick Worth was a stickler for details. Not only that, anything less than perfection was rejected. One crooked little stitch and he ranted and raved, throwing her work in the trash, forcing her to start over. Her fingers bled, and her eyes grew red from tears. Many times she almost quit; almost told him to take his precious fabrics and shove them somewhere that ladies didn’t often mention.

To her credit, she didn’t. Surprisingly, the pampered, even spoiled, Giselle understood deep inside that if she could win the approval of this icon of a man there would be none above her in the world of fashion. She bit her tongue and kept working. Slowly, as the months went by, even Worth couldn’t find fault in her work. He patted her shoulder and gave her the highest compliment one could expect from a perfectionist.

That will do, Giselle. That will do quite nicely.

It helped that he was every bit as hard on his two sons, Gaston-Lucien and Jean-Phillipe. Many days she could hear the two men grumbling as the dresses they were working on were criticized and their father asked them to start over. They were not beginners, not by a long shot. The dresses their father rejected would have passed inspection by any other designer, but not Charles Frederick Worth. Not unless they were perfect. Still, they completed fashions without starting over much more often than Giselle.

Fortunately, she got along fine with the two brothers. When Giselle first started at the House of Worth she had worried that she would be an outsider. Instead, both men took her under their wings, teaching her the intricacies of haute couture and wordlessly offering a hanky when the tears of frustration flowed. Without Gaston-Lucien and Jean-Philippe she would never have made it.

Then, one day in 1895, it finally happened. Charles Frederick had stood staring at the gown Giselle had just completed. Wordlessly, he moved around it several times, inspecting it at every angle. His probing eyes left no stitch unnoticed. Finally, he sighed. Giselle’s heart stopped in her chest. Then he shifted his sightline to her and smiled.

You have finally found what your mother and I have always known was in you, Giselle. You have embraced perfection. I dare say you are almost better than me.

Stunned, she found that she couldn’t even find her voice. She gazed at him, and her eyes once again filled with tears. This time, though, they were tears of happiness. As she grinned at him like an idiot child, he embraced her. Finally, she could speak.

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Worth. Oh! Merci beaucoup!"

He wiped at her tears and laughed gently.

My little student; how you have hated me at times! Seeing her about to deny it, he held up a hand. "Non! Don’t deny it. You would not be human if you hadn’t. You see, that anger, that frustration fueled you. That made you find your perfection."

A few weeks later Charles Frederick Worth was dead. The tears Giselle cried that day were tears of sorrow. Without knowing it, she had come to deeply love and respect her teacher. Now he was gone, and it was up to her and his sons to continue his fine French tradition of high fashion.

She worked for the rest of 1895 and through May of 1896 for the two brothers. Although they got along well and cared for each other, all three knew that sooner or later Giselle would need to leave and go out on her own. The House of Worth was the brother’s namesake. If Giselle truly wanted to stand out herself, she would need her own label with her name on it.

Although Italy had lost some of its grip on high fashion in the nineteenth century, it had been a powerhouse for many centuries before that. It was starting to become a major fashion force again, mostly following French styles, but with more simplicity and Italian tradition. Before she went out on her own, she wanted to visit Italy and see with her own eyes what they were doing. Even more than that, she wanted to study their fashion history. That history would be rich in knowledge and ideas that she could learn even more from. Milan was the fashion capital of Italy, so she decided that she would spend three months there, soaking in everything Italian about her beloved industry.

She didn’t expect much resistance from her parents. True, they would be worried; and oui, they would give her every reason she should not go, but they would know that in the end they couldn’t stomp on her dream. After all, fashion had been in her mother’s blood.

Plus, she was hardly a child. She would be twenty-one this summer. Most women were either married or spoken for by now. Thank God her parents refused to make plans with another family to marry her off. God, how she would have hated that! Someday she would like a husband and children. Perhaps after age twenty-five, if any man would have her and her contrary ways. For now, romance simply was a stumbling block to her personal road to success. She had no time for it.

She reminded her parents of that fact, and did her best to stay calm and level headed. Finally, they gave their consent, but insisted that she stay at the luxurious Albergo di Milano (which would later become the Grand Hotel Et De Milan) because it was the only hotel in Milan with both postal and telegraph services. She did not hesitate to agree.

A full three months with no chaperone in Milan! She could come and go as she wished, sleeping until noon and staying up until midnight. Ha! Knowing her desire to learn, she would be up by dawn to get to the museums and dressmakers, exhausted and in bed by ten each night. But at least she had the freedom to do either. No parents, no teacher, no teacher’s sons.

Now, here she was, alone in Milan. Thankful to her parents for insisting that she become fluent in Italian, German, and English besides her native French, she realized what a blessing it would be to be able to communicate well. What if she got lost? How awful that would be if she couldn’t even speak the language. 

She would have to be careful not to get lost, anyway. She knew men looked at her and licked their lips. The Italian men were more forward than the French in showing appreciation for a beautiful woman. Her derrière still ached from being pinched by that horrible old man in the lobby. He had to have been at least thirty!

The hotel itself was the epitome of luxury. It boasted 200 rooms, a winter garden, a Stigler hydraulic lift, and several lavishly furnished dining rooms. She had just returned to her room after dining in one and was pleasantly drowsy.

Giselle decided that she would take the next couple of weeks to go see some designers, and after that she would spend time in museums. She would learn what she needed in regard to fashion very quickly. She had known when she planned the trip that three months weren’t necessary for that. Still, there was more to be learned by traveling than just fashion. She couldn’t wait to just be a carefree tourist for the summer, strolling around the art museums and other places of interest. Time would be taken to dine at out of the way places and wander the streets to her heart’s content. She carefully wrote down a daily itinerary for the first two weeks.

II

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Giselle forced herself to be vigilant and stick to her daily plans. If she wanted to start up her own design label, she needed to be as educated as possible. Competition was stiff in Paris, and females had to be better, and work harder, than any male in order to make it. How odd that women would shun a female designer in favor of a male, thought Giselle. Shouldn’t they realize that a female would understand their bodies more, understand comfort and movement in regard to the fabric? Wouldn’t a woman naturally know what assets most women like to play down, and which they loved to show off? Still, she realized, women loved having attention poured on them by men. That could be why they elected to buy from male designers so often.

After two weeks, Giselle felt that she could ease up on herself and just enjoy her summer of freedom. It would likely be the last one for quite some time, since she wanted to start her own designer label. She had taken mountains of notes, scribbled drawings, and collected snatches of materials for her further introspection. All that was left was to step out on her own this coming autumn in Paris. She would be ready, willing, and scared to death.

She quickly jotted a note to her parents to assure them that she had not been stolen away by some disreputable Italian man with sexy eyes and promises of fame and fortune. Smiling to herself, she sealed it, and then went to the front desk to ask them to add it to the outgoing mail. She would be eating in the hotel dining room tonight. It had gotten later than she had planned for, and dusk was settling in. It wasn’t wise to be out alone on the streets in the dark. It was probably quite safe, but a woman alone could never be careful enough.

As she was seated next to the window, she noticed a young man seated a few tables over and across from her. Mon Dieu he was handsome! She had never seen a man quite as thrilling to look at as this one. Gazing at him made her feel oddly bothered, deep and low inside. He appeared to be about her age. Dark, almost black hair, a slender but strong build, and a chiseled face that looked like a sculptor had planned it for a bust of a mythical god. All of a sudden she realized that she had been caught staring. He was looking at her quizzically.

She blushed and looked down at her menu. He would think the worst possible, with her drinking him in like that! It had taken almost an act of God to pull away from those devastatingly delicious brown eyes. They were huge, with lashes that could compete against her lashes to claim the prize for length. He was too tall to be Italian, and probably too tall to be a Frenchman.

Frustrated, she realized that she was now gazing stupidly at the menu without reading it. The waiter was patiently standing there, waiting for her to decide. Had she really called him over? She ordered quickly and then took out some fancywork to keep her hands and eyes busy. No matter what, she vowed to never look over at the man again.

She succeeded. For two minutes. Then, with a will of their own, her eyes glanced up and found him once again staring at her. He did not look perturbed, nor did he look indolent. He simply looked as if he liked what he saw. Giselle was quite used to that. With Nathalie for a mother and the stunning Gastien as her blood father she was destined to become a woman that stopped men in their tracks. In fact, a few had walked into street posts gaping at her as she walked down a Paris avenue!

Giselle’s dark brown, almost black hair tumbled down past her shoulders in waves whenever she let her hair down. She had it down tonight, as she was finished being professional and now hoped to relax into visitor mode. Her brown eyes flecked with gold were fringed with luxurious lashes and her pert little nose, along with her full bottom lip, gave her a slightly pampered, pouty look. Her classic beauty was not such that it encouraged men to think she was ripe for a romp, but it did make them hope they could get her there just the same. They were usually in awe of her and often became tongue tied just asking her name.

He kept staring. His expression was calm and open. All of a sudden he smiled, and Giselle couldn’t help but smile back. Each had been caught looking, and neither cared that they had been. As soon as Giselle returned his smile, the young man got up and walked over to her table. Upon arriving at the chair across from her, he quite suddenly appeared nervous.

Well, he managed, my legs seem to make decisions without consulting my brain tonight. Please forgive me for being so bold, but I noticed you are alone...as am I...well, what I mean is...oh for goodness sake – do you mind if I join you? He laughed in exasperation with himself, blushing furiously.

Giselle was surprised to hear her voice saying, Please do. I would love the company. Now for sure he would think the worst, with her first staring so blatantly and then being so quick to respond. Quickly, she added, After all, you’ve decided to come over to my table. I don’t want to seem rude.

As he sat, he assured her. "Merci. I appreciate you being so kind. My name is Laurent, by the way."

She was pleasantly surprised to hear a French accent in his Italian.

I am pleased to meet you, Laurent. My name is Giselle.

She offered her hand across the table and he kissed it gently. The skin on her hand tingled where his lips touched.

Motioning the waiter, Laurent said, Please bring my wine and utensils over to this table. The lady and I have decided to enjoy dinner together.

The waiter smiled, not showing any surprise. As you wish, sir.

After his wine was brought over, Laurent took a drink. Giselle watched him quietly, although her heart was anything but quiet. Mon Dieu, this man made her almost sick with desire. She swallowed, and could see that Laurent noticed her tenseness. He said nothing, as if he found himself at a loss for words. Finally, it was she that broke the tension.

Am I mistaken, or did I hear French in your voice?

He laughed and admitted, "Oui, indeed you did. I’m guilty of being a Frenchman through and through, hailing from the great city of Paris itself. A vacation in Italy seemed just the thing for the summer, before becoming more involved with my father’s businesses."

I see. What businesses are those? she asked innocently, buttering a small bite of bread to keep her hands busy.

Oh, nothing consequential. Laurent had decided not let on how wealthy his family really was. He was tired of all of the young French women fawning over him, ready to do anything he asked. He always wondered if they were really interested in him or just in the vast fortunes of his family. He decided that moving forward he would remain incognito in regard to his family name whenever possible. That was rarely possible in Paris of course, but Italy offered him a respite from the money hungry females that salivated over him at every turn back home.

I see. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She had insulted him. How crude to ask about the type of businesses he was involved in! She seemed to be incapable of doing anything right in regard to this intoxicating specimen of male. I’m sorry that I asked. I guess I was just trying to make conversation. Please forgive my crassness.

He looked at her in surprise. Oh, you didn’t offend me. I just don’t come from a hugely impressive family. We own some solid businesses and are well enough off, but nothing that would be worthy of bragging about. He smiled gently to reassure her. But, tell me, why are you here? I do believe I hear French in your voice, too. Surely a woman as lovely as you is spoken for. How did your beau allow you out of his sight, even for one night?

Giselle laughed gaily. No beau – not that some haven’t been interested. I just haven’t had time for them. You see, I am determined not to be dependent upon a man for my security. I’m a designer of fashion, having studied at the House of Worth.

Laurent whistled. Pretty heady stuff. You must be very good!

"Oui, I am. I don’t mean to brag, but if I don’t think so, how can I expect anyone else to? They both laughed. She continued, Actually, I’m in Italy for the summer, too. For the first two weeks I visited with designers here, and visited shops to learn Italian fashion history. The rest of the summer I’m going to do as I please. Once I start my own label it will be years before I get a long vacation again. This is my summer to be young and carefree. In September, I’ll get serious and put my skills to work."

Are you here alone? He found it fascinating that she quite possibly had the audacity to travel alone for a whole summer, especially with her looks. What confidence the woman must have! That in itself he found quite arousing.

She paused. Was it wise to admit that she