The little bell above the door chimed, signaling that customers had entered the hat boutique. The owner, hunched over her worktable, paused and set down her pencil. Inspiration had been elusive this morning, but thankfully, Fifi was more than capable of handling the shop floor. Natalie had hired the young woman recently and valued her easygoing nature, sharp mind, and knack for charming customers. Today, though, irritated voices drifted up to her, and with a sigh, she rose and headed downstairs.
The source of the commotion was immediately obvious. Posing in front of the mirror was none other than the capital’s darling, Katarzyna Wujcik. The actress was notorious as a heartbreaker, with countless admirers and a reputation for being impossibly capricious.
“I ordered Indian red!” she exclaimed, yanking the new hat off her head and tossing it onto a nearby chair.
“But mademoiselle, this is the exact shade!” Fifi chirped in her thick French accent. “You can check the catalog! And it suits you so, so well!”
“What would you know about it?” Katarzyna sneered, wrinkling her upturned nose. “Call the owner down here!”
Fifi was about to comply, but at that moment, the boutique’s owner emerged from behind a heavy curtained doorway. She was the complete opposite of the twenty-year-old actress. Her dark hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, she wore a modest malachite velvet dress, and tiny gold-rimmed pince-nez perched on her nose. When she removed the glasses, her sharp brown eyes fixed on the visitor.
“Good morning, mademoiselle. You wished to see me?” Her calm voice seemed to cool the customer’s temper slightly.
“Yes, I did! I’m supposed to attend the theater debut tonight, but this hat has ruined everything! It doesn’t match my dress. I ordered a different shade!”
“A different shade?”
“Exactly!”
“If memory serves,” the owner said, stepping out from behind the counter and revealing her surprisingly delicate frame, “we chose the fabric together.”
Katarzyna faltered for a moment but quickly recovered.
“I vaguely recall that. Then your seamstress must have messed it up!”
“That’s impossible. I did the work myself.”
“And yet, it’s not the color I wanted! Count, we’re leaving!”
Her outburst drew the shop owner’s attention to a cozy corner reserved for visitors. A man sat in an armchair at the far end of the room, silently observing the scene. At his companion’s words, he stood and approached the women, giving Natalie a chance to take in his appearance. The man Katarzyna addressed as “Count” was a tall gentleman in his thirties, well-built, with dark hair and handsome features. He might have been considered striking if not for the visible toll of his lifestyle. Late-night revelry, excessive drinking, and visits to brothels had left their mark. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his complexion was sallow, and his attire was unkempt.
The boutique owner gave him a cold, hostile look. His necktie was sloppily knotted, his coat needed pressing, and his shoes were in desperate need of a polish. Worst of all, she knew this man all too well, which only deepened her disdain.
“My dear, don’t be so dramatic!” he said, his lips curling into what was meant to be a smile. “I’m no expert on women’s fashion, but the hat does suit you.”
“I didn’t realize you were colorblind, Count!”
“We can settle this!” he replied, unfazed by the jab. “Mademoiselle Viardo, do you have a catalog with fabric samples?”
The owner silently crossed to a distant shelf and retrieved a journal with small swatches of silk, muslin, velvet, and other materials pinned inside. The Count lazily followed, clearly bored and looking for amusement.
“So, where are the shades of red?” The catalog passed into his hands—hands that were elegant, with long, even fingers.
“Here you are.”
Several pages were flipped to locate the relevant samples. Trying to maintain a serious expression, he raised an eyebrow.
“What a mess. You make everything so complicated! I always thought coral was the color of stone, and pumpkin was just for pie. So, where’s this Indian red?”
His companion pointed to the correct swatch in the album. This little game was starting to grate on her nerves, though oddly, the actress seemed to take it at face value, waiting for the moment she could prove herself right.
“I can’t see any difference between this and terracotta, alizarin, or garnet!” He turned his gaze to the woman beside him. She barely reached his shoulder, resembling a delicate porcelain figurine.
“You’re insufferable!” Katarzyna snapped, losing patience. “I’m leaving!”
“Don’t be so hasty, my love. I’d like to remind you that on our way here, we saw your friend—what’s her name…” He trailed off, masterfully feigning a lapse in memory.
“You mean the younger Countess Kowalska?”
“That’s the one! I overheard her mentioning ‘Cloche,’ so if you keep fussing a bit longer, you’re bound to run into her here. And you yourself said red is her favorite color, even if it makes her skin look green. The Countess won’t miss the chance to snag this masterpiece for herself!”
That did the trick. Katarzyna snatched the hat from the chair and placed it back on her head, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror.
“Fine… maybe you’re right! It’s too late to order a new one anyway!”
Fifi hurried to package the item, while the Count pulled out his wallet to settle the bill with the owner. Counting out the necessary bills, he carelessly tossed them onto the counter.
“You’ve overpaid,” the owner said, her small hands recounting the money before extending the extra bill back to him.
“No, mademoiselle, I haven’t. Consider it a small compensation for Paul. He was generous enough to lend me money, and I won’t be seeing him anytime soon!”
With that, the Count turned to his companion, grabbed the hatbox, and didn’t linger in the boutique where the actress was so keen to avoid her friend. As soon as they were out of sight, the owner muttered under her breath, “What a scoundrel!” before returning to her office to continue sketching a new hat design.
Mademoiselle Viardo had every right to call the Count such a name, and he knew it well. As his carriage rolled away to take the beautiful actress home, she broached the very subject.
“Did you lose again, Count? What was it this time—roulette, cards, billiards?”
“What does it matter? Yes, I’m a wastrel. That’s no secret to anyone.”
“But from what I hear, your debts keep piling up! You even turn to people like that hatmaker’s brother for help!”
“That hatmaker is an aristocrat, even if she’s French. My honor remains intact!”
“And you have no qualms about ruining her?”
“Oh, my dear, are you worried the best hat boutique in town will close? I won’t deny ‘Cloche’ has a fine reputation, but you don’t have to shop exclusively on Cloth Row!”
“No, Alexander, I’m worried about you. You drink too much, gamble, and cause scandals. If this continues, I’ll have to bar you from my home!”
Visits to the actress added a pleasant variety to the Count’s otherwise tedious life. She hosted guests on Thursdays, always in full splendor, organizing musical evenings, singing, flirting with men, and changing lovers as often as gloves. Alexander Stotsky wasn’t yet among her conquests, and the beauty toyed with him like a cat with a mouse.
“You want to break my heart?” he sighed.
“That’s not a risk for you. The reason is simple—you don’t have one, and everyone knows it!”
“So, you think I’m heartless?”
“And calculating, a cold egoist, though a very attractive one!” Katarzyna teased, playfully touching his chin. The Count could use a shave and a general tidying up, but otherwise, he remained a strikingly handsome man.
“And, of course, hopeless?”
“Absolutely! I’m certain you couldn’t go three days without cards or booze, let alone women… half the city’s brothels consider you a VIP.”
That felt like a challenge, and it shook Alexander out of his complacency. He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers rhythmically.
“Care to make a bet? I’ll abstain from all those vices you listed for a whole month! Maybe then you’ll ditch that old Bilousov!”
“He’s rich!” Katarzyna interjected immediately, though she eyed him with interest.
“So, you’re not entirely convinced of my depravity? That’s a good start!”
“Are you really willing to make such a sacrifice?”
“Completely. I’m bored with everything! And you, my sweet angel, could delight both my soul and body!”
“That won’t happen! You’ll never last through such a test!”
“And if I do?” Now both were fired up, neither willing to back down.
“I’ll make the Prince pay off all your debts. Every last one!”
“And grant me a night of love?”
“Maybe… but I have one more condition.”
Katarzyna smiled slyly. A plan was already forming in her mind, one that could entertain both herself and the Count’s circle of friends.
“If you’re so eager to lead a virtuous life and defend Frenchwomen, why not pay attention to her? I want her to fall for you. We play fair—you’ll adhere to all the rules of propriety and won’t drag the hatmaker into bed. If you fail, it’ll at least rob you of the satisfaction of a small victory, while making mine all the sweeter! So, are you backing out now?”
“Why her specifically?”
“Mademoiselle Viardo is a bluestocking and an old maid. She must be over twenty-seven! Think carefully, Alexander!”
“If you give your word to clear my debts, why not? I’ve got nothing to lose. What are the terms?”
“Nothing too complicated! You must appear in public together—go to the theater, exhibitions, dinner parties. I’m sure she attended a finishing school for young ladies, so her manners should be tolerable. In short, I want people to see you as a pair, and it shouldn’t look like just another fling!”
“So, one month?” The Count grinned and extended his hand. “Deal!”
He hadn’t yet figured out a strategy, but he was confident he could find a way to win over this prickly little thing. After all, she was a woman, and Count Stotsky had never had trouble with women. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d first met Paul Viardo—the young man was eager for pleasure, a skilled poker and preference player, and fond of a good joke. All in all, Paul made a decent companion for fun and an easy creditor, squandering his family inheritance. After their parents’ deaths, his older sister had taken on the burden of supporting them. Thanks to her impeccable taste and some savvy investments, Natalie had opened a small shop selling hats and other women’s accessories. Here on Cloth Row, young ladies frequented the boutique with particular delight, and for good reason—the nearby barracks provided plenty of eligible bachelors. In any case, Mademoiselle Viardo remained unmarried and, by all appearances, had no desire to change that.
Her interactions with Alexander were minimal and resembled a quiet feud. The older sister had tried every means possible to separate Paul from such a reckless friend. She’d even appealed to Alexander’s conscience and attempted to shame him, but it had no effect. The men continued their debauchery, the lady kept working, and now, under the terms of his wager with Katarzyna, the Count had to “charm” a respectable woman. Thankfully, unlike other such bets, he didn’t need to seduce her into bed or provide proof of the deed. That made the task easier—at least on the surface.
That same evening, the Count found his old friend in a foul mood.
“What’s wrong, Paul? You look like a wreck,” he said, sitting down at the same table as Viardo. “Cigar?”
“I won’t say no. Things can’t get any worse!”
“Come on, what’s the problem, my dear friend?”
“It’s not what, it’s who! Natalie got wind of my latest debts. One of the creditors showed up at her door, and you had a hand in it! Why did she need to know I’ve been lending you money?”
Alexander smirked inwardly. This kid was hopeless! He still believed Stotsky would someday repay his debts!
“It slipped out by accident. I was at ‘Cloche’ with Katarzyna, and she has a bad influence on me. I just stop thinking straight!”
“Anyway, until I can dip into my sister’s pocket, she’s cut me off—says the money’s needed for the shop. I’ll have to wait until she cools down, and I had such plans!”
“Like what?” The Count’s face disappeared behind a cloud of cigar smoke.
“I was going to take the lovely Vyazemskaya out on the town!” Paul’s voice was laced with despair.
“Our little Giselle? No, we can’t let that slide! If you make me your guarantor, I’ll talk to Natalie. I’m sure I can sort this out!”
Paul stared at his friend as if he’d lost his mind. His sister couldn’t stand the Count and made no effort to hide it. How on earth had such an idea crossed his mind?
“What, you believe in the power of hypnotic séances now?”
The Count burst into laughter. The day had started off amusingly and was ending even more intriguingly. Clearly, a streak of good luck was on the horizon. Fate itself had handed Stotsky the perfect opportunity to get close to the hat-making queen.
“No, Paul, I’m counting on a different kind of weapon, and I’m hoping to succeed! Do I have your blessing to go all in?”
Viardo merely shrugged. The young Frenchman didn’t understand a thing, but he certainly wouldn’t refuse a drink with his friend—especially since, starting tomorrow, a dry spell awaited the Count. Little did Paul know the consequences this would bring!