Chapter Thirty-one
It wasn’t long before word ran through the harem that Chantelle had been chosen for tonight.
It came as little surprise to anyone, since it was customary for a new favorite to be summoned several days in a row, sometimes longer.
What was speculated about was why she hadn’t become a favorite the first time she had visited the Dey, for only a select few knew that she hadn’t lost her virginity then.
Only those same few knew she still hadn’t lost it, but this was not information they wanted bandied about.
If Chantelle thought no big to-do would be made over her this time, she was mistaken.
She was still escorted to the hammam, this time under the supervision of Lalla Savetti, a Serbian of middle years who was Mistress of the Pink Court.
Haji Agha was there waiting with several of his eunuchs, obviously taking no chances.
Kadar also accompanied Chantelle, though she had to wonder whose side he would be on if she happened to panic again.
But she wasn’t panicked, at least not where it showed.
And she had given her word to Jamil. She had to go through the extensive preparations and be presented at his door. After that was another matter.
Unfortunately, the baths were not empty this time.
It was early yet, and from what Chantelle could see when she first entered, it appeared the entire harem was present in the main chamber, or very nearly so.
And unlike Safiye, who was reserved in her manner, Lalla Savetti was the exact opposite, and nothing would do but that she introduce Chantelle to the other favorites, as well as to Jamil’s three wives.
Chantelle was utterly unprepared for this meeting.
She had seen a few of the favorites before in the baths, but to see them all together, for Savetti called them over to her, was enlightening and disconcerting.
They were every bit as beautiful as could be expected of the elite of the harem.
One had black hair, one had dark brown, but the other six had red hair in a multiple of different shades.
It wasn’t difficult for her to conclude that this color was Jamil’s preference.
Glancing about the rest of the room revealed more than half the women present were also redheads.
These eight women were extraordinary, making Chantelle feel inferior, washed out, and plain dowdy by comparison, not to mention sickly.
Her body seemed like a stick next to theirs.
Not one of them was the least bit fat, just depressingly curvaceous.
And she had never seen so many jewels in all her life as sparkled on these eight women, even in the baths, for God’s sake.
It was fortunate that there was no time to chitchat, for Chantelle felt completely tongue-tied in their presence.
It wasn’t that she detected any animosity, not even a little jealousy, which might be expected.
They were in fact all friendly toward her, including Noura, the black-haired one with the sultry dark eyes to match her glorious mane.
Noura’s attitude might be suspect, but the others seemed to genuinely want to welcome Chantelle into their little group.
She didn’t know how to relate to that. They obviously loved Jamil and were selflessly willing to share him with one another. What could you say to women like that? I think you’re crazy. How can you love such a beast? Not one of them could empathize with her.
But she was rescued by Haji’s remarking on the lateness of the hour and then whisked off for the full treatment.
She didn’t know if she had gone through this last night unaware, but this time she wasn’t only bathed, shaved, and shampooed, but massaged, oiled, and perfumed, too, as well as having her teeth polished, her gums inspected, her nails dyed, and her breath sweetened.
They would have attacked her hair and face if she hadn’t called a halt, insisting Adamma would attend to the hairdressing and cosmetics.
Haji had to give in to her wishes, since she was being so cooperative. Chantelle knew he was expecting trouble from her, perhaps had planned for it, but he didn’t know she had given her word, and she didn’t feel like relieving his mind by telling him so.
When she returned to her room, the Mistress of the Wardrobe was there waiting with a new creation of rose- and shiny silver-striped “underwear.” Chantelle did protest this time, for she had already chosen a much less revealing outfit from her own new clothes, but she was informed quite haughtily that what she possessed was too ordinary for a visit to the Dey, that her clothes were to be worn only in the harem.
It wasn’t worth arguing over, especially after she requested a caftan to complete the costume and was reluctantly granted it.
She could merely sigh when it was fetched, and it turned out to be so transparent it was barely noticeable.
The color of this outfit, Adamma pointed out, matched her amethysts perfectly, and Chantelle had to wonder if her morning gift wasn’t known to everyone by now.
She had intended not to wear Jamil’s jewels.
She wished now that the thief she had heard about who had been stealing items of value in the harem had paid her a visit today, because when Adamma brought the necklace and everyone stood there waiting to see how Chantelle looked in it, what could she do?
It would be breaking her word to make a scene, but she’d be damned if she would give her word again.
She was almost ready to go when Rahine showed up. She was surprised that the older woman dared to face her, or did Rahine not know that she was aware she had overstepped her authority by having her punished?
“If nothing else pleases you, Shahar, are you at least happy to have a door now that is quite solid and lockable?”
“You are correct, madame,” Chantelle allowed. “The door is the only thing here that pleases me.” Adamma was still fussing with her hair, but Chantelle waved her away and waited until she was alone with Rahine before asking, “Did you know that Jamil didn’t want me punished?”
Not a muscle moved on Rahine’s porcelain features. “I didn’t know then, but I do now. Why didn’t you tell him?”
Chantelle used the excuse of her hand mirror to avoid those green eyes. “What makes you think I didn’t?” she asked offhandedly.
“We would all have heard the results of his temper if you had. You aren’t going to tell him, are you?”
The question was asked with such confidence that there was no point in denying the truth. “No.”
“Why?”
“I would just as soon have stayed in the kitchen, if you must know. No harm was done.”
“Stayed in the—? Do you hate him that much?”
The incredulous tone snapped Chantelle’s temper. “I don’t want to be his next whore!”
“My dear, you could never be that,” Rahine said gently. “No concubine could when she is restricted to only one man’s attentions. But you must know that Jamil already prizes you. He breaks customs for you. He appears obsessed with you in every way. Can you truly find no tender feeling for him?”
“Why do you do this?” Chantelle cried.
“Because I live for his happiness. What else do I have to live for?”
Oh, God, how pathetic. Chantelle couldn’t stay angry with the woman after hearing that. “Can’t you go home? Why do you lock yourself away in here when you don’t have to? You’re his mother. He wouldn’t keep you here if you wanted to go, would he?”
“No, but I have nowhere to go. This is my home now, Shahar. Jamil, his children, his women, they are my family. This is my life. There is nothing for me anywhere else.”
“You’re not an old woman. You could still find another husband.”
Rahine smiled at that. “I can do that here, Shahar, if that is what I want.”
Chantelle gave up. “Very well, so you like it here. Kindly accept the fact that I don’t and never will.”
“I wonder if you will still feel that way, say, a week from now.”
Rahine didn’t wait for a reply but left Chantelle alone to wonder what could happen in a week that might change her mind.
It didn’t take much intelligence on her part to guess.
Rahine was warning her that Jamil’s patience wouldn’t last any longer than that.
So be it. She had known, deep inside, that he would get his way eventually, one way or another.
She knew her days were numbered. But she would still hold out to the bitter end, and her feelings weren’t going to change when that end came.