America: 50☆Stars (Vol. 2)

Episode 18: The Rake Who Wooed the French

Warning: This episode is doused with lime—there's a soft-core scene featuring nudity and fondling, but it won't evolve into explicit sexual intercourse. The people involved are of appropriate age. Overall, anyone uncomfortable reading such content is free to skip this episode. You've been warned.

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Previously on 50☆Stars: Gouverneur Morris attended the Constitutional Convention and wrote the final draft of the Constitution. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

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December 12, 1798—Newport, Rhode Island

It was dirty weather out there. Snow and rain fell from the darkened skies for endless hours; it thundered on occasion. Empty ships in the harbor creaked and moaned, enduring the surges that came crashing their way. Other than the howling wind, the port was ghostly quiet. Everyone did what was best during such tumultuous weather—they stayed indoors.

At the local tavern and inn, Rhode Island sat with his head down at the bar. The low-quality scotch he had wasn't strong enough to knock him unconscious, leaving him bored out of his mind. He didn't feel like doing paperwork for his boss. He would rather go fishing, but the stormy weather made it impossible without setbacks. Setting aside his better judgment, he looked to the local tavern for some kind of comfort in this miserable winter.

"Hey. Are you listening?"

He glared up at a man in his late forties whose most distinguishable traits were his wooden peg leg and aristocratic sense of fashion. He didn't know the traveler who claimed to be Gouverneur Morris, nor did he care to know about his romantic travels across Europe. Their interaction was by coincidence, commenced by Morris's desire for an audience. He chose the person closest to his seat at the bar to tell his story, and that happened to be a grumpy midget.

"Are you finished talking yet?" Rhode Island grumbled.

Morris huffed, "Are you kidding? I'm not even close to finishing my story."

He groaned, "Then, hurry up and finish your story before I change my mind on the free drinks."

"At least show some interest in my story," he fussed. "But as I was saying, my lady friend and I were getting ready to depart from the Louvre in Paris..."

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October 19, 1789.

At the time, the Louvre was the residence, studio, and gallery of many artists under royal patronage. Among the various apartments, there was one that belonged to a 28-year-old woman who went by the title of Madame de Flahaut; she was also the French romance writer known as Adelaide Filleul. She was able to have her own apartment thanks to her husband—a wealthy count who was at least thirty years her senior. She rarely saw her husband. His apartment was next door, yet he was far too busy working as one of the king's secretaries to pay much attention to her. Like many bored wives of old men, she turned to others around her age for company.

Recently, she had taken a peculiar liking for an American by the strange name of Gouverneur Morris. Their friendship began in early spring, yet they had since become intimate in thoughts and physical contact. Morris would often meet her at her salon, sometimes with a request to judge and edit his written letters to French-speaking associates. She was more than happy to help him while commenting on his bad French over dinner. On occasion, they would travel across Paris and its rich attractions: visiting the sociable salons of other madames, meeting monsieurs at elaborate estates, attending grand opera houses, etcetera. It was no secret they were close. They enjoyed each other's company very much.