Penhaligons – Monsieur Beauregard Eau de Parfum

225,00

300,00 / 100 ml

“Our French friend” is how this unknown but over-familiar houseguest is typically introduced. His lingering gaze lets you know he’ll take things from here.

A special kind of perfection that with its strong caressing silence speaks volumes! Confidently quiet. Mysteriously sexy.

Be warned. One look is all it took.

Smell: Bright, aromatic. Soft and powdery. A deep, masculine floral

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Description

Freshly arrived from France, Monsieur Beauregard knows how to do it. His scent is a gentle blend of the finest raw materials of perfumery; noble, rich and opulent.
An addictive, noble wood glorified by rich and opulent ingredients deliver a sensation of addiction and creaminess, but all in fineness.

“Quel scandale”

Well travelled, better educated, and an expert in the field of the one night romance, nobody quite knows how Monsieur Beauregard fell into favour with the family. While the female members of the house are strictly forbidden to look upon Countess Dorothea’s impossibly intoxicating “French friend”, that certainly doesn’t stop their gazes wandering at the breakfast table. Needless to say, Beauregard’s much more interested in the Duke.
 
“Being on time is so pointless. I’d rather live for now. What if I get fixed in conversation with a handsome man? A night at the opera can simply wait.” Often the latest arrival at the breakfast table, Monsieur B is perhaps the only person who goes unscathed for their tardiness and lax sense of dress: often arriving inappropriately attired, exposing an inch too much arm or a flash too much chest. With a body like that, however, it might well be worse manners to ask him to cover up.
 
He’s the definition of a traditional Lothario – well, in all but one regard. A city slicker who smoothly traverses countryside terrain; he oozes confidence, elegance, and breezes through conversation with royalty in the same way he does with Countess Dorothea’s footmen. “I was born in a city, but have been… how do you say?… a nomadic creature my entire life. I go where the romance takes me.”
 
“We met on the Côte d’Azur,” he says of his first encounter with Countess Dorothea, as he stares over dark circular glasses, through dark grey eyes. “But I don’t engage in small talk, because I am most often the subject of it. I much prefer to dive in deep.” And in a flash he’s gone, leaving behind nothing but the heady scent of Sandalwood and Cinnamon he’s no doubt picked up at the bustling markets stumbled upon during his mammoth explorations of far flung lands. Much like Parisian rain, nobody knows when he’ll come and when he’ll go; but when it rains, it rains hard.

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