The French Mistress

by Susan Holloway Scott

  Though the wisest dons and philosophers will deny it, I believe that there are certain times when an unspoken wish can be made real by the sheer fervency of the wisher, and answered as if it had been said aloud. So it was now: for as I looked after the king with the most ardent longing in my heart, he suddenly turned back to meet my gaze over the unknowing countess’s shoulder, as if I’d called his name and this was his reply. He smiled and winked at me, a small, delicious secret between us and no one else. Then he turned back to Lady Castlemaine, and the spell of the moment was broken.

  That moment, yes. But what had begun between us that night would change our lives and many others, and even the fortunes of our mutual countries, for good, for ill, forever.

  Chapter Nine

  DOVER CASTLE, DOVER

  May 1670

  “A waken, Mademoiselle de Keroualle, if you please,” the maidservant whispered, her hand on my shoulder. “Come, you must rouse yourself, mademoiselle.”

  Fuddled with sleep, I rolled over to face the voice that summoned me, squinting at the candlestick the maid shielded with her cupped hand. It was either very late or very early, with the single window in the stone wall still dark. All around me the other maids of honor slept, bundled and burrowed beneath their pillows and coverlets. Our chamber was cold and damp, and since none of us had left the dancing until well past midnight, I saw no useful reason for me to leave the snug and comforting warmth of my bed just yet.

  “It’s too early,” I muttered, shaking her hand away. “Leave me.”

  “You must come, mademoiselle,” the woman insisted. “Madame wishes you to join her in her lodgings as soon as you can dress.”

  That was different. Against my weary body’s protest, I forced myself from my bed and, shivering, put a simple gown on. The maidservant helped me dress my hair in the hall, where the candlelight wouldn’t disturb the others.

  “What is Madame’s reason?” I asked as she brushed and pinned my heavy hair into some semblance of respectability. “Is she unwell? Has anything happened?”

  “She did not confide in me, mademoiselle,” the maidservant said, even more grumpy than I, for she’d been wakened even earlier. “All I know is that she asked me to fetch only you, and that you were to be dressed for day and brought to her.”

  It seemed odd to dress for day at this hour when night remained, but I did as I’d been bidden, and followed the maidservant to Madame’s rooms. There were times when I believed that Madame had made some unholy pact against sleep, for truly she seemed to need only half the rest that others did. Her attendants soon learned this, much to their regret. We could be called to come to her at any hour of the night, and though we might struggle to keep our heavy-lidded eyes open, she would be as cheerful and alert as any morning robin, even daring to tease us as lay-abeds or laggards.

  Thus it was when I joined Madame now. A dozen candlesticks and a large fire made her room bright, while she sat at a small table serving as a makeshift desk. She was already dressed as if it were mid-morning, with a heavy woolen shawl wrapped over her silk gown and black knitted fingerless gloves. From the leavings on the tray at her side, it was clear she was likewise done with her breakfast save for the porcelain dish of tea in her hand.

  “Good morning, Louise,” she said briskly, looking up from the papers and letters before her. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Yes, Madame,” I said, even as I tried to swallow back another yawn.

  “That was a deal of excitement last night, wasn’t it?” she said, picking up her pen to make a note along the edge of one page. “There will be more. I can promise you that, so long as my brother’s making the arrangements. I’ve never known another gentleman who so thrives on variety.”

  “Yes, Madame.” I was glad I wasn’t expected to say more. I’d wondered how much she’d seen of my dance with her brother last night, and further, if he’d spoken of me afterward. The two had spent much of the evening together (far more, in truth, than the king had spent with Lady Castlemaine, likely to that lady’s peevish disappointment). But as much as I wished it, I’d no real reason to believe he would have raised my name or remarked me in any special way, especially if, as he’d told me, Madame had warned him away from me. I could hope, of course, even pray for his favor, but the unfortunate truth was that I was likely only one of the dozens of fair young women who crossed this king’s path each day of his life. His amorous nature was widely known; for such a man, temptation must be everywhere.

  “I was most happy to see you enjoy yourself, Louise,” Madame said, as if reading my thoughts. “What did you make of the company?”

  “The company?” I hesitated, wondering if she was using that vague phrase to inquire about my impressions of her brother. “To speak true, Madame, while I found the company most charming and delightsome, it was to me much like the French Court. There were many gallants, to be sure, but few bachelors, and fewer still of those were interested in securing a wife rather than engaging in another mere dalliance.”

  “Alas, that is the rule in most places,” Madame said with a sigh. She slipped the papers into a leather folder, tied it closed, and tucked it under her arm as she rose from the table. “But at least I can promise you a fresh adventure this morning.”

  Mystified, I followed her to the door, and with two guards as an escort, we made our way through the sleeping castle. I’d still no notion of the hour, and the wind and rain that beat against the walls and windows masked any signs of a coming dawn. At last we reached one of the squared towers, and a suite of rooms so well-guarded with soldiers that I was sure they must belong to His Majesty. I followed Madame into the last chamber, a narrow room with an enormous fireplace and a roaring fire and a sideboard laid for a lavish breakfast. Down the center of the room was a long table, surrounded by heavy, dark armchairs with tall caned backs. The four gentlemen in these chairs rose as one when Madame joined them, their faces long and solemn, and not a hint of a yawn, despite the early hour.

  At once I recognized them—the French ambassador, Charles Colbert, Marquis de Croissy; the two privy councilors I’d first seen last night, Henry Bennet, Lord Arlington, and Sir Thomas Clifford; and, of course, His Majesty the King—and at once, too, I recognized the solemn purpose to their gathering at this hour. The countless letters that Madame had written to Louis and Charles, the plans tor tuously made and unmade and refined for a new alliance between England and France, would finally come to fruition in this room, far away from the frivolous celebrations in the rest of the castle. It was clear that these four gentlemen and one small lady were determined to alter the futures of their two countries at this table, and that they meant to do it in secret.

  But why, I wondered, had I been included?

  “Good day, Minette,” the king said, coming forward to embrace his sister. “Did your feet keep dancing as you slept?”

  She laughed, and reached up to tap her forefinger on the end of his long nose, a familiarity dared only by younger sisters to older brothers. “My poor feet could scarce climb the stairs, they were so weary, while yours, Charles—likely yours would be dancing still, if they weren’t here.”

  “Ah, my dear sister, what you think of me!” He sighed, but his smile took away any hint of melancholy. “You are to sit here, at my side. You know these others, I believe?”

  She nodded eagerly, her delicate head tipped to one side, and she smiled at the gentlemen in turn, winning each with a charm every bit equal to the king’s. It was, I suppose, a gift to the Stuarts, that rare charm that won them so much with such ease: a small compensation for what they so grievously suffered and lost at the hands of that same charmed world.

  But Sir Thomas was looking not at Madame, but at me, his expression decidedly disapproving. “Madame, might I ask who this young lady—”

  “This is Mademoiselle de Keroualle,” she said, linking her fingers lightly into mine as she drew me forward. “She is here by my invitation, Sir Thomas, and with my trust.”

  He sho
ok his head, quick little bobs of disagreement. “The mademoiselle appears very young for such grave responsibility, Madame.”

  “Mademoiselle de Keroualle has the purity of youth to recommend her, Sir Thomas,” Madame replied, the slightest edge of reproach in her voice. “She shall serve as my witness here, as she has served me before.”

  It was entirely true, yes, yet still I was honored and a bit awed that she’d chosen me from her vast number of attendants to be with her.

  “The lady stays, Clifford,” the king said. “It is my wish, as well as my sister’s.”

  Swiftly I looked to him, surprised by his defense. He smiled, clearly delighted by my unguarded reaction. “You may take that seat by the window, mademoiselle.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said softly, and slipped into the chair he’d indicated. There I sat in silence, watching and listening and bearing witness to everything as Madame had wished.

  It was not an easy process, this diplomacy, and vastly more tedious than I’d imagined. Though Madame fondly referred to the treaty as the “Grand Design,” it was in fact far from grand, and there seemed precious little design to any of it. The French ambassador and the two counselors squabbled over every word and idea like mongrels with a mutton bone, raging back and forth to the very point of incivility. Only then would the king or Madame suddenly interject a new idea and calm the discussion.

  Madame sat to the front of her chair, with her hands in their black woolen mitts clasped tightly before her on the table, and listening with care and eagerness, as was her custom. I could well understand her excitement. Few ladies of any rank were permitted to play such a bold part on the world’s stage. Her determination was exhilarating, and her impassioned eloquence when addressing these gentlemen inspired me no end. She had persevered through much to reach this table, enduring the jealous rages of her husband and the near-constant illnesses that racked her slender frame. Not only would this alliance bring together her two countries, but it would also garner her the approval of the two gentlemen for whom she cared most in the world. I’d not forget her achievement, either, nor how hard she’d worked to gain it.

  Her brother, however, demonstrated a far different style during the negotiations. Because he was both a man and a king, such talks must have long past lost their novelty to him. He sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched before him under the table, where several of his spaniels lay sleeping. To disguise his true feelings (or so I guessed), he feigned uninterest with the discussion, even boredom, his thoughts inscrutable beneath his half-closed eyes.

  Several times his restlessness drove him to rise from the table and go to the sideboard to forage for a slice of ham or bread with jam, for of course there were no servants in attendance, given the nature of these talks. Yet protocol continued to rule, and as soon as the king stood, the rest of us stood as well, from respect, though the others continued their discussion unabated. It was an astonishing thing to see, those serious lords popping up and down like jack-in-the-box, and a wonderfully foolish sight at that.

  As the king returned from one of these little forays, his plate laden, he happened to glance my way, and caught me smiling with amusement. Chagrined, I blushed and ducked my head, which he likely interpreted as artful flirtation, rather than miserable fluster. He walked the long way around the table to his chair, purposely passing close to me. As he did, he took two Spanish oranges from his plate and placed them in my hands. He was turned so that none at the table could see his face, and knowing that, he raised his brows and pulled his mouth into a doleful grimace, I suppose to express his ennui, yet in the most comical and unexpected manner imaginable. Then he returned to his chair, his face once again solemnly composed, while watching me all the time as he waited to see my reaction.

  To my horror, that reaction was both immediate and inappropriate. Laughter bubbled up within me, from both the silliness of the moment and my own discomfiture. Not wishing to disgrace myself, I did my best to swallow back my laugh, but only succeeded partway, making instead a dreadful snorting cough. Mortified, I bowed my head, and tried to think of the saddest and most tragic things possible. I heard nothing from the table that made me think they’d taken notice of my noisy misstep, though I suspect Sir Thomas must have rolled his gaze heavenward with this sorry proof of his misgivings.

  Perhaps that emboldened me for what I did next, or perhaps I realized I’d not be reprimanded so long as the king himself was the cause of it. In any event, I swiftly peeled one of the oranges he’d given me, setting aside the peels neatly on the window’s sill. When the sweet fruit was clean, I rose and took it to the king himself, curtsying prettily as I handed it to him. He smiled, both pleased and surprised, I think, and without a word I returned to my chair.

  Figuring I had caused enough distraction, I occupied myself industriously by peeling the second orange, intending to eat it. Yet when I looked up, I saw the king was watching me. As soon as I raised a segment of the orange to my lips, he did the same, his gaze never leaving my own. The sweet juice filled my mouth, playing over my tongue, and I couldn’t help but think of the other orange doing the same in his mouth, on his tongue, exactly as he’d intended. I ate each piece slowly, savoring it, and letting the tip of my tongue lick clean whatever droplets of juice dared escape my lips, and saw him do the same. Innocent though I was, I fully realized the suggestive nature of this little game between us, and what manner of lubricious acts he wanted me to envision with him. The blush that now stained my cheeks was a wicked one indeed, and knowingly so, too.

  “Is that not so, Charles?” Madame asked, testy, as if she were repeating her question. “Would you not agree?”

  He sighed, and turned back to the table. “I would agree that any English troops must be governed by English officers, and not French,” he said, proving that he’d been minding the conversation no matter how else he’d been engaged with me. “I know it’s the practice with other armies, but no English soldier will tolerate a foreign voice giving orders, nor should he.”

  After that, there was no further flirtation between the king and me. The discussions continued until the middle of the morning, and were adjourned for the day when the rest of the castle’s guests were beginning to stir.

  Not that either Madame or her brother retreated to their bed-chambers to make good on the sleep they’d missed. Far from it. His Majesty appeared to share Madame’s propensity for little sleep, made all the more incredible because he filled those extra hours awake with boundless activity. I suppose this must have been yet another quality inherent to the Stuarts, for in his past visits I’d noticed Lord Monmouth was likewise filled with this same rare and exhausting (to the rest of us) degree of enthusiasm and fortitude, and always eager to be off somewhere or another.

  As soon as the meetings were done, the king proposed a sail around the harbor, the better to view the famous cliffs we’d only seen previously by the gray light of dawn. Madame immediately agreed, no matter that the weather remained dank and chill, with rain ever-threatening. With the effects of our crossing fresh in their memories, the majority of Madame’s ladies declined this junket, but I’d no such qualms, and before long a small party of us was aboard the king’s own yacht, sailing gaily across the choppy waves and through a misty fog.

  Once we’d landed, the king declared he’d a need to stretch his legs, and off we trudged along the stony beach, with the same piebald spaniels who’d slept beneath the table now bounding on ahead to chase the gulls. Being young, and also desirous to remain in the royal company, I continued with them, and was rewarded with the king’s happy delight that I could keep pace with his lengthy stride, the only lady besides Madame who could. With Lord Monmouth eager to support her if she stumbled on the stones, we were a merry, raucous crew, made more raucous still when the gentlemen began to sing sailors’ songs that grew increasingly bawdy as we laughed and laughed. I’d never seen Madame as giddy as this, full of joy and without the heaviness that her life in France seemed to press upon her. But t
hen, there was no amusement like this at the French Court, and while part of me was scandalized to see so little decorum among those of the highest ranks, I was young and could not help but enjoy such lighthearted jollities.

  Likewise, too, I understood a second purpose to these entertainments. The king wished to present Madame’s visit as entirely frivolous, a pleasurable reunion between siblings. The alliance that was being discussed in the hours before dawn was to be kept as much a secret from the other English courtiers as from the Dutch ambassador. What better way to hide so serious a purpose than behind a mask of idle amusement?

  Finally Madame admitted she was in need of rest, and we retreated to our lodgings in the castle, while the king and Lord Monmouth went off for hawking in the fields nearby. Once inside, I realized how cold and damp I’d become, my hair hanging in tendrils and my face sticky from the salty sea spray. At Madame’s doorway, I began to retreat to my own rooms to repair and recover, when she caught my arm to hold me back.

  “A word, Louise, if you please,” she said, drawing me into her bedchamber and closing the door after, so we’d not be overheard. Away from her brother’s company, she’d wilted, her gaiety gone and the discomforts of her illness showing again on her face. She’d eaten little since we’d arrived, claiming it was excitement, not illness, that kept her from the rich foods being offered, but I doubted her words. She looked pale and weak, yet still determined.

  I steeled myself, sure now I’d be scolded for my ill-smothered laughter during the treaty discussions earlier. But to my surprise, I’d guessed wrong.

  “Louise,” Madame began, her hands clasped tightly before her, exactly as they’d been at the table. “Louise, you know how I trust you, and love you best of my household.”