The Indispensable Wife

by Philippa Lodge

  Louis smiled faintly.

  Better dimwitted and amusing than arrested.

  Aurore dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. “We have lost our lands, Votre Altesse. Our people are being killed and beaten and raped. I was a hostage. My husband nearly lost his arm and his life at Versailles while you were in residence—what sort of a madman attacks a noble in broad daylight on the grounds of the king’s palace? No one believes that there just happened to be two crossbow bolts shot at my husband by accident on the same day the château was attacked. In fact, Saint-Ange and Poudrain, the men who led the takeover, told me my husband was going to die that day. We can surely retake the lands with the help of family and friends, but we need your approval. We have heard of the rumors that my husband is the rallying point for a new group of Frondistes, but it is all lies. We believe the rumors were started by the same men who attacked our château and took me hostage.”

  After a long silence, Aurore glanced up at the king, who was still looking at her, expecting something more. She didn’t know what else to say. She chattered. “We need your approval, Your Highness, because we are not working against you. Any small force that we raise, our enemies will say is an army intended to move against you. I know that you and others have been worried about the training school that my late father-in-law, the last Comte de Bures, started.” She flinched, remembering that Dominique’s father really had been a supporter of the Fronde. “Many of the men who have learned to fight there have gone on to serve in your army and musketeers and guard, as well as those of other nobles. My brother is a captain and loyal to a fault. Their first allegiance—our first allegiance—is to you, Votre Altesse. If Xavier Poudrain and Yves Saint-Ange are allowed to take away the lands, homes, and wives of nobles, then how are we to stop others from doing the same to other nobles? If anyone questions my husband’s right to his titles and lands, how far is it to question the rights of all the other nobles? How far is it to question your divine right as our king and representative of God on earth?”

  She had gone much too far, she could tell by the long, awkward silence that followed. Louise rustled behind her, slipping away from Aurore.

  Aurore looked up at the king again. When she opened her mouth, he held up a hand for silence.

  He stared at her sternly. “You make some excellent points, Madame. We in no way support the actions of Messieurs Poudrain and Saint-Ange. We never have, but your and your husband’s continued absence from court left us concerned about your loyalties.”

  “That was my fault, Votre Altesse. I had yet to heal from my injuries and was frightened of coming across my attackers and their allies. My brothers and father have tried many times to see you and called in favors from friends, but they were sure it was to no avail.”

  It was time to show him. Her hand drifted to her head scarf and she eased it backwards over the lumpy scar on her forehead. She turned her head to the right, the better to show the scar on her left temple. Silence. She couldn’t bear to look up at her king. Her beauty was gone. Would he be disgusted with her?

  “They branded me.” She shivered, and her vision began to tunnel. She took a deep breath, fighting down the panic. “I burned it away myself the next night.”

  She whispered, “My husband spent a long time looking for me. He wished to speak with you, but my brother and father believed that you would have him arrested. I am here as an emissary because my family failed.” Her stomach clenched. The only thing she had ever known her father to fail at was getting along with her mother.

  The king’s voice was soft. “I am not unreasonable, Madame de Bures. I will see your husband. We were companions once, long ago.”

  She swallowed and darted her eyes toward her king. “Yes, Votre Majesté. He was afraid you had forgotten his friendship. He swears he has always told you the truth even when a lie would have made you happier.” She couldn’t bring herself to raise her gaze from his feet. “And the attack force? And the training school, Votre Altesse?” She knew she was pushing her luck.

  The king paused. “We shall see.”

  Aurore bowed lower to the floor. She heard footsteps as the king turned and walked away. She dared raise her head to watch him go.

  The king had just stepped out of the door, however, when he turned back and caught her eye. He smiled. “I had a moment of hope when I saw you, Madame de Bures. It has been five years since we last spoke, after all.”

  Aurore frowned in confusion. She remembered that she had told him to wait five years before she would even consider being any man’s mistress. Was that five years ago already? He didn’t think her scars were repulsive? Or he did think so, because he didn’t see them until after his moment of hope? “In spite of my best efforts, Votre Altesse, I have not yet given my husband an heir.”

  Louis looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, and she thought he might be seductive if she weren’t so in love with her husband. Her heart stuttered as she realized she was as in love with her husband as ever, even though she was afraid to let him touch her. If she ever could make babies with anyone, it would be with Dom.

  She tipped her head to the side and smiled with an attempt at coquetry. He smiled back slightly and then bowed again and strode out.

  ****

  “Are you sure he won’t…” whispered Dominique as he waited in the presence chamber for the king to return for the official Coucher. Cédric’s best coat, coppery-brown silk heavy with embroidery and rows of gold-edged ribbons, weighed down his shoulders and tangled with the wide breeches to impede his legs with every step. The lace cuffs of his shirt itched, and the vast puffs of fresh, white linen almost disguised that the coat sleeves sat too high on his elbows. The waistband of the breeches floated around his waist. At least the ruffles below his knee partially hid the boots that Cédric’s valet had struggled to polish to an acceptable shine once they discovered that Cédric’s shoes were too small for him. He resisted the urge to scratch at the curly wig and struggled to not drop his hat or walking stick or to hit anyone with the court sword dangling from his left hip.

  He missed his buff leather coat and simple peasant breeches. He missed being surrounded by others in muted colors with very little pretense to fashion. He missed walking with large strides rather than watching his toes as gentlemen minced around him in high-heeled slippers with garishly jeweled buckles.

  Apparently, the fashion for fancifully shaped beauty patches had only intensified over the summer, because there were two men sporting a crescent moon by each eye and a star at one corner of their mouths smirking at him. He wondered who they were, though he was sure he should know their names.

  “Won’t have you arrested on the spot? I don’t think so,” said Cédric, a little too lightly as he smiled at the gentleman next to them and asked how he had weathered the trip from Fontainebleau. He finally turned back to Dom. “I doubt Aurore has spoken to him yet, but if we prostrate ourselves well enough and you explain yourself…”

  Albert de Lucenay, the least favorite of Dom’s companions from the days he had been at the king’s beck and call as a boy, began pushing his way through the crowd toward them, a foul grimace twisting his mouth. The nobles shifted and turned, though, blocking his path as the interior door swung open. The king entered, already in a shimmering robe de chambre, and nodded as everyone in the room bowed more or less deeply, based on their own rank and relation to the king. As Dominique stood again, he found the king fifteen feet away, glaring at him down his noble nose, one eyebrow raised. As others rose, they noticed the direction of His Highness’ look and turned to see who was being singled out. A whisper spread across the room, then silence.

  “Monsieur le Comte de Bures,” said the king, his voice not much above a murmur, his lip slightly curled like he had smelled something dirty.

  When he didn’t go on, most of the men in the room shifted slightly. A little step, another shuffle away from Dom, clearing a narrow pathway between him and the king. Dom’s gut clenched. There were guards between him and
the exits. There were dozens of gentlemen with swords, suspecting him of treason. Some of them were his accusers. Some of them were part of the conspiracy that was destroying his life.

  “Votre Grande Altesse,” replied Dominique, bowing low again, twirling his borrowed hat.

  When he rose up, the king smiled slightly. “We have just spoken with la comtesse. She was considerably less well-dressed than you.”

  He didn’t mean that Aurore had been undressed, did he? No, of course not. Dominique shoved down the jealousy.

  Cédric chuckled. “My coats are much too large for her to borrow, Votre Altesse.”

  Dom’s chest clenched. Had Cédric just condemned them all? Not to mention that Louise de la Baume le Blanc would not have thought of loaning a frock to Aurore. She probably didn’t mind having a comtesse looking like a country chambermaid, but it was hardly politic to point out the official mistress’s vanity. Dom wished he could get his mouth to work, get his brain to think of the right words to say to presume on their old acquaintance. How did one think of the words with which to placate a king?

  The king smiled slightly as he turned away. He told a secretary to make an appointment with Dom for the next day. A mutter passed through the crowd.

  It was done. His wife had done it. Aurore. Dom wondered what she had said, what she had promised. He and Cédric went down on one knee, Cédric thanking the king profusely, and Dom unable to speak at all. Louis waved another noble forward, leaving them to scramble to their feet and bow deeply.

  There were other edicts to be given and the usual ceremony in preparing the king for bed as a string ensemble played soft music from a corner, so it was nearly an hour before he and Cédric could bow their way out.

  They paused outside the doors as gentlemen pranced past in their silks and linens and heavy perfumes.

  “Is she still in de la Baume le Blanc’s chambers, do you think?” asked Cédric.

  “She was going to wait for Henri to fetch her,” said Dominique. “We planned to return to the inn.”

  “I hope he hasn’t been yet, because you will come home with me, of course, to my father’s house.”

  Cédric nodded to his footman and instructed him to knock at Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc’s door, just up the hallway, and announce that Madame de Bures’ husband was inquiring after her.

  Immediately Aurore, dressed in peasant homespun like a dull sparrow in a flock of exotic birds, flew out the door. Crying “Dominique!” she threw herself into his arms. He took a step back at the impact and held her lush little body tightly against his own, his gloved hands grasping at the laces that crisscrossed her back.

  She started chattering almost immediately. “Did you see the king, too? He said he would talk to you. Did he tell you? I am sure he did, if you are here and the Coucher is over. I am so relieved, so pleased. Oh, Dominique, we will get our home back, chéri.”

  Dominique was unable to reply. Her leap had knocked the wind out of him, and the only thing he could think to do was to kiss her. Right there in a hallway of the Palais de Vincennes, with aristocratic peers mincing past on high-heeled shoes and servants pretending to not notice, he kissed his wife, his life and soul, the way he had wanted to since the moment he saw her standing on a little stage in a square in some tiny village north of Paris.

  He came to himself a short while later, when he stumbled as he turned to press Aurore against a wall. He set her down and took a small step back as she opened her eyes drowsily to smile at him in the way she had when they were first married.

  “So this is what the aristocracy is coming to, then?” said a sharp voice behind him.

  Dominique turned quickly, shoving Aurore behind him, his hand automatically reaching for the knife which he did not have; Cédric’s valet had complained that it spoiled the line of his waistcoat.

  Henri wrinkled his nose. “It’s a good thing our brother had your back, you know. All this kissing would drive anyone to violence.”

  Dominique laughed and clapped Henri on the back, feeling so cheerful that his brother-in-law could have insulted him egregiously and he would have laughed anyway.

  Cédric put an arm around Aurore. “Well, come along, all of you. Aurore, the servants packed your things and will move them to Father’s house. Maman has threatened to arrive in a few days, but if all goes well, we shall miss her on the road. Make a note to use a different road than usual, will you, Dom? Henri, you are certainly welcome, too, if you would like to stay the night before going back to your place for fresh clothing. Still have the inestimable Paul-Bénédicte as your valet? We’ll send him a message, as he is surely expecting you.”

  Henri’s eyes narrowed as he answered his oldest brother woodenly. “Paul-Bénédicte has just left my employ, and I have not yet had a chance to hire a new manservant.”

  Cédric’s eyebrows shot up, but after a short pause he answered mildly. “Then you will come and dine with us tonight? We are celebrating the king’s support for Aurore and Dominique.”

  “I shall tell the coachman to return the carriage to the Ministry,” said Henri. “He is outside waiting for me.”

  They wandered toward the front of the palace. Aurore squeezed Dominique’s arm and ran up a few steps to take Henri’s and carry on a whispered conversation.

  “Nothing but ingratitude from her, you know,” said Cédric with a big, fake sigh. “She hasn’t even greeted me properly, and I have not seen her for almost two months.”

  Aurore turned, hands to her face. She threw herself at him and hugged him tight and kissed him loudly on the cheek.

  “Je suis désolée, my favorite brother, who has done so much for me and for my husband in our time of need and wrote me those lovely letters. I should have greeted you first, I am sure. I was a little too excited, I think.” She smiled at him.

  Henri rolled his eyes impatiently, but Cédric chuckled. “It’s all right my dearest, smallest sister. As long as you know to whom your loyalty should be.”

  She laughed and kissed him again before taking Dominique’s arm.

  Dominique wasn’t quite jealous but still wished she had wrapped her arms around him again instead of around her brother.

  ****

  Later that night, after they reunited with Michel, they had a light dinner and a good deal of the Baron de la Brosse’s wine. Aurore stumbled twice as they went up to their rooms. Marie-France helped Aurore take off the bodice and skirt she had borrowed from Cédric’s wife, Sandrine, who had stayed safely in the provinces.

  Though she had worn soft, linen chemises—the one she had been wearing when she escaped from her kidnappers and a stained, patched one her mother gave her—under her dress while traveling, the feel of the carefully laundered, nearly new linen of the nightshirt—also borrowed from Sandrine—brought tears to her eyes.

  How easy her life had been before the château was taken. Her worst hurts had been to her spirit and her heart. Not that those had been insubstantial, but she had never been physically threatened, never in danger of death, except through her own body’s betrayal. She shivered again as she thought of her stillborn baby. A perfect girl in every way, except born after only eight months and never once drawing breath. Aurore had been too shocked and dead inside to cry. She had very little recollection of the weeks and months that followed. She had been hollow for the two years since then.

  It had not only been the attack and rape that had made her decide to sing in village squares. That had been the impulse of a moment as Michel took her to an inn near the Chaillot convent and they passed the village square where a troupe was performing. She hadn’t sung for years. As a girl, she had spent her days humming. She had been punished for singing when her mother was in one of her moods. She had danced around her brothers, singing to cheer them up, teaching songs to Michel on the rare occasions she saw him, singing baby Emmanuel to sleep in the days before her mother took him to stay with her. The impulse to hide inside a troupe of musicians had been Aurore grasping at the last thread of herself,
one that she thought she had already lost in the great fraying and unraveling of her life.

  That one strand of thread and Michel’s quiet—though sometimes grudging—support had been enough to start embroidering a new life. Living so roughly had given her pride in her own strength. Making friends among the distrustful travelers had given her confidence in her powers of persuasion. Joking with the crowds had shown her she was appreciated for something other than her rank.

  Dom’s appearance had made her realize the gaping hole inside her that she was trying to stitch over was one only he could repair.

  She would try to let him touch her.

  She settled into the bed, softer than any she had slept in since her father’s house in the country, leaving the bed curtains open a bit so she could see the door if she woke at night in a panic, thinking someone was coming in. She lay on her side, tears sliding from her left eye, over her nose, and into the right one. She shuddered.

  There was a knock, and Dominique slipped in, clad in Cédric’s nightshirt and a blue robe. He walked directly to the bed, pushed back the bed curtain, and bent over her.

  “Bien, you are awake,” he said.

  “Is that my father’s old robe?” Her gut churned. Her husband appeared to be removing the robe.

  “I believe so. The servants removed my things from Versailles to your father’s country estate months ago, so I have nothing of my own. I told them to go to your father or to seek new employment after I sneaked away from court.” Dom disappeared behind the bed curtains, then reappeared as he drew back the curtains on the other side.

  Aurore stared at him, clutching the blanket as he climbed into the bed.

  He frowned as he drew up the covers. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep without you. I hardly slept at all last night.”

  She had hardly slept either but had assumed he would sleep in the room he usually used in her father’s house, not this one. She had thought she would talk herself into going to him. Maybe that would have been easier.