by Karleen Koen
“Curiosity killed the cat.” Anne might be grieving, but she was not toothless.
“Ah, but then a cat in gloves catches no mice.” Nicolas smiled his easy smile, but he was suddenly angry inside at all that royalty took for granted. If both he and the king abandoned her, she might as well go to a convent and spend the remainder of her days in fruitless prayer. She wouldn’t be the first queen mother sent into exile or seclusion.
“I take my upset out on you. Forgive me,” Anne said.
“Always.” He bowed, the anger hidden.
“Wait.” She made certain no one was standing close enough to hear, then said, “Would you like to be chancellor?”
For a moment, he didn’t think he’d heard her correctly. It was beyond anything he’d thought of.
“Yes,” said Anne. “He spoke of it to me this very afternoon. I think you can rest easy about your situation with him.”
Nicolas walked down the hall toward the bedchamber feeling as if a hundred anxieties had fallen from his shoulders. Chancellor of France. It was higher than he’d imagined in his wildest dreams. He stepped into the dark that was the chamber.
“Close and bar the door,” he heard Catherine say, but he couldn’t see a thing.
“Where are you?” he said, when he’d done as she asked.
“The bed,” she answered.
Slowly, he groped his way forward.
“Stop,” she said.
He listened to interesting rustles. She was lighting candles, not many, two or three that threw only a little light in the dark all around them. But the shape of the bed was visible, and when he walked closer, he saw a pool of fabric on the rug nearby. It was her gown. He stepped to the edge of the bed. She sat like a queen in its middle, except that she was completely naked.
LOUIS WAS DANCING with Henriette again. She had been avoiding him all night, nervous and ill at ease when he’d asked her for another. “Perhaps we shouldn’t—” she began.
He interrupted her because he was afraid for her to finish her sentence. “Dance? Why ever not? We enjoy it. We always dance four or five dances.”
“People are saying—”
“I know exactly what people are saying. Don’t you dare draw back from me, Henriette. You smile at me the way you always have. Even more so. Trust me in this.”
She smiled, her wide, engaging smile, but her mouth trembled, and he could see tears at the corners of her eyes. The strain of the day, of the evening, was showing.
“Jewel of my heart,” he heard himself say, “if you wish to break with me, you have only to tell me. I would never presume—”
“It’s just that everyone seems to be watching.”
“And what do they see, but a brother who loves his sister? Don’t abandon me, abandon our love. I can’t bear it. I’ll protect you in this. I promise.”
She didn’t reply, and the dance was finished, and he walked her to her place near his mother and went to find someone else to dance with. But he was in shock. Was she going to end it before it was even begun? How would he endure that?
Anne, who had watched every move Henriette made all through the evening, but particularly when she was with Louis, turned to Henriette and said, “Wonderful news. Word of your acclaim is everywhere. My most dear friend, the Duchess of Chevreuse, has sent a letter saying she just must meet you.”
“Must she?”
“I’ve decided a visit the day after tomorrow would be perfect. We’ll be there for a while. A little hint from me. Too much frivolity can hinder conceiving a child. You look as tired as I feel. I’m off to bed. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
You meddling hag, watching me like a hawk, thought Henriette.
Anne gave her daughter-in-law a long, steady, warning look before she kissed her good night on each cheek and retired with her ladies.
Are you threatening me? thought Henriette. Do you think if I’m out of his sight, I’m out of his mind? I have only to raise my little finger, and he’s at my feet. And a new expression appeared on Henriette’s face, one that even her most avid admirer could have only described as mulish.
Across the chamber, pretending not to watch, Louis put a hand over his heart covered by his soft shirt and doublet. His chest literally hurt. Why had he brought up his near death to Philippe? Why did that stay in his heart? Had he become so wary that there was no one he trusted? Would not even Henriette’s love soften the hardness collecting under his hand? His brother had been a madcap these last hours, delightful and funny in a frenzied way, extravagantly courting his wife, leading the young court out of doors now for who knew what. I owe you an apology, he’d said quickly, softly, to Louis, during some moment in the evening. Louis could have borne outright accusation better than the sight of what was in his brother’s eyes, renewed trust, but also hurt somewhere beyond it.
Chapter 14
HILIPPE SWALLOWED PAST THE LUMP IN HIS THROAT, CONCENTRATED hard on not weeping like a woman and thus causing more talk this night. At least there had been none of the caustic titters that his behavior often summoned. He concentrated on what he’d done well this night: asked Louis for what he wanted, apologized to his brother and to his own wife. Both had been difficult to do, in spite of the fact, as his confessor had warned him, that the gossip had all been lies, exaggerations. Majesty, said Louis in his cool, correcting tone. I hate him, Philippe thought, and the thought made him ill, something else to confess and repent. Under the hate was choking love and an admiration that Louis allowed only in measured amounts. Below him in the courtyard the court assembled. Was his wife unfaithful? No. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he let this go? The court waited for him to organize their fun. Trying to outwit emotions with their wide, painful swing, their guilt and self-reproach, Philippe ran down the straight, wide outside steps. He ran past Guy.
Guy watched as Philippe clapped his hands to summon courtiers around him, commanded a gondola race among them, watched as Henriette declined to join it. The expression on Philippe’s face struck Guy to the heart, and Guy’s heart was hard, not easily moved, bent on its own pleasure most of the time.
Where to find a place to talk? thought Guy. There was the summer pavilion at one end of the pond, its lanterns summoning. Gondolas were lining up near the queen mother’s terrace. In another few moments, he and Philippe had boarded one, and Guy, abandoning the other racers, was poling them toward the little open-air pavilion at the far end of the pond. Several bottles of wine were in the gondola’s bottom.
“What are you doing?” asked Philippe. “The race starts from over there.”
“I must apologize to you more fully than I have. I was wrong to say the things I did to you, wrong to make you unhappy and suspicious. You know what a devil I can be. Well, I’ve outdone myself this day. There isn’t a penance large enough in the world for me to pay, and I’d give anything to take back my words. Your conduct makes me respect you even more. I was so proud of you tonight, the way you made up with Madame, the way you spoke to his majesty. I don’t know when I’ve been prouder.” Guy didn’t look at Philippe as he spoke, just pushed the long pole in and out of the water.
Tears rolled down Philippe’s face. The lantern’s light was bright enough to reveal too much.
“You are becoming a great prince,” Guy said, keeping his eyes away from all that was plain on Philippe’s face, keeping his focus on gaining the little island, on isolation, on somehow repairing what he’d destroyed, on bolstering Philippe in this new show of courage against Louis’s will. Wine would help. They’d drink wine and talk and plan, like old times. They’d drink wine until Philippe didn’t hurt anymore.
“You never touch me now,” said Philippe.
“It isn’t proper now.”
Philippe looked out over the water, to the suspended garden with its majestic surround of water, to the handsome palace lit by lantern light, to the gondolas from which shouts of laughter and jesting insults could be heard. “I don’t know if I can give up everything,” he said.
They had reached the little island, but Guy pushed the pole against turf, and the gondola slid backward into the water rather than landing. It floated in place. Guy sat down, maneuvered open a bottle of wine, handed it to Philippe, opened one for himself, clinked their bottles together.
“To friendship,” he said, and drank a long swallow.
Philippe considered the word, all it meant, and all it didn’t. The lump in his throat was larger. Would wine move past it?
Silent, they drank and watched the races. Louis lost to Vivonne but won two others. Péguilin fell overboard, swam to shore, and was being petted by tipsy maids of honor. Vivonne jumped into water waist deep and began to shout he was drowning. Guy threw his empty bottle overboard. Philippe did the same.
“Open another for us,” Guy said, “while I pole over to the suspended garden. I see La Grande Mademoiselle with your darling Chevalier de Lorraine. What a bore she was tonight, going on and on about her father, as if he had possessed an honorable bone in his body.”
“He was brother to a king, and it’s a hard life. He did the best he could,” Philippe said.
“Let’s scale the sides like pirates and threaten her virginity unless she drinks a bottle with us, see if the grape can make her unbend.”
“She unbends.”
“Does she? Well, I’m going to have to ascertain that for myself. As tall as she is, she must have beautiful legs. You need to reconcile with Madame tonight. Completely.” Guy didn’t look at Philippe, just pushed the pole up and down in the water as he steered the gondola toward the suspended garden.
“Must I? That will take more wine, my friend.”
“We have it.”
LOUIS DROPPED A blood-red leather portfolio into Colbert’s lap. “He apologized for past sins. He asked for my forgiveness. He says these records will be closer to the truth.”
Colbert stared down at the portfolio.
“So I asked him for one million.”
“Excuse me, sire?”
“One million. That will keep him occupied for a time. What are you looking so glum about? Because of his new facts and figures? He has maneuvered around us, but only for the moment.” Louis rubbed at his eyes. His usual vigor had deserted him. I’m tired, he thought. I won’t be able to bear it if she decides against loving me. I’ll lie down on the ground like a dog and howl. D’Artagnan thought he’d found the writer of the Mazarinades: his cousin, La Grande. It was possible. She’d fired a cannon at him. Another cousin, Condé, a famed warrior whom Louis had worshipped as a boy, had marched away to the side of the Spanish during that long war. His family was capable of every treason, large and small. He would never have family interconnected with the governing of the kingdom again. He might forgive, but he did not forget. Hold your friends close and your enemies closer, so said his beloved cardinal. I’m watching her, D’Artagnan said.
“Your majesty is fatigued,” Colbert said.
HENRIETTE COULDN’T SLEEP. She made one of her serving women brush her hair, but the brushing didn’t help. She sent the woman away and paced up and down her bedchamber, wishing she hadn’t allowed her ladies to leave her. Then she saw a note, slipped under her door, and she opened it.
I love you. I don’t wish to retreat in the face of opposition, but I am yours to command. What is that command? Did you wish me to turn my heart from yours? Impossible. You command obedience of everything but my heart, which remains—always—yours.
She slipped it into a special, hidden drawer in the table her brother had given her. You may need, Minette—her brother called her Minette, his adoring Minette, and she was—you may need a place of privacy, and her brother’s dark eyes had glinted, and he had showed her the small raised griffin, which when touched, made the drawer open. Charles was fourteen years older than her, king of England now, a miracle everyone except her had ceased expecting. Last year had been a year of miracles, hadn’t it? Her brother’s restoration and hers. Who could have guessed the glorious young king of France would fall in love with her? She picked up a hand mirror to look at the face that had captured a king’s heart.
There was a knock, and Catherine came in, walking in that special, long-legged way of hers, the expression on her face pleased.
“Monsieur is on his way,” she said, and she went to Henriette’s dressing table, rummaging through the silver boxes and jars there. She selected a rouge color, dipped her fingers in it, ran it across Henriette’s cheeks in even motions, then pulled the neck of her nightgown down, rouged the nipples of her breasts with quick strokes that tickled and shocked.
“Whatever are you doing?”
Catherine didn’t answer, was opening wine she’d brought, wine that she gave to Henriette and which Henriette obediently drank, even as Catherine was at the bed, plumping pillows, making the bed an inviting nest of linen and lace-trimmed coverings, then she was striding toward the door again. “Leave no doubts in his mind,” she said.
In the withdrawing chamber, Catherine heard sounds and stepped quickly to hide beside a huge armoire. Leaning against Guy, Philippe staggered in. Guy had to open the bedchamber doors and push Philippe through them. Closing them again, Guy leaned his head against the wood in a weary gesture.
“Are you praying?” Catherine stepped out from the armoire. “What possessed you to betray her?”
“Jealousy. I didn’t want his majesty to have her. I’ve done what I could. I’ve told Monsieur I love her and that in my passion I allowed myself to say things of which there was no proof.”
“You told him you loved her?”
Guy opened his eyes. “He’s proud I should love her. It proves to him that he is right to love her, too.”
How handsome my brother is, thought Catherine. And how dangerous.
She put her arm in his, and together they walked out of the withdrawing chamber.
AT THE SIGHT of Philippe, who was drunker than she’d ever seen him, Henriette began to cry. She sat where she was on her dressing stool and laid her head on her hands on the dressing table and wept.
Philippe found his own eyes filling. Their first quarrel. In all their months together, they’d done nothing but laugh. He lurched forward, stood over her, staring down at her chestnut curls, her white, white neck and shoulders. His hand went out, to touch her head, to comfort her, but he leaned too far forward and fell on the floor. It didn’t hurt him, but it did surprise him.
“What vileness there is outside these rooms,” Henriette said after he had lain there a while.
She needs to help me up, thought Philippe. I don’t think I can manage by myself.
“I was so proud to accept your proposal of marriage, so proud to be allied with you. You were the only one who was kind to me all those long years. I can’t bear your anger,” Henriette said.
“I could have married anyone. I chose you,” he tried to say, but none of the words came out of his mouth coherently.
All his life, his mother and his brother had wished him to be different, to be as they were. So he might be, with this enchanting girl whose face was swollen with tears from his jealousy. Remember your princely duties, his priest had told him. Trust in the Lord thy God. Beware the things of this world. She would bear the sons who would carry on his seed, his lineage, his house. She graced his life. All his friends thought him fortunate. Guy loved her. Louis admired her, perhaps more—Stop, he told himself. Don’t allow suspicion. He was not king, but he was brother to a king, for once a fit brother. Guy didn’t love him the way he once had, and it broke Philippe’s true heart, but this was enough. To be with her was enough. He closed his eyes. In another moment a snore erupted.
Henriette placed a pillow under his head, then covered him with one of her coverlets. She nestled in the bed, blew out the candle, and turned on her side, exhausted. They’d muddled through. There was no open break with Philippe, and she didn’t have to acquiesce to him tonight, thank the Holy Mother. Lying was easier than she had imagined. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of that.
Chapter 15
HE QUEEN MOTHER WAS AS GOOD AS HER WORD. BEFORE TWO full days had passed, Madame was being swept out of Fontainebleau and off to visit the elderly duchess who was a dear friend to the queen mother.
“The carriage is ready,” Louise said, then she stood to one side as Henriette, followed by Catherine, moved past her.
“See to the dogs.” Henriette tossed the words over her shoulder. She made no secret of her fury at being forced to accompany the queen mother. Fanny said she was only going because Monsieur had begged her. Fanny had overheard the begging.
Louise held out a folded note. “You forget this,” she whispered. It was yet another secret missive from his majesty. There’d been no time for a private meeting between Louis and Madame, but Fanny and Louise had taken notes back and forth. Louise and the other maids of honor followed Madame downstairs to the golden entrance, the king’s entrance. They weren’t going. At the last moment, Henriette had decided to leave her maids of honor behind, but Louise didn’t mind. This gave her an opportunity to expand her exploring. She was continuing to ignore Choisy’s warnings.
On the ground floor was a great, hulking carriage, and also, Louise saw, the king’s favorite troupe of musketeers, called the Grays because they rode horses of that color. Louis was waiting by the door of the carriage, his dashing hat pulled from his head, in his hands.
“I plan to accompany you part of the way,” he spoke to Henriette.
Louise watched the sullen look leave Henriette’s face.
“My brother does us an honor,” announced Philippe, but to Louise’s eyes his face looked a little haggard. There was quite a crowd gathered to watch the departure, the Viscount Nicolas, other officials, and several from the queen’s household. The atmosphere was festive and excited. If Madame was in disgrace, none of these courtiers realized it yet. Many of them were at the carriage door saying good-bye to her, telling her she’d be missed. The queen mother, late, as was her habit, marched through a gatehouse door, her lady-in-waiting following, and narrowed her eyes at the sight of so many people. Once she was in the carriage, Louis mounted his horse, a huge, white stallion trained in Spain. The Spanish were famous for their horses and did not export them; it was a gift from his father-in-law. The horse reared and danced small steps forward on its back legs. Louis sat as easily atop it as if he were sitting in a chair. He shows off for her, thought Louise. She and the others left behind waved. Maids of honor from various households ran out of the palace to watch the carriage roll down the road toward the stables and then out into the world beyond the palace.