“No,” I said firmly as I tossed the mules on the floor and slipped my feet in. “My boots are old. They pinch.”
“So. Endure it.”
“I will never wear those ugly boots again.”
We raced down the curvy horseshoe staircase leading to the lawn where Madame and King Louis waited. A warm breeze lifted my skirt hem and carried the fresh scents of a new season. King Louis stood on the lawn while an array of pomp rotated around him. Footmen and musketeers and servants scampered, waiting or working, while his ministers vied for position. He had an angular nose and hawkish eyes, but what I felt made him attractive was his knowing look, his air of authority. Today a justaucorps à brevet hugged his frame. This blue silk coat, lined in red, was covered in gold embroidery. Only the French royal family and favorites could wear one. Diamond-encrusted buttons down its front dazzled in the spring sun.
Madame hung on his arm and batted her eyelashes as if he were simply too bright to behold. King Louis suddenly waved and men bowed, backing away. The pair set off for the woods together with only us ladies, known as Madame’s flower garden, following in attendance.
I touched the back of my neck as we walked, rubbing out the anxiety I felt while watching them together. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
La Vallière shrugged. “He’s allowing her to arrange all the summer entertainments at Fontainebleau. Apparently pregnancy makes his wife too dull for anything but laziness. Perhaps they are discussing the ballet she’s planning. Let’s hope she orders us to rehearsals right away so she is distracted from her pursuit of the king.”
I envisioned a summer-long rehearsal of Madame’s downfall. And mine. We entered a glade of towering beech trees, and the train separated, trailing down different paths. Sunlight streamed through the budding coppices to dapple the mossy floor in patterns when a breeze swayed the branches. Little shoots peeked from the ground, the first happy colors of spring. It was a magical forest. Yet I was not enchanted wandering its trails. The Queen Mother had made me promise to warn Madame of her duties when she forgot. What was I to do if she refused to listen?
“Look.” La Vallière pointed to a long-eared hare in the path a few paces ahead.
The hare studied us for a brief moment, then hopped away. We followed, but it rounded a corner at the end of the trail where Madame and King Louis stood in the center of a small clearing. Embracing.
La Vallière looked away and whispered, “Oh.”
“Act nonchalant.” I turned away, too. What if someone were to see them together? I wanted both to slap my cousin and shield her from prying eyes. “Pretend we’re talking.”
“We are talking.”
“Right.” I ignored the panic in my chest. “They’re courting disaster.”
“They’re royalty.” She sighed. “I suppose they do as they please. Do you hear that sound?”
“What?” I paused. “That little chirping noise?” I glanced around. At the base of an old oak tree, a baby bird sat perfectly still in a thatch of damp leaves. It opened its wide beak and chirped again. I knelt to pick it up.
“Get up,” La Vallière hissed, horrified. “The dirt. You’ll ruin your skirts.”
“Look, here’s the nest. Help me.”
“Quiet. They’ll hear you. And leave that thing alone. Have you no sense?”
“More than you’d guess.” I raised my voice. “I’m going to get this little bird back in its tree if you help me or not.”
“It won’t do any good,” said King Louis.
Aha! I stood with the nest in my hand as he and Madame came closer. I couldn’t suppress a victorious smile even though my cheeks were burning.
“You can’t reach up there.” He pointed to the high branches. “Even if you could, the mother won’t return to care for it. You’ve touched the nest.” He dropped Madame’s arm and joined me, peering at the tiny thing. “It’s a regular sort of bird. Why not leave it to nature?”
I glanced to Madame, then back to the king. I wondered, fleetingly, how irritated Madame was that I’d interrupted them. “It deserves a chance.”
King Louis’ face softened. “I suppose we’ve all been given chances at one time or another. You’re Frances Stuart?” I managed a nod. “You seem keen to bestow opportunity.”
I cleared my throat and hoped I didn’t sound childish. “It would be wrong to be selfish.” He looked puzzled. “What I mean is, God has blessed me. Through Madame. Her generosity rescued me. If God’s smallest creature here needs aid, who am I to withhold it?”
King Louis studied my face for a long moment. “A loyal friend is a rare prize.”
Madame cleared her throat. “So. What of the bird?”
King Louis and I looked at the twigs in my hand. Without speaking, we both knelt. The king scooted the bird along the ground and I scooped it gently into the nest. King Louis called out, and a page, hitherto hidden from view, trotted to us. “Take this creature to the falconer. We expect to see the little thing healthy and flying by summer’s end.”
* * *
Two weeks later I led a horse to the opening of the park and pointed at an elderly groom napping on a nearby bench. La Vallière giggled wildly and shook her head. We had concocted a game. I indicated five noblemen during the course of each day. She explained who they were, and if all were married, I had to curl her hair into confidants around her ears the next morning. If just one of them were unmarried, she would give me a silver button and introduce us. Now at the end of May, my fingers had curling-rod burns, I hadn’t a single silver button, and I’d given up searching for an unmarried nobleman in an attempt to find any unmarried man. I shrugged with a grin, and La Vallière mounted her horse.
“Mademoiselle Stuart, I need your help.”
I turned to see Father Cyprien approaching from the stables. “Father, I was hoping to see you.” I pulled a letter to my mother from my hanging pocket. “Is something wrong?”
“King Charles has chosen Catherine of Bragança, the Portuguese infanta, as his bride. The Queen Mother directed me to retrieve his last letter to Madame for more information, but she has refused to see me.” He wrung his smooth white hands. “Do you know where Madame keeps such things?”
I thought of the treasured letter, hidden under Madame’s pillow for safekeeping. I shook my head instead of lying aloud.
“It’s worse each visit. Madame hardly says anything in confession and flies off to King Louis’ side. She hasn’t written, she is neglecting her mother.”
I thought of the Queen Mother’s letters, piled upon Madame’s writing table unopened. “Fontainebleau is very busy.”
He frowned, took my letter and inspected it. “No basket of goods today? You mustn’t neglect your own mother. If you only knew what that poor woman has been through.”
My breath caught. Might he know about my mother’s past? Why had I not considered this before? I tried to think of a way to ask him about my true father, but Madame emerged from the stables before I could speak.
“Do leave her alone, Father Cyprien.” She yanked on riding gloves, glaring at him. “Frances is a perfect daughter.” An equerry bent, took her foot into his cupped hands, and lifted until she landed gracefully in her saddle.
Father Cyprien reached for her as the equerry lifted me onto my horse. “Anne of Austria has complained about the time you spend with King Louis. Your mother implores you to focus on getting your husband’s heir.”
She heeled her horse and called over her shoulder, “Tell her not to fret. The French royals need me for my connection with England, remember?”
We raced into the park, our skirts whipping behind us. Madame laughed and laughed, and I wished I could be so carefree. “Let’s ride hard,” she called to me and the other ladies. “I want to get back to the palace in time to sit with King Louis at tonight’s ballet.”
CHAPTER 4
The Duc de Saint-Aignan’s Open Air Ball
Fontainebleau
Mid-June
�
�Sir, I must insist you release your hold of my backside.” I reached around with my folded fan and smacked Philibert, Chevalier de Gramont’s hand.
A Frenchman of noble blood, neither married nor betrothed, he yanked his hand away and pressed his shoulder against mine instead. “People say you have the finest taille in Madame’s court. How can I judge if they are correct?”
I brought my fan up to my face and snapped it open, painted side out, to put a barrier between my nose and the heavy garlic on his breath. I gave him a coquettish look, one I had often seen my cousin deploy, over its laced edge. “With your eyes, monsieur. Same as everyone else.”
He put his hand over his heart. “Am I just another hopeful lover spurned by the lovely Frances?”
“Spurned, nothing.” I laughed. “I welcome your company.”
“If only you’d welcome me to your bed.”
A loud explosion followed by a screeching whistle erupted nearby, and we both jumped. Sparkling streams of color lit the sky. We relaxed. It was only fireworks, lit in honor of Queen Marie-Thérèse’s pregnancy. Gramont thrust his wineglass, full of Bordeaux, into my other hand. He circled my waist and pulled me behind a torch so we no longer faced the outdoor dancing floor where courtiers twirled and stepped. He traced my collarbone, pressed against me.
The strength of his grip alarmed me. “There are people nearby.”
“No harm in a little love play.” He put his nose on my cheek.
I turned my face aside to keep from smelling him and told myself that, though Gramont was near forty years of age, he was still quite handsome. “What if I prefer a different sort of love?” I asked, clinging to the wineglass. “The sort that would lead to marriage.”
He ground his pelvis into me, groaning as his hardness rubbed between the pleats of my skirt and against my hip. “Why would one invest in marriage when the pleasure of love is free?” His words came out on a heated, foul breath. “Come to bed with me.”
It caught in my throat. “I cannot play at love.”
He reached past the top of my bodice and squeezed my décolletage. “Mademoiselle, you are playing at love.”
I jerked away from his paw.
He pressed himself hard against me again. “You can’t walk away after teasing me thus.”
“I certainly can!”
His breath came short and heavy, his eyes heated. But he saw my determination and, to my relief, gave me a crooked smile. With one final grind, he released my hips. He downed the remainder of his Bordeaux as he reached to the front of his pantaloons to adjust himself.
Catching my fan back up, I snapped it open to cover the red marks on my skin.
“Gramont!” King Louis broke from a band of tipsy courtiers. Among them was Madame, looking slightly shocked and bleary-eyed. When the king reached Gramont, he muttered, “Don’t touch her again.” Then he turned to me, searching my face with an odd expression. His hushed tone was firm as he whispered in my ear. “You will reserve your kisses only for me. Do you understand?”
Gramont’s eyes widened; he had heard.
King Louis turned sharp on his heel and jovially addressed the party. “They will join us for a gondola ride!”
The chevalier pulled me by the arm, dragging me along the grass in the procession of drunken nobles going for a ride to nowhere in the canal at midnight. I pressed my hand against my head. “I want to go up to bed.”
Gramont snorted. “I’d love to, mademoiselle, but the king made himself perfectly clear. I had no idea you were spoken for.”
“Nonsense,” I hissed. “I am not spoken for. I have no idea of the king’s meaning—”
“The king made it clear he wants you as a mistress. I will not impose on you again.”
“Please do not say such a thing.”
“What? That I will refrain from imposing on you?”
“Do not speak of the king and me in such a way.” I shot him a nasty glare. “It would break Madame’s heart if the king kissed me.” I clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Indeed?” Gramont eyed Madame as King Louis handed her into the gondola.
“Please do not repeat what I just said.”
“A word of advice. If you intend to rebuff the king, you had better forge some self-restraint.” My face burned as he handed me over the canal’s edge into a gondola seat near Madame. Then he promptly seated himself beside La Vallière and began flirting.
Madame draped her arm around my shoulder. “Congratulations, the Chevalier de Gramont is very a handsome man. And I hear he is an accomplished lover.” She giggled, wine heavy on her breath. “Though he lives off his gambling winnings and will certainly require a dowry should he ever wed.” She studied me for any reaction. “And you haven’t any dowry, of course. Be more discreet if you do become his mistress. He tells the most awful stories about people.”
I propped my elbows on my lap and dumped my head into my hands.
“Speaking of secrets,” she went on. “Something’s going to happen tonight.” She cupped her hand around my ear to whisper. “The king is coming to my chamber.”
I sat up, glaring.
She closed her eyes. “Don’t look that way and don’t try to stop me.”
“Monsieur is just a chamber away. You have a duty to your mother, to your brother the king—”
“Monsieur sleeps … elsewhere. And you will be there to ensure no one finds out.” I stared dumbly. “He’s coming through the servants’ passage. That means he’ll pass through your little chamber. My other doors lock from the inside. You shall guard yours and proclaim I am ill if anyone tries to enter.”
I turned away.
“What are you going to do? Tell Monsieur and ruin both our lives? Tell my mother? You won’t because you know she’d come spend the summer here to watch me and bring your mother, too. If you don’t want anyone to discover us, you’re going to guard that door.”
* * *
Three hours later, I paced my tiny alcove, still dressed. She’d roomed me here on purpose. She’d planned this tryst all along. And there was nothing I could do to stop her.
If he found me up, still dressed, would he think I’d been waiting for him? I crossed to the narrow bed alcove, slipped in through the curtain, and lay down.
Even worse.
I scrambled to a sitting position, opened the bed curtain, and sat on the edge with my feet on the floor.
Too inviting.
I started pacing again. Why am I so nervous? Was I afraid they would get caught? Was I afraid King Louis might try to kiss me? If Madame found out what King Louis had said to me … A soft creak at the door shattered the stillness. King Louis stepped in, still wearing his day clothes. I curtsied.
“I hoped you would be awake.”
“I—I think I wanted to talk to you.”
His face softened to an open, unguarded expression. “Truly?”
I whispered very low, hoping Madame would not hear. “I wish you would not do this. Think of the consequences.”
“I am the King of France,” he said. “I determine consequence.”
“I fear it will turn out badly.”
He stepped closer. “Could it be something else?” He leaned in so close I could see each fine hair of his soft mustache. I realized I was staring at his lips and quickly looked at his eyes.
“Yes,” I blurted. “There is something else. I—I hope to marry soon and, if there is a scandal involving my name, I fear my prospects will diminish.”
He studied my face. “Yet you kissed Gramont in front of the court.”
“It was the wine. Poor judgment.”
“Would this be poor judgment?” He touched his lips to mine. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and for a moment I became lost, let myself flow into him. I ached to feel his touch against more of me. It startled me. I stepped back. “How could you do this?” I asked. “I thought you cared for Madame.”
“I do. But I have to,” he said. “I need her to ally with England.”
“Hearing that
would devastate her.” His indifference astonished me.
“So don’t tell her. Her infatuation will burn out soon.” Then he opened the door and slipped through. Whatever they shared that night, it could never amount to what she’d dreamed of for years.
CHAPTER 5
Madame had no timidity in affairs of gallantry … she did not foresee consequences, but found therein all the pleasurable excitement of a romance.
—COMTESSE DE LA FAYETTE
“People say,” whispered La Vallière as we bathed in canvas gowns in the forest spring, “Monsieur is made a cuckold by his own brother.”
Golden sunbeams trickled through the branches and danced on the ripples while Madame laughed and splashed at the opposite shore as if she gave no thought to her troubles, no heed to the gossip. Our bathing parties at the stream had become a daily ritual.
“Monsieur will be furious that people are gossiping about him,” I whispered to La Vallière. After that first night, King Louis had only come through to Madame’s twice. I tied my bed curtains tight every night and lay with the coverlets clenched in fists at my neck. “Madame must stop.”
“I wouldn’t stop,” Mortemart cut in. Her wet gown clung to her heavy bosom and curvy hips.
La Vallière gasped. “You would have an affair with the king?”
“If I had a husband to legitimize any child that might be conceived.” She shook her head as if we were fools, and it shamed me. She was describing what my own mother may have done to give me the Stuart name. “Imagine how much power she’ll wield with the king’s heart in her hand.”
“Who cares about power?” La Vallière was irritated. “It’s a mortal sin, you know.”
I shot Mortemart a smug smile. “See.”
“Though I probably wouldn’t stop, either,” La Vallière went on.
I turned. “What?”
“He’s so handsome. So radiant.” Her eyes glazed. “What French girl isn’t in love with the Sun King?”
“Queen Marie-Thérèse is outraged that Madame spends so much time with the king. She tells me Madame’s mother is coming to chastise her,” said Mortemart boldly.
Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart Page 4