Minette

by Melanie Clegg

  She laughs and shakes her head so that her long jet black ringlets tremble about her shoulders. ‘I considered trying out the latest bat wing fashion but decided against it,’ she says airily with a saucy look at her uncle who rolls his eyes but says nothing.

  ‘Philippe says that we will all be wearing our hair in wings by the end of summer,’ I whisper. ‘Can you imagine?’

  Marie laughs gaily and puts her arm around my waist to lead me away from my mother and her uncle who have turned away to resume their conversation. ‘My uncle is ailing you know,’ she whispers as we sit together on an overstuffed sofa beside one of the windows. ‘He doesn’t think he has long to live. It’s sad really - now that his King is safely married off and the war with Spain at an end, it’s almost as though he has decided that his grand work is all done and he has nothing left to do but die.’

  I’m astonished. ‘I had no idea.’

  Marie shrugs and tugs back some of the nearest curtain, letting a bit of sunlight fall across us. ‘He doesn’t want the whole world to know,’ she says with a sigh, making herself comfortable on the sofa by pulling out some brocade and taffeta cushions from behind her and casting them on to the floor. ‘Not yet anyway, not when he still believes that he has work to be done.’

  ‘Have you seen Louis?’ she asks suddenly, changing tack as I struggle to think of something to say.

  ‘Just briefly, at Fontainebleau,’ I say cautiously. ‘He looked well.’

  Marie nods then bends down to pick up one of her uncle’s fat little pug dogs that has waddled over to see what we are doing. ‘He came to see me, you know. On his way down to Spain to meet Maria Theresa. Your Tante Anne arranged it all. He wept and told me that he would always love me.’ It all comes spilling out and I listen in mounting alarm to her intense, whispered account how he had refused to leave then asked her to run away with him and then Tante Anne had appeared and separated them both then hauled him away, weeping and gazing longingly over his shoulder at her. ‘I have never seen him look so desperate,’ she says, her eyes large and dark with the memory as she kisses the little dog on the nose and rubs her cheek against its soft fawn coloured fur. ‘I honestly thought that he might kill us both.’

  ‘Not Louis,’ I say, astonished. ‘That wouldn’t be his style at all. It’s too messy and so very undignified.’

  Marie laughs then and puts the pug back on the floor. ‘No, you are right,’ she says not a little bitterly as she watches the little dog wander back to her uncle. ‘His words will always speak louder than his actions.’

  I think this is unfair but let it pass, after all I have never been in love so have no real right to comment. ‘Have you seen him since?’ I ask carefully, drawing the conversation away from dangerous waters.

  Marie shrugs, pursing her crimson lips. ‘My uncle insisted upon taking Hortense and I to Fontainebleau to see them both,’ she says and to my surprise I see tears well up in her eyes. ‘He said that we would have to see each other sooner or later.’ She begins to nervously roll the delicate silk of her gown between her fingers. ‘I don’t know what I expected to find but Louis could barely look at me and as for her…’ She smiles and shakes her head. ‘Well, if looks could kill then I would be dead a thousand times over.’

  ‘I don’t think Maria Theresa was too impressed by me either,’ I say with a laugh. ‘And I am far less of a threat to her position than you are.’

  ‘Really?’ Marie raises an elegant eyebrow.

  I laugh. ‘Don’t they all call me the Bones of the Holy Innocents?’ I say, surprised as I say it by how little the old nickname stings nowadays.

  Marie smiles and pats my hand. ‘Not any more,’ she whispers. ‘No one would dare.’

  I’m sure that the Comte de Guiche would dare, I think with a pang.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Marie cries with delight. ‘Who is he? I demand to know everything.’

  I put my hands to my hot cheeks in horror. ‘There’s no one,’ I mutter. ‘I’m not allowed.’

  ‘Not allowed?’ Marie laughs in earnest now. ‘Now that’s the lamest excuse I have ever heard. Surely your devoted maman doesn’t control everything that goes on at the Palais Royal?’

  I laugh too then. ‘She tries her best,’ I say, desperately trying to think of a way to distract her. ‘What about you? Has anyone caught your eye?’

  Marie looks amused. ‘I will let you get away with not answering this time,’ she drawls, patting my still warm cheek,’but rest assured, Madame Minette, I will discover your secret one day.’

  I smile as innocently as I can. ‘I have no secrets,’ I say.

  ’Oh come now, every thought that you have is writ large upon your face,’ she replies with a smile. ‘All I need do is bide my time and wait for the truth to reveal itself.’

  ‘Am I really so transparent?’ I know that it takes practise to be as soignée and inscrutable as Marie and her sisters, who seem to have the Italian art of dissimulation flowing through their veins but suddenly I feel very young and horribly, terribly exposed.

  ‘You’re such a baby,’ Marie says with an affectionate sigh. ‘Really, I wouldn’t worry about it. Your lack of duplicity may well turn out to be your greatest gift.’

  ‘I don’t see how that can be true,’ I reply huffily, thinking of the sophisticated ladies who float around my cousin’s court, having love affairs, breaking hearts and never revealing an iota of emotion as they do so. How I long to be like them.

  Marie sighs and gives a little shrug. ‘There is someone, actually,’ she says after a tiny pause. ‘The Duke of Lorraine has been paying me some very marked attentions lately and I am of a mind to accept him should he propose.’

  ‘Oh he’s very handsome,’ I whisper appreciatively as I call the blond haired and rather dashing Duke to mind. ‘What an excellent match.’

  Marie pulls a face. ‘My uncle and your aunt Anne disagree. They don’t want me to marry someone who will keep me in France. They’d much rather I was packed off back to Italy and out of danger’s way.’ She winks at me. ‘Louis is cold as ice now, but who knows what will happen once he starts to tire of married life?’

  ‘Do you think that will happen?’ I ask, feeling suddenly sorry for Maria Theresa with her huge puppy dog eyes and simpering sidelong glances at Louis. ‘They seemed very fond of each other at Fontainebleau.’

  Marie’s dark brows snap together. ‘Of course it will happen,’ she says crossly. ‘He’s a Bourbon after all.’ She sighs. ‘Anyway, it’s all about Hortense now. My uncle is far too busy kicking himself for letting your brother Charles slip through his fingers to care too much about my poor marital prospects.’ We both turn and cast a wary look at the Cardinal’s upright crimson robed figure as he leans forward to whisper something to my mother.

  ‘He was not to know that Charles would be restored to his throne,’ I say.

  ‘Of course he should have known,’ Marie says. ‘He’s furious with himself for missing all the signs of your family’s impending return to favour. He can’t believe that he didn’t realise what was so clearly in the wind.’

  ‘None of us had any idea,’ I say lamely.

  ‘He’s already written to Charles to offer Hortense again,’ Marie whispers. ‘She’s thrilled. You know that she has always been our uncle’s favourite, don’t you? He’d be delighted if his final act was to provide her with the crown that she craves so badly and your brother too.’ She grins. ‘She’s hot for him, you know. Even though he’s obviously far too old for her.’

  I’m astounded by all of this. ‘Charles will be so pleased to hear that he has such a charming admirer,’ I say carefully after a pause that is perhaps a trifle too long.

  Marie laughs with delight. ‘Really? And what about your mother? I don’t think she’d be too pleased to see a Mancini Queen in her old place.’

  ‘She wouldn’t mind,’ I lie, even though I am horrified by the very idea of Mam’s reaction. ‘She’s half Medici after all. What’s the difference?’

&
nbsp; ‘Oh, Minette!’ Marie shakes her lovely head at me. ‘The spawn of an Italian necromancer polluting the hallowed throne of England? Of course she’d mind!’

  I laugh too for what else can I do? ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ I say shyly.

  Marie looks at me musingly. ‘What a pity that we have no brothers for you to marry,’ she says, briefly touching my cheek. ‘I should have liked to have you as a sister, Minette.’

  ‘I should have liked that too,’ I say with a smile.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saint Cloud, August 1660

  The musicians strike up a stately gavotte and my heart pounds beneath my tight diamond studded bodice as I step lightly forward and place my hand on Philippe’s to open the ball. ‘There is no finer dancer in all the court,’ I hear Mam murmur delightedly to the Duchess of Richmond as my cousin whirls me away from her. ‘She is as graceful as an angel.’

  ‘She reminds me of Your Majesty when we used to dance in the masques at Whitehall,’ the Duchess, who was born a Villiers and is therefore a born and practised flatterer, promptly replies with a sly smile. ‘Only she is perhaps not quite so graceful as you were.’

  ‘Your mother is right, you know,’ Philippe murmurs as the steps of the dance bring me close to him for a moment. ‘Besides myself you are by far the best dancer here.’

  I smile and blush and nod, well aware that the eyes of all the court are fixed upon us as we dance and that whispers have been doing the rounds for days that we are on the brink of a betrothal. ‘Don’t you think we look nice together?’ Philippe whispers, enthusiastically kissing my hand as everyone applauds.

  Everyone that is except Anne-Marie who sits glum and silent at Tante Anne’s side. She’s put on a lot of weight since her father died and is more bad tempered and sour tongued than ever. Everyone avoids her and I pity whatever eligible young men will be pressured by Tante Anne into dancing with her this evening. Preferable by far are her trio of pretty young half sisters, Marguerite, Elisabeth and Françoise who sit together in a delightful huddle of rose and primrose satin, lace and tumbling blonde ringlets and gaze longingly with their wide blue eyes at the handsome young courtiers who in their regretful turn hardly dare acknowledge their existence lest they incur Anne-Marie’s jealous wrath.

  ‘And what do you think of my château of Saint Cloud?’ Philippe asks next, drawing my gaze away from our cousins and back to him. He bought the château two years ago from a wealthy banker and has been working on it ever since, transforming the already charming building into a residence fit for a prince by completely refurbishing the already magnificent interior and gardens to his own exquisite taste.

  ‘I think it is very beautiful.’ That fact that Saint Cloud might very well one day be my home was not lost on me as we approached it earlier in Mam’s carriage and I curiously peered out through the darkness at the impressive flambeau lit limestone façade with its stately columns and tall windows. The fact wasn’t lost on Mam either and as we dance she looks about herself with pleased curiosity, practically rubbing her hands together in glee as she very obviously imagines me firmly at home amongst such splendour.

  Philippe gives a complacent little nod. ‘It’s scrubbing up very nicely, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘There’s still much to be done but I am very pleased with how it is coming along. Not that it was a total barn before but the previous owner simply did not have my taste.’

  I can see that I am required to take more interest and so obligingly look above us to the gorgeously painted ceiling from which there hangs several huge and very beautiful crystal chandeliers. ‘You really do have the most wonderful taste, Monsieur,’ I agree with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

  He grins then and squeezes my fingers tightly. ‘I am pleased that you think so, Minette,’ he whispers and for a breathless moment I think that he is going to kiss me in front of everyone but no, he gives me a dark and heated look that can only be interpreted as one of deepest longing and then dances away.

  We barely have a chance to speak for the rest of the night as Mam and Tante Anne keep me occupied with a succession of suitable partners and the rest of my time is spent surrounded by a gaggle of fawning attendant courtiers who behave as if they have never seen me before, as if I am some exotic specimen newly arrived at court who must be showered with compliments, patted, kissed and preened. ‘How pretty you are!’ they exclaim shrilly, admiring my lovely white silk dress which is sewn all over with starbursts of diamonds and pearls. ‘How dainty.’ They cast critical side long looks at our new Queen, Maria Theresa who sits wooden, remote and distinctly ill at ease in one of her enormous Spanish farthingale dresses on the dais at Louis’ side. If she would only smile then perhaps they would all like her better but instead she peers at us all short sightedly and whispers behind her hand to her Spanish ladies in waiting.

  ‘This is your moment of glory,’ my cousin Edward whispers when he finally manages to claim me for a dance and leads me out with a triumphant flourish on to the floor. ‘I hope that you are enjoying it.’

  I smile at him. ‘It is all that I hoped it would be,’ I say.

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘And is it true that your triumph is on the brink of being crowned with further prodigious heights of success, fair cousin?’ he asks. ‘That Monsieur is on the brink of asking for your hand in marriage?’

  As is proper, I cast down my eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I murmur although of course I do.

  Edward laughs. ‘You have been well coached,’ he observes. ‘It is obvious to all who see you together that your young cousin is head over heels in love with you.’

  I look at him, startled. ‘Is he?’ I say. ‘I don’t think that Philippe is head over heels in love with anyone but himself.’

  ‘Perhaps he sees something of himself in you?’ Edward muses thoughtfully. ‘What an elegant, pretty little pair you make to be sure.’

  I look directly at him. ‘If there is one thing that all these years of poverty and adversity have taught me, it is that one should never count on anything other than oneself.’

  He smiles and kisses my hand. ‘You are sensible and wise beyond your years, sweet Minette,’ he says with a twinkle of laughter in his dark eyes. ‘Are you quite sure that we are related?’

  I laugh then. ‘I often find myself wondering the same thing, cousin,’ I say.

  ‘I wish that my mother could meet you,’ Edward says on a sigh. ‘How you would delight her.’

  I feel myself blush with pleasure. ‘I would like nothing more than to meet your mother,’ I say, whispering now and keeping one wary eye on Mam as even the slightest mention of Aunt Elizabeth feels like a betrayal. ‘Perhaps she will come to England when we are there?’

  Edward smiles. ‘Perhaps she will,’ he agrees.

  The dance comes to an end and immediately I am surrounded again with admirers, many of whom clamour to have the honour of fetching me a drink or bowl of flavoured ice. Edward remains dutifully at my side until, panicked by all of the attention, I declare that it is too hot and I would like to walk outside. ‘Alone,’ I whisper to him as he shoos them all away then leads me off to the doors leading out onto the terrace. ‘I want to be left completely alone.’

  My cousin bows and releases me at the door. ‘I will keep watch and make sure that you are not disturbed,’ he says with a smile as I step out onto the terrace, which looks out across the Seine and the distant shimmering lights of Paris. My heart soars as I run lightly down the steps to the gardens, my fingers trailing lightly along the carefully trimmed and shaped bushes that line the fragrant rose filled parterres.

  He is there already, just as I think I knew deep down he would be and I feel a shiver course down my spine as he steps out of the shadows and moves slowly towards me, his hazel eyes gleaming in the soft light shed by the flambeaux that line the parterres.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte,’ I whisper before he can say anything.

  ‘You are shivering,’ Armand says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Are you
cold?’

  I shake my head. Behind me I can hear music floating out from the ballroom and Philippe’s laughter, shrill and brittle. ’It is too warm for me in there,’ I say as he steps closer. ‘There’s too many people.’

  ‘You’ll have to get used to that,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Philippe won’t want his duchess to be a retiring little mouse.’

  ‘Perhaps I won’t be his duchess,’ I say crossly.

  He laughs at me. ‘Won’t you?’

  I want to slap his face. ‘I’ve had other offers,’ I say haughtily. ‘The Duke of Savoy and eldest son of the Grand Duke of Tuscany have both offered for my hand. I do not have to marry Philippe if I do not wish to. Perhaps I would prefer not to remain in France.’

  Armand pulls a face. ‘Philippe would be so hurt to hear you say that,’ he says mockingly. ‘Did you know that he’s already started decorating your rooms here? Nocret himself has been commissioned to decorate your bedchamber with an allegory of goddesses and nymphs, all designed to create a suitably exquisite setting for your beauty.’

  I did not know this but manage to hide my surprise. ‘I am sure the result will be very lovely,’ I say, feeling suddenly incredibly sad and not a little humbled that all this love and effort should be expended on me, who just a few months ago was considered a nobody, an impoverished exile with no prospects and no admirers. It’s all too much and I start to cry.

  ‘Why do you weep, princess?’ He’s so close now that I can feel his breath upon my cheek and have to tilt my head back to look up at him. He lightly touches my cheek with his hand. ‘You have endured so much sadness in your life, surely you can allow yourself to enjoy your triumph over adversity?’