He laughs then and I see that he too is crying. ‘How could I ever forget you, puss? You are the absolute delight of my heart.’
We hug again and my heart lurches as I turn to Rupert, who is standing a little apart with his brother Edward, who is clearly impatient to be off and reunited with his family. ‘Rupert,’ I say and I let all my regret wash over me so that he can see it in my face, hear it in my voice. ‘I hope that we will meet again soon.’
He smiles then and takes my hands in his own firm grip. ‘You can count on it,’ he says before bending his handsome head to kiss my cheek. I close my eyes and sink against him for as long as I dare before he straightens up and the moment has passed.
We set sail half an hour later and I stand at the deck until the very last moment, waving and blowing kisses to my brothers until they are nothing but tiny black specks on the shore. I know that they will stand there until the ship vanishes over the horizon though and the thought gives me comfort as I return to my cabin, Mam having already shut herself away with her ladies.
Our ship, the London, is captained by the Lieutenant Admiral, the Earl of Sandwich, a handsome upright man in his mid thirties who favours a luxuriant blond curling wig and fancies himself quite the dandy. He also has just the sly sort of sense of humour that I most appreciate and we become instant friends when he escorts me below deck, seeing off the Duke of Buckingham who has somehow persuaded Charles and Mam to let him accompany us back to Paris.
‘I can’t think what your brother was about, letting that rascal come with us,’ he says with a snort as the defeated Duke slinks away with one last regretful look over his shoulder.
I smile. ‘Oh, he’s entirely harmless,’ I say, not wanting to say that I mainly tolerate his attentions because I see him as a link to my sister. ‘Besides, he is married.’
The Earl laughs. ‘Perhaps someone should remind him of that fact.’
The first day of our voyage passes peacefully enough and I spend most of my time either walking on deck with my cousin Edward or playing chess against Buckingham, whom I suspect always lets me win however much I beg him not to do so. The Earl of Sandwich watches us with a disapproving frown between his grey eyes, clearly wondering what it is that we whisper about while we play. I think he would be disappointed to learn that we mostly talk about Mary, swapping reminisces and saying how much we both miss her.
‘I think that we must have missed the storm,’ Mam says with much satisfaction over dinner. ‘It’s not like Rupert to be wrong but so it must be.’
Edward and I share a conspiratorial look across the table, which is heaped with dishes all arranged around a gleaming silver candelabra. We both know that Mam is no friend to Rupert and is worried about the influence that she fears he will exert over my brother. I open my lips to defend my cousin but Edward gives a tiny shake of his head and so I close my mouth with a snap and instead have a little more wine.
I sleep as well as can be expected that night, almost enjoying the gentle rolling from side to side of the ship and the slap of the waves against its wooden sides. However all is not well when morning comes and rain begins to lash first gently and then viciously against the decks, forcing us to stay inside while the sailors battle against the elements.
‘Here comes Rupert’s storm,’ Edward whispers to me with a wink as I clutch on to his arm, suddenly terrified as an enormous crack of thunder explodes overhead. ‘Your mother should know by now that he’s never wrong about these things.’
If Mam mentally concedes defeat to Rupert, she gives no outward sign as we all huddle together below deck and listen to the wind screaming relentlessly around the ship, the smack of water against wood and the terrified shouts of the men above as they grapple with the sails.
Some of the ladies have gone quite pale with terror and there is much discreet retching into porcelain bowls as the ship keels terrifyingly first one way and then another. Even the Duke of Buckingham, usually so rakish and self possessed is blank faced with dread and abruptly ceases his usually endless flow of jokes and flirtatious anecdotes.
‘Have no fear, Your Highness,’ the Earl of Sandwich whispers to me as I close my eyes and mentally send up a little prayer for clemency and salvation. ‘My men will hold us tight.’ He kneels beside me and takes my hands in his. ‘Have no fear,’ he repeats.
The men may well hold us tight but the pilot is quite a different matter for a moment later there is a terrible thud and cries of anguish float down from above. ‘We’ve gone aground!’ someone yells through the door. ‘The blasted pilot led us straight on to Horse Sands.’
The Earl mutters something really quite improper beneath his breath and struggles to his feet. ‘I will do what needs to be done,’ he says to Mam, who nods silently. I see that her knuckles are white with tension as she clasps her hands on her lap, her precious amber and ruby rosary, a christening gift from the father she barely knew, clutched between her fingers.
Her priest, Father Cyprian is less confident however and as soon as the door has banged shut behind the Earl’s departing form, he drops to his knees and loudly begins to pray in Latin for our reprieve from death’s jaws. It’s too much for me and I shakily get to my feet, thinking that perhaps I will lie down for a while in my cabin. The worry of the last few hours has left me with a raging headache and to my alarm my vision begins to blur around the edges as I make my way to the door.
‘Your Highness, are you quite well?’ I hear the Duke say in alarm as Edward’s arms go around me.
‘Of course I am,’ I try to say as I sink gratefully against my cousin but nothing comes out as it should and the last thing I hear as darkness envelops me is Edward shouting for the doctor while somewhere in the distance Mam screams over and over again.
Chapter Twenty Two
Paris, March 1660
‘Thank God, measles did nothing to destroy your bloom,’ Mam murmurs as she watches the most fashionable and expensive hairdresser in Paris put the final touches to my elaborate coiffure.
I nod my assent but do not reply, not wanting to be reminded of the long and terrible hours of my illness, when day and night had blurred into one as I lay feverish and completely incapacitated in my narrow bed. Terrified by my sudden collapse they thought at first that I had succumbed to small pox and as soon as the ship was extricated from the sands we turned around and returned to Portsmouth where we remained for several weeks until I was well enough to travel again.
It took six days to reach Le Havre, this time on the same calm seas that had blessed our departure to England and I was allowed to enjoy gentle strolls on deck with Edward who delighted in filling me in with all the gory details of what had happened during my illness. ‘The Duke of Buckingham was convinced that you were on the brink of imminent death and went almost demented from grief,’ he said with an amused sidelong look at me. ‘It was quite astonishing to behold.’
I hid my laugh behind my fan then start to cough instead so that he had to help me to a seat. ‘Poor Buckingham. He doesn’t mean a word of it,’ I said, curling up beneath my heavy fur lined cloak.
Edward grinned. ‘The Earl of Sandwich would disagree most forcefully with that assessment,’ he said then bent towards me and lowered his voice. ‘He became so enraged by the Duke’s melodrama that he challenged him to a duel. They were both fully prepared to fight to the death for your honour until your mother reminded them that your honour would be in tatters if word got out that your brother’s chief noblemen were fighting over you.’ He put his arm around me as I shivered in a sudden chill sea breeze. ‘She also threatened to leave them behind in England like a pair of naughty schoolboys, which seemed to do the trick rather better.’
The hairdresser teases another string of pearls around the plaited bun at the back of my head then steps back to admire his handiwork before holding up a gilt edged mirror so that I may also do so. ‘You look enchanting,’ Mam says, her hands clasped tightly in front of her bosom. She’s been waiting for this moment for years and is determine
d to extract every last ounce of enjoyment from it.
I thank the hairdresser who slinks away, probably keen to beat a hasty retreat to the Louvre where Aunt Anne and her ladies are anxiously awaiting his ministrations. ‘I think I look too pale,’ I say, turning over my hand where it lies on the dressing table and staring at the contrast of blue veins against marble white flesh.
Mam clicks her tongue against her teeth and scrutinises my face as I listlessly stare back at her. ‘A little rouge wouldn’t go amiss,’ she says with a sigh. ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’
I give a rueful little smile. ‘I was too nervous to sleep much,’ I admit, opening a silver lidded jar of rouge and carefully patting some on to my cheekbones. ‘I was excited as well, of course,’ I hastily add as Mam’s face falls. ‘Who wouldn’t be?’
Who indeed. Philippe has been almost overbearingly tender with his attentions since I returned from England, having been sent into a rare panic first by Mary’s death and then by my illness, which he really feared would prove to be fatal. We weren’t supposed to meet again until I arrived in Paris but he persuaded Louis to go with him to the Abbey of Saint Martin at Pontoise where I was staying the night on my way home and where Harry had been sent by Mam to be converted all those years ago.
Philippe’s fiendish plan to take me by surprise succeeded admirably and I was struck dumb with astonishment when my betrothed, a completely unexpected sight, burst without ceremony into Abbé Montagu’s salon, carelessly flinging his feathered hat aside on to a chair before striding across the room to take me into his arms. ‘Never ever leave me again,’ he whispered before his mouth came down hard on mine. ‘I won’t stand for it.’
We traveled together to Paris after that, meeting up again with Louis and Marie-Thérèse, petulant and abysmally rude as always, at Saint Denis to form a large cavalcade that swept triumphantly through the city streets to the Palais Royal with Mam and I in our carriage at its head and Philippe, grinning broadly and waving cheerfully to the crowds, riding his grey horse at our side.
He’s been the very picture of attentiveness since then and might just as well have moved in with us already for he spends so much time with me. ‘Mooning after you,’ Mam calls it with a snort.
I enjoy it though. Harry and Mary’s deaths and my departure from England have left a huge gaping hole where my heart should be and I’m more than happy to let Philippe care for me and plug that gap as best he can with his sweet words and shy, hesitant caresses. ‘I will always love you, Minette,’ he whispers to me constantly. ‘You will always have my heart.’ I wish I could believe him. Perhaps I can?
His impatience knew no bounds when the dispensation required for our marriage failed to arrive as quickly as he would like due to the clerk who scripted the original application forgetting to mention the actual relationship between us and in the end Mam decided that enough was enough and whisked me off to Colombes for over a month until it finally arrived. Philippe did his best to visit every day but the weather didn’t always comply and so we were often forced to spend days on end apart, connected only by a constant stream of letters assuring each other of our mutual devotion and making plans for the happy life we plan to share.
I wasn’t there in Paris when our dispensation arrived and with an unusual lack of foresight and tact, Cardinal Mazarin breathed his last gasp on the very same day, more unhappy about leaving behind his art collection than his family and unmourned by virtually everyone. I heard all about it from Philippe though who barely waited until the Cardinal, who had been a constant fixture of his life for as long as he could remember, was cold in his bed before he fired off a note expressing his fury that our wedding must once again be delayed while the court was in mourning.
He took his anger out on the hapless Buckingham, who remained in Mam’s circle and did all he could to remain close to me provoking much mirth and a little light hearted gossip at Louis’ court. Philippe was already jealous enough of the Duke while I was in London but now his annoyance knew no bounds and he demanded that Charles recall him to England, which my brother promptly did, no doubt rolling his eyes with amusement as he signed the order. ‘Careful, little sister,’ he wrote to me afterwards. ‘You are fast gaining a reputation as a heart breaker. First anguished proposals, then duels and now an aggrieved fiancé. Have a care, my love.’
Oh, I shall have a care, I think to myself as I stand up and let the ladies cluster around me, tweaking out my heavy cream satin skirts and straightening the rich lace at my bosom and elbows. I catch Athénaïs’ eye as she smooths down my bodice and we grin at each other like conspirators. When Philippe told me that I would have to appoint ladies in waiting for my new position as Duchesse d’Orléans, Athénaïs, clever, resourceful and highly amusing, was at the very top of my list. I would have asked for Marie Mancini too but she is in Italy now after a hasty marriage to the Prince of Paliano and I doubt I will ever see her again.
‘Ready?’ Mam asks, her cheeks pink with pleasure as I step towards her. ‘They will all be waiting for us in the chapel.’
I listened to the arrival of carriages in the courtyard below while getting ready and even went to the window with Athénaïs and cheekily peeped out between the curtains when a huge cheer from the crowd standing outside announced that Louis and Marie Thérèse had arrived in all their state.
‘How handsome he is,’ my friend, for so she is, said with a rapturous sigh as my cousin strolled at his ease across the gravel, pausing for a moment to remove his hat and bow with polished courtly grace to the crowd then offer his arm to his wife. ’She’s a lucky girl.’
Philippe arrived shortly afterwards and there was another cheer as he jumped down from his carriage followed by Armand, who immediately looked up at my window and gave me a brief smile before quickly looking away again. It’s the first time I had set eyes on him since I arrived back in France and I have to hold on to the window pane until I have stopped trembling.
‘He’s been sulking in the countryside at the Gramont family estate,’ Athénaïs whispered to me as I put my hand to my breast and felt my heart thudding against my ribs as if it wanted to fly free of my treacherous body. ‘He only returned last night. Philippe was getting impatient with him and demanded that he come back and support him at his wedding.’ She gave me a look that I couldn’t quite interpret. ‘They are best friends after all.’
And now they are all waiting for me. Athénaïs dabs some more violet scent behind my ears and between my breasts and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘For luck,’ she whispers. ‘We are all behind you. There is no need to be afraid.’
I wanted Charles to escort me to my wedding but he wasn’t able to come and so it is instead Edward, as my closest male relative, who gracefully offers me his arm when I finally emerge from my room. ‘Louise sends her love,’ he whispers to me as I smile up at him, pleased to have his support on this day.
We go together down the stone staircase that leads down to the ground floor and I force myself to walk slowly, to enjoy these final moments before marriage changes everything forever. We cross the hall where I saw Harry for the last time and for a second I fancy that I can see him smiling at me from a shadowy corner but of course when I look again there is no one there.
‘You’re shivering,’ Edward says to me, smiling as he puts his hand over mine where it rests on his sleeve. ‘Perhaps one of your ladies should fetch a cape for you?’
I shake my head, still thinking of Harry and wishing that he could be here with me. ‘It will pass,’ I say lightly as we make our way to Mam’s small private chapel where Philippe is waiting in front of the altar with Louis standing, tall and smiling at his side and the Bishop of Valence waiting beside them to officiate. Armand is nowhere to be seen now but I know that he is there somewhere and the sure and certain knowledge that his eyes are fixed directly on me gives me the much needed strength to put one foot in front of the other as I walk down the short aisle towards my cousins.
‘You look beautiful,’ Lo
uis whispers to me with an admiring look as he goes back to his seat. ‘My brother is very fortunate.’
The wedding ceremony passes in a blur, the only interruptions being Mam and Tante Anne’s noisy weeping as we said our vows and an unlucky fit of coughing from Anne-Marie in the middle of the nuptial mass. Otherwise it passes without incident and I am almost giddy with relief at the end as Philippe wastes no time in pulling me to him and kissing my lips, claiming me for his own in front of everyone.
‘My wife,’ he whispers against my hair as I put my arms around him. He is slender and elegantly proportioned with delicate bones, not at all as broad or strong as my brother Charles, Rupert or Armand. I know that everyone thinks we make a pretty little pair though and there are smiles of genuine pleasure directed at us as we walk back down the aisle hand in hand, surrounded by the heady scent of the hot house lilies, peonies and roses that cluster in huge vases at the end of every pew, their petals covering the red carpet like snow.
And then I see Armand, leaning against one of the marble pillars at the very back of the chapel. He is dressed in mole soft black velvet and his hands are thrust deep into his pockets as he watches me walk down the aisle with his best friend. His hazel eyes are dark with something that I don’t want to understand and his lips, usually so generous and sensual, are drawn together in a thin line that reminds me of my brother when he is unhappy.
For one terrifying, reckless second, the amount of time that it takes for my heart to give one single anguished beat, I think about running to him and making my escape but the moment soon passes and so we just look at each other until finally he bows, turns on his heel and stalks away.
Minette Page 29