“My dog’s injured his foot,” Antoinette replied. “What were you going to say, Philippe?”
He paused. It was one thing to speak in private with the princess, quite another in front of her train. But the matter was urgent, and his idea a good one.
“My … my sister is wonderful with animals,” he stammered at last. “She has a way with them and has many herbal remedies for their ailments as well. I was just … wishing she was here.”
“Is she as beautiful as you are handsome, Philippe?” Rose, one of Antoinette’s ladies, tittered.
“She’s my foster sister,” he said with a slight blush. He had not yet gotten used to the way the women flirted with him. “So there is no family resemblance. Therefore, she is by far more beautiful.”
“Well said, Philippe.” Antoinette smiled appreciatively at his humor while her ladies giggled. “Your sister resides in your former home, Chenonceau?”
Philippe could not believe his good fortune. Not only was the princess engaging him in conversation in front of her whole Court, but also her question had given him exactly the wedge he needed to open the door for Honneure a little further.
“Yes, she does, though she was born at Château d’Amboise.”
“Indeed?” Antoinette arched her finely drawn brows. Amboise was one of Choiseul’s many estates, and Choiseul had been her favorite minister. Not long ago the hated du Barry had managed to have him dismissed and replaced with one of her own minions. As Philippe had hoped, she warmed to the subject of his sister. “And you say she has a way with animals?”
“You need only ask Madame Choiseul, whose favorite pet Honneure saved years ago, when she was only a child.”
“Honneure,” Antoinette repeated. “What an extraordinary name.”
“For an extraordinary woman.”
Antoinette smiled as she considered. Her retinue was large enough as it was, and Louis would fuss over the extra expense. He had carefully budgeted the allowance he received as dauphin, hoping to set a good example for the profligate court, and hated to exceed it. Yet the cost for a woman to care for her pets would be very little. Besides, the du Barry always got whatever she wanted, no matter how outrageous the cost. And she was simply the king’s mistress, not a future queen. Antoinette wondered why she shouldn’t have what she wanted for a change.
“I have several dogs, all of whom I adore, as you know,” the princess replied at length. “And you obviously adore your sister. For that reason alone, Philippe, I shall create a position for her at Court. I am that fond of you.”
“So am I,” another pretty young woman murmured, batting long lashes.
But Philippe did not hear. His heart was pounding, blood roaring in his ears. “You … you are serious, Majesty?”
“Of course, Philippe. You may send for her at once. Now take us back to the palace. I shall tend to my sweet dog in the meantime myself.”
Though dazed with disbelief, Philippe responded with alacrity. The sooner he returned the princess to the palace, the sooner he could write to his mother and Madame Dupin. And the sooner he would see his dearest sister.
When the snow finally fell, it fell softly, silently, for three days. Bare branches lifted to the gray sky to receive their layers of white. Brown patches on the ground were covered, as were the rooftops. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys to twine amongst the gently falling flakes. The world turned white.
Honneure stared out the kitchen window. Somewhere deep within her she knew how beautiful it was, but she lacked the emotional energy required to appreciate it. In truth she had energy for very little these days. When she heard her foster mother call to her, she turned slowly.
Jeanne resisted the urge to ask Honneure if she was all right. She would answer in the affirmative, as she always did, though they both knew she was not all right at all.
Madame Dupin had summoned the entire family, however, which was unusual. Jeanne prayed she was right about the reason. The cure for Honneure’s ailment may have arrived.
“Come, dear. Madame wishes to speak with us.”
Honneure noticed her foster father standing behind his wife, and her curiosity was sluggishly roused. “All of us?”
“Yes, all of us.”
“But why?”
“Come along and we shall find out.”
Madame Dupin received them in the library, as was usual. Her pince-nez were perched on the bridge of her nose, and she glanced up from a letter as they entered the small room. Jeanne was slightly disconcerted to see Claud standing at his mistress’s shoulder but ignored him and stared at the paper in Madame Dupin’s hands.
“Thank you for coming so promptly.” Madame glanced up at them briefly. “I received several letters by special messenger today. One is for you from Philippe.” She handed the sealed envelope to Jeanne. “I also have one from Philippe. And one from Marie Antoinette, the dauphine.”
Jeanne thought she might faint. She clutched her letter to her breast, afraid to look at either her husband or her daughter, afraid even to breathe. As if from far away, she heard Honneure’s faint gasp of surprise.
“I will come straight to the point,” Madame Dupin continued. “Philippe has written to me that Honneure has been offered a position at Court.”
“Mon Dieu!”
“My sentiments exactly, Paul. The princess has several dogs of which she is inordinately fond. Apparently Philippe has persuaded her that Honneure is just the person to care for them.”
“But … but how can it be true?” Paul said.
“It is true. Here is the princess’s letter confirming the offer.” Madame lifted a piece of paper, which clearly bore the royal seal. “If Honneure accepts, she will be given a small room in the palace near the dauphine’s chambers, so she will be on call at all times to tend to the royal pets.” Madame Dupin turned her gaze at last to Honneure. “This is almost unheard of good fortune, Honneure. What do you say to the offer?”
Despite her initial shock and her longing to see Philippe, Honneure had a ready response. “I could not possibly leave you or my family. You have been too good to me. I will not repay your kindness and generosity by abandoning you for a better position.”
“You are loyal and honorable to a fault, my dear.”
“But wise perhaps,” Claud interjected. Ignoring Paul’s hard stare and Jeanne’s narrowed gaze, he went on. “What if it doesn’t work out? The Court is notoriously fickle. What if she spends the next few years caring for the dauphine’s pampered darlings and is then sent packing on a whim? What will become of her? She’s almost past marriageable age as it is. If she leaves, she may miss the chance for a good marriage and a normal life.”
“It is something to consider,” Madame Dupin agreed. “I know Claud, for one, would be happy to make you his wife. That, too, would assure you a secure and excellent future. What have you to say, Honneure?”
Some of the old spark suddenly returned. “If I stay, will I be required to marry Claud?”
This time it was Jeanne’s breath that hissed loudly into the silence. Claud’s pockmarked face reddened. Madame Dupin looked taken aback.
“Of course not,” she replied finally. She glanced over her shoulder at her portly steward. “I’m sorry, Claud,” Madame Dupin said apologetically. “I would not have mentioned it, but you led me to believe Honneure would be agreeable to this union.”
Claud looked apoplectic. Honneure smiled grimly. “I would not marry Claud if he was the last man on earth.”
Jeanne’s hands flew to her mouth, while Paul’s jaw dropped.
Madame Dupin frowned. “There is no need to be insulting. You need not marry at all, if that is your wish. And you most certainly may remain here with your family. I admire your loyalty. But I would counsel you to think well on this before you give me your final answer.”
Honneure started to speak but changed her mind and merely nodded. She just wanted to be away … away from the library, Madame Dupin, her parents … Claud.
Jeanne curts
ied nervously. “Thank … thank you, madame. We’ll talk to Honneure.”
They were dismissed.
“Honneure,” Jeanne whispered as they hurried down the corridor, “I know how you feel about Claud, and I don’t blame you, but you didn’t have to …”
“Stop.” Honneure pressed her hands to her ears. “Please stop.”
Jeanne and Paul exchanged glances, eyes wide with surprise. Surprise turned to shock and dismay when Honneure suddenly bolted out the front door and away from the château. Jeanne started after her.
“No, let her go,” Paul said, a hand on his wife’s arm. “She needs time to think, time to be alone.” He turned, hearing footsteps behind him, and fixed Claud with an icy stare. “And I’ll make sure she remains alone.”
Claud clenched his fists to hide the trembling of his hands. It took monumental effort, but he managed to hold his tongue. He would bide his time.
Like a hungry spider, he would bide his time.
Honneure was not sure how long she had wandered through the white woods. Aware once more of her surroundings, she realized she was cold, chilled to the bone. Slender tree trunks all around her dimmed in the fading light.
She was not lost, however. She had only to retrace her footsteps in the snow.
It was full dark by the time she came to the lane. To her left she saw the lights of Claud’s house. Honneure shuddered.
That decision, at least, had been an easy one. Arms hugged to her breast, she ran across the lane toward the stable and the family’s cozy rooms above it.
Honneure’s heart brimmed with love when she entered her room. A candle burned on the small table by her bed. The stove had been lit, and on her bureau were a small pitcher of wine, some bread and cheese, and a slice of saucisson. Though she wasn’t really hungry, she forced herself to eat a piece of bread and cheese. She had grown so thin her clothes fit badly, and she experienced light-headedness from time to time. Honneure took a sip of wine, removed her shoes, and lay down on her bed. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
She remembered the night, now seemingly so long ago, when she and Philippe had sat side by side on the banks of the Cher, and she had made him promise nothing would ever change. But too much had already.
Philippe was gone. He had promised to return but had not. Her life had changed in many ways. She could not risk more. She had been so fortunate to find the Mansart family and come to Chenonceau. If she went to yet another new home, would she be so fortunate? She doubted it.
Honneure also recalled Madame Dupin’s words about the Court and the doomed moths that fluttered about its brilliant flame. She believed Madame. She worried about Philippe. Philippe. Would he understand why she couldn’t leave? Would he think her mad for turning down such a golden opportunity? Would she ever see him again? Honneure turned on her side and drew up her knees.
She mustn’t think such thoughts. They only made her ill. Of course she would see him again. He wasn’t a prisoner at Versailles. He had written, in fact, that he would come home for a few days in the spring. That was the thought she must hold on to … seeing Philippe. And Chenonceau, her home, her loving family, Madame Dupin.
But it was Claud who suddenly appeared when she closed her eyes. Claud, his face engorged with rage. Claud, who would make her life miserable at every opportunity.
No! Honneure curled into a tighter ball. She mustn’t think of him. She mustn’t. He was an unpleasant fact of life. That was all. She would ignore him and live her life as she was meant to, caring for her family and serving Madame Dupin. Exhausted, warmed by the bread and wine, she fell into a deep sleep.
Honneure wasn’t sure what had awakened her. The fire in the stove had died, and it was cold in the room. The candle had guttered. She sat up slowly, realizing it must be after midnight. She would have to get up, find a new candle, relight the stove, and undress.
She swung her legs over the bed, feeling for her shoes in the darkness.
A hand went over her mouth.
Panic blossomed in her breast and exploded. She was forced backward onto the bed.
“So you wouldn’t marry me if I was the last man on earth?” Snakelike, the voice hissed into her ear.
Honneure struggled but weakly. Claud’s weight on her frail form was overwhelming. She smelled the stink of his sweat and his sour breath, and nausea rose in her throat.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual …” A foul and slimy tongue licked the side of her neck. “ … but I will have what I want.”
Honneure felt Claud’s pelvis thrust against her. Something hard and obscenely repugnant between his legs drove at her groin. Panic turned to terror. His grip on her mouth was so strong she could not turn her head, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.
Claud’s free hand fumbled at her breast, kneading it beneath her woolen dress. Frustrated, he grabbed her collar and ripped away her bodice. His thick lips fastened on her at once.
Honneure could feel herself begin to float away. She wasn’t getting enough air.
Abandoning her breast Claud groped at her skirt. He worked it upward until it bunched around her waist, then tore at her underlinens.
She was completely exposed. Now she could feel him fumbling at his trousers.
But it hardly mattered. She was going away, going away where Claud did not exist, nothing existed …The scream could not possibly have been hers. She hadn’t even the breath to give it voice.
Yet, it went on … And she could breathe. Great gulps of air filled her lungs. Her body felt weightless. Claud was gone!
The screaming stopped. She struggled to sit up, but arms were suddenly around her, familiar, loving arms.
“Honneure … my baby … Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Honneure hugged her foster mother back and tried to look over her shoulder at the commotion in her doorway.
“No, no, don’t look.” Jeanne forcibly turned Honneure’s head away. She did not want her to see the punishment Claud was about to receive. “It’s over now. You’re safe … You’re safe, baby.”
All the fear, the terror, left her in a great, sweeping rush. She was empty, drained. Her arms dropped to her sides. Laying her head on Jeanne’s breast, Honneure wept.
Chapter Seven
Early Spring 1771
Philippe unfolded the note the stableboy had just handed him and quickly scanned the lines. He sighed.
“All right,” he said to the lad. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
The boy ran off, and Philippe returned his attention to the harness he had been polishing. It was already clean and supple, but he had little to do in the afternoons when he had finished exercising the Lipizzans. For nearly a thousand horses, there were almost as many attendants, including equerries, page boys, footmen, coachmen, stable lads, blacksmiths, cartwrights, saddlers, doctors, surgeons, chaplains, and musicians. The royal steeds lived almost as well as the royal family, Philippe mused. And while his workload was a great deal lighter than it had been at Chenonceau, it left him with time on his hands. He had never liked being idle.
If Honneure came, however, he could spend much of his free time with her. The prospect cheered him. It seemed he missed her more each day and prayed she would accept the princess’s offer. He knew how fiercely loyal she was and how stubborn. An opportunity that anyone else would jump at in a heartbeat would cause Honneure hours, if not days, of intense deliberation.
But he should learn something soon. It had been nearly three weeks since the messenger had taken the letters to Chenonceau.
In the meantime, there was Olivia.
Holding the shining harness clear of the floor, Philippe stood. The stableboy who had been assigned to assist him with the Lipizzans was at his side in an instant. Philippe handed him the leather trappings and mentally calculated the time.
She had said to meet him in an hour. Half of that time had already passed, and almost all the rest would be consumed in reaching the rendezvous point she had designated. Philippe ran a hand through his tussled curls a
nd strode from the stable.
Not only did a thousand people work in the stables, but nearly nine thousand worked in the palace. Nearly twenty-five hundred were housed in the surrounding town, but the rest resided at the palace. The Grand Commun boasted a thousand rooms that held fifteen hundred people, and the balance, five thousand, lived within the château itself. As a result the grounds teemed with humanity.
Philippe was immediately lost among the many who hurried on their errands. No one regarded his passing or cared about his destination. It had been a difficult thing to comprehend at first, so different from Chenonceau. Once he had attended to his duties, he had almost complete freedom. In the beginning he had wondered what to do with himself. Then he had realized there were at least as many, if not more, intrigues among the palace servants as in the royal Court. Philippe chuckled to himself.
He had learned a great deal since coming to Versailles. He had long known about the king’s favorite, of course, Madame du Barry. But he had been shocked to learn of the king’s own private brothel. How many women did one man need? He shook his head.
Madame Dupin’s stories had prepared him for a measure of debauchery, but the reality of the Court’s excesses had stunned him. He knew he must have appeared wide-eyed at first. The morals of the Court were as loose as the lifestyle and surroundings were lavish. After a while it no longer surprised him that those who served the Court were morally lax as well. It had proved a temptation he could not hold out against forever.
Because there were so many people entering and leaving the château, no one noticed Philippe in particular. From the Royal Court he climbed the steps to the Marble Court and entered the palace. Cutting through the central block of the château saved him the twenty minutes it would take to walk around the massive wings. He bent his head and quickened his steps, as if bent on some important errand, and exited through the grand, gilded doors to the palace gardens.
By Honor Bound Page 7