To see the vista suddenly stretching away before him was a humbling experience. Philippe had always had a solid opinion of himself, but he felt small and insignificant when gazing down the long view. One vast terrace led to another, each decorated with pools, fountains, and elaborate gardens, all leading to the Grand Canal, its ribbon of blue disappearing into the distance. Dense woodland and hunting parks surrounded all, concealing secret gardens and grottoes. Pulse quickening, Philippe hurried to his rendezvous at the Apollo Fountain.
He didn’t see her at first. The beautiful spring day had attracted many to the freshly greening gardens. Then he caught the glint of sunlight on blue-black hair, unmistakable among the powdered wigs and elaborate styles. His blood seemed to heat as it rushed through his veins. He moved in her direction.
Olivia felt him before she saw him. Virility emanated from him like warmth and light from a fire, and she was irresistibly drawn. When she looked up and caught his eye, his fire bloomed within her.
She was on the opposite side of the pool, with the golden Apollo, his chariot and fiery steeds rising from the still waters between them. But Philippe saw only her hourglass figure and lush, pouting mouth. Her dark, slightly uptilted eyes gazed in the direction of a woodland path. She moved toward it slowly, and Philippe followed.
It had been warm beneath the direct sun, but in the shade of the new-leafed trees Olivia shivered. Resisting the urge to look behind her, she walked farther into the woods. She only stopped when she felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Are you trying to run away?” Philippe laughed softly in Olivia’s ear. “I thought you wanted to see me.”
Though her heart pounded, she managed to keep her face turned coyly away. “Do you not wish to see me?”
“I wish to do more than see you.” After a brief glance assured him no one else was near, Philippe pressed his lips to a spot just below Olivia’s left ear. The musky scent of her flesh stirred him, and he pressed more closely against her.
Reluctantly Olivia moved away, gaze still averted. “I have no time today,” she said sulkily. “Antoinette requires me to move from the palace into the Grand Commun.”
“The commune!” Philippe was taken aback. “But why? You’ve been with her since she first came to France.”
Olivia risked a glance in Philippe’s direction. “Yes, I’ve been loyal to her, have I not? I have taken care of her most intimate needs. Yet now I am being displaced.”
“Olivia, I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t you?” Olivia pursed her full lips and looked up at him from under lowered lids. “Did you not press your foster sister’s case to the princess?”
“Well, yes,” Philippe admitted, totally confused. “And the dauphine was kind enough to write to my former mistress, Madame Dupin, to ask Honneure to join the royal entourage.”
“To care for her dogs, no?”
“No. I mean yes … Yes. But what …” Philippe paused, realization dawning. “Is she coming? Has the princess had word?”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Would it bring you joy?” she asked in a curiously flat tone. “Have you missed your sister so much?”
Delighted by the prospect of Honneure’s arrival, Philippe did not heed Olivia’s subtle warning signals. Grinning broadly, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her around to face him.
“You have heard something, haven’t you? When is she coming? Tell me.”
Something dark brewed in Olivia’s breast. She looked deeply into Philippe’s eyes. “She arrives tomorrow with Madame Dupin,” she replied curtly. “She will take over my small chamber. Where I used to sleep with the spoiled mongrels.”
The venom in Olivia’s tone finally pierced the glowing aura of Philippe’s happiness. The smile slipped from his mouth. “I … I’m sorry, Olivia. I never meant for this to happen.”
“No. You only wanted Honneure. Now you will have her. And what will become of me?”
“Olivia …” Philippe let his arms fall from her shoulders and grasped her hands. Enfolding them tightly, he pressed them to his breast and drew her toward him. “Honneure is my sister.”
“Your foster sister,” Olivia corrected.
“With whom I was raised. And whom I love as if she were a sibling of blood to me.”
“Are you sure?” Olivia leaned forward, her ample bosom now pressed to Philippe’s chest, imprisoning their hands. “This love is pure and innocent?”
Her nearness was intoxicating. “I’m sure, Olivia,” Philippe managed to whisper. “Just as sure as I am of my feelings for you.”
He longed to kiss her, she knew. But she raised her chin only a little, face slightly turned.
“Do you care enough to help me move my things to the Grand Commun?”
Philippe was able only to nod.
Olivia smiled. “It might be better, you know, in the commune. My chamber is small and spare, but I share it with no one. And with so many people coming and going, who will notice you?”
Her words inflamed him. Honneure temporarily forgotten, Philippe freed a hand and raised Olivia’s chin with the tip of one finger. She did not resist. As her eyes closed, he lowered his lips to hers.
Chenonceau’s gallery stretched from the main body of the château across the Cher to the opposite bank. Built by Catherine de Medici upon a bridge that had spanned the river, it was Honneure’s favorite spot. With eighteen arched windows reaching from floor to ceiling, the room was almost always filled with light, even through the gray days of winter. Italian cypress trees flourished in niches between the windows, and two great fireplaces at either end of the gallery warmed the air on the coldest days.
The air was frigid no longer, however. The spring thaw had finally arrived. All the snow had melted, grass was greening, and bulbs had pushed their blossoms up from the cool, dark earth. River ice had broken up and flowed away, and the Cher ran unimpeded between the château’s arched piers. Honneure stared at the water and thought it seemed very much like her life … simply flowing away, unable to stop, unaware of a destination, just moving, constantly moving on a predetermined course whose end she could not see.
Honneure sighed and recalled yet again the summer night she had sat with Philippe on the riverbank. Foolishly, she had forced him to promise their lives would not change. It was a promise he could not give, and even at the time she had known it deep in her heart. But she had wanted so badly to hang on to her hard-won happiness. Had she tempted fate with her fears of the future? Had she herself brought about the end of an idyllic childhood?
“Everything must have an end,” a familiar voice said softly, as if the speaker had heard her very thoughts.
Fighting tears, Honneure did not turn.
“This day will end,” Madame Dupin continued. “There will be a period of darkness. But another day will begin.”
“But will the new day …” Honneure had to pause and swallow her tears. “Will the new day be as bright as the ones that have gone before? It is not always so.”
“Each day will be what you make of it.”
“But you made my life what it is!” Choking on a sob, Honneure whirled to face her mistress. “You and Mother and Father and Philippe. Even this place, Chenonceau. This is my home, my happiness. If I leave, how will I ever find it again?”
“It?” Madame Dupin’s brow furrowed in a stern expression. “If by ‘it’ you mean Chenonceau, the château is well known and easy to find. But if by ‘it’ you mean your happiness, then you are surely lost. For the power to find happiness lies within you. If you cannot grasp it, it is no one’s fault but your own. And if you find it, it is because of your own personal search.”
Too caught up in her fears, Honneure stared at the marble-tiled floor and slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “There is no happiness outside of Chenonceau.”
“You were not happy at Amboise?” Madame Dupin inquired sharply. “The years you spent with your mother were spent in darkness?”
“Oh, no. I didn�
��t mean that. I was very happy with my mother at Amboise.”
“And when you left Amboise, did you know how happy you would be with us here? Were you eager to make the journey to your new home?”
“No, no, I … I was scared to death. I …”
Madame Dupin smiled slowly as she watched the light return to Honneure’s eyes as realization dawned. She watched her expression soften, then tighten again with chagrin.
“I … I’m so sorry. I—”
“Don’t say another word,” Madame Dupin said quietly and touched her fingers to Honneure’s lips. “It is I who am sorry. I should have seen what was happening before my very eyes. I should have been more sensitive to Claud’s true character.”
“Oh, Madame Dupin, please don’t blame yourself.”
“I do not. I have regrets, yes, but even those are a waste of time. I do not blame myself, however. Only Claud may have blame. Yet I must still ask your forgiveness and understanding for not banishing Claud immediately from Chenonceau.”
Honneure folded her hands and dropped her gaze. “I … I understand your reasons.”
“He has far too tight a grip on my affairs,” Madame Dupin went on as if Honneure had not spoken. “That much is my fault. It will take time to extricate myself from his grasp, and for my own safety, I cannot let him know in advance that his days are numbered.”
“So I must go instead.”
The statement was made simply, without self-pity, and it squeezed Madame Dupin’s heart. “It is not that you must go, dear child, but rather that you cannot stay. Nevertheless, I will make you a promise.”
Honneure looked up, feathered brows arched.
“When Claud leaves, if you are unhappy at Versailles, you may always return to Chenonceau.”
Tears at once filled Honneure’s eyes, and her lip trembled, making it impossible to express her gratitude.
“You do not need to thank me,” Madame Dupin said as if again perceiving Honneure’s thoughts. “And I do not think you will wish to leave Versailles. You are a beautiful and intelligent woman, Honneure. There can be so much more to life for you than service in a country château. Your curiosity is too strong. I will not always be able to satisfy it with the tales I bring home. You should be able to observe life … history … firsthand and make of it what you can. There is so much more to life than this château. A great deal more. And I believe it awaits you at Versailles.”
Something enigmatic in Madame Dupin’s expression and tone gave Honneure pause. “I … I only know that Philippe awaits me at Versailles.”
“Yes. Yes, he does,” Madame Dupin said slowly. She gazed at Honneure for a long moment, then abruptly smiled and smoothed the front of her blue satin skirt. “I shall see him. I too,” she said brightly. “And you must tell me how I look. Honestly.”
Madame Dupin had dressed in Court fashion, and an elaborate powdered wig towered above her pale brow. A beribboned hat was pinned atop the mass at a rakish angle that defied gravity, and panniers held her skirt so far out to the sides she would have to turn sideways to walk through a normal door.
Honneure started to say something but choked on the lie. The choke turned into a giggle.
“Truly horrible, isn’t it? Just thank your lucky stars you don’t have to be stuffed into this ridiculous regalia. You look and undoubtedly are far more comfortable than I. Turn around and let me see all of you.”
Rose-tinted cheeks flushed darker as Honneure did a slow pirouette. Self-consciously she touched the heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. The long, loose curls that framed her face tickled as they brushed against her cheeks.
“You look lovely, Honneure. The dauphine’s colors suit you.”
“I … I can’t thank you enough for having this made for me,” Honneure said as she fingered the elaborate silver embroidery overlaying the rich, red velvet.
Madame Dupin waved a hand dismissively. “You cannot arrive at the palace from Chenonceau looking like a country girl.”
“But I am a country girl.”
Madame Dupin grew serious again. She stepped forward and took Honneure’s face in her hands.
“You are Honneure Mansart,” she said in a firm but barely audible voice. “You are beloved by your parents, myself … and Philippe. Your home is Chenonceau. Your position is to serve the future Queen of France. Everything else is what you make of it. That is who you are and who you shall be.”
Honneure stared into her mistress’s unblinking blue eyes for so long she became lost in the intensity of the gaze. It seemed she could see the river and the flow of her life once more. No longer disappearing into a misty and fearful future, however, but winding steadily and with purpose toward a destination she herself would determine.
And then they were in each other’s arms and clung for a long moment.
Madame Dupin released Honneure and dashed a tear from her cheek. “Come, dear child. It is time to say our good-byes.”
Chapter Eight
May 1771
Trailed by several of Antoinette’s ladies, Madame Dupin strolled contentedly arm in arm with the princess through the vast gardens of the Versailles palace. Exiting through the back of the château, they crossed the Water Terrace, flanked on either side by oblong pools. From there they descended two sets of stone stairs to the Latona Fountain. Various fish and figures spit their jets of water into overflowing pools encircling four graduated tiers. Heading to the right of the fountain, they followed a path into the densely forested parkland. In minutes they reached the Baths of Apollo.
Madame Dupin drew a breath. “No matter how often I come here, I am always struck by the particular beauty and magnificence of this place.”
In response, the petite princess merely squeezed her friend’s arm. Together they took in the majesty of the garden.
It was as if they had left the real world behind and entered a fairy kingdom. Varied ivies and climbing plants clung to the stone walls of the man-made grotto. Thick, springy moss covered the ground. Ferns lined the banks of the forest pool, and water bugs skittered across its still, green water. Madame Dupin closed her eyes briefly, then lifted her gaze.
In caves hollowed out of the soaring stone stood the fabulous Apollo sculptures. There was Apollo attended by the lovely Nereids, bathing his feet, pouring water into a basin toward which he languidly stretched his hand. In another niche the horses of Apollo’s chariot were being unyoked and reared away from their attendants. In a third area the horses were depicted calmly drinking from a pool.
The princess sighed and leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder. “I, too, am overcome by the magic of this place each time I enter.” She straightened and uttered a short laugh. “At least I am no longer overwhelmed by the palace itself.”
Madame Dupin patted the princess’s hand. “It was a great deal to get used to, I know. I have seen your mother’s palace, the Schönbrun.”
“The entire château would have fit into one wing of Versailles. It was so simple, so practical, compared to all this.” Antoinette vaguely waved a hand in the direction of the palace. “As was my childhood.”
Madame Dupin smiled fondly. “You’ve often told me how close you were to your brothers and sisters.”
“I miss them,” Antoinette replied simply. “I miss the carefree days of our childhood.” She chuckled softly. “Too carefree, I suppose. Did you know I didn’t learn to read until my mother had agreed to my betrothal to Louis?”
“So you’ve said.”
“I worked hard, though it seemed only a game to me. Even when I left for France, it was not reality yet. How could it seem real? Everything the Royal Court does, it seems, is done in excess. Forty-eight six-horse carriages came to bear me to my betrothed. Nothing was real until …” Antoinette knit her brow. “Until we reached an island in the Rhine near Kiehl,” she continued softly. “I was taken into a tent, divided in the middle like a bathing tent. All my clothing, even my stockings and vest, were removed, and I was handed over to Comtesse de Noa
illes. Naked, I was required to leave my Austrian ladies behind and step over to the French side of the tent. I left everything behind at that moment. I entered reality.” With wide, tear-filled eyes, Antoinette looked at her friend. “I was only fourteen.”
“Dear child,” Madame Dupin murmured and gently touched the princess’s cheek.
Antoinette shook her head and forced a smile to her lips. “Never mind. I am content now.” Once again taking Madame Dupin’s arm, she walked along the edge of the pool.
Madame Dupin let the silence drift for a time. Then she stopped, deliberately. Brows arched, she looked Antoinette directly in the eye. “And Madame du Barry?”
The princess did not respond at once. She looked away.
“She does not know it, but I have seen her rooms. They are filled with porcelain and costly ivories. The furniture is encrusted with ebony, and she has a large leather-bound library of … erotica.” The princess blushed. “She rides in the most sumptuous carriage, painted with cupids, hearts, and beds of roses. She wants for nothing.”
“Oh, yes, she does.”
An expression of bafflement settled over the princess’s soft features.
“Your good opinion.”
Antoinette looked away again, sharply. “My disapproval avails me nothing,” she said at length, so softly Madame Dupin could barely hear. “Aunt Adelaide, the king’s dear sister, encouraged me to express it. And as a result …”
“As a result,” Madame Dupin prompted.
Antoinette drew a deep breath. “As a result Madame du Barry had one of my ladies sent away from Court over an imagined slight. She convinced the king to dismiss Choiseul, my friend, and had him replaced with the Due d’Aiguillon, one of her lovers and opposed to Austria!”
Madame Dupin was taken aback by Antoinette’s sudden venom. She rallied quickly and took the princess’s hands in her own.
“Antoinette … Antoinette,” she soothed. “I’m so sorry.”
“As am I.” Antoinette shrugged and appeared to pull herself together. “My husband and even my mother have advised me to at least appear accepting of the woman. It is difficult, but I try.”
By Honor Bound Page 8