“Of course you do,” Madame Dupin said gently. Wisely, she decided to steer the subject away from Madame du Barry. “Speaking of your husband, how is Louis?”
Antoinette’s expression softened. “He is well. We often spend an hour or two alone together in the afternoons.”
“Oh?”
Although it was only a single word, Madame Dupin and the princess had become close friends. Antoinette blushed to the roots of her elaborately piled and powdered wig.
“He … he works at his locks, his hobby, while I … while I read or sew.”
“And the nights?”
When Antoinette remained silent, Madame Dupin cupped the princess’s chin in her hand and forced her to look up.
“It will happen, my dear. When the time is right it will happen. I promise you.”
Antoinette smiled though her eyes once again brimmed. “Yes,” she whispered. “So I must believe … so I must.”
The two friends gazed at each other in silence. Then Madame Dupin took Antoinette’s arm once more.
“And I believe it is time to return to the palace and see how Honneure fares with your petits chiens.”
Antoinette’s tiny hands flew to her mouth. “I’d nearly forgotten,” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Indeed, let us return at once.”
Immediately upon her arrival at Versailles, Honneure had been led away by a servant in the dauphine’s livery, while Madame Dupin had gone directly to see Antoinette. The quiet older woman, who gave her name as Eleonore, had taken Honneure on an abbreviated tour of the château’s ground floor so she would be able to orient herself and find her way about the immense palace.
Footsteps echoing in the wide stone corridors, the two women walked for what seemed miles to Honneure. Almost all the ground floor of the U-shaped structure contained lodging units for the support staff, nearly two thousand rooms in all. Honneure had wondered aloud where the kitchens were.
“In town,” Eleonore had replied succinctly. “Almost everything has been moved to the town. The bakery, wine cellars, fruitery. There is only a room here in the palace to reheat the things brought from the village.”
“But … but where do you eat?”
“In the Grand Common. You will be taken there later.”
The women continued on in silence until they reached a great marble staircase, split in the middle, both sides winding upward and out of sight.
Eleonore gestured. “The King’s Staircase. We will go on to the Queen’s.”
Honneure already knew that since Louis XV’s wife was deceased, the dauphine occupied these Petits Appartements. The royal mistress was housed in chambers nearer to the king. What she didn’t know was how small and frightened she was going to feel.
The Queen’s Stair was a duplicate of the King’s, though smaller in scale. As they climbed, Honneure was awed by the polychrome marble revêtement and illusionistic loggias. The painted people looking down on them seemed more real than she and Eleonore.
Even the beauty and grandeur of Chenonceau had not prepared Honneure for the royal world revealed to her as she climbed to the top of the stair. Niches in the marble-faced walls contained gold medallions supported by bronze cherubs. Huge gold and crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Dumbstruck, Honneure followed Eleonore to the left and down a narrow hallway lined with classical busts. They emerged in a room that took her breath away.
“The Queen’s Guardroom,” Eleonore said needlessly.
Honneure barely noticed the soldiers standing stiffly at attention. She saw the paintings first, classical in nature and larger than any work of art she had ever seen. There were even paintings on the ceiling and, again, lifelike figures peering down at her as if from a balcony. The walls were faced with designs of red and black marble. White-painted doors were decorated with gilt. Numb, she followed Eleonore onward.
The next room, the woman informed her, was the Queen’s Antechamber, and it was much like the first. Paintings lined the red velvet walls, and heroic scenes framed in gold drew the eye upward to the golden ceiling and bas-relief carvings. The Salon of Nobles followed, its walls covered with an elaborate brocade. The subjects of the paintings, Honneure guessed, had given the room its name.
Honneure did not think it was possible to see a room more lavish, sumptuous, or elegant than the ones she had already seen, but she was wrong.
“The Queen’s Bedroom,” Eleonore announced.
The bed, though massive, was dwarfed by the size of the chamber. The walls had been painted white, but very little of it could be seen beneath the intricate gilt decoration. The room itself seemed to be made of gold. The compartmented ceiling boasted even more complex and Byzantine gilt designs. Several chandeliers hung the length of the room. Drapes of heavy golden damask framed floor-to-ceiling windows. Corner reliefs bore the arms of France and Austria.
“She … the dauphine … she can’t possibly actually live in these rooms … can she?” Honneure whispered.
Eleonore laughed softly. “Indeed not. These are the reception rooms. Come this way.”
Honneure watched Eleonore move aside a heavily embroidered silk hanging to reveal a door. She opened it and motioned for Honneure to follow.
Honneure felt more comfortable almost at once. The series of interior rooms they had entered were smaller and, though exquisitely decorated, felt much more habitable. Walls were painted in gay pastels, and light poured in through tall windows. From where she stood, Honneure could see on one side a library with leather-bound books arrayed on shelves that stretched to the high ceiling. To her left she was able to see a salon filled with delicate furniture and a gilded clavichord.
A tall, stern-looking woman approached them from the salon. Though she did not wear the panniers favored by courtiers, neither was she dressed in the livery of the dauphine’s servants.
Eleonore dipped a curtsy in acknowledgment of the woman’s superior position, and Honneure followed suit.
“You must be Honneure Mansart,” the woman stated in a surprisingly low voice. “You may go, Eleonore,” she said without taking her eyes from Honneure.
Honneure heard the door close quietly behind her as she endured the tall woman’s scrutiny.
“I am Madame Campan,” she said at length. “The dauphine’s chief chambermaid.” She clapped her hands, and a moment later a girl appeared from another room beyond the library.
The girl was quite beautiful, Honneure thought, especially dressed in the colors of the princess’s livery, with her porcelain skin and jet-black hair. Her figure was voluptuous, her mouth full and pouting, and Honneure was reminded of an overblown summer rose.
“Olivia, this is Honneure. I will leave it to you to show her to her duties and her chamber.”
Though Madame Campan left at once, Olivia did not move or speak. Her catlike eyes regarded Honneure for a long moment, until she began to feel uncomfortable.
Honneure attempted a smile. “I … I’m happy to meet you, Olivia.”
Olivia remained silent, her dark eyes flicking from the top of Honneure’s head to the hem of her full skirt. Suddenly she whirled and motioned to Honneure with the quirk of a finger.
The experience of the grandeur of Versailles had been daunting yet exhilarating. Its magnificence was thrilling. In spite of the fact that she was a newcomer and knew no one but a brother whom she wondered if she would even be able to find, Honneure had felt a kind of warm glow within her. Now, however, she felt a chill. Suddenly trepidatious, she followed Olivia through the library.
Beyond the library was a lovely boudoir and adjacent bathing room that Honneure guessed must be Antoinette’s. Olivia opened a small door and gestured for Honneure to precede her.
The first thing Honneure saw in the tiny, sparsely furnished room was the Boxer. He stood in the center of the floor, lips curled in a snarl and hackles raised. Four smaller dogs leapt down from a narrow bed, barking furiously.
A brief glance in Olivia’s direction confirmed what she suspected. A cruel smile t
witched at the corners of the girl’s mouth. But Honneure was not afraid of the dogs.
Speaking softly, eyes averted, Honneure crouched. She patted her hand lightly on the parquet floor and coaxed the little dogs to come to her.
The Boxer stopped growling. One small dog stretched its neck, sniffing, then launched itself into Honneure’s lap. The other three quickly followed. Though remaining aloof, the Boxer wagged his stubby tail.
Trying to pet all four at once, Honneure looked back at Olivia and smiled. “Will you tell me their names?”
The unpleasant smile had faded, and the girl reminded Honneure of a spoiled child whose malicious prank had just been foiled. Grudgingly Olivia pronounced the animals’ names, and Honneure thanked her.
“I’m merely doing as I was told,” Olivia replied coolly. “I’ve shown you to your room. Those”—she pointed at the dogs—“are your duty. If you need to know anything else, ask Madame Campan.”
Honneure rose as Olivia turned to go. “Wait.”
Olivia looked slowly back over her shoulder. She did not speak but merely raised one black brow.
“Why do you dislike me?” Honneure inquired evenly. “We met only moments ago. You don’t even know me.”
Olivia felt her breath quicken as a disagreeable emotion gathered in her breast. She stared for a long, hard moment at the woman Philippe called his sister.
She was beautiful, lissome, and perfectly proportioned. Streaks of gold highlighted her honey-colored hair. Her remarkable eyes were the cast of clouds before a storm. And she was not related to Philippe by blood at all.
“I know of you,” Olivia said at last. “From Philippe.”
The growing unease caused by Olivia’s inexplicably chilly manner evaporated. Honneure’s heart leaped. “You know Philippe?” she said eagerly.
“Of course I know Philippe.” Olivia felt her smile return unbidden. “I know him very well.”
The disquiet returned in an instant. What did that vaguely sinister smile mean? Why did nausea suddenly gnaw at the pit of her stomach? Honneure had no time to find out.
There was a commotion in the outer rooms. Honneure heard voices and a bright, tinkling laugh.
“The dauphine has returned,” Olivia announced shortly and hurried from the chamber.
From Madame Dupin’s many tales of the Court and its royal inhabitants, Honneure felt she had come to know the princess at least a little. She had been prepared to meet a sweet, innocent girl some three years younger than herself. She had not at all expected to meet one of the kindest, merriest souls she had ever known.
Introductions were informal with the small dogs barking and leaping about. Madame Dupin smiled fondly as Antoinette laughed, and Madame Campan looked disapproving as Honneure suspected she usually did. Olivia stood sulkily in a corner of the salon, and for a while Honneure was able to forget about her completely.
“I’m so glad they like you,” Antoinette exclaimed as one little dog after another bounded into her lap, then jumped down and hurled itself at Honneure, who knelt. Even the Boxer, Baron, left his mistress’s side briefly to give Honneure a sloppy but entirely welcome lick on the cheek. “You do like her, don’t you, my babies?” The princess kissed the crown of one tiny head.
“I’m very grateful to you, dear friend,” the dauphine continued. She took Madame Dupin’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for bringing this lovely girl. My precious pets will be very happy, and therefore so shall I.”
“Your happiness is all any of us desire. Though I will miss her, I am glad to share Honneure with Your Majesty,” Madame Dupin replied formally, as she always did when they were not alone.
“Even Olivia will be happy, I think.” Antoinette glanced in Olivia’s direction and flashed a smile. “As conscientious as you were, taking care of my babies was not your favorite task, I fear.”
Realization bloomed in Honneure’s breast as Olivia murmured a polite, if insincere, reply. She had taken the girl’s job, even her sleeping chamber within the royal apartments. No wonder Olivia regarded her so darkly!
Several minutes passed as Antoinette played with her dogs and chatted with Madame Dupin. Then abruptly the princess returned her attention to Honneure.
“Mercy, I nearly forgot. You’ll want to see your brother, Philippe, won’t you? I am so fond of him. I don’t believe there is a better horseman in the royal stables.”
Honneure ducked her head, flushed with pleasure. “Your Majesty is too kind.”
“I am simply honest. And the hour is late. You’ll be growing hungry, I expect, and anxious to see Philippe. Olivia?”
The dark-haired girl moved swiftly to the dauphine’s side and curtsied.
“Take Honneure to the Grand Commun. Madame Campan, please take the dogs.”
The meeting was over. Feeling proud and a little giddy, Honneure turned to follow Olivia. Madame Dupin hastily touched her cheek.
“Bless you, my dear,” she whispered. “Give my love to Philippe.”
Honneure smiled and hurried in Olivia’s wake.
It was a silent walk back the way Honneure had come a scant hour before. But she was no less awed. The splendor of the huge chambers, fabulous works of art, and furnishings was almost overwhelming. Not until they were midway down the grand marble staircase did Honneure remember how she had displaced Olivia. Honneure wanted to say something, but Olivia’s rigid back and swift steps didn’t seem to invite conversation.
The silence reigned until they had left the château and stood in the Marble Court. Dusk lay softly on the grounds, and the figures moving to and fro were indistinct. Many seemed to be headed toward the Grand Commun, a handsome building of stone and brick built within the right angle formed by the north wing of the château and the ministers’ wing. A delicious aroma of roasted meat drifted on the evening air. Honneure paused.
“That smells so good, and I’m so hungry.” Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her empty stomach.
Olivia whirled. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
Honneure recoiled. “I … I’m sorry, Olivia.”
The girl merely stared. The elation caused by the wonders of the day rapidly ebbed, and Honneure was suddenly weary. Weary, intimidated by Olivia’s bristling hostility, and feeling very much alone in a huge and alien place. She wanted only to see Philippe now, to feel his strong and comforting arms around her. But first she had to at least try to make peace with Olivia.
“Olivia, I … I realize you used to take care of the dauphine’s dogs. And the room was undoubtedly yours as well. I didn’t mean to put you out. I’m so sorry if my coming has caused you inconvenience or unhappiness. It certainly wasn’t my intention. Please, please accept my apology, and let us be friends.”
Olivia remained impassive. “Actually,” she said at last, slowly and deliberately, “you may have done me a service. Having a chamber in the princess’s apartments was confining. I shall have a great deal more freedom in the commune. Or, should I say, Philippe and I will have more freedom. No one will notice or care how much time we spend together.”
Honneure felt as if someone had just dealt her a blow. She found it difficult to catch her breath. “You … and Philippe?” she breathed when she was able to find her voice.
Olivia smiled. So. It was as she had suspected … and feared. But she had already wounded Honneure. Now she would move in for the kill.
“Yes. Me and Philippe. Even though you are his … sister … you must admit how handsome he is, how charming. How sexy.” Arms crossed over her breast, Olivia hugged her shoulders and shivered as if remembering an embrace. Her eyes were heavy-lidded.
Honneure couldn’t respond. She felt numb and sick.
“So, you see, you have actually done us a favor, Honneure,” Olivia drawled in a tone dripping poisoned honey. “Now finally we have a place where we can be … alone.”
Honneure was afraid if she didn’t do something, anything, she would be sick. Where was Philippe? She had to see Philippe. She took a staggering s
tep in the direction so many others seemed to be moving in.
Olivia fell in beside her. Honneure didn’t look at her. She couldn’t. But her presence was there, in her periphery. Honneure was aware when Olivia abruptly raised her arm.
“Philippe! Here … over here!”
He was coming from the opposite direction, from the stables, no doubt. The coldness within her seemed to thaw a little. He was handsome, so incredibly handsome. The ridges of his cheekbones were hard and masculine, his sharp jawline shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. His curling black hair had grown longer and reached to just below his collarbones. His broad chest and narrow hips were emphasized by the tight-fitting livery in the dauphine’s colors, and his thighs bulged, straining the red silk hose. Honneure’s heart did a somersault.
“Philippe,” Olivia called again.
If she could just see him, talk to him, be near him, surely everything would be all right once more. This horrible sickness would go away.
Philippe heard Olivia’s voice. His eyes searched among the hurrying throng. His gaze locked. A broad grin split his features.
He’s seen me, Honneure thought. He’s seen me and now everything will be all right.
But he had seen only Olivia, and she knew it. Picking up the hem of her skirt, the dark-haired girl ran to him. Laughing, Philippe caught her in his arms.
“Kiss me,” Olivia hissed. Her right hand tangled in the thick hair at the back of his head. Before he could protest, she pulled his lips down to hers.
The world seemed to spin. The earth tilted beneath Honneure’s feet.
All was lost. Philippe was lost. She was lost. She never should have come. She had known it.
By the time Philippe managed to extricate himself from Olivia’s embrace, Honneure had disappeared.
Chapter Nine
Olivia awoke to darkness, but she knew it was near dawn. She stretched her cramped limbs slowly and carefully, trying not to wake the man at her side. She reveled in the feeling of her flesh against his and smiled to herself.
By Honor Bound Page 9