“You never cease to amaze us,” the princess said softly and exchanged a swift glance with Madame Campan. “Always something new, something surprising, when we thought it couldn’t get any better.”
“Your majesty is too kind,” Philippe replied, misunderstanding just as the princess had intended. “The horses have the talent, not I.”
“You bring it out in them. Just as you inspire the admiration of those around you.” Antoinette’s eyes flicked lightly over the surrounding ladies, and she noted, as she always did, the way they lavished their admiring attention on Philippe. But there was one whose gaze held more than mere speculative appreciation.
“Although I am anxious, as usual, to have a drive with these glorious creatures,” Antoinette continued, “I believe we must pause for something more important.”
Philippe’s bafflement was evident.
“Your sister,” Antoinette prompted. “Has it not been many months since you saw her last?”
It took all of Philippe’s considerable willpower to not look in Honneure’s direction. Eyes cast respectfully down, he nodded. “Yes, Majesty. Many months.”
Antoinette was glad Philippe held his gaze downward. He would wonder at the tears brimming suddenly in her eyes. Surely he would misunderstand. As surely as he misunderstood what he truly felt for Honneure—and she for him. Though the emotion of the moment, what she had witnessed between Philippe and Honneure, caused a painful ache in her throat, the princess forced a smile to her lips.
“May I suggest, Philippe, since it has been so long, that you take Honneure for a drive instead? I’m sure you will want to hear the news of your parents, and I … I fear the sun is a bit strong for me today.”
“Majesty!” Madame Campan was at Antoinette’s side in a heartbeat. She put a protective arm about the small, frail shoulders, and the princess pressed close to her shoulder.
“I am quite well, my dear Campan,” Antoinette whispered. “But the two of them need to be alone. And tongues will wag soon enough. Let us not begin the process ourselves, here, today.”
“My princess is wise beyond her years.”
Antoinette flashed Madame Campan an enigmatic look. “My own plight is not so dissimilar,” she responded under her breath. Then, aloud, “Come, all of you. I shall have to wait for another day, hopefully a less bright one. Mademoiselle du Bois, take my dogs, if you please. Honneure, I give you leave for the rest of the afternoon. Enjoy it.”
Antoinette was surrounded at once by her women, their voices an intertwining babble of concern and distress. They moved away slowly as a single body, the dauphine uttering reassurances. Other courtiers and a myriad of servants hurried on their various ways across the avenue. Another carriage rolled by. Someone coughed. Someone laughed. The murmur of distant voices rose and fell. But nothing, no one in the world, existed but Philippe.
Slowly, agonizingly, Honneure raised her gaze.
Chapter Ten
Philippe had always been supremely self-confident. His parents had adored him, and as a child he had been the darling of the entire household, including the mistress herself, Madame Dupin. He had shown an early aptitude for working with horses and had been put into training at once. His talent was readily apparent. He worked hard, achieved much, and continued to earn the admiration, respect, and love of all who knew him. Then Honneure had come into his life.
She had enchanted him from the first moment. He would never forget that first glimpse of her, with her sad and frightened gray eyes looking up at him as she stood in the courtyard. Never having known heartache or fear himself, he had tried to imagine how devastating it must have been for her to lose her only parent and the only home she had ever known all at once. He had admired her courage, and when her tears had come at last, his heart had gone out to her completely. He had loved her, had tried to surround her with that love he had known all his life.
Over the years Philippe had watched Honneure blossom brilliantly. Though she never forgot her mother, Jeanne and Paul had become her true parents of the soul. He had become her brother. He took pride in her achievements, her ready wit and intelligence, her fierce loyalties, and her eagerness to learn. She made him laugh often yet could also bring tears to his eyes with her tender affections. She had been his strength as often as he had been hers. He could never fathom life without her or their relationship ever changing. So what was happening to him now? Why did he feel shaken to his very core?
Versailles and its thousands of inhabitants no longer existed. He was alone with Honneure. She was all he could see, all he was aware of. But something was very, very wrong.
Philippe’s heart raced in a way it never had before. Nor had he ever felt at such a loss, so uncertain of himself, unable even to speak a single word. And it was happening in the presence of Honneure, his sister. What was wrong with him?
“Philippe? Philippe, are you all right?”
He watched her extend an elegant hand to him, touch his arm in a long-familiar gesture. Even through the material of his coat, his flesh burned.
Honneure drew in her breath sharply as Philippe pulled away from her. Pain stabbed through her breast. Was he so deeply in love with Olivia he could not abide another woman’s touch, even his sister’s? It was more than she could bear, more than she could comprehend. Seeing Philippe in Olivia’s arms had shaken her world. Now it had collapsed entirely. With a heartbroken sob, she whirled away from him.
The spell was shattered when Honneure spun on her heel. What had he done? What had he been thinking?
“Honneure, wait … Stop!”
He caught her in three steps, hands pinning her arms. Slowly, gently, he turned her to face him. A bolt of agony seared through him when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.
“Oh my God, Honneure,” Philippe moaned. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I … I was just looking at you and … and …”
The tears spilled, staining Honneure’s cheeks. “No, I … I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you want it to be Olivia with you here, now, not me. I …”
“Olivia?” Unconsciously, Philippe gave Honneure a little shake. “No, no, not Olivia. I’m so glad to see you, Honneure. What made you think I would want it to be Olivia?”
Knowing before she answered, he groaned again. He let go of Honneure’s arms and struck his palm to his forehead. “Damn that woman. Damn her! And damn me.”
“Philippe!”
“No. I deserve every remonstrance I could possibly heap on myself. And more.” Once again Philippe grasped Honneure’s arms, this time cradling her elbows in his broad hands. “Listen, forget Olivia. Please. I certainly intend to. It was a terrible mistake. Forgive me, Honneure. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you, Philippe?” Honneure slowly shook her head, confusion reflected in her wide, gray eyes. “Forgive you for what? It’s your life to do with as you please. And with whom you please.”
“But that’s just it. Don’t you see? It’s not Olivia I love. It’s …”
Honneure staggered back, knees suddenly weak. Philippe let her go, stunned by what he had been about to say.
But it was not possible. Honneure was his sister. He loved her as his sister. That was all. That was all it could ever be.
“Honneure, I … I love you … of course. I mean … you’re my sister.”
Honneure did not respond for a long, long moment. And in that moment a strange knowing seemed to settle upon her, like the folds of a cloak falling about her shoulders, enwrapping and warming her. Words her foster mother had once spoken to her returned in a rush.
“Of all the things I’ve tried to teach you, dearest child, there is only one thing of true importance. For you may rely on it when all else fails, all knowledge, all logic. And that is your heart, Honneure, your woman’s heart. Listen to it when you can trust no other voice. Listen to it, and know it does not lie.”
Standing before Philippe, Honneure took a deep breath and smiled. How right Jeanne had been, how wise.
> This time when Honneure put her hand on Philippe’s arm, she knew he would not flinch away, and he did not.
“Come, Philippe,” she said in a voice little more than a whisper. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time. Let us see how you’ve fared with the horses.”
Afternoon sunlight streamed into the salon of the Petites Apartments. Sitting at the keyboard of her clavichord Antoinette stretched, closed her eyes, and raised her face to the beam of buttery light. “What time is it?”
“Nearly four o’clock,” Madame Campan promptly replied.
Antoinette groaned. “The Abbé de Vermond will be here at any moment. His lessons are so boring, dear Campan.”
“It’s only for an hour. Then you have your singing lesson. You always enjoy that.”
“Tomorrow it will be the clavichord, singing again the day after, then clavichord …” Antoinette sighed deeply. “Do you think he notices? Do you think he cares? Do you think this makes any difference at all?”
Madame Campan glanced up sharply from her needlework. “You are the future Queen of France. You must care even if no one else does.” She allowed her expression to soften slightly. “But, yes, in answer to your question. Yes, I think the dauphin does care.”
Hope flickered uncertainly in Antoinette’s pale-blue eyes. She pursed her rosebud lips. “He is kind to me, Campan. And attentive when we are together. I have no complaints on that account. But …”
The two women exchanged glances. Though no one else was present at the moment, one could never be certain of one’s privacy in a royal palace. And although it was fairly common knowledge that the prince had not yet consummated his marriage, Antoinette spoke of her sadness only to those closest to her, and when she was absolutely certain no one might overhear. The humiliation was simply too great to bear. Suddenly uncomfortably warm, she rose and moved out of the sunlight.
“Open a window, will you, dear Campan? I am not quite used to the warmth of the French springtimes yet.”
Madame Campan unlatched the tall double windows and swung them wide.
“Any sign of our sweet Honneure and the handsome Philippe?”
Madame Campan looked down the broad avenue and shook her head. “None.”
Antoinette uttered another small sigh. “You were absolutely right about them, dear Campan. Nothing escapes your notice, does it?”
The older woman turned slowly from the window. “Very little.”
“How long, do you think, before they are able to see what the rest of us do?”
“I believe Honneure already knows. It will be harder for Philippe. Men’s vision is not as clear as women’s.”
Antoinette laughed. “How right you are, Campan. And how wise.” The gaiety abruptly died. “They will have time to discover their love at least. Without a villainess waiting in the wings to pounce.”
“Now, now, the du Barry can do nothing to truly harm you.”
“She can affect the king’s opinion of me,” Antoinette said, porcelain skin flushing.
“The king is quite fond of you. If his mistress is trying to sway him, she’s doing a poor job of it.”
“And she sets my husband against me,” Antoinette continued as if she had not heard. “Every time that woman slights or disagrees with me, Louis sides with her.”
“Openly, yes, but only to keep peace with his grandfather.”
Antoinette did not reply. She crossed to the window and stared out at the tailing afternoon. “As I said before, Honneure and Philippe are luckier than I.”
“Perhaps not,” Madame Campan replied quietly.
Antoinette looked sharply at the head of her ladies-in-waiting. “What do you mean? What possible villainess could there be in their romantic tale?”
Madame Campan’s response was interrupted by a knock on the door. “That will be the Abbé,” she said as she moved across the room. “We will speak later.”
The entire regal, sprawling mass of the palace of Versailles was built upon a hillock in the Galie Valley, which was surrounded by more hills punctuated by ponds, heaths, and pastures. Immediately surrounding the château and its fabulous gardens were acres upon acres of woods. Traveling along the east-west axis of the grounds, by the side of the Grand Canal and perpendicular to the palace, Honneure was able to more fully grasp the scope and immensity of Versailles. It was almost beyond comprehension. The Grand Canal itself defied imagination.
For many years Honneure had listened with avid interest to Madame Dupin’s tales of court life and descriptions of the palace. She had a vivid imagination and had thought she had re-created accurate visions of the château and its grounds in her mind’s eye. She had not even come close to Versailles’s true scale and splendor.
The Grand Canal, made by the hands of man, put the Cher to shame. Driving along the bank of the Canal, she could barely see to the other side, and not simply because of the distance. Boats of every description plied the crystalline waters, from small, gaily painted craft plied by oars, to tall-masted ships. Shaped like a giant cross, the Canal began at the foot of the fabled Apollo Fountain and stretched into the valley.
“It would take hours to drive along the entire shoreline,” Philippe had told her. “We’ll travel about a quarter of the way, then come back.”
Honneure had only been able to nod. The vastness of the grounds had awed her. The panoply surrounding her took her breath away.
Lavishly dressed courtiers on prancing horses trotted past. Richly decorated coaches pulled by as many as eight horses promenaded by, carriage whips flicking smartly. Various groups of men and women strolled amiably. Amorous couples, arms linked, bent their heads together as they murmured among themselves. Honneure had never felt so small and insignificant. Unconsciously, she leaned into Philippe’s shoulder.
“I know how you must feel. I remember how overwhelmed I was my first few days here.”
“It’s truly unimaginable. No one could ever possibly describe this accurately. One must see it to believe it.”
They continued on for some time, the white horses maintaining their bold trot, necks arched and ears forward. Honneure noted the many admiring glances cast their way, and her heart swelled with pride. Not only had the animals been scrupulously trained, but Philippe handled them masterfully. It was no wonder the princess had bid him stay on with her. She must have a very high opinion of him indeed, particularly since she had even granted his wish to have his sister join the royal entourage as well.
Sister.
Honneure became acutely aware of Philippe’s nearness, the feel of her arm pressed against his muscular shoulder, but she did not move. She was where she belonged, where she had always belonged. She must no longer think of Philippe as her brother. Just as he, soon, would no longer think of her as his sister. It didn’t matter how long it might take. She knew it was only a matter of time, that it had in fact already begun. The surety of the knowledge lent her a sense of calm, and she was grateful for it. The realization of her love, her romantic love, for Philippe was so great it had stunned her, and at the one time more than any other in her life when she needed to keep her wits about her. She must cling to her knowledge and the peace of it and perform her duties faithfully. That was first and foremost. All else would come in the fullness of time.
As if sensing her thoughts, Philippe bent to her ear. “We have been given the generous gift of this time, and I dare not abuse it.”
“Nor I, Philippe. The dauphine has been very, very good to us, and it is my greatest wish to please her. We should return.”
The sun approached the crest of the distant hillocks. Shining through a stratum of low, thin clouds, its rosy light burnished the surface of the Canal’s waters. The number of boats had diminished, leaving to dock for the night. Honneure turned in her seat to admire the Apollo Fountain as long as possible, jets of water splashing outward from the hooves of the charging steeds that pulled Apollo in his chariot across the wide pool. Vague regret for the end of their time tempered the
smile Honneure turned on Philippe.
“Thank you so much, Philippe. Thank you for taking me.”
“The pleasure was mine,” he responded, surprised by his stiff formality with the girl he had known much of his life. Mere months ago he had shoved her playfully and patted her behind as she climbed from the coach. What had come over him? What was wrong?
He wondered at his sudden need to know, exactly, when and where he would see her again. “I … I’m not privy to the dauphine’s routine. But I usually dine at the Commun just after sunset. If … if you’re free, I mean. It’s where I’ll be.”
She had never heard Philippe speak so falteringly, so uncertainly. The welcome, numbing calm returned to still her hammering heart. “If I don’t see you tonight, Philippe, it will surely be soon.” Honneure turned and hurried away without another word.
Not for the first time since her arrival Honneure wondered at the presence of the guards. Scores of people, courtiers and servants alike, came and went through the Royal Apartments with impunity. She decided the guards must be purely for show as they hardly seemed to pay attention to anyone at all. In the beginning she had feared she would feel conspicuous, self-conscious, going to and from the princess’s apartments. Instead she felt happily invisible. She hurried through the gilded bedchamber and slipped behind the door to the Petits Appartements.
The anteroom was filled with women, their faces unfamiliar. All eyes turned in her direction, scanned her appearance, and dismissed her. The sting was only momentary, however. She was, after all, a servant. The women crowding the foyer were obviously ladies-in-waiting. But whose? Her question was answered almost immediately.
The woman who abruptly flounced through the door from the dauphine’s salon was attractive, though heavily made up. Cleverly drawn brows highlighted lively blue eyes. Her nose was well-formed, her mouth pretty, and her teeth even and white. But an arrogant scowl detracted from the woman’s loveliness. There was no doubt at all about who she must be.
The ladies-in-waiting drew aside quickly to make way for their mistress. She ignored them and pivoted on the threshold of the room, satin skirts swishing against the doorframe.
By Honor Bound Page 11