“So it’s arranged then,” she said tartly to someone Honneure could not see. “Olivia shall go with me.”
Honneure was unable to hear the reply but recognized the timbre of Madame Campan’s voice. She instinctively pressed herself into the wall as the woman once again started in her direction. Hoping to escape notice, she lowered her eyes. In a cloud of floral perfume, chin held high, the woman marched past her. Her women closed in behind and followed her out the door. Honneure dared to look up.
And found herself eye to eye with Olivia.
A slow smile curved on Olivia’s generous, seductive lips. “Well, if it isn’t little sister, mistress of the mongrels. I certainly hope you find your new position … rewarding. I know that I find it so.”
Honneure knew Olivia waited for her to respond, to ask her why. But she did not deign to give her the satisfaction.
“You may think you have usurped my position in the princess’s household,” Olivia continued when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her patience. “But you have actually launched me into something far better. Madame du Barry has long noticed my talents and has asked that I join her retinue. I shall be her personal servant … not a slave to dogs.”
An answering smile touched the corners of Honneure’s lips. “I’m glad for you, Olivia. I’m sure you will be much happier. I think you are far more suited to Madame du Barry than to the dauphine.”
Olivia’s smile faltered, and tiny lines of doubt appeared between the ebony wings of her brows. Had she been insulted? In a manner very like her new mistress’s, she drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I know I am better suited to serve the comtesse than an ignorant Austrian upstart.”
Honneure’s hand flew to her mouth to muffle the sound of her gasp. Seeing the gloat in Olivia’s expression, she regretted the reaction at once.
“Just as I am perfectly suited to be Philippe’s lover.”
Honneure felt the beginning of a chill but banished it. She had her secret knowledge now to keep her warm. She merely held Olivia’s dark, unblinking gaze and returned her confident smile. It was Olivia who finally turned away, uneasy and unsure why.
Honneure watched her go, walking quickly to the door where she turned to give Honneure a final, withering glance. Honneure did not flinch. Then the door slammed, and Olivia was gone.
“Beware that one.”
Honneure jumped and turned. “Madame Campan! I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“I, on the other hand, heard you.” Though the smile never reached her mouth, Honneure saw the sparkle in her eyes. “Or perhaps it is Olivia who should beware. You are a clever girl, Honneure, and you have a level head. You will go far and achieve much. Even, eventually, your heart’s desire … Philippe.”
With that Madame Campan turned and disappeared again into the salon, leaving Honneure alone.
She raised tentative fingers to her cheeks and felt dampness there. Tears. Cleansing tears, renewing tears, like the droplets from a baptismal font. She had been born again, to a new life. She recalled the night when, a year before, she had sat with Philippe at river’s edge and begged him to promise their lives would never change.
Laughing softly, Honneure wiped away her tears.
Chapter Eleven
July 1771
Honneure had to stand on tiptoe to reach the low-hanging branch. Holding on to the heavily leafed bough with her left hand, she used her right to straighten the gauzy muslin draped around the tree. She retied the anchoring bow of pale-blue satin and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
The effect was ethereal. Several other nearby trees had been similarly decorated, but with pink or yellow ribbon, and the scene looked as if it might have been taken from the pages of an illustrated fairy story.
“And whose idea was this? Yours or the princess’s?”
Honneure turned and gave Philippe a slow smile. “It was a little bit of both, I suppose.”
“Well, congratulations to you both. The day is quite a success.”
Honneure flushed with pleasure and gazed at the sight surrounding her. The revelers, along with servants, were nearly two hundred strong. Dozens of carpets were strewn across the grass along with baskets and boxes of gourmet delicacies and fine summer wines. Merry groups formed and re-formed as people visited and sampled the ample fare. Laughter mingled with birdsong, the barking of excited dogs, and the occasional whinny of an impatient horse. Honneure glanced at the various coaches and carriages that had ferried the guests to this remote country location.
Antoinette’s calèche, drawn by the white mare, stood at the head of the line, footman in attendance. Honneure would never forget how happy and how pretty the princess had looked driving the mare, her husband galloping along on his own mount beside her. Nor would she soon forget how pleasant it had been to drive with Philippe in the dauphin’s personal favorite coach.
“For I fear it will rain later in the afternoon,” he had said to Philippe. “And I would not have my bride get a soaking.”
Philippe had been only too happy to oblige the dauphin and had promptly asked Honneure to accompany him. “Unless, you … you have plans to go with someone else?”
Honneure had smiled to herself as she took her time to respond. She had seen little of Philippe in the past few weeks, purposely. At first she had been too busy settling into her routine as part of the dauphine’s entourage. She had harbored a small, secret fear that he might return to Olivia, but he had not. Instead, he had spent a great deal of his free time coming around to see if, or when, she might be free. He almost always asked her to join him for meals, but most of the time she was able to dine on the remains of the prince and princess’s sumptuous meals. She could have declined, certainly, and joined Philippe. Yet she had begun to see the value and advantage in leaving Philippe alone to ponder and look forward to finally spending time with her. Perhaps he would sooner come to the realization of why he was so eager to see her.
And so she had also hesitated in giving a response to his invitation. It would not hurt for him to think, if only for a moment, she did indeed have an invitation from someone else.
In the end, of course, she had accepted, and had immensely enjoyed their ride into the country together. Everything, in fact, from the moment she had awakened had gone smoothly. Morning had dawned clear and warm, heavy with the scents of summer. Organization of the event had been flawless, and the party had started out on time and in good form. Now most of the food and wine had been consumed, the day pronounced a success, and it no longer mattered that the dauphin’s prediction would undoubtedly soon prove to be correct.
“Those thunderheads look menacing,” Philippe said over her shoulder, echoing, as he usually did, her very thoughts. He wore a gauzy shirt, as the princess had decreed everyone must dress for the day as a peasant or shepherd, and Honneure could see moisture glistening on his skin at the open V of his collar.
Trying to ignore both the oppressive humidity and the funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, Honneure shrugged. “The rain held off long enough. The purpose of the day has been accomplished.”
“Purpose?” Philippe moved around to face her, a bemused smile on his lips. “This day had a purpose other than a pleasant diversion for the Court?”
Honneure held Philippe’s gaze without blinking. “Every day must have purpose. Else what is the point in rising at all?”
Though she looked completely ingenuous, Philippe had known her long and well. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
Honneure gave another small shrug and glanced up at Philippe from beneath lowered lids. “Perhaps. But at the moment I think we’d best help with the packing.”
The afternoon had darkened noticeably. Drivers and footmen readied coaches as guests began to move in their direction. Philippe looked about for the prince as it was his duty to drive the royal pair in the event of rain.
“I must find the dauphin,” he said at length. “Will you be all right?”
&nbs
p; “Of course. Go ahead.” Honneure watched him walk away and smiled inwardly. The day had indeed had purpose other than revelry. But had it been accomplished? She let her thoughts stray back to an evening two weeks earlier.
“Oh, Honneure, I am exhausted,” Antoinette had complained as she collapsed onto the dressing table stool in her boudoir. “Please send for Campan or Madame Thierry to help me undress.”
“Madame Thierry has gone to put her young son to bed, and I haven’t seen Madame Campan for some time. She left on an errand right after you left to join the dancing.”
“And what fun it was,” the princess had exclaimed. “The king has been so kind to hold these soirees every Wednesday just for me.”
“He knows how much you love to dance.”
“And I do. Oh, I do.”
“Here, let me help you, Majesty.” Antoinette had not protested when Honneure removed her heavy wig and started on the dozens of tiny buttons marching down the back of her gown. In truth, she often preferred Honneure’s ministrations to any of the other maids’. They were close in age, of similar, sunny disposition, and had recently begun to enjoy sharing confidences when they were alone. The princess had not disappointed her that evening.
“The only problem is that Louis hates these galas. He attends for my sake, and for his grandfather’s, of course. But I can see how unhappy he is. He loathes anything formal and is so uncomfortable in the clothes he has to wear. I feel so sorry for him, Honneure. And these evenings are not endearing me to him, I fear. I’m sure he thinks I’m entirely frivolous, but I’m not. I love dancing, yes, but like my Louis I, too, prefer simpler pleasures.” Antoinette stood to let Honneure remove the gown.
“I have fourteen brothers and sisters, you know,” the dauphine continued. “And we grew up rather like a bunch of puppies, running around and tumbling over one another in the garden. Mother was very relaxed about our upbringing. She wanted everything to be as natural as possible.”
Honneure laughed as she unfastened the belt holding the pannier and laid the cumbersome undergarment aside. “Listening to you talk about your childhood, it’s difficult to remember your mother is one of the most powerful monarchs in Europe.”
Antoinette smiled sadly. “I miss her very much. But her letters are a great comfort to me, and she always has good advice.” The princess sat back down and closed her eyes as Honneure began brushing her hair. “I wonder,” she mused aloud, “what entertainment she might suggest that would appeal to my royal husband’s simple tastes.”
“And have him realize you really are kindred spirits after all.”
Antoinette opened her eyes and studied her reflection for a long moment. “We truly are,” she said at last, with a sigh. “But I do grow so weary of waiting for him to discover it.”
“As I grow impatient with Philippe.”
Antoinette smiled at Honneure’s reflection. “He still has not recognized what is as plain as the nose on his face?”
Honneure laughed softly. “It’s his mind-set, I think. He’s just so used to thinking of me as his sister, he can’t imagine me as anything else.”
“And Louis can’t imagine a woman being anything but greedy, grasping, and manipulative.” She turned away from the mirror and looked up directly at Honneure. “My husband’s parents were very religious, very rigid. You know that, don’t you?”
Honneure nodded, grateful to Madame Dupin for all the Court intimacies she had shared over the years. “Yes, I have heard. And I know the dauphin was taught to shun his grandfather’s mistresses, to reject totally those excesses and that way of life.”
“Exactly. Louis was brought up to fear and mistrust any but a chaste and godly woman.”
“Which Your Majesty is!”
“But how can I show it with this Court being the way it is?” There was desperation in Antoinette’s tone. Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes. “How can Louis not think I am frivolous when there is nothing but frivolity all about us? And another evil woman who schemes and exploits an aging king, validating all my husband’s fears.”
Honneure’s heart went out to the lonely young princess. She knelt, eye to eye with Antoinette, and gently took her hands. She had never been able to bear anything or anyone being in distress.
“We’ll think of something. I promise you. We’ll think of something very special.”
And so they had.
The day had darkened considerably. Lowering clouds looked swollen and purple, and the wind had dropped. Those who had not left already hurried to their conveyances as servants rushed to pack up the last of the goods and decorations. Honneure winced as a bolt of lightning crackled brightly against the dark backdrop and looked about anxiously for Philippe. She caught sight of Louis and Antoinette first.
They were running side by side, hand in hand, laughing, toward Antoinette’s calèche. The dogs barked at their heels. Honneure watched as Philippe caught up to them.
“My wife has great faith in this animal,” Louis called to Philippe as he gestured toward the white mare. “She believes we can outrun the storm. We shall see!”
Honneure watched the prince assist Antoinette into the vehicle. It was a tight fit for four dogs and two people, particularly when one of them was the size of the dauphin. Though not yet twenty, he was already inclined to heaviness and was markedly overweight in his upper body and chin. But his blue eyes were bright and intelligent, and his honesty and integrity were evident in every word and action. Honneure could understand Antoinette’s fondness for him and her wish to win his affection. She had made a good start and, apparently, had achieved her goal for the day. With a mere shake of the reins, the well-trained mare pranced forward, and Honneure noticed Louis slip a steadying arm about his wife’s slender waist.
As she watched the royal pair drive away, Honneure wondered if her own day would end with such success. She recalled Antoinette’s words when they had decided at last on a plan of action.
“It will be so romantic, Honneure, such a perfect day. Surely Louis will be able to see me in a different light, away from the pomp and glitter of the Court. Perhaps even Philippe will be able to see through different eyes.”
Most of the carriages had departed by the time Philippe returned to her. Thunder rumbled ominously and he cast a worried glance skyward. “We’ll have to hurry,” he said and placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the waiting coach.
Honneure glimpsed Philippe’s patrician profile and thought how familiar it was … and how beloved. How many hundreds of times had she walked beside him like this and admired him? How many times had she looked at him with love brimming in her heart? And when had it changed from sisterly to romantic love?
Or had she been in love with him all along, since the moment she had seen him pop up from the back of his father’s wagon?
The wind picked up suddenly, lashing tree branches and sending bits of debris swirling through the air. The carriage horses, a pair of chestnuts Honneure had never seen before, tossed their heads and uttered frightened snorts and whinnies. Honneure noticed Philippe had tied Louis’s mount, one of the black Lipizzan geldings, to the back of the coach. He shifted his feet nervously but was otherwise calm.
“Get inside. Quickly.” Philippe held open the coach door, but Honneure hesitated.
“I’d rather sit with you.”
“No,” Philippe had to shout over the rising wind. “You’ll get soaked.”
“I don’t care. I want to be with you.”
Philippe warred with precipitate and surprisingly strong emotions. He wanted her to be safe, had always been so protective of her. Yet he also wanted her close. He wanted her beside him, pressed to his shoulder … always.
There was no time to wonder at the sentiments raging within him. Sentiments which, he had to admit, had been growing for quite some time. A heart-stopping clap of thunder decided him.
All at once she was in his arms, being lifted. With an outstretched hand she felt the bench seat. When Philippe released
her, she slid over to one side and pulled long locks of wind-whipped hair from her eyes. She clasped her arms to her breast. The wind now had an edge to it, and her thin cotton gown was little protection.
Philippe grabbed the reins before he was even seated. The frightened horses did not need to hear the crack of the whip, and it was all Philippe could do to control them and hold them to a rapid trot. A miniature tornado of leaves and twigs rose abruptly in front of them, and both horses shied to the right.
“Hold on to me,” Philippe yelled as the coach lurched sickeningly.
Honneure didn’t need to be told twice. Turning slightly, she wrapped both arms around his waist and pressed her face to his shoulder. She felt the first, fat raindrops plop on her arms and head and stain the pale yellow of her skirts.
Philippe no longer held the horses to a trot but let them break into a gallop. They were a long way from the palace, west and north of the foot of the Grand Canal. Just ahead was a group of buildings, the center of which was the Trianon. Being traditionally the place for illicit royal pleasures, it was situated quite some distance from Versailles.
Philippe groaned. There was no way they could reach the stables before receiving the full brunt of the storm. As if to underscore his thoughts, three consecutive bolts of lightning shattered the sky in front of them. Philippe braced himself for the boom of thunder he knew would follow.
It was more than the terrified horses could bear. The horse on the right reared straight up while the other bolted sharply left. Philippe tried to control them, but the maddened animals now both bucked and reared. The coach rocked.
Philippe thanked God he had not insisted Honneure ride inside and prepared to push her from the coach. Far better to risk a fall than to be trapped inside and crushed should the carriage overturn. Just when he thought he must drop the reins and push Honneure to safety, the skies opened completely, and rain sluiced down on them like waters from a broken dam.
By Honor Bound Page 12