Before Versailles Page 7

  “Fair princess,” he said, nodding his head to Catherine, “you look beautiful as always,” but his destination was the single and large pier glass in this chamber, and he sighed when he stood before it and turned from side to side. “Horrible. I look horrible. Someone here tell me. Count, you’re my dearest friend. Don’t be kind. I can bear it.”

  It was amusing—Fanny and Louise found the king’s brother witty and kinder than they’d expected—but it was also deadly serious. Fashion in this age was more flamboyant and beribboned and befrilled for a man than it was for a woman. No one dressed better, every square inch of himself embroidered or belaced, than the king. No one, that is, except Philippe, who often set some style his brother then copied and received the credit for.

  Summoned, Guy stood behind his friend. He stared for a long time at Philippe’s reflection. No one spoke. The maids of honor were afraid to. Monsieur and the count were great friends. That was what Choisy had told Louise, and it was what she had seen for herself. Even when the count was rude, Monsieur seemed not to mind.

  Finally, Guy touched at a single dark velvet patch Philippe wore on his cheek. “This would be—?”

  “It’s a patch, and you know it. The Chevalier de Choisy came by, and one thing led to another, and it seemed like a good idea.” Philippe went over to Henriette, brows drawn together, anxious, and as trusting as he’d been with Guy. “Have I gone too far? Do you hate it, my love?”

  Henriette kissed her husband’s mouth and then the patch, cut in the shape of a star. “I adore it and you, sir.”

  How sweet they are together, thought Louise. Here, at least, was an example of the true love she envisioned. The prince idolized his princess. And the princess—Louise sighed to herself at the thought of Madame. It was all rapidly becoming complicated, but she hoped for the best.

  “No more is needed,” Philippe said to Guy.

  “Bring me Madame’s patch box,” Guy commanded.

  The command was addressed to Louise, and she walked to the dressing table and brought back a beautiful box made of silver. It was the duty of a maid of honor to accompany, assist, and amuse. And fetch.

  Guy looked through the small black shapes that were all the rage, worn on the face and kept there by mastic, and selected another star. He balanced its velvet side on a finger, then placed it on his cheek in approximately the same place as Philippe’s. Then he turned to face Henriette.

  “Where’s my kiss?” he said.

  The maids of honor held their breath. The count was disrespectful and unfortunately also very dashing, but if his dear friend’s deliberate flirting bothered him, Philippe didn’t show it. Henriette dropped her eyes, as if unable to meet the brash, unabashed admiration flung at her, but Louise could see that she was as flattered as she was flustered.

  “I think we should all wear patches, stars for us and hearts for ladies,” said Guy.

  “Yes,” Philippe exclaimed.

  Henriette pointed to her maids of honor. “But they aren’t married.” An unmarried young woman of good family did not rouge or powder or patch until a ring was upon her finger.

  “That makes it all the more amusing,” said Catherine, a slight smile on her face, as if Henriette were a child.

  “I approve,” said Philippe, “and that’s all that need be said.” Then he began to supervise as one after another of them placed patches on their faces. He was in top form, garrulous and joking. He knew that the word among the young courtiers was that the place to be was Monsieur’s—where there was lively conversation, witty games, good food, lovely young women, and showy young gentlemen. Philippe had always had an eye for what would prove fashionable and what would excite the court’s attention.

  When patches were on all faces, he stepped back and considered the group, his expression mock-serious, making several of the maids of honor giggle again. “Perfect,” he announced. “His majesty will be highly irritated that once more I’ve done something diverting and interesting.” He held out a hand to Henriette, who put hers atop it. “Just as I did by marrying you, my treasure. I’m sorry, but her majesty is dull, and apparently there’s nothing that can be done about it.”

  “If you want to be on the king’s council, it’s comments like that one that will keep you from it,” said Guy.

  Philippe frowned at one and all. “You did not hear a word I just said. Is that understood? That would likely be an excellent attribute to strengthen if you intend remaining in this household. You must pay me no mind because I say things I shouldn’t, especially when they’re true. Hypocrisy makes the world go round. Remember that, my angels.”

  “Her majesty is very, very dear, and we love her very, very much,” said Henriette, clearly nervous at her husband’s lively, teasing indiscretion.

  “Yes, she is. Yes, we do,” said Philippe, who was delighted that he’d done something that was going to annoy his brother. Someone among them would whisper tonight that Monsieur said her majesty was dull, and Philippe would of course deny it when Louis confronted him, but truth would out. Her majesty was dull, prayers and naps and embroidery, and Philippe and his wife were anything but. “Do you hear that, maidens? Her majesty is very kind, kinder than I’ve just been, and she is far, far from home and likely homesick.”

  “We shock her,” said Guy.

  Philippe looked over to his friend. “Explain yourself, count.”

  “I have it on the best authority that she finds us frivolous.”

  “Us?”

  “Us, this court, the French in general.”

  “Frivolous.” Philippe considered the queen’s accusation. “I’m afraid it’s true. And I, for one, intend to be as frivolous as possible tonight. I believe I’ve made a splendid beginning. Count,” he arched an eyebrow at Guy and made a serious face, “I trust you’ll sustain me in my attempts.”

  Guy bowed, and there was a chorus of giggles from the maids of honor, even a low laugh from their dreaded Catherine.

  Talk and laughter had traveled up through their windows as courtiers walked across the paving stones of a courtyard to a set of great red doors, open for the night to reveal a grand staircase that led to the ballroom. The evening was beginning.

  “Let’s stand on baptismal gate and watch the courtiers enter the king’s courtyard,” suggested Henriette.

  A colonnade on this story led to the ornate gatehouse built especially for Philippe’s father’s christening. Stone faces from ancient Rome spewed water into basins on each side of the outside entrance, and the gatehouse’s rooftop offered a lovely space in which to walk and look over all that transpired in the king’s courtyard.

  Catherine wrinkled her nose. “They’ll see us watching. A little common, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, let them see. What does it matter?” said Henriette. “We’re going to be talking and dancing with them in just a few moments.”

  Louise and Fanny looked at each other. This was the first time they’d seen Madame contradict the gargoyle. Hurrah, thought Louise.

  “I’m her slave. Her least wish is my command. Her every wish should certainly be yours,” said Philippe to Catherine.

  It was a reprimand. Catherine’s expression went rigid for a moment, but she swept out onto the colonnade with the three others, all of them imperious and very beautiful in their youth and jewels and shining eyes. The maids of honor followed.

  Will my husband defend my place to others? thought Louise. Does Madame appreciate how much she is loved?

  “Did you see the way the Count de Guiche looked at Madame?” Fanny whispered.

  Below, torches lit the courtyard. Above, there were already a few night stars in the sky. People were looking up, pointing at the new royal couple. There was bowing and laughter and waves. One hand on the iron railing of the colonnade, Henriette waved back.

  “I’d die if he looked that way at me,” said Fanny.

  Louise didn’t answer. There was no point in encouraging Fanny, to whom gossip was second nature. And it wasn’t his friend
, the Count de Guiche, that Monsieur needed to worry about, anyway. Louise had eyes in her head. It was his own brother, the king.

  Chapter 4

  HE BALLROOM WAS ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CHAMBERS in the palace, almost one hundred feet long, light-colored wood highlighted with gilt paint and frescoes, enormous bays, chandeliers whose candles shone like hundreds of twinkling diamonds hanging down inside each. The woods were made a lovely golden honey color by the candlelight, and everywhere were the intricate initials of a former king and his wife and his mistress; everywhere was a carved crescent moon symbolizing that king’s motto: until the crescent has filled the whole dish, symbolizing majesty filling the whole world with the glory of his name. The king who would fill this whole world with the glory of his name hadn’t arrived yet. From the musicians’ gallery, the sound of violin and flute and hautbois spilled down over courtiers like silk ribbons.

  Louise had a moment’s hesitation as she stood on the door’s threshold, a slight pulling back into herself, as always she did at the beginning of any event, but the entrance of Monsieur and Madame before her had created such a stir that she really had only to glide along behind it. She smiled and nodded and kept herself near Fanny, who thrived on events like this, was never at a loss for words. She herself would be fine in a few more moments, particularly after she drank a goblet of wine. Glancing around, she saw her cousin Choisy and waved. He made his way over, grabbing a goblet for her as he did so. He nodded to Fanny as he handed Louise her wine.

  “That cloth flower doesn’t change the fact that I’ve seen this gown before, but the pearl earrings are perfect for your complexion. And this,” Choisy touched the knot of ribbons, “is quite original. The queen’s ladies will be biting the insides of their mouths not to complain. As for this,” he put a forefinger on the patch beside her mouth, “it’s very naughty. The old cats will disapprove, but I love it.” He wore several patches; one in particular was quite unusual, a coach pulled by horses. It covered most of his right cheekbone. There were no earrings tonight, and his hair hung to his shoulders like any other man’s.

  Louise took a drink of wine. “I’ve been thinking—”

  “Thinking?” Choisy interrupted. “Stop that at once. You are here to look beguiling and act vacuous, and don’t forget it. Once you’ve found a husband, you may then find a mind.”

  Trumpets from the music gallery sounded, and everyone stood back to make way for the king and queen, followed by the king’s mother. The queen mother wore black and pearls everywhere. In her day, she had been the best-dressed woman at court. She still dressed splendidly, but no one was watching her anymore. Madame had everyone’s eyes, and after her, the queen. The young queen displayed diamonds in her fair hair and around her neck and at her ears, and her gown was of a pink summer gauze with more diamonds, but her expression was remote and distant.

  “Why doesn’t the queen ever smile?” Fanny whispered.

  “Perhaps she feels shy,” Louise whispered back.

  “Shy?”

  Both Choisy and Fanny hissed the word. It had no meaning for either of them. They were noticed by those nearby, and Fanny glared at Choisy, and he pinched her arm, which made Fanny squeak, which made the king turn in their direction.

  Louise blushed and dropped even lower into the curtsy she was making. If his majesty were to approach them, she knew she wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say to him.

  “Safe,” said Choisy. “Adonis has passed us by.”

  “Who is Adonis?” asked Louise.

  “The king, my ignorant one. I must find you a book of mythology. Didn’t they read in the Orléans household?”

  Fanny shot up out of her curtsy. “If you’ve gotten me in trouble, I will never forgive you.” She flounced away.

  “Remind me to be afraid if she ever becomes important,” Choisy said.

  “I want to ride out tomorrow.” They were riding out nearly every morning while the palace slept. Louise was trying to locate the place where she’d seen the boy in the iron mask.

  “We should stop.” Knowing she would argue and not wishing to, Choisy began to talk of something else. “The dancing is beginning. You’ll be besieged with partners, so save the courante for me.” The courante was a lively dance loved by the king.

  “So, my flower doesn’t change this gown at all?”

  “No one will notice. They won’t be able to get past your shining eyes.”

  He blew a kiss to her. Like Fanny, he was in his element. Another in her element was his mother, who waved to Louise with an imperious ringed hand, and Louise walked over to pay her respects.

  Madame de Choisy kissed her on both cheeks. “You’re looking quite blooming. This,” she tapped her fan on Louise’s shoulder, touching the golden curl, “is lovely. I’m going to instruct my maid to curl my hair so tomorrow, as will every other woman of taste here. That patch is very improper, but I see you’re all wearing them, Monsieur, too. Quite amusing. Anything Madame does must be charming, but perhaps you go too far? Yes? You went swimming today?”

  “We did.”

  “Word is you took your hair down to dry it while sitting in the gardens with gentlemen about.”

  Louise’s mind scattered in a dozen directions. They’d all done it. It had been Madame’s idea. She’d been the first to pull pins from her wet hair and shake herself like a cat, but Louise wasn’t going to say that. It would be tattling.

  “The queen mother has gotten word of it, my dear, and she doesn’t like it. Now you know I’m the last to lecture, but I wouldn’t wish you to get a reputation for being too reckless. You’ve no proper dower and little or no family to protect you.” Madame de Choisy smiled to make her words less stinging. “Now, go away, my beautiful child, and play.”

  Rebuked, however lightly, and feeling it, Louise slipped from the ballroom, found a jutting, angled balcony open to the night, and sat down in one of the chairs placed there. She rubbed her leg. It had healed shorter than the other one from a long-ago fall. The little wooden wedge she wore inside her shoe to make her legs even sometimes caused a deep ache in her hip. She thought about this afternoon, its loveliness, the river so cool on her body, the sun afterward so warm. All the young men, the king among them, full of talk and laughter and flirting, on their great horses beside the carriages that brought them back to court. The king and his gentlemen were like the stallions they rode, gallant and proud and mettlesome, pawing the ground in impatience, shaking their long manes. It was bold to take their hair down while gentlemen were watching, but it had seemed a sweet boldness, tender, somehow, like the breeze playing through the trees. It was an unfurling, ever so gently, that said, see, see how beautiful we are. Her mind went to the searing glance the king had sent Madame’s way, the way his mouth had set so grimly when Monsieur had impetuously kissed her. Danger there. Madame flirted with fire. Perhaps they all did, but it was all so delicious—

  “Miss, what are you doing out here alone? Are you ill?”

  She started. There, with light from the wide foyer framing him, stood the king’s superintendent of finance, he who one day soon, so the world around her whispered, would take the place the late great cardinal had held in the king’s council.

  “Shall I call a servant?” the Viscount Nicolas asked. He looked very grand in a short tight doublet and lace so embroidered in gold that it was almost stiff.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine, really—” Louise stood, but stumbled a little on the shorter leg, and Nicolas caught her by the arm.

  “You’re—”

  “Stupid and clumsy at times, that’s all.” She was appalled at herself. Had the wine already gone to her head? “Thank you, sir, and excuse me—”

  “At least allow me to escort you back inside.” Smiling politely, he held out his hand, and obedient, after all he was a great deal older than she, old enough to be her father, Louise put hers on his.

  “You’re one of Madame’s ladies, aren’t you? Miss Louise de la Baume le Blanc de la Vallière
.”

  The precision of hearing her entire name shocked her. How could he know that? She had lived all her life away from Paris. Her father might have been a nobleman, but he had been a country nobleman who’d never made his way at court. Several of the court ladies—particularly, the Countess de Soissons—had been quite rude to her because of it. She could feel the viscount’s eyes on her, not in the brash way of the other men at court, but all the same assaying her, considering her. She could feel a flush coming into her face. She hated not being able to control it, which made her flush even more.

  “Your father was a soldier, I believe, dying in 1650 or so, and your stepfather serves the Orléans family. You’re very silent, miss,” he said when she didn’t answer.

  She met his eyes. She had no words to tell him that her father was her talisman, his memory one of her sacred treasures, and that to hear him spoken of so unexpectedly moved her almost to tears.

  The viscount had his head tilted to one side as he waited for an answer. His hair was thick and full, like Choisy’s and Monsieur’s, except that theirs was not shot through with silver.

  “Laurent de la Vallière was a noble and decent man,” she heard herself say. “The name is a proud one.” Proud. Unlike her stepfather, who abased himself to the Orléans—which keeps you clothed, her mother would say.

  “So I’ve been told. Are you enjoying court, miss?”

  Again she didn’t answer. He had walked her back into the ballroom, and they stood at the edge of the crowd filling the long, glorious chamber.

  “Here we are. Good-bye, sir,” she said to him.

  “Oh, not good-bye,” the viscount said, and suddenly she could see why Claude had insisted he be in the running for handsomest man at court. He might be old, but his eyes were tender. “Just farewell for this moment. Will you honor me later with a dance?”