Before Versailles (29 page)

B
UT HER CALMNESS
frayed when Philippe didn’t arrive to escort her to the night’s festivities.

The maids of honor, gowned and jeweled, clustered restlessly in the antechamber. Every one of them knew something was wrong. It was in the air.

Guy marched into the antechamber and told a footman to announce him.

In her bedchamber, Henriette said, “No!”

“Yes.” Catherine spoke over her.

Guy walked in. Chambermaids were whisking away refused gowns, and spaniels were worrying a high-heeled shoe, and the dressing table displayed its feminine welter of ribbons and abandoned jewels and small silver jars.

“Where’s Monsieur?” Catherine asked.

“I come in his place to offer Madame my escort.” No one who knew Guy would believe him capable of embarrassment, but to Catherine, who knew him better than all others, he looked embarrassed.

“He won’t escort her, will he?” Catherine said. “I swear I could strike you a hundred times over. You’ve ruined us!”

“The viper known as the Chevalier de Lorraine has added his bitterness to the brew,” said Guy.

“What does that mean?” Henriette spoke for the first time since Guy had entered her bedchamber.

“The chevalier is a mincing, vicious fool,” answered Catherine.

“A very dangerous, very acute fool,” corrected Guy.

“I’m not going.” Henriette looked around blindly for a chair to fall into.

“You must,” said Guy.

“He’s right,” agreed Catherine.

Henriette looked from one handsome face to the other. These were the sophisticates of court. If she didn’t trust them, whom did she trust? Guy held out his arm. Henriette put one gloved hand on it.

“I could weep,” she said.

“I am desolated that I have caused this—”

“Don’t speak to me!”

Hating himself, the ache in his chest for her even deeper, Guy made a small, imperceptible movement of despair before he led Henriette and his sister into the antechamber.

The maids of honor whispered among themselves as they followed behind.

“There’s been a quarrel. It’s her behavior,” said Claude.

“Nonsense,” Fanny hissed with all the authority she could summon.

“If there’s disgrace, no one will dance with us,” said Madeleine.

“Everyone will dance with us,” said Fanny. “And what’s more, they won’t know anything is wrong unless we tell them. No one is to breathe a word that they’ve quarreled. Is that clear?”

“Who crowned her the queen?” Claude whispered, but not loud enough for Fanny to hear. Louise, however, did.

“It’s about loyalty,” she told Claude.

I
N THE BALLROOM
, Philippe, his expressive face grim, stood with his cousin, La Grande Mademoiselle, his mother, and his friend the Chevalier de Lorraine. When he saw Guy walk in with Henriette, he flinched.

Anne opened her fan with a snapping sound. “I’ve always thought the Count de Guiche had the most divine manners when he wished to display them. He does what you ought to have done.”

“What ought you to have done?” asked La Grande, significant in diamonds that rivaled the queen mother’s, obtuse to the private drama unfolding around her.

Anne motioned, and Guy made his way toward her, dragging Henriette along with him.

“I can’t,” she said.

“You can, and you will.”

Anne kissed Henriette resoundingly on both cheeks, and said, a pleased smile on her face, “Do sit down here by me, my dear. I don’t see enough of you. Monsieur and I were just discussing how lovely you look these days. You know, my dear, I think I will accompany you tomorrow if you choose to go swimming with your ladies. I’ve been hiding away too long. Some hours at the river, the water, the sun, they’ll do me good.”

“How-how very kind,” said Henriette.

“My dear Grande Mademoiselle will join our party. She was just complaining she’s not had time to know you better. We must remedy that. I predict you are going to be fast friends as well as the dear cousins you already are.”

Fifteen years on and off at the same court weren’t enough time? thought Henriette. She met the eyes of her overbearing, enormously wealthy giant of a cousin and knew that La Grande cared as little about a friendship as Henriette did. The queen mother was erecting a cage for her bar by bar, surrounding her with tattletales. Henriette clenched her jaw in rebellion.

“May I speak with you privately, Monsieur?” Guy nodded in the direction of an empty ballroom bay. Dripping in lace and ribbons and angel-faced curiosity, the Chevalier de Lorraine followed, but Guy spat the word “alone” at him.

When they were in the bay, Philippe said, “How dare you!”

“How dare you! She is your wife; the honor of your house rests with her, and you act like a cad.”

“You’re the one who—”

Trumpets interrupted to herald the king’s entrance.

Maria Teresa’s hand on his arm, her ladies displayed behind her like a peacock’s tail, Louis looked around the ballroom, seeking and finding his brother, whose expression he understood instantly. Philippe was furious, rage stirred to burning no doubt by the Count de Guiche or that pest from Paris, the Chevalier de Lorraine. Louis found his mother. She had a smile pasted on her face, but she clutched her fan convulsively. Watch your mother’s hands, Mazarin had always said. They give away everything.

Louis went to his mother, Maria Teresa at his side. Henriette didn’t meet his eyes but held out her hand to him. He kissed the air just above it and then leaned forward and kissed each of her cheeks.

“Don’t shrink from me,” he whispered.

Before Henriette was even certain she’d heard him, he walked to the bay holding his brother and Guy, his purpose to greet his brother and kiss him, also. Any other night, Philippe would have been full of himself to have Louis make such a display; his majesty kissed no other man, but Philippe’s expression remained openly furious. Guy stood behind Philippe, his stalwart defender, thought Louis. Suddenly, though he’d come to soothe the turmoil made by his own behavior, he knew Guy had had a hand in it, and then, his anger was up.

“I demand a place on your council,” Philippe said. “I’m a prince of the blood. Precedence and law require my presence on your council. I could be of service, brother.”

“Majesty,” Louis corrected. “You must address me as ‘your majesty.’ You want to be of service? The way you were when I almost died?”

“Do you ever forget? Do you ever allow missteps in others? There was nothing traitorous in my actions. You were on your deathbed—”

“You hate that, don’t you? That I didn’t die?”

“What kind of monster do you suppose I am? You’re my liege lord. If it were God’s will that I be king, I would be! I believe that with all my heart. May God strike me dead if I have ever done anything to harm you, if I have ever plotted against you, my brother!”

“Majesty,” Louis said again. Across one of Philippe’s shoulders, he met Guy’s eyes.

Guy had never allowed Louis to win at anything simply because he was king. The rivalry between them had a life of its own, and at this moment, it was a stiff-legged, growling presence. You told him this was the moment to ask directly for his place on the council, thought Louis. How clever you are.

From the musicians’ loft, violins began their thin, piercing sweetness. Louis left them, walked back across the open space of the ballroom to take his wife’s hand for the opening dance. The next couple in rank, Monsieur and Madame, must join the king and queen, and then, after a measure or three, other couples might.

“You did beautifully just now. I was proud. Now take Madame out onto the dance floor.” Guy spoke very quietly to Philippe.

“No!”

“If you don’t, I will do it, then drag you into the courtyard and beat you senseless.”

“You told me—”

“I was mistaken. Do you hear me? I lied!”

Philippe blinked. This was the one man, other than his brother, whom he trusted in a way he did no one else.

“I am jealous of your happiness with her. I’m a little in love with her myself, so I took his majesty’s admiration and exaggerated it. It isn’t honorable or kind, but there it is. Go and repair the damage I’ve done this day by disparaging her. She’s done nothing amiss except to be beguiling to one and all. I beg you. On our friendship and our long regard for one another, I beg you, sir.”

Philippe walked across the ballroom floor to Henriette and bowed. At a measure when others had finally filled the floor with dancing couples, Henriette said, “I know that certain people are saying the most vile things of me. I wept all day. But to think that you would believe them—I am desolate.”

In one of the bays, Louise and Fanny watched Madame and Monsieur.

“It’s like a play,” Fanny said to Louise.

Louise moved away, went to one of the open windows. A breeze gently breathed on her. I can smell the forest, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment. Under its green canopy, she felt safe, comforted, at home. There was a part of her that flourished here, where there was no glitter, frivolity, no deceit.

She turned around to face the ballroom. And yet I would miss this, she thought. Can there be any world as wonderful as this one? How fortunate I am to be here. The candlelight from the chandeliers made the wood a clear, sweet golden color. The paint in the frescoes seemed as clear as if it had been brushed on yesterday. The gilt covering another king’s initials and mottoes sparkled. The sighing sound of the violins, the swirling of skirts as women turned in dance movements, were beautiful. Everything seemed so gracious, so refined, so civilized.

But it wasn’t.

A
THÉNAÏS FOUND HER
brother lounging with his friends in a hall near the ballroom’s entrance. She stopped a moment as sets of eyes regarded her. There was enough maleness in the small space to frighten another woman. The little queen was terrified of the king’s friends. Too bold, she said. But they haven’t done anything, someone, usually Olympe, would answer. Their eyes do things, the queen would respond. Her brother kissed Athénaïs’s cheek, walked her near the huge entrance doors, the violins above in the musicians’ loft very loud.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she accused.

Vivonne was big and lazy. “What have I done?”

“His majesty is in love.”

His face closed, just like that. Now, he didn’t seem so lazy. Athénaïs wanted to slap him.

“Are you in love?” he said, really looking at her face, really trying to understand her. “With him?”

Fool, she thought. Every woman under the age of thirty is in love with the king. She didn’t bother to answer, walked back into the ballroom, passing Louise de la Baume le Blanc looking particularly lissome tonight in the gown she wore, standing dreamily, one shoulder against the corner of a bay. Louise didn’t seem to see her, was staring out at the dancers, staring at his majesty. All of us, Vivonne, she wanted to shout. We’re every single one of us in love.

Chapter 13