Before Versailles (56 page)

“You must behave yourself,” she said. “You’re making my maid of honor sigh too much. Look at her.” And she pointed in Louise’s direction. “She’s drooping, as am I.” She met his eyes directly, no smile now upon her face.

“Who else shall I flirt with, my very dear sister? Your wish is my command.”

“I can still command? I thought my power over you less.”

He didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.

Henriette watched as he crossed the ballroom. I’m losing him, she thought. She felt like weeping, but one didn’t weep in public. How delighted the queen mother must be. She must swallow tears for hours yet, and so she sashayed over to Guy and demanded that he dance with her. She knew she shouldn’t encourage him, but what was in Guy’s eyes was flattering. What was in Louis’s these days was painful.

Louis went to Fanny, who rose up so abruptly that the chair she was sitting in fell over. He escorted her to one of the arches in the ballroom. “During supper I wish to speak with Miss de la Baume le Blanc. Will you escort her to the bench we met at last week?”

“Oh, yes, of course, whatever you ask—” Fanny babbled, still talking, even after he’d bowed and walked away. Holy Mother of God, thought Fanny, was he in love with Louise? A glimpse of the riches and regard that lay ahead showed itself in Fanny’s mind. The world was about to be placed at Louise’s feet.

Louis danced with others before, finally, he allowed himself to ask Louise to dance. She was very pale and didn’t meet his eyes once. It was all he could do not to drag her out onto the balcony and kiss her until she begged him to stop. He felt so protective of her, of her nervousness, that he scowled, even though he knew he had caused her distress, and courtiers, watching, all felt sorry for Miss de la Baume le Blanc, who clearly had few social graces. As the dance ended, and the final notes of the violins spilled over the musicians’ gallery, he and she faced each other in the final position of the dance.

“I must speak with you later,” he said.

“Oh, no,” she answered.

Crushed, for a moment he couldn’t think. “It isn’t a request,” he said.

What happened next was a blur. He knew he was walking about the chamber, dancing with other women, with his wife again. He knew he was talking with this person and that, greeting the viscount and his wife, who was in from Paris. Everyone knew that the viscount had brought the king money that afternoon. He was like a blazing sun. All eyes followed him. Everyone wanted at least a word with him.

“The oddest thing, your majesty,” said Nicolas, “there’s a mysterious tale circulating through Paris that your Grays took monks to the Bastille.”

Gone was dismay about Louise. Louis was instantly alert. Was the viscount on the scent already?

“That monastery near Vaux-le-Vicomte burned down. Surely you didn’t have the monks there arrested for accidentally destroying good wine?” Nicolas continued. People standing with them laughed.

“One of them came to the palace begging aid, and I sent my men to put out the fire, but they were too late. The Grays were in Paris to take the unfortunate boys to convents. The monks are on their way, at my expense, to Rome.”

“Bravo, your majesty,” cried Nicolas’s wife. “How generous of you. I’ll be the first to give something toward the reestablishment of their monastery.”

“I knew there was a good explanation,” said Nicolas.

“You must allow me the honor of dancing with your charming wife,” Louis said. He heard himself make polite conversation with the viscountess, who wanted to talk all about the monks and must compliment him again and again on his kindness to them. He returned her to Nicolas, standing now with Catherine, who wore bold, scarlet feathers in her hair.

“My dear,” said Nicolas to his wife, “I believe you know the Princess de Monaco.”

Louis went to his friends, Vivonne and Péguilin and Vardes. “Make certain the viscountess has partners for every dance until the dancing ends,” he told them. “See that she has an escort for supper.”

Later, as people crowded toward a table where food was piled in high pyramids and the amount of silver serving pieces was dazzling, one of Nicolas’s most reliant spies bustled forward, a certain Madame du Plessis-Bellièvre, plump and gray, her manner so innocuous, so kindly, that people were always telling her things they shouldn’t. She sat down by Nicolas. “His lieutenant of the musketeers hasn’t been seen.”

“Where is he?”

“No one knows. There was some kind of special mission, just a few days ago. The whole company left the palace in the evening and didn’t return until the following day. Our loyal lieutenant never returned at all.”

Monks and musketeers yet again, thought Nicolas. Now why would Lieutenant d’Artagnan not return from the fire? She left him, and here now was Catherine, those crimson head feathers furling against one silky cheek.

“And who was that?” she asked.

“Someone from my home province, an old friend. Surely you’ve met her. Her son-in-law is his majesty’s commander in the Mediterranean.”

“Your wife is charming,” Catherine said, glancing back toward the dancing, where Nicolas’s wife moved and swayed, jewels as glittering as the crystal drops of two chandeliers.

“She will be gratified to hear so.”

“There’s dismay in paradise. Madame cried half the day yesterday, and she hasn’t been alone with him for days. You men really are too cruel to us poor creatures who adore you so.”

“I hear Lieutenant d’Artagnan is missing from action.”

“Visiting his wife in Paris, no doubt.”

“No doubt. But if you should hear otherwise, you will let me know?”

He watched Madame, surrounded by admirers, his majesty among them. Had their affair died already? Words from a song he’d heard the king sing only a few days earlier came into his head. His majesty had played the guitar and sung the words in a low, sweet tenor. No one watching could conceive the young king capable of guile. Perfidiousness underlay the heights he and the king operated from. Could it be that his majesty already understood that? Meet me by moonlight alone, he’d sung in his tender voice, I would show to the night flowers their queen, nay, turn not aside that sweet head—’tis the fairest that ever was seen, then meet me by moonlight alone.

F
INALLY, IT WAS
time for supper, and courtiers crowded around the tables set in chambers down the hall from the ballroom. Food spilled over silver trays, pigeon and braised quail, turkey served with partridges, ham, tarts, truffles. Louis saw that Maria Teresa, her plate full to brimming, was talking to someone with her mouth half-f as she fed her dwarves, as usual, with her own fingers, dropping food into their open mouths as if they were dogs.

He shut his eyes to the sight and half-ran down servants’ steps into his gatehouse, his special entrance to his courtyard, stepping out the door cut into the wooden gates, and there Louise was, sitting on a bench with Fanny, who immediately flitted somewhere out of sight. Louise stood up at the sight of him.

“See that we’re not disturbed,” he told his musketeer.

He felt uncertain. Did she find him distasteful? Boorish? Wasn’t that what Madame called Guy? A boor? He searched for something to say. His mind was empty. Boldness deserted him. Cure me, he thought, as you do my animals. Be my darling, my beloved. Take my heart in your tender hands and cherish it. Heal it.

She peered at him, not smiling. Her face was mainly shadow, but there was enough light from a nearby torch to see some expression. My flirting hurts her, he thought. And then words just fell from his mouth. “Tell me how to talk to you. I so want to talk to you, and it seems that all I do is make mistakes.”

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

“I love you.”

“Don’t say that!” Before she could run, he grabbed her by the wrist. “I’m not pretty enough! I’m not clever enough! You’ll tire of me in a fortnight, and it will break my heart!” she said.

“Why will it break your heart?” He didn’t let go. His eyes didn’t leave her face, the shadows and light playing over it. “Do you—could you care for me?”

Her expression became disbelieving, almost disdainful. She has feelings for me, he thought. “Sit down.” He was urgent, at his most coaxing. “Hear me. Trust me, please. I would never hurt you, never.”

Louise sat down, on the very edge of the bench, and he let go of her wrist.

“What do you want?”

Her voice sounded despairing. How serious her expression was. No flirtation, not the least flutter. No guile, as Choisy had warned. To love you, to worship you, to adore you, to take care of you. The words were there on his lips, but he couldn’t say them. The truth was if he truly wished to protect her, he wouldn’t ask her to be his mistress. There was pride, precedent, history, in being the king’s mistress. It was a position of power, but she was too gentle. The sudden conflict between desire and chivalry silenced him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but, oh Merciful God in heaven, he wanted her, so he sat silent, knowing he should be saying loving words; he knew the lines of a hundred ballads, poems, he could recite to her, but at this moment, not a one came to mind.

He heard the rustle of her gown as she made a movement, felt her hand touch his, gently, delicately, a thing of beauty, that simple touch, and again, such a turmoil of feeling was in him that he could not speak. Her kind gesture moved him. All his life he had used silence to escape, to buy time, and later, after he had learned how his lack of words affected people, to intimidate when often it was he himself who was intimidated. But there was no motive to his lack of words now. His quiet came from an impulse to love so immeasurable he couldn’t express it. He was nothing at this moment but a young man in the presence of someone he was growing to adore, and behind the adoration was the amazed certainty that he could lay his beating, desirous, tumultuous human heart in her hands, and she would not drop it. His throat hurt from all that he wasn’t saying, but her silence was easy to bear, unquestioning. No performance was required from him. He shut his eyes to that gift. Had there ever been a moment in his life when he had not had to perform?

“I can’t love lightly.”

She whispered the words. She’s warning me, he thought. Protectiveness rose, the lion in him coming to attention. All his instincts were to shelter, to aid, to spread his cloak before her so that her shoes should never touch dirt. He would keep the world at bay. She was not a brittle court creature, able to survive the envy and hatred, to thrive on it, as others did—not Henriette, of course. Here his thoughts stumbled, fell over themselves like buffoons in a play. He would deal with Henriette later. He brought Louise’s hand to his lips. The moment his lips touched her, desire took him. He saw himself biting the flesh his lips touched, turning her palm over and licking it, but he stopped himself. “Will you at least consider my regard? I know that to return it means much sacrifice for you, but I swear I would guard you from any harm. My love for you is not light, not facile.”

He thought she nodded her head, before she rose and walked away, her tread light upon the gravel of the road to the stables. He remained where he was. If he should be so fortunate as to win her love, there must be a way love might be consummated without hurt to her. As it was, she was now under his protection. Should she reject him—anger rose here, fiery, a panther’s night scream—should she reject him, he would see that anything she desired was hers, that she had a position at court beyond maid of honor, that offices and salaries of some kind were hers, that her husband—Merciful God, the thought of that word made his jaw clench—was a good man, worthy of her.

Worthy of her.

Pray God he could be that himself.

T
HE CARRIAGES HAD
been rolled out of the stables and lurched now to the landscape canal for a night’s drive. The queen mother hadn’t managed to squelch the nightly trysts. Henriette sat in hers with only Catherine across from her. She sat near the window opening, waiting.

And then there Louis was, his horse seeming to dance up beside the carriage. In another moment, he’d dismounted and was inside, his horse trotting obediently alongside.