Before Versailles (30 page)

Y MIDNIGHT, THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE BALLROOM HAD
become lighthearted again. Madame and Monsieur’s quarrel had vanished, taking sourness with it. The court was young. Those who had suspected trouble early in the evening had already forgotten it. Madame and Monsieur had danced together so many times that everyone was talking about it. It was almost scandalous for a husband to be so openly in love with his wife.

“My dance, I believe.” Choisy led Louise away from her friends. “How is life in the household of Madame these days?” he asked, and Louise knew at once that he knew more than he should.

“Well and happy.”

“His majesty certainly seems taken with Madame.”

“Yes, he is very fond of her.”

“Oh, more than fond, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, she’s so delightful, I think everyone is in love with her a little.” How easily I lie, thought Louise. Perhaps I’m more at home here than I know.

“M
IGHT
I
TEMPT
you with a late supper in my chambers later?” Nicolas stood with Catherine near one of the bronze satyrs that bracketed one end of the ballroom.

“Why not here? Why not now?” Catherine asked without turning around.

Nicolas felt his breath catch.

“Come to the Étampes bedchamber.”

The bedchamber was on this floor, down a hall, and had belonged to a suite of rooms built for a king’s mistress, rooms that were seldom used these days.

Knowing better than to follow immediately, Nicolas walked over to Anne, who hadn’t retired as was her habit when Maria Teresa had earlier. All around, young people flirted and laughed and talked to everyone but the queen mother, who sat like some forgotten relic upon a high altar.

“I have some news for you,” he told her, very softly. “He goes to the queen’s bed later every night, but it seems he meets only with the officious Colbert. What do you know of that, your majesty?” He had other information at his disposal. His majesty was not confessing, had not been for several weeks. But this was not information he would share, unless it became necessary.

“It means nothing to me,” Anne answered.

“It might mean something to me. Will you be kind enough to honor me by sharing any word that might satisfy my curiosity?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Anne might be grieving, but she was not toothless.

“Ah, but then a cat in gloves catches no mice.” Nicolas smiled his easy smile, but he was suddenly angry inside at all that royalty took for granted. If both he and the king abandoned her, she might as well go to a convent and spend the remainder of her days in fruitless prayer. She wouldn’t be the first queen mother sent into exile or seclusion.

“I take my upset out on you. Forgive me,” Anne said.

“Always.” He bowed, the anger hidden.

“Wait.” She made certain no one was standing close enough to hear, then said, “Would you like to be chancellor?”

For a moment, he didn’t think he’d heard her correctly. It was beyond anything he’d thought of.

“Yes,” said Anne. “He spoke of it to me this very afternoon. I think you can rest easy about your situation with him.”

Nicolas walked down the hall toward the bedchamber feeling as if a hundred anxieties had fallen from his shoulders. Chancellor of France. It was higher than he’d imagined in his wildest dreams. He stepped into the dark that was the chamber.

“Close and bar the door,” he heard Catherine say, but he couldn’t see a thing.

“Where are you?” he said, when he’d done as she asked.

“The bed,” she answered.

Slowly, he groped his way forward.

“Stop,” she said.

He listened to interesting rustles. She was lighting candles, not many, two or three that threw only a little light in the dark all around them. But the shape of the bed was visible, and when he walked closer, he saw a pool of fabric on the rug nearby. It was her gown. He stepped to the edge of the bed. She sat like a queen in its middle, except that she was completely naked.

L
OUIS WAS DANCING
with Henriette again. She had been avoiding him all night, nervous and ill at ease when he’d asked her for another. “Perhaps we shouldn’t—” she began.

He interrupted her because he was afraid for her to finish her sentence. “Dance? Why ever not? We enjoy it. We always dance four or five dances.”

“People are saying—”

“I know exactly what people are saying. Don’t you dare draw back from me, Henriette. You smile at me the way you always have. Even more so. Trust me in this.”

She smiled, her wide, engaging smile, but her mouth trembled, and he could see tears at the corners of her eyes. The strain of the day, of the evening, was showing.

“Jewel of my heart,” he heard himself say, “if you wish to break with me, you have only to tell me. I would never presume—”

“It’s just that everyone seems to be watching.”

“And what do they see, but a brother who loves his sister? Don’t abandon me, abandon our love. I can’t bear it. I’ll protect you in this. I promise.”

She didn’t reply, and the dance was finished, and he walked her to her place near his mother and went to find someone else to dance with. But he was in shock. Was she going to end it before it was even begun? How would he endure that?

Anne, who had watched every move Henriette made all through the evening, but particularly when she was with Louis, turned to Henriette and said, “Wonderful news. Word of your acclaim is everywhere. My most dear friend, the Duchess of Chevreuse, has sent a letter saying she just must meet you.”

“Must she?”

“I’ve decided a visit the day after tomorrow would be perfect. We’ll be there for a while. A little hint from me. Too much frivolity can hinder conceiving a child. You look as tired as I feel. I’m off to bed. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”

You meddling hag, watching me like a hawk, thought Henriette.

Anne gave her daughter-in-law a long, steady, warning look before she kissed her good night on each cheek and retired with her ladies.

Are you threatening me? thought Henriette. Do you think if I’m out of his sight, I’m out of his mind? I have only to raise my little finger, and he’s at my feet. And a new expression appeared on Henriette’s face, one that even her most avid admirer could have only described as mulish.

Across the chamber, pretending not to watch, Louis put a hand over his heart covered by his soft shirt and doublet. His chest literally hurt. Why had he brought up his near death to Philippe? Why did that stay in his heart? Had he become so wary that there was no one he trusted? Would not even Henriette’s love soften the hardness collecting under his hand? His brother had been a madcap these last hours, delightful and funny in a frenzied way, extravagantly courting his wife, leading the young court out of doors now for who knew what. I owe you an apology, he’d said quickly, softly, to Louis, during some moment in the evening. Louis could have borne outright accusation better than the sight of what was in his brother’s eyes, renewed trust, but also hurt somewhere beyond it.

Chapter 14

HILIPPE SWALLOWED PAST THE LUMP IN HIS THROAT, CONCENTRATED
hard on not weeping like a woman and thus causing more talk this night. At least there had been none of the caustic titters that his behavior often summoned. He concentrated on what he’d done well this night: asked Louis for what he wanted, apologized to his brother and to his own wife. Both had been difficult to do, in spite of the fact, as his confessor had warned him, that the gossip had all been lies, exaggerations. Majesty, said Louis in his cool, correcting tone. I hate him, Philippe thought, and the thought made him ill, something else to confess and repent. Under the hate was choking love and an admiration that Louis allowed only in measured amounts. Below him in the courtyard the court assembled. Was his wife unfaithful? No. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he let this go? The court waited for him to organize their fun. Trying to outwit emotions with their wide, painful swing, their guilt and self-reproach, Philippe ran down the straight, wide outside steps. He ran past Guy.

Guy watched as Philippe clapped his hands to summon courtiers around him, commanded a gondola race among them, watched as Henriette declined to join it. The expression on Philippe’s face struck Guy to the heart, and Guy’s heart was hard, not easily moved, bent on its own pleasure most of the time.

Where to find a place to talk? thought Guy. There was the summer pavilion at one end of the pond, its lanterns summoning. Gondolas were lining up near the queen mother’s terrace. In another few moments, he and Philippe had boarded one, and Guy, abandoning the other racers, was poling them toward the little open-air pavilion at the far end of the pond. Several bottles of wine were in the gondola’s bottom.

“What are you doing?” asked Philippe. “The race starts from over there.”

“I must apologize to you more fully than I have. I was wrong to say the things I did to you, wrong to make you unhappy and suspicious. You know what a devil I can be. Well, I’ve outdone myself this day. There isn’t a penance large enough in the world for me to pay, and I’d give anything to take back my words. Your conduct makes me respect you even more. I was so proud of you tonight, the way you made up with Madame, the way you spoke to his majesty. I don’t know when I’ve been prouder.” Guy didn’t look at Philippe as he spoke, just pushed the long pole in and out of the water.