Before Versailles (47 page)

Catherine read the words scrawled on the note.

It pains me that you have quarreled with my mother and her majesty, the queen. I don’t want unhappiness among the women I hold dear to my heart
.

“He blames me!” said Henriette. “I hate him!”

Q
UEEN
A
NNE HELD
her fête, a lottery in her gallery, the next evening. Her chambers were soon crowded with courtiers come to enjoy the fun and largesse. Cardinal Mazarin had made lotteries all the fashion, and the gifts he’d given at his had been fantastic. One drew tickets to win anything from diamond earrings to painted fans, or rare crystal goblets or white wax candles or embroidered gloves. These lotteries were staged. Only select personages received the truly magnificent gifts, though Cardinal Mazarin had always insisted that one or two of the prizes go randomly. Let the fates decide, he’d say. The queen mother’s tickets were as exquisite as some of the gifts, hand-painted, scenes of the gardens at Fontainebleau on one side, a large, inked number on the other.

Before the lottery began, everyone settled back to watch another snippet of the ballet Henriette would host in just two weeks. Half the court was dancing in it, and the other half was jealous not to be.

Guy and Henriette danced, wearing the costumes they would wear in the ballet, graceful together, Henriette as light on her feet as some wisp in the wind. All eyes were on her, admiring, and even Philippe, who showed up in the middle with his arm in a sling, applauded when the performance was finished.

Running over to Philippe when their dance had ended, Henriette said, “How was Paris?”

“It’s done me a world of good.”

“Did you miss me?”

“As much as you missed me, I’m certain.”

She touched the sling. “What happened to you?”

“Exuberance unparalleled.”

Henriette stepped back, the ironic tone in his voice unsettling, new between them. “Will you do me the honor to inform me the next time you’re leaving?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m going to flirt only with you this evening,” she cajoled.

“Every man here will hate me.”

She smiled, tossing her head, but inside she was becoming upset. His words were playful, but his eyes weren’t.

Choisy found a seat by Louise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Paris? I’d have sent a note to my mother for you to deliver,” she said.

“Hush, the chamberlain is beginning to call numbers. Look at your ticket.”

“Ohs” and “ahs” and other cries of astonishment filled the gallery as jewelry and wines and porcelain began to be distributed. Maria Teresa held up a large cross of rubies and gold she’d just won.

“What’s the Chevalier de Lorraine won?” asked Choisy, craning his neck to see. They could hear his exclamation from where they sat. “I must see. Come with me?”

“No, I’ll stay where I am.”

Louis looked down at the pair of diamond bracelets his ticket number had won, and then his eyes went to Louise, as they’d done all this evening. Her neck is like a swan’s, thought Louis, rising long and graceful from her shoulders, when she isn’t blushing, that is. If she was an intriguer, she was the best he’d seen, but some instinct told him D’Artagnan was right. She was an innocent, rare at court, true innocence. Acting on impulse, he walked over and stood beside her, wondering if she’d rebuff him again. But she answered his greeting, though that vivid blush of hers began to slowly make its telltale mark. He suppressed a smile at the sight of it.

“Good evening, sire.” Well, Louise thought, my voice is fairly steady.

Louis held out the bracelets.

Louise took them and examined them as gravely as he’d held them out, and then, bracelet in each outstretched hand, she said, “Thank you for allowing me to see them, your majesty. They’re lovely.”

Her lack of coquetry caught him. “Well then, they’re in hands too lovely to return them.”

Louise didn’t answer. He watched a pulse beat in her temple. They continued to stare at each other.

“I can’t accept these.” Louise was unsmiling.

So was he. “You offend me if you don’t.”

“I have to tell you something.”

Both their hearts raced.

“Speak.”

“Not here, your majesty.”

“Where?”

“I’ll slip into the gardens in another few moments. I’ll wait at the bench by the moat at the golden gate, sire.”

“I’m yours to command, Miss de la Baume le Blanc,” but under his politeness, he felt suddenly, wearily, disappointed. Either she was going to confess about the Mazarinades or she was just another flirt, using innocence as her first line of defense. Well, she had a full, ripe mouth. It would be pleasant to taste it because he had no doubt he’d obtain a kiss, and he found he wanted a kiss from her. It would be satisfying to upset that reserve of hers. Stepping away, he hunted down the other young lady from Henriette’s list, Miss de Chimerault, and he sat down beside her and pretended interest in what she’d done that afternoon, but he couldn’t help but search for Louise with his eyes as he talked. He saw that she was not wearing the bracelets, and he frowned, and Chimerault, who had been chattering, swallowed hard, and her eyes became big, and Louis saw that he’d frightened her. He smiled a quick, insincere slash of a smile, and she simpered and fanned herself and promised him things by batting her eyes, and it was all he could do to sit beside her. He preferred Louise’s awkwardness to this smooth silliness. When he could stand it no more, he stood abruptly, made an excuse and found Henriette.

“Do you like my earrings?” Henriette tilted her head so that he could see them.

“Splendid.”

“My kind husband just gave them to me. Now, I’m going to flirt with him tonight, and I don’t want you jealous. He’s been hurt.”

She was both arch and demanding. Louis wanted to shake her. Yes, Philippe has been hurt and by them. Stop playacting, he wanted to say. Be my lover, or end this. Across his mother’s chambers, he saw Philippe, and they looked each other in the eye for the first time this night. On Louis’s desk, in a locked box, sat the report of Philippe’s misadventures these past days. There were descriptions of sexual acts that made Louis close his eyes and stop reading. He didn’t understand his brother, but there was a certain bruised darkness under Philippe’s eyes that cut to the bone.

“I saw you give the bracelets to Miss de la Baume le Blanc. Very sweet,” said Henriette.

“Yes, that’s me.” Louis saw that Louise and one of the maids of honor had slipped out. He excused himself to follow.

O
UTSIDE
, L
OUISE SAT
on a bench with Fanny. When they heard footsteps on the gravel Fanny pulled her hand from Louise’s tight grasp and walked away to stand under a tree some distance away. Louis sat down beside Louise on the cool of the marble bench.

“You don’t wear the bracelets.” It wasn’t what he meant to say.

“I have to tell you something, your majesty, that is going to sound so mad.” Pent-up words spilled out of Louise. “I’ve thought and thought about this, and I know nothing else to do but tell you. The day Cardinal Mazarin died, I was out riding, and a nearly grown boy came running out of the woods, and he wore this iron mask strapped onto his face, and he ran straight at me, and I thought I heard the word ‘Mother’ before my horse reared and I fell—” On and on she went, describing her adventure, her curiosity, her search.

“The musketeer came to the palace and told the Chevalier de Choisy he’d seen saw us out riding. I was not to say a word to anyone about that day I saw the boy, he reminded. Well, if he’d seen us, I thought, that meant I must somehow be close, and since something about the boy haunts me, I didn’t stop searching, but I felt like I was turning in circles. A map, I thought. There must be a map of the area, and I found one in your chamber of books. I copied the map—by the way, I left an inky fingerprint on your leather blotter—I am so sorry, and I will pay for its removal, I promise. So with the map I began to explore the countryside any morning I could. I like to ride, and they all like to sleep late, Madame’s household, I mean, and so no one paid attention to my getting up early. But one day, I found this monastery—”

And then she told him of that, of seeing the youth again, of the musketeer coming to Fontainebleau to accost her directly and demand her silence with threats that still frightened her when she thought of them. When she told Louis of hearing the musketeer call the boy “your highness,” she could sense a sudden tensing in his body.

“Describe the musketeer.”

Louise did so. “I still have the coins. I did spend one, but only one. All the others are still there, but the thing is, the Viscount Nicolas’s men caught me on his property—it adjoins the monastery—and they took me to his house and he questioned me.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing I’ve told you, just that I was lost. He thought—” Louise stopped.

“What did he think?”

“That I was flirting, perhaps. That I’d come onto his property on purpose.”

“Had you?”

“Of course not, your majesty.”

“So he questioned you?”

“Yes, but I told him nothing. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

He took her hands. The way his heart leapt at his touching them shocked him, and he spoke over the shock. “I thank you for telling me this. And I thank you for your discretion.”

She pulled her hands away.

“In a day or so, I’m going to ask you to lead me to the monastery. Will you do that?”

“Of course. Anything you request, your majesty. I’m your servant in all ways.”

Before he could say another word, she had darted up from the bench and was running away. He could hear her steps in the gravel. He looked down at where she’d been sitting. There were the bracelets. He put them into his pocket and went back into the ballroom. He sat down by Maria Teresa, who clutched his hand in hers. She had been like a clinging vine all day.

Highness. That meant royal blood of some kind. What was a prince doing in an iron mask? Even your best friend may betray you, his beloved cardinal had explained. Maria Teresa chatted about the letter she’d received from her father, and Louis half-listened. He already knew its contents. There was nothing she received from Spain or anywhere else that he had not seen first. Nor would there ever be. He was very aware that Louise was not among the young women who managed to walk back and forth in front of where he sat so that he couldn’t miss seeing them. He stood up in the middle of one of his wife’s sentences, an expression on his face that sent D’Artagnan running to him.

Maria Teresa stopped speaking, stared up at him. “I’ve displeased?” Her mouth trembled.

Her love, her need, strangled. “No, little heart,” he said in Spanish. “I just remembered something I must do.” He turned to D’Artagnan, whispered an order. “From this moment on, I want to know precisely where Miss de la Baume le Blanc is.”

That will be three of us, thought D’Artagnan.

And then Louis sat down again, hoping he hadn’t revealed too much to the watching eyes, making his own eyes hooded and blank, like some fierce young bird of prey’s.

Chapter 24