Enchantress of Paris (30 page)

He chuckled. “If I shine, it is because you lit me from within.” He held open his hand.

In his palm was a pair of earrings. Seven round and pear cut diamonds were set in a quatrefoil pattern in each one. More diamonds encrusted the bell caps, suspending the biggest pearl drops I'd ever seen.

“Are these your mother's?”

“Were.” He watched as I carefully put them in my ears. “They belonged to Queen Marie de Medici before her. Now they belong to you.”

“Jewels for a queen.” It seemed fitting that they would return to an Italian for the next reign. As if it were destiny.

“There will be more.” He planted a kiss on the tip of my nose. “For you will soon
be
queen.”

*   *   *

Past the walls of Paris, the countryside hills gave way to the manicured gardens of Château de Berny. Hugues de Lionne stood on the front steps with an array of courtiers already arrived. He gestured to his trumpeters. A fanfare of cheers and trumpet blasts arose, but the king did not turn to receive Lionne's welcome until he'd taken my hand to help me down from his carriage. Oh, the looks on their faces when they saw us—our matching attire, our diamonds and pearls, and the pinched face of my governess as she scrambled behind us without the king's regard—I would never forget it! These French saw me as too low-born for their king. They hated my uncle and my hot Italian blood. But they curtsied and bowed for
both
of us this night. Because I had the king's arm, I had his ear, and soon I would share his throne.

The king greeted our host, then spoke to me. “Lionne here has promised the most spectacular evening of our lives. Do you think he can succeed?”

“We've had our share of spectacular evenings,” I replied with a grin.

“Quite right. Quite right,” said the king, leading me past Lionne and into the château.

His subjects wasted no time hitching up their skirts and holding on to their scabbards and hastening after us. We gathered in the shade of hundreds of orange trees to hear Lionne's orchestra give a lively concert while we drank syllabubs. King Louis applauded and said for his retinue to hear, “That was almost as enjoyable as listening to Marie Mancini sing and play the guitar.”

The château's little theater could only accommodate half the guests, who jostled and fought to follow us in. I sat by the king in the front row to watch a comedy. We laughed, we applauded, and at the end the king remarked, “Marie Mancini can memorize an entire play, recite the lines of every part, and still pull off the jokes with more flair.”

After sunset, in the avenues between the
parterres
of the front garden, Lionne bid his guests to sit for a lavish supper. The queen mother sat with us, her expression impervious. The cardinal kept silent. Don Antonio de Pimentel appeared, causing a flurry of talk at every table. I tried to ignore him, but he sat between Mazarin and Lionne. King Louis insisted I sit at his right hand at the royal table, and he kissed me after the artichoke soup, the orange salad, and again after the duck confit. As we finished sugared almond cakes, the king said, “That was splendid fare, but not so sweet as the taste of my Marie Mancini's lips.”

We traipsed through the house to the courtyard that met the canal, and descended the steps into gondolas festooned with torches and flowers. With wine-filled Venetian goblets in hand, and a violinist serenading at the foot of our gondolier, we reclined on blue satin cushions and glided along the canal. Fireworks in gold, red, green, and blue burst overhead, raining their sparkling colors. But King Louis paid no attention.

“Won't you watch the fireworks?” I asked.

This time he spoke for my ears only. “They're far more dazzling reflected in your eyes.”

Back in the courtyard, Lionne commenced a ball. The queen mother declined to dance, and King Louis politely opened the dancing with Mademoiselle. Then he gestured for me, saying loudly, “I'll partner with no one else tonight but my Marie Mancini.”

The queen mother watched from her armchair with her husband-cardinal and Pimentel standing by, watching our every move. We danced the gigue, the tarantella, the forlana, then we danced them all again in double time. We danced until the black horizon paled to blue with the imminent sunrise.

When we were finally delirious with exhaustion, we stumbled back through the château to the front gardens and the king's carriage. Pimentel's glare was like a hot poker boring into me.

King Louis didn't notice. “Lionne, you were right. This was indeed the most spectacular evening I've ever enjoyed,” he said, as everyone gathered to bid us farewell. He spoke for all to hear. “But that is understandable, since I spent it in the company of my Marie Mancini.”

He might as well have poured golden honey all over me, his promotion had been so blatant. But to see their faces—those fickle courtiers! They applauded as we climbed into the king's carriage. They congratulated an exhausted-looking Lionne for his successful fête. As Venelle climbed into the carriage behind us, I could just make out in the garden torchlight one face that didn't feign flattery. Pimentel looked like he might breathe fire.

 

CHAPTER
38

Cardinal Mazarin answered that he was master of Marie, and would stab her to the heart, sooner than elevate her.

—MADAME DE MOTTEVILLE'S MEMOIRS

I'd fallen into bed at dawn, expecting to sleep until after noon. But midmorning, I awoke to a terrible crash. I sat up, clutching my coverlet to my chest. My uncle stormed through my bedchamber, knocking the dishes and bowls of unguents off my dressing table. They broke and splattered on the floor.

He noticed me sitting up and pointed to the mess. “What potions are you brewing here?”

“They are merely face paints.” I leapt from the bed in full alarm. “Facial plasters and beauty elements. Nothing bad, Uncle, I swear.”

He poked a manicured finger into a pot of rouge, then sniffed it. “You've become a slave to vanity and pride?”

All the excitement and hope from the prior evening evaporated.

He wiped off the rouge with one of my handkerchiefs, then touched the Mirror of Portugal, resting in its casket on my toilette table. He grinned, then slammed the casket closed and tucked it under his arm. “Search her things.”

The Cardinal's Guards swept in, opening trunks and cabinets, shaking out books, and looking into every pot and jar in the chamber.
He is searching for an excuse to confine me.
I tried not to look at the guard rifling through my
cassone.
I bit my lip as he tossed out my linen underclothes. Finally the guard held up a lace garter, saying, “There's nothing here.”

Mazarin stepped to me and whispered, “Where is your father's book?”

I struggled to hide my astonishment.
Does Mazarin use my father's necromancy books?
I didn't move, not even to blink. “What book?”

Mazarin moved away and tossed me a
robe de chambre.
“You managed to make a good show of yourself.”

I hastily wrapped the robe around myself with new fear of my uncle's power.

Mazarin went on as if he'd never mentioned the book. “Good enough to perpetuate the war I keep trying to end.”

“Did you expect me to crawl under some rock?”

“You mistake me, Marie. I knew full well what you would do. And I let you.” He laughed, and the sound had a triumphant ring.

I felt a sinking sensation in my gut.

“How did you expect the Spanish dignitary to respond when you started prancing around like the Queen of France? You know the marriage article is in the treaty.”

“That article is coming out.”

“But it isn't out yet. You've endangered the entire treaty by threatening that single article. Shame on you for making the king seem untrustworthy. Now you'll pay.”

“I won't discuss this without the king present.”

“This is not something
you
will discuss at all. This is my peace treaty, and my word is final.”

The guards finished their search and awaited orders.

Every fiber within me twitched. “You cannot send me away! King Louis will not allow it.”

“He won't allow it
yet.
” He turned to the guards. “Give her one hour to pack. Deliver her to the Mancini apartments at the Louvre and stand watch. She sees no one without my permission.”

“What is this?” I wanted to claw his face.

He shrugged. “It's time I started to keep a closer watch on you, supervise your activities better. I must prove to Pimentel I have you under control. What better way than to bring you into closer quarters with me?”

“But it's also closer to the king's quarters.”

“And
all
those courtiers with their watchful eyes. Besides, it will simplify things when it's time for you and King Louis to say farewell.”

He glanced around one last time, ignoring my shock, then walked out quietly. The guards started filing out.

One barked over his shoulder, “One hour.”

Moréna crept out of her alcove.

Alone, we looked at the mess. “One hour, Moréna.”

She gave me a meaningful look. “And how long do we have after that?”

I understood. “I don't know how long my
uncle
intends for me to stay at the Louvre. But King Louis will put a crown on my head and make it forever.”

*   *   *

Moréna tried to make me use a vizard mask so we wouldn't have to waste time on face paints, but I insisted on showing my face so those
watchful eyes
at the Louvre wouldn't think I hid in shame. I stepped out of the carriage, gazing up at the stone walls and shiny windows, hoping they'd see. Let them judge whether the glint in my eye be one of sorrow or determination. Guards on my right and left ushered me inside the Mazarin apartments like a prisoner with Moréna trailing behind. Footmen carried in my trunks, rolled out my Turkish carpets, hung my tapestries and bed drapery. I made sure my
cassone
went into Moréna's closet, out of sight. I stood at the window, calm as the servants flitted about.

Colbert de Terron arrived as they finished. “His Eminence asked me to remind you that the king forbids you to wait on the queen mother. You are not to wait on her at table. You will instead dine with His Eminence. Any invitations you receive must first be approved by His Eminence. You are not to leave the Mazarin apartments without permission from His Eminence.”

“May I use the chamber pot without permission from His Eminence?”

Terron stifled a laugh.

I considered carefully how to handle this man. A young cousin of the powerful Colbert might seize an opportunity to please the king. I let sadness tinge my tone. “Am I to have visitors?”

“Only if His Eminence allows.” A flicker of unease crossed his features.

His Eminence be damned!
“Surely the King of France need not get clearance from His Eminence before visiting a wretch like me.”

He paused. “You would have to find a messenger.”

“Would I need a discreet messenger?” I stepped closer. “One willing to speak to the king without going through His Eminence?”

He thought about it, then nodded.

I smiled.

“What should I tell him?” He put on his hat.

“Tell the king to come to me without delay.”

*   *   *

Bless Terron, for the king arrived within the quarter hour. He rushed to my side. “Are you well?”

“How can I be well? My uncle said we must separate so he can salvage the peace treaty.

“Pimentel is angry.”

“My uncle provoked us into flaunting our love before the court because he
knew
it would anger Pimentel. He says you will send me away.”

“I won't.”

“Never?”

He smoothed my hair. “Do you trust me?”

I wanted to but found I couldn't say it. He pulled me close. I put my head on his chest, and he rested his chin atop my head.

Moréna's voice sounded from the corner. “My lady!”

King Louis and I started.

The cardinal stood in the center of the chamber. “I knew I would find you here, Your Majesty.”

King Louis stepped to him. “By the side of my future queen.”

“Her mother and father, God rest them, entrusted her care to me. It is incumbent upon me to make decisions for her regardless of her wishes.”

“You must do as your
king
wishes.”

“Must I?” The cardinal flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Her presence at court endangers the one thing you have pursued your entire life. Peace.”

“The marriage shouldn't have been entered. You said you would take it out.”

“King Philip of Spain has too much territory to lose.” The cardinal held out his hands. “Without the marriage there will be no peace.”

I could stand it no longer. “You don't care about peace, territory, money, or even the greatness of France. This is about you and Condé.”

My uncle didn't look at me. “If we don't get our hands on Condé, he will make other enemies for us. We would be at war again.”

King Louis made a dismissive gesture. “King Philip should give up territory
and
Condé. He is as good as beaten.”

“But he isn't!” Mazarin stared King Louis down. “Do you wish to keep sending your subjects into battle? The strong men and boys who plow the fields so the women and girls have bread to eat—do you wish to keep sending them to their deaths? We must make peace with Spain. And because of King Philip's pride, he cannot make concessions to anyone other than a son-in-law.”

I shook my head at Mazarin. “You never intended to make me queen. Even before the possibility of peace, you used me to control King Louis.”