Enchantress of Paris (9 page)

He rifled through a casket of papers and waved me away without a word.

*   *   *

But the next week, when I returned to Palais Mazarin from a salon one evening, the cardinal met me in my antechamber. He handed me a tiny pearl ring. “Take this to Olympia with my compliments. Tell her I said to make the king forget d'Argencourt.”

“I tried to warn you.”

He frowned. “D'Argencourt's mother made it clear she would allow the girl to become the king's
maîtresse-en-titre.
In exchange for a fortune.”

I cringed. “How far has it gone?”

“That's what you're going to determine.”

Moréna peeped out from the front door, and I signaled her to join me. In the carriage she freshened my rouge and dotted perfume to my wrists and neck. At the Hôtel de Soissons, Olympia had spared no expense on entertaining the king. A great bonfire burned in the middle of the courtyard, and liveried footmen lined the stairs to the front entrance. The cardinal's page announced me to the musketeers guarding the front hall, and they broke rank for me to pass.

Olympia sat in a chair by the fireplace in her state bedchamber, arms crossed. King Louis had his elbow propped on the mantel above her. Soissons stood nearby wearing a purposefully indifferent expression.

King Louis looked thoroughly bored, but smiled when I curtsied. “Have you come to demand
Jerusalem Delivered
? I confess I haven't finished reading it.”

“Next week,” I said with a wink, and he laughed. I presented the ring to Olympia. “A gift from the cardinal.”

She frowned at it, then caught my eye. She knew she was in trouble. “What news? Is the old cardinal's gout worse? Or did my spell to make it worse fail?”

“Olympia!” I glanced at King Louis. “You don't know spells.” I couldn't believe she would say such a thing in front of him.

“Oh, I was jesting.” She tossed the ring aside. “Give him my thanks and my love and whatever else you think he wants.”

King Louis cleared his throat. “I will allow the two of you time.”

“You just got here.” Olympia sounded angry.

Soissons backed from the chamber. I felt sympathy for Olympia's cuckolded husband.

The king looked torn. “There's gambling at the Louvre.”

“What are you going to do? Try to get that d'Argencourt girl to wager her skirts this time? She's not so stupid that she'll drop them for less than half your kingdom.”

I wanted to clap a hand over Olympia's mouth.

“If you degrade her, I will leave.”

Olympia turned away. “Go, then. You'll be begging to get up my own skirts again soon enough.”

He rolled his eyes to the heavens, then bowed to me, an honor he wasn't required to bestow. “Next week,” he said, and slipped from the chamber.

Olympia frowned. “What is this
next week
nonsense?”

“He's been returning my book
next week
for several months now.” I paused. “His Eminence will be angry.”

“I should be angry. That paltry ring was meant as a reflection of the job I'm doing.”

“What is wrong with you today?”

She rushed to a potted orange tree and vomited in the soil. Her voice softened. “Tell our uncle I'm sorry. I will of course be more attentive to the king when I'm feeling better.”

“Olympia—”

“Tell my maids I need them on your way out.”

*   *   *

In the carriage, Moréna grinned. “What ails your sister?”

“Stomach gripe. I'm worried.”

She shook her head. “Olympia stopped bleeding.”

My breath caught.
With child!
Was it Soissons's or the king's? “Say nothing. His Eminence mustn't find out yet.”

“He needs to know
now.
To replace her.”

“With some slut we don't know?” The idea made me cringe. If I had to see my king with anyone, I preferred him to be with my sister. “At least with Olympia I can intervene if she mistreats the king. Give her a chance to recover.”

Moréna looked smug. I didn't want to know what she was thinking.

 

CHAPTER
10

Marie Mancini is ignorant of nothing, has read all the good books, writes with an ease that cannot be imagined.

—ANTOINE BAUDEAU DE SOMAIZE,
Dictionnaire des Précieuses

Later that week, for the first time since my return to Paris, I received a summons to attend the queen mother at her morning toilette. The guards at her Louvre apartments admitted me, and I crept through the cavernous marble rooms. In the state bedchamber, high-ranking princesses of the blood stood closest to the queen, handling her clothes, shoes, pins, ribbons, a handkerchief. Duchesses and countesses stood behind them, passing clean clothes to the princesses or waiting to discard a dirty gown. My cousin Martinozzi, a princess of the blood by marriage, stood near the queen. I stood in the
very
back. Which suited me fine, since that's where wisps of gossip flew freely …

“King Charles is in Madrid, that traitor.”

“I was sorry to see King Charles go. He was
so
good in bed.”

“Oh, kings make terrible lovers.”

One of the gossips poked me. “Now that our own king has cut his teeth on your sister, he's taking a bite of Mademoiselle d'Argencourt. You Mancinis will fall from favor yet.”

I did not respond. The princesses of the blood had parted, and the queen mother stood listening. I glanced at her. The gossips turned around. They realized their scathing words had been overheard. They curtsied.

The queen mother ignored them. “Marie. Walk beside me to mass.”

I knew this mark of favor would infuriate the gossips.
Good.

She cut a path through them, took my arm, and we fell into step together on the way to her private chapel. The princesses kept a respectful distance, and the queen talked softly. “I didn't want to believe any of it. But they are quite right, I'm afraid. My son, the king, has dined only with d'Argencourt this entire week. Your uncle and I are beside ourselves.”

“How is this any different than the way he behaved with my sister?”

“D'Argencourt puts on airs when she comes to my chambers. Making shallow curtsies, wearing a superior expression, laughing with haughtiness. I cannot allow her to gain influence over my son.”

“The king respects you and follows my uncle's advice in everything.” We reached the queen's chapel and stepped inside. Hundreds of candles glittered against motifs of gilded
fleur-de-lis.
Cherubim and seraphim frolicked amid clouds in murals overhead.

The queen went on. “D'Argencourt is the pretty face before a grasping, greedy family. She is filling his head with spiteful rumors. They use her to seek power and position that your uncle and I are not willing to concede.”

Yet they used Olympia in the same manner. “Surely your son rules his own mind.”

She glanced sidelong at me. “I hope not.”

That made me uneasy.
They treat the king like a child!

At her pew she waved other ladies away. “Olympia is with child. She is ill and is clearly losing her grasp over the king. It alarms me. I am sending him away. I shall speak with your uncle about what should be done with you upon the king's return.”

They must have spies everywhere!
“Me?”

“If your sister has been thrown from the saddle, perhaps you can take the reins.”

The liturgy began. It kept me from snapping back that I would
never
serve as her spurs.

*   *   *

Later that night, Moréna made me rinse my mouth with rosemary and myrrh water, brushed southernwood oil into my hair, and was about to apply a mask of egg whites and almonds to wear on my face overnight, when Jean-Baptiste Colbert entered my bedchamber unannounced. “You're summoned to the queen's.”

Moréna cursed him for scaring us, then hurriedly dressed me in a simple bodice and gown. Colbert's carriage driver made haste. When I reached the queen mother's doors, they burst open.

The king started to walk out but stopped when he saw me. He pointed at me and turned back. “And another thing,” he said, his voice tense. “I have had Marie's book for months. Months! Yet my readers, whom you appointed, will not read it to me because
you
don't allow it.”

My uncle, standing beside the queen in her bed, put his hands out. “We choose readings that are edifying to Your Majesty.”

“I will give up the lover that you so vehemently disapprove of, but you will appoint a reader of my choice.”

My uncle nodded. “Your Majesty is wise in avoiding the d'Argencourt family.”

King Louis frowned. “I'm leaving for the Château de Vincennes in the morning for a week of hunting.” The queen mother started to speak. “Don't follow me. I want only a small retinue and musketeers.”

I grinned, not moving out of his way, and whispered, “There is nothing like a little reading after a long day of hunting.”

He actually laughed. Cardinal Mazarin and the queen mother leaned toward us.

I kept my voice low. “Forget the readers. Make use of those royal eyes and read the book
yourself.
”

He nodded deeply to me and said, “Very well, Marie. Next week.” He marched out. I fought the urge to follow him.

“Marie,” called my uncle, “close the doors.”

I walked in slowly, pulling the doors closed behind me. They glanced at each other.

“Why did he laugh?” asked the queen mother.

I shrugged. I certainly wouldn't tell.

The queen mother shook her head. “What do we do?”

“Don't fear, my love.” The cardinal stepped to me. “A week at Vincennes will do him good. When he returns…” He stroked a long, shining curl resting on my shoulder. “This niece has developed into a promising candidate.”

“Marie and Hortense are the
only
candidates now.”

I stifled a gasp.

“Can you trust Marie?” she asked.

The cardinal gave me a pointed look. “Can I?”

They couldn't use little Hortense!
“Have I ever been dishonest?”

My uncle crossed his arms, hands disappearing in the folds of his long sleeves. “Do you understand what we want?”

“You want the king to attach himself to me.”

The queen mother smoothed her coverlet. “We shall host a ball. She must prepare.”

My uncle turned to the queen. “She shall have new gowns, new jewels, and I will grant her apartments at the Louvre, close to the king.”

“She will attend my toilette, showing herself at court every day.” The queen counted each item off on her fingers. “She must have a fine carriage, invitations to banquets, her own servants. Come summer, she must follow the court to Fontainebleau.” She paused. “Will he like her?”

My uncle's smile mirrored his upturned mustache. “He already does.”

My breath caught. All this time I hadn't allowed myself to hope. If anyone knew the king's secrets, it was Mazarin.
The king does like me.
I curtsied, took three reverent backward steps, then left. I took Colbert's coach home in a haze of joy. I forgot Olympia. I didn't give much thought to what they were
really
asking me to do.
The king likes me!

 

CHAPTER
11

Palais de Louvre

Spring 1657

Moréna built huge fires in my hearth and made me soak in milk baths in a great copper basin each day. Gradually my skin grew soft and luminous and pale. She delighted in making me eat creams and pastries, cakes and confections.

“I cannot eat all of this,” I grumbled.

She grabbed my breasts. “You must fatten up!”

She sat before me with pincers and plucked a hair from my eyebrow.

“Ouch! No more.”

“Sit still,” she said. “If you want the king to see the beauty of those black eyes, let me frame them with pretty arches.”

So I endured it, pluck by pluck.

Yellow narcissuses and buttercups burst from the earth, and I itched to plant a pottage of healing herbs and sprinkle it with holy water on the spring equinox. But the king would soon return, and I
did
want him to see me at my best. So I spent my days with the cardinal's dressmakers. They created splendors of gold and silver gowns for suppers at the Louvre, purple and red silk ensembles for balls, rose and blue satin day dresses, a red coat cut like a
justaucorps
à
brevet,
and riding costumes. I had a dozen new pairs of gloves, from long satin creations that covered my forearms to the softest kid leather for riding to the toughest leather gauntlets for hawking. They delivered so many new
pantoufles
and boots and high-heeled mules in every color and fabric, I might never wear the same shoe twice in a season.

At the end of the week the cardinal came to my chamber with Colbert, who was carrying a velvet tray. He threw back the cover to reveal a
parure
of diamonds. The set included earrings, bracelets, rings, a great necklace, hair combs, and hair pins. Some were so large they had to be from Olympia's wedding gown.
She will be outraged.

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

Cardinal Mazarin took my arm and began walking me downstairs. “Do you know why I worked so hard to secure a marriage between my sister and your father?”

“Because he was a nobleman,” I said, repeating what Mamma had explained.

Mazarin spoke softly of something our family rarely discussed. “My father was a pauper from Sicily, elevated by the position he won as steward to the powerful Colonna family in Rome. The Colonnas did much for us, but we grew up merely one step ahead of poverty. The responsibility of improving our station fell on me. I've spent a lifetime promoting my family, striking business deals, bargaining for offices, arranging marriages. Do you have what it takes to help me maintain the prominence we've achieved?”