Before Versailles (39 page)

Philippe took Henriette’s hand from Louis’s, placed it on his own arm. “So I’ve been telling her.” He led Henriette away, toward the elaborate portico of this courtyard, as Louis watched their exit. Philippe didn’t allow a moment of silence between himself and Henriette.

“Benersade had a quarrel with Lully—” Benersade was the court poet. He created the verses that were spoken or given out in small books at the court ballets. And Lully was the musician who displayed the most talent. Both had enormous tempers and opinions of themselves.

“—He said he wouldn’t write another word until you returned. Not even I could console him. And the viscount insists we go to Vaux-le-Vicomte as soon as possible. I depend on your excellent taste, he says. He has the fountains flowing. He wants us to see them before the fête in August. Rumor has it he is going to be named chancellor when Séguier dies. And I’m to have a place on the council. He promises it. He and I had a long talk yesterday, and he understands and sympathizes with my every concern. Oh. By the way, your mother’s here. She arrived yesterday.”

She stopped where she was. “My mother?”

“She wrote to say she misses you and she wishes to see you as a married woman.”

“But I didn’t invite her.”

“I did,” said Philippe. “Ought I not to have done so?”

“You know how she is. She’ll pick me to death.”

“I’ll protect you.”

In the bedchamber, dogs began to bark and jump for Henriette’s attention. Henriette made a gesture that had Catherine ordering everyone out, as Henriette sat down on the floor and gave herself to their yelps and licks.

What is happening between us? thought Philippe, and he sat down among the dogs, and, feeling Henriette’s distance like a pain in his heart, he pretended he was a dog, too. He barked, but Henriette didn’t seem to find him funny.

“It’s possible we’re going to have a child,” she said.

His eyes blazed suddenly.

“Don’t tell anyone yet,” Henriette said quickly. “It’s so early.”

“A child! I’m head over heels.” He took her hands in his, kissed them passionately. “When did you know?”

“I’ve only just suspected it.”

He touched one of the saint’s medals at his neck. “I’ll pray to the Holy Mother.” He swept aside dogs and took her into his arms, kissing her forehead, her neck, the soft hollow there. You have given me everything, he thought, my own household with its independence, your enchanting self, the admiration of the court, and now, this. I have fathered an heir. He felt strong and masculine, straightforward and clean, the way he imagined Louis always felt.

“Stop—oh, stop. I just feel—I don’t feel myself,” said Henriette. “I feel odd and mixed up and cranky, Philippe.”

“Are you ill?”

“Yes.”

“My poor darling. And here I am all over you like a beast.” He stood, held out his hand, helped her to her feet.

“Tonight,” she said, “after I’ve rested.”

He pulled her to him, held her tight a moment. When he was gone, she sat back down on the floor among the dogs. She did feel odd, confused, irritable. And she did not want to make love to her husband. And then real bile rose in her throat, and she rushed to the close stool with its velvet cover, as the dogs followed and nearly made her fall. Afterward, she went to a window and leaned out, breathing in gulps of air. There was a soft knock on the door.

“It’s La Baume le Blanc,” said Catherine and allowed Louise inside.

“Your mother sends a message that she desires to see you, Madame,” said Louise.

“Will you tell her that you found me napping?”

There was mischief in Louise’s sudden smile. “Are you perhaps ill, also? A headache from travel, I would guess. Is there anything you need before I go?”

Henriette shook her head.

Louise held up a sealed note and waved it back and forth. “Are you absolutely certain you need nothing?”

Henriette snatched the note. It was from Louis. She opened it to read how much she was missed and profoundly adored.

P
HILIPPE WENT TO
his mother’s wing of the palace. Her chambers were busy. Ladies scurried here and there, arms filled with gowns and shawls and linens—Anne could not bear to sleep on anything other than linen woven and embroidered by Spanish nuns. She always traveled with too many things. Philippe did the same.

In her closet, alone, Anne stared out at her view of gardens and water as Philippe entered.

“I trust you found the duchess well,” he said. When he’d been a boy, the duchess would feed him sweetmeats and ask him question after question. Was his mother very fond of the cardinal? Who came to his mother’s chambers? Had his mother seemed happy or unhappy lately? She had used him the way she used everyone, to keep track of the shifting policies, but he had liked her. She had advised him: Don’t wear your heart so openly on your sleeve, little prince. This is a court that swallows soft hearts as if they were oysters. “The visit was a good one?”

“Madame was all that she should be.”

Anne touched his face, as if to reassure him, and he felt his heart beat harder at the gesture. It was dangerous to love his mother too much, but he could not help it at this moment when he felt so blessed. In spite of himself, words came out of his mouth. “She’s with child.”

The expression on her face was for a moment so aghast that Philippe exclaimed, “What is it? Mother! Shall I call for your ladies?” He went to a table, poured her the Roman wine their cardinal had taught them to love.

Anne drank it down. “I’ve been in the carriage too long this day and feel faint from the heat. I offer you congratulations, but darling, please, if you will listen to your mother who is both a woman and a queen, it’s too soon to tell the world. In another month, we shall celebrate.”

“I know. She said the same, that it is far too early to speak of yet, but I had to tell you.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing this with me. Now, I’m going to send you on your way, my dear. I’m tired and need to rest before whatever it is your brother will have planned for tonight. Some celebration, I’m sure, now that our precious Madame is returned.”

And when he was gone from the room, Anne sat down feeling every year of her life weighing on her like heavy stones. Is the child Louis’s? she thought.

C
ATHERINE COULDN’T KEEP
the news to herself either. She’d already sent Nicolas a note about it and waited impatiently to hear from him. He’d been among the throng of courtiers greeting their return. Now she walked with her brother outside the palace, in distant gardens, down the long length of the landscape canal. The sun danced here and there in the water.

“She’s with child,” she told him

“Whose?”

His question was like a blow. “How ungallant of you, Guy. I thought you’d be happy the lineage of your precious prince is assured.”

She lifted her skirts as if she’d stepped in mud and walked back toward the palace. A mistake to tell him, she thought. How odd, her Guy, as cold-hearted as she—they used to have such fun mocking their admirers—and here he was, acting like some hero in a Corneille tragedy. It was too boring, really, all this emotion. Was this what love was? She wouldn’t know. But she did know desire, and she’d surprised herself by missing Nicolas, and the carriage ride home had been one long fantasy of all the delicious ways to make that evident to him.

T
HE YOUNG GROOM
who always accompanied Louise sat uncomfortably in the chamber of Monsieur Colbert. “No sir, we didn’t see anything unusual,” the groom answered. I’ll say nothing to bring her trouble, he thought to himself, his thoughts resolute, nothing.

“Why did you go to the monastery?”

“We just happened on it, and we was afraid her horse was about to throw a shoe—she knows everything there is to know about horses, sir.”

“Does she?”

“Oh yes. We had her in last week to look at El Cid. He wasn’t eating, sir. No matter what we gave him. And he’d started to bite us.”

El Cid was Louis’s Spanish stallion, specially trained in the art of prancing on hind legs and other arts going all the way back to the ancient Greeks. “And what did Miss de la Baume le Blanc do?”

“Well, sir, she sat by his stall for a long time, then she went inside—that upset us—he’s been so bad-tempered lately. And she ran her hands all over his body. Then she put her hands on his fetlock for a time, and then she told us we was to sing Spanish songs to him.”

“Excuse me,” said Colbert, as if he hadn’t heard properly.

“It’s the truth. We laughed, but my father went to one of the queen’s musicians and asked him if he wouldn’t come and play the guitar and sing those wild howls the Spanish like, and he did, and I tell you what, El Cid is eating again.”

“Miraculous.” Colbert was sarcastic.

“Well it makes sense, don’t it, sir, him being so far from his home and all. His other grooms might have sung—”

“The monastery. You were telling me about the monastery.”

“Well, we went in and my lady went into a room to rest, and I checked on the horse’s shoe, and we got that all to rights, and we left, sir.”

“Where is this monastery?”

“To the northeast, sir.”

“Near the Viscount Nicolas’s château?” Colbert was abrupt. “You saw the viscount, didn’t you?”

“Well, his guards took us to his house, and he and my lady talked for a time.” The groom was uncomfortable. “We’d strayed onto his land. It was a mistake, sir. She’s a good lady, sir, has a kind heart, likes to ride is all, likes the forest and the sun and the wind in her hair. That’s all. No harm in it.”

“When do you ride again?”

The groom shook his head.

“Thank you. That’s all.” Colbert watched the groom leave the chamber with his eyes narrowed. So, she’d seen the viscount. Something was up. He could smell it. And Miss de la Baume le Blanc was involved, he’d bet money on it, and he wasn’t a betting man, to say the least. Did she make a regular report to the viscount on the blossoming feeling between his majesty and Madame? Or something else? Did she leave Mazarinades that the viscount composed?

He sent for Lieutenant d’Artagnan, and when the lieutenant appeared before him, Colbert said, “Did you know there was a monastery near the viscount’s estate?”

“Yes. They make excellent wine and an even better brandy. I’m surprised the viscount didn’t order it moved. He has leveled more than one hamlet, I hear, for his estate, but then, he probably likes their wine.”

“Anything of note to tell me about Miss de la Baume le Blanc?”

“She visited the monastery a few days ago. Saw the viscount, too. Apparently his guards found her on the property and took her to him, poor thing, though I’m certain he was suitably polite.”

Colbert sat unmoved, and D’Artagnan felt challenged. “She is little more than an innocent child. She wondered onto his property by mistake.”

“There are no innocents at court, lieutenant.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“She moves among the highest in the land, goes to see after his majesty’s ailing dogs, his horses, visits with his most personal servant. I think she’s a spy for the viscount.” Colbert was cold, like the ice people said was in the place of his heart.