By Honor Bound (5 page)

He heard her voice first and then saw the lissome form, arms waving, at the top of the drive. Chenonceau, welcoming, rose behind her.

“I’m riding ahead, Claud,” Philippe announced needlessly as he put his heels to his horse. The white mare sprang into a gallop.

Was it possible he had grown more handsome in the space of a few weeks? His skin was tanned from days of riding in the sun, and when he grinned at her his perfect teeth seemed even whiter. His wind-tussled curls had grown long and touched the tops of his broad, muscular shoulders. The shadow of a beard crept from his finely chiseled jaw to the high, sharp ridge of his cheekbones. He rode his mount lightly, perfectly balanced, graceful, and at ease in the saddle. She loved him.

“Philippe!”

He threw himself from the saddle and into her embrace. She smelled like summer.

His arms went about her waist, and he lifted her from her feet, hugging her tightly. “Little sister … I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you. Now put me down so I can look at you!”

Philippe did as he was bid, holding her at arm’s length as they studied one another.

“You’ve grown prettier, I swear,” he said, and pushed a wave of hair from her forehead. With the tip of a finger he traced the natural rose blush of one cheek.

“You’re probably right,” she replied. “Because you seem to have grown more handsome, too. Or maybe we just look better because we’re glad to see each other.”

Philippe laughed. “That’s certainty true. All the way home from Vienna, I’ve thought of little else than seeing you.”

“Oh, really? Only on the way home?” Honneure feigned a pout. “Why not in Vienna? Were there too many other pretty faces to think about?”

“Dozens … hundreds,” he teased.

Honneure felt the edges of her smile begin to slip. They always teased one another this way. So why all of a sudden did she feel so strange?

The alien mood was quickly dispelled as Claud pulled up in the wagon. She greeted him but ignored his mumbled response and the way his small, pale eyes devoured her body.

Gay once more, Honneure helped to put away the horses. Earlier in the day she and Paul had readied stalls for the new arrivals. There was fresh bedding, hay, and water. She admired the animals as Claud and Philippe wiped them down and put them away. Honneure herself took care of the filly as the young one did not seem so skittish in her presence. By the time they emerged from the stables, the sun had disappeared below the tree line and only a rapidly fading halo of light remained.

“Thanks for your help on the trip, Claud,” Philippe said and clapped the stout youth on the back. “Go on home. I’m sure your father is waiting.”

“I just hope my
dinner
is waiting,” Claud retorted. With a last furtive glance in Honneure’s direction, he crossed the lane to his father’s house.

“Speaking of dinner, brother dear, I’ve fixed your favorite.”

“Rabbit?”

“Rabbit.”

“I’ll race you.”

It was a favorite game, though she never won. Laughing, golden hair streaming, Honneure chased Philippe into the evening shadows of the towering château.

“So this new breed, you say, is a cross between the Spanish horses and Arabians?”

Philippe nodded at his father across the table. They were in the cozy servants’ dining room off the kitchen where it had become their habit, over the years, to dine each evening. “And it’s an interesting cross, brilliant really. The finest Arab blood was introduced and fused with the local athletic Spanish horses’ during the Moorish occupation of Spain. Maximillian II brought some of these new Spanish horses to Austria in the sixteenth century and founded a court stud. His brother, Archduke Charles, established a similar stud at Lipizza, near the Adriatic Sea. Hence, the name.”

“Lipizzan.” Honneure tasted the sound of it. “They certainly are beautiful.”

Philippe nodded again. “Strong and versatile but refined by the more delicate Arab.”

“It’s about time the Austrians did something constructive,” Paul said darkly.

Jeanne reached over and patted her husband’s hand.

Honneure glanced from one to the other. “If what Madame Dupin says is true, this alliance with Austria will soon become permanent. The empress has agreed to the betrothal of her youngest daughter to the dauphin.”

“In my wildest dreams,” Paul growled, “I never thought an
Austrian
would become Queen of France.”

“She’s not the queen yet, dear,” Jeanne soothed.

“It won’t be long. They say old Louis’s new mistress is a lively one, and he’s not got much left in him. It won’t take long to finish him off.”

“According to Madame Dupin,” Honneure interjected, “that’s what they said about his last mistress. I wouldn’t dig his grave quite yet.”

Philippe nearly choked on his wine. Jeanne flashed Honneure a reproving look, but the twinkle in her eyes belied the expression on her face. Paul chose to ignore them all.

“To make matters worse, the dauphin is only fourteen. When his grandfather dies we’ll have a pimply-faced boy as King of France.”

Despite her foster father’s antipathy, Honneure felt sorry for the duke. She recalled her conversation with Madame Dupin five years earlier, when she had not even known who the Duc de Berry was. Barely two years later his father had died spitting blood. Now the boy was no longer a duke but a prince, the dauphin, and heir to the throne of France.

“The shadow of kinghood must be a very great burden for someone so young,” Honneure said. “And it cannot be much easier for his future queen. She’s only thirteen and contemplating not only a throne but marriage.”

Paul grunted, but his solemn expression lightened. His foster daughter’s generosity of spirit was hard to resist. “I suppose it must be a bit daunting.”

“Yes, indeed. Poor little thing,” Jeanne muttered. “What’s her name?”

“Marie, Mother,” Philippe replied. “Marie Antoinette.”

“And her wedding gift from Madame Dupin will be the horses you brought from Austria. How thoughtful. It not only will remind her of her homeland but will show honor to her country for their national breed to be chosen as a royal wedding gift.”

“Let’s just hope the wedding’s not too soon. I have a bit of training to do before those horses are ready for royalty.”

“Madame Dupin told me they will not wed until the new dauphin is sixteen,” Honneure said lightly. “So you have two years. Do you think that will be enough time?”

“Two
years
? It shouldn’t take me more than two mo—” Realization dawned on Philippe’s features. “Oh … you …”

Philippe’s chair clattered over backward as he sprang up. Honneure’s scraped the floor as she pushed away from the table in an effort to escape. Paul and Jeanne clasped hands as they watched their children fly, laughing, from the room.

“Some things never change,” Paul remarked.

“And pray they never do.”

“I don’t want anything to change … ever,” Honneure whispered. They sat on the banks of the Cher, backs to a giant plane tree. Moonlight glittered on the water, and cicadas clicked in the velvet darkness.

Philippe turned his gaze to the girl at his side. Her profile was clean and elegant, and he marveled, as he always did, at her simple beauty. “What makes you say a thing like that?” he inquired at length.

“Because I’m so happy.” Honneure sighed deeply. “I’m so happy here, Philippe, with you and Mother and Father. Life is perfect. I want it to go on and on this way. Yet …”

“Yet, what?” Philippe prompted after a long moment.

“Look at that poor little Austrian princess. She probably thought her life was just fine the way it was, too. Now, because her mother has decided an alliance with France is desirable, she’s engaged to someone she doesn’t even know. Everything has changed for her. And who knows if the change will be for the good.”

“Becoming Queen of France doesn’t sound like such a terrible change to me.”

“But you never know, do you, Philippe?” Honneure turned to him and looked deeply into his dark eyes. “You can never know whether the future holds good or ill, can you? That’s why I don’t want
this
to ever change.”

“Honneure …”

“Promise me, Philippe. Promise.”

The urgency in her tone alarmed him. His head told him to be practical, rational, that he could promise no such thing, no one could. But his heart ruled. “I … promise.”

It was foolish, she knew. But she felt better. She leaned on Philippe’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

Riding on the river, they watched the night flow slowly past.

Chapter Five

Fall 1770

The sky was faultlessly blue. Not a single cloud scudded on the chill, crisp breeze. Red and gold leaves drifted downward from the trees and swirled across the lane. The smell of chimney smoke tickled Honneure’s nose. Holding the shawl tightly about her shoulders, she hurried across the bridge into the courtyard and pushed open the heavy door. One of the housemaids was on hands and knees, scrubbing the hall tiles.

“Is Madame Dupin in the library?” Honneure inquired. The girl replied in the affirmative, and Honneure tiptoed carefully across the wet floor. She passed through the green study and knocked softly on the open library door.

“Oh, Honneure, come in, my dear.” Madame Dupin closed her ledger book and laid it aside. “I’ve just been going over accounts, catching up. Everything looks in good order. Claud’s been doing well on his father’s behalf, hasn’t he?”

Honneure nodded reluctantly. Since the château’s steward had become ill, his son had taken over his duties. It gave Claud an excuse to be around more than usual, and he made her uneasy.

“I was away too long, I fear,” Madame Dupin continued. “I missed Chenonceau, and I missed all of you.”

“We missed you as well and are happy to have you home again.”

“Thank you, dear.” Madame Dupin removed her pince-nez and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I think I shall be home for a while now. All is well … or as well as it can be … at Court.”

Having come to know her mistress well over the years and having become somewhat of a confidante, Honneure knew that if there was something on Madame Dupin’s mind, she needed only a gentle prodding to unburden herself.

“As well as it can be?” she repeated. “Do you mean something is amiss?”

“Nothing more than the ordinary.” Madame Dupin sighed. “The king’s health and will are failing, and this latest mistress, Madame du Barry, takes over more and more control.”

“But surely she cannot affect the government.”

“Oh, but surely she can. Every afternoon, all summer long, du Barry received Louis at the pavilion of Luciennes, a gift, as I told you, from her royal lover. And over fruit and a glass of Spanish wine, she would discuss new ways to assert herself at Court. The king allowed her to decide which plays and operas should be given, and at Bordeaux a ship was launched called
The Comtesse du Barry.
She had her Bengali slave, Zamore, baptized, and the Prince de Conti’s son, a prince of the blood, stood godfather. I shudder to think what she will want or where she will meddle next.” Madame Dupin’s disgust was evident. She sighed again, deeply.

“That, however, is not what concerns me most at the moment. I worry for the dauphin’s wife.”

“Antoinette,” Honneure said, using the name by which the young princess preferred to be called.

“Yes.” Madame Dupin nodded. “Antoinette. Such a sweet child. So innocent. But she has managed to make an enemy of du Barry. The witch will make the princess’s life miserable, I fear.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Honneure replied honestly. “Can’t her husband do something to help? He
is
the king’s grandson.”

“And heir, and he must walk a very fine line. He enjoys an excellent relationship with his grandsire, which is as it should be. He does not wish to compromise that relationship, so he makes his compromise elsewhere. He makes an
appearance
of accepting du Barry.”

“But …”

“He abhors her. Naturally. Yet what can he do? He can only side with and comfort his wife in private, which I pray he does.”

“Then their relationship is good?”

Madame Dupin smiled. “As a matter of fact they seem rather fond of one another. Antoinette also gets on well with Louis’s brothers, Provence and Artois, which is helpful, and has become quite a friend to his sister, Elisabeth. The king, of course, being fond of pretty young girls, is charmed by her. Yes.” Madame Dupin nodded thoughtfully. “She has fit into the family quite well in the scant months since the wedding, and her husband seems to have great affection for her.”

“Perhaps du Barry will not be such a problem for her after all.”

Madame Dupin’s expression turned solemn. “I hope not, but we shall see.”

“And in the meantime, there is your gift for the young couple. It should bring them a great deal of pleasure.”

“Ah, yes. Philippe believes the horses are ready?”

“Yes, he does. He sent me to ask if you’d like to see them.”

“Now? Why, of course! You should have said something sooner.”

“If I had spoken sooner I would not be so much richer in my knowledge of Court life and the royal family,” Honneure replied simply.

Madame Dupin chuckled as she rose and came around her desk. “Your forthrightness is one of the things I love best about you, Honneure. Come. Let us see how well Philippe has done with his … project.”

The two months of training had indeed turned into two years, as Honneure had teased. Madame Dupin had sent Philippe to Vienna to buy two black geldings she had heard about, a matched pair, for the princess to drive. She had authorized him to select another animal for the future king as a mount. The white mare as well as the foal at her side had caught his eye. He had seen their potential. Not as mounts, however, but as driving horses. He had had to wait for the filly to mature before training her, hence the delay in presenting the wedding gift. Honneure thought the horses well worth the wait.

Philippe had been correct. The pair, mother and daughter, were superb. He had hitched them to Madame Dupin’s Berlin and driven to the end of the lane. When he saw the two women emerge from the château, he started toward them. Even though she had seen him work the horses many times, Honneure caught her breath.

The pair was not matched, although they would be eventually. The mare was white and the filly mouse-gray. White Lipizzans, Philippe had told her, did not achieve their color until they were six to ten years old. But the difference in color did not detract from the magnificence of the duo.

The horses were sturdy and, although not tall, presented a powerful picture. Their heads were shapely, influenced by the Arab blood, with small muzzles and small, alert ears. Their eyes were large and appealing. Their bodies, set off by short, powerful necks, gave an impression of great strength, with well-rounded quarters, heavy shoulders, and short, strong legs with well-defined tendons and joints. Their tails were carried high and, like their manes, were thick and long. Their carriage bespoke pride in their appearance, and their action was brilliant. Necks arched, chins tucked, they trotted slowly, elegantly, up the lane.

“Philippe was absolutely right,” Madame Dupin breathed. “They are incredible together.”

Honneure merely smiled. She was so proud of Philippe she thought she might burst.

He sat perfectly erect in the coachman’s seat and handled the reins lightly and easily. He maintained constant contact with the horses’ mouths but needed very little pressure to control and guide them. He had a natural touch to which the animals readily responded.

Philippe halted the coach at the entrance to the forecourt, where the women stood.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Bravo. Bravo, Philippe.” Madame Dupin clapped. “You’ve done a brilliant job with these animals. They are indeed a gift fit for a queen.”

“Thank you, madame.”

“No, thank
you,
Philippe. I believe these horses will make a sweet girl very happy.”

“I’m sorry I do not now have a riding horse for the dauphin, however.”

Madame Dupin shrugged. “It matters not at all. I shall send the black pair on to Louis. He’s not as keen on driving as his wife is, so he won’t mind she has the more elegant hitch. But he admires horses greatly, and the blacks are beautiful animals. He will be pleased. Now, just tell me how soon you can leave.”

Philippe’s brow arched slightly. “Leave?”

“Yes, of course. Leave. To deliver the horses to Versailles.”

“M-me?” Philippe stammered. “The palace?”

The sun had warmed Honneure, despite the chill breeze. Yet now she felt suddenly cold.

“Why not you, Philippe?” Madame Dupin countered. “You trained the horses. You raised the filly. You know them best.”

“But I … I’ve never … I wouldn’t know how to … I mean …”

“I do know what you mean,” Madame Dupin responded tartly. “But your parents raised you properly. I will even take some credit. Your manners are exemplary, and you are well-spoken. You are also, I might add, a very handsome lad. You cut a fine figure. And you are an outstanding horseman. You will do just fine presenting these horses at the court. You merely need some proper clothes, but that won’t take long. Do you think you can be ready to go within two weeks?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, I suppose. I’ll be ready.”

“Then it’s settled.” Madame Dupin started back toward the château. She turned briefly and said, “Thank you again, Philippe. You did an excellent job.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. He did, in truth, know he deserved the praise. He had worked hard and took pride in his accomplishment.

“She’s right, Philippe,” Honneure said quietly. “You did a wonderful job. The horses are superb.”

“Fit for a queen, Madame said. But what about me, little sister? Am
I
fit for a queen?”

It was an effort to smile, but Honneure managed. “You will make Madame Dupin proud in every way.”

Philippe grinned back at her. “Thank you,
ma soeur
.” He patted the seat beside him. “Would you like a ride back to the stable?”

Honneure shook her head. “
Maman
needs me in the kitchen.”

“Very well. I’ll see you at dinner.” Philippe simply loosened the reins a fraction, clucked, and the pair sprang into a smart trot.

Honneure watched him go. Arms hugged to her breast, she shivered.

Slowly but surely the weather deteriorated. Steady sunshine had rendered the late autumn days mild, but the clouds of winter were massing. All the trees in the heavily forested park were bare. Dead, brown leaves created a spongy carpet on the forest floor. The earth beneath smelled damp and fecund.

The gardeners had labored to plant fall flowers in the de Medici and de Poitiers gardens, and their muted colors provided a bit of relief from the monotony of the gray days. But nothing relieved the growing dread in the pit of Honneure’s stomach. She went about her routine as if nothing was wrong. She helped Jeanne sew an appropriate wardrobe for Philippe’s journey. She was quieter than usual, more withdrawn, though no one seemed to notice, and she was glad. If they asked her what was wrong, she didn’t think she would be able to answer. She didn’t know what was wrong.

She would miss Philippe, of course. She always missed him the infrequent times he was away. This time, however, it was more than that. Honneure was frightened.

The day of departure never really dawned. There was a lessening of the darkness. The features of the world appeared but dimly, cloaked in a foggy mist. No individual clouds existed, just a solid ceiling of gray. It was, Honneure thought, completely fitting.

Almost the entire staff turned out to bid Philippe farewell. Most of them had never left their village before, much less traveled to a royal palace. Philippe was the object of much awe and not a little envy.

Madame Dupin stood in the forecourt, in front of the modest crowd, with Paul, Jeanne, and Honneure by her side. Philippe, dressed in livery, sat in the driver’s seat of the Berlin holding the reins and a long carriage whip. The horses stood still, though their impatience showed in the way they bobbed their heads and snorted. The blacks were tied to the rear of the carriage, and one of them pawed the ground anxiously. Madame Dupin’s footman, standing on a small platform between the C springs at the back of the coach, quieted the horse with a gentle word.

“You are a sight, Philippe Mansart,” Madame Dupin declared. “If the Court is not mightily impressed, it will be because they have all been stricken blind.”

Honneure silently agreed. Never had he looked so handsome. Part of it was the pride he took in the horses. “Lipizzans are wonderful animals,” he had said to her the previous evening. They had stayed up late, long after everyone else had retired, and walked to the stables. “The white mare is exceptional. I hope the princess takes a sincere interest in this breed of her country. I hope she will consider breeding them, with this mare as her foundation. Her line should be continued.”