By Honor Bound (7 page)

“She’s my foster sister,” he said with a slight blush. He had not yet gotten used to the way the women flirted with him. “So there is no family resemblance. Therefore, she is by far more beautiful.”

“Well said, Philippe.” Antoinette smiled appreciatively at his humor while her ladies giggled. “Your sister resides in your former home, Chenonceau?”

Philippe could not believe his good fortune. Not only was the princess engaging him in conversation in front of her whole Court, but also her question had given him exactly the wedge he needed to open the door for Honneure a little further.

“Yes, she does, though she was born at Château d’Amboise.”

“Indeed?” Antoinette arched her finely drawn brows. Amboise was one of Choiseul’s many estates, and Choiseul had been her favorite minister. Not long ago the hated du Barry had managed to have him dismissed and replaced with one of her own minions. As Philippe had hoped, she warmed to the subject of his sister. “And you say she has a way with animals?”

“You need only ask Madame Choiseul, whose favorite pet Honneure saved years ago, when she was only a child.”

“Honneure,” Antoinette repeated. “What an extraordinary name.”

“For an extraordinary woman.”

Antoinette smiled as she considered. Her retinue was large enough as it was, and Louis would fuss over the extra expense. He had carefully budgeted the allowance he received as dauphin, hoping to set a good example for the profligate court, and hated to exceed it. Yet the cost for a woman to care for her pets would be very little. Besides, the du Barry always got whatever she wanted, no matter how outrageous the cost. And she was simply the king’s mistress, not a future queen. Antoinette wondered why she shouldn’t have what she wanted for a change.

“I have several dogs, all of whom I adore, as you know,” the princess replied at length. “And you obviously adore your sister. For that reason alone, Philippe, I shall create a position for her at Court. I am that fond of you.”

“So am I,” another pretty young woman murmured, batting long lashes.

But Philippe did not hear. His heart was pounding, blood roaring in his ears. “You … you are serious, Majesty?”

“Of course, Philippe. You may send for her at once. Now take us back to the palace. I shall tend to my sweet dog in the meantime myself.”

Though dazed with disbelief, Philippe responded with alacrity. The sooner he returned the princess to the palace, the sooner he could write to his mother and Madame Dupin. And the sooner he would see his dearest sister.

When the snow finally fell, it fell softly, silently, for three days. Bare branches lifted to the gray sky to receive their layers of white. Brown patches on the ground were covered, as were the rooftops. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys to twine amongst the gently falling flakes. The world turned white.

Honneure stared out the kitchen window. Somewhere deep within her she knew how beautiful it was, but she lacked the emotional energy required to appreciate it. In truth she had energy for very little these days. When she heard her foster mother call to her, she turned slowly.

Jeanne resisted the urge to ask Honneure if she was all right. She would answer in the affirmative, as she always did, though they both knew she was not all right at all.

Madame Dupin had summoned the entire family, however, which was unusual. Jeanne prayed she was right about the reason. The cure for Honneure’s ailment may have arrived.

“Come, dear. Madame wishes to speak with us.”

Honneure noticed her foster father standing behind his wife, and her curiosity was sluggishly roused. “All of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“But why?”

“Come along and we shall find out.”

Madame Dupin received them in the library, as was usual. Her pince-nez were perched on the bridge of her nose, and she glanced up from a letter as they entered the small room. Jeanne was slightly disconcerted to see Claud standing at his mistress’s shoulder but ignored him and stared at the paper in Madame Dupin’s hands.

“Thank you for coming so promptly.” Madame glanced up at them briefly. “I received several letters by special messenger today. One is for you from Philippe.” She handed the sealed envelope to Jeanne. “I also have one from Philippe. And one from Marie Antoinette, the dauphine.”

Jeanne thought she might faint. She clutched her letter to her breast, afraid to look at either her husband or her daughter, afraid even to breathe. As if from far away, she heard Honneure’s faint gasp of surprise.

“I will come straight to the point,” Madame Dupin continued. “Philippe has written to me that Honneure has been offered a position at Court.”

“
Mon Dieu
!”

“My sentiments exactly, Paul. The princess has several dogs of which she is inordinately fond. Apparently Philippe has persuaded her that Honneure is just the person to care for them.”

“But … but how can it be true?” Paul said.

“It is true. Here is the princess’s letter confirming the offer.” Madame lifted a piece of paper, which clearly bore the royal seal. “If Honneure accepts, she will be given a small room in the palace near the dauphine’s chambers, so she will be on call at all times to tend to the royal pets.” Madame Dupin turned her gaze at last to Honneure. “This is almost unheard of good fortune, Honneure. What do you say to the offer?”

Despite her initial shock and her longing to see Philippe, Honneure had a ready response. “I could not possibly leave you or my family. You have been too good to me. I will not repay your kindness and generosity by abandoning you for a better position.”

“You are loyal and honorable to a fault, my dear.”

“But wise perhaps,” Claud interjected. Ignoring Paul’s hard stare and Jeanne’s narrowed gaze, he went on. “What if it doesn’t work out? The Court is notoriously fickle. What if she spends the next few years caring for the dauphine’s pampered darlings and is then sent packing on a whim? What will become of her? She’s almost past marriageable age as it is. If she leaves, she may miss the chance for a good marriage and a normal life.”

“It is something to consider,” Madame Dupin agreed. “I know Claud, for one, would be happy to make you his wife. That, too, would assure you a secure and excellent future. What have you to say, Honneure?”

Some of the old spark suddenly returned. “If I stay, will I be required to marry Claud?”

This time it was Jeanne’s breath that hissed loudly into the silence. Claud’s pockmarked face reddened. Madame Dupin looked taken aback.

“Of course not,” she replied finally. She glanced over her shoulder at her portly steward. “I’m sorry, Claud,” Madame Dupin said apologetically. “I would not have mentioned it, but you led me to believe Honneure would be agreeable to this union.”

Claud looked apoplectic. Honneure smiled grimly. “I would not marry Claud if he was the last man on earth.”

Jeanne’s hands flew to her mouth, while Paul’s jaw dropped.

Madame Dupin frowned. “There is no need to be insulting. You need not marry at all, if that is your wish. And you most certainly may remain here with your family. I admire your loyalty. But I would counsel you to think well on this before you give me your final answer.”

Honneure started to speak but changed her mind and merely nodded. She just wanted to be away … away from the library, Madame Dupin, her parents … Claud.

Jeanne curtsied nervously. “Thank … thank you, madame. We’ll talk to Honneure.”

They were dismissed.

“Honneure,” Jeanne whispered as they hurried down the corridor, “I know how you feel about Claud, and I don’t blame you, but you didn’t have to …”

“Stop.” Honneure pressed her hands to her ears. “Please stop.”

Jeanne and Paul exchanged glances, eyes wide with surprise. Surprise turned to shock and dismay when Honneure suddenly bolted out the front door and away from the château. Jeanne started after her.

“No, let her go,” Paul said, a hand on his wife’s arm. “She needs time to think, time to be alone.” He turned, hearing footsteps behind him, and fixed Claud with an icy stare. “And I’ll make sure she remains alone.”

Claud clenched his fists to hide the trembling of his hands. It took monumental effort, but he managed to hold his tongue. He would bide his time.

Like a hungry spider, he would bide his time.

Honneure was not sure how long she had wandered through the white woods. Aware once more of her surroundings, she realized she was cold, chilled to the bone. Slender tree trunks all around her dimmed in the fading light.

She was not lost, however. She had only to retrace her footsteps in the snow.

It was full dark by the time she came to the lane. To her left she saw the lights of Claud’s house. Honneure shuddered.

That decision, at least, had been an easy one. Arms hugged to her breast, she ran across the lane toward the stable and the family’s cozy rooms above it.

Honneure’s heart brimmed with love when she entered her room. A candle burned on the small table by her bed. The stove had been lit, and on her bureau were a small pitcher of wine, some bread and cheese, and a slice of saucisson. Though she wasn’t really hungry, she forced herself to eat a piece of bread and cheese. She had grown so thin her clothes fit badly, and she experienced light-headedness from time to time. Honneure took a sip of wine, removed her shoes, and lay down on her bed. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

She remembered the night, now seemingly so long ago, when she and Philippe had sat side by side on the banks of the Cher, and she had made him promise nothing would ever change. But too much had already.

Philippe was gone. He had promised to return but had not. Her life had changed in many ways. She could not risk more. She had been so fortunate to find the Mansart family and come to Chenonceau. If she went to yet another new home, would she be so fortunate? She doubted it.

Honneure also recalled Madame Dupin’s words about the Court and the doomed moths that fluttered about its brilliant flame. She believed Madame. She worried about Philippe. Philippe. Would he understand why she couldn’t leave? Would he think her mad for turning down such a golden opportunity? Would she ever see him again? Honneure turned on her side and drew up her knees.

She mustn’t think such thoughts. They only made her ill. Of course she would see him again. He wasn’t a prisoner at Versailles. He had written, in fact, that he would come home for a few days in the spring. That was the thought she must hold on to … seeing Philippe. And Chenonceau, her home, her loving family, Madame Dupin.