By Honor Bound (9 page)

“So I must go instead.”

The statement was made simply, without self-pity, and it squeezed Madame Dupin’s heart. “It is not that you must go, dear child, but rather that you cannot stay. Nevertheless, I will make you a promise.”

Honneure looked up, feathered brows arched.

“When Claud leaves, if you are unhappy at Versailles, you may always return to Chenonceau.”

Tears at once filled Honneure’s eyes, and her lip trembled, making it impossible to express her gratitude.

“You do not need to thank me,” Madame Dupin said as if again perceiving Honneure’s thoughts. “And I do not think you will wish to leave Versailles. You are a beautiful and intelligent woman, Honneure. There can be so much more to life for you than service in a country château. Your curiosity is too strong. I will not always be able to satisfy it with the tales I bring home. You should be able to observe life … history … firsthand and make of it what you can. There is so much more to life than this château. A great deal more. And I believe it awaits you at Versailles.”

Something enigmatic in Madame Dupin’s expression and tone gave Honneure pause. “I … I only know that Philippe awaits me at Versailles.”

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Madame Dupin said slowly. She gazed at Honneure for a long moment, then abruptly smiled and smoothed the front of her blue satin skirt. “
I
shall see him. I too,” she said brightly. “And you must tell me how I look.
Honestly
.”

Madame Dupin had dressed in Court fashion, and an elaborate powdered wig towered above her pale brow. A beribboned hat was pinned atop the mass at a rakish angle that defied gravity, and panniers held her skirt so far out to the sides she would have to turn sideways to walk through a normal door.

Honneure started to say something but choked on the lie. The choke turned into a giggle.

“Truly horrible, isn’t it? Just thank your lucky stars you don’t have to be stuffed into this ridiculous regalia. You look and undoubtedly are far more comfortable than I. Turn around and let me see all of you.”

Rose-tinted cheeks flushed darker as Honneure did a slow pirouette. Self-consciously she touched the heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. The long, loose curls that framed her face tickled as they brushed against her cheeks.

“You look lovely, Honneure. The dauphine’s colors suit you.”

“I … I can’t thank you enough for having this made for me,” Honneure said as she fingered the elaborate silver embroidery overlaying the rich, red velvet.

Madame Dupin waved a hand dismissively. “You cannot arrive at the palace from Chenonceau looking like a country girl.”

“But I
am
a country girl.”

Madame Dupin grew serious again. She stepped forward and took Honneure’s face in her hands.

“You are Honneure Mansart,” she said in a firm but barely audible voice. “You are beloved by your parents, myself … and Philippe. Your home is Chenonceau. Your position is to serve the future Queen of France. Everything else is what you make of it.
That
is who you are and who you shall be.”

Honneure stared into her mistress’s unblinking blue eyes for so long she became lost in the intensity of the gaze. It seemed she could see the river and the flow of her life once more. No longer disappearing into a misty and fearful future, however, but winding steadily and with purpose toward a destination she herself would determine.

And then they were in each other’s arms and clung for a long moment.

Madame Dupin released Honneure and dashed a tear from her cheek. “Come, dear child. It is time to say our good-byes.”

Chapter Eight

May 1771

Trailed by several of Antoinette’s ladies, Madame Dupin strolled contentedly arm in arm with the princess through the vast gardens of the Versailles palace. Exiting through the back of the château, they crossed the Water Terrace, flanked on either side by oblong pools. From there they descended two sets of stone stairs to the Latona Fountain. Various fish and figures spit their jets of water into overflowing pools encircling four graduated tiers. Heading to the right of the fountain, they followed a path into the densely forested parkland. In minutes they reached the Baths of Apollo.

Madame Dupin drew a breath. “No matter how often I come here, I am always struck by the particular beauty and magnificence of this place.”

In response, the petite princess merely squeezed her friend’s arm. Together they took in the majesty of the garden.

It was as if they had left the real world behind and entered a fairy kingdom. Varied ivies and climbing plants clung to the stone walls of the man-made grotto. Thick, springy moss covered the ground. Ferns lined the banks of the forest pool, and water bugs skittered across its still, green water. Madame Dupin closed her eyes briefly, then lifted her gaze.

In caves hollowed out of the soaring stone stood the fabulous Apollo sculptures. There was Apollo attended by the lovely Nereids, bathing his feet, pouring water into a basin toward which he languidly stretched his hand. In another niche the horses of Apollo’s chariot were being unyoked and reared away from their attendants. In a third area the horses were depicted calmly drinking from a pool.

The princess sighed and leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder. “I, too, am overcome by the magic of this place each time I enter.” She straightened and uttered a short laugh. “At least I am no longer overwhelmed by the palace itself.”

Madame Dupin patted the princess’s hand. “It was a great deal to get used to, I know. I have seen your mother’s palace, the Schönbrun.”

“The entire château would have fit into one wing of Versailles. It was so simple, so practical, compared to all this.” Antoinette vaguely waved a hand in the direction of the palace. “As was my childhood.”

Madame Dupin smiled fondly. “You’ve often told me how close you were to your brothers and sisters.”

“I miss them,” Antoinette replied simply. “I miss the carefree days of our childhood.” She chuckled softly. “Too carefree, I suppose. Did you know I didn’t learn to read until my mother had agreed to my betrothal to Louis?”

“So you’ve said.”

“I worked hard, though it seemed only a game to me. Even when I left for France, it was not reality yet. How could it seem real? Everything the Royal Court does, it seems, is done in excess. Forty-eight six-horse carriages came to bear me to my betrothed. Nothing was real until …” Antoinette knit her brow. “Until we reached an island in the Rhine near Kiehl,” she continued softly. “I was taken into a tent, divided in the middle like a bathing tent. All my clothing, even my stockings and vest, were removed, and I was handed over to Comtesse de Noailles. Naked, I was required to leave my Austrian ladies behind and step over to the French side of the tent. I left everything behind at that moment. I entered reality.” With wide, tear-filled eyes, Antoinette looked at her friend. “I was only fourteen.”

“Dear child,” Madame Dupin murmured and gently touched the princess’s cheek.

Antoinette shook her head and forced a smile to her lips. “Never mind. I am content now.” Once again taking Madame Dupin’s arm, she walked along the edge of the pool.

Madame Dupin let the silence drift for a time. Then she stopped, deliberately. Brows arched, she looked Antoinette directly in the eye. “And Madame du Barry?”

The princess did not respond at once. She looked away.

“She does not know it, but I have seen her rooms. They are filled with porcelain and costly ivories. The furniture is encrusted with ebony, and she has a large leather-bound library of … erotica.” The princess blushed. “She rides in the most sumptuous carriage, painted with cupids, hearts, and beds of roses. She wants for nothing.”

“Oh, yes, she does.”

An expression of bafflement settled over the princess’s soft features.

“Your good opinion.”

Antoinette looked away again, sharply. “My disapproval avails me nothing,” she said at length, so softly Madame Dupin could barely hear. “Aunt Adelaide, the king’s dear sister, encouraged me to express it. And as a result …”

“As a result,” Madame Dupin prompted.

Antoinette drew a deep breath. “As a result Madame du Barry had one of my ladies sent away from Court over an imagined slight. She convinced the king to dismiss Choiseul, my friend, and had him replaced with the Due d’Aiguillon, one of her lovers and opposed to Austria!”

Madame Dupin was taken aback by Antoinette’s sudden venom. She rallied quickly and took the princess’s hands in her own.

“Antoinette … Antoinette,” she soothed. “I’m so sorry.”

“As am I.” Antoinette shrugged and appeared to pull herself together. “My husband and even my mother have advised me to at least
appear
accepting of the woman. It is difficult, but I try.”

“Of course you do,” Madame Dupin said gently. Wisely, she decided to steer the subject away from Madame du Barry. “Speaking of your husband, how is Louis?”

Antoinette’s expression softened. “He is well. We often spend an hour or two alone together in the afternoons.”

“Oh?”

Although it was only a single word, Madame Dupin and the princess had become close friends. Antoinette blushed to the roots of her elaborately piled and powdered wig.

“He … he works at his locks, his hobby, while I … while I read or sew.”

“And the nights?”

When Antoinette remained silent, Madame Dupin cupped the princess’s chin in her hand and forced her to look up.

“It will happen, my dear. When the time is right it will happen. I promise you.”

Antoinette smiled though her eyes once again brimmed. “Yes,” she whispered. “So I must believe … so I must.”

The two friends gazed at each other in silence. Then Madame Dupin took Antoinette’s arm once more.

“And
I
believe it is time to return to the palace and see how Honneure fares with your
petits chiens.
”

Antoinette’s tiny hands flew to her mouth. “I’d nearly forgotten,” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Indeed, let us return at once.”

Immediately upon her arrival at Versailles, Honneure had been led away by a servant in the dauphine’s livery, while Madame Dupin had gone directly to see Antoinette. The quiet older woman, who gave her name as Eleonore, had taken Honneure on an abbreviated tour of the château’s ground floor so she would be able to orient herself and find her way about the immense palace.

Footsteps echoing in the wide stone corridors, the two women walked for what seemed miles to Honneure. Almost all the ground floor of the U-shaped structure contained lodging units for the support staff, nearly two thousand rooms in all. Honneure had wondered aloud where the kitchens were.

“In town,” Eleonore had replied succinctly. “Almost everything has been moved to the town. The bakery, wine cellars, fruitery. There is only a room here in the palace to reheat the things brought from the village.”

“But … but where do
you
eat?”

“In the
Grand Common.
You will be taken there later.”

The women continued on in silence until they reached a great marble staircase, split in the middle, both sides winding upward and out of sight.

Eleonore gestured. “The King’s Staircase. We will go on to the Queen’s.”

Honneure already knew that since Louis XV’s wife was deceased, the dauphine occupied these
Petits Appartements.
The royal mistress was housed in chambers nearer to the king. What she didn’t know was how small and frightened she was going to feel.

The Queen’s Stair was a duplicate of the King’s, though smaller in scale. As they climbed, Honneure was awed by the polychrome marble
revêtement
and illusionistic loggias. The painted people looking down on them seemed more real than she and Eleonore.

Even the beauty and grandeur of Chenonceau had not prepared Honneure for the royal world revealed to her as she climbed to the top of the stair. Niches in the marble-faced walls contained gold medallions supported by bronze cherubs. Huge gold and crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Dumbstruck, Honneure followed Eleonore to the left and down a narrow hallway lined with classical busts. They emerged in a room that took her breath away.

“The Queen’s Guardroom,” Eleonore said needlessly.

Honneure barely noticed the soldiers standing stiffly at attention. She saw the paintings first, classical in nature and larger than any work of art she had ever seen. There were even paintings on the ceiling and, again, lifelike figures peering down at her as if from a balcony. The walls were faced with designs of red and black marble. White-painted doors were decorated with gilt. Numb, she followed Eleonore onward.

The next room, the woman informed her, was the Queen’s Antechamber, and it was much like the first. Paintings lined the red velvet walls, and heroic scenes framed in gold drew the eye upward to the golden ceiling and bas-relief carvings. The Salon of Nobles followed, its walls covered with an elaborate brocade. The subjects of the paintings, Honneure guessed, had given the room its name.

Honneure did not think it was possible to see a room more lavish, sumptuous, or elegant than the ones she had already seen, but she was wrong.

“The Queen’s Bedroom,” Eleonore announced.

The bed, though massive, was dwarfed by the size of the chamber. The walls had been painted white, but very little of it could be seen beneath the intricate gilt decoration. The room itself seemed to be made of gold. The compartmented ceiling boasted even more complex and Byzantine gilt designs. Several chandeliers hung the length of the room. Drapes of heavy golden damask framed floor-to-ceiling windows. Corner reliefs bore the arms of France and Austria.

“She … the dauphine … she can’t possibly actually
live
in these rooms … can she?” Honneure whispered.

Eleonore laughed softly. “Indeed not. These are the reception rooms. Come this way.”

Honneure watched Eleonore move aside a heavily embroidered silk hanging to reveal a door. She opened it and motioned for Honneure to follow.

Honneure felt more comfortable almost at once. The series of interior rooms they had entered were smaller and, though exquisitely decorated, felt much more habitable. Walls were painted in gay pastels, and light poured in through tall windows. From where she stood, Honneure could see on one side a library with leather-bound books arrayed on shelves that stretched to the high ceiling. To her left she was able to see a salon filled with delicate furniture and a gilded clavichord.

A tall, stern-looking woman approached them from the salon. Though she did not wear the panniers favored by courtiers, neither was she dressed in the livery of the dauphine’s servants.

Eleonore dipped a curtsy in acknowledgment of the woman’s superior position, and Honneure followed suit.

“You must be Honneure Mansart,” the woman stated in a surprisingly low voice. “You may go, Eleonore,” she said without taking her eyes from Honneure.

Honneure heard the door close quietly behind her as she endured the tall woman’s scrutiny.

“I am Madame Campan,” she said at length. “The dauphine’s chief chambermaid.” She clapped her hands, and a moment later a girl appeared from another room beyond the library.

The girl was quite beautiful, Honneure thought, especially dressed in the colors of the princess’s livery, with her porcelain skin and jet-black hair. Her figure was voluptuous, her mouth full and pouting, and Honneure was reminded of an overblown summer rose.

“Olivia, this is Honneure. I will leave it to you to show her to her duties and her chamber.”

Though Madame Campan left at once, Olivia did not move or speak. Her catlike eyes regarded Honneure for a long moment, until she began to feel uncomfortable.

Honneure attempted a smile. “I … I’m happy to meet you, Olivia.”

Olivia remained silent, her dark eyes flicking from the top of Honneure’s head to the hem of her full skirt. Suddenly she whirled and motioned to Honneure with the quirk of a finger.

The experience of the grandeur of Versailles had been daunting yet exhilarating. Its magnificence was thrilling. In spite of the fact that she was a newcomer and knew no one but a brother whom she wondered if she would even be able to find, Honneure had felt a kind of warm glow within her. Now, however, she felt a chill. Suddenly trepidatious, she followed Olivia through the library.

Beyond the library was a lovely boudoir and adjacent bathing room that Honneure guessed must be Antoinette’s. Olivia opened a small door and gestured for Honneure to precede her.

The first thing Honneure saw in the tiny, sparsely furnished room was the Boxer. He stood in the center of the floor, lips curled in a snarl and hackles raised. Four smaller dogs leapt down from a narrow bed, barking furiously.