Louisa Rawlings (72 page)

She longed to throw herself into his embrace, but the coldness in his eyes stopped her. Besides, she had her pride as well. “Monsieur,” she answered, “I’m pleased to see you up and about. Your wounds are healing well?”
 

“Yes. I thank you for your concern. As you can see, my leg still troubles me, but I’m assured by the doctor that it will soon heal entirely.”
 

“I’m surprised to see you at Versailles. I didn’t think you…liked to be here.”
 

“I don’t. But it seemed important to me to come and pay my respects at this time. I'll show my loyalty to my king, and to France. My virtue may have been questioned in the past—my fealty to my sovereign, never. I should like to continue so.”
 

“But is it wise…so soon after…your wounds…” She stumbled over her words. To remind him of that day was to remind him that she’d been the cause of his injuries.
 

“I’m not unaware of the gossip,” he said stiffly. “It’s not too soon, I think, to try and erase the stain from my name.” His face betrayed no emotion. They might have been distant acquaintances meeting in the Hall of Mirrors. “I didn’t expect to see you here. When you sent the carriage back from Sans-Souci, I thought you intended to stay there with your father. He’s well?”
 

His cool indifference was more painful than open hatred. She fought to keep control of her feelings. “Yes,” she said. “His broken leg is mending well.”
 

“Does he gamble still?”
 

“No. He seems to have found contentment at Sans-Souci.”
 

“How fortunate for you. You’re free to do as you wish, without the burden of your father’s obligations.” His mouth twisted in mockery. “Your next husband can be yours by choice, rather than through necessity.”
 

She smiled thinly. “What a relief that will be. To know the man
before
I marry him. Or sign the contract.”
 

He shrugged. “Life is a contradiction. Filled with lies.”
 

She scarcely could believe they were standing here talking this way. They had lain in each other’s arms, shared their love. And now they spoke of meaningless things, or attacked each other with poisoned darts that stung, yet failed to touch the depths of their souls. “Are you staying in the château of Versailles?” she asked.
 

“No. I wasn’t able to get rooms. Alas, unlike you, I’m not in favor at the moment.” He laughed shortly. “Though I don’t know why. I
did
help to save Anjou that day. But I gather that Monsieur le Duc de Chartres took the credit for the day’s heroics.”
 

“Yes,” she said bitterly. Chartres had taken the credit, had even boasted of his bravery. And who was to tell the court that Rouge had forced that bravery by removing his signaling ribbon? Or that the ambush had been his doing in the first place?
 

The silence between them was agony. Pierre stared at her, his jade-green eyes searching her face. “You’re looking well,” he said at last. “You’re blooming, in fact. Have you found a new
amour
?”
 

She clenched her fists in anger. Damn his cruelty! “Have you?” she countered.
 

“I haven’t looked. I don’t intend to stay here. I still despise the corruption of the court. I’ll return to Choisy-aux-Loges, and my welcome serenity, at the end of the week. Of course that can’t matter to you. Choisy bores you, is it not so? Those were your words, as I recall.” He swept his arm around the lavishly appointed room. “This is where you belong. In Versailles. You always did, I think. It always drew you back. And you’ll soon find someone to replace Arsène de Falconet.”
 

He wouldn’t see her weep. She swore it to herself. She returned his cold stare. “Are you at all interested in what happened at Rochenard?”
 

“Not in the least.”
 

“Do you want to divorce me?”
 

The word seemed to take him by surprise. But he recovered himself quickly. “I don’t know. But perhaps it would be sensible for you to live here while I’m at Choisy. I’ll have Colinet find you a suitable
hôtel
in town.” He laughed softly, mocking himself. “Monsieur de Levreux will say it’s a fitting retribution. That I have a faithless wife.”
 

She bit her lip. “I find the gossip distressing.”
 

“It’s a little late to regret it,
n’est-ce pas
?” His eyes were cold.
 

The devil with her pride! “Pierre,” she whispered, “I love you.”
 

“It’s a little late for that, as well.” He bowed stiffly. “Madame,” he said, and moved off toward the door, his limp a painful reminder of what she’d done to him.
 

She turned and fled to her room, sobbing in misery.
 

The following morning was the sixteenth of November. The king had his
lever
as usual, during which those courtiers who were in favor were privileged to enter his bedchamber and help him to dress. The Spanish ambassador was then summoned to Louis’s study. By now, the whole of the court, sensing something was about to happen, had crowded into the state chamber just outside the king’s study.
 

Drawn by the excitement, Rouge was there as well. She waited with the others, half hoping, half dreading to see Pierre. The strain of their estrangement was almost too hard to bear. She started to turn about and return to her rooms; a hand on her arm stopped her.
 

“Rouge.”
 

She turned in surprise to see Girard de Saint-Esprit. He was as painted and perfumed as ever, and tricked out in a gaudy suit of clothes. But his bejeweled fingers on her arm trembled, and his face was so pale that the artificially reddened lips looked like blood on snow. Handkerchief in hand, he dabbed nervously at his face, dislodging the beauty mark at his eye; it now rested squarely in the middle of his forehead, perched absurdly above his thin nose. Rouge nearly laughed aloud. “Girard,” she said. She wasn’t surprised to see him here; she was only amazed that he’d speak to her, after the episode in the stable. “Do you lower yourself to talk to me?”
 

He ignored the mockery of her words. His voice was a quivering squeak. “You must speak to your husband, Rouge!”
 

“Name of God, why?”
 

“I didn’t know…the miller…Villeneuve! He’s very rich and powerful! And a great swordsman, they say. I heard what he did to Falconet… Had I known he was Villeneuve…!”
 

She had no pity for him. He was a vicious little boy. “Whether he was the miller or Villeneuve, you had no right to have him whipped.”
 

“But Rouge…” he moaned, “he’ll kill me!”
 

“Has he challenged you to a duel?”
 

“No. But I met him on the King’s Stairway last night. He stared at me with such a look…!” Saint-Esprit shuddered. “I know he means to challenge me. I beg you to intercede on my behalf.”
 

“Don’t whine to me, Girard,” she said. “We all must pay for our past mistakes.” The words were meant for herself as much as for him.
 

“But I didn’t mean it! Had I known he was a nobleman…”
 

“He was a man,” she said coldly. “On that score alone you had no right.”
 

He put his hand to his head, skewing his wig to one side. “But what shall I do?”
 

She looked at him with contempt. “Pray that he doesn’t think that a worm like you is worth the killing!” She shook free of his clutching hand and moved off into the crowd.
 

She saw Pierre near a window. She took a deep breath. It
couldn’t
be over, there must be something she could do to heal the breach. She moved slowly toward him.
 

He inclined his head in her direction, the civility of the gesture offset by the hard line of his mouth and his cold words. “I’d hoped we might avoid each other until I returned to Choisy.”
 

“Pierre,” she began tentatively, “listen to me for a moment. You must know that I regret behavior that now reflects badly upon you. I know that you want to restore your family’s good name. It’s my earnest wish as well. I thought…if we were to be seen together in the public rooms, if we were to walk together… It would please me if the court thought we were reconciled. For your sake. For your reputation.”
 

“Don’t concern yourself,” he growled. “My reputation has survived worse scandals. It can survive a wife like you.”
 

“But Pierre,” she said softly, putting her hand on his arm.
 

His eyes dark with torment, he pushed her hand away. “Madame, quit my side,” he said hoarsely. “For God’s sake, leave me in peace!”
 

His voice rang out in the crowded room. There were gasps from some of the courtiers nearby. Rouge turned away, her face burning with shame.
 

At that moment the double doors of the king’s study were flung open, and the company was commanded to enter. The crowd surged forward. Still trembling from Pierre’s rebuff, Rouge stumbled into the room, allowing the movement of the company to sweep her along. She scarcely knew what was happening; she no longer cared.
 

King Louis stood majestically in the center of the room. Philippe, Duc d’Anjou, was at his side; behind him was the Spanish ambassador and his people. Rouge recognized Don Lopes de Gongora among their number. Louis raised his hand and pointed dramatically to the seventeen-year-old Anjou. The company fell silent.
 

“Messieurs,” he said. “Behold the King of Spain. His birth has called him to that throne. And it was so ordered in the will of the deceased king. All of Spain desires him, and claims him from me. It is the will of heaven, and I accede with pleasure.” He turned to his grandson. “Be a good Spaniard—that is your first duty now. But remember that you were born a Frenchman, and foster unity between the two nations. This is the way to make them happy, and to preserve the peace of Europe.”
 

The Spanish ambassador immediately knelt before Anjou and kissed his hand. “God bless Philip the Fifth of Spain.” He rose to his feet and smiled at the company.
“Il n’y a plus de Pyrénées—
there
are no more Pyrenees,” he said, announcing to the world that the mountain range that divided France and Spain would no longer be a barrier to the unity of the two nations. At this, there was a great cheer from the assembled courtiers, who crowded forward to kiss the young king’s hand. Rouge noticed that when the Duc de Chartres came up to offer his respects, both Anjou and Louis received him coldly, turning their heads aside as he passed.
 

Anjou smiled, catching sight of Rouge. As the crowd parted before him, he came to her and held out his hand. She curtsied and kissed his fingers, honored by his attentions.
 

His young face had begun to take on a more royal aspect, as though he felt himself already swathed in ermines. “Madame,” he said, “accept our gratitude. We are aware of our debt to you.” He looked up, seeing Pierre in the crowd. “And to your husband.” He motioned to him. “Monsieur, come and take your wife’s hand.”
 

Pierre moved reluctantly to Rouge’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, he allowed Anjou to put Rouge’s hand in his. But his seeming aversion to his wife hadn’t been lost on the company. Rouge saw several of the women snicker and whisper behind their fans.
 

Louis stepped forward and gave Anjou his right hand, a singular honor. “Let us go to mass and thank the Lord,” he said. The court followed them through the state apartments to the chapel of Versailles. Rouge knelt beside Pierre. He was made of stone. He had released her hand the moment Anjou had turned away; he was beside her now only because the press of people made it impossible to separate.
 

She swayed on her knees through the long mass, feeling as though she’d swoon. She could scarcely wait to flee the chapel, fighting against her tears until she could reach her rooms.
 

She stopped outside her open door, hearing sounds of a struggle within, and Emilie’s voice, squeaking in protest. “Don’t you dare kiss me again! Don’t you…” Her voice was suddenly muffled. Whoever the man, he obviously wasn’t listening to her.
 

Ciel!
thought Rouge, and peered in at the door. There was Colinet, with Emilie wriggling furiously in his strong embrace. His mouth was fastened securely on hers. As Rouge watched, Emilie’s struggles subsided. She sighed and seemed to melt in his arms. At last, smiling in his usual fashion, Colinet lifted his head from hers, though his hands still gripped her tightly by the shoulders. He gave her a little shake. “You foolish girl. You don’t know where you belong. You need someone to take charge of you.”
 

Emilie looked dazed. “Yes, Edouard.”
 

“If he wishes to have his wife flittering around, the more fool he! But you? In this wicked place? I won’t have it! Do you understand?”
 

“Yes, Edouard.”
 

“You tell her, as soon as possible, that you want to come home to Choisy. If you’re to be my wife, I want you at my side! Do you understand?”