The French Mistress (31 page)

“It is as nothing, my dear,” she said with a warmth that again touched me deeply, “and I’m honored to have you here as our guest. But I’ve chattered enough, and you must be weary. You’ll want to wake early, you know. His Majesty rises with the sun, and begins his day by walking through the park with his dogs and his gentlemen. I should expect him to call here after that, under pretext of seeing Lord Arlington. You should be ready to receive him.”

“I will be ready, my lady,” I said, smiling with anticipation. “You’ll not have to rouse me. Madame kept early hours as well, and I’m accustomed to it. Sometimes we wondered if she ever slept at all.”

“That is the way of the Stuarts,” Lady Arlington said, laughing softly. “They’re a busy lot, with not a moment to squander on anything as uninteresting as sleep.”

She rose to leave my bedchamber, pausing for a moment before my dark mourning gown, hung on the door of the cabinet for wearing tomorrow. She reached to run her fingers over the soft wool, smoothing a scrap of lint away from the dark cloth.

“My husband was impressed by you in Dover, mademoiselle,” she said, as if addressing the gown and not me. “The moment you appeared today, I saw for myself that his praise of your beauty was no exaggeration. But he’d also spoken highly of your wisdom and discretion, complements I questioned in a lady as young as you are. Even Lord Arlington is apt to credit more to a pretty face than perhaps he should.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me, as if sharing a secret that women alone could understand. “Now I find I must apologize to him, a difficult task for any wife. His first judgment of you was well-deserved. You are wise and discreet beyond your years, and clever, too, I suspect. You are not above a few words of advice, are you?”

“Of course not, my lady,” I murmured, for advice from this lady could be of considerable use.

“Yes, you are clever, my dear,” she began, “but never forget that the king is infinitely more so. You must take considerable care in managing him. Never speak directly to him of political affairs, or show any aversion to those who are near him, no matter how taxing or trying some of those rogues may be. Loyalty is one of his greatest qualities, but only if you can garner it for yourself.”

“I shall try my best, my lady,” I said, and bowed my head in acknowledgment of her sagacity. What she’d said was true for all courtiers, whether ladies or gentlemen, and I would do well to heed every word.

“I believe you will, mademoiselle,” Her Ladyship said with approval. “No wonder the king desires you. What an agreeable change you’ll make from the bold and brazen slatterns he usually chooses!”

“Thank you, my lady,” I said, realizing the significance of this compliment. She could make all manner of jests about her husband’s judgment of me, but I suspected hers held equal weight, and if I’d failed to impress her favorably, I’d have had a much more difficult path for myself at Court. Thus I curtsied again, the better to convey my gratitude. “I am most honored.”

“We’ll all be honored if you succeed in pleasing the king, my dear. I am sure you won’t forget us, and share the favors that His Majesty might drop your way.” She gave the gown one final brush with her hand and turned back toward me, her hands folded at her waist. “You were right to choose this gown. You’ll please the king by wearing it.”

“That is my only wish, my lady,” I said fervently, “to please His Majesty.”

“You will.” Gently she took my face in her hands and kissed me on the forehead. “Now sleep, mademoiselle. The morning, and His Majesty, will be here soon enough.”

I smiled up at her, giddy with expectation, and who could fault me for it? In the morning, His Majesty would be here with me. With
me
.

And no, I did not sleep at all.

Chapter Fourteen

WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON
September 1670

 

 

 

T
his was how I would always remember my first glimpse of the king in London.

Unable to sleep, I drew a chair close to the window and sat with my bare feet curled beneath me to watch the sun rise, the clouds turning gray, then pink, and finally breaking apart to reveal the new day. From Lord Arlington’s lodgings, I could see the green swatch of the park stretching out behind the palace. The grass was crossed by numerous paths, empty now of visitors at so early an hour. The only notable witness was a large single bronze statue on a marble pedestal, a likeness of an ancient warrior, scaled beyond life, who in his full manly nakedness raised his clenched fist in salute toward the palace. Oblivious to this bronze combatant, white swans and brown ducks glided on a long rectangular pond—the English canal that Lord Buckingham had described to me—whose surface shone silvery bright in the early sunlight, and a score or so of wild deer grazed upon the lawns. The very tops of the great oak trees were beginning to shift their color for autumn, green leaves fading into gold.

As was common at this season of the year, a mist had risen from the ground during the night, and now only a few patches of it remained, softening the scene likes wisps of fairy gossamer. Through this mist, beneath the oaks, I saw the movement of a darker form: more deer, I thought, or perhaps some other creature in search of its breakfast.

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the sill, and the shadowy form in the mist took a more human shape and became four gentlemen. The three who walked behind I did not notice, except to see that they were there. How could it be otherwise, when the tallest one striding boldly in the fore was the king?

He was dressed in dark colors, though whether in somber mourning for his sister or simply by his usual custom, I did not know. He walked briskly, his long legs making his stride so long that the other gentlemen labored to keep pace. I smiled, remembering that stride from Dover and how he never seemed to tire. His dark hair fell back over his shoulders and his coat was open from his exertions, the white linen of his shirt in stark contrast to the otherwise unrelieved black. Scurrying incongruously around him were a half dozen of his spaniels, their ears flopping and their tongues lolling as they, too, hurried not to be left behind.

At this distance, I couldn’t make out his features beneath the shadow of his flat-brimmed hat, yet still I leaned closer to the glass, my fingertips pressed to the cool surface, as if that were enough to see more. He seemed everything a king should be: virile, strong, handsome, and masterful.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” I whispered, and smiled fondly. “And what a fine day it is with you to grace it.”

Abruptly he stopped his walking, and the other gentlemen stopped with him. He said something that made them all laugh (for the jests of kings are always amusing), and then, to my horror, he turned and pointed up toward my window, and looked directly at me.

I gasped and tumbled backward, my chair crashing to the floor in a most clumsy fashion. Given the sun, the distance, and the glass pane between us, I doubted he was able to see me spying on him, but I still felt the shock of his attention as surely as if we’d been only a few feet apart. More shocking still was the realization that he could be on his way to these quarters, and I was still in my nightclothes, with my hair frowzy and undone.

“Mademoiselle!” exclaimed Lady Arlington, drawn to the room by the thump of my chair. Unlike me in my night shift, she was fully garbed for the morning, complete to the pearls around her throat and in her ears. “What has happened? Why are you not dressed?”

Chagrined, I pointed to the window. “Nothing has happened, my lady. I was looking from the window, and saw His Majesty, and—”

“Yes, yes, and now he in turn shall see you in this sorry, slovenly state if you don’t hurry.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Now make haste. Call your maid, and dress yourself at once. At once!”

It was as well that I’d already settled on wearing the mourning gown without further ornament, and that in the same plain spirit I’d decided not to paint my face or eyes nor dress my hair in any elaborate fashion. Thus when the king did arrive and I heard his voice greeting Lord Arlington at the entry, I was ready to present myself exactly as I’d planned, sitting on a cane-backed chair as the epitome of well-bred, artless innocence.

Prepared as I was for this moment, I couldn’t keep my heart from racing with excitement and more than a little anxiety, too. So many people in both England and France had contributed to launching my adventure and had worked together to bring me here, with an equal number of ambitions and hopes now resting on my plump white shoulders. Not the least of these ambitions were of course my own, for while my other sponsors would glide to another if I were to fail, I’d only myself to look to for my future and whatever fortune I could make.

But nothing was certain. However charming I remembered His Majesty to be, he remained no more than a man, and an inconstant one at that where the fair sex was concerned. In the time since I’d seen him last, he might have found another lady, more beautiful and more obliging. He could have lost interest in me for being French, or suspected the hand of his cousin Louis, or perhaps I’d ceased to interest him for being so readily offered. He might have returned his devotions to Lady Cleveland, or even to Her Majesty.

In those final moments before he entered the room, I thought of all these unhappy possibilities and a score of others, yet not once did I ever guess what really came to pass.

“You recall Mademoiselle de Keroualle, sir, I am sure,” Lord Arlington said as he opened the door and ushered the king and Lady Arlington into the room. “Mademoiselle, His Majesty.”

I had only the most fleeting impression of his dark-clad height looming over me and the face I remembered so well, before perforce I bowed my head and curtsied. I kept low, my downcast gaze fixed on the floorboards as I waited for him to speak, and give me leave to rise. I waited, and waited still, my heart racing within my breast and my palms damp with worry as I held my skirts and wondered miserably what I’d done wrong.

Then suddenly he seized my hands and drew me up himself, pulling me upright so unexpectedly that I gasped aloud, just as I’d done earlier at the window. Now unavoidably, inevitably, my gaze met his, and I could not have looked away even if I’d wished it.

His Majesty wept.

“When I see you, mademoiselle,” he said, his voice full of torment, “I see my sister at your side.”

“Oh, sir,” I said softly in French, scarce more than a whisper as sympathetic tears of my own stung my eyes. My mourning had played its role, but now I almost wished it hadn’t. I dared to weave my fingers more closely into his, squeezing them gently to offer what wordless comfort I could. “Oh, sir, I am sorry!”

“She was so happy at Dover,” he said. “You know. You were there. And then—then it was done.”

“You needn’t say more,” I urged, wishing to save him the pain. “Please, sir, do not do this to yourself.”

He shook his head, more at the unfairness of Madame’s fate than to refuse my comfort. “You loved her, mademoiselle, and she loved you and trusted you. She told me so herself.”

“But she loved you above all others, sir.” To see a gentleman let his tears fall so shamelessly was the most poignant sight I’d ever seen. “She spoke of you on her deathbed, and now even in heaven, I am sure she watches over you.”

That made his dark eyes fill anew, yet at the same time I saw his jaw tighten with a determination that seemed at odds with his grief.

“Arlington,” he said without turning toward His Lordship, “pray take your lady and leave me with Mademoiselle de Keroualle.”

To be honest, I’d been so rapt in the king’s emotions that I’d forgotten the Arlingtons remained in the room with us.

“Forgive me, sir,” said Lady Arlington with her usual soft-spoken grace, “but for the sake of the lady’s honor and modesty, I should prefer to remain.”

“And I, madam, prefer that you should not,” he said, more sharply than I’d expected. “I wish to speak to this lady alone.”

As favored as the Arlingtons were, not even they could refuse a royal order like that.

“As you wish, sir,” Lord Arlington said. He bowed deeply, and took his wife’s arm so they might withdraw together. The door clicked shut after them, and I looked back to the king.

“Come, mademoiselle, sit with me,” he said, and led me over to a nearby settle. This furnishing was long and commodiously wide, and fitted with numerous soft cushions of silk velvet in the Italian manner. With dismay I wondered if he intended to make use of its convenience to make his first assault upon my virtue. But sorrow ruled, and though we sat side by side, to my relief passion was the furthest thing from his thoughts.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, still clasping my hand as he looked directly into my eyes. “Mademoiselle, I would ask that you be as truthful and loyal to me as you were to my dear sister.”

I placed my free hand over my heart and bowed my head with sweet grace. “You have my pledge, sir.”

He nodded, pleased. “You attended my sister when she died, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” I said as another tear escaped my eye. “I was with her when she was first stricken, and remained until the end, and after.”

“Then tell me all,” he said firmly. “I’ve heard it from others, but none that I trust to tell me the truth. Tell me now, mademoiselle, and leave nothing out.”

I took a deep breath and did as he bid, relaying every detail of those dreadful last hours of Madame’s life. From the chicory water to the final consolations of Bishop Bousset, I omitted nothing, exactly as he wished.

Now was when I’d expected him to display the depth of his loss, but again I was wrong. As he listened, his eyes were entirely dry, his earlier anguish replaced by complete concentration on my words, and a steely determination to miss nothing. Several times he interrupted me to ask some detail I’d forgotten—what antidotes had been administered, and whether blades or leeches had been used for the bloodlet ting, and where Monsieur had been at this or that time—and when I answered, he nodded, and asked me to continue.