The French Mistress (20 page)

Madame sat to the front of her chair, with her hands in their black woolen mitts clasped tightly before her on the table, and listening with care and eagerness, as was her custom. I could well understand her excitement. Few ladies of any rank were permitted to play such a bold part on the world’s stage. Her determination was exhilarating, and her impassioned eloquence when addressing these gentlemen inspired me no end. She had persevered through much to reach this table, enduring the jealous rages of her husband and the near-constant illnesses that racked her slender frame. Not only would this alliance bring together her two countries, but it would also garner her the approval of the two gentlemen for whom she cared most in the world. I’d not forget her achievement, either, nor how hard she’d worked to gain it.

Her brother, however, demonstrated a far different style during the negotiations. Because he was both a man and a king, such talks must have long past lost their novelty to him. He sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched before him under the table, where several of his spaniels lay sleeping. To disguise his true feelings (or so I guessed), he feigned uninterest with the discussion, even boredom, his thoughts inscrutable beneath his half-closed eyes.

Several times his restlessness drove him to rise from the table and go to the sideboard to forage for a slice of ham or bread with jam, for of course there were no servants in attendance, given the nature of these talks. Yet protocol continued to rule, and as soon as the king stood, the rest of us stood as well, from respect, though the others continued their discussion unabated. It was an astonishing thing to see, those serious lords popping up and down like jack-in-the-box, and a wonderfully foolish sight at that.

As the king returned from one of these little forays, his plate laden, he happened to glance my way, and caught me smiling with amusement. Chagrined, I blushed and ducked my head, which he likely interpreted as artful flirtation, rather than miserable fluster. He walked the long way around the table to his chair, purposely passing close to me. As he did, he took two Spanish oranges from his plate and placed them in my hands. He was turned so that none at the table could see his face, and knowing that, he raised his brows and pulled his mouth into a doleful grimace, I suppose to express his ennui, yet in the most comical and unexpected manner imaginable. Then he returned to his chair, his face once again solemnly composed, while watching me all the time as he waited to see my reaction.

To my horror, that reaction was both immediate and inappropriate. Laughter bubbled up within me, from both the silliness of the moment and my own discomfiture. Not wishing to disgrace myself, I did my best to swallow back my laugh, but only succeeded partway, making instead a dreadful snorting cough. Mortified, I bowed my head, and tried to think of the saddest and most tragic things possible. I heard nothing from the table that made me think they’d taken notice of my noisy misstep, though I suspect Sir Thomas must have rolled his gaze heavenward with this sorry proof of his misgivings.

Perhaps that emboldened me for what I did next, or perhaps I realized I’d not be reprimanded so long as the king himself was the cause of it. In any event, I swiftly peeled one of the oranges he’d given me, setting aside the peels neatly on the window’s sill. When the sweet fruit was clean, I rose and took it to the king himself, curtsying prettily as I handed it to him. He smiled, both pleased and surprised, I think, and without a word I returned to my chair.

Figuring I had caused enough distraction, I occupied myself industriously by peeling the second orange, intending to eat it. Yet when I looked up, I saw the king was watching me. As soon as I raised a segment of the orange to my lips, he did the same, his gaze never leaving my own. The sweet juice filled my mouth, playing over my tongue, and I couldn’t help but think of the other orange doing the same in his mouth, on his tongue, exactly as he’d intended. I ate each piece slowly, savoring it, and letting the tip of my tongue lick clean whatever droplets of juice dared escape my lips, and saw him do the same. Innocent though I was, I fully realized the suggestive nature of this little game between us, and what manner of lubricious acts he wanted me to envision with him. The blush that now stained my cheeks was a wicked one indeed, and knowingly so, too.

“Is that not so, Charles?” Madame asked, testy, as if she were repeating her question. “Would you not agree?”

He sighed, and turned back to the table. “I would agree that any English troops must be governed by English officers, and not French,” he said, proving that he’d been minding the conversation no matter how else he’d been engaged with me. “I know it’s the practice with other armies, but no English soldier will tolerate a foreign voice giving orders, nor should he.”

After that, there was no further flirtation between the king and me. The discussions continued until the middle of the morning, and were adjourned for the day when the rest of the castle’s guests were beginning to stir.

Not that either Madame or her brother retreated to their bed-chambers to make good on the sleep they’d missed. Far from it. His Majesty appeared to share Madame’s propensity for little sleep, made all the more incredible because he filled those extra hours awake with boundless activity. I suppose this must have been yet another quality inherent to the Stuarts, for in his past visits I’d noticed Lord Monmouth was likewise filled with this same rare and exhausting (to the rest of us) degree of enthusiasm and fortitude, and always eager to be off somewhere or another.

As soon as the meetings were done, the king proposed a sail around the harbor, the better to view the famous cliffs we’d only seen previously by the gray light of dawn. Madame immediately agreed, no matter that the weather remained dank and chill, with rain ever-threatening. With the effects of our crossing fresh in their memories, the majority of Madame’s ladies declined this junket, but I’d no such qualms, and before long a small party of us was aboard the king’s own yacht, sailing gaily across the choppy waves and through a misty fog.

Once we’d landed, the king declared he’d a need to stretch his legs, and off we trudged along the stony beach, with the same piebald spaniels who’d slept beneath the table now bounding on ahead to chase the gulls. Being young, and also desirous to remain in the royal company, I continued with them, and was rewarded with the king’s happy delight that I could keep pace with his lengthy stride, the only lady besides Madame who could. With Lord Monmouth eager to support her if she stumbled on the stones, we were a merry, raucous crew, made more raucous still when the gentlemen began to sing sailors’ songs that grew increasingly bawdy as we laughed and laughed. I’d never seen Madame as giddy as this, full of joy and without the heaviness that her life in France seemed to press upon her. But then, there was no amusement like this at the French Court, and while part of me was scandalized to see so little decorum among those of the highest ranks, I was young and could not help but enjoy such lighthearted jollities.

Likewise, too, I understood a second purpose to these entertainments. The king wished to present Madame’s visit as entirely frivolous, a pleasurable reunion between siblings. The alliance that was being discussed in the hours before dawn was to be kept as much a secret from the other English courtiers as from the Dutch ambassador. What better way to hide so serious a purpose than behind a mask of idle amusement?

Finally Madame admitted she was in need of rest, and we retreated to our lodgings in the castle, while the king and Lord Monmouth went off for hawking in the fields nearby. Once inside, I realized how cold and damp I’d become, my hair hanging in tendrils and my face sticky from the salty sea spray. At Madame’s doorway, I began to retreat to my own rooms to repair and recover, when she caught my arm to hold me back.

“A word, Louise, if you please,” she said, drawing me into her bedchamber and closing the door after, so we’d not be overheard. Away from her brother’s company, she’d wilted, her gaiety gone and the discomforts of her illness showing again on her face. She’d eaten little since we’d arrived, claiming it was excitement, not illness, that kept her from the rich foods being offered, but I doubted her words. She looked pale and weak, yet still determined.

I steeled myself, sure now I’d be scolded for my ill-smothered laughter during the treaty discussions earlier. But to my surprise, I’d guessed wrong.

“Louise,” Madame began, her hands clasped tightly before her, exactly as they’d been at the table. “Louise, you know how I trust you, and love you best of my household.”

“Yes, Madame,” I said softly, more touched than I could say. “Thank you, Madame.”

“I should thank you as well, my dear,” she said, her smile bitter-sweet. “There are so few I can trust in my life, yet I have never once questioned my faith in you.”

“I have been honored by your trust, Madame.” I thought sadly of those who had in fact betrayed her, from the grand names like Louise de la Vallière and Athenais du Montespan to the more humble ones as well, footmen and maidservants and grooms who’d run directly to Monsieur or Louis himself to whisper their tattle about my poor mistress. There were too many who’d misused her this way, far, far more than she deserved. “My only wish is to continue to serve both you and France, and to be worthy of your faith in me.”

“You are a loyal daughter of France, Louise.” She smiled warmly. “Be sure that His Majesty is aware of it, too.”

Again I nodded, and recalled the curious conversation I’d had with Louis in the gardens outside the Louvre, last Christmas Day. I wondered if he’d known then that I was to be here in Dover now. Perhaps he’d already determined that I’d have this role as a spectator to the negotiations—a role that I’d nearly spoiled with my foolish behavior. At once I could anticipate Louis’s displeasure when he should learn of it—for though Madame would not mention it, the Marquis de Croissy would not be so reticent. I could find myself in disgrace at our Court or, worse, sent home to my parents, and my spirits plummeted.

Yet Madame seemed to sense the shift in my humor, and reached out to rest a reassuring hand on my arm.

“Don’t doubt yourself, my dear,” she said gently. “You’ve done well, very well, and no one here would say otherwise.”

I wondered if that meant she’d defended me to the ambassador, or whether here in the less oppressive air of England, my misstep was not so dreadful as I’d feared.

But Madame’s own fears, it seemed, had landed in another corner altogether.

“I have the greatest regard for you, Louise,” she said, “but surely you must know that I love no one more on this earth than my brother.”

“Yes, Madame,” I said, and with equal care. “No one could deny the devotion you and His Majesty share.”

“No one should,” she said almost fiercely. “And yet because I love him as a brother, I am also aware of his flaws as a man. Louise, I beg you, have a care with him.”

“You mean the oranges, and laughing as I did,” I said contritely. “Please, Madame, forgive me, I beg you! I never intended to giggle and laugh like that, not when—”

“Do you believe I care about small mischief like that?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Louise, that is as nothing. As nothing!”

I searched her face, bewildered. “Then what is, Madame? What is it you fear?”

“That you’ll believe what he tells you, and mistake desire and gallantry for love,” she said, her eyes full of anguished tears. “Guard your heart, Louise. Kings have none to lose, you see. No matter what else may happen here, guard your heart.”

 

 

The pattern of our days remained the same for the next week. The secret discussions for a new alliance continued each morning, and were followed by every manner of entertainment: balls, hunts, sailing parties, suppers, and amusements. We walked, we rode, and the king himself led the more daring of the gentlemen to bathe and swim in the sea. We made one long trip to Canterbury to see a ballet and a play performed by the Duke of York’s company, followed by an elegant meal at St. Augustine’s Abbey, and on another day, we clambered aboard the royal yacht and sailed up the coast to review the fleet stationed there, as pretty a sight as ever there could be.

The king sought my company as often as was possible, for dancing, conversation, and flirtation, blithely ignoring any wishes his sister may have made in my regard. To be desired and pursued by a king is a heady honor, and with it came a recognition and a power I’d never had at the French Court. Everyone in Dover knew me, and flattered me, and wished to be with me so that some of my golden burnish as a favorite might shift to them.

Yet I’d not needed Madame’s warning to know the danger, as well as the honor, that came from the king’s pursuit. He himself was temptation incarnate, and my body sorely desired to succumb. But I’d seen enough of the world to understand that if I gave myself to him in that flower-covered castle, his interest in me would soon fade. The moment I sailed back to France, I’d be forgotten, my maidenhead gone forever and, given the numbers of bastards he’d already sired, likely another of my own in my belly as a remembrance. I’d kept chaste too long to toss it away like that now, and besides, my virginity was the sum of my dower.

Did I already love the king? I cannot say now, nor could I have done so then, either. I was still of an age that finds it impossible to separate divine love from common lust, exactly as Madame had feared, and in truth, when one is but twenty, there’s likely little difference between the two. I knew that when he smiled at me, I forgot all else around me save him. I knew that my name on his lips was the most enchanting sound I’d ever heard. I knew that when his fingers closed around my hand, my heart quickened and I felt a feverish desperation for more intimate caresses. I knew that each night I tossed with restless, wanton dreams of him that made me wake with my limbs a-tremble, my breathing short and my body soaked, and my thoughts tumbling with wicked imaginings of lying with him.