Delphine was shimmering. Her strawberry-blond curls were lifted up gently off the back of her neck and arranged in perfect, scented ringlets whose ends skimmed the ivory ruffle of her collar. Her face was heavily powdered and her lips were dark pink with rouge. A stomacher pressed her ribs flat, pushing up her breasts so
that the pink of her nipples was barely out of sight under a frill of delicate lace. The lilac silk of her bodice and skirt was printed with Chinese birds whose long, drooping tail feathers were linked with pink and ivory nosegays made from thousands of tiny embroidered knots. The sleeves had been sewn on as Delphine stood in her room, as had a long train in the English style, bunched into a dozen or more tightly crimped pleats at the back of her neck, and rippling in soft cascades down to the floor.
“You look beautiful.” Lili embraced Delphine as much as their huge panniers allowed.
“You too,” Delphine murmured.
Lili had chosen a simpler design for her dress, with a bodice, skirt, and elbow-length sleeves in a light gray satin she had loved from first sight in the mercier’s shop, because it looked as if it were made from pools of liquid silver. Her bodice was tied with green ribbons, and her train was embroidered with garlands of leaves and graceful clusters of purple and cream-colored flowers.
A group of twenty or more guests and ladies-in-waiting noticed them standing at the door and cleared a narrow path for them. Julie started forward and Delphine followed. Lili paused for a moment and looked down in horror at the small pool of water where Delphine had been standing. Delphine’s hem had dragged it a few steps into the room, making a ragged smear, and Lili took a few sideways steps to cover the spot with her own skirts and blot it as she walked forward. Her panniers wobbled at the unexpected motion.
Delphine and Julie had stopped by now in front of the queen, and Lili walked quickly to catch up and stand on Julie’s other side, with her eyes downcast to hide her terror. Her panniers felt uncentered, but there was nothing she could do that would be graceful enough to avoid titters and whispers among the assembled women. She watched out of the corners of her eyes as Delphine made her révérence and then, after a few words with the queen, took several careful steps backward. In a second, Delphine was around, glowing in the knowledge that her train was perfect behind her.
Maman turned to Lili, offering formal words of presentation that sounded as muffled as if her head were underwater. Lili made a slow and careful révérence, and when she stood up again she took her first good look at the queen.
Though Lili knew Queen Marie Leszczynska was in her fifties, she was still unprepared for the matronly woman seated in front of her. The queen was short, and too plump to bother with a tight corset. She wore a dress of luxurious gold and brown brocade, decorated on the bodice with columns of transparent chiffon. Rows of jagged, ornate lace draped over her arms, pulled up at the elbows by floppy satin bows. The dress was more expensive than beautiful or stylish, and at odds with the black, mantillalike head covering that rested over her tight, gray curls.
The queen smiled at her. “Stanislas-Adeläide. You are named for my father, I believe.” Even after decades in France, her voice was full of the sounds of her native Poland. “And you are the daughter of the Marquis du Châtelet and his dear, late wife.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lili said. “Madame de Bercy has raised me since I was a small child.”
“And raised you well, I can see.” She held up a pair of glasses and peered through them. Tell me,” she said. “Are you as good at cards as your mother was?”
“I—I don’t know, Your Majesty. I never had the opportunity to know her.”
“A pity. She was the most delightful company, although I must admit her intelligence frightened all of us.”
“You knew my mother?” Lili blurted out. She heard the rustle of skirts and the murmur of voices behind her and instantly felt foolish. Of course she knew her. And the queen asks the questions, not you, she reminded herself. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I forgot my manners.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” the queen said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “All this frippery is a waste of time, but everyone does
seem to insist on it.” She looked through her glasses again. “I can see her face in yours.”
Lili glanced at Maman and saw that her eyes were shining. “I hope so,” Lili said. “I’m very proud of her.”
“But you still haven’t told me whether you play cards. I love a good faro player with the sense to let me win some of the time.” Her eyes crinkled. “After all, I am the queen.”
“I will do my best to please you,” Lili said, feeling a burst of perspiration under her arms. So far it had gone well, but she’d have to back up and turn around soon, and she felt everyone’s eyes boring into her back.
“And now,” the queen was saying, “I must get ready for dinner.”
I want to do this perfectly, Lili thought with an intensity she had never felt during months of practice. I want her to like me. Her steps backward were small enough to avoid catching her hem, but as she twisted her body around, she felt her train catch on one of her panniers and knew without looking that it was bunched to one side behind her.
She managed to do what she had practiced to repair the situation by rote, taking a few steps forward and letting the weight of the train drag it to its proper position, but she heard the whispers around her and knew her error hadn’t escaped notice.
Maman and Delphine had already begun walking away, and she started behind them, keeping her eyes glazed to avoid seeing Anne-Mathilde, whom she hadn’t noticed but assumed was there.
“Please return for a moment, Stanislas-Adélaïde,” she heard the queen say.
Could it get worse? Some of the women had stepped back, eager to begin gossiping with their friends, and to her relief, Lili had room to take a few steps to turn around.
“I’m so sorry,” the queen said, when Lili was facing her again. “I stretched out my foot just as you turned and your train caught on my slipper.” The queen’s expression was stern as she surveyed the faces around her.
What she had said was untrue—anyone could see that—but what did it matter? The queen said it was not Lili’s fault, and that was the end of the matter.
“You may go,” the queen said, with a flicker of a smile.
She’s giving me another chance, Lili realized. I have to do it right this time. An unexpected calm came over her as she went up on her toes and brought her train around flawlessly. Her burden lifted, she floated through the clustered women, whose fans could not hide their astonishment at the queen’s intervention.
The Queen of France rescued me! She saw Delphine’s exultant grin and felt as if their spirits were dancing around the glittering room. And best of all, it’s over.
HEAVY SNOW AND
swirling wisps of fog cocooned Versailles in the first days after Lili’s and Delphine’s presentations. “Why did we have to come in December?” Delphine complained. “It’s spoiled all my plans, to be stuck inside. We haven’t been anywhere but our rooms and the queen’s apartment.” She let out a frustrated sigh at being ignored. “Maman! You’re supposed to be still when I’m sketching you!”
“I didn’t know you were,” Julie said. “I was too busy with my book to notice.”
“It was a surprise, and now it’s spoiled! Lili, will you promise to be still if I sketch you?”
Lili giggled. “No.”
“Well then, sit down and write. Sometimes you don’t move for hours then.”
“Maman,” Lili said, still ignoring Delphine’s petulance. “I’ve been thinking about the king. Where is he? We haven’t seen him once, and I’ve heard he’s often there when young ladies are presented.”
“He comes to speak for a few minutes with Marie Leszczynska every morning during her toilette, but they each have their own lives and they’re busy with their own duties.”
“Where does he live?” Delphine asked, looking up from her drawing.
Julie smiled. “It’s a very big palace.”
“Yes, but—”
“There’s another château on the grounds called the Trianon,” Julie went on. “Madame de Pompadour lived there, and the king spent a great deal of his time with her even after they weren’t lovers anymore. People knew if they wanted something from the king it was best to get her to ask on their behalf. But she died last year, and most people say the king is quite bereft.”
“That’s sad.” Delphine put down her sketchbook. “Even when people die too old to be attractive anymore.”
“She wasn’t old, unless you think I am,” Julie said. “She was just a year or two older than I, and I’m just forty.” She got up and, putting her hands on her hips, arched her back. “Although my bones feel older sometimes.”
Delphine got up. “I’m sorry, Maman. You are the most beautiful woman at Versailles.” She gave her a hug. “Except for me, of course!” She twirled around the room in tight pirouettes. “I just wish we could have a masquerade, or a big banquet, now that that awful presentation is over. I want to wear my panniers and not think everyone is watching me to see if I make a mistake.” She giggled. “Now I’ll be watching right back. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to catch Anne-Mathilde knocking something off a table?”
Lili watched as Delphine turned here and there, charming imaginary people in the drafty air of the parlor. She loved Delphine, but she could never understand how being in a place like this could satisfy anyone with more substance than the delicate Meissen figurines on the mantelpiece, or why Delphine seemed to want nothing more than to be a living version of them.
“Was Marie Leszczynska beautiful when she was young?” Delphine had by now danced over to Julie. “She has rather nice eyes, and I’m sure she wasn’t always so fat.”
Out of habit, Julie looked around to make sure no one was listening.
“She was always rather plain, but the king, I’m told, fell quite in love with her after they married.” Julie thought for a moment. “I think everybody loves her, at least a little. She’s a genuinely nice person. Humble too, considering how little she’s allowed to show it. It’s sad really. The king ruined her health with eleven pregnancies and now he wants little to do with her.”
Delphine dropped onto the couch beside Julie. “Eleven?”
“One was stillborn and several others died in infancy. And now her oldest son, the dauphin, is ill with consumption, and the rumor is that he’s unlikely to survive to become king. He stays away from Versailles, probably to keep down the gossip about how ill he looks.”
By now Lili had settled on the floor, cradling her back against Julie’s velvet dressing gown. She turned to look up at her. “What happens if he dies?”
“Right now the dauphin’s son is only ten years old. He’d become king anyway, in time. The only question is which number King Louis he’d be—sixteen if his father never becomes king, seventeen if he does. But it is difficult at court every time the throne changes hands. Everyone has friends and enemies, and everyone scrambles around for the same favor as before, if not more.”
She thought for a moment. “Whatever happens, Marie Leszczynska won’t be queen anymore, but I honestly think she might be very happy to be just the king’s grandmother, and rid herself of those fawning women and ceremonies she has little taste for.”
Delphine sighed. “It’s too bad the little son is too young for me. I’d love to be queen. I think it would be wonderful to have people pay attention to me all the time.” She giggled. “Wouldn’t it be a torment to Anne-Mathilde to have to make a révérence to me?” She got up. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, curtseying deeply. “Right away, Delphine. And then I’d say, ‘It’s always Your Majesty now, and you’d better not forget it.’”
Julie laughed, shaking her head. “I think the torment would be largely yours, ma chérie. Do you know, I’ve seen that poor woman stand naked and shivering while people argued over who had the
privilege of putting a clean chemise over her head? And would you really want people discussing your bowel movements as if they were affairs of state?” Lili and Delphine wrinkled their noses in disgust.
“Versailles is beautiful to visit,” Julie went on, “but to be part of the royal family would be far too public for me. You’d make almost no decisions at all about your own life. Every time I see the queen’s daughters, they remind me of little bees buzzing around the queen of the hive. What other life do they have?”
“Madame Victoire is quite pretty,” Delphine said, picking up Maman’s hand and stroking it with a fingertip. “But you’re right, Maman, the others do look like fat little bees, with their chubby little faces. Especially Mademoiselle Sophie.” She scrunched her face until her eyes were slits.
“That’s not my point, ma chérie. And you should be more careful what you say. The king is particularly fond of Sophie, I’ve been told. It would be a very bad idea to antagonize any of them, since their reach is much farther than yours will ever be.” She smiled. “At least since it appears as if Louis-Auguste is not going to be your husband.”
Delphine thought for a moment. “Madame Sophie does have a beautiful voice. Perhaps I could ask to accompany her on the harpsichord in the queen’s apartments some evening. We could put on a little concert. Perhaps the king would come too, if he’s fond of Sophie. Then we could meet him, since I’d hate to say I’d been to Versailles and have never seen him except on his balcony during mass.”
Julie’s face was somber. “I would be just as happy if you didn’t. He may be king, but he isn’t what I would call a good man.” She looked surreptitiously toward the door. “Madame de Pompadour made sure no one replaced her in the king’s affections by supplying him with an endless stream of vapid little mistresses, some no older than you. They lasted a few years and who knows what happened to them after that. They weren’t common prostitutes, but daughters of noblemen who used their own flesh and blood to advance themselves.”
She shuddered. “Versailles is really quite an ugly place, for all its
beauty. That’s why I come here as little as I can.” She looked away. “And why I immediately start wondering how soon I can go home.”
“They offered their daughters to the king?” Delphine’s eyes were wide with astonishment.