“Perhaps, but what does it matter if he marries her now or later?” Lili thought for a moment. “It’s not as if I loved him. At least there’s that.”
“I hate everything,” Delphine whispered. Lili did not reply, lost in repetition of a simple thought. Friendship. Not love. What we had was friendship. Not love.
They reached the Place Royale just as another carriage was coming down Rue des Tournelles, behind Hôtel Bercy. “Who was that?” Lili asked without caring.
“I don’t know,” Delphine said, tracing the retreat of the coach down the street with disinterested eyes. She shrugged. “Maman must have a new visitor.”
The valet greeted them as they entered the house. “Madame asks that you come to see her right away,” he said, as he helped them remove their light summer capes. “She is waiting in the parlor.” Lili and Delphine exchanged glances. The departing coach had obviously contained someone of more interest than they had thought.
“Mes chéries! I have the most extraordinary news for both of you!” Julie said, getting up from a fauteuil and rushing to greet them. “Look!” She held out a copy of the Gazette d’Amsterdam, open to a middle page. “‘The Adventures of Meadowlark,’” she said, pointing to the top.
Lili grabbed it from her and read aloud. “‘This is the first in a series of stories by M. Tellechat, recently of Belgium, about the adventures of two young travelers and their magical horse.’” All thoughts of Jean-Étienne vanished as an astonished Lili traced her fingers over the words on the page.
Delphine bounced on her toes with excitement. “You’re a published author, Lili!” Her wide eyes were the only thing visible over the tent of fingers on her face. “But why ‘recently of Belgium,’ Maman?” She looked at the page again, tapping the letter M. “And why Monsieur Tellechat?” She glanced at Lili and burst into laughter. “Will you have to wear breeches and a jabot when you’re famous?”
“Monsieur Diderot must have put it in to protect Lili,” Julie replied.
“That’s no fun!” Delphine looked crestfallen. “I want to tell everyone how smart and famous Lili is!”
“You must say nothing to anyone,” Maman said. “It isn’t safe. If powerful people get the idea she’s talking about them …” She didn’t need to finish. Everyone in Paris knew how easy it was to land in the
Bastille, even though it was hard to picture someone like Lili there.
“Was that Monsieur Diderot’s carriage we saw leaving?” Delphine asked.
“No—he came earlier,” Julie said. “There’s more than one piece of good news.” She turned to Lili. “Put that aside for a moment, since I’m sure you’ll want to hear this.” She motioned both of them to sit down, and then with a smile that slowly enveloped her whole being, she looked at Delphine. “That, ma petite, was the Comtesse d’Étoges, Ambroise Clément de Feuillet’s mother.”
Delphine gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “What did she want?”
“Oh, not much,” Julie said, smoothing her skirts with an overly casual air as she settled into a chair across from them. “Just to make sure I knew that Anne-Mathilde de Praslin is betrothed to the Comte de Beaufort.”
“Count Rotten Teeth?” Lili burst out laughing. “With his baby Gas-ton?”
Julie looked perplexed as the girls broke into laughter that soon had them wiping their eyes. “We’ll explain later, Maman,” Lili said.
Julie raised her eyebrows in mock disapproval. “The countess is the reason I couldn’t come with you for Saint Anne’s Day. She wrote a few days ago, saying she wanted to make my acquaintance, because her son is apparently most adamant in his feelings toward you. I thought it was best to hear what she had to say before telling you anything about it.”
“Mon Dieu,” Delphine said, frozen for a moment before her shoulders began to shake. The Gazette d’Amsterdam fell off Lili’s lap to the floor as she turned to embrace her, crying until Delphine’s shoulder and her own were dark with tears.
NIGHT HAD FALLEN
, and an exhausted Maman and exultant Delphine had long since gone to bed. Alone in the parlor, Lili opened the Gazette d’Amsterdam and began to read:
The golden domes of Kiev caught the rays of the rising sun as Meadowlark and Tom set Comète down on a grassy bank near the river that ran through the city.
“Look at all these churches!” Tom said. “They must be terribly religious here.”
When she was finished, she put down the paper in a sudden wave of exhaustion and rubbed her eyes. Delphine had spent hours that afternoon playing with ideas for her personal coat of arms to stamp into the wax on her letters and carve into the frame of the portrait that would adorn her parlor at the Chateau d’Étoges. Julie had reminded her, to no avail, that interest was one thing and betrothal quite another. It wasn’t at all clear whether she would have a sufficient dowry to make a match attractive to the Clément de Feuillet family, and she offered no advantage in rank.
“In the end it might all come to nothing,” Julie had said. “The Comtesse d’Étoges was not specific, do remember.”
“He stood his ground against Anne-Mathilde, didn’t he,” Delphine asked. “Why can’t he stand his ground for me?”
Perhaps Delphine’s excitement was like a whirlwind that caught up everything in the room, but considering how long she had waited for her first story to appear, Lili felt a surprising deadness as she sat in the empty parlor. Jean-Étienne’s betrothal and his letter to her had been shoved aside by the excitement over the countess’s visit to Hôtel Bercy. Even the news that Diderot had placed three more of her stories in subsequent issues couldn’t raise her spirits.
Jean-Étienne was lost without her having even the fleeting pleasure of a single kiss. I still don’t know what a walk in a garden with a man I love is like, Lili thought. And I almost might have. Perhaps it was love she felt—or easily could have felt, if it weren’t so important to deny it. More important than ever after the events of that day.
Now, with her first published story, she’d achieved what she once hoped would release her from the destiny of a loveless marriage that now seemed both her and Jean-Étienne’s lot. Barras could refuse
to give her paper, or let her inkwell run dry, just to make sure she made a proper wife. Husbands could do that, Lili knew, and he seemed like the kind who might. “I haven’t seen even a spoonful of imagination or compassion in that man,” Maman had told her earlier that evening. “As far as I’m concerned you’re not going to marry him unless you want to. And I will do my best to make sure you aren’t coerced into thinking you want to.”
Ambroise had stood his ground, just as Delphine said. But you have to have ground to stand on, Lili thought, wondering if perhaps he was the only one who did. Jean-Étienne decided he couldn’t say no, and from the explanation the Comte de Buffon had given, it sounded like marrying Francine was the dutiful and noble thing to do. And what footing did Lili have against Baronne Lomont and Robert de Barras? A few stories in the paper? It had been foolish to think that would help.
Did Delphine, in her blissful sleep, understand that if the gate to her dreams closed, all the will in the world would not be enough to pry it back open again? Lili shuddered and turned out the lamp to go upstairs to bed. “Her life will be the way she wants, and so will mine,” she commanded into the darkness, wishing that her thoughts were enough to power her through life, and that her voice didn’t sound so tiny and afraid.
At least we have Maman, Lili remembered. Her will seemed to create enough momentum for all three of them.
AFTER HIS MOTHER’S
visit, Ambroise Clément de Feuillet wrote to Julie within hours to request an invitation to her salon and to inquire whether Delphine might be present. Delphine, who almost never attended, was sick with apprehension. “I’m not smart like Lili,” she moaned at supper. “What if he sees I don’t have all that many thoughts in my head?”
“He’d have to be looking at someone else,” Julie replied. “And you’ll be amazed at how intelligent you’ll appear if you just listen appreciatively.”
She thought for a moment. “I’ll make sure the Comte de Buffon will be here. His fondness for you will go a long way with the others.” She leaned forward with a sly look. “I’m sure he’ll boast about your drawings, so you might have some at hand to show around, and a few more in the library to share privately with Ambroise—if he can manage to get you to overcome your modesty and permit him to see them.” Lili snickered, but Delphine was too nervous to smile.
“Perhaps Delphine could play and we could sing something?” Lili suggested. “Maybe a little piece by Monsieur Philidor? He’s usually there, and he would be most flattered, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes!” Delphine clapped her hands. “With something to do, my being there wouldn’t look quite so—” She thought for a moment. “Quite so entirely what it is. And Lili is right that Monsieur Philidor would think you were doing it out of appreciation for him.”
Julie chuckled. “I think that would be lovely for both you and him. Let’s go choose something.” Lili and Delphine followed her into the parlor, where Julie opened a cabinet and took out some sheet music. She put one of them on the bottom after looking at it and selected another. “This is lovely,” she said, humming the first bars of the melody.
“What about the one on the bottom?” Lili asked, her interest piqued by what looked like an attempt to hide something.
“Oh, not that one,” Julie said. “It wouldn’t do.” Her cheeks colored.
“Ooohhh!” Delphine squealed, trying to snatch the music from her hand. “Something a bit too intime?”
“Well,” Julie said, sensing a losing battle, “if you must know, it’s a piece Monsieur Philidor wrote for me that is—how should I say this?—a bit too ardent for the salon.” She let out a resigned sigh and handed it to Delphine.
“‘Who is Julie?’” Delphine read. “‘A flower in winter, a cool breeze in summer, all the things the heart remembers with delight.’” She looked up. “My, my!”
“I think that’s quite enough,” Maman said, holding her hand out with a look that said the impromptu reading was at an end.
“All right,” Delphine said, “but I think it’s most unfair that you haven’t told us about this before.”
“Told you about what?”
“That you have an admirer.” Delphine turned to Lili. “Did you guess?”
Before Lili could reply, Maman held up a hand. “Quiet now, or I won’t let you play at the salon. And Lili will ask your opinions about politics, won’t you?” Maman gave Lili a conspiratorial wink. “Complicated questions, in front of Ambroise.”
“Why would I do that, when I’d much rather hear about Monsieur Philidor right now?” She teased Maman with an impish smile, but the look on Julie’s face said that the subject was closed.
DELPHINE WASTED NO
time inviting Ambroise to come sit for a portrait after he admired her drawings at the salon. “Why don’t you sketch in the garden of the Place Royale?” Maman suggested to Delphine after he arrived. “It’s a perfect day for you and Lili to take a little air. And of course,” she said, turning to Ambroise, “your company would be most appreciated since they can’t sit out alone.”
It became the first of many times they took advantage of a pleasant afternoon before the heat of late summer drove them inside. On the days he was to visit, servants set up three chairs underneath plane trees surrounding the statue of Louis XIV at the center of the square. Lili brought along her writing paper or a book, and Delphine and Ambroise bantered about the gossip of the day as she sketched. Every time, he came full of new information about their mutual acquaintances. Anne-Mathilde was expecting a child. Paul-Vincent was finishing military school and would soon join his regiment. Josephine’s first child had been safely delivered but died soon after.
“And Jacques-Mars Courville?” Delphine asked, surprising Lili with the indifference in her voice.
“Jacques-Mars, from what I heard,” Ambroise said, “is preparing for a career as a royal ambassador. Bound for Venice, I’ve heard.”
“An ambassador?” Lili looked up from her reading. “That’s a rather frightening prospect.”
“Quite,” Ambroise said. “I’ve heard it’s intended to keep him away from the women at Versailles. Marie Leszczynska has developed a severe dislike for him.”
He looked away for a moment. Was he thinking about Anne-Mathilde and her friendship with Jacques-Mars? Lili supposed so, but Ambroise was too much of a gentleman to say a bad word about someone he was once expected to marry. “He’s probably feeling quite good about Venice,” he went on. “Wearing a mask, he should be able to get away with most anything.”
“How nice for Venice,” Delphine said with a sniff, cocking her head to make sure he understood she didn’t mean it.
“He’ll go with the senior ambassador, of course, to learn the ways, and if he manages not to get caught in bed with his wife, I imagine he may make a success of it.” Ambroise looked away. “I can’t say I’ve met too many people I dislike as much as I do him. Perhaps it’s that he’s still so young to be so—I don’t know.” He looked at both of them in turn. “I think I’ve said too much. Have I upset you?”
“No! Not at all!” Delphine gave Lili a quick, triumphant glance. “We never liked him either, did we?”
“No,” said Lili. “I can’t say we ever have.” She touched her finger to her ear, this time to signal not a lie but a shared moment of victory.
ON A SULTRY
afternoon a few months later, Lili and Delphine stood at an upstairs window looking down at two carriages waiting in the courtyard. The sun came out from behind a cloud and turned the puddles from a recent shower into mirrored reflections of the sky, as they waited for the visitors to emerge from the house.
“There’s Maman’s lawyer,” Lili said. “And Ambroise’s father and their lawyer too.”
Delphine buried her head in Lili’s shoulder. “I’m afraid to look. Are they acting friendly?”
“Very,” Lili said, watching the men share something amusing enough to make them both laugh. “They’re getting in their carriages now.”
Delphine’s face was pale and her eyes were huge. “Should we wait for Maman, or go down?” Before Lili could reply, they heard a familiar creak on the stairs, and within moments Julie came into the room holding a paper.