“Isn’t that just like him to talk about those squirmy little things before anything else?” Delphine said with a laugh. “Let’s invite him to come for a visit!”
Lili shook her head. “Listen to what he says next. ‘I have been told that the abbess is in sympathy with Baronne Lomont over what they feel is unacceptable behavior by Mademoiselle du Châtelet, and I believe it would make things worse if we attempted a meeting either here
or there. Until the situation is more agreeable, I remain, at a distance, your devoted friend, Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon.’”
Lili waved the letter in her hand. “And then he adds, ‘Please note that I have enclosed something that came from the Falkland Islands for Mademoiselle du Châtelet.’”
Inside the sheet of paper forming an envelope around the letter was another sheet, folded in quarters. Inside was a pressed, dried flower, its bright yellow center surrounded by six overlapping white petals. Drawn as if by a paintbrush from the center to the edge of each petal were three delicate lines in a purple tinged with green. On the paper protecting it, Jean-Étienne had written a note.
“‘The hand of God seems to paint flowers here as well,’” Lili read. “‘This one, called a pale maiden, is quite common on the islands, growing in the heath from the coast up into the hills. I thought you would like to know that I think of you when I see it, for I recall you had a dress in just these colors.’”
Delphine danced around the courtyard with delight. “He can’t stop thinking of you!” she said. Lili folded the note gently around the flower. Could that be true? she wondered as she put it back inside the count’s letter. Even if it is, does it matter?
“Why the long face?” Delphine asked. “There’s nothing but good on such a beautiful day. He’s going to sail home with a clear head about his future, and we have two of your favorites—new peas and crevettes—for dinner.” She took Lili’s arm. “Shall we go in?”
Esteemed Comte de Buffon,
I cannot begin to tell you what a joy it was to receive the letter you sent to Mademoiselle de Bercy here at the Abbaye de Panthémont. I had been in the most terrible despair over my loss of contact with you. I feel safe here for now, but I do not know what methods Baronne Lomont may have to bring me back, and your warning about the abbess makes me think staying here may be more difficult than I thought.
Delphine’s apartment was bathed in the dusty light of late afternoon as Corinne and the cook finished their work and stole quietly out for their after-dinner rest. Delphine had fallen asleep on a daybed, with swatches of fabric for her wedding dress strewn over her lap.
I do believe it is within the rights of a young woman of nearly eighteen to visit a sister who is about to be married, without needing permission she is certain will be cruelly and unfairly denied. But the most hopeful aspect of my situation is that Monsieur Clément de Feuillet has agreed to rent out his home in Paris and live with Delphine at Hôtel Bercy after their wedding. He has made it quite clear that I am welcome to return to my own quarters and live indefinitely with them. There can certainly be no grounds for objection to a husband and wife offering safe haven to a maiden relative, and I shall be able to return to life almost as before.
Almost, of course, because our beloved Maman will not be there. Still, Delphine’s great happiness will, I am sure, be some consolation. Perhaps we shall from time to time invite guests to a salon in our mother’s honor, and I can again listen to you defend my poor arguments against the learned men who so adored her.
Lili paused to dip her quill.
Of course it would not be the same without our beloved Jean-Étienne, and I hope you will share news from the Falklands the next time you write. I presume he is still engaged to be married.
Lili stopped for a moment. “Why did you spoil the page by writing that?” she muttered, tearing the letter in half with a loud rip. She wrote on a new piece of paper:
My dear Buffon.
I am indeed with Delphine at the Abbaye de Panthémont, but will be here only several more weeks, since she will be coming back to Paris for her wedding. Please send whatever papers you have. I am most eager to use my mind, as it has been sorely neglected the last few months.
Your devoted friend,
Stanislas-Adélaïde du Châtelet.
She picked up the pen again.
I forgot to mention that I am enclosing a lovely pen sketch Delphine made for you of the blossoms on the trees in her courtyard. You will see she continues to perfect the observational skills we all so admire.
She thought for a moment before adding a second signature. Lili. The way she would sign to a beloved father.
Lili picked up the sketch and folded it inside her letter. Then before sealing it, she took one blossom from the sprig that was still protruding from her bodice and tucked it, like a talisman, between the sheets of paper. “This is for Jean-Étienne,” she whispered. “Even if he never sees it.”
LILI EXTENDED HER
hand through the carriage door to help a trembling Delphine mount the step. Once inside, Delphine sat with excruciating delicacy to avoid uncentering her panniers and disturbing the luxurious silk petticoats under her skirt. Since she was still in half-mourning, she wore the traditional white, with a watered-silk bodice shot with gold and trimmed with ivory lace at the cuffs and neck. The cut was modest, and the slightly visible mounds of her breasts glowed under a dusting of powder. Her skirt was the same
white, with gold embroidery on the tops of the panniers, and her velvet slippers and hat had been made to match. A hairdresser and tailor had come shortly after dawn to spend the better part of the day sewing Delphine into her outfit and arranging her hair in the latest style.
The sun was reaching its apex in the May sky as Lili and Delphine set out for Hôtel Bercy. “I hope we don’t keep them waiting too long,” Delphine said. “I so want everything to be perfect.”
“It will be,” Lili said. “I know it will.” Except, of course, for the one thing that needed no reminder. Delphine’s wedding day had arrived, and Maman would not be there.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Delphine said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Please don’t cry,” Lili said. “Maman wouldn’t want you to, and you’ll spoil how pretty you look.”
Delphine bit her lip. “We should just pretend she’s here, perhaps. Maybe that will help it be less sad.”
Lili sat back in surprise. “Sad? You’ve dreamed of this since I told you fairy tales in bed!”
Delphine’s cheeks were drained of their color. “I don’t know what I think. Right now I think I’m mostly scared.”
Lili reached over to touch Delphine’s fingers. “Of what?”
Delphine grabbed Lili’s hand, wringing it without noticing. “Of everything. Of being a good wife. Of—” She gave Lili a terrified look. “Do you think it hurts? I’ve heard there’s a lot of blood the first time.”
“I don’t know. It seems as if everyone recovers—”
Delphine didn’t hear. “And then there’s having babies. I heard it makes even the bravest women scream. And I’m not very brave. Not at all like you!”
“I’m not brave!”
“Oh yes you are! You stood up to Baronne Lomont. You published your stories and didn’t care what anyone said. You make everybody love you for your mind. Monsieur Diderot, the Comte de Buffon …”
“But not Jean-Étienne,” Lili said. “Apparently I had very little effect on him.”
“Well, he may be good at medical kinds of things, but he’s a fool when it comes to—when it comes to what his heart says.”
“Not everyone can be as fortunate as you,” Lili said, hearing the tightness in her voice.
“Maman should be here,” Delphine said, turning to look out the window to avoid Lili’s eyes.
“She’d certainly be more help with—with the things you’re wondering about,” Lili said with a wan laugh that died in her throat.
Delphine looked at Lili quizzically. “Do you ever wonder what that song Monsieur Philidor wrote for her was about? Do you think they were …? I can’t even say it!”
“Lovers?” The chess game in the parlor, the visit at the opera, the music at the funeral. “He adored Maman,” Lili replied. “Do you think she might have loved him too?”
“No. It’s just too strange. But it’s sad to think she might have been lonely without Papa. I don’t like that either.”
“We would have known,” Lili said. “Wouldn’t we?”
They stared at each other until Lili broke the silence. “The truth is, we might not have known very much about Maman at all.”
“And now it’s too late to ask, so we never will.” Delphine took out her handkerchief again.
“And what if we had? What if we’d said, ‘Maman, are you—you know—with Monsieur Philidor?’ If she were in this carriage right now, do you think she would tell us something she didn’t want us to know?”
“I suppose not,” Delphine said. “But if she took a lover—it can’t hurt that much, don’t you think?”
Something about the sweet hope in Delphine’s voice made Lili’s heart flood with memories. “It’s not like those saint stories we used to have to read,” she said. “All that violence and resistance. You’re going to spend your life with a man who loves you, and I think you’ll get used to everything, and maybe even grow to like things you’re afraid of now.”
A man who loves you. Visions of Jean-Étienne chattering about science as they went back and forth from the Jardin de Roi merged with another of him at the microscope, another with the monkey on his shoulder, and another of when they first met at Maman’s salon. “I’m the nephew,” he had said. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“I think it must be quite wonderful to love someone so much you want to be as close to him as you possibly can,” Lili said. Knowing from the twinge in her jaw that she would not be able to stop the onset of tears, she looked out the window. “We’re almost there.”
Delphine sat up straight. “Have I made a mess of myself?”
Lili smiled. “You’ve made a splendid success of yourself.”
“You know that’s not what I meant! Are my eyes red?”
“Your eyes are shining. And I can’t wait to see his when he sees you.”
The carriage made the familiar turn into the courtyard and Lili heard the voices of the household staff come out to greet them. “I love you, Delphine,” she blurted out. It was not a sentiment to which they often gave words.
“I love you too,” Delphine whispered.
“I wish I could ask the driver to go around the block one more time, so this part of our life wouldn’t be over quite yet,” Lili said, “but what’s waiting for you is even better.” The footman opened the door before Delphine could respond, and she was lost in the flurry of servants welcoming her home.
Hôtel Bercy is all hers now, Lili thought as she watched Delphine being ushered inside. And today, my heart, forget yourself and be nothing but happy for her.
“Mademoiselle Lili?” The familiar voice was Corinne’s. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Of course,” Lili said. “I just wanted to wait for a moment, so I wouldn’t get in the way.”
Corinne gave her a quizzical look. “Does mademoiselle need something for her eyes?”
Lili accepted a starched and pressed handkerchief from
Corinne’s apron pocket. “It looks as if I do,” she said, dabbing away tears as she walked into the house.
LILI AND DELPHINE
waited in the music room to be called in by the notary. Too nervous to sit, they paced the floor, stopping from time to time to look out the windows at nothing in particular. Delphine had changed from the hat she had worn in the carriage into the traditional fragile headdress of lace streamers and orange blossoms that symbolized a bride’s virginity.
“What is taking so long?” Delphine whined. “I think I’ll just dissolve right here if they don’t hurry up.”
“Ambroise has to go through the papers with the lawyers. Make sure everything is in order before he signs.”
“Do I have to do that too? My eyes feel like they’re spinning in circles.”
“I don’t think women read it themselves. Their father decides it’s all right, or in this case, your lawyer does, and then you sign.”
“Well, I suppose I should be upset they don’t consult me, but right now I don’t care. Just let me come in and get it over with. Please!”
A loud burst of jovial conversation came from the parlor at the far end of the hall. “I hear Ambroise’s voice!” Delphine said. “Do you think he sounds happy?”
“I imagine he’s as unhappy as you are about having to wait. Stop scratching your neck!”
“This sugar pomade on my curls itches!” Delphine lifted her hair. “Or maybe it’s the orange blossoms. Have I made myself all ugly and red?”
“No, but I’ll tie your hands behind your back if you don’t stop.”
“I wish it were over, that’s all.” Delphine heard the familiar creak of a floorboard in the passageway and grabbed Lili’s arm.
“Mademoiselle de Bercy?” The notary stood in the doorway. “Are you ready to come in?”
* * *
THE PARLOR WHERE
Maman’s salon had once been held was cleaned and polished to a glow, and large sprays of orange blossoms adorned the sideboards. The furniture had been rearranged temporarily to create an empty space in the center of the room, around a desk that had been moved there for the occasion. A document on thick vellum was laid out on the otherwise bare surface, next to a crystal inkwell and a beautifully shaped quill Lili recognized as having belonged to Maman.
Ambroise came to Delphine’s side, and Lili released her hold on Delphine’s elbow. He turned to the small group of assembled guests. “Aren’t I the luckiest of men?” Lili looked around as a murmur of assent filled the room. The Comte and Comtesse d’Étoges were there, as well as Delphine’s invited guests, Baronne Lomont and the Comte de Buffon.
Delphine took a seat at the desk. “What do I do?” she asked.
“Sign here,” the notary said, pointing to a blank space. “And be careful with the pen. I’ve seen more than one bride forget to tap the quill and end up dripping ink.”
Delphine smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said in a breathy voice so sweet and kind that Lili thought for a moment Maman had suddenly materialized in the room. And then, with a confident flourish, Delphine wrote her name.