The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) (16 page)

He supposed if Mademoiselle de Fouet ever became a man’s mistress, she would do it out of love. Though if she were desperate enough… No, he couldn’t see her as any man’s whore. He winced at the word.

Then he winced again at the thought of his own mistress in Poitou, a widow with a small property nearby. Theirs was a casual arrangement. Other than a few small gifts and the loan of a horse from time to time, he was in no way supporting her. He wondered if he should be. She probably had a better income from her rents than he had from his horses.

He wondered if it made him the whore.

He was smiling when his father’s man opened the door of the apartments.

Inside was chaos. Children—Manu thought they were Cédric’s, but there were too many of them—chased one another. His father had a small girl, Cédric’s only daughter, Françoise, clinging to his neck, and he shifted her from side to side as he directed two footmen moving a bed. Françoise caught sight of Manu and called out to him, smiling hugely.

“Manu! Excellent!” His father grinned at him. “We’re putting all the boys in one room and Françoise will sleep in with her parents. Your room’s the smallest, I’m sorry to say, but you can close your door and even lock it to keep the infidels out.”

A boy—Manu had to bend down to determine that it was Alex, as he and Sébastien were similar in height and looks—tugged at the sleeve of his long coat. He said something Manu couldn’t understand over the shouts of the other four…five?…boys—there were definitely too many boys—and ran off.

His father wove his way among trunks and bags. “Cédric and Sandrine are in the room that communicates on that side.” He waved vaguely at one wall with a nearly invisible door propped open a few inches. “Dom and Aurore are over there.” He waved toward the other wall. “We got lucky this time with the three apartments in a row, eh?”

Manu took his swords into his new bedchamber and set the box against a wall. It was small, but probably no smaller than Mademoiselle de Fouet’s bedchamber. A maid fluttered a curtsey from where she had been tucking in sheets. He nodded to her and went back out.

“Mon père, are you going to bring Marie, your young maid, back here?”

The baron frowned and took a moment to figure out who he was talking about. “Does she want to come back?”

“I have no idea, but I doubt Maman or Mademoiselle de Fouet will pay her salary and continue feeding her. I didn’t think to ask what they planned to do with her.” He hadn’t thought about it because he was too worried about abandoning Mademoiselle de Fouet. “She’s taking care of Mademoiselle de Fouet.”

“Well, then I’ll send a note over asking what she wants. There’s always more than enough work with this crowd.” The baron’s hand shot out and caught Aurore’s son Dario by the arm as he dodged past and turned to throw something. “Maybe as an extra nanny. All right, children. Enough!
Assez!
From this point forward, every voice will be properly modulated so as to be pleasing to the ear. Feet will be used to walk indoors, never to run or climb.”

His father continued to lay out his rules of conduct for children at court—so different from the stifling existence Emmanuel had as a child—and then sent them out with two maids and a footman with the command that they run.

The silence that descended was a blessing. The baron wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and grinned. “I do love them, but four of them at once after confining them to carriages for two days is too much for me. And to meet up with the de Ligny twins as soon as we set foot in the palace…”

De Ligny: those were the extra boys. They had been darting around and he had seen both and thought it was only one, as they were identical. He wanted to study them closely, wondering how twins were with each other. He had the old pang of wishing his twin sister had survived past birth. As a boy, sitting alone in his mother’s apartments, he had invented games and conversations with his missing sister, Eve. He had wondered more than once if his mother would have taken him from his father if there had been a little girl to take instead. Would his parents have divided them up? But then he felt guilty for wishing his own boredom on someone else. He wished he had been raised with his older brothers and sister, even though they were much older and would not have been his playmates.

“Have you been working on the list, mon fils?”

Manu startled. “List?”

“The one of potential brides?”

“I’ve only been here since Saturday.”

“So you mean to say you haven’t, alors?” His father chuckled. “Have you even looked at the list? Some of them have a farm as dowry or enough money to buy one. For your horses, you know.”

“I’ve…”—
been flirting with Mademoiselle de Fouet, been trying to speak to my mother, been fencing with young gentlemen, some of whom hate me
—“…been busy.”

“Trying to find your way around is a big challenge in this maze. You’re like me; you navigate by the sun, eh? You could walk for miles in here and change direction a hundred times and suddenly, you’re coming through a door and there’s a wall of windows and you’re facing west when you thought you’d been heading north.”

“Oui.
Précisément
.” Manu hadn’t quite thought of it by those terms; he had just felt lost. “Mostly, I have to follow smirking footmen around. Or Mademoiselle de Fouet and the baronesse point where we’re going. ‘Turn left here. Go up these stairs.’ Most of the time, though, I leave through the closest door and come back inside.”

His father shook his head. “No good when it rains, believe me. It took me years to find my way around. Then they redecorate things when I’m gone, and I’m lost again.”

Manu grinned, and his father clapped him on the back.

“So do you have the list? I have an extra copy in my things, but until my writing desk is unpacked, I won’t find it.”

Emmanuel sighed and went to get the list.

****

“Well, which one is DesTruites?” Catherine heard Monsieur Emmanuel’s father murmur.

Normally, she would never have heard anything Monsieur de la Brosse said, as she was usually seated next to his estranged wife, as far from the baron as possible. This evening, though, the baronesse had sent her to get her fan and her shawl, apparently unable to decide if she was cold or hot as they listened to an opera. Fortunately, the king was not in attendance, so the baronesse could sit instead of standing. She had napped longer than usual that day, and her hands were shaking.

After only a moment’s surprise, Catherine knew DesTruites meant the family, not the feminine for “destroyed,” which she still expected her reputation to be. She glanced at Monsieur Emmanuel, who watched her as she slipped through the crowd. She glanced around to be sure the Vicomte d’Oronte and his friends were not in view. Monsieur Emmanuel bowed politely to her, and his father followed suit as she curtsied and scurried from the anteroom.

She was in dark brown, so could dash through the dark hallways without exciting much notice. Unfortunately, her luck ran out just as she reached the servants’ stairwell leading to their rooms. Her hand was on the discreet handle when a voice said, “Oh, what excellent luck. It’s Mademoiselle de Fouet herself.”

D’Oronte.

She turned to face him, her back to the door. He was in the alcove on the other side of the wide hallway with two other young men in huge wigs. Light from distant candles glinted on gold buttons as he stepped uncomfortably close to her.

She curtsied. Catherine felt a chill sweep through her. Fear, anger, disgust. She kept her head down, though, as he bowed.

“I would like to offer an apology for our misunderstanding this afternoon, Mademoiselle.” His voice was low, almost sweet.

She barely managed to contain her shiver.
Misunderstanding?
She wanted to shriek. Instead she muttered something indistinct and began to turn away.

“I was just writing a poem for you.”

She brought her head up but couldn’t look into his face without wanting to slap him again. “In the dark?”

“Well, I memorized what I had so far and was reciting it to my friends. They’ve offered some criticism. I have now just to go and write down what they said.”

She glanced at his friends, who were whispering to each other. She couldn’t see their faces, just little glints of light on their blond wigs and sparks from the gold and silver of their cuffs and rings.

“I very much look forward to reciting it to you tomorrow. Will you walk with me in the morning?”

She suppressed a shiver. “I walk with the baronesse every morning.”

“Dine with me at midday?”

Never
. “I dine with the baronesse and her friends. And with your grandmother.” Maybe a mention of his sweet grand-mère would remind him she was not friendless. Even if his grandmother would never see the bad in him.

He let out a little huff of impatience. “I believe you are trying to avoid me, Mademoiselle! After dinner we could go for another ride.”

“I am riding with Monsieur de Cantière tomorrow and am again promised to the baronesse. In fact, she sent me back to our apartments for a shawl, and she is likely shivering by now. You will have to excuse me.”

She curtsied, and he bowed—barely more than a bob of his head—and she grabbed the door handle behind her and slipped through the servant’s door.

“Mademoiselle.” He spoke from behind her in the dark.

She didn’t close the door, and surely he saw it wavering, slightly open. “We will speak tomorrow, I am certain. I wish to see you, and I generally get what I wish for.”

She tugged the door shut and went up the dark, narrow stairway, shivering at his words.

****

“Who are you looking for, Manu? Did you see Monsieur Pavelot?”

Emmanuel turned his attention to his father. “Just looking around. Dom and Aurore are by the terrace doors.” And Catherine de Fouet was nowhere in sight.

“Well, I’ve just spotted Pavelot. Come, before the intermission’s over. I don’t see his daughter, but she might be sitting.”

With another glance at the door Mademoiselle de Fouet had left through, Manu turned and followed the baron, who had only started the introductions when there was a shout and a trumpet fanfare and everyone stood and began to bow and curtsey. Manu followed suit, wondering what was going on.

When his father rose from his bow, Manu did the same, glancing up finally at…the king. He leaned to the side as his view of Son Altesse, Louis, was blocked by a lady’s hat with enormous plumes.

“Don’t stare, boy,” his father whispered. “You look like a peasant up for a festival.”

“I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen,” he whispered back. “I used to think he looked just like Dom.”

His father chuckled. “Dom was one of his
ménin
, his companions, when he was a boy. Dom and Cédric used to practice his haughty stare. And Dom’s great-grandfather—I think maybe the great-great-grandfather—was Henri IV’s general. Some sort of cousin, too.”

“Dom’s never mentioned it to me.” Manu felt like he’d missed something, like he didn’t know his family as well as he thought. Maybe they didn’t trust him with their confidences.

The baron shrugged. “It’s not really something to brag about, except to his own children. His father talked about it, back when we were young and riding out to war with Louis XIII. Dom’s father went all the way to Nantes for a bride because she was a descendant of Henri IV’s father, Antoine de Bourbon, King Consort of Navarre. And she had a good dowry. Lovely lady. Beautiful.”

So his father had an opinion about Dom’s mother, someone who should be an old lady but instead was dead. Manu felt again like he didn’t know his family.

He glanced at the king, who settled into a throne-like armchair. The queen settled next to him, washed out and pale in her glittering gown. Madame, the king’s big, red-faced sister-in-law, sat just below them, and two other ladies, duchesses, settled on low footstools. Footmen hastily cleared away the remaining chairs.

A footman banged a heavy walking stick on the floor three times and the opera resumed.

Still no Mademoiselle de Fouet. And he hadn’t seen the Vicomte d’Oronte all evening.

With everyone standing and his father whispering to Monsieur Pavelot, Manu could neither see nor hear much of the opera. He stepped back until he could see the door Mademoiselle de Fouet had left by. Finally, he spotted her and sighed in relief. She must have slipped in at the end of the intermission. She barely caused a ripple as she passed through the crowd. He could see her every few feet making her way to his mother. He eased sideways until he could see the back of his mother’s head and Mademoiselle de Fouet hovering slightly behind her.

Then, as a soprano chittered away like a finch, his mother staggered a step to one side and swayed into the gentleman next to her. He glowered, but held out one hand, whether to hold her up or fend her off was unclear. Manu shoved through the dozens of people between them, heart pounding. Mademoiselle de Fouet dropped everything and wrapped her arms around the baronesse, barely holding the smaller, older lady upright.

Manu swept his mother into his arms. She weighed almost nothing and most of it was petticoats. He turned and began to push his way toward the terrace, nobles dodging out of the way of his mother’s head and feet.

“Up to her apartment.” Mademoiselle de Fouet was right at his shoulder.

“The cool air will revive her.” He continued toward the door where he had spotted Dominique and Aurore a short while before, but Mademoiselle de Fouet tugged at his arm.

“Everyone’s talking. If we get her upstairs right away, we can keep them from talking a second time when we take her up. We can call a doctor on the way.”

Dom appeared beside them. “Go up.”

His father pushed through the crowd, and before Manu knew it, he had taken his wife into his arms and left through the closest exit. Manu followed.

Mademoiselle de Fouet grasped his arm on the stairs. “With all the chatter and hysteria this summer about poisoning, we have to get a doctor right away.”

Manu stopped. “Poison?”

“Shhhhhhh!” said a voice behind him. Dom and Aurore were there, Aurore waving one hand at him to keep moving.