By Honor Bound (19 page)

Together, hand in hand, she and Philippe had had an audience with the dauphine. Her delight in their decision to wed had been genuine. She had been saddened, certainly, to hear Philippe say he and Honneure must find a place elsewhere to be out of the king’s extensive reach but had agreed it was necessary. She had even offered to help them find a new position. Honneure blushed as she recalled her response to the generous offer.

She had turned it down flat with protestations that she could never leave the princess’s service. And how could she? Antoinette had been so good to them both. Despite her elevated station, she had been a friend to them. And she had so few friends herself within the Court. How could she possibly desert the princess?

After having an entire day to reflect, Honneure’s mind offered her a ready response. She should leave because it was the only way she would be truly safe from the king. She should leave because she belonged with Philippe. She had known it the instant he had proposed. It was right. Honneure also recalled what the princess had said to her when Philippe, hurt, had finally left.

“Remember, Honneure, that I came here as a foreign princess. I thought, when I first arrived, that my loyalties should continue to lie with my mother and my country, Austria. And in the beginning I was correct. By my deportment I represented my country well. Many hard feelings against my country have been softened as a result. Yet should something go amiss, if, God forbid, relations between France and Austria were to become strained, where should my loyalties be then?”

Honneure had known exactly what the dauphine was telling her.

“Your … your duty would be to your … your husband.”

The dauphine had nodded slowly, and Honneure had admired such wisdom in one so young. She would make a great queen one day. Also one day the dauphin would see what a wonderful wife she had already become.

What kind of a wife will I be?
Honneure wondered. She was beginning to fear she would never find out.

Where was Philippe? Had she really driven him away?

Honneure was so deep into her thoughts, so entrenched in her anxiety she jumped when the knock came at the door. She hurried to answer it.

“I have a message for Mademoiselle Honneure Mansart,” the young page boy announced solemnly.

“I am Honneure Mansart.”

Wordlessly, he handed her a folded piece of paper, bowed slightly from the waist, and departed.

She opened the note.
Before you make any decisions that will affect the rest of your life, come at once to Madame du Barry’s chambers.
It was signed simply,
A Friend
.

Honneure crumpled the note and tried to still the hammering of her heart. What was going on?

Dark premonition closed around her shoulders like a heavy cloak. Nothing associated with Madame du Barry would ever come to any good. She should ignore the missive and wait for Philippe. He would come. He would.

Honneure found herself opening the door.

She had always thought the Queen’s Staircase was grand. The King’s Stair dwarfed it. The sheer size and elegance of it, the splendor of the courtiers traversing it, made her feel as insignificant as an insect. Her apprehension increased, and her steps faltered.

What was she doing after all? How could this have anything to do with Philippe? It was probably some scheme Madame du Barry had concocted to further torment the princess. She should have no part of this whatsoever.

Yet the note had said it pertained to her life, not Antoinette’s. It referred to her decision, and the only decision she was making was about marrying Philippe. Curiosity drove Honneure on as surely as the lash of a whip drove an ox.

Honneure knew, indeed all knew, that the comtesse’s suite of rooms adjoined the king’s. She proceeded to the door of the salon and found it ajar. Cautiously, she stepped into the sumptuous chamber.

The room was empty, eerily quiet. Where could everyone be? It was no secret the comtesse had at least as many servants as the dauphine did. Where had they all gone?

A door on the other side of the salon was also open. Honneure tiptoed across the carpeted floor. Hands braced on the doorjamb, she looked into the next room.

It was a short hallway. Several doors opened onto it, and the nearest one was also open. It was almost like an invitation.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Honneure still had seen no sign of a single soul. But the temptation was more than she could bear. She stepped into the hall and crossed to the open door.

It was a small sitting room, prettily decorated in pink and gilt. A floral Aubusson carpet in shades of pink and pale green covered the floor. A dainty, Chinese-style secretary graced one corner of the room. A wide, pillow-strewn bench stood in another. A thin, silken shawl of lavender covered two figures reclining on the bench. The fringed ends of the coverlet trailed on the floor.

Honneure must have made a sound when she entered the room, because the person nearest the door stirred and sat up. The shawl fell away from her breasts, and Honneure could see she was naked.

“Honneure.” Olivia’s uptilted eyes perfectly complemented her feline smile. “What a surprise.”

It was not a surprise, not at all. Olivia couldn’t possibly look more confident. Honneure didn’t have to wonder who lay next to her.

It was her fault. She had driven him away. He had offered her all his love, everything, but she had attached conditions to hers. He had put her first, above all. She had put duty first. He had turned to Olivia. And she deserved it.

As Honneure slowly backed from the room, Olivia let the coverlet fall away completely. She did not want to look. She knew what she would see.

He was as beautiful unclothed as she had always known he would be. His body was long and lean, and the musculature as perfect as if he had been sculpted. His limbs were akimbo, his long hair falling across a velvet pillow. He was asleep.

In a single instant, Honneure’s heart, her life, shattered. She turned and started to run.

Chapter Eighteen

“I’ve found a larger trunk,” Madame Campan told the princess.

Antoinette looked up from her clavichord. She bestowed a small smile on her chief chambermaid, but her expression remained sad.

“Thank you for taking the time to look, dear Campan.”

“A page is bringing it,” Madame Campan continued and brushed her hands together as if she had gotten them dusty. “It’s one of Your Majesty’s older ones.”

“But in good condition, I trust.”

“Of course. I also packed in it two or three of the day gowns you no longer wear.”

“How thoughtful, Campan!”

“We can’t let her leave here with the few things she brought with her,” the older woman went on as if she had not heard. “Certainly her livery is no longer useful.”

“No,” the dauphine murmured. “I’m afraid not.”

“And although she leaves here, she still represents the Court. She was in your employ. She was recommended for her new …
position
… by one of Your Majesty’s ladies.”

“You have done well, Campan,” the princess said gently. “She will be very grateful. I know I am.” Antoinette rose from her clavichord bench, crossed to her maid, and took her hands. “You’ve grown very fond of her. I know how much you’ll miss her. So will I.”

“She’s a lovely, intelligent girl,” Madame Campan replied sorrowfully. “Her loyalty to you was unquestioned. You cannot afford to lose people like that.”

Antoinette sighed. “I cannot afford to let her stay.”

The two women exchanged glances, no explanations needed. Madame Campan knew everything as she had been with her mistress when the Duc D’Aiguillon had come to her chambers. He had begged the dauphine’s pardon for the intrusion, then had gotten straight to the point.

“I do not know all the details involved in this … situation. Nor do I think I want to, as it seems a rather sordid affair. But I do know this much. The king wishes your servant, Honneure Mansart, to proceed at once to the hunting lodge. Particularly since a betrothal, of which he was recently informed, now seems to be broken off. Conversely, the comtesse wants the girl in question to leave the palace at once, claiming she is involved in a domestic scandal that directly affects her entourage.”

At this point, the duke had had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed. The yellow cast of his skin actually appeared to redden.

“For the sake of peace in the Court,” he had eventually resumed, “I would urge you to send the girl away. The comtesse bid me to tell you she would be in your debt.”

“Though difficult, it is definitely to your benefit for Honneure to leave us,” Madame Campan said at last, bringing both women back to the present. “A respite from the comtesse’s machinations would give Your Majesty time to concentrate on more important matters.”

Antoinette knew immediately to what she referred. Her husband would indeed be grateful to have the petty bickering over once and for all. If he saw her hand in it, he would be prouder still. Yet the princess’s conscience bothered her.

“But look where we are sending her, Campan.”

“What choice did you have? Unless Honneure is safely married, there is still the chance the king will pursue her.”

Antoinette raised her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. “My friend, dear Madame Dupin, offered to take her back at Chenonceau, but I fear to involve her. Du Barry has taken a dislike to her so great she has even been afraid to appear at Court. And I miss her!”

“Perhaps the comtesse will relent, as the duke assured us. When Honneure is gone, perhaps Madame Dupin will be able to return.”

“Oh, it is all so distressing, Campan.” Antoinette sank heavily into the nearest chair. “And the worst part is … what was Philippe thinking? How could he turn to that odious woman, Olivia, so quickly? He and Honneure would have worked it out. In truth, I’m sure Honneure had already come around to our way of thinking. How did everything go so terribly wrong?”

Madame Campan looked up thoughtfully. “I believe we should give Philippe himself a chance to explain it.”

“No!” Color rose to Antoinette’s cheeks. “Honneure does not wish to speak to him, and neither do I. His actions spoke loud enough for themselves.”

Madame Campan remained silent, but she wondered. She knew both Honneure and Philippe and had seen them together. She believed in their love. Deep in her heart she could not believe Philippe would have betrayed Honneure like this. But someone who hated her would.

“Think, Majesty, about who is involved in this, and about who might wish Honneure injury and have her well away from Versailles.”

Antoinette’s response was interrupted by the chiming of a mantle clock. She jumped to her feet.

“I haven’t time to think, Campan. The Abbé will be here any moment, and I’ve not finished practicing.” The princess returned to her clavichord and sat down. “But I will tell you this,” she added as she ran her fingers over the keys. “I am heartsick about the way this has all turned out. My only consolation is that Honneure will be safe. Happiness in this case is secondary. Honneure will be safe and respectably married. She at least will have a chance to lead a decent life.”

Madame Campan silently prayed it would be so.

Honneure marveled that her clothes and personal belongings were packed so neatly in the trunk. Her fingers were as numb as the rest of her. She could not feel them at all, and how she had managed to manipulate them so well was incomprehensible. She closed the lid of the trunk, locked it, and put the key in her small handbag. It had been incredibly kind of the princess to give her the things she would need for the start of her new life.

Her new life. Married to a stranger, an old man. A new home in Normandy, on the north coast of France. A new life.

Honneure said the words over and over in her mind, hoping she would feel something, anything. But her feelings were dead, she felt nothing, and it was probably a blessing. She remembered the first hours and days after she had found Philippe and Olivia together. She remembered the agonizing, unbearable pain and rivers of tears. She had been grateful when the slow numbing had begun. She could even picture Philippe in her mind’s eye now, his beautiful, naked body stretched beside Olivia, without feeling the dagger of grief reenter her heart. She could face her future with a stranger in a strange place without quaking with fear. Her prayer should probably be that this spiritless half-life would never end.

The distant chiming of the princess’s mantle clock told Honneure it was nearly time. The coach her husband-to-be had sent for her would be arriving soon. She glanced about her small room for the final time.

The bed was neatly made, the dresser empty. Nothing personal, no reminder of her remained. Even the dogs were gone, kindly removed by Madame Thierry. The sight of them had brought tears too easily to her eyes.

No, everything was packed away. It was over, finished. She had left nothing behind.

Nothing.

The jacket no longer fit tightly across his smooth, hard midsection. There was room to spare. Philippe finished closing the long row of silver buttons and pulled his fingers through his hair. He did not care how he looked. He cared about little. He could not eat; he didn’t sleep, although he tried. He prayed for sleep, for relief, however brief, from the relentless, gnawing pain and frustration. But he would not give up. Sooner or later, someone would have to talk to him.

Philippe left his tiny room and strode purposefully into the barn aisle toward the doors. He was going to try again, just as he did every morning and afternoon. He would besiege the princess for as long as it took until she consented to see him, talk to him. If she would only listen to him, he would convince her; he was certain. The dauphine was one of the most decent people he had ever known. When he told her the truth, she would recognize it. She would speak to Honneure. Everything would be right again. It was just a matter of time.

The winter chill hit him the moment he stepped through the doors, but he barely felt it. His mind was focused on his errand, the task at hand. He left the huge, comma-shaped building and entered the broad, busy avenue that was the approach to the palace. It was crowded with mounted riders, coaches of all description, and pedestrians. He hardly noticed the nondescript carriage just approaching him.

Philippe paused to let the coach-and-four pass him. As he did, he happened to glance at the vehicle’s occupant.

She was dressed in a modest hat and suit, suitable for travel. A trunk was tied to the roof of the carriage.

“Honneure!”

The horses were moving at a smart trot. When she turned her head, their eyes met for only a fraction of a second. Then she was gone. Philippe broke into a run.

“Honneure!”

She heard him. Heard his boots pounding the ground behind them. Heard him call her name, again and again. Heard the ragged sound of his breathing. The sob that caught in his throat. Then … nothing. The carriage rolled on.

Honneure did not look back.