The Queen's Dollmaker (17 page)

Behind her, she could hear Béatrice move quietly into her own quarters, shutting the door behind her.

“Miss Laurent, I am not here to do battle with you. I merely wish to have a civil conversation. After you hear what I have to say, you may decide whether you wish to maintain acquaintance with me. However, I do ask for some indulgence.”

He looked toward the door through which Béatrice had passed and offered his arm to Claudette.

“Might I suggest a quick supper nearby? The roasted pork is excellent at the King’s Head Inn.”

She contemplated him for several moments more and said, “I suppose I might spare you a short amount of time.”

They walked several blocks to the inn, and were shown to a table in a back room. A roaring fire in one corner took the chill out of the early spring evening as they sat together and sipped claret while waiting for their meals. They spoke of innocuous things—the long-lasting winter, the troubles with France, the increasing trade with the Americans, Mr. Pitt’s latest policies. Claudette’s thoughts bubbled and roiled. She had not lain eyes on him in so long, and believed she had relegated him to an untouchable part of her mind. Why did he affect her so much, even after a protracted absence?

Best to maintain a cool composure
.

After their meal had been devoured, gooseberry pie eaten, and glasses of after-dinner digestifs served, William turned serious.

“Now, Miss Laurent, I have something serious to talk to you about. I wish to discuss my marriage.”

“Oh.” Claudette’s voice was light, although she was trembling inside. “You needn’t do so. I have already heard the gossips go on about your various marital tragedies.”

“Perhaps, although undoubtedly you have not heard the truth. Or at least not the entire truth.”

Claudette started to push her chair back to leave the table. She couldn’t bear to listen to this. William reached out and put his left hand over hers. He wore no ring. She slowly sat back down.

“You must listen to me for once. I’ve been trying to explain this to you for nigh on to five years.”

She sat still, her hand still covered by his. As he began to talk, he took her hand inside his, and began stroking her palm.

“Lenora and I were friends as young children. Her parents met mine when they purchased a neighboring residence as a summer home to get away from the London heat. Lenora and I were of an age, and our parents had always hoped for a match between us when we were old enough, though neither of us was particularly interested. The Radleys gave her a season in London, and because no one suited her fancy, they assumed it was because she had her heart set on me. We had been young playmates, and were certainly friends, but Lenora found me too serious, and in return I thought she had an unsuitable wild streak.

“Our fathers entered a partnership to purchase some shares in a trading company, becoming the major stockholders together. Part of their unspoken contract was that we would become engaged to marry, which they thought would delight the two of us. It was during the time of that negotiation that I first met you at the obnoxious Mrs. Ashby’s. Her husband was offering his services as broker for the trading company deal. Our parents thought it might be a good idea if we attend some social events together, even at the Ashbys’, as a sort of pre-betrothal coming-out. I was on the verge of telling my parents that there was to be no betrothal, when Lenora came to me secretly in a panic.

“The wild streak I had suspected lay under the surface had taken control of her. She had been dallying with not only a local married apothecary who had been providing her mother with medicine for her headaches, but she had also discovered a smuggler operating out of a local inn, and the thrill of that was too much for her. She got entangled with him as well, and ended up with child. Only she wasn’t sure if it belonged to him or the apothecary, not that it mattered. Either one meant complete disgrace for her.

“She begged me to go through with our betrothal and wedding, to save her from ruinous shame, and, fool that I am, I agreed. She was a friend, and I thought that the marriage would at least be polite and agreeable, given our long familiarity. My sense of duty to her overrode everything. I also didn’t realize that my entire being would become consumed with desire for an insufferable little dollmaker on Oxford Street.

“The marriage was initially polite, and platonic in its entirety. Within a couple of months, though, Lenora miscarried the child. She was inconsolable, and soon found fault with everything either I or any of the household staff did. She was not above throwing china and books about, and cuffing the maids on the ears for minor infractions.

“It became worse. Not only was she becoming cruel toward everyone around her, but she began having blatant affairs with any men that would cross her path, from delivery boys to aristocrats. I became known as the Kent Cuckold. Still I did not wish to expose her, and let others think that it was my inattention to my wife that led her astray.

“I had no idea how to appease Lenora, who was clearly losing her hold on reality. She was no longer able to hostess parties in our home, as she would drink excessively and try to lure women’s husbands into guest bedrooms right under their wives’ noses. Hevington was becoming an intolerable place to live.

“I purchased a house in London and intended to bring her here to stay for a short time, to rest and recover her reason. Before I could escort her here, she abandoned me, running off with one of my footmen. Poor lad. They set up house together with his parents, with my blessing, and Lenora was soon pregnant again. Her own parents were apoplectic over the situation.

“I would have happily granted her a divorce, if she thought she could find happiness with someone else, but she didn’t want it. Instead, she continued insulting me from afar, sending me cruel letters and ‘accidentally’ running into me at church or in the town square, each time using it as an opportunity to embarrass me.”

Claudette interrupted, “Did Lenora know that you rescued me from the bird at Leadenhall?”

“No, my feelings for you were my own secret, although I did think that perhaps
you
understood them.” William looked at her, the question in his eyes palpable.

Claudette bit her lip. “Yes, I did know. I ignored it.”

He barked a short laugh. “Indeed you did. If only Lenora could have ignored me half as successfully.

“When her time came, she went into labor for a very long time. The midwife sent for a doctor, and he determined that the baby was breech. Both Lenora and her baby daughter died, the baby’s cord wrapped around its neck, and her mother from uncontrollable blood loss.”

“Oh, I see.” Claudette’s voice was tiny.

Briskly he concluded the tale. “Her parents had them both buried in the family crypt, and my footman ran away, not even telling his parents where he was going.

“I have waited through the recognized period of mourning for my late wife, and I will wait no longer. Claudette Laurent, I would like permission to pay you court. Properly and openly.”

Did he mean this? Truly? To court a tradeswoman, which surely could only end in his own disgrace. His family had become important in society. His friends were undoubtedly all aristocrats and would shun her from their company. Eventually he would be pressured into marrying another proper English lady, like Lenora Radley. Why bother being courted by a man who needed to make a
proper
marriage? Her heart would end up broken by this man with his strong hands and deep, abiding constancy. Wasn’t one heartbreak by Jean-Philippe enough?
Do I dare risk this when I have finally made my life comfortable and secure?

“Miss Laurent, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need air.”

He pushed his chair back and helped her out of her own. Quickly settling the bill with the manager, he escorted her outside.

“Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?” he asked. His eyes were worried and intense.

“No, I just wanted the fresh night air, to clear my head.”

They began walking slowly back toward Claudette’s flat. For the first time, she reached out first to tuck her hand in his arm. She could see a smile flit across his face in the moonlight. She stopped and turned to him.

“Mr. Greycliffe, I agree to your offer of courtship, but under certain conditions. First, you must realize that my doll shop is of utmost importance to me. I shall never give it up. Second, your friends and associates will never accept me, and therefore I will not place myself in their company under any circumstances.”

“Does that constitute the entirety of your demands?”

“Why, I suppose so. Are you not angry? Do you not want to cast me aside?”

He laughed as they continued walking to her building. She could see that Béatrice had left a candle burning in the window for her. William pulled her to him as they approached the ground floor door.

“Miss Laurent, I accept your terms of surrender. Although I think you may eventually find my friends to be a little less vile than you currently do, provided you give them an opportunity to prove it. Now, however, there is the matter of sealing our agreement.”

He brought his smooth-shaven face down to hers for a kiss. It was soft and undemanding, yet spoke of hidden longing and desire. She could smell his masculine scent enveloping her, protecting her from the rest of the world.
Claudette Laurent,
said a voice at the back of her mind.
The earth has stopped rotating again.

1 J
ULY
1788
Q
UEEN
M
ARIE
A
NTOINETTE OF
F
RANCE
REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE AT
V
ERSAILLES
. T
HIS
HONOR IS BESTOWED UPON YOU, AS THE QUEEN HAS
BEEN MUCH PLEASED WITH THE DOLLS FROM THE
C. L
AURENT
F
ASHION
D
OLL
S
HOP AND WISHES TO
MEET THEIR MAKER
. Y
OU MAY BE PRESENTED TO THE
QUEEN ON
14 J
ULY AT
V
ERSAILLES
. Y
OUR ESCORT AT
THE PALACE ENTRANCE WILL BE
J. P. R
ENAUD
. T
HE
ENCLOSED LETTER OF INVITATION WILL PROVIDE
YOU WITH ENTRY TO THE PALACE GROUNDS
.

Claudette read the invitation and its accompanying letter in disbelief. She, presented to the Queen of France? If only Papa could see this. More importantly, who was J. P. Renaud? Could it be…

London, July 12, 1788.
“What in heaven’s name does one wear when being presented to the queen of France?” Claudette was busy finishing her packing for her visit across the Channel. Her bedchamber was strewn with gowns, shoes, and undergarments. She wore an unfastened dress for travel, and was shoeless.

Standing in the doorway and shaking his head at Claudette’s state of disarray, William observed, “My love, I presume this is just a visit, and that you are not actually moving to Versailles?”

“This is no laughing matter, William. The queen is reputed to be the most fashionable of women. I simply cannot go there looking like a slattern.”

“Claudette, I hardly think that you will be called a slattern in this.” He picked up an emerald gown and handed it to her. “You are a beautiful woman and wear everything with grace.”

“William, I adore your confidence in me, but this is serious. I want to impress the queen, and bring more respect to the doll shop. Do you realize that a good reputation with Marie Antoinette could mean orders from the entire French court? Perhaps I could even move back to France, if I thought the commerce would justify it.”

“What? You haven’t mentioned this before. Claudette, you would seriously contemplate leaving me? Leaving England and the life you have built here? But I have not yet—” He stopped.

She added the gown William had handed her to the trunk she was packing, keeping her head down to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know. Paris was my home my entire childhood.”

“But you yourself admit that after the fire, there was nothing left there for you.”

“Yes, but—”

“What are you not telling me?”

She busied herself in closing the trunk and securing its leather straps before rising to meet William’s hard stare. “I must go to Paris to see if it stirs in me a desire to return. I cannot explain my feelings to you now. Please understand that this has nothing to do with you, or the life I have here in England.”

“I understand nothing.” He looked at her expectantly.

Receiving no response, he stiffened. “Very well, Claudette. I’ll return in three hours to see you to your ship.” He turned abruptly and left the room. Moments later, she could hear the door to the front of the building slamming shut, and from her window could see him giving sharp orders to his driver before the carriage rattled off with a lurch.

Not unexpectedly, Béatrice came scurrying into her rooms. “Claudette, why has William left in such a hurry? I thought he was going to spend time with you today and then escort you to your ship?”

“I told him I might possibly move back to France, if I thought my business might benefit from it.”

Béatrice’s eyes became round globes of horror. She parroted William almost word for word. “You mean you would leave here? Leave England? What of your workers? What of Marguerite and me? Claudette, no!”

Claudette immediately regretting telling her nervous friend what had transpired between her and William just moments ago. Béatrice’s anxious nature would probably result in a mental breakdown while she was in Paris.

“Béatrice, don’t worry about this. I’m sure I am just experiencing nervous feelings at returning to our homeland, and I have no idea what I am saying.”

Béatrice contemplated her friend for a long moment. “It’s that Jean-Philippe, isn’t it? The betrothal you told me about when we came over on that horrible passage from France. You want to try to find him again.” Claudette’s silence gave her away. Béatrice’s eyes grew large again. “Oh, poor William. Did you tell him this? No, I can see you spared him the truth. Oh, Claudette, nothing good can come from this.”

Claudette was defiant. “Don’t be foolish. I am going to Paris to meet Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, to hopefully convince her to purchase more of my dolls, and to leave a good impression at court so that all of the nobility will want to send orders to me. I would be most happy if you would help me arrange my traveling clothes, and forget this nonsense about my childhood betrothal.” She turned and presented her back to Béatrice, to avoid looking into her face.

Béatrice’s shaking fingers fastened the laces of the back of the dress. Silently, she pushed Claudette down into a sitting position on the bed, and, rummaging through the heaps of garments, found the shoes that her friend typically wore with the dress. She kneeled down and placed them on her friend’s feet, then looked up soulfully into Claudette’s face.

Guilt pierced through Claudette. Why was life so confusing? First she had tamped down her emotions about Jean-Philippe, and then she had refused to let William occupy her thoughts. But William reentered her life dramatically, and she had allowed herself to be swept away by his integrity, his steadfastness, and most of all by her own intoxicated senses that overpowered her whenever he came near.

Now Jean-Philippe might be reappearing, and, like an autumn leaf blowing about with no control over its destiny, she was going to ride the winds to France to see what happened.

Was she about to destroy this new and fragile bond she had with William to chase a phantom?

Am I still an idiot?

Unexpectedly, Claudette’s eyes moistened. “Oh, Béatrice, you are my dearest friend in the world and I would do nothing to hurt you. I promise I’ll return. After all, what is the C. Laurent Fashion Doll Shop without Béatrice du Georges?” She threw her arms around Béatrice’s shoulders, and the two women clutched each other.

“Please, Claudette, don’t do anything imprudent while you are there. William loves you so much. And so do Marguerite and I.”

“Silly Béatrice. Let’s go back to the shop. I want to make sure all the workers are aware of my instructions while I’m gone, and that they understand you are in charge in my absence.”

William returned later with his coach and driver. The driver hauled out Claudette’s luggage, while William silently escorted her into the carriage, nodding to Béatrice on the landing as they went down the stairs.

“To the
Lady of York
,” William instructed as he rapped on the ceiling of the carriage. They began traversing London’s busy streets on their way to the docks. The coach’s two passengers sat silently, Claudette staring out the window, and William shifting his morose gaze from the floor to Claudette and back to the floor again.

Finally she said, “William, I promised Béatrice that I would return, and I make the same promise to you.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, but not if you have somehow found some powerful reason to stay in France.”

Uncomfortable once again under his penetrating stare, she looked down at her hands in her lap. “No,” she whispered. “I’m sure there is nothing left there for me.”

As they pulled into the harbor and began the final approach to the ship, William moved across the coach to sit next to Claudette. He gently cupped her face and turned it to him, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Claudette Renée Laurent. I will count the hours until you return to me.” Claudette was shaken to find herself inwardly trembling at the thought of leaving him, even temporarily. Still holding her face in both hands, and staring into her eyes as if willing her to reveal the hidden part of her heart, he lowered his head down for a kiss on her mouth. It lasted mere seconds, but conveyed his pain and worry and even the great passion she knew he kept hidden below the surface.

“We’re here, sir. I’ll take Miss Laurent’s luggage aboard, then return to the coach to wait for you.”

“Very well, thank you.” William gently helped Claudette from the coach and they strolled to the gangplank. The docks were as busy with travelers, merchants, and dockworkers, as she remembered from her frightful arrival seven years earlier. It was also just as dirty: carcasses of fish and other sea animals lying about, and stray dogs eagerly sniffing these potential feasts. The stench was nauseating, and she put a handkerchief to her nose. She was grateful to note that there was no apparent prostitution going on, at least none that she could see. But perhaps the latest shipment of unsuspecting girls had not arrived yet. She shuddered at the memory, which she had recently revived during one of the habitual coffeehouse chats she and William had established while getting to know one another.

Sensing her distress, William said gaily, “Here we are, my love. It’s finally time to embark on your great adventure to visit the queen of France.” He gave her a final, swift kiss. “I will be waiting for you.”

Claudette’s eyes welled up, then she turned and nearly ran up the gangplank to avoid making a foolish scene of sentimentality in front of him.

The voyage across the Channel was uneventful. Upon arrival in Calais, she found a fellow female passenger also planning to continue on to Paris, and together they paid fare on a coach to complete the journey.

Her new traveling partner, a middle-aged, exceedingly obese and plainly-dressed woman named Madame Junesiere, was impressed that Claudette had obtained an audience with the queen. “
Chérie
, tell me again what it is you have done that has captured the notice of Marie Antoinette?”

“I’m a dollmaker. The queen has several of my creations already.”

Madame Junesiere’s hand flew to her throat. “You are involved in business activity? How wretched for you. Your husband allows this?”

“I am not married.”

“Very well, then, your parents allow it?”

“My parents were killed in a fire several years ago. My father was a dollmaker and taught me his craft. After my parents’ death, I went to England, and established my shop there.”

Claudette’s companion shook her head in disapproval. “
Chérie
, it is not fitting for a beautiful young woman to be dirtying her hands in the trades. You should find a husband, preferably a nice Frenchman, and settle down to the business of having children.”

Claudette smiled ruefully and reflected inwardly on how close to home this stranger was hitting. What if she found Jean-Philippe? Was he married now? If not, would he still love her? Would she move her doll shop to France, or would she abandon all to become her long-lost love’s wife, and mother to his children? Her memory began reforming his face in her mind. She could almost remember the feel of his arms about her in the small alleyways near their homes. Her racing mind shifted to thoughts of William. She felt guilty at the thought of her dishonesty.
But I must not think of him
, she decided.
I must concentrate on my visit with the queen, and whether or not Jean-Philippe is still alive
.

Madame Junesiere broke into her thoughts. “We’re approaching a town. This coach is the worst excuse for a conveyance I have ever seen. My bones threaten to break over every pebble we cross in the road. Why don’t we stop at an inn for the night, and hire a private coach in the morning?”

Claudette agreed, and the two women spent an evening in companionable silence before retiring to bed and rising in the morning to secure more comfortable transportation and continue the journey. Upon arrival in Paris, the coach first dropped off Madame Junesiere at her daughter’s home, where she was visiting to await the birth of her first grandchild.

“
Au revoir
, Mademoiselle Laurent, and remember my advice to you. Forget your pretend babies and have real ones.”

“
Merci,
Madame Juensiere. I have enjoyed our journey together.”

Finally alone with her thoughts for the first time since leaving the ship, Claudette allowed herself to forget her troubles with men, and to give herself over to the excitement of meeting the queen. How her father would have been proud to see this day! She, little Claudette Laurent, permitted formal presentation to the most important personage of all the royalty in Europe. With the exception of King Louis XVI, of course.

The coach was now running alongside the front of the Palace of Versailles. Claudette gasped at its beauty and immense proportions. The driver stopped for traffic at the Avenue de Paris, giving his passenger a view to the front of the palace. A tall, wrought iron gate running along the front of the estate obscured some of that view, but she could see the entry to the magnificent three-story structure. All three levels were filled with tall windows. Palladian arches topped those on the first and second stories. The second story had groups of eight columns spaced at regular intervals. Even from a distance she could see the statuary lining the third floor above the second story columns. The palace did not appear to be a single building, but a main house with multiple wings, both attached and detached. The stone of the palace was actually beige, but it dazzled in the sunlight, making it look gold to the eye. This was undoubtedly part of Louis XIV’s plan when he reconstructed what had been a hunting lodge into this glorious monument to himself and the power of France. No wonder he was called the Sun King, she thought. Many coaches were stopped in the circular courtyard in front of the palace. Claudette could hardly believe that she was going to join them the following day.

With a start, the coach began moving again, then turned a corner, and the palace disappeared from view. Claudette leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, imagining the thrill of being presented to the queen at Versailles. Traveling several more blocks, the coach finally arrived at the Hôtel du Grand Maître, where the driver assured her many visitors to Versailles stayed. She paid him, waited to be sure her luggage was delivered, then immediately requested a bath be brought to her room.

Inside her beautifully appointed room, Claudette unpinned her hair while waiting for her bath to arrive. The bed had several feather mattresses on it, and was topped with a coverlet of blue and gold. A vanity and mirror also served as a nightstand. The writing desk contained exquisite linen papers in one of its many drawers. The walls were covered in blue and white damask wallpaper, and Aubusson rugs graced the floor. She felt as though she was already beginning to taste the life of royalty. She would have to write to William and Béatrice right away to describe how beautiful the hotel was. A knock on the door alerted her that her requested bath had arrived.