Bewitching (19 page)

I only did that some of the time. With Prince Louis, I decided that life with his mother was punishment enough. And I suspected, correctly, it turned out, that the royal family’s excesses would someday be their downfall. But that happened with the next generation. And yes, there was a next generation, for Louis did marry, despite his mother’s best efforts.

In any case, here is how it turned out.

Back to Louis (the unappreciative boy)

It took several weeks to travel to Madrid by carriage. Yet, I did. For this errand, I had to go myself.

After Princess Maria Luisa left Versailles, the palace grew silent indeed. I took meals in my own apartment and refused to speak to anyone. A palace is a very large place, so if one is determined to avoid someone, it is quite easy, rather like avoiding an enemy in a large city.

And I was determined. There were no princesses left. Mother had chased them all off. Therefore, I would be alone for the rest of my life, and when I died, my cousin would be king.

I was silent for three days. At the end of it, I went to Mother’s rooms.

The knock startled us both, coming as it did at the end of several days’ silence. But once Mother recovered from the shock, she said, “I see you have come to your senses.”

I nodded. “I have. I have realized I cannot listen to you anymore.”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing.”

Me neither, but I continued. “I know life is hard for you. I try to make you happy, but I am entitled to a measure of happiness of my own.”

“I never said—”

“You did not have to. You have thwarted my every effort to find a bride. I will choose a wife. I will choose a wife, and I will marry her.”

“We … we … can throw you out of the palace.”

“But you won’t. For if you throw me out of the palace, you will be alone in this drafty place, except for the occasional visit from Father’s mistresses.”

This was a low blow, and I knew it. But I was angry.

Mother sniffed. “Perhaps that would not be so bad. Madame de Mailly is entertaining enough at times.”

“And then, there is Ferdie.”

My cousin Ferdinand, of Spain, was the closest male heir.

“He would come visit you frequently, no doubt,” I said, “in order to appraise the china.”

“You are grown very rude, my son.”

I knew it, and I felt bad about it, but there was nothing else to be done.

“If, on the other hand, you allow me to marry, I would take care of you for the rest of my life, while you played with your grandchildren.”

“Grandchildren?”

I wondered, briefly, if Mother would be similarly controlling of my children. Still, there was time to rectify that. “Yes, grandchildren. If you are nice to my wife, I am certain she could be persuaded to name one or two Marie, after you. But, for that to happen, you must permit me to marry.”

She did not answer, and for six hours after, I worried I would have to make good my threat of leaving. As I have said before, it is not easy being a prince. If I left home, my prospects would be few. I had no skills at farming, no aptitude as a blacksmith. I feared I would be all thumbs when it came to carpentry.

But I had an excellent ability to be silent. So I was.

That night, Mother relented. The next day, I sailed to Spain.

One does not generally just show up at a princess’s door unannounced. Yet, that is what I did. Or rather, I sent my servant ahead to announce my arrival. He came back, accompanied by one of King Philip’s men.

“Her Highness, Princess Maria Teresa, is indisposed,” he said.

“I understand.” It was as I had feared. She did not wish to speak to me. “Has she married another?”

“Far from it,” said the servant. “Since suffering various insults at your mother’s hands, she has barely left her room. She will see no one.”

Still single.

“Then I must beg you to beg the princess to allow me to see her … to apologize.”

The servant looked none too happy at this request. In fact, he made a
tsk-tsk
ing noise with his tongue, as if I were an ill-behaved child. Still, he motioned that the duke and I might follow him to the entrance hall of the castle. He bade us take our seats and started upstairs.

“Wait!” I said.

“Yes.” The servant turned back as if hoping to hear that I had changed my mind.

“Can you please tell the princess…” I stared at my shoes. “Tell her that I wish we had heard
Hippolyte et Aricie
together. Tell her we still can.”

I waited. I stared at the duke. The duke stared at me. Half an hour passed. Then forty-five minutes.

“Perhaps she is not coming,” the duke said after an hour.

“She has to come. She has to! I will never forgive Mother if she doesn’t. I will never forgive myself.”

And then, she was there. Princess Maria Teresa. She was thinner than I remembered, but still beautiful, in a gown of light blue brocade that came quite low. She looked like a bride.

“You wished to speak to me, Your Highness?” Her eyes were cold, her expression severe. And yet, there was something of the girl I had admired so much too. I wanted, oh, how I wanted to take her hand. “Have you brought your mother?”

“No. Never. I have come—”

“To apologize. I heard.”

“Yes, to apologize, but also to tell you something, something else.”

“Tell me what?” Her eyes softened ever so slightly.

It was all I needed. I rushed (or at least walked briskly—I was a prince, after all) to her side. I was about to seize one of her little white hands in my own, but I stopped myself, lest she think me too forward.

“Do you think I would come all the way from Paris merely to apologize? I am apologizing, not only for my mother’s rudeness but for my own weakness in not preventing … not telling her … asking her kindly … telling her to take her test and, well, take her own test!”

The princess actually smiled a bit at that. This encouraged me to go on.

“But, more than that, I have come to ask you to return to Paris with me, to go to the opera with me, to give me all your honest opinions, in short … will you be my bride?”

“I know nothing of French history. Even being that close on the date of the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, it was merely a lucky guess.”

“That is what books are for. Princess Maria Teresa, if you will accept me, the only history that will matter will be our own.”

I hoped that I had not come all this way only to be refused. At this point, I supposed I could ask any of the other princesses (well, except Princess Maria Luisa) to be my bride, with Mother’s blessings, but I did not want any other princess. I wanted this one.

But Maria Teresa looked deep into my eyes and said, “In that case, I will marry you.”

Soon after, we were married. Mother, though chagrined that her guidance was thus flouted, chose not to disown me. In fact, once she got to know my bride, they got along famously.

So we were all quite happy.

(Kendra’s note: except for the helpful witch, who was still banished.)

K
ENDRA SPEAKS

So you begin, perhaps, to see a pattern. Kendra sees some poor soul in distress, does her level best to help that person, and ends up being blamed when things don’t go exactly according to plan. Is it any wonder I’d rather go shoe shopping?

But I do like Emma. She is innocent and hopeful, seeing only good in people, much like Louis, whom I also liked. As with Louis, I pity Emma too. She’s not getting Warner anytime soon. No, no, she’s sitting and reading her books while Lisette—wicked Lisette—has all the fun.

It would be easy to turn Lisette into a frog but, of course, there would be … ramifications to that. I’ve done it, turned a human boy into a beast when he made me angry. He got on my bad side one day and… I gave him a fur coat. And claws. Put a curse on him and gave him two years to find true love to break it. Fortunately, he was quiet about it, but that can’t usually be counted on. No, no, in today’s society of litigation and reality television, someone is just as likely to trumpet his misfortune from the rooftops as hide in a basement.

No, if I intend to help, I must be discreet. But how?

Ah, well, I’ll think on it while Emma tells some more of her story.

Part Two

Lisette and Emma

1

Two years have passed. A lot has happened. In that time, everything changed, especially my relationship with my father. Basically, I no longer had one. After that October night—and at Lisette’s instructions—I became “too busy” to watch
Jeopardy
or go sailing, too busy for everything. I thought Daddy wouldn’t really care. After all, he had Lisette now, his real daughter. But, to my surprise, he did. Sometimes, I’d see him looking at me like he wondered what he’d done to push me away, why I hated him. That tore my heart out because my father had been the one I loved most. Now, I had only Mother.

In those two years, I often thought about coming clean with Daddy, telling him the truth about the pumpkin, about Lisette’s blackmail, especially after a few months. It just seemed juvenile and lame. So I’d smashed a pumpkin. He probably wouldn’t even be mad.

But the thing was, I knew he wouldn’t believe me about Lisette, the way he hadn’t believed me about the earrings. He thought—everyone did—that she was this sweet little thing who’d never hurt anyone—poor, tragic Lisette. So I kept her secret because I knew if I didn’t, I’d be the one who looked bad. Also, I didn’t want to hurt Daddy any more than I already had.

The whole thing reminded me of a fairy tale. In stories like
Cinderella
and
Beauty and the Beast
, they always say the heroine is “as good as she is beautiful.” I wondered if people just wanted that to be true, wanted the beautiful to be good. I wondered if they wanted the ugly to be bad because then they wouldn’t have to feel sorry for them.

I told Mother. Everything. Otherwise, she’d have kept nagging me to spend more time with Daddy. She believed me, of course. She’d seen Lisette’s true face from the beginning, the face on the inside of her beautiful outside. Once she found out, she went out of her way to be nice to Lisette too, to make Daddy happy. To keep him. Lisette had been right about that. My mother wouldn’t risk his choosing Lisette over us.