By Honor Bound (11 page)

Well, she would not have him to work her wiles on any longer. Someday, sometime, there would certainly be another woman in his life. In the meantime, and for all time, he had Honneure. If only he could find a time and place to see her!

“Ah, Philippe, I thought I’d find you here.”

Philippe turned toward the familiar voice. The master of the stables was a tall and distinguished man, aristocratic by birth, and compassionate by nature. He had a God-given talent with horses, and Philippe respected him.

“It’s a safe bet any day you’ll find me with my animals.”

“The
princess’s
animals,” Monsieur Rocard amended mildly. “And she would like to drive her pair this afternoon, as a matter of fact. In an hour. I have no fear you will not be ready as you keep your charges immaculate and constantly at the peak of their athletic ability.” He ran an admiring hand over the white mare’s muscular shoulder. “I am impressed with this breed, though I was unfamiliar with it until you brought the animals here. You do an excellent job with them, Philippe.”

Philippe bowed his head. Praise from the stablemaster was heady stuff indeed. But not nearly as inspiring as the thought of what might transpire in a mere hour’s time.

Honneure had come to Versailles to be a member of the dauphine’s household. Whenever the princess left the palace she was almost always surrounded by the majority of her entourage. Would Honneure be with her this afternoon? Would he finally actually get to see his beloved sister?

Imagining the sun-gilded highlights in Honneure’s hair, the deep, bold gray of her eyes, the tilt of her chin, and the smell of summer that always seemed to linger on her skin, he did not even notice Monsieur Rocard depart.

An hour. One hour.

His hands flew.

“You don’t
really
think so!” Antoinette raised her pale, delicate brows and held the reflection of Madame Campan’s gaze in the mirror. The older woman replied with an almost imperceptible shrug of her thin shoulders.

“My princess will decide for herself.”

“Yes. I certainly shall.” Antoinette watched Madame Campan’s skilled fingers restore order to the elaborate hairdo that had been created for her some hours before. It seemed a senseless thing to do, considering she was about to drive her horses and bring about even greater chaos to her tresses. But it had given them a few moments to speak privately. The rest of her women chatted among themselves in a corner of the boudoir and had paid no heed to the whispered conversation. She was glad. It was a delicious secret. Especially if it was true. Antoinette smiled conspiratorially at Madame Campan’s reflection.

“They don’t realize? You’re sure?”

“They are as innocent of it as babes,” Madame Campan said with quiet certainty.

Antoinette clasped her hands together and raised them to her chin. Her blue eyes sparkled. “An already beautiful day seems suddenly brighter. I find I am quite anxious to see Philippe. Shall we go?”

The instant the dauphine rose, Honneure’s heart began to pound. The princess’s words echoed her own thoughts. She couldn’t wait to see Philippe, really see him, not just glimpse him as he took another woman in his arms.

A familiar nausea rose in Honneure’s throat, but she quickly banished it. She was going to see Philippe. Nothing must spoil this moment.

In a graceful flurry of movement, Antoinette’s ladies arranged themselves in her wake. The train of women, courtiers, and a few chosen servants moved from the
Petits Appartements
into the long series of elaborate and shining reception rooms. Honneure was no less awed by them now than she had been the day before and with delight saw things she had not noticed earlier. The small dogs pranced ahead of her, tugging at their leashes, while the Boxer walked sedately at her side.

The day was cloudless, almost blindingly bright. Honneure blinked as they stepped out into the Marble Court. It had been cool in the dim corridors of the palace, but the sun warmed her at once. Her heart’s rhythm hastened again.

He had apparently waited at the far end of the wide drive until he saw the royal party emerge. As the women moved into a ragged semicircle around the princess, Honneure saw the distant flick of his long buggy whip. The matched pair of white horses, mother and daughter, started forward as one.

The hours and days and months of work Philippe had put into the Lipizzans were evident. Their trot was slower, more precise, elevated, and airy. Their ears pricked sharply, expressively forward. White fire glinted from their coats. They were a living masterpiece. Honneure heard someone near her catch a breath.

“Magnificent. Truly magnificent,” someone else murmured.

Yes, they were magnificent. But not nearly as fine as the man who drove them, guided them, worked his magic with those large, strong, oh so gentle hands. Honneure’s heartbeat went from a rapid staccato to nearly stopping in her throat.

He seemed to be more handsome each time she beheld him. The breeze lifted the long, dark curls from his shoulders. Nearer and nearer they came, hoofbeats resounding on the pavement. His brown velvet eyes never wavered from her own. Her breath began to falter.

Madame Campan leaned ever so slightly into the princess, but she did not seem to notice. The whole of her attention was riveted on the scene unfolding before her.

So skilled were Philippe’s hands they seemed to possess knowledge independent of his brain’s. He continued to guide the horses flawlessly, but his every conscious thought was turned to Honneure. She stood amid a crowd of women, but he saw only her. He moved in the real, waking world, but the reality was as a dream.

How could she have changed so much in a few short months? She seemed taller but perhaps only because she was thinner. Highlights from the summer before had faded over the winter, but the honey color of her hair had deepened. Smoke and ashes smoldered in the remarkable gray of her eyes. The red and silver of the dauphine’s livery seemed pale and colorless compared to the brightness of her beauty. He had always thought her lovely, but now … He had drawn abreast of his princess. Familiar with the routine, the horses came to a halt. Philippe came to his senses. He jumped lightly to the ground and bowed before Antoinette. “Majesty.”

“You never cease to amaze us,” the princess said softly and exchanged a swift glance with Madame Campan. “Always something new, something surprising, when we thought it couldn’t get any better.”

“Your majesty is too kind,” Philippe replied, misunderstanding just as the princess had intended. “The horses have the talent, not I.”

“You bring it out in them. Just as you inspire the admiration of those around you.” Antoinette’s eyes flicked lightly over the surrounding ladies, and she noted, as she always did, the way they lavished their admiring attention on Philippe. But there was one whose gaze held more than mere speculative appreciation.

“Although I am anxious, as usual, to have a drive with these glorious creatures,” Antoinette continued, “I believe we must pause for something more important.”

Philippe’s bafflement was evident.

“Your sister,” Antoinette prompted. “Has it not been many months since you saw her last?”

It took all of Philippe’s considerable willpower to not look in Honneure’s direction. Eyes cast respectfully down, he nodded. “Yes, Majesty. Many months.”

Antoinette was glad Philippe held his gaze downward. He would wonder at the tears brimming suddenly in her eyes. Surely he would misunderstand. As surely as he misunderstood what he truly felt for Honneure—and she for him. Though the emotion of the moment, what she had witnessed between Philippe and Honneure, caused a painful ache in her throat, the princess forced a smile to her lips.

“May I suggest, Philippe, since it has been so long, that you take Honneure for a drive instead? I’m sure you will want to hear the news of your parents, and I … I fear the sun is a bit strong for me today.”

“Majesty!” Madame Campan was at Antoinette’s side in a heartbeat. She put a protective arm about the small, frail shoulders, and the princess pressed close to her shoulder.

“I am quite well, my dear Campan,” Antoinette whispered. “But the two of them need to be alone. And tongues will wag soon enough. Let us not begin the process ourselves, here, today.”

“My princess is wise beyond her years.”

Antoinette flashed Madame Campan an enigmatic look. “My own plight is not so dissimilar,” she responded under her breath. Then, aloud, “Come, all of you. I shall have to wait for another day, hopefully a less bright one. Mademoiselle du Bois, take my dogs, if you please. Honneure, I give you leave for the rest of the afternoon. Enjoy it.”

Antoinette was surrounded at once by her women, their voices an intertwining babble of concern and distress. They moved away slowly as a single body, the dauphine uttering reassurances. Other courtiers and a myriad of servants hurried on their various ways across the avenue. Another carriage rolled by. Someone coughed. Someone laughed. The murmur of distant voices rose and fell. But nothing, no one in the world, existed but Philippe.

Slowly, agonizingly, Honneure raised her gaze.

Chapter Ten

Philippe had always been supremely self-confident. His parents had adored him, and as a child he had been the darling of the entire household, including the mistress herself, Madame Dupin. He had shown an early aptitude for working with horses and had been put into training at once. His talent was readily apparent. He worked hard, achieved much, and continued to earn the admiration, respect, and love of all who knew him. Then Honneure had come into his life.

She had enchanted him from the first moment. He would never forget that first glimpse of her, with her sad and frightened gray eyes looking up at him as she stood in the courtyard. Never having known heartache or fear himself, he had tried to imagine how devastating it must have been for her to lose her only parent and the only home she had ever known all at once. He had admired her courage, and when her tears had come at last, his heart had gone out to her completely. He had loved her, had tried to surround her with that love he had known all his life.

Over the years Philippe had watched Honneure blossom brilliantly. Though she never forgot her mother, Jeanne and Paul had become her true parents of the soul. He had become her brother. He took pride in her achievements, her ready wit and intelligence, her fierce loyalties, and her eagerness to learn. She made him laugh often yet could also bring tears to his eyes with her tender affections. She had been his strength as often as he had been hers. He could never fathom life without her or their relationship ever changing. So what was happening to him now? Why did he feel shaken to his very core?

Versailles and its thousands of inhabitants no longer existed. He was alone with Honneure. She was all he could see, all he was aware of. But something was very, very wrong.

Philippe’s heart raced in a way it never had before. Nor had he ever felt at such a loss, so uncertain of himself, unable even to speak a single word. And it was happening in the presence of Honneure, his sister. What was wrong with him?

“Philippe? Philippe, are you all right?”

He watched her extend an elegant hand to him, touch his arm in a long-familiar gesture. Even through the material of his coat, his flesh burned.

Honneure drew in her breath sharply as Philippe pulled away from her. Pain stabbed through her breast. Was he so deeply in love with Olivia he could not abide another woman’s touch, even his sister’s? It was more than she could bear, more than she could comprehend. Seeing Philippe in Olivia’s arms had shaken her world. Now it had collapsed entirely. With a heartbroken sob, she whirled away from him.

The spell was shattered when Honneure spun on her heel. What had he done? What had he been thinking?

“Honneure, wait … Stop!”

He caught her in three steps, hands pinning her arms. Slowly, gently, he turned her to face him. A bolt of agony seared through him when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

“Oh my God, Honneure,” Philippe moaned. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I … I was just looking at you and … and …”

The tears spilled, staining Honneure’s cheeks. “No, I …
I’m
sorry,” she whispered. “I know you want it to be Olivia with you here, now, not me. I …”

“Olivia?” Unconsciously, Philippe gave Honneure a little shake. “No, no, not Olivia. I’m so glad to see you, Honneure. What made you think I would want it to be Olivia?”

Knowing before she answered, he groaned again. He let go of Honneure’s arms and struck his palm to his forehead. “Damn that woman. Damn her! And damn me.”

“Philippe!”

“No. I deserve every remonstrance I could possibly heap on myself. And more.” Once again Philippe grasped Honneure’s arms, this time cradling her elbows in his broad hands. “Listen, forget Olivia. Please. I certainly intend to. It was a terrible mistake. Forgive me, Honneure. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you, Philippe?” Honneure slowly shook her head, confusion reflected in her wide, gray eyes. “Forgive you for what? It’s your life to do with as you please. And with
whom
you please.”

“But that’s just it. Don’t you see? It’s not Olivia I love. It’s …”

Honneure staggered back, knees suddenly weak. Philippe let her go, stunned by what he had been about to say.

But it was not possible. Honneure was his sister. He loved her as his
sister
. That was all. That was all it could ever be.

“Honneure, I … I love you … of course. I mean … you’re my sister.”

Honneure did not respond for a long, long moment. And in that moment a strange knowing seemed to settle upon her, like the folds of a cloak falling about her shoulders, enwrapping and warming her. Words her foster mother had once spoken to her returned in a rush.

“Of all the things I’ve tried to teach you, dearest child, there is only one thing of true importance. For you may rely on it when all else fails, all knowledge, all logic. And that is your heart, Honneure, your woman’s heart. Listen to it when you can trust no other voice. Listen to it, and know it does not lie.”

Standing before Philippe, Honneure took a deep breath and smiled. How right Jeanne had been, how wise.

This time when Honneure put her hand on Philippe’s arm, she knew he would not flinch away, and he did not.

“Come, Philippe,” she said in a voice little more than a whisper. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time. Let us see how you’ve fared with the horses.”

Afternoon sunlight streamed into the salon of the
Petites Apartments.
Sitting at the keyboard of her clavichord Antoinette stretched, closed her eyes, and raised her face to the beam of buttery light. “What time is it?”

“Nearly four o’clock,” Madame Campan promptly replied.

Antoinette groaned. “The Abbé de Vermond will be here at any moment. His lessons are so
boring,
dear Campan.”

“It’s only for an hour. Then you have your singing lesson. You always enjoy that.”

“Tomorrow it will be the clavichord, singing again the day after, then clavichord …” Antoinette sighed deeply. “Do you think he notices? Do you think he cares? Do you think this makes any difference at all?”

Madame Campan glanced up sharply from her needlework. “You are the future Queen of France. You must care even if no one else does.” She allowed her expression to soften slightly. “But, yes, in answer to your question. Yes, I think the dauphin does care.”

Hope flickered uncertainly in Antoinette’s pale-blue eyes. She pursed her rosebud lips. “He
is
kind to me, Campan. And attentive when we are together. I have no complaints on that account. But …”

The two women exchanged glances. Though no one else was present at the moment, one could never be certain of one’s privacy in a royal palace. And although it was fairly common knowledge that the prince had not yet consummated his marriage, Antoinette spoke of her sadness only to those closest to her, and when she was absolutely certain no one might overhear. The humiliation was simply too great to bear. Suddenly uncomfortably warm, she rose and moved out of the sunlight.

“Open a window, will you, dear Campan? I am not quite used to the warmth of the French springtimes yet.”

Madame Campan unlatched the tall double windows and swung them wide.

“Any sign of our sweet Honneure and the handsome Philippe?”

Madame Campan looked down the broad avenue and shook her head. “None.”

Antoinette uttered another small sigh. “You were absolutely right about them, dear Campan. Nothing escapes your notice, does it?”

The older woman turned slowly from the window. “Very little.”

“How long, do you think, before they are able to see what the rest of us do?”

“I believe Honneure already knows. It will be harder for Philippe. Men’s vision is not as clear as women’s.”

Antoinette laughed. “How right you are, Campan. And how wise.” The gaiety abruptly died. “They will have time to discover their love at least.
Without
a villainess waiting in the wings to pounce.”

“Now, now, the du Barry can do nothing to truly harm you.”

“She can affect the king’s opinion of me,” Antoinette said, porcelain skin flushing.

“The king is quite fond of you. If his mistress is trying to sway him, she’s doing a poor job of it.”

“And she sets my husband against me,” Antoinette continued as if she had not heard. “Every time that woman slights or disagrees with me, Louis sides with her.”

“Openly, yes, but only to keep peace with his grandfather.”

Antoinette did not reply. She crossed to the window and stared out at the tailing afternoon. “As I said before, Honneure and Philippe are luckier than I.”

“Perhaps not,” Madame Campan replied quietly.

Antoinette looked sharply at the head of her ladies-in-waiting. “What do you mean? What possible villainess could there be in
their
romantic tale?”

Madame Campan’s response was interrupted by a knock on the door. “That will be the Abbé,” she said as she moved across the room. “We will speak later.”

The entire regal, sprawling mass of the palace of Versailles was built upon a hillock in the Galie Valley, which was surrounded by more hills punctuated by ponds, heaths, and pastures. Immediately surrounding the château and its fabulous gardens were acres upon acres of woods. Traveling along the east-west axis of the grounds, by the side of the Grand Canal and perpendicular to the palace, Honneure was able to more fully grasp the scope and immensity of Versailles. It was almost beyond comprehension. The Grand Canal itself defied imagination.

For many years Honneure had listened with avid interest to Madame Dupin’s tales of court life and descriptions of the palace. She had a vivid imagination and had thought she had re-created accurate visions of the château and its grounds in her mind’s eye. She had not even come close to Versailles’s true scale and splendor.

The Grand Canal, made by the hands of man, put the Cher to shame. Driving along the bank of the Canal, she could barely see to the other side, and not simply because of the distance. Boats of every description plied the crystalline waters, from small, gaily painted craft plied by oars, to tall-masted ships. Shaped like a giant cross, the Canal began at the foot of the fabled Apollo Fountain and stretched into the valley.

“It would take hours to drive along the entire shoreline,” Philippe had told her. “We’ll travel about a quarter of the way, then come back.”

Honneure had only been able to nod. The vastness of the grounds had awed her. The panoply surrounding her took her breath away.

Lavishly dressed courtiers on prancing horses trotted past. Richly decorated coaches pulled by as many as eight horses promenaded by, carriage whips flicking smartly. Various groups of men and women strolled amiably. Amorous couples, arms linked, bent their heads together as they murmured among themselves. Honneure had never felt so small and insignificant. Unconsciously, she leaned into Philippe’s shoulder.

“I know how you must feel. I remember how overwhelmed I was my first few days here.”

“It’s truly unimaginable. No one could ever possibly describe this accurately. One must see it to believe it.”

They continued on for some time, the white horses maintaining their bold trot, necks arched and ears forward. Honneure noted the many admiring glances cast their way, and her heart swelled with pride. Not only had the animals been scrupulously trained, but Philippe handled them masterfully. It was no wonder the princess had bid him stay on with her. She must have a very high opinion of him indeed, particularly since she had even granted his wish to have his sister join the royal entourage as well.

Sister.

Honneure became acutely aware of Philippe’s nearness, the feel of her arm pressed against his muscular shoulder, but she did not move. She was where she belonged, where she had always belonged. She must no longer think of Philippe as her brother. Just as he, soon, would no longer think of her as his sister. It didn’t matter how long it might take. She knew it was only a matter of time, that it had in fact already begun. The surety of the knowledge lent her a sense of calm, and she was grateful for it. The realization of her love, her romantic love, for Philippe was so great it had stunned her, and at the one time more than any other in her life when she needed to keep her wits about her. She must cling to her knowledge and the peace of it and perform her duties faithfully. That was first and foremost. All else would come in the fullness of time.