By Honor Bound (6 page)

“You’re going to miss her, aren’t you?” They had paused at the stall. Seeing Philippe, the mare nickered and threw her head. Honneure reached through the bars to stroke her cheek. Her startlingly white color glowed faintly in the dim lantern light.

“Yes, I’ll miss her,” he had replied, sadness in his tone.

“You don’t mind leaving her there … returning to Chenonceau … do you?” Honneure was not quite sure why she had asked the question. Or why the response had seemed so terribly, terribly important.

“Of course I don’t mind.” Philippe had laughed lightly. “I’ll be coming back to you, won’t I, little sister? I must surely return.”

“Oh, I hope so.” She had laid her hands on his shoulders then and her head on his chest. “I hope so.”

With difficulty, Honneure returned her thoughts to the present. Jeanne had handed a bundle up to her son. “Some bread and cheese and fruit for your journey. Be safe.”

“And you be well, Mother … Father.”

“Good luck, Son.”

Philippe turned to Honneure. The forlorn look in her eyes made him want to climb from the coach and take her in his arms. He was glad they had said their good-byes last night. “
Au revoir, ma soeur.
I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

She could only nod. The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak.

Philippe lifted his hands, taking hold of his horses and making contact with their mouths. It was all the signal they needed. The Berlin moved forward.

“
Bon voyage
,” Madame Dupin called.

They all stood and watched until the coach had disappeared at the end of the lane. As soon as Madame Dupin turned, the servants dispersed. Claud held the door for his mistress. Only Honneure lingered, staring down the road.

“Don’t worry about him, Honneure,” said a voice very close to her ear.

She didn’t have to look to know who it was. Claud had a somewhat unpleasant odor.

“He really is very talented and good-looking. He should cause quite a stir among the … ladies … at Court. He might just have a wonderful time.”

Honneure spun to face the overweight young man. “I hope he does,” she spat.

“Do you?” Claud smiled slowly. “I wonder.”

“What are you getting at, Claud? If you have something to say, say it. I have work to do.”

“So do I.” He let his eyes roam over Honneure’s body. “Especially now that your …
brother
is gone.”

Before she could stop him, he reached out and touched her breast. With all the strength she could muster, she slapped his face.

Claud’s smile never faltered, but his eyes narrowed. He held a hand to his reddening cheek. “You
will
pay for this, Honneure. As Philippe said … I
promise
.”

Chapter Six

Late Winter 1771

Honneure awakened slowly, aware she had slept too long. She was able to make out the features of her tiny room. Dawn approached. She was late.

But it was cold, so cold. And she had grown thin in the months since Philippe had left. This winter seemed the hardest of any in memory. Under her blankets and duvet, Honneure shivered.

She had to rise, however. The sooner she stoked the embers in her small porcelain stove, the sooner she would be warm.

Honneure moved swiftly now. With a shawl clutched about her shoulders, she tended to her fire. In the glow of its modest heat, she drew a woolen dress over her chemise and fumbled at its buttons with numb fingers. She brushed out her long hair, twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck, and pinned it. She had to break a thin skin of ice in her basin to splash water on her face. She was as ready for her day as she could be.

Honneure’s footsteps crunched in the snow still on the ground. There were many bare patches, however. It had not snowed in several days. But that would soon change. She could smell the moisture in the air.

Because she was so late, Honneure had not expected to meet anyone on her way into the château. She was surprised, therefore, to see the front door open just as she reached it. Her surprise turned almost instantly to distaste.

“Why, if it isn’t Mademoiselle Mansart,” Claud drawled in a deceptively sweet tone. He gave Honneure a smile, then slowly let it fade. “You’re late,” he snapped.

“You’re early,” she retorted sharply.

The humorless smile returned. “I am often in the château … early. Madame Dupin relies on me more and more these days, since my father died. I doubt she could do without me. Unlike Philippe.”

A familiar nausea returned to Honneure’s stomach. She turned to go, but Claud’s words halted her.

“Your …
brother
… has become quite a favorite of the future queen, I understand. He’ll probably never return … Why should he? The palaces of Versailles, Fontainebleau. All those lovely ladies at Court.”

The churning nausea became an acute pain. “I … I have to go,” Honneure mumbled. But Claud ignored her.

“How old are you now, Honneure? Nineteen? And no suitors. You discouraged them for so long, they finally stopped calling.”

“Because I want none!” She had not meant to play his game, but the response came before she could bite her tongue.

“No, of course not. There’s only one for you, isn’t there, Honneure?” Claud shot back. “But he’s gone. He obviously doesn’t think as much of you as you do of him. And soon you will be so far past marriageable age
no one
will want you.”

Honneure had had enough. Head high, eyes narrowed, she stared at him. “I certainly hope that includes you, Claud. Because your attentions and innuendoes are repugnant to me. I would rather die a slow and painful death than even
consider,
for one moment, marriage with you.”

She watched his face redden, darkening his already bad complexion. A vein in his temple visibly throbbed. She gave him a cold, hard smile and turned on her heel. The sputtering sound he made gave her a measure of satisfaction, though she knew it would be worse for her next time.

Come home, Philippe
, she silently prayed.
Please come home soon.

Jeanne Mansart fussed over Madame Dupin’s breakfast tray. When it met her rigid standards, she nodded to Honneure. “You’ll have to hurry so it doesn’t get too cold. The corridors are icy this morning.”

“Icier than you know,” Honneure mumbled in reply. She picked up the tray and left the kitchen.

Jeanne and Paul watched her, concern etched into each of their expressions. Jeanne spoke first.

“It seems she grows thinner by the day.”

Paul pulled at his chin with a large, roughened hand. “It’s bad enough how deeply she misses Philippe. But Claud’s advances are becoming burdensome to her as well.”

“Claud. I can’t understand what Madame sees in him.”

“He’s made himself invaluable to her.”

“He’s wormed his way into her affections because he’s slimy. Not because he’s particularly talented. Worse, she thinks so highly of him she’s actually pleaded his case with me for Honneure’s hand.”

Paul’s bushy brows lifted. “I didn’t know. How did you reply?”

“Not as I wished to, you can be sure. I simply said I didn’t think Honneure would be agreeable to the proposal.”

“What are we going to do, Mother?” Paul said. “I can’t stand to watch her grow more unhappy by the day. She was the sunshine in our lives. Now it’s gone.”

Jeanne glanced sideways at her husband. “Well …”

“You’ve done something already, haven’t you?”

“I … I wrote to Philippe.”

“Jeanne—”

“I know, I know. Being offered a position at the royal stables is a dream come true for him.” Jeanne smiled to herself as she recalled that first letter from Philippe. She had expected to see her son, for he was due to return. But a royal messenger had called instead, bearing Philippe’s missive. In it he informed them that the princess in particular loved the new horses and was impressed with their training. She had asked Philippe almost at once to stay on permanently to care for the animals. Though he had been loath to leave his family, it was an opportunity he simply could not ignore.

“But don’t worry, Paul,” Jeanne continued. “I didn’t ask Philippe to come home. I would never do that. So I …”

“You what?” Paul prompted.

“I … I asked Philippe to ask the princess to find a place for Honneure at Court,” she said quickly.

“Jeanne Mansart!” After more than a quarter of a century, Paul knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but this was definitely one of his wife’s bolder and more dramatic moves. She would do anything for her children, but this … “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a position at Court?”

Jeanne shrugged and returned her attention to a lump of dough she had been kneading. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

“Lord, woman. You never cease to amaze me.”

“I know. It’s one of the reasons you love me so much.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her husband turn away. Paul was right. Probably nothing would come of her request because nothing
could
come of it. Yet if there was any way at all to bring Honneure to Versailles, Philippe would find it. She knew how much he loved and missed Honneure.

And unlike her husband, she knew much more than that.

It was so warm in the stables Philippe had begun to sweat beneath his woolen livery. The heaters for the pampered horses were all operating at maximum. He could hardly wait to drive out into the snowy morning. With nimble fingers he hurried to fix the white mare’s harness to the sleigh, marveling yet again at its workmanship.

“Open the doors,” he finally called to one of the numerous page boys who worked in the stables. “We’re ready.”

With his hands on the lines he moved the mare forward, but he did not get into the sleigh until they were out in the snow-covered court. Then he hopped into the seat and drove the horse on smartly. Her caulked hooves were nearly soundless on the ground.

The vastness and majesty of the Versailles palace struck Philippe at once, as it always did. He had emerged from the Large Stables, across the wide court from the Small Stables, and he smiled, remembering the first time he had seen the monumental buildings. So massive were the structures he had thought he beheld the very palace itself. But the two great horseshoe-shaped buildings faced the palace, separated from it by the huge military parade grounds, the
Place d’Armes.
Taking the central of three broad avenues that converged on the château, Philippe approached the imposing sprawl that was the Palace of Versailles.

The Ministers’ Wings, like two great arms, reached out perpendicularly from the château proper to embrace the broad forecourt. From the forecourt Philippe entered the smaller Royal Court and saw the little princess and her entourage awaiting him. Philippe slipped the bit in the mare’s mouth and held her back while he drove her on. As a result she picked her knees up even higher while she tucked her chin in tighter toward her neck. He knew what an elegant picture she made.

Antoinette clapped her gloved, delicate hands as her personal coachman neared. She adored her white mare, and the handsome, dark-haired young man was quite a sight in the Christmas gift her husband had given her. Her courtiers surrounded the sleigh as Philippe pulled to a halt.

The body of the sleigh was shaped and painted like a true-to-life leopard. Its interior was lined with yellow silk. The red and gold shaft flaps ended in a stunningly carved wolf’s head.

Philippe hopped off the coachman’s seat, located where the leopard’s tail would be, and bowed from the waist. Antoinette acknowledged him with an almost imperceptible nod, blue eyes twinkling merrily, and put her hand on a courtier’s proffered palm to climb into the sleigh.

Philippe returned to his seat.

“Be sure to watch closely,” she called to the assembled crowd as the mare stepped on.

“I want your opinion on my dear husband’s gift.”

The mare moved forward at a brisk trot, and Antoinette’s Boxer dog, her almost constant companion, loped along behind them.

“Oh, Philippe, I love it,” Antoinette said gaily as soon as they were out of earshot. “Was this not the sweetest, most thoughtful gift you could think of?”

Philippe smiled as he responded. Whenever they were alone, the princess treated him as an equal, not as a servant. At first he had been astounded, for it wasn’t how he had expected royalty to behave at all. But the future queen was one of the most genuine, down-to-earth people he had ever known. They had, in fact, become quite good friends.

“His majesty’s gift is indeed thoughtful,” Philippe replied. “Costly as well. It speaks loudly of his affection for you.”

Antoinette laughed. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Louis’s penury is notorious.”

They drove on in silence for a while, circling the great forecourt, the only sound the hiss of iron runners skimming over the snow. Then, suddenly, there was a yip from the princess’s dog.

“Oh, Philippe, stop! Quickly, please. Look and see what he’s done to himself.”

Philippe halted the mare and jumped to the ground, confident the well-trained animal would not move a muscle. He knelt by the dog and observed him licking his front paw. Gently he took the animal’s foot and examined it.

“What is it, Philippe? What’s wrong?”

“He’ll be fine. His pad’s cracked and bleeding from the cold. But he’ll need some tending, and he’ll be sore for a while.”

“Can he walk back?”

“If you can bear to watch him limp,” Philippe responded tongue-in-cheek.

Despite her concern, Antoinette attempted a smile. “You know me so well. Very well. Pick him up, if you will, and put him in my lap. I’ll have one of the stable veterinarians look at him.”

Philippe started to do as he was bid, then abruptly stopped, an idea striking him with the force of a blow. Was it possible he might have found a solution to his dilemma?

Philippe agonized but only for a moment. The situation his mother had described to him in her letter was untenable. The very idea of Claud Maraist with his beloved sister made his blood heat to boiling. He would try anything to get Honneure well away from that obnoxious pig.

“What’s the matter, Philippe? Is something wrong?”

“No … no, just …”

“Just what, Philippe?”

Philippe lifted the dog in his arms and carried him to the sleigh before he answered. “It’s just …”

“Is all well?” Madame Campan, Antoinette’s chief chambermaid, hurried over to the sleigh, followed by the remainder of the retinue.

“My dog’s injured his foot,” Antoinette replied. “What were you going to say, Philippe?”

He paused. It was one thing to speak in private with the princess, quite another in front of her train. But the matter was urgent, and his idea a good one.

“My … my sister is wonderful with animals,” he stammered at last. “She has a way with them and has many herbal remedies for their ailments as well. I was just … wishing she was here.”

“Is she as beautiful as you are handsome, Philippe?” Rose, one of Antoinette’s ladies, tittered.