Enchantress of Paris

by Marci Jefferson

  Hortense burst in with a summons from our uncle. “The duc de Savoy will arrive today, though he hasn’t yet granted precedence. He wants to meet me in particular! They say he’s terribly handsome. You’re to report to the Archbishop’s Palais this afternoon for a private dinner before his reception. May Marianne and I join you?”

  I plucked my linen chemise through the panes of my sleeves until they puffed out prettily. “Why not?” Let them watch and learn.

  * * *

  My carriage stopped in front of the Archbishop’s Palais at the appointed time. Hortense jumped out. “Are we late?”

  As I stepped down I winced at the tenderness over my ribs, where bruises were rapidly healing thanks to my St. John’s wort. Yet the reminder of Mazarin’s rage made me regret letting my sisters come. I leaned to Venelle. “Keep Marianne and Hortense close.”

  Mazarin appeared at the door, that snake in cardinal red. “Come.” He ignored my sisters and ushered me up the steps. In the hall, Christine of France, duchesse de Savoy, known as Madame Royale, stood to the left with her daughter. Princess Margherita was short, brown, and plain. To the right stood King Louis with his mother and brother.

  Cardinal Mazarin should have presented me to the family from Savoy. It would have been the proper thing to do. Instead, he took me straight to the king.

  It was the perfect opportunity to take control of the situation, to guide King Louis away from Margherita and make a show of myself. Just as Mazarin wanted.

  Instead, I did nothing.

  Mazarin cleared his throat. King Louis looked from Mazarin to Margherita, then to me. He seemed to realize what was happening. I saw a flicker of anger. Mazarin actually looked uneasy. Madame Royale and Margherita glanced nervously at each other. Finally, King Louis made the introductions himself. My sisters crept in, and he introduced them, too. We curtsied low, and the Savoy women tried to look indifferent.

  The king took my arm. “Let me escort you to the dining hall and show you the archbishop’s fine tapestries along the way.” We strolled from the room, pretending to study the sumptuous tapestries. It forced Cardinal Mazarin and the queen mother to chat with Madame Royale. Margherita just watched with quiet dignity.

  King Louis muttered, “Did he expect you to break all protocol and make a fool of yourself?”

  I leaned in. “I told you he wants to blame me for breaking up the marriage.”

  The Savoy royals sat on one side of the table, and we Mazarinettes sat at the other. Footmen appeared with great platters, and Madame Royale seemed no longer able to stand the silence. “My son the duc so enjoys hunting the stag, he hunts at every opportunity.”

  Rather than offer an invitation to hunt, King Louis said nothing.

  Madame Royale went on. “He is such a devoted son, so dutiful, so loyal. I dote on him. Whenever he asks for a little money, I give it without inquiring what it’s for. He’s entirely trustworthy.”

  The cardinal nodded his approval at this example of conformity. King Louis said nothing. The tension thickened.

  “He talks constantly of his desire to meet King Louis for advice on how to train his regiment.” Madame Royale giggled nervously. “I think perhaps he should marry Mademoiselle de Montpensier.”

  Monsieur cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle is scrupulous in matters of precedence. She won’t be warm if he continues to refuse to give us the pas.”

  Madame Royale tried to wave this off. “My son is exceedingly proud of his royal lineage—”

  King Louis interrupted. “The right to decide a French noble marriage lies with me alone.” He glanced at Mazarin.

  I dared not look at the cardinal, but I’d made note of the king’s words. The decision to marry is his alone. My first victory.

  Madame Royale took a breath to continue her prattling, but her footman hurried in before she could speak. “The duc de Savoy is approaching Lyon,” he cried.

  She clapped her hands. “Meet him and see for yourself how worthy a young man he is.”

  King Louis called my brother, who’d been standing sentinel at the doors the entire time with a tense expression. “Double the troop of musketeers. We’ll meet him properly outside the city walls.”

  Within moments we watched the king and Philippe’s troops riding down the street. I tried to keep close to Venelle and my sisters, but that didn’t stop the cardinal from pulling me aside.

  “You were supposed to take over,” he hissed, so close that the curl of his mustache scratched my cheek.

  And make myself out to be the wicked mistress. “I must have misunderstood.”

  “Don’t let him fall in love with Margherita. You’ll lose your chance.”

  Liar. “Did you have a message from Spain?”

  “Yesterday. The Spanish king offered to negotiate a peace treaty.”

  “Did he place any conditions upon it?” I watched him carefully.

  He studied me, choosing his words. “There are a thousand conditions. It will take months to settle.”

  He is still pretending I could be queen! But King Louis had seen the cardinal’s duplicity. I decided to say nothing. Let the blows come from the king at the right time.

  * * *

  Savoyard and French nobles flooded in for the reception, and the Archbishop’s Palais became a crush of men and women stepping on each other’s skirts and boots. The queen mother and Madame Royal sat upon a dais, and titled families filtered toward them to pay respects. Mademoiselle and Princess Margherita stood behind their chairs, and Hortense and I stood nearby.

  Hortense leaned close to speak under the din of chatter. “Why are you letting the cardinal use you? Complain to the king.”

  “There is no need for tantrums and demands.”

  “Taking the noble road.” Hortense shook her head.

  But I knew better. My intent to make the king a great leader might be noble, but I’d resorted to my uncle’s own style of cunning and trickery.

  We heard the kettledrums and trumpets sounding the return of King Louis. A great excitement washed through the chamber, and everyone turned toward the door. He entered with a handsome man by his side.

  My sister gasped. “Is that the duc de Savoy?”

  The man rushed forward, nudging lords and ladies aside until they parted. He practically ran to the queen mother and made a show of throwing himself at her feet. “My beloved aunt, I am your nephew Charles Emmanuel, duc de Savoy, and your devoted servant.”

  The queen mother accepted this overfamiliarity with grace. She embraced him, and the anxious court released a collective breath. “You are most welcome, nephew.” She allowed him to kiss his mother’s hand, then moved him in our direction. “Allow me to present your cousin Mademoiselle de Montpensier.”

  The duc bowed. “I’ve been most anxious to meet you and prove my undying devotion to you.”

  Mademoiselle curtsied. “Your tongue is full of flattery.”

  “Had I known how pretty you are, I’d have come sooner.”

  I’d never seen such a flirt. I tried to catch Hortense’s eye, but she was engrossed.

  Mademoiselle made a little snorting sound and looked away.

  So he turned to my sister. He bowed low. “This must be the famous beauty, Mademoiselle Hortense Mancini. I recognize you by your portrait.”

  Hortense, who had hardly blinked when King Charles asked for her hand in marriage, now did something astonishing. She blushed. Though she had reached marriageable age, it annoyed me to see men flatter her. Was it her beauty or her favor with Mazarin they coveted?

  King Louis approached, standing so close we could conceal our clasped hands in the folds of my skirts. I felt myself relax. Together we laughed at the duc’s exaggerated bows as he moved from Hortense to greet the others, then made his way back to Hortense again.

  “Your cousin is making an excellent show,” I said to the king.

  “It is indeed all show. He politely told me he is against my marriage to his sister. Apparently he doesn’t trust Cardinal
Mazarin.” King Louis frowned. “Tomorrow is the reception at the Hôtel de Ville. We will confront your uncle when it concludes.”

  The duc stirred our circle like a cook tending a stewpot, kissing hands and dallying, jumbling us together like so many boiled vegetables. He managed to displace our order of rank until I found myself standing next to Princess Margherita. I caught her glance at King Louis. For a moment she looked embarrassed, but the expression vanished, and she was all dignity again. She is pretending to be strong.

  I felt sorry for her. “The king is quite charming.”

  She smiled lightly. “He was yesterday.”

  I nodded. “It isn’t your fault. There is a reason for his change.”

  “I’m told that reason is you,” she said, without a trace of bitterness.

  “Think what you will,” I whispered. “But know Cardinal Mazarin received a messenger from Spain yesterday bearing an offer of peace attached to a Spanish bride.”

  She went pale. “It appears your uncle used us both.” Margherita straightened her lace cuffs as if it were a matter of course.

  I glanced at my uncle, standing across the chamber, watching everything with a sharp eye. “He won’t be using me again.”

  CHAPTER 26

  It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.

  —JEAN DE LA FONTAINE’S Fables, II

  My sisters and I skipped mass the next morn as usual, but Madam Venelle returned with sensational news.

  She plopped down on our bed and started counting off on her fingers. “Madame Royale is mad that King Louis paid no attention to Princess Margherita yesterday. The cardinal is beside himself making excuses for the king’s behavior. The queen mother made Mademoiselle yield precedence to Princess Margherita this morning. Mademoiselle is upset. Monsieur and the duc are angry at each other because neither will yield precedence, and rather than resolve it in time for tonight’s ball, they’ve both given up the right to dance! Now the king is mad at the duc, especially since Lyon has gone to such trouble to host us.” She dropped her hand, dazed.

  “What a mess,” cried Marianne with delight.

  “Wait,” said Hortense. She turned from the looking-glass holding skirts and petticoats. After talking to the duc all night, she’d been primping all morning. “The duc de Savoy won’t dance?”

  Hortense’s expression made me laugh. “I think someone is in love with the flirt of Savoy.”

  She shook her head. “I’m determined not to fall in love. I’m at our uncle’s mercy.” But she went on holding up different gowns, trying to find the most flattering. I’d never seen her do that before.

  Moréna coiled a strand of my hair around a curling rod, and I wondered whether our uncle might see Hortense’s feelings as an opportunity to salvage the Savoy alliance.

  * * *

  A multitude of French and Savoyard carriages converged outside Lyon’s Hôtel de Ville as the clock tower’s belfry struck the hour of nine. Torches lit the façade of the city hall building, where great lengths of red silk stretched from the highest windows all the way to the ground. Fireworks burst over the nearby river, lighting the festive entry. Footmen lined the stairway holding more swaths of red silk over our heads, waving them so we entered under ripples of silken red. We passed through the reception hall to the Court of Honor, where lit braziers lined the perimeter. Banners of red silk draped every balcony, column, and banquet table. I spotted the king standing in the center of it all beside Cardinal Mazarin. Both were frowning.

  The court seemed all atwitter. Monsieur pouted in one corner. His beribboned gentlemen pranced around him, trying to entertain him, but he just stood with his arms crossed. Mademoiselle stood in another corner, tall, proud, haughty, surrounded by the biggest gossips. The duc de Savoy and his men joked and laughed in another corner.

  All three corners ignored the fourth, where Madame Royale stood sulking. The queen mother put an arm around her shoulder. Their ladies in waiting encircled them, waving fans nervously, ignoring poor Princess Margherita, just paces away, placid and dignified as ever. Then the herald announced my sisters and me. Our names echoed through the courtyard. Heads turned. The queen mother pointed a short, chubby finger at me. Madame Royale burst into tears. The ladies surrounding them gasped. They moved aside, shuffling and jostling, until they encircled Princess Margherita. They patted her, made reassuring faces, and muttered in her ear. They’ve managed to blame me.

  Trumpets sounded from the balconies, and footmen streamed in carrying great silver trays of lobsters in lemon sauce, roasted duck dressed with foie gras, dishes of fruit confits, pastry pyramids, shanks of beef, towers of pear and apple tartlets, steaming onion and mushroom ragout, and salads with rolls of cheese and prosciutto. The platters went to every table, and the herald announced, “A collation!”

  This signaled to the court that we might take a dish, sample from each platter, and eat standing, since we were in the king’s presence. But the king swept his arm over the Court of Honor and said, “Let the courts of Savoy and France sit together.” Alas, the factions from the four corners broke, migrating toward the food.

  Hortense grabbed my arm. “How can I sit near the duc?”

  The duc inched near the king. “Act natural,” I said, whipping out my fan.

  She fanned herself, walking behind me nonchalantly toward the king’s table. I nodded to Mademoiselle’s ladies as we passed. They averted their eyes. When we neared King Louis, he pulled out a seat for me. Those who’d been pretending to ignore me now pointed and stared. This amused me. I swept up a little dish of escargot and sat, motioning for Hortense to do the same. She flitted from table to chair, eyes on the duc the whole time.

  The duc took notice. As we watched, he turned to Mazarin and gestured our way. Our uncle frowned, shook his head. This made the duc de Savoy throw out his hands and talk rapidly. The cardinal spoke back, and suddenly they seemed to be negotiating, or … bargaining.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” asked Hortense nervously.

  “I thought you didn’t care.”

  “Don’t tease,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone quite like him.”

  The cardinal shook his head and cut the air with his hand. A refusal? Then it struck me. The peace treaty not only made the Naples Plan obsolete, we no longer needed an alliance with Savoy. Poor Hortense.

  I took tiny tongs and forks from a footman and fished a tiny snail from its tiny shell. “Remember not to fall in love. As you said, we’re at our uncle’s mercy.” Hopefully not for long.

  The stir Hortense and I created sent the royal factions, with plates full of food, back to their four corners in higher dudgeon than before—Mademoiselle’s ladies gossiping and eyeing me, Madame Royale in tears, Monsieur complaining bitterly, and the duc now frowning in a cloud of anger. They spent an hour thus before Lyon’s mayor approached King Louis.

  “Your Majesty, would you do us the honor of commencing the evening’s dancing?” Everyone within earshot hushed, leaning forward in anticipation. Trumpeters in balconies stopped playing. Violinists paused their bows.

  The question of precedence had been half solved that morning when the queen mother made Mademoiselle yield to Margherita. Since the purpose of the ball was to honor the newly betrothed Princess Margherita and King Louis, he should open the dance with her. Would he? Mademoiselle and Monsieur stood to attention. Savoy frowned at Monsieur. Madame Royale nudged Princess Margherita forward. The cardinal shot me a nasty look.

  King Louis noticed all of this. Exasperated, he grabbed Mademoiselle and pulled her to the floor. Mademoiselle glowed with pride. The king had asserted her precedence. Madame Royale and Savoy glanced at each other in stunned silence. For them, this proved the king had no intention of elevating Margherita to queenship. Song swelled from the balconies.

  Every corner watched agape as the king and Mademoiselle danced the hop steps of a passepied in a line down the Court of Honor.

  Except Madame Royale. She advanced on the card
inal. “I will not let you make a mockery of the House of Savoy.”

  He actually glanced at me, a look full of spite. “If King Louis doesn’t love your daughter, let’s come to some other understanding.”

  But the duc de Savoy interrupted. “Any arrangement designed by Mazarin benefits Mazarin alone.” He led his mother away.

  Hortense looked after him, crestfallen.

  The dance ended, and Monsieur promptly swept Mademoiselle into the next dance. Without asking, King Louis took my hand and walked me to the dancing floor.

  I spoke so only he could hear. “I thought you were going to wait until we talked to the cardinal to get out of this marriage. You just made it clear to the whole court you’ll refuse Margherita’s hand.”

  “Good.”

  “Look at them talk. They blame me.”

  “I order you to forget it this instant. Let Mazarin salvage the situation while you and I dance until the stars fade into daylight.” He twirled me in a circle until my skirts flared out.

  I looked up at the night sky and laughed. “As you wish, my king.”

  * * *

  The next morning Hortense leapt from our bed far too early and yanked open the drapes.

  “Get back to bed!” I pulled a pillow over my face.

  “The duc de Savoy is leaving,” she cried.

  I dragged myself to the window.

  There, in full dress, the duc rode his horse in circles around the Place de Belle Cœur. “Farewell, France,” he called. “I quit you without the least regret.”

  Hortense pushed open the window. Cold air gusted into the chamber. The duc raised his hand to his lips and blew her a kiss. She reached, pretending to catch it. He laughed at that. Then he heeled his horse, galloping off, disappearing beyond the walls.

  My sister closed the window slowly. “He asked the cardinal for my hand last night. The cardinal refused. First the King of England, now the duc de Savoy. He berates me for skipping mass, calls me pagan, and corrects everything from my posture to how I talk. Am I so bad?”

  I wanted to tell her to ignore the cardinal, to be herself. But that would make me a hypocrite.