Mme de Maintenon often spoke of Martinique to the students, her protégées. She recounted the hardships she had endured in the New World. She reassured the impoverished high-born girls that if they were devout, and obedient, as she was, His Majesty would provide their dowries and they too could escape their circumstances.
Monsieur interrupted Marie-Josèphe. “Do you use the skin cream I gave you?” He peered at her over his pomander. His complexion was very fair. He whitened it further with powder, and accentuated his fairness with black beauty patches at his cheekbone and beside his mouth. “It’s the finest in the world — but it won’t work if you insist on staying out in the sun!”
“Papa, don’t be mean,” Lotte said. “Marie-Josèphe’s complexion is ever so much paler than when she arrived.”
“Thanks to my skin cream,” Monsieur said.
“Let her be,” Madame said. “There’s no shame in being a little leaf-rustler, as I was.
As His Majesty says, no one at court enjoys the gardens anymore. Except me, and now Mlle de la Croix. What were you saying a moment ago?”
“It was nothing, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, grateful that Monsieur had interrupted her before she expressed her opinion of Mme de Maintenon. Expressing one’s opinion at court was a gamble, and speaking kindly of Mme de Maintenon in Madame’s presence was foolhardy.
“Whoa!” the coachman cried. The coach lurched to a halt. Marie-Josèphe slid forward, nearly falling from the seat. Her ankles touched the elegant long legs of the chevalier de Lorraine. Lorraine took her arm, most chivalrously, and continued to hold her when the coach steadied. His leg brushed against hers. He smiled down at her.
Marie-Josèphe smiled back, then lowered her gaze, embarrassed by her thoughts. The chevalier was devastatingly handsome, despite being an old man. He was fifty-five, the same age as the King. He wore a long black wig, just like His Majesty’s. His eyes were blazing blue. Marie-Josèphe drew back to give him more room. He shifted, seeking a comfortable position. His legs pressed her feet, trapping them against the base of the carriage seat.
“Sit up straight, sir!” Madame said. “No one gave you leave to lie supine in my presence.”
Monsieur patted the chevalier de Lorraine’s knee.
“I give Lorraine leave to stretch, my dear,” he said. “My friend is too tall for my coach.”
“And I’m too fat for it,” Madame said. “But I don’t demand the entire seat.”
Lorraine drew himself up. The top of his wig brushed the roof.
“I do beg Madame’s pardon.” He picked up his plumed hat and opened the door.
As he stepped to the street, he drew the egret feathers across Marie-Josèphe’s wrist.
Monsieur hurried after him.
Marie-Josèphe regained her breath and returned her attention to Madame and Lotte, where it belonged. “I’ll ride back to Versailles with Yves,” she said quickly. “Everyone will have more room on the way home.”
“Dear child,” Madame said, “that had nothing to do with the size of the coach.” She rose and climbed out. Monsieur handed her down, and Lorraine assisted Lotte.
Marie-Josèphe followed quickly, anxious to see her brother again. Lorraine waited for her, treating her as if she were nearly on a level with the family of the brother of the King. He gave her his hand. His attentions both thrilled and embarrassed her. He left her off-balance. Nothing in Martinique had ever embarrassed her, when she had lived a quiet life keeping her brother’s house and helping in his experiments and reading books on all manner of subjects.
She stepped into the street beside Madame, who was far too stately to acknowledge the dirt and the smells. The King wished to meet his expedition at the waterfront, and Madame was a part of his court, so Madame accompanied him and did not complain.
Marie-Josèphe smiled to herself. Madame did not complain in public. In private the Princess Palatine used plain speech and seldom held back her opinions about anything.
Monsieur touched Lorraine’s elbow. Lorraine bowed over Marie-Josèphe’s hand.
He joined Monsieur, but Madame had claimed her place at her husband’s side. Chartres leaped from his horse, threw the reins to a footman, and offered his arm to his sister.
Marie-Josèphe curtsied and stepped back. She must find her proper place at the end of the line of precedence.
“Come with us, Mlle de la Croix,” Madame said. “The chevalier will escort you.”
“But, Madame — !”
“I know what it is, to miss your family. I haven’t visited mine since I came to France twenty years ago. Come with us, and you won’t miss your brother a moment longer than necessary.”
With gratitude and wonder, Marie-Josèphe stooped and kissed the hem of Madame’s gown. Next to her, Lorraine bowed to Madame and Monsieur. Marie-Josèphe rose. To her surprise, the chevalier kissed Monsieur’s hand, not Madame’s. The chevalier de Lorraine offered Marie-Josèphe his arm, smiling his charming, enigmatic smile.