Chapter One
Palace of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, north-central France
April, 1660
I found it was the marble that fascinated me. The alabaster veins winding their way through the rich burgundy. I reminisced about quiet moments that provided glimpses of polished beauty. Stolen seconds in the hall of another’s home as my mother kneeled, scrubbing away at the floor. I was ever mindful of her warnings as I crept and investigated the world of the nobility at the age of eight.
Mother had been a servant in a home that could not dare compare itself to the wonder of this palace in which I now stood at nineteen years of age. In that home she had given all of herself. Giving her all resulted in the loss of countless hours with family as she gained calloused hands and aching feet. She worked tirelessly in an effort to support her children and their future aspirations.
She wished for us to rise above the life of grueling labor. Her reasoning—that there were many ways to serve the rich. One simply needed to be agreeable to the task. “In the end”—she would say, removing her soiled boots after a day of drudgery—“love is for the weak and does not guarantee happiness, only heartbreak.”
Instead of countless hours toiling and sweating, my days overflowed with studies of etiquette, exotic places and foreign languages, and the ways of the court and its subjects. The constant pressure of a pen or a brush caused the only callus to be found on my well-cared-for finger. Whatever the implement, a highly regarded tutor placed it in my hand during expensive lessons paid for by the physical exertions of my mother.
My feet ached from the repetition of the waltz and minuet, not from traversing the acres of another’s farm to harvest their crop. To avoid sharing in the same fate as my mother I accepted the lessons placed upon me with great fervor. In many ways, it was her dream and ambition more than my own that guided my life’s path.
That path led me here, to the outskirts of Paris in the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Inside a room of the king’s palace, I craned my neck to look higher and higher above my head. Inspecting the mural that covered the entirety of the twenty-foot ceiling became a needed distraction. I found my wide eyes gazing back at me in the mammoth, golden-framed mirror. My long chestnut colored hair, parted in the middle, fell across the sides of my forehead and temples in tight ringlets. An attendant had fussed at and pinned the uncomfortable hairstyle earlier that evening. I caught my mouth again agape in the reflection and vowed to clamp the jaw shut with my fingers, if need be, to ensure it remained closed. I paced in front of the fireplace, ever mindful of my posture.
Will he approve? Of course, I think he already does from what he has seen, but will I fulfill my duty as he expects? Enough to earn me a permanent apartment in his palace?
An artist’s rendering of the king on a massive canvas held my attention. The eyes of the portrait’s subject followed my every move. I tried to ignore it. The soulful gaze, an ocean of aqua, burrowed its way into my body. The painter captured the king’s wavy mane of golden brown hair, coiffed to perfection, and the lips pursed together at the base of the chiseled jaw of the divine ruler of France.
If only a painting of this being causes me such distress, how will I deal with the genuine article in my presence?
Those eyes brought me back to the first time he spotted me in the crowd.
»»•««
He appeared startled, caught off guard. The stoic expression everyone bowed before moments ago was replaced with curiosity. His appraisal created a heat upon my cheeks. A wave of whispers billowed around me.
The expression followed me as he descended the stairs to his garden. With every step he took, it changed unhurriedly from interest to haughtiness.
A knowing?
The mouth crinkled into a grin.
A lopsided grin.
“It is done.” My brother Michael whispered the simple phrase in my ear once the owner of the gaze made his way to greet the noble guests.
I turned at the statement, still dazed from the contact made. “What?”
“You will be his. It is only a matter of days.”
“You can’t be certain,” I whispered back, shaking my head.
“Sister, I have seen that look before…as have others.” Michael was not known for exaggeration. His earnest countenance mixed with pride and sadness. “You must be sure, Cecilia.”
I stared at the cut grass beneath my silken yellow shoes. My brother’s black boots pressed firmly into the ground. An appointment to corporal for Michael had been bandied about often in conversation as of late. His chief sergeant, most impressed with his eight years of service in the king’s army, recommended to one of the ensigns that Michael should be advanced in rank. He hoped to have news within the month.
He did not forget his little sister as he rose in rank and status, however. His gregarious nature and influence with the other musketeers, almost all possessing noble backgrounds, kept the royal invitations flowing. Attendance to such functions in the past year allowed many chances for him to inspect the king.
How many nights did Mother and Michael spend mulling over the most minor details? How to style my hair? What color should my dress be and of what material? Would some things be left to the imagination or would a bold showing of my curves be in order?
The few garden parties I attended as dress rehearsals for this one were children’s tea parties in comparison. I strolled through the grounds with Michael. The greenery,
exquisitely manicured, flowed in beautiful symmetry next to the castle. He introduced me to some of his military cohorts as I attempted to appear like I belonged in this environment. Musicians wafted in and out of the crowds. I lost sight of the king soon after our brief contact at the steps. Members of his court enveloped him, their very life dependent on maintaining close proximity.
A twitchy little man burst into the small grouping we formed while the afternoon ticked away leisurely. He pointed to Michael and panted out his command. “Danet! The king requests your presence in the courtyard immediately.” His hand waved at me. “And bring your companion.”
My pulse quickened. The splashes of water circulating in the fountain filled my ears for some seconds. Michael carefully grasped my wrist and placed my shaking palm over his. “Come, little sister. Let us go make our introductions.”
Three stories of arched stained glass greeted us as we passed below in the courtyard. The castle had indeed served its purpose well as a fortress for centuries. The party awaiting us huddled on the far end of the expanse.
“I fear I will faint.” I dallied, trying to slow down Michael’s pace as he pulled me beside him.
“None of that, now. As Mother says, you were born for this moment.” He nodded in confirmation.
On our approach, the guests parted and offered the brilliant sight of our host, King Louis XIV. His golden attire glittered in the daylight. He posed on the cushioned throne, placed atop a foot-high step. He glanced down at Michael and then to my person. On instinct and etiquette, Michael bowed and I curtsied. I slowed my breath and waited for his order. “Rise.”
I studied the countenance of the king. He was a young ruler at twenty-one. His mother, Queen Anne of Austria, had served as Regent upon the passing of his father, Louis XIII. Young Louis XIV, only four when his father died, was not officially king until his thirteenth birthday. Many said he ruled as a mere figurehead. His youth required advisors to handle the day-to-day mundanity of taking care of a country. He was known to pursue pastimes filled with beauteous art and dance and drama and women. His skin, unblemished and unlined, proclaimed a life of pampering.
“I am told you are a valuable asset in my army…” His voice trailed off, and he bent down a fraction. The same advisor who found us in the garden whispered in the king’s ear while balancing on the tips of his feet. “Michael, is it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king looked to me. “And I’ve been told this is your sister, Cecilia.” His smile emerged and illuminated his visage. The blue eyes narrowed. “I hope you are enjoying the party.”
I nodded. “Very much, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
“You have been tutored in the arts?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Hmmm.” The strong contours of his face appraised me further. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he dismissed us. “That is all.”
»»•««
Weeks after that first meeting, I paced in a hypnotic circle in my room in the palace. The fire crackled. Embers popped, then disappeared. The aroma of cedar escaped from the fireplace, rich and heavenly, mixing with the fresh scent of flowers.
Hundreds of roses stood at attention in a dozen vases. The colors of the petals brightly lined the walls of what had served as my bedroom for the past two weeks.
I traced the painted detail of the porcelain tea set brought earlier to the quarters by one of the servants. The water in the teapot was now tepid. My bedroom! It was still as unbelievable to me as on that day when the note arrived. One of the king’s personal advisors magically materialized at my mother’s door with the imperial parchment.
»»•««
Standing expressionless in our one-room cottage, the messenger had waited as I read the missive over and over again. “The queen wishes an answer immediately.”
“It shall be done as Her Majesty has requested. She will be ready.” My mother nodded her confirmation.
With that he was gone, only to return the next morning to claim the king’s new prize. Myself.
Mother’s excitement at the queen’s summons had been more balanced than I anticipated. We indulged in our usual chamomile tea and a conversation full of reservations and mindfulness.
The light blue dress rested against my figure in the full-length mirror. She responded to my silent question while she watched. “You will not need much, Cilia. All will be ready for you when you arrive. Pack two dresses at most.”
“But”—I turned to examine her reaction—“should I arrive in this? I want to make a good impression.”
“You have already made the most important impression. It’s gained you admittance. Play the part as instructed by your host.”
“My host…” Although it was the queen’s order to have me serve as one of her ladies-in-waiting, my thoughts drifted to the regal being who had truly requested me.
Mother sighed, bringing me out of my daze. “What is it?” I questioned, dropping the dress onto the bed we shared to sit beside her. “Why aren’t you jumping for joy? You should have been up and down the road five times by now announcing the news to everyone, especially Madame Stevens! I wish I could see the look on her face—”
She cut me off. “Remember your role.”
“Of course, Mother.”
Her fingers glided over my cheek. “He is very handsome.” Another sigh. “I wish he was in his sixties.” She laughed at the frown her comment produced from me. “You don’t understand, yet, but you need to safeguard yourself.”
“Yes, be mindful. Give nothing of myself except the shell.” I repeated the mantra. “You act as if you have not told me these things a million times before.”
“Living it will be a million times different from anything I could imagine or truly ready you for. I was young once, too, my dear. I know how easily the heart can be fooled. Do not let him crack through the shell.”
The next morning, I was unceremoniously deposited by a carriage outside the servants’ entrance to the palace. Madame Bourne, the most well-known and respected lady-in-waiting, greeted me when I arrived in the queen’s wing.
“That explains it,” she mumbled to herself. Her plump, middle-aged frame stood motionless in the center of the large sitting room.
“At first, I thought I misread the order. You are to assist the queen in her private chambers. Your things will be taken to your room.” A silent chambermaid grabbed the solitary bag from my hand and rushed out of sight. “Through that door. And hurry up.” A long sigh floated behind my steps. I knocked with hesitation.
A tiny woman, dressed in black, appeared on the other side when the door opened. I barely discerned a smile. Her hand outstretched before me beckoned me inside the room. I took five long strides, then stopped and waited. My eyes performed a quick survey of the area. A huge canopy bed, draped in gold-and-red fabric, anchored the rest of the walnut furniture in the large room. Gilded chests of drawers flanked each side. Tapestries adorned by horses, cupids, and Roman goddesses hung from the high ceilings. The small woman closed the door behind me and took a seat in one of four chairs lined up side by side against the wall.
Those must be for the queen’s assistants.
“Come closer,” a voice rose from the bed’s veiled interior. My body flinched. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.”
I bowed my head and marched to a spot directly in front of the bed. My eyes peeked forward. The figure behind the sheer layer of fabric moved.
“My son insists you will be a charming companion and assistant. I enjoy being read to in the mornings while I have breakfast. Aida, show her where we left off yesterday.”
My mother’s voice echoed in my head again to “remember your place and serve quietly, without question.”
The queen mother was not one for frivolity. Her attire, though complex and requiring three to assist her in dressing, was far from the showy and extravagant costumes of others in the court, including the king’s. She preferred to spend time in her suite and rarely left her wing of the palace. Days and nights ran together as I learned her schedule.
It became quite obvious which among the queen’s ladies-in-waiting were chosen by the king, and not the queen mother, early on in my introductions. Two women in particular stood out for their exquisite features. The strawberry-curled, emerald-eyed daughter of a duke, named Marissa, played the harp often in the queen’s parlor after dinner. Another, Mathilde, monopolized the role of dancing in the garden when the queen entertained dignitaries for her son. Mathilde’s stick-straight hair, as light as spun silk and always fashioned into a braid, complemented a porcelain complexion and ice-blue eyes.
Marissa and Mathilde held positions in the court I aspired to one day. They were the decorations that the king loved to display. Prominence in the court would make it possible for me to find a well-off husband. For now, my lack of status in society meant duties with the queen would keep me out of the public eye.
Another evening completed after a Bible reading. Queen Anne had dismissed Marissa earlier. The young woman looked rather pale and ate little at dinner. Mathilde had been excused as well after answering questions regarding the court. Aida and I assisted the queen to bed in her chamber. I poured the lukewarm water into the basin and waited for her majesty beside the vanity.
“Aida,” she commanded with what little remained of her Spanish accent. “Leave us.” Aida nodded with a lack of expression I yearned to adopt. The door clicked upon her exit.
Her softly lined face inspected me after she sat. “There is much I wish to ask you, child. But that will come in time.” Her hands dipped into the water, signaling me to add a few drops of oil. Her wrists rested against the rim of the bowl. Delicate digits bathed in the liquid.
“Your dark eyes and hair hint that you have some Spanish blood in you. What is your lineage?”
“My mother is French, Your Majesty, my father Italian.”
“Hmmm. Have you pleasured my son yet?”
Thankful for the sparse candlelight to hide my blush, I responded, “No, Your Majesty.”
Her eyebrow rose slightly. “You have been here almost two weeks.” She smiled. “Although you are bright and exceed my expectations, you were not brought here solely as my companion.” A sigh followed. A minute of silence passed. Her hands lifted. I placed a hand towel below her dripping fingers. She conversed more to the air than me. “We shall see how things proceed. Your loyalty and service may be rewarded in time if you prove valuable.”
»»•««
The queen’s comments hung in my mind.
Why hasn’t the king requested me?
Mathilde and Marissa expressed little interest in direct communication with me. That did not bother me. The inability to gain further knowledge about my true position caused the most distress. Perhaps if I can find some time alone to ask them?
My feet shuffled down the hallway to my room. I haven’t even seen the king since the party. I am a princess, locked away in a tower.