Read Online Before Versailles by Karleen Koen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karleen Koen
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majesty—the beauty of all France in his face—Louis, the fourteenth of that name.
He would bow on one knee and hold the name up like a present, anything to wipe away the memory of the expression on his sovereign, his king, his liege lord’s face—looking for one moment every inch the boy his position had never quite allowed him to be—as he stood in the ballroom and demanded to know who had approached too near, too near on too many levels, without his or D’Artagnan’s knowledge.
Chapter 3
T WAS EVENING . A LL THE COURT PREPARED ITSELF FOR DUSK’S festivities.
Louise de la Baume le Blanc, maid of honor to the court’s new goddess, counted under her breath to twenty, then pulled a curling iron from the hair of that goddess, the new Madame. The burnished red curl hung in a satisfactory spiral, and choosing hairpins set with pearls, Louise gathered other carefully crafted tresses to pin over the princess’s ears, so that a set of four or five long ringlets hung to each side of Madame’s face. Among them, on one side only, was a longer curl, which lay against the angle of Madame’s collarbone. The longer curl was Louise’s idea, and she wasn’t certain how it would be received. This was a court where fashion and appearance were paramount. With a tortoise comb, Louise quickly loosened tendrils around the princess’s face, and it became framed by tiny, mismatched curling wisps.
“I love it,” cried the young woman who was the object of all admiration these days, described by her admirers as a creature of moonbeams and fairy dust. She was that startling white redheads display, as if all color were saved for the tints in their hair and the blue of their eyes. Impulsively, she selected a ring from the litter of ribbons, combs, feathers, and small gold and silver boxes spilling across her dressing table. “For you.”
“No, Madame,” said Louise, “there’s no need—”
“Take it. I command it.”
Finished with Louise, the princess stood, and serving women moved forward to help her with the selection of a gown. They were to assemble shortly in the king’s ballroom. They’d dance and flirt, dine and flirt, talk and flirt, and agreeably while the night away until the wee hours. Princess Henriette did not like to go to bed early, and what she didn’t like wasn’t done these days.
Leaving the princess standing indecisively before two gowns, Louise ran upstairs to the attic chambers in which she and the other maids of honor lived. Unlike the opulent surroundings in Madame’s rooms—not a ceiling or wall without its moldings, its tapestries, its gilt ovals holding portraits—these chambers were much plainer, little but beds and trunks and charming, big windows out of which to look or call down to friends walking in the courtyard. Shocked, two of the maids of honor had sent home for thick rugs and handsome chairs, and so now their chambers looked quite respectable.
The others were already gowned for evening and were arranging their curls to copy Madame’s. Louise had warned them she was going to create the longer curl, and, after much discussion, the three others had told her they thought it was brilliant. A long curl set against a bare shoulder will take the female portion of the court by storm, Louise’s best friend, Fanny, predicted.
Fanny, dressed and ready, paused in her task of arranging hair. “Curl no or yes?”
Three sets of eyes regarded Louise with some anxiety.
“Yes,” said Louise.
“I knew it,” Fanny said to the two others.
Louise looked down at the ring in her hand, gold with an emerald set in it. She’d have Choisy sell it for her; he was always going back and forth to Paris. She opened the trunk in which her gowns lay carefully folded. All she possessed was here, though Fanny was generous in lending small fripperies that made a difference. The choice this evening, any evening, wasn’t difficult; she had only a few gowns. Unlike Princess Henriette—Madame as she must
He would bow on one knee and hold the name up like a present, anything to wipe away the memory of the expression on his sovereign, his king, his liege lord’s face—looking for one moment every inch the boy his position had never quite allowed him to be—as he stood in the ballroom and demanded to know who had approached too near, too near on too many levels, without his or D’Artagnan’s knowledge.
Chapter 3
T WAS EVENING . A LL THE COURT PREPARED ITSELF FOR DUSK’S festivities.
Louise de la Baume le Blanc, maid of honor to the court’s new goddess, counted under her breath to twenty, then pulled a curling iron from the hair of that goddess, the new Madame. The burnished red curl hung in a satisfactory spiral, and choosing hairpins set with pearls, Louise gathered other carefully crafted tresses to pin over the princess’s ears, so that a set of four or five long ringlets hung to each side of Madame’s face. Among them, on one side only, was a longer curl, which lay against the angle of Madame’s collarbone. The longer curl was Louise’s idea, and she wasn’t certain how it would be received. This was a court where fashion and appearance were paramount. With a tortoise comb, Louise quickly loosened tendrils around the princess’s face, and it became framed by tiny, mismatched curling wisps.
“I love it,” cried the young woman who was the object of all admiration these days, described by her admirers as a creature of moonbeams and fairy dust. She was that startling white redheads display, as if all color were saved for the tints in their hair and the blue of their eyes. Impulsively, she selected a ring from the litter of ribbons, combs, feathers, and small gold and silver boxes spilling across her dressing table. “For you.”
“No, Madame,” said Louise, “there’s no need—”
“Take it. I command it.”
Finished with Louise, the princess stood, and serving women moved forward to help her with the selection of a gown. They were to assemble shortly in the king’s ballroom. They’d dance and flirt, dine and flirt, talk and flirt, and agreeably while the night away until the wee hours. Princess Henriette did not like to go to bed early, and what she didn’t like wasn’t done these days.
Leaving the princess standing indecisively before two gowns, Louise ran upstairs to the attic chambers in which she and the other maids of honor lived. Unlike the opulent surroundings in Madame’s rooms—not a ceiling or wall without its moldings, its tapestries, its gilt ovals holding portraits—these chambers were much plainer, little but beds and trunks and charming, big windows out of which to look or call down to friends walking in the courtyard. Shocked, two of the maids of honor had sent home for thick rugs and handsome chairs, and so now their chambers looked quite respectable.
The others were already gowned for evening and were arranging their curls to copy Madame’s. Louise had warned them she was going to create the longer curl, and, after much discussion, the three others had told her they thought it was brilliant. A long curl set against a bare shoulder will take the female portion of the court by storm, Louise’s best friend, Fanny, predicted.
Fanny, dressed and ready, paused in her task of arranging hair. “Curl no or yes?”
Three sets of eyes regarded Louise with some anxiety.
“Yes,” said Louise.
“I knew it,” Fanny said to the two others.
Louise looked down at the ring in her hand, gold with an emerald set in it. She’d have Choisy sell it for her; he was always going back and forth to Paris. She opened the trunk in which her gowns lay carefully folded. All she possessed was here, though Fanny was generous in lending small fripperies that made a difference. The choice this evening, any evening, wasn’t difficult; she had only a few gowns. Unlike Princess Henriette—Madame as she must
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