Read Online Enchantress of Paris by Marci Jefferson - Free Book Online

friends?”
    â€œAll the better.”
    The cardinal poured hot red wax on the marriage agreement and stamped it with his seal. He led the wedding party the long route through lofty chambers to the queen mother’s chapel. Everyone at court, Mazarin’s enemies and heads of noble factions, was forced to bow until we’d passed.
    In the queen mother’s chambers, attendants greeted us with silver goblets of wine. I spotted Somaize, my ink-fingered friend from the salons, and kissed his cheeks.
    â€œThis wine is delicious,” I said.
    â€œIt’s from Burgundy,” Somaize said. “The king’s favorite.”
    â€œYou simply must bring some to Palais Mazarin for a fête next week. Monsieur will be there, you know.” His eyes widened. “Bring some friends.”
    The queen mother appeared and we bowed low. She took the cardinal’s arm and led us into her private chapel. Olympia spoke her vows with surprising solemnity. A show. I wondered what the king thought of it and glanced at him. He winked at me. I had to press my lips together to keep from giggling like some maiden in a fairy story.
    From there we proceeded to the cardinal’s apartments. Crystal chandeliers hung above a long table where gold cloth set off the gleam of gold plates. Footmen in the cardinal’s green livery stood behind our seats. Holly boughs and evergreen sprigs were tucked among the candelabra topping the table, but their fresh scent was replaced by that of onion soup. Six servants rushed in carrying roasted peacocks on giant silver platters, their feathers splayed out fancifully over the succulent meat. A collective ahh went up when they brought in dishes of créme brûlée and towers of marzipan fruits.
    King Louis held up his golden goblet. “For the newlyweds, a gift of music.”
    Giovanni Battista Lulli, an Italian who’d changed his name to Jean-Baptiste Lully to adapt in France, entered playing his violin. His best players followed, pulling a lively tune with their bows. Olympia held her goblet toward the king in thanks.
    When we’d eaten our fill, and perhaps drunk too much, the violinists followed us to the bedchambers. Mamma’s old rooms. The queen mother blocked the men. “Back, beastly men,” she said with a laugh. “The bride’s sisters will prepare her.”
    Moréna slipped out as we walked in. What’s she doing here? There was no time to ask. Hortense and Marianne helped me cut the stitching around Olympia’s diamond stomacher. She slipped off the bodice and stepped out of her skirts. I wrapped the precious gown in linen, placed it in a chest with the mesmerizing Mirror of Portugal, and locked it with a key my uncle had given me.
    Olympia hiked her lacy chemise up around her waist, then lay upon the bed. “Marie, reach behind that cabinet.”
    Confused, I did as she asked. I felt around until my hand touched a cold glass jar. I pulled it out, took one look, and threw it on the bed. “What is that disgusting thing?”
    â€œ That is my salvation.”
    â€œA chicken’s bladder filled with blood, by the looks of it,” said Hortense with fascination.
    â€œWhat are you going to do with it?” asked Marianne.
    She bedded the king! “You don’t want to know,” I replied angrily.
    Olympia bent her knees and spread her legs, a sight I could have done without. “Put it in,” she said to me.
    Hortense gasped, then bent down to whisper in Marianne’s ear. Poor Marianne went pale.
    I crossed my arms. “I will not.”
    â€œI must give my husband proof of virginity.”
    â€œThat isn’t proof, it’s fraud. If Soissons discovers it, he’ll be furious.”
    She grabbed my wrist. “Then help me get it in deep.”
    I opened the jar and held it out to her. “Shove it in yourself.”
    She did it, and I thought Hortense and Marianne would throw up right there.