Read Online The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) by Philippa Lodge - Free Book Online Page A

he had brothers and a father, all of whom seemed to love him.
    “If the roads are dry, I will travel tomorrow. Without you. It might be the next day or the day after, but unless this is the deluge itself, I hope to be in Versailles by Saturday. I will assess your health every day, to know if you can travel with me.” He paused, and then his voice was polite again. “If I go alone, I will come back within a few days to escort you to my mother.”
    She nodded, not knowing if he was looking at her. She was responsible for the return of her symptoms. She should have eaten and drunk more, opened the curtains wider. She was grateful that he would come back to accompany her.
    The door didn’t close, so she looked up.
    “However it works out,” he said in a low voice, his expression sad, “you will be free of me within a week or two, maybe sooner. I must return to my horses in Poitou.”
    He bowed to her and pulled the door closed.
    She wanted to call out to him to come back, that she had no desire to be rid of him, that she rather liked him. But he was gone, and Marie was pouring watered wine and urging her to nibble on bread.
    ****
    “Are you wearing Jean-Louis’ coat?” Henri’s eyes swept down Manu and lingered on his feet. His lip curled. “Not his boots, I’m sure.”
    Manu felt like an angry fifteen-year-old. He always did when he spent more than a few minutes with his next-oldest brother’s sharp tongue. “It is. I keep chasing after Maman and getting farther away from my carriage and trunk—and my good boots. They will catch up eventually.”
    Henri leaned back behind his paper-strewn desk in his tiny office at the factory. He grimaced. “Far be it from me to disparage your boots, mon frère , but you should talk to Marcel about the breeches.”
    He chose to take a deep breath and not make a comment about Marcel, though as with most of the family, he still called him Fourbier, the name he had chosen when he started a new life. But Manu glanced down. What is wrong with my breeches? They were the nice ones he had carried in his saddlebags. Jean-Louis’ manservant had cleaned and pressed them.
    “And you’re still raising horses?” The tone was carefully neutral, but Manu was sure there was a sting hidden inside it.
    Many nobles raised horses, but most just dabbled, throwing money at dubious bloodlines and never seeing their fine horseflesh except when gambling on a race. Or riding in a race themselves. Usually drunk. Manu hated the men who rode races drunk; if they didn’t kill themselves, they often killed their horses.
    “It’s nearly as bourgeois as running a factory, mon frère.” Manu felt a stab of satisfaction as Henri winced. Then he felt a stab of guilt. He was prouder than any noble should be of his newly bourgeois big brothers, who ran the furniture manufactory with military and economic precision. And with style, thanks to Fourbier. They might never rival Le Brun, who dictated furnishing style to the king and court, but their furniture was similar enough to catch the eye of wealthy courtiers and the upper bourgeoisie. They were still expanding, still gaining fame and hiring men to do intricate carving and women to embroider. And still getting rich.
    “Ah, there you are, Emmanuel!”
    Manu turned to see Fourbier at Henri’s open office door. He breathed a soft sigh of relief and heard Henri do the same. Their brewing battle would not be fought in front of someone determined to make peace.
    “Have you seen the cabinet for Madame de Solanges?” At Manu’s negative reply, Fourbier grinned. “Come!”
    When Manu stepped out of the office, Fourbier begged him to wait a moment and closed the door for a minute’s private conversation with Henri. When he came back out, he glued a grin on and clapped his hands. “Alors , mon petit! ”
    Emmanuel chuckled as the much shorter Fourbier had meant for him to do. He had been taller at fifteen—the year they had met—than Fourbier ever would be,