“Keep moving. It’s awful in here,” she said, pushing me forward.
We made it to the door and hurried through, desperate to get away from the throng of courtiers. The windows in the Salon of Diana were opened wide to let in the air. A lovely breeze was blowing through, cooling the room considerably.
“The dancing should be through there,” I said, pointing to the two sets of doors leading to the Salon of Mars.
I could hear the music more clearly now, something light and airy with violins and a harpsichord. Opening the door just a touch more, I slipped inside the salon and slid along the wall. Elodie called after me, but I didn’t stop to respond.
I surged forward, very nearly bumping into a dancing couple. Then I saw them! Papa and Lady Françoise were dancing together. Papa looked distinguished and handsome in a blue justaucorps brocaded with gold—it was the first time in years he’d worn anything but black—and Lady Françoise was elegant and beautiful in a cream-colored silk ball gown draped in emeralds. She whispered something in his ear as they danced, and Papa tossed his head back and laughed. The way they looked at each other . . . I hadn’t seen anything like it since before Maman died. They looked at each other like they were in love.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away. I wasn’t going to cry. I adored Lady Françoise, and she made Papa happy. I wanted him to be happy more than anything.
I was just backing away from the dance floor when a dark-haired boy seated on a dais at the far end of the salon caught my eye. Auguste.
He had told me that his father gave him permission to attend the ball, but why was he seated on a dais? It was only when I spotted who he was sitting next to that I realized what was going on. He was seated next to the king, who was leaning over to speak to the boy on his other side. Auguste’s older brother, the horrid, rude boy from the Orangerie.
Only members of the royal family were allowed to sit with the king. Which meant . . . Auguste and his awful brother must be the king’s sons. They were princes. Or at least the older one was; he was the Grand Dauphin, Louis.
Just a few moments ago, I’d been so happy, but now I didn’t know what to feel. Auguste wasn’t just a bastard; he was the king’s bastard. High-ranking, regardless of the circumstances of his birth. Papa told me once that kings often legitimized their bastard children, especially bastard sons. I turned away and promptly smacked into a woman standing behind me.
“I beg your pardon, please forgive . . .” I said, the words dying in my throat as my eyes met hers.
The woman was wearing perhaps the most magnificent red dress I’d ever seen. The neckline was cut high and off the shoulder, the skirt cascading to the floor in waves of ruby-encrusted silk brocade. A gold-and-ruby mask covered half her face, with horns that curled delicately upward like a crown. She was stunning, but her cold blue eyes pierced right through me, and the scent of rose perfume, thick and cloying, wafted off her in waves. She had two matching beauty marks shaped like apples on her cheek as well, the very latest fashion.
I’d nearly knocked the contents of her glass all over her ball gown. The liquid still sloshed around the sides of the crystal.
“You’re very lucky you didn’t ruin my dress, ma chérie,” the woman said. She looked me up and down with a calculating gaze. I was used to being appraised at court—people were intimately concerned with whether your clothes were laced with silk and if your fans were made of feathers or cloth.
“That’s quite a lovely gown,” she told me. “It must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Thank you, Madame,” I said with a curtsy. “It was my mother’s dress from when she was at court. Our seamstress is skilled, and my father is a generous man. I am very lucky.” It was a gorgeous gown of the finest Venetian white lace, with just a simple blue sash for effect.
“Your mother? Would I know her?”
“Alas, she is no longer with us.” I bowed my head.
She clucked her tongue. “How sad. But your father is here, yes? Who is this wonderful man, if I may ask? I will have to tell him his daughter is a delight.”
“Michel le Tellier, le Marquis de Louvois,” I said with pride.
“The king’s minister?” she said. “You truly are a lucky girl.” The woman’s voice was sweet and her tone friendly, but there was something unnerving about the way she studied me. And I suddenly realized I had told a lady of the court my name. If she told my father she’d met me at the ball, I would be in awful trouble. Papa did not take kindly to liars and sneaks.
I needed to find Elodie. We had to leave. The fear coiling in my stomach didn’t make any sense. While the lady’s words were nothing but kind, her cold eyes made me want to run as far from her as possible. “Excuse me, Madame,” I said hurriedly.
“Elodie!” I said, spotting her standing at the door to the Salon of Venus, talking to a girl.
Elodie was smiling and laughing. The conversation appeared to be quite lively. Both girls turned at my call, and I got a clearer look at Elodie’s conversation partner. It was Alexandre. Elodie, one of the shyest people I knew, was having a pleasant conversation with this awful girl, of all people. When Alexandre spotted me, the smile dropped from her face, and with a whispered word to Elodie, she left the room in a whirl of skirts. She and Severine were a year older than I was and not just out in society but actually invited to the ball. I envied that they didn’t have to sneak in to be part of it.
“Was that Alexandre? When did you get to know each other?” I asked when I reached Elodie. “I didn’t know you two were so chummy.”
“And what if we are?” Elodie said defensively. “We met . . . I don’t know . . . a while back. Does it matter?”
At my skeptical look, she said, “I know. It’s hard to believe. But she apologized for her behavior at the Orangerie. She seems quite lovely.”
Elodie blushed and smiled. Any other time I would want to hear more, but right now we needed to leave.
“You can tell me about it when we’re back home. Let’s find Marius and go.”
“So soon?”
“Yes,” I said emphatically. I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. My only friend at Versailles was the king’s illegitimate son. I’d heard a rumor that one of the king’s other mistresses poisoned his mother, Madame de Montespan, for being the king’s favorite. No one knew if it was true, but it was no wonder he’d been upset by all the talk of potions, poisons, and mistresses.
Elodie pressed her palm to my forehead. Her hand was cool on my flushed skin. Maybe I was sick, which gave us another reason for us to leave.
“I’ll explain everything in the carriage, but for now can we please find Marius?”