“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” asked Auguste, his green eyes narrowed with worry.
“I’m fine. Is there anything here you’d like to show me, or should we move on?”
My voice was high-pitched and strained, as if I’d been screaming for hours. It was embarrassing. Only a few days prior I’d spent a not-insignificant amount of time kissing Auguste in the stables, and now him holding me against his chest for mere seconds had me running about like a nervous child with her first crush. Which I suppose he was. Did he know what his touch did to me? He must, given the crooked smirk on his handsome face.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, actually. I wonder if it’s still here. Follow me.”
Auguste smiled and set off, his long stride quickly putting him far ahead of me. I had to run for a few yards to catch up. He’d been apathetic at best about the grove just moments ago. I nervously anticipated seeing whatever it was that had sparked his interest so.
The grove was organized into three different levels, each one separated by a set of grassy steps and a small waterfall cascade. On the lowest level, where we started out, the fountain jets created the shape of a fleur-de-lis in the pool. It was ingenious, and I wanted to stop and take a look, but Auguste hurried up the steps without sparing it a second glance. After our awkward moment under the water bower, I wasn’t going to call him back and insist he wait for me again.
Auguste stopped climbing on the second level, past the rectangular pool with the jets that mimicked the water bower. But he didn’t stop walking. No—he continued walking right into the waterfall cascade at the base of the steps to the third level.
“Wait! What are you doing? You’re going to get soaked!”
Auguste’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he said, “I know. It’s very refreshing. You should join me.”
“Absolutely not. My dress will be ruined.”
“All right. But you won’t get to see what’s hidden here.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Auguste actually had the nerve to wink at me before turning back around to wade farther into the basin. The water barely lapped at Auguste’s ankles, but the depth of the pool wasn’t the problem. My overskirt that day was a cream-colored silk with an elaborate appliqué of gold birds and flowers. I wanted to follow Auguste into the pool more than anything. It was terrible to stand still and watch as someone else had all the fun.
But Auguste had the luxury of being a boy. And the king’s son. The only articles of clothing getting wet were his shoes and a small bit of stocking. Both would dry quickly, and if anyone noticed that he was wandering about with wet shoes, as the dauphin had made clear to me, no one would dare mention it.
A spark of inspiration struck me. I pulled a gold ribbon from my hair, letting the loose waves fall about my shoulders, then got to work bunching the front of my dress up into a little ball.
While I was busy fussing with my dress, Auguste had climbed up onto the second level of the cascade, just behind the fountain, where an iron structure in the shape of a seashell lay between two waves.
“Cendrillon, I found it! Oh . . .” he said, trailing off when his eyes landed on me.
“You were right. The water is refreshing. A little chilly, but nice on such a hot day.”
Auguste’s eyes darted down to my stockinged legs and back up to my face, his cheeks reddening. My own face started heating up when I remembered that revealing my stockings to a gentleman who was not my husband was shockingly inappropriate. Here I was trying to avoid a scandal, and I had walked right into one.
Lady Celia would say I should be ashamed of exhibiting such indecent behavior, and I was a little ashamed. But a greater part of me was excited at the power my bared stockings held over Auguste. He certainly wasn’t smirking anymore. After his little display under the water bower, a comeuppance was in order.
“What is it you wanted to show me?” I asked, making my way toward him.
He held out his hand. “Something I hid here years ago. It’s been here so long, I nearly forgot about it. I assumed that it would have been lost or taken by now, but it was just where I left it.”
In Auguste’s outstretched hand was a small sculpture made of wood. I picked it up gently and held it in the palm of my hand. Flecks of white paint were still speckled across the body of the horse, but most of the coating had worn away. The wood itself was cracked and swollen with water, spongy in places. But for being hidden in a cascade for years, it was in remarkably good condition. I could still see the all the details of the face—two little eyes and a mouth yawning.
“This is what you wanted to show me? What is it?”
Frowning, Auguste snatched the horse from my hand. “What do you mean, what is it? It’s a horse. Can’t you tell? I thought I did a pretty good job with it.”
Auguste held the horse at eye level and peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. The expression on his face was wounded as he glanced between me and the little horse. It was sweet. Amusing, but sweet.
“I meant, why did you want to show it to me? Did you make it?”
With a small smile, Auguste said, “I did. When I was eight or nine. With help, of course. Have you heard of Madame de Maintenon?”
The king’s mistress, of course. I remembered the last time I saw Auguste before the ball over a year ago, when Madame de Maintenon and the king’s affair was brought up by our classmates. He’d stormed out of the Grand Commons and canceled our plans to see each other later. I nodded.
“She was my tutor. My brother’s too. She was more than just a tutor to me, though; she basically raised me. I lived with her in Paris throughout most of my childhood.”
“What about your mother?”
“Madame de Montespan? She died when I was young. And my father was too busy for me. But of course, he is the king and has many concerns.”
Auguste’s voice was low and bitter, but his eyes shone brightly. I reached out and squeezed his forearm. My heart ached for the pain I saw on his face. I knew what it was like to lose a mother.
“Did Madame de Maintenon help you make the horse?” I asked.
“She did. I’d seen a woodworker carving toys at the market one day and said I wanted to learn how to make my own toys.”
His voice was full of warm affection. “We spent the entire summer learning to woodwork. Madame de Maintenon managed to persuade my father to hire the woodworker from the market to come to our home and teach us.
“That year, the king split his time between the palace and the house in Paris, so most of the time it was just Madame de Maintenon and me. That was my best summer. I’ve never had another like it.”
“Did you make a lot of toys?” I asked, tracing a finger lightly over the rough body of the horse.