“Mlle de la Croix is better, I trust? I shall look in on her later.” Fagon shook his head with disapproval. “No wonder she broke down, with all her unwomanly tasks. Someone should speak to her brother. I’ve planned an extensive course of bloodletting.”
“That will not be necessary,” Lucien said.
“I beg your pardon?” Fagon exclaimed.
“You’ll let no more blood from Mlle de la Croix.”
“Sir, are you instructing me in my profession?”
“I’m instructing you that she wants no more treatment, and I’m instructing you to respect her wishes.”
Lucien spoke quietly. Dr. Fagon was well aware of Lucien’s influence with His Majesty, the favor the King showed him, and the peril of ignoring him.
Fagon spread his hands. “If His Majesty commands —”
“It is unlikely in the extreme that His Majesty would observe your treatment.”
“It is likely in the extreme that His Majesty’s spies will observe!”
“No one need be present who might betray you. Can you not trust M. Félix?”
Fagon considered, then bowed again. “I shall observe your instructions, subject only —”
Lucien raised one eyebrow.
“— only to His Majesty’s presence.”
Lucien bowed in return. He could not ask Dr. Fagon to defy the King’s orders, in the King’s presence. He hoped Mlle de la Croix would not ask it of him.
oOo
The harpsichord traced the story of the sea monster hunt. When Marie-Josèphe began the cantata, she thought the story altogether heroic. With every revision, it had become more tragic.
She closed the keyboard and gazed at the smooth wood. She was spent.
Somehow, somehow, I must make His Majesty see what he’s doing, she thought. He loves music. If he would only listen to the sea woman, he might see what I see, he might understand her.
The door of the dressing room opened. Startled, Marie-Josèphe looked up. She expected no one. Her sister had gone to attend Mary of Modena; Yves had gone to attend the King’s awakening.
Gazing at her ardently, Lorraine stood in the doorway between her bedroom and Yves’ dressing room. Dark circles under his eyes marred his beauty.
“Do you enter a lady’s room without invitation, sir, or chaperone?”
“What need have we of chaperones, my dear? We needed none on the Grand Canal.”
His velvet cloak, sadly wrinkled and salt-stained, lay in a heap in the corner. He retrieved it and shook it out.
“You’ve had your use out of my cloak, I see.”
“You may have it back.”
He held its collar to his face. “Your perfume scents it. Your perfume, your sweat, the secrets of your body...”
She turned away, embarrassed, flustered.
“May I have not even a smile? The King offers me as a sacrifice to your beauty, but you break my heart. I lay my finest garment at your feet — but it is nothing!” He flung the cloak to the floor. “I destroy myself with worry about you —” He stroked one finger across his cheek, beneath the dark circle.
“You destroy yourself,” Marie-Josèphe said drily, “by revelling all night in Paris.”
Lorraine laughed, delighted. “Dr. Fagon did you good! You are yourself — and cured of your fantasies, I trust.” He leaned on the harpsichord, gazing soulfully at her.
“You helped Dr. Fagon steal my strength. If the sea woman dies, I’ll never recover it.”
“When she’s gone, you’ll find another cause to occupy your mind. And your heart.
A husband. A lover.” He moved nearer, feigning interest in the musical score.
“It isn’t proper for you to be here, sir.”
Behind her, he pressed against her back. His scent smothered her. He laid his hands on her shoulders, slipped his fingers beneath her hair, beneath her shift, cupped his hands around her breasts. His hands were hot on her skin. She froze, with shock and cold and outrage.
“Mlle de la Croix,” Count Lucien said from the doorway. “I see that you are protected from surgeons.”
His voice broke her paralysis. Count Lucien bowed and disappeared.
Marie-Josèphe broke from Lorraine’s grasp.
“Count Lucien! “ She ran after him. He limped toward the stairs. “I — the Chevalier
— it wasn’t —”
“It wasn’t?” Count Lucien said. “That’s a shame.”
“A — a shame?”
Count Lucien faced her, leaning on his walking stick, gazing up quizzically.
“His Majesty himself favors the match. Lorraine belongs to an illustrious family, but he is perpetually in need of money. You will have a generous dowry from His Majesty.
An alliance between you and Lorraine will repair both your fortunes.”
“I have no amorous feelings for the Chevalier de Lorraine.”
“What has that to do with marriage?”
“I scorn him!”
“Against the King’s will?”
“I’ll never marry him!” Marie-Josèphe shivered, seeing Lorraine’s intense blue eyes above her, while the surgeon’s blade slashed her. She slipped her right hand beneath her left sleeve. The bandage was wet with blood.
“Perhaps you should tell that to Monsieur.”
“Why would I tell His Majesty’s brother?”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I have — because I wish you to think well of me.”