One Thousand Days- Chapter 7 – The Ball

Valentine awaited a message from the marquis. She was certain she had pleased his friends, certainly their gifts were extravagant and indicated they would commend her to him. But she worried he might now see her as less than a mistress, more of a whore. She certainly felt more like a whore and it did not please her. What did their gifts imply: that she was being paid for her services? It was troublesome to her to dream of the marquis' friends and wake in the morning feeling a pleasant warmth between her thighs, knowing he had not elicited such dreams or feelings in her. She examined her jewels, trying them on, wondering if she would ever have the chance to wear them.

Preparations for the final week of the visit were intense. There was much to do in preparing for the arrival of the other guests coming to the ball and the hunt. Valentine glided around the grounds, distracted, freed from lessons as Monsieur Artois was taken up with preparations for the ball: he was helping write out menus in his exquisite hand and advising on seating plans for the banquet. The marquise could not command enough of his time.

Valentine waited impatiently for the marquis to invite her to the ball. She could not believe she would be the only one who sat in her room as the festivities occurred. She walked the grounds in hope of finding him as he was never in his rooms. She had given up listening for his key. Everyone seemed so busy and excited except for her. Sophie was impossibly excited, busy adjusting Valentine's green brocade dress to wear for the servants' ball.

Valentine took herself to the marquise's secret garden. She was sure no-one would be about and she could attempt some peace in the tranquillity of that place. She walked around the fountain, picked a rose and sat in the shade, looking at the flowers in the afternoon sun.

'Strictly speaking you need my permission to be here,' the marquise said quietly.

Valentine scrambled to her feet to bow to the dowager. 'Oh, madam, forgive me. I wanted a peaceful place to sit.'

Elise saw the redness of the girl's eyes, the paleness of her face and was overcome with kindness. 'Oh, my dear, you are always welcome here. Try not to be so sad, not when everyone else is so happy. You have a duty to share your smile with us all.'

'But not at the ball,' Valentine blurted out.

Elise smiled. Much had been going on, it seemed. 'You await your invitation still?'

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

'I know it has been written. I selected the guest list and wrote the invitations, with the help of dear Monsieur Artois. I will see why it has not been delivered.' She smiled. 'Perhaps my special messenger has been distracted?'

Valentine's eyes brightened. 'I am to come?'

'Of course. I cannot have a ball and let the prettiest girl in the country sit in her room. Where would my manners be? You needed to be admired and all those dancing lessons put to use. Besides,' she leant close to Valentine's ear, whispering conspiratorially, 'I want this ball spoken about for years to come and you must be there for that to happen.'

Elise took her leave, unsettled by the sadness of the girl. How terrible it was to be young and in love, to be without power or wealth: merely a plaything of others. At least Valentine was unaware of how transient her beauty was, that youth would soon desert her and her admirers as well. Elise felt more pity for the girl than she wanted and it made her uncomfortable as her priorities had to lie elsewhere.

As Valentine was preparing for bed she heard the key in her door. Her stomach tightened and her hands shook. She did not know what to expect or how to be. She stood still, bowing her head as the marquis entered her room.

'My dearest Valentine.' He touched her chin tilting her face up to meet his gaze. 'I have missed you. But I have been so busy.'

'I understand, sir.' She accepted his invitation to sit.

'Here.' He handed her the coveted invitation. She tore it open to find her name and the marquise's perfect handwriting, 'Guy, Marquis de Chatillon requests the pleasurable company of Valentine...'

She embraced him quickly and then, remembering herself sat quietly again, eyes down cast waiting on his pleasure. He seemed to be watching her closely, searching for the words he needed. He put his hand gently on her thigh, feeling the reassuring warmth of her flesh through her night-gown. She waited, more uncertain of him than ever.

He stood up abruptly. 'My friends speak of you with the highest regard. You have brought honour on me in this matter. It is a mark of friendship that one shares his most valuable possession with his friends and that they treat it well. We have all distinguished ourselves in this matter. I thank you for that.' He bowed his head to her. 'A token of my appreciation will be with you tomorrow, in time for the ball. We will dance together. It is my wish.'

Several phrases chased through her mind as she fell into sleep – 'his most valuable possession', 'brought honour on me', 'we will dance together'. He had been awkward with her, as uncomfortable as she was with him but when he spoke she heard his heart and in those words, that thrilled and skipped through her mind, she felt his love once more.

Her ball dress was delivered the next day. It was the most beautiful dress she had seen and Sophie almost swooned with envy. It was made of lilac silk with gold and white embroidery that looked liked briar roses entangled across the stiff silk. But closer inspection revealed the roses to be V and G entwined in an endlessly repeating pattern across the fabric. On the bodice, which was low cut to display her bosom to its best advantage every V was sewn with seed pearls and every G with gold thread. The skirt was full with tiny pleats at the waist, all the better to dance and twirl in. There were new petticoats, gold shoes, white stockings and a velvet box. Valentine held her breath as she opened the box, not caring that Sophie was still in the room entranced with the sensuous feel of the dress. This velvet box held a diamond bracelet: it shone and sparkled as nothing else she had seen.

'You will be the belle of the ball after all,' Sophie sighed enviously.

'You will be the belle of yours,' Valentine said, thinking of the vision of Sophie in her discarded dress to wear to the servants' ball, to be held in the giant marquee after the banquet for the guests, when most of the servants would have finished their duties for the evening, unless they had to wait attendance on particular guests.

Notes arrived from the marquis' friends all requesting at least one dance with her and that she wear their present. Valentine was concerned by this as she was not accustomed to wearing jewellery let alone such extravagant pieces, let alone all at once, let alone as the marquis' mistress. Was not the dowager meant to have the best display of finery as the hostess?

'What do I do?' she asked Mathilde.

'It is difficult. If you do not wear any piece you will offend one or all of them. If you wear them all you will certainly offend the dowager and the marquis. What's to be done?'

Jacques was called in, as the matter was proving insoluble and could lead to an unhappy scene at the ball. 'I will take instruction from the dowager,' he said.

Elise nodded in wry amusement. 'What a happy quandary for a young girl to find herself in!'

'Madam, with respect, it is a serious matter,' Jacques could not see the funny side, could only see friendships ruined and the ball a disaster.

'If you are concerned about me, don't be. I cannot outshine Valentine, with or without jewels. Each of my son's friends knew what game they were playing and we cannot assume they will know the origin of each piece. The marquis, of course, will.'

Jacques nodded sadly. 'Indeed, madam.'

'I will deal with him. It is more important that his guests do not feel slighted than he does. I will remind him of that.' She smiled Jacques away. 'Put poor Valentine out of her misery.'

The banquet began at eight. Guests assembled in the orangery for aperitifs from seven. Most had been preparing all day for the event. It had been years since such a grand social gathering at the chateau and many new outfits had been purchased. Servants had been run ragged all day fetching water, pressing dresses, adjusting wigs, polishing shoes and buckles, soothing nerves, manicuring hands, powdering faces and adding the final touches before anyone made their entrance.

Valentine arrived on the arm of Monsieur Artois. She was presented formally to the dowager and the marquis as hosts and to Prince Alexei, and the Dukes of Bourbonne and Burgundy as exulted guests. All formalities were observed and Monsieur Artois led Valentine to a corner of the orangery to observe the other guests before dinner and the dancing began. He noted, with some pride, as he was her escort for the evening, that no other woman shone like she did, despite her quiet and unassuming demeanour it was evident there was no-one to match her beauty or composure. They sat together at dinner and engaged eloquently with those around them; the mayors and their wives of townships at the edge of the marquis' estates.

'Why is it,' she asked Monsieur Artois, 'that you and I spend so much time together? We dine together, sit together in church and now we attend this ball together.'

Joseph Artois was taken aback by this unusually assertive question. He surmised Valentine was wondering why she was on his arm this evening and not the marquis'. He smiled at her, aware that he was enjoying her company too much, enjoying the envious glances of the other men at the ball, all wondering no doubt how he came to be squiring such a beauty at this event.

'Well, my dear, I think it is quite simple, other than our teacher-pupil relationship which is most agreeable we are a puzzle for this class conscious society of ours. We are not peasants as we live at the chateau and discharge our duties and roles as expected. But nor are we the aristocracy: we are nothing like them, even if we are smarter or more beautiful than them. I am a teacher, you are a mistress: we both serve their needs and occupy a wilderness, a no-man's land between the two extremes of our society. We, my dearest Valentine, confuse and confound them and so, because we belong to neither group we belong to each other.'

'They need us, but they do not necessarily want us, you mean?'

Joseph Artois shrugged. 'I don't think there is any doubt that the marquis wants you, Valentine, he simply becomes confused about etiquette and protocols and so we spend many hours together. Hopefully to your betterment...'

'Oh, Monsieur Artois,' Valentine exclaimed suddenly aware that she was in danger of offending him. 'I meant no disrespect to you. I value our time together, your wisdom and knowledge has been wonderful for me, to one as ignorant as I was, as I remain.'

He smiled sadly, easily mollified by her, more in love with her than he cared to admit. It was impossible to spend so much time with her and not be affected by her. He was only a few years older than the marquis but life had marked him more cruelly. Given the similarity of their experiences he wondered if it was wealth that cushioned the marquis from the uncertainties and pain of life. Monsieur Artois found himself frequently conflicted in his feelings towards the marquis: on the one hand grateful for his position and time spent with Valentine, for a luxurious and pleasant life at the chateau, but then consumed by an invidious jealousy about the marquis' intimate relationship with her. He was cursed with an active and vivid imagination.

He shrugged, of all the men at the chateau, he liked to think he was the one who knew Valentine best, who understood her true nature and furthermore, had made her what she now was: an accomplished and refined young woman, at ease in society, her origins well hidden beneath months of lessons and beautiful clothes. He was proud of his creation and pleased to be seated with her for the banquet.

Valentine was most excited about the dancing and despite her disappointment at being seated so far from the glamorous guests and at being attached to Monsieur Artois she remembered all she had been taught and ensured she brought credit upon her household. Monsieur Artois noted all that she did and nodded his approval throughout the meal as she correctly navigated all aspects of the banquet and paid courteous attention to their dinner companions. She may have been disappointed to be seated with him but Monsieur Artois remained delighted. He felt himself swell with pride at her accomplishments, at knowing the secret of her background as she behaved as if she was naturally part of society, if not the aristocracy. He knew, alas that he would be lucky to have one dance.

The prince, having completed the opening dance with Elise, deposited the dowager at her regal chaise on the dais opposite the band where she could watch the proceedings and begin to enjoy the evening now that it seemed it was to be a most successful event. As he promenaded the room receiving rapturous applause the prince stopped by Valentine, holding out his hand. She bowed low and stepped onto the dance floor. A great hush fell upon the guests, most of whom had not met Valentine or had any idea of who she was. The prince was an accomplished dancer, as befitted his station, and held Valentine to him easily, as if he was used to having her in his arms. She did not blush at his physical closeness, the first time she had seen him since her encounter under the small dining table, but concentrated on the music, on making the correct steps in sequence. It was easy when she and Monsieur Artois danced in this hall alone but in front of so many people she felt most self conscious.

'I think of you all the time,' the prince whispered in her ear. 'I am so glad you like my gift.'

'It is wonderful, thank you.'

'There are many more delights that I could offer you.'

'Yes.'

'You could come with me tomorrow when I leave. I'm sure Guy would understand if you left him for me.'

'I cannot sir. I am bonded to the marquis. For one thousand days.'

He grunted. 'It is a silly contract, born of ancient foolishnesses that should be now part of the past, not an on-going present. If you insist on honouring your obligation I can only admire that. But you are being foolish when I can offer you so much more.' He sighed. 'It is your youth that makes you so foolish and makes you so desireable.'

Before she could reply the marquis had cut in and she was finally in his arms, where she belonged.

'Tonight you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, my dear Valentine.'

'Will you come to me tonight?' she had to ask it although it was forbidden for her to ask anything of him.

'I will try. Be assured that I have missed you.'

The music filled the ballroom and everyone seemed to be dancing, even Monsieur Artois persuaded some young woman to dance with him and showed himself to be a very fine dancer. Valentine smiled at him warmly as she floated by on the marquis' arm.

Valentine danced with nearly every man in the room. Of course, the marquis' friends hogged her attention. Frederick danced very well and was, like the prince, keen to make an offer. 'My wife will not care,' he said. 'She is long past caring what I do. I must say I care not about her either. The children are all that matter.'

Valentine was horrified. 'You are married?'

'Of course, my dear. A man of my position and age and responsibility must be married and have secured his own dynasty. It is the most important thing the aristocracy must do. That is why we worry about Guy. He has not secured his future. He has waited far too long since Celine died.'

She felt foolish and naive. Why would these men be unmarried? Just because they danced attention on her was not indicative of freedom, of being unattached. They were all of an age where to be married was natural. Whether they were happy or not was another matter. Women like herself took care of that.

Pierre literally lifted her off her feet as he swept her around the glittering room. 'You are utterly dazzling when you are dressed up. But not as dazzling as when you are not dressed at all,' he laughed.

She laughed too, trying to imagine his wife. 'Do you love her still?'

'What is love? A good marriage is not based on love; it is based on compatibility, status, money, dynastic imperatives. You have no need to understand this. You, when you are free from your bond, will be free to marry for love. For all we rule France, we are not free like you. As to my wife; she has born six children these last seven years. She is as tired of me as I am of her and crying children. Still, I have sons and that's all that matters.'

Shortly before midnight, the dowager instructed Jacques to fetch Valentine for her.

'Sit by me a while and rest.' She offered Valentine a glass of champagne. 'You seem to be enjoying yourself.'

'Oh, I am madam, I am. This is the best night of my life.'

Elise examined her shining face, her radiant smile. 'I knew you would.' She cast her eyes over Valentine's expensive new collection of jewellery. 'My, you have done well for yourself from the visit.'

Valentine blushed and looked down. 'I did not ask for their attention or their gifts. I would have said no.'

'But you cannot, so you should make the most of your situation. I shall see to it that you have a strong box to keep your valuables in.' The dowager took her by the hand and looked her in the eye. 'This will not last long, my dear child. Accept what is given and look after your gifts. All of them.'

They watched Guy glide by with the only other pretty girl in the room. She seemed delighted to be dancing with him. He was laughing at something she said.

'He must marry again,' Elise said.

'I know.'

'But I will do all I can to see that he takes you to Paris before that happens. You deserve that, at least. Then, after you have been presented at court, you will have enough memories to live on for the rest of your life.'

Guy stopped by his mother's chair, sipping on a glass of champagne offered by a passing waiter. 'Not causing mischief, mother?'

'Tales of Paris, my dear,' she smiled, well pleased with herself. 'Now take this lovely young thing and dance with her 'til dawn. Make sure she remembers this night forever.'

Elise watched them move away through the other dancers, so fluid together, so easy in each others' arms. She sighed. They would make such handsome and clever children. She watched her son for an age, loving him more than she could say, more than she had loved his brother, or even his father. Ah, the bonds of a mother's love; the strongest thing in the world.

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