A/N: Pain d'épices is a French gingerbread that dates back to the 10th century. Pronounced: pah(n) / deh pees
Chapter Thirty
It was a quiet afternoon. The morning's business duties had been accomplished and lunch had been eaten, and now Philippe had the rest of the day to pass at his leisure. At the village, there had always been things to do: lessons to be learned, a river in which to swim or skip rocks, and his father and the others with which to talk. Here, he was rapidly discovering, things were more formal, and there were fewer opportunities for doing the things he enjoyed, even when he had the time.
He had been king for seven days. Seven incredible days of learning experiences and decisions that he had never dreamed himself capable of accomplishing. It was almost as if he had been born to do these tasks. "You do them well because you understand the plight of your subjects," Athos had told him. It was true; he did understand hunger and poverty, and, above everything else, he desired to be a good king, worthy of the honor of leading the country. And honor is how he thought of it. It was a great privilege to be given the things he now owned, but it was humbling to know that the fate of the nation rested upon his shoulders.
As promised, Athos had anonymously delivered the pouch full of coins to Pierre's widow, and the word that came back to the palace was that she had wept with joy when she had found the unexpected gift. It was a gift from an angel, she had declared, but Philippe had not understood the slight smile on the faces of D'Artagnan and Athos when they heard this. Were they teasing him, or did they consider him their own special gift? He did not dwell on it, but he understood that his generosity had pleased them both.
Work on renovating the poorer sections of town had also begun, and Claude reported that the workers could be heard singing as they replaced their dilapidated roofs and cleaned up their streets. For the first time in years, the poor people of Paris had hope, and Philippe felt tremendous satisfaction that their living conditions were improving.
But today, he was nothing short of bored. Walking slowly around his room on this quiet afternoon seeking something to do, he briefly considered taking a horseback ride around the property, but he knew his father was busy with Musketeer duties and he did not wish to take one of the other Musketeers. Athos was away from the palace on personal errands for several hours, and Porthos was helping Aramis with the house in which Louis would be moved. He was on his own to find something with which to pass the time.
A basket of fruit and nuts was standing on the small round table for his pleasure, and he picked up a handful of shelled nuts and popped them into his mouth as he passed. He proceeded to the bureau, behind which was the secret passage leading to Christine's room. They mysterious Christine, who still resided in the room one floor above. The thought of her was enough to arouse his curiosity, as he had yet to see her.
The secret passage which led to her room was one he had not explored, so he went to the bureau and pulled on it. It slid quietly open on well-oiled hinges, leaving no mark on the floor as it swung inward to reveal the circular stone steps behind it. How clever, he thought as he stepped into the small space, looking upward toward the door which could not be seen at that angle. He knew he was far too inquisitive, that he should simply turn around and return to his own chamber, but instead of following his own advice, he quietly made his way up those steps. Reaching the top, he found himself standing before the hidden doorway. What secrets lay on the other side? Unable to resist the urge, he pushed the door open just a crack and pressed his eye against it.
He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he was violating the privacy of another human being, yet his curiosity was so great that he could not force himself to stop. I'll only take a peek, he promised himself. If she's there, I'll immediately close the door.
Through the narrow slit, he saw the large bed in which his brother had shared company with Christina. The bed had been carefully made, its covers precisely arranged with not a wrinkle. Beyond that, he saw the various furnishings and feminine decorations, but there was no sign of an occupant. Shifting position, he pushed the door open just a fraction more, providing a better view of the room.
A slight sensation of movement caught his eye, and he looked toward it. A woman sat at a dressing table, brushing her hair before a mirror. Mesmerized, he watched her breathlessly for several moments, afraid that if he inhaled or exhaled, it would alert her to his presence. As he watched, it was apparent why his brother had been so taken by her. He had seen women who were more beautiful; the lovely Genevieve who had been his dance partner at the ball, for one. But it was undeniable that there was something about Christine that captured a man's attention. But he had not forgotten Athos's words. She was the one woman he must never get too close to.
At that moment, her eyes were drawn to the reflection of the secret door in the mirror, and he saw her recoil slightly in alarm, and she started to turn around. Instantly, he pulled the door closed and fled, starting back down the steps so rapidly that he feared he would lose his footing. He took the final few steps in one huge bound, darted into his chamber and pushed the bureau back into position just as she opened her door above.
"Louis?" she called, her voice echoing slightly down the staircase.
Of course he did not answer, but pressed his back against the wall beside the bureau, calming his pounding heart. That had been a foolish thing to do! She had clearly seen him looking at her. What must she think? The answer to that was obvious: She thought he was Louis, sneaking a peek through the secret door, but he imagined that Louis would never have run like a frightened child!
He backed slowly away from the bureau, wiping his sweating palms against his breeches, but the bureau did not open as he had expected. Upon finding the staircase empty, perhaps she had decided it had been her imagination, that her eyes were playing tricks on her in the mirror. Or perhaps she was not allowed to enter the king's chamber. Either way, it appeared that the incident was concluded.
Moving into the sitting area of his chambers, he passed the table with the fruit and nuts, but did not reach for it this time. The unpleasant experience at Christine's door had stolen his appetite.
Facing the huge portrait on the wall, he was reminded of the more familiar secret passage that it concealed. The hidden corridors fascinated him, and he decided to utilize them for his amusement. And then, after exploring them at his leisure for awhile, he could perhaps pay his mother a visit.
Recalling from his tour with D'Artagnan that it was dark in the passages, he lifted a candle from the table and, moving to the giant portrait, he opened the frame and stepped behind it.
The flame danced and shuddered as the portrait frame drifted closed behind him, casting flickering shadows on the smooth walls of the narrow tunnel. He had never been inside a cave before, but he imagined that it must something similar to this, only made by nature instead of by man. The candlelight afforded him better opportunity to view the tunnel, and he noticed right away that the walls were bare, attesting to the covert environment of the royal family's escape route. He had no idea what they might need to escape from, but they would provide a bored young man with an afternoon of exploring.
First, he passed the shallow alcove that opened into his mother's chambers, and he paused there for a moment to gaze at her door. He had visited his mother in her parlor several times during the week, but he really had no idea how spent her day. He only knew that before his arrival, she had rarely ventured out of them. Even now, it seemed that she spent most of her time in her apartments.
The air was still and very warm inside the hidden corridor, with no breeze to cool it, and he wiped perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve as he continued. Lifting the candle higher, he observed the ceiling, noticing that it was as high as those in his room, providing plenty of headroom. The ceiling appeared to be stained by smoke, indicating that candles had been utilized in there before, but had not been cleaned because the servants did not know of its existence.
Next, he passed the door that D'Artagnan had opened for him to demonstrate the exit in the corridor behind the tapestry, and he noticed that the candle flickered slightly from a barely felt breeze that came beneath it. He moved on, following the narrow maze as it meandered through the palace, trying to remember where each hidden door opened up without actually opening them, fearful that someone would see him.
When he reached the end of it, he turned the corner and approached the exit that D'Artagnan had stated opened near the main staircase. The temptation to open it was almost overpowering, but because it was a heavily traveled area, he applied his self-discipline and resisted.
Standing there at the secret exit, he sighed with disappointment. It had not been as much fun as he had anticipated. It was just a narrow hallway like any other hallway, except for the fact that few knew of its existence. Turning, he made his way back toward the recess that led to his mother's chambers.
As he neared her door, his eyes fell upon the flame on the candle, watching it curiously. It was shuddering, as if disturbed by a very slight breeze. But where was it coming from? Slowly, he turned a circle, searching for a possible source, but could see nothing that stood out as a doorway. Perhaps it was his mother's doorway that generated the breeze, for D'Artagnan had not indicated that there was another concealed doorway in that location.
With his eyes on the candle flame, he circled again, observing the way it continued to dance and flicker, fed by a mild influx of air from somewhere. No, it did not appear to be coming from his mother's doorway, but there was definitely a place nearby where the air was seeping in.
Kneeling down, he held the flame close to the floor, moving it slowly along the wall in an attempt to locate the source. Suddenly, the flame blew out, leaving him in the duskiness. Rising up again, he felt along the wall, probing and pushing until finally, he felt the wall give slightly. He pushed harder and the secret door opened a crack. Light penetrated the hidden tunnel, and he could see the edge of a bookcase positioned at the opening. The bookcase was attached to it, like the one in the office and like the bureau in his own chamber.
Excitement surged through him at his unexpected discovery. D'Artagnan had not mentioned this particular exit.
He pushed harder, forcing the obviously seldom used door completely open, and stepped into the room. It was large and sparsely furnished, as if it was uncertain what the room was intended to be. Curiously, he turned to face the bookcase and was not surprised to find it empty. A round table and two chairs were positioned near the window, but there were no paintings or portraits on the bare walls. It was a nice room, he concluded, but at the moment it was very cold and impersonal.
Moving to the room's main door, he opened it to orient his position, and found that he was still in the royal corridor. His mother's rooms were next door, and he could see his father's open door across the hall and farther down. This was simply one of the closed doors that he had not investigated until that moment. Pulling the door closed again, he returned to the secret passage and after carefully closing the hidden door again, he proceeded across the passage to his mother's chambers.
Pausing outside her door, he knocked lightly. "Mother?" He then waited, giving her sufficient time to answer.
After a moment, the door opened, and she smiled at him in greeting. "Philippe. I must tell you, it gave me a bit of a start to hear a knock coming from outside my wall! I was not expecting you. Come inside."
"I hope I did not disturb you," he said as he stepped hesitantly into her private bedchamber. During his previous visits to her, he had joined her in her parlor, but the tour or her rooms had not included the bedroom.
She embraced him. "No, you could never disturb me, my son. I am glad you are here. There is no need to sneak in through the passages, though. You are welcome come any time you wish."
"Father showed me the passages earlier in the week, and I was just exploring them by myself to have something to do," he explained, deciding to keep to himself the fact that he had gone up the secret staircase and startled Christine. He knew she would disapprove, and would probably inform D'Artagnan that he had disregarded their advice to avoid her.
"You were bored," she concluded, to which he gave an affirmative nod of his head. "There are days like that, even for me. But not today. I was just reading a book by the window where the light is good, and preparing to enjoy some pastries. Would you care to join me?"
"Yes, I would like that."
He looked curiously around the room as she took his hand and led him to the small table near the window where she had placed her book. It was obviously a woman's room, for it was very feminine in its soft colors and decorations. The bed was positioned near the corner, its curtains drawn to conceal her very private area. Her window draperies were open wide, permitting the sunshine to brighten the interior.
She took her favorite chair, and indicated that he should take the one opposite her. "The chef sent up a loaf of pain d'épices. He knows I have a fondness for it, but I am pleased you came to share it with me, since I cannot begin to eat it all." She placed a slice on a small plate and set it before him, then served herself.
He took a bite of the warm bread, and nodded approvingly. "It is good, but not as good as Angelina's."
"Who is Angelina?" she asked, curiously.
"She is Porthos's new mistress and cook. She is the one who prepared our meals at the village, and I have never tasted food so elegantly prepared as hers. No matter what it is, she can make it taste like something special. He brought her back with us."
"Perhaps we should attempt to add this wonderful cook to our staff," she suggested.
"Porthos would never part with her, and I do not believe she would ever part with him. I think they will eventually get married."
She smiled, knowingly. "Well, I would never propose to break up a romance, but I would very much like to taste her cooking sometime."
"Mother, I was wondering about something," Philippe said, changing the subject abruptly. "What is that room next door to yours, the one on the other side of the passages?"
She tilted her head slightly in thought, determining the room of which he was speaking. "I believe Louis intended that to be a private parlor of some kind. He never had it finished, though, and I am certain it has never been used. He moved on to other projects, and probably forgot about it."
"Did you know that it has a secret door which opens into the passages?" he asked, watching her carefully for her reaction.
"No, I was unaware of that, but it does not surprise me," she replied. "He was very interested in the palace security and providing the family with secrets ways of escape should the need ever arise. Of course, it never has, but I know he used them sometimes to move about the palace without being observed."
They fell silent for several moments as Philippe shifted his attention to the view from the window, pondering an idea that had crept into his mind. "Mother, may I ask you a personal question?" he asked at last.
She looked up from her cake, her dark eyes meeting the bright blue eyes of her son, eyes that were so like those of his father. "Of course."
"Has it been difficult for you? Keeping your relationship with Father a secret, and maintaining your distance from him all these years?"
She was surprised by the unexpected questions, and momentarily at a loss for words. Recovering, she set her plate on the table. "I will always love your father," she replied, honestly. She glanced quickly at the door that led to her parlor to verify that it was firmly closed. She lowered her voice. "We decided long ago that we must distance ourselves from one another. We risked everything, and it was better that we step away from it and live our lives apart. Yes, it has been difficult, seeing him from my windows and longing for what could never be, but we knew that we had no choice."
"What if you had a choice? What if you could be together? Would you want it?"
She smiled patiently at what she perceived to be youthful curiosity. "Since there will never be such a choice for us, it does no good to dwell on it."
He glanced toward the door which led into her parlor, where he had shared tea with her a few days earlier, and wondered where her attendant was at that moment. "What of your attendant? Does she ever come in here?"
"Not without being invited. Why so many questions?"
He shrugged, and decided it was time to back off. For now. "Just curious, I guess. Everything is so new to me, and there is so much to learn."
"This must be a very drastic change for you," she agreed. "But it is a change for the better. You will grow accustomed to it in time."
He nodded his agreement, content simply to be in her company, then shifted the conversation to more general topics, but the secret room remained tucked away in the back of his mind.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Later in the afternoon, Athos returned and he and D'Artagnan worked together in the captain's room. Porthos had come by several times during the week, but spent most of his time helping Aramis with the renovations on the house. The priest was conspicuously absent until that evening, when he paid D'Artagnan an unexpected visit at his office.
Athos was standing beside the window, watching the groundskeepers as they trimmed the shrubbery, when he heard the footfalls as Aramis entered the room. He turned around with a smile. D'Artagnan was right; each of them did have an identifying way of walking.
"Aramis," he said, pleasantly.
Aramis nodded in greeting. "You're looking well, Athos," he replied. "I mean that," he added for emphasis, alluding to the intense state of grief he had suffered over the past few weeks.
"I feel well," he agreed.
D'Artagnan folded the sheet of parchment he had been writing, sealed it, then passed it to a waiting courier. "Take this to Lieutenant Andre," he instructed.
The courier accepted the document, then hastily left the room. D'Artagnan rose from his desk and closed the door to assure privacy.
"Aramis, I am pleased to see you," he said as they embraced. "How are the renovations coming?"
"Extremely well. And things must be going very well at the palace," he said as he opened the plans and spread them out on D'Artagnan's desk. "I heard about Philippe's order to renovate the poverty-stricken areas. My Jesuit friends are astonished that the king would even consider such a proposition. This will go a very long way in repairing the integrity of the crown. I knew I had made a wise decision in placing him on the throne."
D'Artagnan glanced at Athos, who rolled his eyes in mock-disgust at the priest's self-ingratiating attitude, and suppressed a smile. "Well, you have certainly done an admirable job," he said, affably.
Aramis looked up, correctly interpreting the good-humored sarcasm. "Porthos says that I tend to pat myself on the back a lot," he admitted. "I must try to overcome the habit. And I did have some help, didn't I?" He indicated the large sheet of paper he carried, which was rolled into a tube and bound with thread, which he removed. "I thought perhaps you should see what we are doing with the house." He unrolled the paper and placed it on the desk, holding the edges down by placing a book on each end. "As you can see, this is the second story floor plan of the house." He placed his hand on a section of it to demonstrate its importance. "This is the area I have selected for the prisoner. The walls are very solid, and there is a very nice suite of rooms already positioned there, consisting of a bed chamber with a private dressing area, and a very large sitting room."
D'Artagnan leaned over the plans, his eyes carefully studying the quarters that would house his elder son, while Athos moved closer to observe them with his own degree of scrutiny.
"To provide him with additional space, I have decided to place a door in this wall of the sitting room," Aramis continued, pointing with his forefinger at a place on the diagram. "It will lead to a room which I will convert to a dining hall. We will place a nice table with some chairs in this area. Over here," he added, moving his finger to another position in the same room, "I am installing a method of delivering his meals to him without necessitating contact with the hired help. We will cut a hole in the floor large enough to bring up a tray of food and drink with the help of a rope and pulley. I am constructing a cupboard to house it, for aesthetic purposes. A bell will notify him when the meal is ready. He will simply open the cupboard door and pull up his meal."
"That seems like a tempting escape route," Athos objected. "What is to prevent him from using that rope to lower himself down to the first floor during the night?"
Aramis looked surprised. "That may present a problem," he admitted, raising his hand to scratch his head. "I thought I had considered everything, but I must have overlooked that small detail." He pondered the problem a moment, then said, "We will use a small pulley, one that will not support his weight. That should discourage him."
"A fall from the second floor to the first would hurt, but it is not likely to cause lasting injury to a man who is prepared for it," D'Artagnan said. "Small pulley or large, it is not likely to deter him. It will also require occasional maintenance."
"I have a better idea," Athos said. "Instead of cutting a hole in the floor, simply cut a small opening in the wall leading into the corridor outside the dining room. It will be hinged like a small door, but will contain a lock on the outside. Build the cupboard against it as planned, but when his meal is ready, someone will carry it up, unlock the small door, and set the tray inside the cupboard. After the door is closed and locked, she will ring the bell to alert him that his meal is ready. He will then open the cupboard door from the other side and retrieve the meal."
Aramis was nodding, approvingly. "Yes, yes, that will work. I will get my carpenters on it right away. Also, since the dining area contains more room than he will require, I am installing a private staircase which will lead to the first floor and will open into the courtyard. It will remain locked, and my guard, Herve, will keep the key. His wife is making a cloth mask for him. There are windows in the room above on the third floor from which he can be seen in the courtyard, so whenever he wishes to go outside, he must wear the mask."
"I wish there was a way around that," D'Artagnan said. "To never feel the sun upon your face would be a terrible thing."
"I see no way around it," Aramis said, sympathetically. "Now, through this second door on the other side of the dining room is a library. I am having the corridor entrance to it permanently sealed to prevent entrance or exit. The former owners of the house owned an enviable selection of books and manuscripts, enough to keep him occupied for quite some time." He spread his hands, proudly. "And there you have it. The collection of rooms will occupy an entire side of the house, plenty of room to move about."
Athos was nodding, approvingly. "It looks good. He will have not only a large space of his own, but many comforts."
D'Artagnan sighed, heavily. "Comforts yes, but no freedom." Catching a glance from the other two men, he quickly shook himself out of the sudden melancholy that befell him whenever he thought of Louis' incarceration. "Pay me no heed," he said with feigned cheerfulness that the others saw through immediately. "I know there is no choice."
Athos placed a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, but he made no comment. As time went on, the pain would ease.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
D'Artagnan remained up late into the night, going over the plans that Aramis had left for him regarding the house in which Louis would soon be moved. The plans detailed the rooms that were being redesigned for the former king, the private staircase that would permit access to the courtyard, and the high wall around it which was being reinforced and the gate permanently sealed.
He tossed the plans down on his desktop with a deep sigh, thinking that the proposal had a troubling similarity to confining an animal to a paddock to prevent its escape. Only this was not an animal; this was his elder son.
He leaned back in his chair and dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration. It would not be a satisfying life for Louis, but what else could they do? The alternative was much worse. He could not bear the thought of him spending the rest of his life in the Bastille, but he certainly could not be permitted to wander around free. At least at the house and in the garden he would have a little bit of personal freedom. But it wasn't really freedom. Because he risked being seen by the servants from the rooms above, Aramis continued to insist that he must wear the cloth mask any time he was outside, and because he could not be trusted to willingly comply with that directive, it would be necessary for a guard to keep watch over him during his time in the gardens.
After a moment, he picked up the plans again and studied the diagram of the rear of the house where Louis' quarters would be. His rooms would take up much of the space on the second floor of the residence, but there were rooms above and below with windows from which the servants might see his face, necessitating the use of the cloth mask whenever he was outside.
D'Artagnan shook his head, negatively. There must be a way to allow Louis outside without the mask, giving him greater opportunity to enjoy the sun and the breeze.
His eyes fell upon the sketch of the windows and the wooden shutters. Could the shutters on that side of the house be permanently sealed, thereby blocking the view to the courtyard? He leaned over the plans, studying them more carefully, taking note of the number of windows. Louis' windows, obviously, would not need to be sealed, but it would not be too difficult to permanently close those above and below.
"Yes," he murmured to himself. That would work! Each small privilege he could offer his son would go that much farther to improving his life and making his confinement more tolerable.
With renewed optimism, he rolled the plans into a tube again and returned them to his desk drawer, locked it securely, then stood up again and stretched, wincing when he felt his back pop. Down the corridor, he heard the clock strike one o'clock. He knew he should get some sleep, but he now felt too excited and energized to rest, so he moved to the window to look out into the night and wait for drowsiness to come.
After a moment, he detected a movement in the shadows below and tensed, thinking it might be an intruder on the property. Quickly, he extinguished the candles and pressed his face against the glass again, peering out at the individual in an attempt to identify him.
No, it was not a "him". It was the queen mother making her way along the path toward the rose garden. Her pace was slow and casual, her hands occasionally caressing the leaves of a shrub or flowering plant as she passed, enjoying her solitary stroll.
On impulse, realizing that this was an opportunity for a few private moments with her, he rushed to the door of his room and opened it. The corridor was empty, the only guards on duty at this time of night were standing at the entrance to the corridor leading to the royal chambers, so he pulled his door closed behind him and made his way to the nearest entrance to the secret passageways, and slipped into it unnoticed. He did not want to be seen following the queen mother outside again, so he felt his way along the dark passages to the door which opened near the main staircase.
Pushing the door open only a crack, he peered through the narrow opening. A few candles continued to burn at intervals on the wall sconces, illuminating the corridor with just enough light to see, and it was quickly apparent that the hallway was empty, so he slipped quickly through the opening and made his way to the outer door.
She was in the rose garden when he caught up to her, but he did not immediately make his presence known, pausing instead to observe her intently. She wore a simple gown unadorned with jewelry, and her long dark hair tumbled unbound below her waist, and shimmered in the silvery moonlight. Bent at the waist, she gently cupped a rose in the palm of her hand and inhaled its sweet fragrance. In his eyes, she had never looked more beautiful, and his heart ached with longing.
"Anne," he said, softly.
She turned around, and he saw her lips turn up in a pleased smile. "D'Artagnan."
He moved closer. "It is very late. You should be in bed asleep."
"As should you," she responded. "This is not the first time you have sneaked up on me during a moonlight walk," she added with a facetious smile.
"I was thinking about that night while I was at the village with Philippe. Walking hand in hand with you in the garden that night was one of the happiest times of my life."
She offered her hand to him, and he took it in his larger one. "Walk with me tonight. I've been wanting to talk to you, and we must not waste this time that we have alone."
Together, they strolled slowly along the garden paths among the roses. For a while, neither spoke, simply enjoying the peace and solitude of the quiet night and the company of the other, but soon Anne broke the silence.
"Philippe has been on the throne for a week now," she said softly. "Already, I hear there is a change in the attitudes toward the crown by the common people. It is said that he is renovating some of the poorer sections of the city, and paying the residents to do the work."
"It isn't much and it is only temporary, but earning an income means a great deal to men who are trying to feed their families."
"Given the differences in their upbringing, it amazes me that he has settled into his role so easily."
"More easily than he had expected, I think," he agreed. "Yet he remains determined to never let it corrupt him, as it did his brother."
At the mention of her elder son, her expression became more somber. "Philippe came for tea the other day, and he told me that the renovations on the house are coming along nicely."
"Yes. Aramis provided me with the floor plans this afternoon. That is why I am still up. I was examining them to see if any changes needed to be made. They are installing doors to adjacent rooms to enlarge his living space. He will even have a library with plenty of books to read."
"That pleases me very much," she said approvingly. She turned her face toward him, and he saw the hope in her eyes. "How soon will it be ready?"
"It is difficult to predict, but if everything comes together as planned, I would say within a month."
The hope was replaced by disappointment. "I know it takes time for these things, but it hurts me deeply to think of my son confined in the mask. First one, and now the other. I want them both free of it."
He squeezed her hand, gently. "I know. I am troubled as well. I will speak to Aramis and see if there is a way to speed things up a bit."
She snuggled close against his arm as they walked. "That would please me." They fell silent again for several minutes, their thoughts centered on their older son, then she asked, "Have you seen him?"
"No. I do not think he will ever want to see me again, and I must admit, I do not think I could stand seeing him while he is at the Bastille. Seeing him in the mask was something I never want to see again." He stopped walking, and they turned to face one another. "I have seen many terrible things in my life, but nothing can compare with seeing my son placed in that mask. The image has tormented me ever since."
She reached up and gently caressed his cheek with her hand. "One day soon, it will be removed and he can live out his life in comfort."
Their eyes met and locked, and unable to resist any longer, he leaned forward to kiss her. She accepted and welcomed his kiss, their lips moving together with suppressed passion. When they parted, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him.
"Oh, D'Artagnan," she whispered. "I love you so much. Sometimes, I feel my heart is not big enough to contain all the love I feel for you."
He held her tighter in his arms and kissed the side of her head. "I wish things were different, that you and I could simply be together in spite of the differences in our social status. Why must protocol be so strict? Were it not for our sons, I would take you away from here, to England perhaps, where we could live out our lives in peace."
"And I would go with you willingly," she agreed. "Were it not for our boys. But we cannot leave them."
"No. We cannot."
They remained locked in each other's embrace until the clock struck the half-hour, reminding them that they were at risk of discovery.
"Come. I will walk you back to the palace," he said.
Still holding hands, they turned and started slowly back toward the palace, savoring every remaining moment they had.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Philippe awakened feeling slightly too warm, so he pushed down the covers and rolled over onto his back. Folding his hands behind his head, he gazed up toward the ceiling, where the curtains that surrounded the bed were gathered, thinking about the past week. Things had been moving so fast. His days were totally filled with the business of the country, riding the property with his father, walking the corridors with his mother, or simply sitting with her in her parlor, talking about their lives. He had never known such happiness, for he now had the one thing he had never been a part of before – a family.
A smile formed on his lips as he thought of his parents. Even though he was rarely in the company of both of them together, he loved having them under the same roof with him. Perhaps he could order food be sent to his room, and they could both join him there, where they could have dinner together as a family.
Unable to go back to sleep, he got up and moved to the window where a long sliver of silvery moonlight shone through the glass. It was a beautiful night, clear and bright with a host of stars in the heavens.
A movement attracted his attention, and he squinted toward it, wondering what it was. For a moment, in the distance, he was unable to locate it, for it had passed behind a clump of tall shrubbery. When they emerged, he saw them more clearly; two people were moving slowly among the roses, a man and a woman. As his eyes focused on them intently, he knew that they were holding hands. He could almost feel the love between them, and knew immediately that they were his parents. Seeking a few minutes alone, they had apparently agreed to meet in the middle of the night.
He sighed, heavily, feeling the weight of the hopelessness that they must be experiencing. To have a love so strong, and be unable to act upon that love must be a frustrating thing.
Reluctant to spy on them, he moved away from the window, but his mind was working on formulating a plan.