Before Versailles by Karleen Koen

patch box,” Guy commanded.
    The command was addressed to Louise, and she walked to the dressing table and brought back a beautiful box made of silver. It was the duty of a maid of honor to accompany, assist, and amuse. And fetch.
    Guy looked through the small black shapes that were all the rage, worn on the face and kept there by mastic, and selected another star. He balanced its velvet side on a finger, then placed it on his cheek in approximately the same place as Philippe’s. Then he turned to face Henriette.
    “Where’s my kiss?” he said.
    The maids of honor held their breath. The count was disrespectful and unfortunately also very dashing, but if his dear friend’s deliberate flirting bothered him, Philippe didn’t show it. Henriette dropped her eyes, as if unable to meet the brash, unabashed admiration flung at her, but Louise could see that she was as flattered as she was flustered.
    “I think we should all wear patches, stars for us and hearts for ladies,” said Guy.
    “Yes,” Philippe exclaimed.
    Henriette pointed to her maids of honor. “But they aren’t married.” An unmarried young woman of good family did not rouge or powder or patch until a ring was upon her finger.
    “That makes it all the more amusing,” said Catherine, a slight smile on her face, as if Henriette were a child.
    “I approve,” said Philippe, “and that’s all that need be said.” Then he began to supervise as one after another of them placed patches on their faces. He was in top form, garrulous and joking. He knew that the word among the young courtiers was that the place to be was Monsieur’s—where there was lively conversation, witty games, good food, lovely young women, and showy young gentlemen. Philippe had always had an eye for what would prove fashionable and what would excite the court’s attention.
    When patches were on all faces, he stepped back and considered the group, his expression mock-serious, making several of the maids of honor giggle again. “Perfect,” he announced. “His majesty will be highly irritated that once more I’ve done something diverting and interesting.” He held out a hand to Henriette, who put hers atop it. “Just as I did by marrying you, my treasure. I’m sorry, but her majesty is dull, and apparently there’s nothing that can be done about it.”
    “If you want to be on the king’s council, it’s comments like that one that will keep you from it,” said Guy.
    Philippe frowned at one and all. “You did not hear a word I just said. Is that understood? That would likely be an excellent attribute to strengthen if you intend remaining in this household. You must pay me no mind because I say things I shouldn’t, especially when they’re true. Hypocrisy makes the world go round. Remember that, my angels.”
    “Her majesty is very, very dear, and we love her very, very much,” said Henriette, clearly nervous at her husband’s lively, teasing indiscretion.
    “Yes, she is. Yes, we do,” said Philippe, who was delighted that he’d done something that was going to annoy his brother. Someone among them would whisper tonight that Monsieur said her majesty was dull, and Philippe would of course deny it when Louis confronted him, but truth would out. Her majesty was dull, prayers and naps and embroidery, and Philippe and his wife were anything but. “Do you hear that, maidens? Her majesty is very kind, kinder than I’ve just been, and she is far, far from home and likely homesick.”
    “We shock her,” said Guy.
    Philippe looked over to his friend. “Explain yourself, count.”
    “I have it on the best authority that she finds us frivolous.”
    “Us?”
    “Us, this court, the French in general.”
    “Frivolous.” Philippe considered the queen’s accusation. “I’m afraid it’s true. And I, for one, intend to be as frivolous as possible tonight. I believe I’ve made a splendid beginning. Count,” he arched an eyebrow at Guy and made a serious face, “I trust