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A rustling of silk.
“You need never bow to me, Belle.”
Mélisande raised her head just enough to see a heavily beringed hand take Isabelle’s fingers and raise her up. The same voice addressed her papa, and the three of them conversed for a few moments. Finally, a pair of jewel-encrusted shoes came to rest in front of her.
“This is the child?”
“Yes, your majesty,” replied her mother. “I am honored to present my daughter, Mademoiselle Mélisande Esmée d’Orleans Compton. Mélisande, you may now raise your eyes.”
Trembling, Mélisande did as told. Standing before her was His Majesty, Louis XV, King of France. Though she’d faced royalty many times before, for some reason, this man’s presence filled her with both awe and trepidation.
Shock struck her squarely in the chest as, without preamble, he pushed back the hood of her calèche and calmly proceeded to untie the ribbons holding her cape closed.
It turned to outrage as his eyes fell to her exposed décolletage, drawn to the shallow swell of her left breast.
Straightening to her full height, she silently dared him to accost her person again.
At her mutinous glare, Louis’s lips quirked in a smile. “I can see you’ve raised no coward,” he said to her parents. “Good. Such courage befits her blood.”
Reaching out, he laid a single, gentle fingertip on the tiny, dark mole marking the spot below which pounded Mélisande’s heart.
Sucking in a breath, she jerked back and prepared to vent her spleen.
“It is as I said,” Isabelle rushed, her cutting off. “She bears la marque de la coeur. And the other, as well, on her hip.”
Mélisande flicked a startled glance at her, but her mother’s eyes remained downcast and unreadable. When she looked back to the king, she saw that he still gazed at her, a queer look in his eyes.
“You have not told her anything?” he asked, seeming unable to take his eyes off her.
Mélisande’s already racing heart began to beat an uneven tattoo in her chest. Something here was terribly, terribly wrong...
“We thought it best to wait until she was older,” replied Isabelle.
“Then it is time she knew the truth.”
Mélisande’s stomach dropped, and the world around her took on a surreal, dreamlike quality. The conversation she’d overheard that morning suddenly made sense as she looked at the man before her, recognizing with merciless acuity the similarities between their features.
In the blink of an eye, the unthinkable became the undeniable.
Turning to her mother, she watched the blood drain from her face. Her head shook ever so slightly, her blue eyes silently pleading, begging forgiveness.
“Ma fille—” Isabelle began.
“Je ne suis pas aveugle, Maman! I have eyes—and ears,” Mélisande snapped. “I heard you and Papa this morning. Now it all makes sense.” Taking a deep breath, she turned from her mother to address the king of France—her father. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty.” Her voice was calm and steady, as though someone else were speaking with her mouth. “I hope I give you no offense by saying that although you are my father, the man who raised me shall always hold that place in my heart.”
She turned to her darling papa, who had come to stand behind her. His face was pale and drawn, but his eyes shone with love and gratitude.
Louis appeared not in the least offended by the rejection. “I would have claimed you as my own and you would have known me as your father, but I loved your mother too much to let her live the life of a courtesan raising a royal bastard.” He turned to Isabelle. “She deserved better than I could give her here.”
His words buzzed in her ears as if from a great distance. She just stared at him, stunned. “I only wanted her happiness,” the monarch continued. “Wilmington was quite amenable when I approached him regarding the matter. He was already in love with your mother.” His knowing gaze slid over to her papa. “He agreed to care for her and raise you as his own, should she consent to the arrangement. It was divine providence.”
Isabelle moved forward. “What I did, I did for both of us, Mélisande.” Her voice was choked with emotion, and bright tears slid down her cheeks. “I knew if I bore you here, there would be only heartache for us both in years to come. I could not remain a courtesan forever, and I had to think of your happiness as well as my own.”
“My happiness?”
“You needed a father. I had, purely by chance, befriended your papa during his visit here. I became quite fond of his company. Enough so that when Louis offered to arrange a marriage, I chose him.” Fresh tears fell as she shook her head. “I very quickly grew to love him,” she continued, her voice steadying as she regained her composure. “And he has been everything I could have wished for in a father for you.”
Numbness enclosed Mélisande’s heart, inuring her to what she knew should have been debilitating pain, and she was grateful for it.
